A Personal Essay on Holiday Celebrations, Belonging, and Minnesota Public Schools

I didn’t come to teaching in the usual straight-line way. I arrived after years in other work and after raising my own children, long enough to understand something simple and unwavering: every child deserves to walk into a classroom where they feel like they belong exactly as they are.

Because I entered teaching with that conviction, not nostalgia, not tradition, not “how it’s always been”, I notice things that others sometimes overlook. Or maybe they notice too, but haven’t yet found the words to say them aloud.

This week, after a conversation with a colleague about Christmas in our school, I walked away with that familiar knot in my stomach. I worried, as I often do, that I had pushed too hard or sounded like the “equity police.” I want connection. I want to be liked. I want to be part of a joyful, unified staff community. But alongside all of that, I want something even more: I want every child to feel fully welcome in my classroom. Even when it is inconvenient. Even when it is uncomfortable. Even when speaking up means being the only voice in the room.

Here is the truth I keep returning to: schools may teach about religious holidays, but they may not celebrate or promote them. Teaching is inclusive. Celebrating is selective. And that difference matters—emotionally, culturally, and in the expectations placed on public schools.

In December, classrooms across the country transform. Doors become chimneys. Worksheets turn into ornaments. Teachers bring out their favorite childhood traditions. It feels warm, nostalgic, and comforting. And in many Minnesota communities, where it seems like everyone celebrates Christmas, the assumption becomes: everyone here does this; it is fine.

But belonging is not determined by majority vote. Minnesota is more culturally and religiously diverse than we sometimes acknowledge. Across the state, including in suburban and rural schools, students come from Somali, Hmong, Karen, Russian, Ukrainian, Hispanic/Latino, East African, and multifaith families. Many come from secular homes. Others observe holidays that rarely appear on the American school calendar.

So even if Christmas feels universal, the reality inside our classrooms is much more complex. And when a classroom becomes a Christmas showcase, even a secular one full of Santas and reindeer, it sends a quiet but unmistakable message to the children who do not celebrate: this space was not designed with you in mind.

Adults sometimes say, “It’s not religious—it’s just Santa,” as if children can easily separate cultural traditions from religious roots. They cannot. A room filled with ornaments, stockings, elves, trees, and themed parties is still a room centered on one tradition. Whether or not it mentions Jesus, the message to a child outside that tradition is the same: this is the holiday we celebrate here. This is the story that fits.

Another argument I hear is, “You are taking away my identity as a Christian teacher.” But no one is taking away anyone’s identity. Your beliefs are yours. Your faith is yours. But a classroom is not a personal stage for religious expression. It is a public space, and it belongs equally to every child who enters it. Teachers already accept boundaries in service of belonging. We do not hang political banners. We do not teach personal ideologies as fact. We do not turn private customs into required rituals. That is not oppression; that is professionalism.

Sometimes people say, “If I moved to another country, I would expect them to celebrate their holidays.” But adults abroad have autonomy. Children in classrooms do not. A child cannot easily say, “This conflicts with my family’s beliefs,” or “I feel different today.” They simply adjust. Quietly. Internally. And public schools are expected to maintain religious neutrality so no child feels pressured to take part in traditions that are not their own. That boundary exists for a reason: belonging should not depend on similarity.

Minnesota’s academic standards point toward something better. They ask us to teach from multicultural perspectives—stories, traditions, and ways of knowing from many cultures, not just one. And winter in Minnesota offers endless wonder on its own: snow, light, warmth, northern skies, nature, joy.

The best days I’ve had as a first grade teacher come from hands-on science, math games, kindness projects, reader’s theater, nature walks, and the snowflake-making workshops we create together. Joy doesn’t require a holiday. Magic doesn’t rely on a single tradition. Wonder expands when every child feels like they fully belong.

In the end, this isn’t about Christmas. It is about the child who feels “other.” The real work of education is removing the barriers that make children shrink. We can teach about Christmas. We can acknowledge Christmas. But we should not celebrate Christmas as if it is everyone’s story. Because it is not. And belonging grows best in classrooms where no single tradition decides who fits.