CHILDREN OF THE SUNRISE

I have a contract with this inner city MONTESSORI school. They call me when something breaks, I fix it and in exchange I am allowed to work with the children every Friday afternoon without having to pay for it.

It's a nice arrangement. They get free maintenance and I get to never grow up.

I like working with kids. Generally I have a lot more respect for them than the arrogant and pretentious beings they turn into when they grow up. They're straight up; they value every moment and unlike my wife, my parents and the rest of the adult world, they love my imagination.

I was working that afternoon at Madonna of the Balancing Snow Montessori School (St. Maddy's for short).

A red-headed pint sized linebacker slammed into my left leg.

"I love you, Uncle Tom."

"I love you, too, Nicholas Robbins" I said as I fought for balance.

A roving pack of 4 and 5 year olds greeted me as I came onto the playground. That first five minutes when I arrive at St. Maddy's is probably the best time of my week. Since I only come on Friday afternoons, it's a big deal. When I walk in the gate the whole playground erupts with choruses of "Uncle Tom! Uncle Tom!" Kids come running from all directions to hug my neck and drown me in affection. Just the thing to shore up an old brokendown ballplayer's spirits.

Of course I'm not an uncle to any of them. One of the black staff members got that started during my stint as head of the Parent Board during the early part of the "Wardy Wars". Thomas Jefferson Bowie is about as redneck and patriotic a Texian name as you can get, but this teacher said I was so good at kissing the white butts of the frantic yuppie parents, I should be called "Uncle Tom". Montessori teachers are a warped lot. To my chagrin, it stuck.

After a while, the kids all darted off to whatever exciting adventures awaited them that Friday afternoon and the same teacher that stuck me with that cowardly moniker walked up and placed her arm in the crook of my elbow. Her name is Variety Smith.

"Well, I see you still haven't been able to get a real job. What'sa matter, no work out there for well off white people?"

"Oh there's plenty of work," I replied "you've got your positions in savings and loan fraud, television evangelism accounting, your odd job for the military industrial complex keepin' the nigras down on the the plantation and of course I could probably get on as a South African policeman or an Israeli soldier, both respected jobs for white people but...I think I'll just stick to my original career path."

"Oh really," she laughed "well tell me little boy, what do you want to be when you grow up? Not a basketball player I hope."

I ignored the jab. "No, I've given up on that, too old, now I want to be watermelon taster for the NAACP or maybe talk to Gladys Knight about joining the Pips...you've seen me dance?"

I did an off-balance buck and a wing. We both dissolved into laughter.

"Tell me," I asked "how's the Pope?" I know just where to get her. She's a practicing Catholic and a little embarrassed about it. "Hey, did you hear the one about what happened when the Pope went to mount Olive?...Popeye beat the hell out of...ouch!"

She pinched the side of my arm hard.

I said "Miss Variety, please use words." She rushed off to give the same advice to two children engaged in a heated discussion over a tricycle.

I was thinking how great it was to be with these people, to be at this place, to have the life I have. Sure I've got problems. I make mistakes. There are a number of areas in my life where I've made a habit of it. Still, the great thing about being with kids is that you learn to appreciate the magic in the world. They show you each moment, each event, each experience as an opportunity for wonder. I love them and they know it. That's all it takes for them to love me back with all their massive little hearts.

For some reason, grownups feel they have to act as if they know what's going on. The very idea. Any five year old kid or competent physicist knows that the world is an incredibly complicated marvel, a magical tapestry that brings our most brilliant minds to abject humility. But we're an arrogant and ignorant breed. Can't say I'm any better. Still, it makes me wonder why we don't pay more attention to our children since it's clear they have such a powerful lesson to teach us.

After Variety walked away, I wandered around the playground for a few minutes giving and getting hugs from various children and ended up under a big pecan tree to get some relief from the heat. As I settled my worn out old frame into the grass, I heard a funny sound. It sounded familiar but far away...sort of like running water...but different. I squinted into the afternoon sun hanging low in the sky above the parking lot just outside the playground. As I listened, the sound seemed to grow louder. My mind ran through the possibilites... a broken water main, several children giggling, somebody playing some cheerful but unusual music on a car stereo. I looked harder but it was hard to focus. The heat rising off the blacktop obscured something that seemed just out of my vision.

I cupped my hands over my eyes to block out the sun and thought I saw something. Things seemed to get quiet on the playground. There was a sort of "ffffooooop" sound that shook my concentration. I looked around to see if all the kids were okay. When I turned back, a naked little black boy came running over to me from across the playground.

Now I've got to admit, my first reaction was to take him in and put some clothes on him. If one of the parents came and found their youngster naked with a 6' 6" ex-hippie basketball player...well I just didn't want to explain it. I reached out and took his hand and started walking as fast as possible into the building.

I got part way and Variety sauntered up.

"Oh crap," I thought "she'll have a field day with this one."

"Leaving your post stretch?" she asked "whatsamatter, can't hold it?"

I shuffled and looked down at my naked ward. "Well, we've got a little business to take care of. Somebody decided to do the afternoon au naturel."

She looked at me, then looked back on the playground, then looked back at me again.

"What...who?" she asked

I nodded at the urchin at my feet. "This person right here" I said.

She looked confused, then suspicious. "I don't know what you're setting up with this one Uncle Tom, but it won't work. I'm wise to your tricks." She smiled and eased off with a nervous look I recognized from previous practical jokes. "Go choose another victim" she suggested.

Suddenly I was struck by a paralyzing fear. Something was wrong. I felt dizzy and confused. I squatted down and touched the cheek of the naked child at my side.

Like dominoes, memories of that day under the chinaberry tree came toppling down and I recognized the mischievous look on his face .

"I'm back my friend..." he said "Did you ever get that no-hitter?"

All I remember was the sound of a mountain stream laughing as I fell backwards onto the pea gravel of St. Maddy's playground.