Walking the Halls

I work in a school

But sometimes it feels more like a museum.

Not because it's quiet and stuffy

But because the walls are covered

With hundreds of masterpieces

Created by small hands.

Self-portraits

Writing samples

Hebrew essays
Letters to God
Reinvented Jewish ritual objects

Photo journalism projects documenting injustice and hypocrisy.

Every hallway is a gallery

Every bulletin board an exhibit.

When the bell rings

Hundreds of artists spill into the hallways

Bringing with them a tidal wave of energy.

Endless imagination

Boundless joy

Curiosity beyond measure
Awakening social consciousness.

They shuffle past the galleries

And stroll past the exhibits

Just as curious about what someone else created
As they are to see their own latest work on display.
Simply walking through The Davis Academy one gets a serious and powerful education.

I don't have the heart to tell these artists that most of the world's hallways aren't adorned with beautiful art. 

I simply want to participate in, honor, and call attention to the creative culture

That celebrates the unique voice, special perspective, and glorious potential 

Of each individual child. 

No two masterpieces are the same. 

No two minds dream the same dreams. 

No two hands write the same poetry.

No two souls dance the same dance. 

I work in a school

But sometimes it feels more like a museum:

A museum of human dreams, hopes, and imagination.