By Janis Effner
“Are we watching The Polar Express today, Miss?” my students shouted as they rushed into the classroom. It was the last day before winter break, and the noise level rose with every passing minute. After a stressful week trying to manage excited middle-schoolers who had decided work and listening were optional, I finally allowed myself a small celebration: an “educational” movie. I reminded them to notice story elements, hit play, and silently prayed we would survive the next fifty minutes without incident.
I sat back and watched the class fall into silence, mesmerized by the animation. It’s amazing what a film can do to calm even the rowdiest students—my first holiday miracle of the day. Sipping coffee and nibbling cookies from the PTA, I felt my spirits lift. For a teacher, making it to 2:00 p.m. with a smile is a win. One hour and thirty-five minutes stood between me and two weeks of sleeping in.
Teachers need vacations too
If you’ve never taught, let me briefly explain why winter break feels like a rescue mission: no bus duty, the freedom to eat lunch without supervising a table, and the luxury of using the restroom without watching the clock. Life was about to get very good in a few short hours. The bell rang to end seventh period and students began to file out.
One student had gifted me giant, fuzzy reindeer slippers. I smiled, stood up, and walked them out while laughing about my festive footwear. Hugs and waves filled the hallway. “See ya next year,” they called—my favorite line of the day. “Have a great year!” I shouted back, enjoying their delight.
As they left, I thought, these crazy kids are going to run the world someday. Tardy students drifted down the hall with bags of candy and presents, and an odd calm settled over me. Tomorrow, I reminded myself, I could eat lunch whenever I wanted.
I returned to my classroom with a small, celebratory skip, happy that eighth period was my planning conference. I envisioned gathering my chocolates, turning on festive music, and closing the door on the semester—until a quiet voice stopped me. “Miss, I don’t want to go home.”
School is a gift
The room’s light seemed to dim. I looked into the student’s face and saw real fear. “Can I stay here, please?” he asked, his voice trembling.
Our campus served many at-risk students who faced poverty, hunger, and instability every day. As educators, we aim to help children learn and grow so they can eventually lead better lives, but that mission often brings emotional moments. This one hit me deeply.
I wrapped my arms around the student and we both cried as we walked to the counselor’s office. Staff rallied: someone secured a hot meal, the principal joined us, emails were sent, and a parent was contacted. We prepared the gifts we already had for him, but more importantly we worked to restore his sense of security. To him, the safest place to be during the holidays was school.
This child’s home life lacked reliable electricity and running water at times. The meals he ate in the cafeteria, the warmth of friends nearby, and the structure of the school day were comforts his home couldn’t promise. He knew the next two weeks would be hard and he wanted a holiday filled with peace. For him, that meant staying at school where basic needs and caring adults were constant.
Community is a gift
Teachers and school staff often yearn for a quiet moment, but when a child needs help they give up those comforts without hesitation. Whether it’s offering extra pencils, staying late to tutor, or sharing a meal, educators and support staff put students’ well-being first.
Yes, we want students to arrive on time and spend more time reading than texting. But above all, we want students to succeed. That desire drives teachers to invest time, money, and energy into their classrooms. Administrators, counselors, cafeteria workers, bus drivers, and paraprofessionals all collaborate to create a network of care that changes lives.
The school community itself is a profound gift: a place where adults unite to support children’s academic growth and emotional safety. On that last day, I turned off my classroom lights with the quiet satisfaction that we had done our best for every student we could reach.
You are a gift
Driving home later, my heart was heavy with concern for that student. I breathed deeply and hoped he would find peace over the break. My principal’s assurances helped, and I spent the holiday with my family, reflecting on what matters most: being together and giving love, not accumulating things.
My family reminded me how much my students cared for me and encouraged me to recognize the impact I had made. That holiday season I resolved to do more—for my students and for the community that supports them. I realized, and continue to remind myself, that I am a gift to my students in the small, steady ways I show up for them.
Teachers, remember that you are a gift. Celebrate yourself this holiday season. To all my students: your insight, love, and resilience have shaped my life. You will always be part of my heart and my holidays—you are my greatest gift.
About the author
Janis Effner is the professional services director at Achieve3000. She spent more than a decade as a classroom teacher and reading specialist and is an international author. Janis holds a Principal Certification focused on Secondary School Administration/Principalship from Schreiner University and works in media and communications. She resides in Alaska.