The Comfort of Dragons

TH loves hugs.  They love to be held, cuddled, carried, and cared for in a most gentle way.  His heart is tender, and he feels with a ferocity that is unwavering.  He feels not only for himself, but for others also.  There have been countless times when he has provoked the entire class to a more empathetic response to a story, an event, or a situation.  

OP loves hugs as well and also enjoys the gentleness of her caregivers.  She also loves to care for others.  Many parents have experienced this whenever they arrive on our school grounds. Before they can even enter through our gate, OP has proclaimed their presence to all who are within an earshot, but most specifically, to their child.  She likes to make these connections, to help, to bring joy to another one of her friends at the news of their parent’s arrival.  

One day I came out to the garden after my planning time to find these two engaged in pretend play with one another.  OP was a “Momma Dragon,” while TH carried out the role of the “Baby Dragon.”  “Mommy, I’m tired,” says Baby Dinosaur.  “Ok, Baby, time to go to bed,” replies Mommy Dinosaur.  TH walks gingerly over to a toy storage box at the side of the shed.  He climbs on top and pretends to sleep.  OP soon joins him on the box, and after she sits down, he soon rests his head in her lap.  His face tells me he’s content, while her face tells me she’s enjoying her recurring role of caregiver.  

As I watch their play continue to unfold, I pause the cycling tasks in my head in order to appreciate this moment.  Here is OP, caring for TH in her familiar, gentle way.  And here is TH, resting his head in the comfort that he so adamantly enjoys.  Here are two pieces of our community, finding purpose and comfort in the embrace of one another.  

Community is like that.  We come with all that we have and all that we are, and somewhere in the midst of our messy muddling, we find connection, solace, and peace.  Sometimes this comes easy, and our relationships quickly fuse into the mosaic of a collective.  Sometimes it’s hard, and it seems like we’d sooner find comfort in a complete stranger than we would with those right in front of us.  And sometimes, but only sometimes, we just transform into dragons.

Transgressing Scarcity

“I want to paint!,” says OP, as she echoes what is for her a consistent desire during the transition between rest time and play.  She pulls out a paper tray and a piece of paper, while I offer her watercolors, brushes, and a paint palette.  Sitting down, she begins to meticulously place a multitude of colors and shades on her white piece of paper.  

OS has only recently woken up from their nap and hears the commotion happening at the table across the room.  They pull themselves off their mat and gingerly cross the other mats, scattered over the floor.  “I want to paint too!,” they say, when they arrive at the table.  I acknowledge this, and begin to gather more painting supplies from the shelf.  Turning to hand them the tools they will need to accomplish their wish, I am started by what I see: OS has picked up a paint brush off of the table, and has begun to paint a dark swirl of color on OP’s creation, already in progress.  

Some may remember an earlier story I had written about a similar event entitled, “Dancing Without Borders.”  In it, I described my amazement of the way in which OS and OP had allowed one another to transgress commonly-held notions of boundaries.  That was juxtaposed with the way in which the United States has treated immigrants over the past several years.   And now, here these two are again,  dancing with paint bushes, while challenging others’ ideals of possession.  

While I continue to watch OS and OP return to their dance together, I am again transfixed by their inaudible negotiation of a space, of an event, and of a shared creation. Their arms become tangled in the messiness of their activity, and perhaps their activism, co-mingling colors and ideas.  As they continue to blur one another’s lines and shades, they also continue to transgress societal views of ownership and scarcity, and as they transgress one another’s space, they continue to transgress the current immigration policies of the United States.  Reflecting on this, I remember the words of Ghandi, “There is enough on earth for everyone’s need, but not enough for everyone’s greed.”  

OP’s Mom arrives at the end of the day.  She is met with the same enthusiasm and energy that OP exudes each time her Mom arrives in the afternoon.   After some exchange of hugs and greetings, OP runs to her bag and pulls out the same page she was painting on only hours earlier.  “Mommy, Mommy, look what me and OS made!,” she exclaims as she hands her Mom their work of art.  I smile; generosity has won the day.