Back to Third Grade

I may be 28 years old but all my life I have been in 3rd grade. Well since I was 7 years old and I first step foot at Sam Rosen Elementary in that old yet brilliant room my dad calls his classroom. While on my journey back into the "art world" I stumbled yet again to that familiar room. The students names are different and the school is n not in North Side anymore but the excitement of students loving to learn is just the same. As I walked down the hall from the office visitors check in I could hear his voice naming the different parts of math. As he feels my presence walk into the room he greats  me with a huge "HOlA Preciosa!" and turns to his attentive students all in white and blue uniforms that seem to fit all of them big and introduces me. "This is my daughter Natalia Margarita and she is an Art Teacher", the words so proudly roll out of his tongue and I stand firmly on the ground and say "hello" to the class. I inform them I will be taking pictures of them but I need them to continue as if I am not there. As if I have to tell them, they care little that I am in the room they are truly into every word Mr.Dominguez has to say and actively participating in the math lesson. Within minutes they learn to say numbers in the hundreds, thousands, millions and just like that I snap away. My attention seems to bring me back to my day's mission "take pictures of education" and I look around to the classroom. Every corner is filled with books, math models, and my father has learn to about vertical space so now there are clear storage boxes building high scrappers of more math and science manipulative's. The walls are covered with posters and alphabet posters made by previous students. He has computers, laptops, guitars and keyboards everywhere. His organize caos doesn't seem to distract the students in fact they don't even seem to notice that they are in the middle. In their eyes all they see is my dad and his smart board and all they hear is math and his jokes.
But he has changed. He looks smaller than I remember and he is going bald and he seems to dress better. He seems softer with them not as harsh with the jokes as he use to be. Don't get me wrong he still calls them out when they don't answer correctly but he is softer and he celebrates them for every right answer.
Everyone loves my dad from the Principle, the Custodian, to the Math Coach every says nothing but how much they appreciate him, how they constantly learn new things from him, his control of the class, his ddiscipline and it just goes on and on.
Today he told me he understood that I do not want to be a bilingual teacher and he knows he can not convince me to change because he realizes how passionate I am of teaching art to our Latino Students and overall to all the students. I gave him a big bear hug.............I didn't cry cause quiet frankly I'm tired of crying.

I always return to his classroom, it's such a familiar place. The energy of the kids excited, his eagerness to help them mature and grow and the clutters of books, instruments and manipulative............all too much familiar sounds and smells.

One day I dream of him visiting me in my own classroom ..............with the same student's excitement, my eagerness to see them mature as artist and the clutters of papers, graphite pencils, charcoal, clay and paints.