Marymount—the American school—welcomed us for the fourth time. That Monday morning in late June was a joyful homecoming. The bus from Kendale School made the rounds between the FAO and the school with perfect timing and at minimal cost: we paid only for gas.
Young Maurizio, our affable driver, showed us far more than his skill at the wheel. His kindness, good humor, and patience delighted everyone—but it was his gift for the trumpet that stopped us all short. Children stood mesmerized, begging him never to stop. Roberta was utterly fascinated. Whether she was more enchanted by the trumpet or the trumpeter, we could never quite tell.
But music brought other surprises this year. Sister Gert arrived—a Franciscan from the United States, with a perpetual smile and a guitar always ready to set whatever mood the moment called for: cheerful and carefree, or quiet and soothing.
The craft workshops were hits too, especially Maité's delightful fabric collages, fashioned from textile scraps.
Pool time was the day's pinnacle. Children changed into their swimsuits a full half hour early, eager not to miss a moment. Nahwed, a veteran from Pakistan, was among the most devoted. He'd spend blissful hours in the water—until, with unmistakable gestures, he'd signal that in his view, it was time to eat, even though the clock insisted lunch was still forty minutes away.
Everyone came alive in the water, even those who'd been uncertain the first time. Rumor had it, whispered beneath Marymount's ancient trees, that a girl named Rosaria was on the verge of turning into a mermaid—until her mother put her foot down and stopped such nonsense.
We had invaluable help from many teenagers again this year: three Marymount students, a large group from St. Georges, and others besides. Carlo and Roberto each had two tireless guardian angels, and you could see they were at ease together. When the angels needed to catch their breath, they'd hand over their charges to Clelia and Tiziana, who rewarded them with the sweetest smiles in exchange for a gentle walk.
I remember with gratitude the time I spent with Elena during siesta, under the fragrant shade of pines and cypresses, discovering which little songs and games we both knew. Who would have recognized in this mischievous girl—always ready with a prank—the shy Giorgina of last summer?
Year after year, we change and grow. It's beautiful to return to Marymount and see it.
Yvelise, 1979