Two years ago, when Daisy and I were first looking for a school for Mia, our main criteria was finding an environment where she wouldn’t be bored. Fortunately, we found a fantastic public school in our city that had a Dual Immersion program where ninety percent of a Kindergartner’s day is taught in Spanish.
Surely, that would keep her eyes open.
There aren’t a lot of schools like this, at least in our district. There was quite the waiting list, and though we collectively wore the armor of optimism, Daisy and I were silently worried that our alternative education wasn’t going to happen.
Fortune prevailed and Mia was accepted. Her school year is over, and now we can reflect.
The school year was so much more than we ever imagined. Mia grew beyond our expectations, and learned a mass of lessons that we could not have taught her.
Daisy and I each wrote letters to Mia’s primary teacher, as well as her principal. In addition, I wrote this little verse for the two of them. I thought I’d share.
Names have been changed to protect the innocent:
Dear Maestras,
I knew we were lucky, though I had no idea, what a year would be like with Señora Mochila. As the curtains draw closed on my first year as a dad, with a child at Lincoln, I’m a little bit sad. My children grow older (it seems faster than me) and one day their changes will get harder to see, but the changes this year I can not even count, because they arrived every day in a countless amount.
We’ve watched our girl grow from inquisitive and ready, to just over six, now skillful and steady. Before, she could not roll the “R” in burrito. Now she orders in Spanish when we’re at El Torito. We’ve lost nine pages from the calendar since her first day in dress. May I have a moment Maestras, so that I may confess?
Daisy and I harbored no second choice. It was Lincoln we desired to give our girl voice. We waited and lingered with anticipation for a letter of acceptance to provide us elation. We received our letter in the post, but the program was filled and a small part of my spirit was a little bit killed. But it doesn’t come close to stinging my pride to tell you straight up, I actually cried.
I called on the phone and asked, “What can I do?” Sra. Reina said, “Be patient Señor; just see it through.” So I listened to her, swallowed my tears, and allowed encouraging words to flood through my ears.
Two weeks passed, then on Good Friday it was, we unfolded another letter and read with a buzz.
We stayed unerring, sound in our choice, and now we could finally begin to rejoice. Not only for Mia, but for our Maxwell as well. We were so happy, we started to yell. A wonderful institution had become in our reach where our children would learn things that we could not teach.
The next four months fell like leaves in the Fall, taking Mia that first day we’ll always recall. Señora was perfect. She had command of the room, like a pregnant mamí has command of her womb. We knew without doubt, as we knit hands with our boy, that our next nine months would be brimming with joy.
And they were, mis maestras, es todo verdad. Nunca en su escuela es una facade. Mia’s learned how to read and then how to write in a new tongue by doing assignments each night. She’s learned how to sing with such beautiful grace, I can easily picture my gone grandmother’s face. She knew how to learn, but now she digests, and she does it all with such flawless finesse.
Lincoln’s a school that’s surpassed expectation by providing a solid, substantial foundation, and that is the bedrock of great education - a group of teachers who offer such deep dedication. Please believe me when I say: this is no aberration. You have earned our family’s sincere admiration. It would be a benefit to the whole of our nation, if such practice were applied to the next generation.
We wanted for our child to be challenged, not bored; a wish which was granted, instead of ignored. Thank you kindly for all that you do. Daisy and I are so grateful for you. From nuestras corazones, quiseramos to say. Gracias por todo hacen every day.
Writer Dad
Related posts:
- Adios! Today, Mia said farewell to school for the summer, and...
- Write on Mia! Note: This is another one of those posts where I...
- Back to School, Back to You Every man’s memory is his private literature. ~Aldous Huxley This...
- Her Face at Odds In six and a half years, I don’t think our...
- Just Pay Attention If you can speak three languages you’re trilingual. If you...
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.
{ 1 trackback }
{ 0 comments… add one now }