The Glitter War and Other Remembrances
Reflections and Shadows on Holiday Seasons
Holiday seasons transcend the dates on a calendar; they are chapters of our life story, each brimming with lessons and laughter. Join me in revisiting three memorable winters, each echoing with joy, strength, and the resilience of the human spirit. My stories are a single narrative amidst a chorus of countless others, each unique and rich in its own right.
The Glitter War: A Legacy of Laughter and Learning
Twenty-seven years ago, I co-founded an alternative high school program for 150 students underserved by conventional schools due to absenteeism and gang activity.
Our team, supported by families, reinvented education and cultivated a community spirit. We pledged to respect and celebrate the various races, faiths, ideas, ethnicities, gender identities, and sexual orientations to strengthen our community.
One December, during my early years of teaching, my co-teacher and I chose community over materialism. We turned a lesson into a holiday card-making activity. Our classroom buzzed with smooth jazz and R&B sounds, brimming with creativity and laughter.
A girl sprinkled glitter into her crush’s hair, her grin mischievous, which elicited giggles from the class.
Surprised yet amused, he launched a playful shimmering counterstrike.
Before we knew it, a lighthearted glitter storm had taken over the room.
As glitter fell around me, time seemed to freeze. Shimmering flecks briefly caught the light, one by one, filling my vision. It was beautiful yet unnerving, like at the center of silent fireworks bursts.
The room fell silent as the students, their faces sparkling, paused and wondered what would come next.
I whispered to the girl who started it, “Are you good?” She nodded slightly.
Still dusting off glitter, the boy met my gaze and gave a thumbs-up.
Then, I scooped up a handful of glitter, let it cascade through my fingers, and chuckled — a sound that filled the room. Laughter soon echoed from the kids, drawing the school administrator’s attention from downstairs.
The students promptly cleaned up, leaving the room tidy but with a residual glittery glow.
That evening, I recounted the story to my colleagues. I saw stray sparkles on their faces, which brought smiles and lighthearted headshaking.
When I visited the school three years later, I discovered those familiar sparkles still there. My former colleagues, grinning, shared that the “glitter war” was a lasting legacy, a symbol that joy and unity can endure tough times.
This was not the first time in my life that light provided solace.
The Hanukkah Bush and a Father’s Wisdom: Quiet Strength
Over 40 years ago, the soft glow of white lights from our Ficus tree cast a peaceful aura in the days leading up to my dad’s passing.
I would affectionately call the tree our “Hanukkah bush” and amuse my mom with tales of Hanukkah Harry, joking that he’d prefer to knock at the door rather than shimmy down a chimney.
In October, my father’s cancer diagnosis shook us. Still, we sought normalcy, finding solace amidst the uncertainty. These moments, filled with the light of love and the shadows of impending loss, would shape my understanding of strength and vulnerability.
Known for his wit and wisdom, my dad often said, “Man Plans, and God Laughs.”
As a distinguished bankruptcy lawyer, he had achieved great heights professionally. Dad smiled proudly as he settled us into a new house, a place beyond his boyhood dreams.
That Hanukkah, our house was full of life. Friends, family, the smell of dinner cooking, and Dad’s laughter — the sounds and scents wrapped around us like a warm blanket. In the kitchen, there was a constant hum of energy, punctuated by the occasional snap of a camera.
As the evening quieted, I sat with Dad, just the two of us, away from the noise. We talked about the little things — like the nearby paintings we hung four months earlier.
“We do good work together,” I said, smiling.
He just nodded, his smile saying everything words couldn’t.
As the holiday season faded, we longed for the warmth of those nights. Ten weeks later, the absence of my dad’s laughter and voice left a mark on our family gatherings. We missed his presence in every tradition we continued without him.
My mom kept those lights up, saying, “They’re pretty. They don’t hurt the tree and keep the celebration alive.”
Her ability to bring people together never waned; our home was always filled with friends, family, neighbors, and even strangers needing community.
As years passed, the Ficus, with its ever-present glow, became a silent homage to my dad. It wasn’t until nearly a decade after my mom passed that I fully understood how the enduring light of the Ficus continued to honor my father’s legacy.
