I was visiting a school in northern India
When I heard it.
For the first time in ages.
It was barely audible over the shouting of children
-the squeals and laughter bubbling up from the schoolyard through the classroom window.
But it was there:
the swish of silk Saris
and the jingle jangle of bangles on thin wrists like wind chimes.
This is what learning sounds like. I remember.
I remember when I was 5 years old, the principal of our Junior School was Mrs. Ribeiro
She was an Indian woman the size of a nightlight
and she glided like a sailboat through the hallways of our school.
Once, when I got close enough to grab a fistful of her draping silk sari,
I lifted it to try and see if she had any feet at all.
I thought she floated.
We begged to be sent to her office: the hanging plants like a jungle above our heads, her quiet laughter.
Adults needed an appointment, but we did not.
And even when she was in a "grown-up" meeting,
all it took was a gentle knock on the door, a peek around the corner, and she was off calling "Sorry, dear.
We'll have to reschedule. I have to meet with someone else about a very important matter.
It's about a gold star. It's about a new diorama.
It's about a finished reading book one level higher than last time."
She knew every student by name.
Visited every classroom.
Spoke to us like we were scholars.
Artists.
Scientists.
Athletes. Musicians. And we were.
My world was the size of a crayon box,
and it took every color to draw her.
Once, on a New York City sidewalk, a group of women in brightly colored saris walked by,
and someone shouted "Look ma. Look at all those principals!"
My world was the size of a classroom.
It was as tall as I could stretch my fingers, calling, "Please, pick me to be the one to read to Mrs Ribeiro,
pick me to be the one to show her what I know"
"cee-el-o" *muttered spelling*
"Cloths"
"Shirts. Pants."
"Socks"
"Shows"
"An-imals"
"Cat. Dog"
"Bird" *laughs*
"Fish *laughs* Look how much I know"
She brought us guests,
artists,
a petting zoo.
They unpacked the cages in the parking lot while we were still tucked up in our classrooms,
unaware.
The bunnies and the guinea pigs poked out their noses, but Mrs Ribeiro
came to pause in front of the llama cage
She and the llama
considered each other for a long time.
Before she asked whether he was tame enough to be brought inside.
The trainer's laughed and told her "Yeah, he's plenty tame, but he doesn't want to walk upstairs"
So she led him to the elevator
And when the door slid open on the second floor, there stood Mrs Ribeiro
in a bright pink sari with gold bangles and a llama on a leash.
She floated from classroom to classroom, and we stared, cheered, laughed, and shouted.
We tugged at her sari calling
"M-miss, W-what is that? Where did it come from?"
She made us wonder. She made us question.
She made us proud of what we had learned. "Clothes. Shirts. Pants. Socks. Shoes.
Saris."
"Animals. Cat. Dog. Bird. Fish. Llama.
Look how much I learned"
She taught us to share. She taught us to listen to each other when someone else is speaking. And then,
She let us go.
We were dandelion seeds released to the wind, She asked for no return.
We are saplings now. With gentle hands.
The girl with bright pink cheeks and messy hairpins
now works at an orphanage in Cameroon.
The boy with the color-ordered markers is now a graphic designer in Chicago
The one with the best diorama, now an animal activist in Argentina.
The one who loved to read out, now a poet in California
She let us fly.
And so I find myself at the front of a classroom. My students tug at my sleeves and ask me,
"M-miss. Are all poets this
weird?"
I pray for patience. I pray for wisdom.
To find a way to tame all the peculiar animals of this world,
to coax them enough to brave the elevator to watch the door slide open
to my students' gaping mouths. All their wild wonder.
They worry
about everything.
They worry about their grades. They worry about what to write.
They worry about who likes whom. They talk over each other until I cannot hear them. I tell them "Listen!"
Listen
to each other
like you know you are scholars.
Artists.
Scientists.
Athletes. Musicians. Like you know you will be the ones to shape this world.
Show me how many colors you know how to draw with.
Show me how proud you are of what you have learned.
And I promise I will do the same.
*clapping*