I always knew Christmas was officially on its way when our teacher would stand at the front of the classroom, clap her hands for attention, and announce it was time to decorate the hallway. That was the moment the season truly began. The air outside had turned sharp and gray, the trees bare and rattling in the wind, and the playground was littered with the last stubborn leaves clinging to the chain-link fence. Inside, though, it was all construction paper snowflakes and the faint scent of paste.
In school, December was different. The usual math drills and spelling tests gave way to stories about Santa Claus, reindeer, and the North Pole. We read books with glittery illustrations of snow-covered cottages and jolly old elves, and n music class we sang carols with all the gusto a room full of sugar-charged kids could muster. Even the teachers seemed to soften a little, letting us swap our usual lined paper for red and green cardstock.
Decorating the hallway was the highlight. The big jars of tempera paint came out, lids crusted with dried color, and brushes were passed around like priceless antique tools. I’d dip mine into the thick red paint and try to create something worthy of the season. My fingers would be stained with green and gold by the end of the day, and I wore those smudges like a badge of honor. There were scissors that barely cut, glue that stuck more to our hands than the paper, and crayons worn down to nubs. We made paper chains, snowmen, and Christmas trees with cotton ball snow. I was convinced my artwork could hang in a museum…or at least on the classroom door.
By 11:00 a.m., the smell of the cafeteria would start to drift into the hallway. It was a mix of mystery meat, canned corn, and something vaguely resembling gravy. My stomach would growl like a lawn mower on its last leg. I only got hot lunch once a week, so I saved my fifty cents for pizza day or the occasional chicken patty. Most days, I had my trusty lunchbox, probably that old metal He-Man one, packed with a ham sandwich drenched in mayo and a sandwich bag of corn chips. That sandwich, slightly warm from sitting in my locker all morning, was a thing of beauty.
After lunch, we’d go back to our decorations. I’d hang cutouts of ornaments and stockings, tape up glittery stars, and help staple garland across the top of the bulletin boards. The hallway would slowly transform into a winter wonderland, even if the only snow outside was the kind we made from torn-up notebook paper.
Those were the days. Simple, joyful, and full of anticipation. The countdown to Christmas was on, and for a kid in the 1980s, nothing beat the thrill of seeing your construction paper Santa hanging proudly in the school hallway, knowing the big day was just around the corner.
Be the first to comment