Memories Monday

Adam was a sixth grader, the last year I taught art. Large for his age, with a short temper, and in his words "no good at nothing." It was hard not to agree with him, silently, as I watched him attempt project after project and just fail miserably. He'd try for five minutes and like clockwork give up. He wasn't liked by many -- in fact, quite a few were scared of him -- and he spent most of art class pestering the kids around him.

I struggled that last year, to keep after him, to keep encouraging him and trying to get the best out of him. He could be a really sweet kid, and it bothered me that he seemed to have no successes in school. Not even in art class, where I told everybody over and over: "You can do it, you have it in you. It's gonna be awesome. Keep going." Because I really do believe that everyone can create, in their own way, their own form of beauty. It just takes time. Unfortunately for me and Adam, it seemed as if we weren't going to be able to see that together. I'd be moving overseas after school closed for the year.

In late spring we started our kite project, like we always did with sixth graders. Old fashioned cross frame kites, made with dowels and string and butcher paper. They constructed the frames themselves and then colored in a design on the paper. We put the kites together on the gym floor and when everyone was pretty much ready, and had brought string from home, AND we had a good windy Michigan spring day, we'd go outside during art class (and that was like the highlight of sixth grade art :-) and fly kites.

That sunny day finally came. Kids were running all over the playground, trying to get their kites off the ground. I tried to keep an eye on them, make sure I didn't lose anyone.

Adam had colored (scribbled, but thoroughly, so that it was pretty solid coloring) his kite yellow, with a crooked but cheerful smiley face. After a few tries (during which I silently prayed, don't give up) he managed to get his kite off the ground and into the air. It rose, and rose -- higher than anybody else's kite. Other kites fell to the ground as kids stopped to watch Adam. His kite kept soaring higher and higher.

"MISS HEIDA, look at my kite!" He yelped and the look on his face was the most amazing mixture of joy, disbelief, and pride I have ever seen on a child's face, including my own children. I can still see it, can still feel the warm spring sun on my face as we all looked at Adam's kite. Feel the wind, smell the new grass and the cows that had been let back out into the pasture across from the school. But most of all, I can see Adam's face, see him when he finally FINALLY was the best.

Never going to forget that, Adam.