I got my naturalization papers last week. I made it past the health screening in spite of having a concussion.  After reading that you could be forgiven for thinking I still had one. Anyway, here’s what happened:

On Thursday in an accidental maneuver too complicated and boring to describe, I knocked heads with my dear friend Nina (rhymes with Dinah). The crack reverberated in my head more than it did in Nina’s and I was left with a crashing headache, which I ignored until I started feeling slightly woozy and other parts of my body started protesting. I had to cancel my students and lie down for the rest of the day.

The next morning I felt slightly better but still had vestiges of headache and wooziness. However I had a special appointment I could not miss. I was to be the Special Friend of my piano student, Sophie, at Special Friends Day at Perkins Elementary.  The students were to present their study of The Immigrant Experience at Ellis Island and there were to be *snacks.*

On the drive over, I imagined that I’d be sitting in a darkened and quiet auditorium next to Sophie until she got up to do her part. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a grade school. The place was noisier than a cocktail party and excited kids careered from room to room as though looking for where they last set their drinks. I took a deep breath. It was important I not wimp out just because I had a headache, felt nauseated and was allergic to this kind of atmosphere.

“You can do this,” I said.

A smiling adult approached me. “Are you a Special Friend?”

How could that not make someone feel better?

Sophie started us in the Snacks Room where heritage foods from all over the world were laid out, complete with ingredients labels for sensitivities to things other than noise. At the end of line I was offered the choice of bottled water or lemonade.

“No coffee?” I asked.

The Special Parent sagged. “I wish,” she said.

A bell rang and we were herded into the next room. Sophie and I quizzed each other. I asked Sophie a series of questions for immigrants to answer before they (we) could get off the boat. General questions about origins and health.

Then Sophie asked me questions on the actual citizenship exam. I could not have correctly answered half of the questions two years ago. I will say this for the current administration: many of us have learned more about government, politics, and espionage than we ever expected to or possibly wanted to.

From the screening and testing room, Sophie took me down a hallway that contained paper mosaics of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.  Posted next to the lovely art were the immigrants’ identity papers. Sophie, for the purposes of the project, was part of the Miller family. Evidently the entire fourth and fifth grades had been organized into various families. Each family member had an identity card.

It was around this point that I got a lump in my throat. The presentation had been carefully put together and laid out. A lot of white paper, pens and colored construction paper was enough to evoke in me a thoughtfulness about how we all got here and how utterly heartbreaking it would be to lose what we have.

The last thing we did was to get our naturalization papers. Here’s mine:

It had been a long time since I had been in Perkins School. Let’s see, umm, 35 years. I taught music in Perkins Pre-School for two years. I was the Music Lady. Every 45 minutes a new group would troop in to sing songs and play rhythm instruments and do interpretive dance.

In the Orange Group was a little girl named Jocelyn. She’s the daughter of my friend Nina on whom I cracked my head as related in the beginning of this post. That’s Jocelyn sitting next to me on the left. We all were sawing our fingers under our noses singing Vio-vio-violin. The little witch with blonde curls on the other side of me is trying to figure out which finger goes where on the nose. It’s good to have a special friend to help with things like.