First—did anyone solve the Santa math on my shirt? I’m genuinely curious if you got the same answer the kids’ math teacher did. The one that made him toss the t-shirt back at me like a hot potato and refuse to wear it to the party (although he did remind me yesterday: "YOU are wearing THE t-shirt to the party, right?").
Of course, I am. Mira will likely want to crawl into a hole, though.
Now, about the bookmarks.
After the lesson, ninety percent of the class lined up for extras. One kid wanted to mail one to his brother at Purdue. Another wanted to make one for the school librarian.
In truth, they might not know how to articulate it, but they weren’t asking for more craft supplies. They were asking for more chances to connect.
The scratch bookmarks made it easy—bright surfaces, simple tools. But the moment it shifted from a craft activity to something that stayed with them was when I asked them to write something for the person sitting across from them.
Someone they didn’t know well. Someone they wouldn’t make something nice for if they had the option. Someone they didn’t really care about.
Yes, there was a collective groan. But also, they took the time to think, reflect, and create tokens of appreciation for their classmates that said these:
“Thank you for giving me a rubber band for my ponytail when mine broke.”
And: “Thank you for staying back with me that day when my dad was late for pickup.”
This is where kindness stopped being theoretical. There were no big declarations or inspirational language.
Just memory. Just noticing. Just evidence of having been there for one another.
The bookmarks were just the vehicle…specificity became the gift. And I am hoping they can let kindness lead the way this holiday season.
માનસી
