Thirty-seven
scrubbed first graders smiled up at me. Thirty-seven!
This was my very
first day of teaching many years ago and I looked around for something upon
which to hang my fears. With this many students, it needed to be substantial.
I had been
assigned to this county school filled with children whose parents worked in the
nearby hosiery mills. Most lived in well-kept and not-so-well-kept trailer
parks. Those mothers who had saved enough green stamps for the requisite framed
print of Christ for their living rooms also saved to purchase petunias for the
white-washed tire out front, filled with rich dirt from the natural compost
behind Amos hosiery mill.
This first day
of school was designated as “Get Acquainted Day.” It was a major adjustment for
one beautifully dressed but anxious girl in the second row who kept rising to
look out the window for any sign of her mother on the playground. I had pinned
a name tag on the front of each student and on myself, eager for us to become a
cohesive unit.
While passing
out plain paper, crayons and newly-sharpened pencils to each of the children, I
explained that this would be a happy day, a fun day for us to get to know each
other. I asked how many of the students had crayons at home and how many liked
to use them. Every hand shot up.
Except one.
I was struck by
how neat and precise David appeared to be but how rigidly he sat at his desk
with his fists tautly closed as if at any given moment a crisis of Biblical
proportions might occur and he didn’t want to be caught unprepared. I made a
mental note to give him some classroom responsibilities as soon as possible.
“Children, I
would like you to draw a picture of someone in your life whom you love very
much. Think about it for a little while before you start drawing. It might be
one of your parents, a sister or brother, a grandparent or neighbor, someone who
is special to you. When you finish drawing and coloring your picture, you may
raise your hand, tell us your name, and then describe your special person to the
class.”
Immediately, the
students began pursing their lips and squeezing their eyes tightly shut as if in
deep concentration. Then, as if on cue, they began to draw on their papers.
Finished, they
stood one after another beside their desks, held high their crayoned drawings
and briefly related why the person they chose was important to them. It was a
typical response, with Mothers and Fathers more often selected than anyone else.
Only one person
remained who still had not raised his hand: David. I asked him if he were ready
to share his story and he shook his head. Still talking, I eased my way over to
his desk and found that his paper was blank.
David motioned
for me to bend down so he could whisper in my ear, “I wanted to draw my father
but I don’t know how. I can’t draw his clothes.”
Everyone in the
classroom strained to hear David’s explanation. The room was eerily and
uncomfortably quiet.
I started to
help David draw a simple stick figure to get him started when he pulled me
closer to him and whispered hoarsely in my ear, “He’s in prison. I can’t draw
stripes.”
Stunned, I
didn’t know whether to proceed to the next project or to deal with this now.
Most importantly, I didn't want David to experience any shame or rejection by
the rest of the students.
Again, David
whispered in my ear, “But Daddy prayed and God has forgiven him.” His relief at
finally spilling all this out was palpable.
With that, David
quickly grabbed his crayon and drew a stick man. “How do you spell ‘Forgive,’
he whispered. “I want to draw it on his shirt.”
“Just make a
large ‘F” like this,” I replied, my tears edging slowly down my cheeks and onto
David's desk.
Completing his
picture, David stood to proudly display it. “This is my dad. He’s different from
yours. He’s in prison but God's forgiven him and I love him more than anyone in
the whole world,” David said.
He smiled
broadly as each student stared at the picture and then at David.
Little David had
faced his giant and Little David had won.
Mariane Holbrook is a retired teacher, an author of
two books,
a musician and artist. She lives with her husband
on coastal
North Carolina. She maintains a personal website
www.marianholbrook.com and welcomes
your
Emails at Mariane777@bellsouth.net
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