May 13, 2010 @ 8:32 am
Heading for the Hills
Head Start, Inc., Billings, MT (25)
Day one
We’d arrived in Billings the day before the big event so we had some time to experience the state of Montana in all its glory. Initially concerned with the rush hour traffic, my nerves were quickly put to rest after we encountered a road of only five drivers from us, to as far as the eye could see. I’d never seen anything like the grounds and skies in front of me. For hours you drive protected by more sky than you ever imagined possible, and miles away you see the earth holding tightly to the floating clouds, seemingly whispering, as if to say, “Welcome home, it’s been so long.” The hills appear small at first, but then roll into something larger, something that proves that a greater force created us all. It’s absolute…perfection.
With the time passing quite quickly into the scenery flying by, we’d arrived at the Little Bighorn Battlefield, where over a century ago, the Indians fought in one of their final battles to preserve their way of life. We drove the long path to the field, and with the tombstones meeting us at the entrance, it was clear that sadness still haunted the beautiful remains. Walking along the grass, we viewed the names of the perished on the large memorial, and saw where General Custer himself had fallen to his death. In valuing all living beings, a small area had been reserved to honor the horses who’d helped their masters fight. And then, the markers of those who’d passed on that fateful day were scattered along the hills, and though the air seemed as though it was grieving, the calm of the breeze was pleasant.
History, and how it’s viewed, is such an interesting concept. To one group, an occurrence is considered to be a complete success, with heroic soldiers and important generals fighting for their rights as a nation. To another, however, there’s a group of people who are simply defending their right to own the lands they have made their home, and they will go to any means necessary to protect its history, its people, and to call it their own.
As we were leaving, we saw the words spoken by Black Elk, “Know the power that is peace.” There were no words…only quiet. Finally, all was quiet.
It was time to leave Little Bighorn, and all that entailed. As we drove toward Billings, seeing even fewer cars on the road than before (rush hour…clearly over), we snapped a few shots at Yellowstone River and back to the hotel. With the exception of the sunburn we’d both gotten due to the lack of UV protection in our cheap rental (what is up with my car rentals-not kidding, this really happened), all had been great, the day was done, and for tomorrow…we were super, super ready!
Day two
When I think of my schools, my memories are fond. From first period Reading lessons to English class storytelling, then on to creating atoms out of sugar cookies and dissecting owl pellets, I can’t pinpoint one favorite moment. All were entertaining, informative and left me smarter than before. However, I must say that often times, what I learned in school had very little to do with education. Lessons such as using my time in the best way possible, working with others, and learning about the type of person I wanted to be, was knowledge I simply couldn’t live without. Head Start, Inc., a school for those from a family of somewhat lesser means, teaches young children the
value of all lessons…those that help us complete our mathematical equations, and those that help us in life. I felt so honored to be able to work with these small boys and girls, and was incredibly anxious to hear the shouts, the giggles, and the hilarious observations.
I’d like to think of myself as a pretty artistic person. I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I definitely can create some magic with the soft strokes of a brush, and I sure as heck can bedazzle my way through just about any predicament. So, when approached to decorate baskets for the silent auction for the Head Start Heroes Hunt, I felt pretty confident. In came my backup; several children taking a short break from class, helping with the crafts. Choosing brightly colored papers, circling the tops of lids, and cutting around edges all became routine as we prepared basket after basket. Stacking the baskets on top of one another, I loved seeing the pyramid of success, and watching the children as they carried each creation with pride.
Our next stop was Room 203. If I could give birth to a child, and she (yes, she, I’m definitely having a girl), would pop out in the 2-5 year old range, I simply could be none the happier. Think about how amazing this would be…No wondering what’s making her cry-she can definitely dictate that at two, no potty training, no having to clean out their noses (thank goodness), and certainly no dirty diapers (#1 and #2 would pretty much be nonexistent). I mean, really, this would be fantastic, would it not?
Anyhow, we walked into this classroom, were shown our seats, and quickly realized that “Shapes” would be the topic of our conversation. There was a diagram of course, and the idea was to cut the shape from the top of the page, then glue it to the corresponding shape below. There is something about watching a child work with a craft that absolutely enthralls me. One child, Sienna, immediately caught my eye. Blonde, curly hair pulled into a tight ponytail, reminded me of my yellow locks as a child. Her tiny silhouette at first seemed sad, maybe confused, and as her little hands wrapped around such big scissors, she appeared somewhat unsure as to how she would fit her short fingers around the large handles. She looked up, searched for a smile, and luckily, mine was near. I quickly made my way behind her placing finger over finger, helping to achieve an accurate cut. At first she was skeptical, demanding (politely of course), “Well… (clearly hesitating while determining the best way to present her proposal), You can just do it.” After laughing out loud, (and being quite surprised at the courage she had to present her request), then explaining I was only able to help, she worked on correctly grasping her scissors again, and continued her project. The first successful cut she made caused reason for excitement. My hands collided and I couldn’t help but rejoice in the excitement of this young determination. She glanced at me quickly, grinned a smile full of teeth, and submitted her work for review.
Soon after, we gathered around our tables as lunch was being served. First of all, I have to mention that everything was size-appropriate; the plates, the cups, the bowls…perfect for tiny hands and short fingers. It’s like those little doorknobs you see in bathrooms! I loved it!
Anyhow, I’d helped in pouring the milk into the pitchers, and was reminded of my younger self as I walked around tables, setting spoon beside knife and forks with the napkins. Then, the echo of little feet sounded throughout the halls as the kids grew nearer and nearer, and then, the noises grew silent as the masses had arrived.
Now, I must say, this place was seriously like the stomping ground for a guy like Jamie Oliver (you know, the Food Revolution guy). He would absolutely love this place. Bowls of homemade enchiladas with pureed tomato salsa, slices of fresh, tropical papaya and mango, and crisp yellow corn kernels passed from child to child. Encouraged to taste every dish, the children were sure to enjoy some, and remain skeptical of others. With milk-stained lips, please and thank-yous were aplenty, second helpings were assumed, and I was happy…just being a kid.
Walking through the halls one last time, I bid farewell to the graffitied kites that hung from the ceilings, and strolled through the small garden that would eventually provide the garlic to later be sold to raise funds for the school. Then we saw the quilt sewn of patches created by the children, and the notecards drawn by a young girl, where the people were all floating away, clearly paying homage to her father who passed away last year. This school prepares these kids to enter the world confident they’ll succeed. Over and over, when asked about the plans for the day, they responded in various forms, “Getting ready for kindergarten.” No fears, no hesitations, just ready for their tiny lives to begin. I think of this as I write now, and I fall in love once again with the joy that is childhood; the ability to believe in yourself wholly and unconditionally, and with the help of this school and its people, these children will most definitely receive their head start on education and on life.
