Today is December 1st and winter, in all its chilling glory, has finally arrived in Baltimore. Department stores have begun to put out their festive winter displays. Radio stations have switched exclusively to Christmas and snow tunes. Streets are lined with tinsel, even in the projects. Christmas lights abound in front of porches. And ABC Family has begun its ever-so-anticipated 25 Days ‘Til Christmas.
Somewhere between all the Christmas hoopla that stores grasp their greedy hands to, it has somehow become Hanukkah – this year, shafted by its unfortunate timing and my overly chaotic life.
After lesson planning and PowerPoint-making, I lit the shamash candle using my temperamental gas stove as a lighter and then sang in a mousy-sort-of voice to myself to celebrate an anti-climatic Hanukkah. I watched my candles burn, flames dancing in the chill, and let my busy mind wander to thinking about the true miracle it must have been to have oil last for eight days.
The candles make me long for days in which my mother would gift me bottles of shampoo and packs of underwear, disguised in wrapping as million-dollar presents. My father would make brisket with beer. I miss homemade sweet potato latkes and my most favorite Hanukkah song, “I’m a little latke,” toe-tap and all. Then I realize I am a young, working professional who can’t get gifts and gelt every night of the holiday and who doesn’t have time to cook brisket for one.
As I wallow in self-pity, staring at the two sole candles, I realize I have found the new meaning of the holiday within the past three months. This year, the oil that keeps me burning is my students. My job is hard. Really hard. But little Thanksgiving notes that say “Ms. Packer, you are my favorite teacher because you care about me,” and comments like “Ms. Packer, don’t take this the wrong way but I love you” and “Hey! She’s my teacher not yours” are the few small drops of oil that I need to keep burning bright for at least 9 months of school. This year, I am the miracle that continues to give every day making sure that 68 minds are growing and learning. On the few days, like today, where students love to learn, I am filled with enough oil to last, and I have every Hanukkah gift I could ever need.
One giant mug of hot cocoa, cracking lips, a sweatshirt four-sizes too big (just the way I like it) and I have found our way into bed way past our bedtime. I sleep with not one, not two, but three blankets to simulate my native Florida hibernation conditions.
In honor of the holiday, this poor teacher has mustered up the courage to give herself a gift – finally, writing a blog, even on a night when she should be far too busy worrying about her 68 children to be enjoying getting lost in words and verbose analogies. Happy Hanukkah, Ms. Packer…keep burning, it’s worth it.
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