Posted on 12/26/2005 8:11:14 AM PST by Conservatrix
To the Editor:
"Last week I substituted at a local elementary school in Lebanon County. The lesson plan required me to read the 1882 poem “The Night Before Christmas” by Clement Clarke Moore to two classes of students. While I can appreciate the poem for its literary value, the subject matter is offensive to me, and the reading of this poem to the children imposed values upon me which are against my deeply held religious beliefs. I could not in good conscience present the notion of Santa Claus as a truth to the children, and stated so.
No public school teacher should be required to teach a belief, or custom, or religion that he or she believes to be false, or be required to pass those purported falsehoods onto impressionable children, without the right to state a disclaimer. Furthermore, freedom of speech and religion, no matter how unpopular the speech or against cultural norms the religion, are protected rights under the Constitution of the United States. A secular public school should not be propagating any kind of religion. The belief in Santa Claus as a divine, magical, omniscient, powerful, giving, loving father-figure, to which children are taught to make supplications and requests, is a religion indeed-- a distorted substitute for the Judeo-Christian God; a false form of Christianity; a zealously-protected American idol.
In presenting the poem, I gave the children quick historical background about the Santa Claus myth-- its evolution from the historic Nickolaus, Bishop of Myrna in Asia Minor, who died in 343 A.D., to its amalgamation with ancient Western pagan traditions of German, Scandinavian and Dutch origins, to the current manifestation in the secular Christmas culture of today. (Dutch children, for example, would put their wooden shoes out at night for “Sante Klaus” to fill with candies.)
The current Santa Claus figure was popularized in the late 19th Century by artist Thomas Nast of Harper’s Weekly Magazine, who depicted “Saint Nick,” not as an elf, but a rotund, pipe-smoking man in a red and white suit. This is the deity to which countless public school children today are taught to make supplications, and about whom they sing their many songs at annual public school Christmas programs.
If people are upset about the revelation to children that Santa Claus is a myth-- which all children who are taught this lie find or figure out eventually-- perhaps it is because Santa is that zealously-guarded idol of their own modern religion. Therefore, as a religion, let Santa be kept out of the public school classroom (no more “Dear Santa” letters to line those school hallways)--or perhaps, in the interest of “diversity,” make his mythical, oversized personage share equal representation in literature, and song, and Christmas programs, with the other Person of the season: the Lord Jesus Christ, God made flesh, God with us."
Thank you...I wish the same for you.
D'Oh. You got me there.
;-)
Lots of ugly things are called "truths", and I don't think people are supposed to go around saying ugly things to each other, and especially not to children. Or don't you believe in politeness? We are supposed to treat each other with kindness and love. Which means if someone is retarded, I will not tell them they are "stupid", if they are deformed, I will not call them "ugly", if someone is large, I will not call them "fat". And it is most certainly not my place to ruin Christmas for a bunch of children. It's a shame you are teaching your children to be rude.
Well, if it's her, she has serious mental problems and a personality disorder, and should seek help.
Hey, we're doing the best we can! :)
Well, they apparently share the same poor taste and judgment that's for sure. I clicked on "See more posts" once and found a picture of a headless aborted fetus.
>>>There are plenty of people who would turn the office of Public Dog Catcher into a ruthless reign of terror and oppression<<<
And there was actually one who did just that--Dennis Rader, the BTK serial killer, who terrorized the Wichita area for thirty years and killed at least a dozen men, women, and children.
When arrested, he was the dogcatcher of Park City, Kansas, a Wichita suburb.
Here is a nice Christmas poem that might offend but would probably be taught.
The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert W. Service
- There are strange things done in the midnight sun
- By the men who moil for gold;
- The Arctic trails have their secret tales
- That would make your blood run cold;
- The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
- But the queerest they ever did see
- Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
- I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ‘taint being dead--it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
Also not for first graders.
You two actually made me LOL over this exchange...thank you for lightening the mood!
Please indicate exactly when religion entered the Santa Claus debate, and who put it there.
Santa Claus comes on Christmas. He came to my house.
This was not the time or place for her to advance her personal agenda. She shows poor judgement, and more than a touch of vindictiveness/bullying tendencies.
Seven year olds like to teach the six year olds there is no Santa. She has put herself on that level. (And the seven year olds get in trouble at home for doing so.)
Her rules of engagement with teaching are ridiculous. Teachers should teach the lesson plan, not their personal beliefs. There was no need to get into the existence or non-existence of Santa to recite this poem. This was a silly battle for her to fight, and reveals a strange person.
Maybe that's why she's disappeared. She's gone off to seek some help. ;)
In some mixed religious homes, Santa even leaves presents under the Hanukkah bush. I don't know where he leaves the presents in the homes that celebrate Kwaanza. Maybe under the crack pipes?
My brother-in-law is away on active duty. His wife, my sister-in-law, was expecting their fourth on Christmas. Instead, she went into labor last week and had a stillborn baby girl.
My little niece and nephews were happily expecting their little sister. Instead, Mommy came home brokenhearted.
They were at my house the next night, with Dad home on leave. Then...a knock on the door.
There was Santa Claus himself, with a bag of gifts for my kids and their little cousins.
Now, you might say that the gifts were from neighbors, and that the jolly old fellow had rented his costume.
But you would be wrong.
This "teacher" has no idea what she is talking about - the poor thing.
what don't you understand. the fact that this teacher claims to be a conservative Christian is totally irrelevant to her meanspirited action. Slim's point was that there is no shortage of people who delight in destroying the magic of childhood for others; my point is that while that is true, there is no reason to allow them to claim the high road of conservatism, as the motive for doing so. i think this thread does precisely that-- expose meanspiritedness for what it is; it is irrelevant either to conservatism or christianity.
God bless the neighbors, what a wonderful thing they did.
;-)
My chair broke......... I'm on my knees typing this!
Yoi!
;-)
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