)(( hannah mello ))(

Themes and moments from the classic Broadway musical "Oliver" have showed up in my story.

My mom's always jokingly said the "Please sir, can I have some more" line when hungry-- doing the old school British accent with perfection.

The story is basically of the orphan Oliver that intersects strange characters-- most of all those in his orphanage that are dictator-tyrant-types that never give them enough porridge (hence, the line: 'Please sir, can I have some more.'). There's a ton of songs in the musical that my mom loves to bust out in at the strangest moments. Since I haven't lived with her really for 8 years, I recall those moments of public embarrassment with nostalgia.

The I AM OLIVER RIGHT NOW realization came over me, funnily (now a word.) enough when in ENGLAND-- the setting of the stage play. :) My housemate and I walked into a supermarket and gasped with glee! "Look at all the food!... Ah! Here! Wow! Look at that! Wow!" Her mom looked at us as if we were five year old orphans and then I knew. I AM OLIVER. :) Similarly, I sat in the backseat (still in England at this point) of their semi-SUV type car, delighted by the fact that we actually were having a RIDE to the airport. No lugging suitcases from house to station, on and off trains, along a street-- and then waiting for half hours or hours. A car was driving us to the porthole. The airport itself. The luxury. Sitting in WARMTH and comfort and arriving minutes before check-in. We felt like queens. Once again, strange looks thrown in our direction. :)

A friend recently posted (presenteternity.blogspot.com) about being a lonely stranger in a crowd. This "Oliver" experience of being "on the outside of excess" is similarly a deeply, fundamentally human experience. Sure, I would love to have supermarkets with great selections, car rides to and from destinations, and warmth always-- however, being Oliver is making me more human. A human that is more in touch with other humans' experiences, emotions, and desires.

My fourth class of five year olds this morning was markedly different. I detected the difference when I first began teaching at the Soliera Asilo (Preschool) three weeks ago, but I have since been deeply moved with emotion as a result.

In contrast, my other groups of 5 year olds look at me with silent fascination as I put on a show for them-- all kinds of facial expressions, hand movements, songs-- and respond eagerly and with a kid-militia quality in repeating the new English words. They are full of wide eyed wonder.

This class is markedly distinct. You can feel it the minute you enter the wing of the Asilo-- the minute you're in their presence. The little girls are wide eyed with fear. Fear of the boys that suddenly lunge at each other or them. Boys that sneakily slide their bodies from one bench to another when you're turned another direction... then trying to steal or simply shift your flashcards, pens, or papers when you're not looking. The shifting is actually really impressive. They will just move the papers 5 inches, or the pens from one side of the floor to another. Intelligent insanity. :) HOWEVER, I saw the teachers standing selfishly to the side. Not giving direction. Not giving eye contact. Heads above the room-- hearts locked away--:: and meanwhile these little ones STARVED for direction, attention, and PURPOSE.

However, when I walked into the lesson today, the by-far-cutest-boy, Manuel, asked me, in Italian, "Are we going to draw butterflies?" (Deseniamo le farfele? -- I don't know how it's spelled in Italian... but that's what he said.) Last lesson I taught colors and numbers, using a worksheet I'd created (with ghetto-fun hand-drawn style) with butterflies of different shapes and sizes with numbers on their bellies. I couldn't believe he had remembered. He'd remembered, and this little crazy child actually was asking for more.

Today was different. They sat in silence (!!) and then after my introduction to the new language items ("How are you?" :: "I'm sad, happy, angry, scared, tired, etc."), threw themselves on the floor and dove holistically into the drawing and coloring worksheet I had drawn up. It doesn't sound very intense as I write this-- and if you're not too keen on kids or teaching, you probably don't care AT ALL about what I'm penning. HOWEVER, stay with me if you can, because what I witnessed in that moment were children suddenly TRANSFORMED because of intentional caring, attention, and direction. BECAUSE OF PURPOSE.

There I sat on the floor with all of them as Manuele kept asking me ("Maestra, va bene?"--"Teacher, is it ok?") and the WORST behaved of them (mostly boys), and the most fearful of them (mostly girls), were suddenly lit up, confident and proud as they showed me their WORK-- what they had DONE.

I thought of them as Olivers. They are in ways that I too can relate. They are aching for more in a world where the excess of love, direction, discipline, and purpose exists.

We have eyes, but do we see? We have ears, but do we hear? Not always.

We don't see what we HAVE when we're un-Oliver-like--- thanklessly living in the world of excess. We don't hear when others DON'T HAVE and we can be a compassionate presence in their Oliver-existence. We don't LOOK DEEPLY into eyes, causing us to SEE others.

I realized that when I'm teaching, I can easily look generally and generically at the group. I can easily ignore their comments made in Italian. However, magic happens when I look deep into those eyes-- wordlessly communicating, "I see you, little one. I see that you're paying attention and want to learn. You CAN learn. See. Just follow me." Don't write me off as being cheesy or a squeeky-clean square. I can't deny it--- magic happens when I listen to comments under their breath or obviously directed at me in their mother tongue and really pay attention to what they're feeling.

This applies, I believe, TO ALL HUMANS. There is no substitute in relationships in general (including adult relationships) for listening and seeing. I find the same results when I look into the eyes of my 23-33-43-53-83 year old students. When I LISTEN to what they are saying with the syntax of their sentences and between the lines-- connecting the pieces of their stories that are put on the table little by little-- week by week-- month by month.

I'll never forget moments shared with 23 year old med student Silvia... last week she showed up alone to our university-students-mostly night class... she only wanted to talk. You can tell when someone only wants to speak. They walk in and don't shut up. :) They won't let you get in a word of protest before sharing about their lives, asking questions, and just carrying us both away in a world of meaningful communication. :=) Silvia did this. She shared moments from her life as a med student-- having consultations with patients where the individuals' personal information is laid bare in their vulnerability... the challenge of making them feel comfortable enough to tell the truth... which is harder than she ever imagined. Her being an informal student of humanity and psychology as a result. However, she continued to paint pictures of her dreams and the obstacles in their way. I remembered comments she had made in previous lessons about her family, about her dreams, about what they thought about her dreams. Suddenly, it wasn't just an isolated conversation-- it was in the context of all I had seen and heard in relationship with her. Suddenly, life happened in a deeper way. I told her that I remembered. I told her I cared. I told her I appreciated her. I walked out of that hour and a half really having had a "lesson"-- a lesson in how to see and listen and continuing to do so.

Time to bike home and make chicken curry for my housemate for lunch. :)

Hmm... Good moments... Thanks for listening. :)