Nancy's First Communion

Nancy’s First Communion Standing amidst the Hispanic families assembled at St. Michaels that Sunday afternoon, I was surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar faces. I strained to comprehend enough of the Spanish to understand what was going on in the service. Now I know what it feels like to be in the minority. It is scary. It is unsettling. *** My district launched CARE Cadre this past year. The acronym stands for Collaborative Action Research for Equity. One of our homework assignments was to have an experience being in a situation where we would be in the racial minority. I focused on two Latino girls, Annaliz and Nancy, during the year. Since I was trying to learn more about their culture, it made sense to attend an event for one of these students. I invited myself to Nancy’s first communion. Thinking I should be transparent about why I was asking to attend this important family event, I told Nancy that I had a homework assignment to be in a situation where I would be the only white person. “Does that sound weird to you?” I asked her. “Yes,” she replied, grinning up at me. Nancy is bi-lingual and fluent in oral English, but is far below grade level in all subjects and struggles with a limited English vocabulary. At the beginning of the year, we were studying Colorado symbols when she asked me what the word “trout” meant. That was my first clue that she was constantly encountering words she didn’t know. Nancy was always sweet and tried hard, but was extremely shy. All year long I encouraged her to raise her hand, to participate and ask questions. *** When I arrived at the church, I had a gift for Nancy, but wasn’t sure if I should take it in. I walked into the church, holding a hot pink gift bag, and did not notice anyone else carrying gifts. My heart started thumping and I prickled with self-consciousness. I saw Nancy standing with her communion class, getting ready to file into the sanctuary. She was a perfect little princess, in her fancy white dress. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in sculpted curls with a diamond tiara holding a sheer veil. She was wearing some makeup on her face, which made her sparkle. She is a gorgeous little girl and I felt such affection for her as I greeted her. I impulsively kissed her on the cheek. She seemed a little surprised by that, and I nervously turned and walked into the sanctuary to find a seat. My cheeks felt hot. I was blushing. I didn’t see Nancy’s parents until after I sat down. They were several rows ahead. Nancy’s dad, Jose, turned, noticed me and waved. He tapped his wife on the shoulder and pointed me out and she turned, smiled and waved. Their greeting made me feel welcome. I tried to relax. The service started and we rose to sing with the choir at the front. The words were all in Spanish. Some people had programs with words to the songs, but I didn’t have one, so I just stood and tried to wear a pleasant expression. The nice lady next to me was very enthusiastic in her singing and very off key. Every once in a while, I caught myself taking sneaky glances around the chapel, to see if there were any other people who “looked” Caucasian and to see if anyone was looking at me strangely. I was the only white person, and no one was paying any attention to me. The most uncomfortable part of the service was the first time people kneeled to pray on the little benches in front of them. I had been to masses before, but not being Catholic myself, I felt like it would be kind of weird for me to do this. I do wish I had thought to slide forward a little in my seat, though. The man behind me, whose face I hadn’t seen, was kneeling right behind me and his hands were clasped and resting on my spine. It was a light touch, but I found it made me feel incredibly anxious. Then he started to pray in a soft, moaning, whispering voice—“Señor,Sseñor,” and it felt like he was talking right into my ear. I began to say my own prayer in my head, “Please, God, let this moment end soon.” Finally, it did. He sat back, his hands lifted off my back and I was so relieved. When kneeling parts came after that, I shifted myself forward in my chair so the man wouldn’t be quite so close. At the end of the service, there was a song that was sung where everyone held hands. My neighbors held their hands out to take mine with no hesitancy. The energy in the air during that song was so loving and vibrant, I couldn’t help but hum along and it felt good to be part of the group. After the service ended, I hastily grabbed my gift and ran it out to my car, so I wouldn’t have to hand it to Nancy and feel silly. (I gave it to her the next week at school.) I went back in and said hello to Nancy and her family. Her dad snapped a picture of us and we chatted briefly. Once I had a chance to talk to Nancy and her parents, I felt more at ease. Connecting with them and seeing that they were glad I came made me feel a little less out of place. Perhaps that is what it is like for students like Nancy when they come into a classroom and feel awkward—warmth and kindness from a teacher can make a huge difference in how comfortable and accepted they feel, which makes them far more ready to learn! *** I think that my attendance at Nancy’s First Communion communicated to her and her family that I care about her as a person and not just a student. As I worked with her in the classroom afterwards, my energy around her academic struggles shifted. I got over to her desk to help her more often. I was more patient with her and maintained high expectations without communicating disappointment when she didn’t understand what we were doing. While she is still not at grade level, she made many significant gains. She became more active in her learning. She approached me with questions more often and each time, I celebrated internally, knowing how hard this was for her. After that day, I felt like I knew Nancy a lot better and I think she felt closer to me, too. Seeing her outside of school, doing something very sacred to her and her family, gave me a deeper respect for the importance of family bonds and religious commitment in Hispanic culture. This has subtle, but important payoffs. In working with similar students in the future, I will better understand their perspective and will “get” how frightening and overwhelming it can feel to be a second language learner and/or part of the racial minority in a classroom. I will be more aware of how my unconditional acceptance and respect for these students will help them to get all they can out of each school day. I was a stranger in one student’s world for one afternoon. I will do whatever I can to prevent any child from feeling like a stranger in my world—my classroom. --Kerry Philo