When I first taught, I hated glitter. I wouldn’t even say the word. I am sure there are several hundred of my former first graders in Indiana and Arizona that call glitter “the g-stuff.” Glitter gets everywhere. I think that for fifteen years I went around with at least one green, red, silver, or gold shiny speck stuck to my face. While I hated glitter, I couldn’t bring myself to ban its use in my classroom. To deny little kids the delight of all those sparkles was just too mean.
Frankly, I think national recognition is due to the person or persons who invented glitter glue. A statue? A Monday holiday? A stamp? That invention took away my resentment of glitter. Once glitter glue came into the Costco stores, and parents could buy it for us by the bushel, I never minded glitter because it was suspended in glue and did not scatter to the four walls. No more was there a path of green (or any other color) glitter across the floor from November until June.
But this morning, in my home, I was saddened to sweep away the last of Cinderella’s silver glitter that remained on my floor from her Halloween visit. Oh my goodness, my little niece, E, made the most adorable Asian Cinderella ever. Her “gown” was encrusted with silver sparkles, the“g-stuff,” that scattered all over my floor and rugs as she pranced about in her billowing hooped skirt, stiff lace, and fake velvet sleeves. Her tiara was a bit askew, but her spirit was just right out there.
Kids give you that emotional lift just when you need it the most. E had more compassion than she did English when she noticed my tears in church one Sunday, and said, “No, Aunt Debby cry.” I don’t cry so much anymore, but when I swept the last of the princess’ silver sparkles I teared up from thanksgiving that I am in this safe place with all these people who love me enough to bring silver glitter into my home, and leave trails of sparkles across my heart.