We were about one third of the way
through the school year. Sixty days so far with A. Only 120 more to go! No, A
had certainly not been the “easiest” student I had ever had. She was loud and
brash and entered the room every morning with all the grace of a blonde, gawky
hippopotamus.
“Good
morning, Giffin,” she would shout across the room.
With
that greeting I knew that today would be a good one. At least, we were off to a
good start. If there were no greeting, no eye contact her PCA and I would brace
ourselves for the inevitable onslaught of “No’s.” A wasn’t proficient in any of
the twenty odd standards for language Arts and Math. But when she was in the
“mood”, she was advanced in “No’s”.
“Good
morning A. Would you please give me your book” I would ask ever so gingerly, able
to predict what would come next.
“No.”
A would shake her head slightly and look at me with all the patience of an
exasperated teenager. Ms. S would try, “A grab your bag and it is time to head
upstairs.”
Once
again, look, head shake, gosh-you’re-so-dumb smile and, “No!”
And
so our days would go. Some days were good, some days were dreadful, and most
were in-between. A, Ms. S, and I had settled into a routine – sometimes
comfortable but more often than not, not. It was late December. The air had
grown cold. The leaves had fallen and the trees were now bare. What precious little
time there was of daylight was often gray. The scenery outside belied the chaos
going on inside the school. Students and teachers were eagerly awaiting the
winter vacation. Nerves were stretched to just about the breaking point.
Snippets of conversation floated around the building giving hope to those who
were barely hanging on.
“Only
three more days.”
“I
am going to sleep until noon.”
“Yeah!
No homework for a whole week!”
Yes,
we were all a bit frazzled and tense, but we were hanging on. Today was the day
of the winter concert assembly. Grade level by grade level we were called down
to the gym. The students were excited at the change in routine, excited to be
seeing siblings playing an instrument or singing in the chorus, excited to be
out of the classroom. In short, they were EXCITED!! I however was thinking of
the 25 narratives that still needed to be scored, the holiday cards that needed
to be written, the gifts to be wrapped, and a hundred other items to be crossed
off a list.
We
filed into the gym and quickly took our places. We sat in front of the older
grades so we could see, and behind the younger grades so they could see. Never
mind that half the children were of extremely different heights and the other
half would sit on their knees. As usual, I sat on a bench and positioned A on
the floor right next to me.
“Yes
A, I see your sister” I whispered as the older students began to file in.
“No
A you can’t go see your sister now.”
“A,
please sit on your bottom like the other students.”
Would this assembly never end? A
was wound as tightly as a clock and we had two and a half more days to go. I
just knew that I would never make it. First came the strings. Screech, scritch,
scratch. Clap, clap. What a lovely rendition of Silent Night. Excuse me? Oh, it
was Frosty the Snowman. So far so good with A but one could never tell. She
tried over and over again to get her sister’s attention, waving frantically. A
few more reminders, “, please sit down, the people behind you cannot see. Watch
your hands, you hit So-and-So.”
Next
was the orchestra. Could A make it to the end? Could I?
Finally,
it was time for the chorus. A’s sister was in the chorus so I prepared for more
waving, loud calling of her name, even standing up. A did not disappoint me and
managed to stand up, call her sister’s name, and wave all in one motion.
“A
you need to sit down so everyone can see and hear your sister sing.”
I
don’t recall the first two or three songs. A though greeted each song with
enthusiastic applause. The end of the concert had arrived. One more song,
dismissal, and then quiet. The final song was immediately recognizable to all
in the audience. Jingle Bells! A was no longer able to contain herself. But
this time her outburst, instead of being negative, was pure joy. Her eight year
old face lit up with the joy of a toddler seeing Christmas lights for the first
time, or a young child hearing the familiar tinkle of the ice cream truck on
the first warm spring evening. A was excited, smiling, unable to stay in her
own skin.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel so stressed and tired.
I found myself smiling at A. Such pure and innocent joy. It was at that moment
that A gave me the first of many gifts. I was able to see, through her eyes,
the eyes of a child, joy and hope. Joy and hope at the sight of a loved one,
joy and hope at the familiar, much-loved song, joy and hope at life’s little pleasures.
A. taught me much that year. The thing I remember most is her face when she
heard “Jingle Bells.”