Dragon Wings

The bell rang precisely at eight o'clock and signaled to both parents and students alike that the first day of school had just begun. All of the parents had come to class that day to give a few last words of encouragement to their children, although most of them didn't need it. Many of the first graders had bounded down the halls from the moment they left their parents' car and came running into the freshly decorated classroom. Their brightly colored backpacks overflowed with pencils and paper and were always decorated with each child's favorite cartoon character or superhero. One little boy tripped as he darted to a desk that he had picked out for himself, spilling the contents of his backpack over the floor but running still faster all the same. Only after he claimed his prize was the recently emptied backpack given any attention as his mother, who had struggled to keep up, finally reached him. Although she would normally have been upset at the mess he caused, the exuberance he showed for starting his first day of school provided a sufficient excuse. All of the school children seemed caught up in a whirlwind of excitement at the indescribable wonder that undoubtedly lay before them.

"Look Mommy...numbers and letters on the wall. I'm going to learn how to read and count!" one girl said, her eyes dashing from one numbered poster to the next.

"I love to draw Daddy," another little boy said. "I see crayons and markers everywhere!" His father simply nodded his head and smiled at the boy's exuberance.

Everywhere around the classroom children talked and laughed as their parents hugged them for the last time before quietly filing out of the classroom. A few of the mothers stopped to talk with the teacher and asked questions about when they could pick up their children that afternoon while the fathers politely shuffled them out with kind words of reassurance. In the parents' absence, the first seedlings of new friendships were just beginning to sprout as several of the boys and girls began talking with each other amidst intermingled claps and giggles. The classroom was alive with the sound of tiny voices and no child hesitated to add their own.

Except for one. In the fourth seat on the fifth row of an otherwise lively classroom, one little boy sat morose, his head looking down as his mother quietly tried to comfort him. Unlike the other children, this little boy looked nervously around and seemed hesitant to accept the unfamiliar surroundings that other children embraced wholeheartedly. He wasn't an unhappy child or even particularly averse to new experiences, but the prospect of being separated from everything familiar and thrust into a world of uncertainty was not something he naturally accepted. His response had not been to protest the situation but to instead simply withdraw from it, and it was this reaction that his mother was now trying desperately to alleviate.

"You'll make new friends," she said in her most convincing tone. "And what's more, you'll even learn the alphabet and how to write your name. Doesn't that sound like fun?" Still the boy sat silently, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes never even offering so much as an acknowledging glance.

As the mother continued to offer what solace she could, the teacher was just seeing the last of the other parents out the door. The bell to begin class had long since rung and many of the children were growing anxious as they waited for the day's lesson to begin. Only the little boy's mother remained, though she knew that she would soon have to leave as well. Just as she was about to say goodbye to her son the teacher walked over to the little boy and his mother.

"I'm sorry for staying so long but I just wanted to make sure he is alright. I know that all the other parents have left and I was just on my way out," the mother said as she reached out to give her son one last hug. Very quietly she then said to the teacher "He's just a little nervous right now. I'm not sure why. He's never shy at home and truthfully I have never seen him so hesitant around new people".

The teacher leaned down to the student, expecting him to look over so that she might talk to him. Instead, the little boy sat with  his eyes transfixed on the desktop, remaining perfectly still except for the short breaths that betrayed his apprehension.

"Aren't you excited about making new friends?" the teacher asked him in her most enthusiastic voice.

He offered no answer as she continued, "You'll learn how to count and I'll even teach you how to add and subtract".

Still no response as the little boy sat stoically, hands now thrust deep into his pockets without the slightest indication of showing any interest.

At this point the teacher tried rather unsuccessfully to repress a smile before saying to the little boy, "You can be a dragon".

The boy's head instantly turned as the confused look in his eyes was only surpassed by their unbridled curiosity.

"A dragon?" the boy said, unsure of what the teacher meant but too inquisitive to remain aloof.

