I glance out the window, and sigh resignedly as I take in the thunderous rain and copious puddling over our carpool tarmac. Why wouldn’t it be raining on the day I have to go outside for my work? I thank my practical, prognosticatory morning self for choosing to wear the hardy clog boots and grumblingly head outside.
Once there, I’m cheerful again. I’ve found a great patch of deep, chestnut colored mix of clay and humus by our parking lot. It’s got tons of twigs, gravel, and acorn pieces left behind by scavenging squirrels, but I love it.
The kids do too. When I show it to my first class, they accept this as proof that Mrs. Choi really went out! To the real world! To collect this sample for us! I inwardly cheer that they’re on board with our collected soil paint, and I start selling the color. Excited now, I say, “I know! I’m actually quite intrigued by the color of our local soil. It looks like…” Before I could finish, our soil scientists are calling out.
“It looks like humus! It’s dark-colored!”
“It’s got clay too! I see orange!”
It’s not long before someone says it. “POOP! It looks like wet, gross POO!”
A tornado of shrieking and chatty mayhem ensues, including Carlisle, who suddenly wants to share - loudly and screechingly - about all the different kinds of poops he’s seen. (Sometimes I feel like students are always just waiting for that glorious moment when they can bring up bathroom stuff in class).
Secretly, I happen to agree. Our school soil paint definitely looks like something I’d avoid stepping on if I saw a splotch of it on the sidewalk. But I'm also glancing at Sage, a quiet African-American student in the back of our rug, who sits with rounded shoulders and a hunched back, as though she's trying to retreat into an invisible shell.
I lean thoughtfully back in my chair and the class quiets. They know when I’m pondering something. “You know what I think?” I ask whisperingly, and they lean forward to hear. “I know what you think it looks like. And I know some of you agree. But I’m wondering about some of us -“ I stop to glance conspirationally around the room “-- who might actually like this color. And I wonder how they feel since so many of us are talking loudly about how gross this color is.”
The class has fallen silent. Some of them are now changing gears, murmuring about how they actually liked this color all along (They didn’t).
I continue. “And to be honest with you, scientists, I wonder about my very good friend who actually has a skin color that’s similar to this soil color.” And I am. I’m thinking about my wise, indomitable friend Fabiana, who could use this paint as foundation upon her deep hazel skin. “I wonder how she would feel if she heard us talking about her color that way.”
The kids are silent as they ponder this, a few of them beginning to nod and regard this color more seriously. Finally Kevin jumps in bravely. “I wasn’t sure about this color before, but I really like it now.” The others are quick to follow, and now our poop color has become the most popular one of the three.
I quickly glance back at Sage. Is it just me, or does she look relieved?
I’m not sure. But later, when I circle back to her table as they work, she tugs on my sleeve. “Mrs. Choi,” she whispers. “This is kind of like my skin too, isn’t it?” I nod gravely at her, and whisper back. “That’s why it’s my favorite.”
She returns to her work, but not before I catch the wide grin that slides across her face, and I thank the heavens that a mask wasn’t there to hide it.
*Names have been changed to protect students' identities.
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