Seeing The Light Turn On
January 16th, 2008
I’m not gonna lie. It’s been a tough few days for me at Assissi.
With these children of such wide-ranging ages, it’s difficult to keep them all engaged and active. Roma and Anne, of course, are naturals. They instinctively know what the kids need, and how best to lay some boundaries and transition them onto the next activity. Me? I’m more than a little insecure about my knack for younger children. I’m totally winging it, going from Dr. Seuss to Simon Says to math equations in the span of 15 minutes. “Auntie!” one boy screams, motioning to toss a ball with him. “Auntie!” another screams, holding up a pack of flashcards. And all the while, the little ones crawl and coo all over you.
On the ride back the other day, I confided to Anne that I felt of no use to these children. And she made me see how I am — and how we all are, working together there as a team. If we weren’t there, they’d likely be sitting inside on the tile floor of Assissi these quiet few days of Pongal, probably bored with themselves and not getting much stimulation.
And a few days in, I can see what Anne means. It’s in the way they greet us so happily at the front gate, the way that Lakshmannan is just a tad sharper in his addition and subtraction, and in the way they remember the singalong songs or phrases or games we only just taught them the day before. The teachers here call it “seeing the light go on” in the kids. And they say that’s what’s kept them going in an often thankless profession for all these years. Seeing that light. It’s pretty cool to see, I’d agree.
And I see it the most with little Augustine, who I find myself most drawn to. Just over three years old, he came to the orphange about four months ago, given up by an unwed mother he still sees in church on Sundays. She never acknowledges him, though — which actually may be the best thing for him to move on.
Augustine is an adorable, gentle little boy. But he’s listless, detached and often unresponsive. Sister Rose tries in vein to get him to play with the other children. And there are times I’m speaking directly at him, waving my hand near his face and he barely flinches — staring off in the distance. But I keep trying with him, singing to him, reading to him, showing flashcards with alphabets. Yesterday, I attempted a hand-clapping game with him that I used to play when I was little. In his slow, hesitant way, he’s actually starting catching on, which was a joy to see.
This morning, Augustine gave me the best gift. He actually ran up to me at the gate, in that stiff-legged way that little kids do, not yet knowing how to bend their knees. He nuzzled in close to my leg and I bent down to give him a hug. He actually smiled, and it was so lovely to finally see what that sweet little face looks like with a smile. And then, he stuck out his hands — gesturing to play the hand-clapping game we had done the day before. He remembered!
He stayed lit up for a good part of the morning, and I actually heard his soft, little voice for the first time. He repeating the words written on the flashcards I raised and read to him. And when “ice cream” came up on one of the cards, he pretended to feed me. When “elephant” came up, he made his arm as an imaginary tusk. He even started jabbering away to me in Tamil. Is this the same Augustine I met just three days earlier?!
But then, before lunch, it was as if he shut down again. I have no idea why. He was staring again off into space, and no matter what I sang to him, or how many times I called his name, it was as if he didn’t hear me at all, lost in his thoughts of who knows what.
Little Augustine, sitting outside in the small play area.
David stands by his chalk drawing of a church and the symbols of Pongal — a pot boiling over with rice, and the sweet sugarcane the kids love to chew on at this season (it’s like eating Peeps on Easter). Isaac stand on the right.
