The little school I attended in Oman was called Royal Flight. I was there in it's first year. It was a simple bare cinder block building and the corner inside on the left is where I would sit in time out, probably because I was moving or talking or in general not understanding. It was there would stare at the Griffen and imagining it coming alive and eating my teacher.
I had one very bad teacher. She thought she could beat me into submission. I'm not submissive, even when beaten. I guess you can say it's something I'm practiced in. She was removed...not from the school...she was removed from the country, Oman.
In 1979 the Queen was scheduled to make a visit to her Subjects. The lone never lonely American girl with stringy brown hair was excited. We learned a proper curtsy and practiced for days. There are rules for meeting royalty; ever touch, never speak unless asked a question...The other children were all Her Majesties children from her armed forces.
We all stood in our proper queues at the designated time in our courtyard where we would also play our rounders. It was dusty and rocky...we didn't have grass. We were lucky to live with our parents and not have to go to boarding schools. The Sultan gave us that gift by his decree.
A large black car, the dirt spewing from behind, pulled into our school center dirt patch. The door was opened by a man for her and feet first she exited the vehicle with the grace of Royalty. There is a grace of true Royalty.
Her dress was dark earth brown and had large white polka dots, falling a minimum 3 inches below her knees. Her hat matched marvelously and her small brown purse strap was neatly tucked in the crook of her elbow.
She shook hands with several of her Subjects and she was handed flowers as is custom.
She spoke with our instructors and shook their hands.
One day I'll tell you a story...
No comments:
Post a Comment