A Small bag, a Big Gift

by Angela Sanford

Charlie Brown is famous for many things: unwavering hope, quiet perseverance, and, perhaps most notably, always getting the short end of the stick. No matter how hard he tries or how much heart he brings to the moment, things rarely unfold the way he expects. If there’s a football involved, it’s getting pulled away. If there’s a big moment coming, disappointment often follows close behind.

   Lately, I’ve been feeling a teeny bit like Charlie Brown myself but that feeling shifted with one small, unexpected moment that started my midweek morning on an entirely different note.

Over the years, like many teachers, I’ve been gifted a variety of things by my students—Christmas presents, end-of-year tokens, and even a surprise 40th birthday celebration planned entirely behind my back. Those gestures came with the territory of having my own classroom. But it’s been a long time since I’ve stood in that space, and even longer since a student has handed me a gift simply because they wanted to.

   This year, just as the Grinch was beginning to creep into my bones about schools (we’ll save that story for another day), a teacher messaged me with a question: When will you be back at our school? A student, they explained, had something they wanted to give me.

   As a literacy coach, moments like that usually mean a piece of writing—a short story, a poem, a few carefully chosen paragraphs. It’s always a privilege. Students I see only occasionally trusting me with their words, their ideas, and sometimes their most personal thoughts. Other times, it’s a Christmas card, one of many handed out in a classroom flurry of glitter and markers.

   But what happened Wednesday morning was entirely different.

   There’s a middle school student I often cross paths with who is rarely seen without Snoopy somewhere on their outfit – much to my approval and I often comment on how much I love their choice. The same day, I even made a point of wearing my own favourite Snoopy sweater so I could show it off when we connected, not knowing what was coming. It felt like a small, shared language—something light and joyful in the middle of busy school days.

   I made my usual rounds, popping into classrooms, watching students read, write, and wrestle with ideas. Then I stepped into J.’s class (name omitted). The teacher looked up, smiled, and said, “Hey, J. - Miss Ange is here.”

   J. didn’t hesitate. They jumped up from their station, crossed the room with purpose, and returned to me holding a Snoopy gift bag.

   That alone caught me off guard.

   Inside the bag was a Snoopy book and a set of Snoopy pens—carefully chosen, thoughtfully given. The student stood in front of me wearing Snoopy from head to toe, grinning in that quiet, proud way only middle schoolers can manage when they’ve nailed something just right.

   It wasn’t just a gift. It was recognition. Connection. Proof that being noticed matters, and that small, genuine moments can leave a lasting impression.

   A Snoopy soulmate, indeed.

   And just like that, the Grinch loosened his grip.