Last week, our first full week together, my students and I explored the colors black and white and created gorgeous art using only those colors. It was an intentional instructional move. We will study primary and secondary colors next week. Tertiary colors will follow and on and on. . .until we mix the colors that are us.
When I thought aloud as we explored black and white photography, “I wonder why an artist would choose to use black and white when our world is full of so many colors,” a seven year-old boy said, “When it’s black and white, we know what to focus on. We could get distracted by all the other colors. You don’t know what to look at sometimes when there are a lot of colors.”
The wisdom of tiny humans never ceases to amaze me. Just as his eyes were drawn to the intimacy between Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera and Madiba’s triumphant spirit in black and white photographs, I too have been moved by what I see when I pare down, when I slow down, when I take time.
In these nascent days of the school year, when things are still relatively black and white, I am learning so much about my students — both those I’ve loved and those with whom I’m falling in love. The colors will come with time. Our classroom will become more nuanced and I will probably get lost in the details and lose focus on what is most important time and again. For now, though, I’m thankful that I can see.
As the week wound down, I became anxious to plan equally meaningful experiences for next week, but there was a Saturday commitment looming. I have to renew my National Board Certification this school year and, unlike ten years ago when I lived in bush Alaska, I have access to a cohort of educators with whom I can undertake this challenge. But the first meeting was today. On Saturday. The first Saturday after the first full week of school.
I’m tired. I have a million things to do outside of lesson planning and preparation. I don’t want to travel all the way to Stanford. I don’t want to talk to any humans much less strangers. I don’t want to get dressed.
I was whiny when I woke up this morning, but something — maybe professionalism, or memories of how overwhelming it was to do it all alone the first time, or the pull of the Universe — something compelled me to will myself out of bed and go to that meeting.
The meeting was pretty standard at first. There were introductions. There was a presentation of slides. We read documents and asked questions. But as we wrapped up for the day and the presenter offered us future meeting options, one of the participants said, “I would like to meet every month. I need you guys. My husband, soon to be my ex-husband, asked for a divorce. He was cheating and now I’m a single parent.” Another chimed in, “I need you, too. I was just diagnosed with Parkinson’s.” She had driven two hours to join us today.
My eyes welled up, but I didn’t let the tears fall. . .
Teachers will barrel through any barrier to improve their craft and reach their students. Teachers are some of the most amazing human beings on the planet.
As I walked away from my new friends, I couldn’t help but wonder how anyone living under such harrowing circumstances could find the strength to overcome them and travel such great distances just to be part of a cohort of teachers on a Saturday morning. I thought about this all the way home. And then I remembered what my tiny human friend said,
“When it’s black and white, we know what to focus on.”