In the beginning all is quiet. Gently I press on the wrapping and feel my
fingertips break through the thin cellophane protector. It comes off effortlessly revealing an empty
canvas of pure white, untouched, unspoiled, a balance of unaltered perfection,
a birth. I touch the course woven fabric of new possibilities. Unknown potential now exposed, a blank slate,
only limited by the imagination of its creator, me. I am an artist.
Dear Moni,
This morning I wore my favorite shirt, a red
sweater with Mini Mouse on it. It is an important day, my first day of school. Grandma June took my picture on the patio
before school. She was so proud of me. My teacher is Mr. Manning. I like him he
makes me laugh. I am excited!”
And thus the journey begins. Embrace the apprehension of those first few
strokes. Sometimes unsure, paths always
changing, the possibilities are beyond imaging. What will you create? I am beginning.
Dear Moni,
I am in first grade and I like school. I am doing well the teachers tell my mother
that I am at the top of my class and I am smart. I have many friends. My favorite subject is art.
My learning curve soars as I find a
guide and mentor. Skills form quickly with
the advantage of an experienced tutor.
No longer stumbling through motions alone, I am guided through practical
knowledge. I begin to paint with
deliberate strokes, following where I am led and learning to actively create
what is set before me. I am a student.
Dear Moni,
It is the end of first grade, we moved to a
new school. I was late and everyone
looked at me I tried to explain that we just moved and my parents hadn’t found
their alarm clock yet. I do not
understand why this teacher dislikes me so much. She stood at the front of the class and
called me stupid before she tore up my assignment and threw it in the
trash. She is having another girl in
class help me. I know the girl does not
like me and does not want to help me because when I ask her a question she
rolls her eyes and will not answer. I
tried to do my math but I do not know how.
So the other girl does it for me.
When I go home my mom praises me and tells me that she did not know I
could write so neatly. “I did not write that.” Is my response.
“But it has your name on it.” my mom looks
at me confused. The teacher had not liked
my work, so she threw it away and assigned another girl to redo it for me. At break other kids call me stupid. I cry every morning before school. I feel sick and try to stay home. I used to be smart. What changed to make me stupid? Was I always dumb? I miss my friends and my old teacher. I miss belonging.
Distressed, I look at the paint
splattered across my marred canvas, my pallet of colors muddied together. My once
pure background of limitless potential now blurred with dark pigments. Clearly this is not the way I meant for my
work of art to go. This is not the way
to create my masterpiece. I am wounded.
Dear Moni,
I just started third grade. Today I started to cry in class. My teacher, Mrs. Micklson, pulled me into the
hallway. She seemed upset with me she asked why I was crying. I did not want to tell her. I was scared.
I thought she was going to yell at me.
“Why are you crying?” she demanded, I knew not
giving her an answer was not an option.
I hung my head and admitted.
“Some of the other girls in class were being
mean to Kim,’’ my best friend. “They
were calling her names. And it made me
feel sad.” Mrs. Micklson looked at me
surprise written all over her face. “You
were crying because they were mean to your friend?” I nodded ashamed of my own weakness.
The teacher knelt down by me and gave me a
big hug. Tears ran down her cheeks as she
looked me straight in my eyes, “Kim is one of the luckiest girls in the world
to have a friend like you. I thought
they were picking on you and that’s why you were crying.” She shook her head. “Julie,
I would have given anything to have a friend like you when I was in school.” I learned something today, someone is lucky
to have me as a friend.
Content, I smile at the spirited
strokes of paint that dance across my canvas.
Unexpectedly, I find a vivid light in the darkness. My masterpiece evolves and changes with every
stroke. I am alive.
Dear Moni,
I am in fourth grade and I did not go to
school at all this year. Instead I did
homeschool with my mom. When I started
school this year I was two years behind in math. Two big things happened this year. I started liking math and I jumped two grades
in one year! I am caught up! I fill out
a sheet in the evening recording what I have done. If I did my homework I get to put a sticker
in that spot. I am setting a goal to fill
up every spot on my homework sheets and do all of my work. I even wake up on my own early in the morning
and start getting my homework done. I
like getting it done early because then I can do what I want for the rest of
the day.
My favorite part of doing homeschool is
waking up on cold snowy winter mornings.
