I've never had the opportunity to really know what it felt like to be the littlest. The littlest girl, the littlest cookie maker, the littlest child. That one kid, you know the one that everyone takes care of because they're, well, the little one? That's something I've always wanted.
Always.
And it might sound silly, unreal even, but I discovered what it was like to be the littlest. In a Ukrainian kindergarden, surrounded by little ukrainian and russian children, and the babushkas that taught me what it was to make a home.
I'll start at the beginning.
It was a warm and mild afternoon, and we (yes, there was a large we. About 20 we's, to be precise) were not outside, but sitting in the side room of a Ukrainian church. The effect of the light streaming through the windows would have been lovely, any other day, but seeing as I was still dealing with jetlag all I wanted to do was sit under a tree and sleep. The country I thought I would have nothing in common with actually produced an enviable variation of maple trees. Leaves, being what they are, had already started blushing different shades of red and yellow. That's where I wanted to be; sleeping under the ukrainian maple leaves.
But I wasn't. I was in a church, broiling.
Eventually the meeting progressed to more then a snails pace as we got to the topic most of us had been waiting for. Chalk touched board and scribbled out a list of workplacements. The work placements were important, they'd be where we would be getting the biggest chunk of our volunteering done. That being said, the options were listed and we were asked to mark in order what we would like. It should probably also be mentioned that the program is really into cultural relations, so each canadian was going to get paired with a ukrainian. I picked, and at the very bottom of my list was a kindergarden.
Of course, like most option selecting processes in the last several months, my last choice became my working spot. To say I was disapointed was probably an understatement; I didn't know what I was meant to learn playing with kids.
Looking back, I've come to realize a few things over the course of the last four months. The most prominent tidbit probably being that most learning is a gift and a surprise; you're not really learning if you know it's coming. It's the kind of learning that grows through all other levels of experience, and for me was the foundation of where I started to trust in trust. Life is unexpected, otherwise we would never have lived at all.
Moving back, my work counterpart seemed about as thrilled as I did.
We entered the school area, a hidden gate emerging between thick bushes. Different brick shelters painted in flowers and rainbows had been built all around the constraints, as a multitude of brightly colored playground toys littered the school.
We stepped through. An awkward silence filled the space we stood in as we let ourselves through the buildings doors.
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