The Heaviest Snowflake

“There we are! The most special snowflake I’ve ever seen!”

Michael loved hearing Mommy use the word “special.” Last week it was about the song he sang to his baby brother. Yesterday it was about his newfound ability to write all the letters of the alphabet. And now, Mommy was using “special” to describe the snowflake Michael had been asked to create for his kindergarten classroom.

Actually, everybody in Michael’s class had been asked to create a snowflake for the classroom. But Michael had been certain that when his teacher told the students about the project, she was looking right at him.

And why wouldn’t she? Michael knew how special he was. And every December, Michael’s specialness was on display even more than usual. For eight nights.

Michael and his family were something called Jewish. This meant that while most children in the neighborhood received presents on only one night for Christmas, Michael received eight presents, each on a different night, for Chanukah. This, Michael knew, made him special.

The snowflake also made Michael special. Mommy was right about that. It was loaded with all sorts of ornaments and decorations, many of which Michael and Mommy had made from scratch. It was pretty big, too. And heavy. The most special snowflake Mommy had ever seen!

*****

The next morning, Michael set the snowflake next to him in the backseat of Mommy’s car as she drove him to school. He peered out of the window as the car glided through the slushy mixture of snow and sand on the road. Michael noticed a big Christmas banner hanging from the roof of a hardware store. A number of pine trees were for sale on the next corner. And about a block beyond that, Michael stared at a nativity scene depicting Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. Michael reminded himself that he would be receiving eight special presents very soon.

When Michael walked into the kindergarten classroom with his snowflake, he proudly presented it to his teacher with a big smile on his face. His teacher took it from him, without saying a word or even smiling, and placed it in a pile with all the other snowflakes. Some were even as big as Michael’s was, and others had ornaments and decorations just like Michael’s. Maybe his snowflake wasn’t special after all.

That morning, Michael played with three of his friends in the class: Michael, Michael, and Michael. Yes, there were four Michaels in this particular kindergarten class. It seemed that Michael was the least special name there was in the whole world. Michael didn’t mind it too much, though. He took the same number of turns as everybody else during their game of Chutes and Ladders; he got to bang on the same type of drum as everybody else during their music activity; and when the teacher hung their snowflakes from thin pieces of string attached to the ceiling, Michael’s was just as high up as everybody else’s was.

*****

That afternoon, one of the other Michaels was telling Michael, along with the two additional Michaels, about how much he was looking forward to Christmas. Each Michael took his turn sharing which present he hoped he’d receive on Christmas morning. After a few minutes, there was only one Michael who hadn’t shared.

“So Michael,” asked the first Michael, “what do you think you’re getting for Christmas?”

Michael didn’t quite know how he should respond. He wanted to say something that would show the others that he was special—that he celebrated eight nights of Chanukah instead of only one night of Christmas. But he also knew that he shouldn’t make the others feel bad for not being as special as he was.

So Michael responded by asking, “What’s Christmas?”

Now of course, Michael knew what Christmas was. After all, he had seen the store banner, the tree sale, and the nativity scene just this morning on the way to school. But he hoped that by asking this question, he would avoid having to show his friends how special he was.

Michael’s odd question lingered in the air. The other Michaels stared at him, perplexed. Finally, the first Michael opened his mouth and shouted, “‘What’s Christmas’?! What do you mean, ‘What’s Christmas’?! Everybody celebrates Christmas!”

The Jewish Michael stood there, frozen, about to cry. Michael, Michael, and Michael were all glaring at him in silence, and now everyone else in the classroom was, too. He felt singled out. But not at all special.

At that very moment, the silence was broken by a loud crash from across the room. Instantaneously, all heads turned toward the noise. At first, it was difficult to figure out what had happened. The ceiling was decorated with snowflake upon snowflake, hanging from thin pieces of string. But one piece of string no longer had a snowflake attached to it.

Michael’s big, ornamented, decorated snowflake—the heaviest in the class—had caused its string to snap, and it now lay on the floor, ornaments everywhere, its shape asymmetrically altered as a result of its collision with the ground.

In all the confusion, no one ever thought to tell Michael what Christmas was.

*****

Michael stared out the back window of Mommy’s car on their way home from school, the ruined snowflake on the seat next to him. He passed the nativity scene, and the tree sale, and the store banner. Yes, thought Michael, everybody celebrates Christmas. Everybody. Everybody but him.