I get to lounge in my pajamas and eat pancakes and drink coco by a warm
fire while I start my schoolwork. I look
out the window and see the other kids walking to school. They are bundled up and shivering. The part I loved was that I did not have to
get up and walk uphill through the snow and freezing weather. I got to stay where it is comfy and warm.
The backdrop of my creation takes
form. Bold and vibrant colors contrast with
muted somber hues. The past briefly stays on the forefront of the painting, momentarily
lingering before blending into a backdrop of positive and negative actions. Knowledge learned through experiences. Perspective,
through the eyes of an artist, translated for all those who view and take the
time to speculate, and wonder. I am
evolving.
Dear Moni,
I am growing up so fast. Or so I am always being told. I am now in the sixth grade. I decided to run for student body president
of the private school I am attending, Benjamin Franklin Academy. I spent hours writing a speech and making
posters. Now it is time for a drum roll…
that’s right, I won! I am excited I am
starting to feel like I can accomplish anything I set my mind too. I have a lot of plans and I am excited to
work with the other students to make this year the best year the school has
ever seen.
Scenic layers come into existence
over a completed background. My brush highlights focal points and understates
the peripheral. My strokes sharpen my
painting into focus. I am a leader.
Dear Moni,
Last week my family and I had an amazing
experience. We were able to be able to travel with my school to Israel. How is
that for a field trip? Pretty cool, huh? We had a wonderful tour guide. He showed us many places, led us through many
experiences, and taught us about different peoples. The most important influence this tour had on
me was learning about different cultures.
I ate bread and played with the children at an Arab camp. I prayed and wept with the Jews at the
Wailing Wall. I spoke to an Israeli soldier who looked sad and made him
smile. I felt alive as I swam in the
Dead Sea and inspired as I watched the sunset over the Sea of Galilee. I learned from seeing and understood from
experience.
I relocate to new landscapes and
environments. Adding new techniques to
my repertoire, I expand my horizons. No
longer confined by original expectations, I find inspiration within the universe
around me. I am an adventurer.
Dear Moni,
Today was my first day in high school it has
been so long since I have attended a public school. I am very nervous. Or I was nervous at first. I was worried. What will my peers think of me? Will they like me? Will they make fun of me? I looked around the crowded halls unsure,
until I noticed something. Could this
be? Insecurity is written on the face of
every other student. No one noticed me
in my new clothes and haircut they were all too concerned about
themselves. Then I knew, those that are
mean and don’t like me are going to be mean and not like me regardless of what
I do. I find freedom, freedom to explore, freedom from fear of criticism,
freedom to help others see. Confidence
adorns my being. I smile, make eye
contact and I say, “Hi!”
Skills set into motion, I stray
from the beaten path. No longer
constrained by imaginary bounds holding me into conformity, I begin the journey,
forging my own path. My color palate
reflects my desires. My brush strokes
adorn my being, setting into motion what I want to portray. My aura reflects what I want others to see. Although my direction may not always be clear,
my skills may not always be perfect, but the creation is always mine. I am myself.
Dear Moni,
Today I sang a solo, Laudate Dominum, to an auditorium full of
people. I felt invigorated hearing my
voice echo through the room. I could
feel the passion swell and fill every part of my being sweeping out, engulfing
the audience. Projecting to others and touching their souls. There is no greater feeling than being able to
put yourself out there and have it be accepted and understood. I love to sing. I love to be heard. I love music and I know this
is definitely something I want to pursue in some form throughout my life.
Now I begin to paint with more
direction. No longer aimlessly wandering
through a sea of colors and techniques, I have purpose, direction, and a goal. I am developing specific styles to manifest
my desires. I am ambition.
Dear Moni,
I am in college. I am majoring in music therapy. I want to help people through music. I have been taking personal piano classes
from my music therapy instructor, Dr. York.
It is very difficult. I have to
be able to accompany the melody line and play it by ear with no sheet music. I
do not feel I am very good at it. Dr.
York gets pretty frustrated with me sometimes.
I often leave our lessons crying and feeling like a failure. The other day we had a particularly intense
session her aggravation was clear and escalating. I turned to her and in exasperation
exclaimed, “I am here to teach you, patience!”
