UN DAY

UN day was the last day of school before Divali break. My class of 13 represented 5 countries—you can imagine what a school of 981 represented. The day started off with my students arriving in their native costumes. The kids from India and Korea wore gorgeous elaborate dress. The kids from Denmark, England and US were left adrift in the sea of color and tradition. The richness of the Korean and Indian heritage was stunning. So interesting to see people so proud of their culture. We had an all school assembly when school began. It began with a “parade of flags.” One of the teachers with a great radio voice announced the flags as children carried in the flags from their home country to the accompaniment of the school band. It was stirring, and yet unsettling to me.
Everyone clapped for each country—but cheered wildly for their own. The songs and speeches were about the unity and connectedness of each other—but somehow the flags seemed to divide us. I felt a hint of “Mine is better than yours.” Other teachers didn’t agree with me, and so it was just my interpretation. The rest of the program consisted of songs. One about children’s rights, but the ESL class, my class sang a song of Freedom. I had joined my first choir, and we sang, “Come young citizens of the world—we are one. We are one.” Singing with a group in harmony was a great thrill for me and I sang it to every child in the audience. Hopeful. In the afternoon everyone had shed their costumes, and we had a feast of nations in our classroom for lunch. Mothers went all out bringing specialty foods for the children to eat. Indeed a feast. It was interesting to me that 2 mothers wanted me to taste their foods first—“Eat this! I made it.” It gave me a little more understanding to their child. Oh what a dream the UN is—if only we could live it a little more fully. I am hopeful with our new president who says he will talk to our “enemies.” How else will we understand each other. I wore my peace t-shirt that Tim sent me. That is my country. Every country.

Later that evening a local woman visited me, as she does every Friday. We sat on my couch. I have a little table in the living room, with a picture of Jesus, Buddha, the Mother, and Ganeesha on it. “Do you love Jesus?” she asked me.

“Yes, I do.”
“Me too,” she answered. And I love Si Babba, and Krishna, too.”
I showed her that Si Babba lives in my kitchen in the form of a poster. I sang “Oh Jesus I love you, and I love Buddha too, Rama, Krishna, Guru Dev, Tao de Ching, and Mahommed,” for her. She loved it, and I taught it to her, and we sang and danced in my living room laughing together. “Why do some people say that there is just one way to love you God and come to you—we are all a part of you. . .”