The Best Present Ever
January 02, 2012
Julie A. Riess, Ph.D., is the Senior Advisor on Child Development and Education at Families and Work Institute. She is a developmental psychologist and the director of the Wimpfheimer Nursery School at Vassar College.
Portions of this article were originally published in the Poughkeepsie Journal by Gannett Publications on December 25, 2011.
About every six years, I get to write a Christmas Day column. It is a time of much reflection about writing something meaningful in the true spirit of Christmas in a diverse world. I’ve written about hope, wonder, and following your star. I’ve written about villages, community, and gifts of nothing that are really quite something.
I confess that I have been “stuck” in finding just the right words. Thankfully, working in a nursery school is an ongoing source of inspiration for my writing. Sometimes I seek out the children or teachers for an idea. Other times, they simply appear on my doorstep.
A few days ago, a teacher at my school shared with me a project that she had just finished in her class. Her eyes were aglow with an outcome not on the lesson plan. Suddenly, I realized that my column was right in front me of me all this time. I would write about the children.
As I started to do some on-line research, I quickly discovered many clips of international Christmas celebrations. I was struck, to the point of tears, with how beautiful the cultural traditions are that wrap around families and focus on having the children learn about an amazing celebration that is about the birth of a baby. A child, just like them.
I think my tears came not only from the glowing faces of families celebrating traditions I knew little about, but also from the stark contrast of commercialism in what I call “surround sound” Christmas. I started to think about young children being the center of attention at Christmas, when Christmas can be a calling to them, a way to remind us of the story as only they can.
In Mexico, there is a child-focused celebration called Posadas. The word posada means “shelter” or “inn” in Spanish. For nine nights before Christmas, children lead the candlelight procession through the town; this represents Mary and Joseph’s journey to Bethlehem. Sometimes children play the roles of Mary and Joseph or carry images of them. In some versions, the procession stops at doors along the way, asking for shelter. In other versions, the procession weaves to the designated house of the evening. A traditional song, pidiendo-posada,is sung as call and response to the “innkeeper” family inside. The answer from the inside is “no posadas” (no shelter) until the last house (different each night). Finally the “innkeeper” lets them in and serves them food and a hot drink. The children break a piñata and enjoy candy. Posadas are held in neighborhoods across Mexico and are also becoming popular in the United States. http://www.mexconnect.com/articles/1552-mexican-tradition-pidiendo-posada
Watch the web link of Las Posadas to see an example of pictures painting 10,000 words. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R35yspFDsek&feature=related
What do you see? Share it with your children and ask them what they see. Can they tell a story from just watching the pictures? If you each tell a story, what things seem to be the same and what parts are different? What feelings to you see in the faces of people? Why do they think that children are leading the procession? Why might they be carrying candles or lanterns? Why does it end with a picture of an elder?
Italy is another place where Christmas traditions contrast with some of our pop-culture traditions. In Italy, children do not customarily write letters to Santa Claus with their wish list for presents. Instead, they write letters to tell their parents how much they love them. The letters are then placed under a parent’s plate and read after Christmas Eve dinner is done.
When one of our kindergarteners was posed with this letter-writing task as part of our international celebrations curriculum, he told the teacher he couldn’t do it. Then he told her why. She smiled and told him they could just write exactly what he already said. It went something like this:
Dear Dad, I can't tell you how much I love you because it is past a trillion.
In any language, any culture, any celebration: best present ever.

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