Innerwords Newsletter: Antonio and Santiago

Twins. It was Antonio and Santiago that helped me a few years back – and it was Soul help, Monday through Friday, that school year. It occurred under dire circumstances. I needed a job and the Catholics needed a teacher. My recent move to New Mexico seemed the right thing to do, but the sights and people were still unfamiliar, even a bit foreign to me. I was still the newcomer to the land of manana. While waiting for my music studio to draw a lot more students, I decided to take the job, and really, I was clueless. I guess clueless is the adult version of kindergarten innocence. I had no idea at all what I was getting myself into. It was a perfect example of how our souls lead us to our needed experiences, like a dazzling date with destiny.

The Archdiocese did employ me to teach those 22 children to read, write, count and learn the Lord’s Prayer. And I did get to include some sideline issues, like my intense, ongoing campaign to convince those 22 five year olds to stop picking their noses, along with my repeated suggestions requiring the frequent and generous use of please and thank you. And I would bet that even now Santiago remembers my voice saying “use your words, please. No more hitting Antonio this morning; I know you love your brother.”

Our kindergarten class practiced and learned six good “Jesus songs” and sang them as required in school assembly. I showed them how to sing loud and proud, so Jesus could hear their wonderful voices. “Sing like your hair is on fire” became a phrase they absolutely loved to hear, and maybe they all fell in love with singing because of those words. The other classes thought this class sounded great, and loved assembly when it was our turn to sing.

I did my best. I showed up every single day to have kindergarten adventures with them. I taught them - the innocent and wild little beings. But I will tell you a deep truth: they taught me even more. Far more. Antonio and Santiago had their work cut out for them. That year I had been drawn to New Mexico for another level of “open-your-heart” surgery. I left Houston a serious professional who was totally burned out from 40 years of teaching and helping people transform through participating in music…therapeutic, adult work. I truly enjoyed developing it and pioneering it and offering it for those 40 years. And I was also in need of a different chapter in my life book.

I was entertained and delighted by the goofy antics and precious openness of five year olds. They still function developmentally as magical beings, and I really enjoyed being in their reality every day. The twins reminded me how it worked – goofy is funny. Funny makes you laugh. Laughing makes you light up. God is wise. She sent both of them to me every day because I was way too serious and very burned out. So I got the double whammy from twins, as well as from the other 20 angels.

Antonio started the funny business that the whole school enjoyed. Mis-sus Al-ex-an-der is six whole syllables and they just couldn’t do it, so from day one he and Santiago addressed me as Alexander. No Mrs. With raised eyebrows, I initially asked, “Boys, is that too hard for you?” Antonio started to cry, so I responded with “Okay, Antonio, I’m sure the Principal won’t mind. Maybe you can add the Mrs. later.” He stopped crying. Then in time, it got to be a bond between us. It was an unspoken “we are all vulnerable, and we are not perfect, and some things are too hard for all of us”. It just honestly made my heart smile. Surgery was under way.

I’m told that twins have their own private language which undoubtedly begins in the shared prenatal habitat; and these little boys by age five had already generated a comedy routine using the word that triggered laughter from their private language: “Brudder.” One brother would grab the other brother by the shoulder, and squeeze him lovingly, saying to any audience privileged to enjoy the forthcoming humor: “My Brudder. I LOVE my Brudder.” Then it continued, “My Brudder. I’m gonna KILL my Brudder,” grabbing the other around the neck and doing some mock choking. Then they would dissolve into puddles of giggles. It was just all about the word Brudder. It worked on their audience every single time.

One of my favorite memories of the twins took place on a clear, beautiful Spring day at the school play-ground. I had duty and was sitting on an old stone and brick wall watching soccer, when I heard singing. I looked in that direction to see four little kindergarten boys – Antonio, Santiago and two friends – singing one of their Jesus songs, ‘Walk, Walk InThe Light’ as they worked. Onlookers learned that winds had broken limbs on the playground trees, and the boys decided to go over and help the custodian rake leaves and pick up twigs and limbs to put in the dumpster. As they were working and singing, someone ran to get the Principal with her camera. We all stood there watching, listening, hearts smiling at our little boys. Then the bell rang, and the brief Milagro moment came to an end, but not before it was filed away in my heart.

There are hundreds of stories I could tell you about that year of “open-your-heart” surgery, but you already know the true power of love and laughter.

Before school ended I realized the past connection with the twins, as I had been their grandfather once in the northern Basque region of Spain. They were siblings that time – boy and a girl. Antonio had even shouted “You old grandfather” once at me, as I was requiring him to do something he did not want to do before he could leave school at the end of the day with his dad. He huffed and resisted and hurled those words over at me, confusing even himself because it was the wrong gender. His dad made him apologize to me. I accepted his insincere apology and told him I would think of a way for him to make it up to me the following day.

The next morning he appeared in the classroom very toned down and slightly repentant in demeanor. “Antonio, I want you to sit over at the table by yourself and draw a picture of the ‘Old Grandfather’ and give it to me when you have finished.” He did it, and it transformed some shame in him that he had felt about his words. Then he delivered his “I’m sorry,” sincerely this time. I told him adults say things they don’t mean sometimes too. Our tongues can just flap away! He grinned as that image hit his mind.