Cinderelley Cinderelley

Miguel Angel leans over my armrest and whispers, a bit too loud, into my ear, "Was the magic real? Did the fairy godmother really turn the pumpkin into a carriage?" In the darkness of the theater I smile back at his question and nod my head vigorously answering him, "Of course! She's the fairy godmother, she knows all the secrets of magic. Only she knows how to make a pumpkin into a carriage, look!" And in the darkness his small glasses glinted back at me in shock and delight, "Really??" he contested. I just nod and said, "Yes, Miguel Angel. Magic is real." And he sat back into his seat, in awe of the English play Cinderella we had traveled into the city to see. The rest of the play a little hand tapped my shoulder, asking me, "What's happening now?" as the play was in English and it was meant to be a bilingual field trip for the elementary school children, to practice their listening and apply all that they had learned the month before of the play. And while the majority left joking, "Has entendido algo? No?! jaja, yo tampoco!" (Did you get anything? No? Haha! Me neither!) the innocence with which they approached the play was refreshing. Cinderella was greeted with their cries of "Guapa!" (Gorgeous!) and their steadfast belief in the Fairy Godmother's power reminded me that what's real needn't always be verifiable. They shouted "YES!" to every question the actors posed to the audience (as the play was interactive, meant to help them learn English) even if the question was "What is the name of the girl who lost her shoe?" (Cinderella). They were more interested in making noise and playing than in being right.

It was my first day back after being sick for the past 3 days and I honestly had wanted to stay in bed and not go, but I knew that we had prepared for weeks prior in the hopes that the kids might understand something when they went to see the play, so I had to go. And as I felt like mierda climbing the mini montana to my school I thought, maybe the buses broke down, maybe I'll get to go home...you know, doing the escapism thinking that seems to start up the minute we have to do something we'd rather not. But like a splash of cold water to the face in the morning, children have a way of waking you up to life. I board the bus at the end of the crowd and I'm greeted by shouts of "Seno!!! Where were you?? Sit here sit here, we saved you a seat!" And cramped stomache and all, I'm glowing and rising up out of the bus. Was it really just the other day I was lying in bed thinking no one cared....And so while the day was an odd mix of travel hassles, counting heads and losing backpacks, kids puking on the bus and secret deals of candy trading going on between bus seats, I can't tell you how big my smile was when my kids started singing along to the play, IN ENGLISH...those dumb songs that I felt so silly singing for them and then begging them to sing along....now they were screaming and singing along..."You can try, you can try, you can try" and I felt a guilty secret pride that my kids were singing along and no other class nor other school was able to do so.

The smiles, the hugs, the greetings and the unconditional love my kids show me get me through the day. But sometimes I need more than that to get through the week, and having them sing along in English was just what I needed. The smallest bit of validation that what I'm doing here in Spain might actually have a lasting effect...

I feel bad for not having more faith in them. But not so bad...they put me through the ringer whenever they can. But I'll never doubt their innocence...something I've missed in adults. As much as I want to hurry up their education and help them grow, I don't want to be the one to say, "Magic isn't real" when I saw it happen today...