Geraldine was one of those students. Small in stature, she was big in heart and mind. I can still see her pushing her baby sister in a stroller walking with her Mom beside our school in the late afternoon. Her hands were above her head as she pushed, because she was smaller than the stroller! But if you could have seen the grit and determination on her face as she pushed that stroller up the hill, then you would know what kind of person she is.
One day, she was reading a wonderful book called “Ophelia and the Marvelous Boy.”
“Oh, Mr. Barton,” she said with a giggle, “I’m just like Ophelia in the story because she’s a curious kind of kid and I’m a curious kind of kid because I want to know everything about everything!”
Suddenly, though, she became serious.
“But she’s a nervous kind of kid, too, because she’s had a hard life and I’ve kind of had a hard life, too.”
I looked into her earthy brown eyes and thought about the land and waters from which she came, for she came from the farms and fields of Mexico with her family.
For the first time I noticed the faintest of dark circles around her eyes, the slightest of a downward turn at the corners of her mouth, and a hint of sadness that shouldn’t often be on a 10-year-olds face.
“What is your life like, Geraldine?” I asked.
And she told me her story.
“I share a room with my brother and sister and two younger cousins,” she began. “My Mamí works very, very hard.”
As she talked with me about the book and about her life, a tiny tear appeared in the corner of her eye.
I wondered if it came from giggles or from sadness.
I caught the tear in my hand as it rolled off her cheek.
“I’m here to hear,” I said.
“I’m here.”
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