My Days

I teach.

I teach my kids about Art. I tell them that art is something we make. We create. That is something all of us can do, whether we are good at it or not. I tell them that Art means dancing. Singing. Drawing. Painting. Writing. The boys insist that playing cricket is art too, so that's included. I watch their eyes widen at the sight of Starry Night by Van Gogh on my grainy, laptop screen. I ask them what they see. How it makes them feel. One child tells me the picture is quiet. Another, that it makes him feel alone.

I teach them about the power of imagination. Which is called kalpana in Hindi. I tell them to close their eyes and imagine they are at a beach. And that water is lapping at their feet. And the sand is hot under their toes. Than, I ask them if they left the classroom. They open their eyes and say, no. And yes.

We write stories together. I provide the first sentence and I ask them to continue the story as they see fit. Words are shouted at me and we work together on placing them within the context of a full English sentence. The beautiful girl walked down the road. An alien came and stole her away. The prince rescued her.There is always a prince and a princess to my children. Sometimes a happy ending. Sometimes not. But love throughout.

I teach them to embrace individuality. To not copy. To be different. That they don't need to apologize to me when they misspell a word. That it is alright to make mistakes.

They teach.

I learn what it means to discover a child's personality without the benefit of a common language. That emotions can be read in the face. That teaching is HARD. That all my children, save one, love to draw. I learn how to comfort a crying child without speaking a word. I discover that they are hardly, if ever, encouraged to use their minds for something other than memorizing facts to pass an exam. That their teachers at school hit them when they get an answer wrong. That they have never seen the ocean. That they all wish to go to London. I learn how to entertain 50 five-year-olds through the blessed game of Simon Says. I learn how to make a mechanical car from a cell phone box and a battery and a set of cheap wheels. I learn the joy of walking into a classroom and having twelve students stand up and push at each other to be the first to ask "How are you today, Mam'am?"

I learn that telling a child that she is great makes her believe she might be.

I learn that having a child tell me the same makes me believe I might be too.