An Innocent Time

Q: "Middlebury values a sense of place and community in all forms. Please tell us about where you have grown. How has it influenced you and your vision about the kind of college community you would like to join next year?"   

    I ran to the assembly hall. The Paraguayan national anthem was already on. “A los pueblos de América infausto, Tres centurias un cetro oprimió... ” I spotted my friends on the right end of the line. Walking as fast as possible, I got there and said, “Hola.” Replying, one of my friends said, “Hey I think the teacher is going to kill you, remember she said ‘Samuel (My Spanish name), this is the last time you will be late.’” It freaked me out—thinking of how many words in Spanish she would roar at me in one breath. She was one of those stereotypical super-sized teachers that made the whole year with her a misery. I mumbled the lyrics of the national anthem. Though I had heard it a couple thousand times, the words never stuck to my head, like the Apostles’ Creed and the Lord’s Prayer. The song, which was meant to be high-spirited, came to an end.
    Not wanting any more trouble, I started running to class, “Vamos (Let’s go),” I said to them. My boy classmates were the same as all the other elementary school students around the world. They could get your eye with a spitball from the other end of the room, make paper airplanes so delicate and innovative that they would all someday become great engineers, poke thousands of piece of mechanical pencil lead in one tiny eraser, perfect the art of teasing girls until there was no girl in the class that did not end up crying... I could name a plethora more of those ingenious projects. Nevertheless, the real gorgeousness in all of this was that they completely stopped when Profesora Miriam entered the classroom.
Forces of the Dark would enter and reign in the room at her presence, dissolving the joy of present moments ago.  She would not waste a second of class time. Straight to the lesson she went—always. Long boring hours of depression (for all), sadness (for all, except the birthday boy/girl), humiliation (for those who did not do homework), and indifference to class (for all) finally came to an end at 12:00 PM. Like corn kernels on a hot pan, everyone would just pop with the bell. The bell to freedom (to all), happiness (to all), reconciliation (to all), and obsession (to play) rang loud in every kid’s heart.
    Every boy ran out to the cafeteria, they ate lunch as fast as possible—there was no time to spare! The glorious sun would shine upon us as we entered the empty soccer field, before all the other classes. Fútbol (Soccer) was the living spring of life. We all knew the teams. Two rivals teams for the whole year, and the balance was so perfect that every game was fierce and exciting. The game, as always, was terrific. I even made an assist for the final goal, and that lead us to victory. The honey-sweet recess was over, and we were heading back to class, back to hell.
    The rest of the day was painful, but I was happy that I was accepted among my classmates. Everything was different between them and me, how I looked, how bad at soccer I was, how my Spanish was not good enough. Even so, though they sometimes made jokes about my stretchy eyes, they would never want to harm my pride. And with time, I learned so much from them, and them so much from me. They accepted me just as I am, and that is the kind of community I want to be part of next year, and the rest of my life.