Dr. York stared at me blankly for a moment before bursting into
laughter. Throwing her hands in the air
in a gesture of praise she prayed,
“Oh thank you Lord for sending her to
me!” We both erupted into a much needed
relief of laughter. “I was wondering why
you were here!” Her eyes danced with her
teasing voice. I tried harder and
focused more. I practiced with more diligence.
In turn Dr. York was more patient and acknowledged my efforts. Sometimes she would stop and take a big
breath in and muttering with a chuckle, “Ok, I am learning to be patient.”
Practice. Practice. Practice. It is not enough to learn the skills
once then move on. Practice. I make
mistakes. Practice. I learn to correct those mistakes. Practice. I hone my
skills to further perfect the plan I wish to set into motion. To create my
ideal world I must gain the ability to use my knowledge effectively and
competently. I am accomplished.
Dear Moni,
I am so proud of my son Jackson. He is doing so well. He eats up knowledge. He
is preschool age. We have been having our own “school” together in the
mornings. For science he has a plant and
three fish he has been taking care of.
He named his fish Nemo, Nemo, and Nemo.
Every day we read together. We
practice letters and numbers. Jackson
can write his name. Yesterday I found
him sitting in his sister’s crib. He had
a book and was reading her a story. They
both smiled happily at me when they saw me peek around the corner.
Greater understanding finds its way
through my hands into the picture in front of me. Depth and importance that I had not before
understood now comes to me effortlessly.
A longing to share the best I have with those I love. I am a mother.
Dear Moni,
I have been working at Autoliv for about two
years. It has been increasingly
difficult for me. The doctors have been performing tests and last week I was
diagnosed with a very rare autoimmune disease called dermatomyositis. The simplest explanation is my immune system
is attacking my muscles. Without proper
treatment I will die. Chances are it
will never go away Doctor Walker has started me on heavy drugs including
steroids and chemotherapy. We are hoping
it will go into remission. This is life
changing; this is something I am going to have to learn to live with. I know I cannot continue at my current job
because of my illness. I need a job that
I can do as a single mother of two children.
I need a career I can perform with the limitations of this disease. What can I do? What am I good at?
Unexpected trials come. Wet paint has been smeared. The once crisp clear lines so carefully
thought out now twisting into deformed smudges. This is not the time to sit and
feel sorry for my circumstances. It is
time to find a way to turn this challenge into an opportunity. What is another way? I can use this to lead me into a better more
fulfilling creation. I am searching.
Dear Moni,
I have been spending a lot of time with my son’s
first grade class this year. One of the highlights for me was accompanying his
class on a field trip to the children’s museum in Ogden. I was assigned a group of five rambunctious
boys. They all wanted to go different
directions; keeping track of them was a challenge. They were so full of life, and energy, and
excitement. I loved seeing their eyes
light up with wonder as I told them about different places and peoples. It was contagious- I found myself bubbling
over with excitement too. It was wonderful. I looked at those boys and thought to myself,
“If I could be surrounded by seven year olds for the rest of my life I would be
a very happy and lucky person.”
Through new-found clarity I easily
see the path ahead of me. I can now
craft my masterpiece with sure hands. I have rejoiced over my successes and
learned to rise from my failures. I have celebrated good choices and mourned
over mistakes. I find the joy in my work.
I am passionate.
Dear Moni,
What do I want to be when I grow up? If I
had a dime for every time I was asked that question when I was a child I would
be rich. What did I want to be? This deceptively simple question has had
countless answers. I want to be a
singer. I want to be an
archeologist. I want to be an interior
designer. I want to train animals. I
want to be an astronomer. I want to be a
mother. I want to be a secretary. I want to be a waitress. The list was ever changing with my current
interests, moods, and environments. I am thirty-one years old and today I know the
answer. After all, knowing is the majority of the battle.
In the beginning all is quiet. Gently I turn the door knob and a low creak echoes
through the air as the door swings open.
Sunlight streams behind me into the room revealing an empty space,
untouched, unspoiled, a balance of unaltered perfection, a birth. I step into
the classroom, empty save for desks, walls, and chairs, full of new
possibilities. Unknown potential now
exposed, a blank slate, only limited by the imagination of its creator,
me. I am a teacher.
