CARVSMARK

Well folks… it’s official.
The Cheer has arrived.

And not the polite, gentle, “maybe we’ll decorate next week” kind of cheer—no. I’m talking about the kind of Cheer that’s been lurking in stores since late September like it’s part of an undercover retail operation. I swear I heard a pumpkin scream as a Christmas tree shoved it aside and claimed dominance.

By November, buying toothpaste became a tactical sport: dodge the candy canes, duck under the garland, sidestep the giant inflatable snowman who—let’s be honest—looks a little too happy for someone made entirely of air.

But the real magic begins on December 1st.
Suddenly, our community transforms into a full-on holiday movie set. Horses appear with carriages like they’ve been summoned by Hallmark producers. Lights start twinkling on every available surface. And there’s this faint scent of holiday joy in the air, trying its hardest to distract us from the reality that the sun now sets sometime around… lunchtime.

As a teacher, this is usually my favourite time of year.
My room becomes a sparkle-filled oasis—paper snowflakes everywhere, glitter multiplying like it’s in a Disney movie, the whole place glowing like it’s auditioning for “Best Supporting Classroom in a Winter Drama.” 

For 30 years, this month has always brought that reliable little spark of magic.

Until this year.

This year, I opened my inbox to find an email politely announcing that we “do not engage in holiday cheer” because it isn’t “inclusive.”

Now listen—if inclusivity had a fan club, I’d be president, treasurer, and the person who brings snacks. I love inclusivity. I fight for it. I teach for it. I advocate for it so often that my students assume I have a cape somewhere that reads “Captain Inclusion.”

But I have questions. At what point does inclusivity turn into “nobody gets anything just in case someone somewhere someday might not vibe with it”?

Because here’s the thing: I grew up as the daughter of immigrants who taught me to celebrate everything. Lunar New Year? Wonderful. Diwali? Glorious.
Eid? Amazing—leave room for dessert.

Not once did I think, “I don’t celebrate this, so the rest of the world must stop.” My parents would’ve looked at me like I’d just announced I was joining a rock band and moving to Iceland.

Yet somehow, a paper snowflake is now considered dangerously festive.
A wreath? Too bold. Lights? Highly suspicious. Any décor whatsoever? Apparently covert Christmas propaganda.

And honestly—have we all stepped outside lately?

Winter in Canada is DARK. Grey. Cold.
A bit emotionally rude, if we’re being honest.

In these conditions, twinkling lights aren’t religious symbols—they’re mental health support systems. A decorated tree isn’t indoctrination—it’s joy insurance.
Holiday décor is basically the emotional vitamin D we’re all desperately lacking.

And sure, December includes religious holidays like Hanukkah and Christmas, but if you ask students what they’re excited for, they’ll tell you:

• “Sleeping.”
• “Food.”
• “More sleeping.”
• “Not setting an alarm.”
• “Seeing Grandma.”
• “Did I mention sleeping?”

This isn’t a theological crisis—it’s a collective exhaustion event. But look forward to the winter celebrations where the school gathers and gives to seniors, can food drive that gives to the food bank and our annual winter breakfast where we celebrate this time of year with kindness and joy.

Even folks who find this time of year difficult often find comfort in community activities—volunteering, gatherings, kindness, connection. We don’t fix loneliness by removing joy; we fix it by creating it.

So, to those chanting the annual battle cry of
“NO decorations! NO cheer!”
— I offer this gentle reminder:

You’re missing what December is about.

This month is about warmth, togetherness, culture, community, celebration, slowing down, and yes—twinkly lights preventing us all from slipping into seasonal gloom.

We aren’t harming inclusivity by celebrating joy.
We harm inclusivity when we strip away opportunities for connection.

So, let’s bring back the lights.
Let the paper snowflakes fall.
Let classrooms sparkle like caffeinated elves decorated them.
Let kids feel excitement, comfort, and a sense of belonging during one of the darkest months of the year.

Because honestly—if there’s one thing the world desperately needs right now…

It’s a little more cheer.

And maybe a giant inflatable snowman.
(No judgment.)