School Pictures

“Mr. Barton, is it okay for me to give you your Christmas present now,” asked Brisya.

“Why you thinking about Christmas when it’s not even Halloween yet?” asked an observant student beside her.

“Sure,” I answered. “But why give it to me now? Are  you going to visit your family at Christmas time?” I asked.

I thought her family might be traveling to Guatemala to visit relatives at that time, since they are an immigrant family from that Central American country..

“No,” she answered, “We just won’t be in school then, and I just want to make sure you get your present.”

Wow.

She came into the classroom and carefully picked out an object wrapped in newspaper from her backpack.

She gently laid it on my desk.

“May I open it now?” I asked, “Or would you rather me wait until Christmas morning?”

“Oh, you can open it now. You’re welcome to open it. I know it would be hard to wait until Christmas.”

I slowly unwrapped the gift.

There in my hand was a wonderful snow globe. Santa Claus was on the inside surrounded by swirling snow. The word ‘HOPE’ in plastic holly was on the outside.

It is the earliest I have ever received a Christmas present.

The gift itself is a symbol of hope - a snow globe on a 90 + degree South Carolina day.

How deep a hope is that?

The child herself is a symbol of hope, too - a family fleeing violence in Guatemala for the safety of Greenville, South Carolina.

How deep a hope is that?

I call these kinds of moments ‘small spaces.’

They seem small...the giving of a dime store snow globe.

But they are big...the sharing of hope.

They are spaces...places where kindness and understanding are created and shared.

These small spaces are the places that can change the world.

Small Brisya surely changed me today.

Here is a Fibonacci poem I wrote about the small spaces in life.

Look for the small spaces in each moment.

Create them each day.

They
stood
closely,
side by side.
She reached out for him
and took his hand inside of hers.

Their fingers intertwined and their palms made a small space.

The space was warm in the midst of the deep snow that covered the frozen ground of Point Hope,

was warm against the icy wind that blew off the rocking water of the Chukchi Sea.

“Life is in those small places between us,” said the wind.

They stood quietly hand in hand,
holding the small space
between them
holding
warm
hands.

- Trevor Scott Barton, poems for a brown eyed girl, 2019