Snowflakes

It is amazing the wonders you can find in a classroom.  I did a small project with my students the other day that consisted of a conversation, white stock paper and scissors.  We were having a discussion on the joys and shortcomings of life while folding paper and cutting holes into it.  When they were told they would be making snowflakes, the comments were questionable.  "I think I did this in second grade"  said one.  Of course, resistance in the form of questions if often found in a room of young teenagers, but I pushed onward. 
Curiosity began to arise when I demonstrated the how-to's of snowflake making:

Suddenly they wanted to know the secrets.  "Deep cuts" I told them.  The more space there is, the more intriguing the snowflake.  And as I guided my students, encouraging their daring and creativity in the unknown, it occurred to me how similar these teenagers are to the simple paper beauties they were unfolding. 
"It's interesting--they are all unique.  And no matter how many you make, there will never be an exact replica."
Ah.  How cheesy my metaphor was.  Looking back on the conversation, I wish I had taken the comparison further.  So that instead of simply leaving them with something they already know--that we are all different--something they knew at the age of nine, I would have left them with the certainty that, just like paper snowflakes, we have our own collection of cuts acquired through our years of living, and while it may at times occur to us that we are broken, or that there is a piece of us missing, we are not only complete as we are, but we are beautiful as well.
Whole while filled with holes.  Interesting.