Notes from Public School - Day 78

 If you know me well, you know I love teaching my students from Mexico, Central America, South America and other parts of our big, wide world.

I try to be their refuge.

They are filled with beauty, ingenuity, wonder and courage.

If I were an artist, and used my paints, palate, brush and canvas to paint a picture of their faces, the painting would be a masterpiece, not because of my craftsmanship but because of…because of who they are, because of the lives they live, because of the gifts  they are to our world.

I start the day with a poem from the book Somos Como Las Nubes - We Are Like The Clouds - by Jorge Argueta and Alfonso Ruano.

“An eloquent and moving account of the tragic migrations of thousands upon thousands of children who are leaving their homes in Central America, often alone, to seek refuge in the United States,” reads the front jacket in the inside cover of the book.

Today, I read the title poem.

We Are Like Clouds

Elephants, horses, cows, pigs

flowers,

whales,

parakeets.

We are like the clouds.

Pupusas,

tamales,

popcorn balls,

cotton candy.

We are like the clouds.

Cornfields in bloom,

pumpkins and watermelons,

parrots and kites,

and the huge San Salvador volcano.

Somos como las nubes

Elefantes, caballos, vacas, cuches,

flores,

ballenas,

pericos.

Somos como las nubes.

Papusas,

tamales,

alboroto,

dulce de algodón.

Somos como las nubes.

Milpa en flor,

ayotes y sandías,

loros y piscuchas,

y el gran volcán de San Salvador.

“Please, my Spanish speakers,” I said, “Listen carefully to my Spanish and tell me if I am learning to speak it well.”

After I read (with ‘lots of expression, btw, for I read from my corazón), all of the students sat in stunned silence.

Then…and then they applauded!

Not because of my perfect diction, of course.

I am far (very far) from speaking Spanish fluently.

But because I tried to speak in the heart language of some of my students.

And all of my students appreciated that.

“Do you ever see yourself in the clouds?” I asked as the applause faded away and the students resumed looking at the pages of my book.

Then Jhoan, wonderful Jhoan, raised his hand and said, “No, Mr. Barton, I haven’t seen myself in the clouds. But I see myself in you.”

It is the greatest compliment I’ve ever been given.

I’ll remember it for the rest of my days.

 

And it all happened on a Monday before Christmas holidays in public school.