A Sunshine Day

Bright sunshine and azure skies are spilling out. It was the kind of day that makes you want the feel of grass under your bare feet. Although Spring snow storms are inevitable, today was a promise that winter would not last forever. I have always been a sun-worshipper, but I must say I've become less tolerant of heat.

Growing up, my mother was a firm believer that kids should be outside playing and getting fresh air. I don't remember ever using sunscreen or getting burned. I guess we knew when to come in and when to put a hat on. I spent a few years growing up in southern Turkey just a two-hour drive from the Mediterranean. The climate was hot and dry most of the year and going to the beach was a special treat. It was there that I learned seaweed is gross, slimy, and unnerving when you swim into it unexpectedly. I also learned that when you do an underwater somersault, the salt burns the inside of your nose.

We also spent some time with relatives on the island of Malta. Everyone was olive-toned and sat outside with chairs drawn up outside on the sidewalks and streets to chat with neighbors and passersby. You went to the beach after school, after work, and after church. Families strolled hand-in-hand along the boardwalk on Sundays stopping to talk with those they knew. It was on Sunday that men and women had arms and legs covered - out of respect for the day rather than their leathery hides.

Coming back to the States, we were unaware of just how dark we had become until our travels took us to southern Idaho. Now this was back in the early '70s and as foreign a place to me as Turkey was to them. The kids in my 5th grade class were unprepared for someone who claimed to be American yet was born in England, raised (mostly) overseas, spoke a few words of other languages, and knew people of other faiths and cultures.

I did not fit in.

As the school year wore on and winter approached, I began to make friends and felt that people were getting to know me. That was my mistake. I learned later that the reason people were starting to like me was because they realized I was white. I should have picked on the clues - like the questions people asked. "My mom wants to know, do you have someone black in your family?" "Are you Indian?" (I thought they meant from India at first until I considered they didn't know where that was.)

Maybe I had been naive at first, but I eventually saw that there was no one of any color in our elementary school. Winter months had softened my skin tone, and they could see I was not a person of color either. I guess for some, their world went back on its axis and they could breathe safer. I, on the other hand, knew this was not the place for me. I breathed easier when we were told we would be moving again. I did not shed any tears.

I have refrained from mentioning this town, because so many years have gone by and things can change. I did discover that an acquaintance of mine had spent a brief time their during her high school years. She continues to refer to the place as a "vicious den of iniquity."

The whole experience was sobering, yet I hope it has helped me to become a better person and a better teacher. I don't want to sound too preachy, but I try to recall that year whenever I see injustice. I believe that when we are considering the feelings of others and putting ourselves in their shoes, that's when the sun is most bright.