The First Steps
My most vivid memories of a classroom are not of my childhood.
I can dimly remember sitting in a large classroom on the ground floor of a colonial building, looking out of the window at the grapefruit trees outside and dreaming of the scrumptious macaroons I would buy during break time from the man with the tin -box.
No, my most vivid memories are of another classroom, on another ground floor, filled with knee high little people all demanding immediate attention. I remember the shy smiles, tearful eyes and running noses that filled my heart with warmth and terror at the same time. Some had to be coaxed away from their mothers, carried to their seats, where their wailing would give rise to an ever expanding tidal wave of tears as others around them got sucked into the sea of emotion.
I was literally at sea, armed with a degree in Education that seemed woefully inadequate to help me find my way.
The only friends I had were my chalk and blackboard which I used to draw pictures to get the children's attention and Pratima, the helper assigned to all the teachers on that floor. Each day, my children and I took a few shaky steps forward. Days turned into weeks; Weeks stretched into months and, before I knew it , the year was gone. My children had grown, and so had I. Grown into stronger people. Looking back now, I can see the gifts my first children bestowed on me: the gifts of patience, endurance and optimism. They will always have a special place in my heart.
Today, when I look at those faces, all grown up, I search for a glimpse of the innocent smiles that inspired me to go on.
My most vivid memories of a classroom are not of my childhood.
I can dimly remember sitting in a large classroom on the ground floor of a colonial building, looking out of the window at the grapefruit trees outside and dreaming of the scrumptious macaroons I would buy during break time from the man with the tin -box.
No, my most vivid memories are of another classroom, on another ground floor, filled with knee high little people all demanding immediate attention. I remember the shy smiles, tearful eyes and running noses that filled my heart with warmth and terror at the same time. Some had to be coaxed away from their mothers, carried to their seats, where their wailing would give rise to an ever expanding tidal wave of tears as others around them got sucked into the sea of emotion.
I was literally at sea, armed with a degree in Education that seemed woefully inadequate to help me find my way.
The only friends I had were my chalk and blackboard which I used to draw pictures to get the children's attention and Pratima, the helper assigned to all the teachers on that floor. Each day, my children and I took a few shaky steps forward. Days turned into weeks; Weeks stretched into months and, before I knew it , the year was gone. My children had grown, and so had I. Grown into stronger people. Looking back now, I can see the gifts my first children bestowed on me: the gifts of patience, endurance and optimism. They will always have a special place in my heart.
Today, when I look at those faces, all grown up, I search for a glimpse of the innocent smiles that inspired me to go on.