"Or a knight, a prince, or even the king if you'd like," she replied, a clever grin that was requiring more energy to restrain now forming.

"No, I think I want to be a dragon," the boy said, albeit still confused. "But how, how can I be one?"

"I'll teach you. It's actually quite easy. A lot of people don't realize that you can become a dragon anytime you want". The teacher then reached out her hand and took a well-worn book off the shelf. "Take this book for instance," she said. "This book tells you all about how to become a dragon. It tells you how to breathe fire like a dragon, grow claws like a dragon, and even how to fly like a dragon. But no one ever bothers to read it. It's a shame really because it's quite easy to do, and as everyone knows...being a dragon is so much fun!"

The little boy looked at the slightly tattered book that the teacher now held in her hand and reached out for it in eager anticipation. Just as she was about to offer its pages he stopped, closed his hand, and said to her, "But...but I can't be a dragon. I don't know how to read." A look of helplessness quietly flashed across his face as the adventure that had just a moment before been in his reach vanished as quickly as it had arrived. His eyes began to swell with tears as his gaze met his teacher's, a gaze that betrayed his disappointment far more succinctly than the words of frustration other children may have chosen.

Just as his tears threatened to breach their boundaries and flow slowly down his reddened cheeks the teacher took hold of his empty hand and said, "That's what I'm here for. I'm here to teach you how to read. You'll read stories about dragons and knights, about courageous heroes and the beautiful princesses they rescue. You'll read about faraway lands, exotic lands where the risk of danger is never far away and the thirst for adventure is satisfied with the turn of every page. It's all in there. It's all found within the pages that your eyes will dash across as you become the characters that for a moment are the only fascination of your mind's eye. I'll teach you how to become a dragon...I'll teach you how to fly."

The little boy managed a smile while his teacher used a neatly folded handkerchief to begin wiping away his tears.

"And someday," she continued, "after you've read the words of all the great storytellers and have let the poets guide you through their labyrinths of beauty and suffering, you'll pick up your pen and begin to write too. You'll introduce your readers to an entirely new world of wonder where layers of prose merely serve as the stage upon which the timeless play lead. If you'll just trust me now, someday you will write stories that teach others to fly too"

The tears that earlier threatened to come streaming down the little boy's face had long since dried up. For the first time in his short life he realized the importance of words and the power they contained by those who could wield them. They had the power to comfort, to illuminate, and to inspire. Most importantly, they have the power to set people free from their own self-imposed limitations. It was a gift given to him by his teacher on that day, a gift this child would only come to fully understand many years later.

"I think I am going to like the first grade," the little boy said as he once again reached out eagerly for the book's welcoming pages.

The teacher placed the book in his hand, closed his tiny fingers around it and replied, "I think you are too Bobby"

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Every Sunday for the past ten years I have called my mother just to talk. It was a routine that started during my freshman year of college and has continued over the years as a way for us to keep in touch while helping me stay close to my family. This Sunday, only a few hours ago, I was speaking with her when she informed me that she had some bad news. Expecting that it would be some minute happenstance pertaining to a family member or friend of the family, I was somewhat surprised when she told me that my first grade teacher (Mrs. Blackmarr) had passed away last week. It was a tragic event that surprised many in my hometown and seemed to have come without warning. After going to the hospital last Saturday for unusual symptoms, she was diagnosed with liver cancer and was given a month to live. She died three days later.

Although I had lost touch with her over the years, I was still deeply saddened to hear of her passing. She was an exceptionally kind woman and always treated me with more patience and understanding than the six year old version of myself probably deserved. Her funeral is tomorrow and, although I will be unable to attend, I can at least offer what tribute to her I can through my words. It was in her class that I first began writing. She encouraged me to always be creative and never rebuked the often times strange and elaborate narratives that my first grade mind would create. If I ever achieve my goal of becoming a professional writer, my success is attributable in no small measure to her support. She was a good woman and will be missed.