Handwork Teacher Kate Camilletti was asked to write a poem to share at our School Warming on Thursday, September 1. Kate wrote this for her daughter Maizie, OVWS Class of 2013. Kate's son is currently in the 8th grade.
She was four years old
And our first
The other place just wasn't
working anymore.
This teacher seemed grounded.
The morning rhythm flowed, bubbled,
stuttered, streamed along contentedly,
though not without tears.
Thirty below zero
We bundled her off to nursery school
Hot cocoa in the sippy cup, mittens up to
her elbows.
The nursery, first grade and fourth grade
Honeycombed in the old cape
till summer.
A little reluctant, reserved maybe,
unsure maybe.
Her jeans though, always so short
all of a sudden.
A one friend girl.
She got tall,
Got braces, too young.
Grabbed on to reading
summer after third grade
Never stopped.
Never loved school.
Hated having her mother around
in handwork, at recess
Needed something.
Her teachers felt it
Observed, supported, nudged her
forward.
An imperceptible push on the unsure
toward a tentative confidence.
Steady, gentle, subtle
Unwavering guidance through
effort, friends and fights
mud, ice, filthy clothes
lost socks, cracked mudboots.
She grew so tall
Dressed in white and sang with her class.
She cried at the podium.
I cried
caught on the song with June's roses
and it is an honor.
The immeasurable gift of parenting
teaching
encountering the being of a child
through time.
Gravity
The wonder of her becoming.
We nurture, guide
hold, lead
share, play
Soon they will hoist
an arch of goldenrod.
We will enfold our children in a
shoulder-to-shoulder embrace
of Joy
As breath catches on gratitude,
unable to sing with September's roses.