My parents dedicated their lives to enriching our community and nurturing us with unwavering love and guidance. They showed me that a welcoming home hears and honors all voices, inviting diverse perspectives and experiences. This was evident in how our dining table became a gathering place, echoing with laughter and thoughtful conversation.
While they never explicitly told us that it was something we had to do, I absorbed their message at an early age.
Children for Peace: The Spark of Activism
Over fifty years ago, as a child in elementary school, I joined my classmates to form Children for Peace as protests sparked change nationwide.
We marched downtown, raising over $1000 to donate Christmas toys to Vietnamese children. Aware that gifts couldn’t solve all the problems for children affected by the war, we still hoped our small act of peace would make a difference.
At a time when the Vietnam War was a daily reality, the stark impact of the war on children, depicted on TV and in magazines, was horrifying. As Children for Peace, we hoped to send a message of solidarity to those affected.
I felt their fear. I imagined myself in their shoes, flinching at the sounds of warfare.
In those quiet moments before our march, some of us shared stories we had heard about the children on the other side of the world. These stories brought a sobering realization: these were kids just like us, caught in the crossfire of a complex conflict.
As John Lennon’s “Give Peace a Chance” played softly in the background, we crafted signs adorned with vibrant peace symbols and earnest pleas, like “Children for Peace” and “End the War Now” — our youthful contribution to a global call for harmony.
During a pause in our march, my friend and I couldn’t help but laugh, noticing that the “older kids” seemed more fatigued than we were.
This march was more than a walk; it sparked our belief that even minor actions could ignite joy and drive change. This conviction has since carved our path to a lifetime of activism and service.
Concluding Thoughts: Embracing the Past, Shaping the Future
Looking back on my life, I see how each experience has been a stepping stone to who I am today.
My early activism revealed to me the power of unity and shared voices. Losing my father taught me about inner strength and a depth of empathy that emerges only from shared pain. These lessons enriched my teaching, allowing me to connect with my students beyond the textbooks.
And now, even though I’m no longer in the classroom, these learnings still shape my interactions and approach to every challenge. Daily, I find quiet ways to weave understanding and empathy into each interaction, mindful of the broader impact these can have. Every conversation and each supportive gesture are opportunities to pass on what I’ve learned — just as I once needed someone to pass on to me.
As my family and I embark on this new chapter, our inherited values guide us. My mother’s welcoming spirit continues to inspire us. Her warmth once made our home a sanctuary, reflecting the broader need for spaces of peace and acceptance. This legacy of open-heartedness is something I embrace at work, within the community, and around our family table.
My daughter is growing up in a world where hopeful echoes of activism can be overshadowed by the stark realities of hate crimes — which reflect the broader social issues that confront us both at home and globally. In her challenges, I see the threads of our collective human story. I strive to teach her through example — how small acts of courage can resonate within the larger community.
During this holiday season, my thoughts often turn to the war in Gaza and the suffering endured by Palestinians, Israelis, and others in the region. This reflection quietly reaffirms my commitment to peace and understanding, beginning within the walls of our home and extending as far as possible.
I recognize the deep and nuanced histories that shape this conflict, knowing that each family touched by it has a story filled with shades that no single narrative could capture. My heart reaches out to all the individuals living in conflict zones, understanding that behind every news report lies human lives — lives deserving of peace, dignity, and a future.
As a parent, the impact of surrounding violence on the well-being of youth especially troubles me, reinforcing my dedication to fostering values of compassion and discernment. Though nurtured in the home, these values are part of the larger fabric of community and humanity.
In honoring this legacy and reflecting on the past, I gently encourage my daughter to understand the strength that comes from diversity, mirroring the lessons my parents instilled in me. I am committed to showing my daughter, through actions and decisions, the importance of embracing diverse perspectives and backgrounds — as my parents showed me.
With each story I share and each lesson I teach, I aim to honor our shared human experiences, hoping to contribute, in some way, to a world that is more united and compassionate. My father’s quiet strength and my mother’s boundless warmth shape every step I take as I teach my daughter resilience and compassion.
I share these stories with immense respect for our diverse experiences and a shared dream of a safer, kinder world. Moving forward, I hope our combined efforts to understand each other will mend the rifts of a divided world.
