Rucha Laya

It never ceased to amaze me, when as I was a young child growing up in Brooklyn, New York, how little my thoughts mattered. It was quite obvious that everyone older than I had valid opinions about everything, and that I was supposed to mimic them. My own thoughts were not allowed to blossom so I withdrew from a totally biased society, biased against children.

I had no voice, nor did anyone give credence to my views when I tried to express myself. Each person was a carbon copy of the other. People dressed in the same fashions, ate the same type of foods, thought the same thoughts, voted for the same political party and went to the same schools. This existence seemed to control everyone. If you showed any creativity at all you were classified as the eccentric of the neighborhood. However, that's how it was growing up in the '40s. We were packaged in a neatly wrapped box, but not one of our own choosing. The cries to let us out made little difference.

Bubby said, "children should be seen and not heard", so all my emotions were suppressed for a very long time. I loved Bubby with all my heart but we never really went into what she actually meant. In those days children were told to listen and not to ask questions as that statement seemed to indicate and although I didn't agree, I obeyed. My curiosity was continuously stifled but being respectful I always listened to Bubby. That's the way things were, for me anyway, in those days.

I finally found my voice in Art. I was talented and I knew it. I was finally saved! When I was eight years old I won the John Wanamaker medal in an art contest. This medal was the first indication that someone was listening to what I had to say. Art, like music, is the universal language that reaches the emotions and fibers of the body and soul. At last I felt counted.

An artist can be different, it's acceptable. Creativity is entirely subjective. I had finally found a forum where my views would be known and accepted. Those who long ago had cared little about my verbal opinions now took special notice at what my brush had to say on paper. The picture I drew that I won me the medal was that of a blond haired teacher in a classroom standing in front of students sitting obediently in their seats. I suppose that was a forerunner of things to be. I became that teacher in reality some years later, after I had received my Master of Arts degree.

Teaching, like art, was my outlet. At long last I felt free and fulfilled. I had relevant thoughts, feelings and opinions that did matter after all, because they were mine. The school room was the perfect place where I could make a difference to all those youngsters who were locked in the same box as I was and just waiting for someone or something to let them out. There were lessons yet to be learned and I wanted to share my experiences with those whose future, in part, I had the responsibility to shape. My art room became a haven for all children because I had unlocked the box. When creativity flourished, self-esteem soared and my students became in touch with their own identity. They were indeed seen and heard. I knew I was making a difference! Art was their vehicle to self identity and freedom.

Schools in the United States today ignore the arts in their curriculum. This is perhaps the worst of all cutbacks for children. By doing this they are depriving our most precious resource, our children, of the opportunity of the special growth that is sorely needed for them to become whole and healthy human beings. Lessons in math and science must be coupled with lessons in art and music so that the whole child is nurtured. However, without our ears wide open to what our children are saying, thinking and feeling, we will forever keep them locked in that box of conformity and the uncertainty of their own potential.

Although I'm still not quite sure what Bubby exactly meant when she said "children should be seen and not heard", I know she would be very proud of me and the values that I have lovingly passed on.