Abstract
IN THE SPRING of 1998, near the close of my first year of graduate school, I took a class on multicultural student development. During that year I learned developmental theory, flew through research methodology, and facilitated diversity workshops for students. I went into this class assuming I didn't have too much to learn—I was an expert on multicultural issues. But it turns out I was wrong.
It was a discussion of Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye that taught me just how much I didn't know. In The Bluest Eye, a young girl, Claudia, and her sister attempt to plant marigolds, to no avail. They are told that they must have planted them too deep or that something was wrong with the seeds. However, Claudia has a different opinion:“I even think now that the land of the entire country was hostile to marigolds that year” (p. 205). Our professor encouraged us to look for marigolds in our own careers—those students who we thought could not succeed or who were not performing up to their poten-tial—and to then look at the environment we were providing them. Was it an environment that would allow them to grow? Or were we curtailing their success before it even began? As I thought about what she said, I realized that I had already missed a marigold during my own time as a first-year student. So I wrote this poem as a reminder of, and a commitment to, the marigolds in my life:
Despite the intensity of the summer heat, I come out to water the patch of earth, Dry from lack of rain, cracked from lack of care,
That I think will someday grow marigolds. Well into August, their brassy yellow heads Should have been swaying
Peacefully in the evening breeze, Greeting me as I return home from work, A testament to my toils: But they are not there.
If only the seeds were stronger, Then the marigolds would grow.
On the first day we met, Giddy with visions of Animal House and Back to School,
We struggled up the hill to class, The first taste of college Dangling before our lips Like a morning dewdrop On a fresh rose petal.
If only the seeds were stronger, Then the marigolds would grow.
Each morning we rambled our way uphill, The companionship somehow
Making the hill less steep.
I chittered on about midnight talks
Brought on by late-night pizza cravings,
Trips to the river at 3 A.M.,
And illegal break-ins at the Ridges.
You never said much, only commented
On how heartily American Beauty roses were growing on campus,
But how you longed to see some marigolds.
If only the seeds were stronger,
Then the marigolds would grow.
Three weeks into the quarter,
And I trudged up the hill alone.
One step ahead of the professor,
You would slink into a desk near the door,
An easy escape when class had ended.
I wondered aloud if I had said something wrong.
I worried that in my endless yarns about midnight flights
There had been woven a thread that hurt you,
Made you take a different path to class.
If only the seeds were stronger,
Then the marigolds would grow.
Finally you confided in me with
Hushed tones after class,
Telling me all I needed to know,
More than I could handle,
Saying what it
Felt like to be the only dark face
Among thirty light ones,
No nights of greasy pizza and semi-deviant escapades,
No talks with new friends,
Only nights battling tears, trying to sleep,
Listening in the blackness of your room,
While your neighbors played Rummy until dawn.
By week five you were gone.
If only the seeds were stronger,
Then the marigolds would grow.
Each year I plant marigolds for you.
But the shoots stay hidden deep in the seed,
Not wanting to struggle their way through the rocky soil,
Only to have to defy the bitter rays overhead.
IT HAS BEEN nearly two years since I wrote that poem. Working at an institution that has a reputation among both students and professionals for attracting predominantly white, upper-middle-class conservatives, I have run into quite a few marigolds this past year. Many feel they should fit the stereotype of what they perceive it means to attend Miami University, and others fight strongly against it. They are all looking for the best environment in which to put down roots. There are some students in my hall who shouldn't be here, who are getting D 's and F's, not because they aren't capable of doing the work but because something about the environment doesn't quite mesh with them. There are students in my hall who would do wonderfully here at Miami if given a year more to mature before tackling higher education. There are students here who just need to find their niche on campus, and there are others who have felt at home since unpacking their bags. It's hard to tell who is who sometimes.
Dolly Parton once sang, “Wildflowers don't care where they grow.”That may be true, but not all of our students are wildflowers. Look around any campus and you will see marigolds, daffodils, and roses scattered among the wildflowers, all trying to grow as best they can in the same garden. Although I know very little about the care and feeding of marigolds, I am committed to learning all I can, and I continue to try to understand what it takes to nurture a garden where all flowers can put down roots.