By Walter Agnew Moore II,

I gave my Spanish classes a different sort of homework assignment. Google "Frida Kahlo" on the internet, be able to tell me about her life, and tell me which one of her paintings was their favorite, and why.

The next day they greeted me wide-eyed. "She painted WEIRD pictures!" "There was one where she was being born and her head was coming out of another woman!" "There was one with her head on a deer running through the woods, shot full of arrows, I printed it out, here!"

"Well," I said, "Art's different like that sometimes."

We had to work through some new material on formal commands and I thought the best way to get them involved in it would be to have them work as small groups and make up skits. Each skit needed to include vocabulary from the lesson, and formal commands, and one person in each group was supposed to portray Frida Kahlo.

"But we don't know how to paint, or draw, so how--"

"Yeah, and I don't wanna make out with another girl!"

"Don't worry about that. There was more to Frida Kahlo's than painting and bisexual affairs. You could have Frida Kahlo checking a book out of the library, Frida Kahlo waiting on the bus, Frida Kahlo looking for shoe polish at the market. Just be Frida."

"Ok."

Their skits were pretty funny. The best one had Frida pounding her fist on the table and yelling at Diego to take out the trash. Then one young man walked in late, too late to take part in one of the skits. I asked him what he wanted to do.

"I can do my own skit."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I just need a minute to look at the vocabulary."

"You don't have to if it's too embarassing, doing it alone."

"No, it's fine."

He shuffled up to the front of the class, the Cool College Dude with his cap on backwards. He warmed up, started low and slow in Spanish, more or less like this:

"I am Frida

I have suffered

I have painted away my pain

I loved Diego, and he loved me

As well as imperfect man could love..."

The class was silent, and he raised his voice:

"Look at my work

See my paintings

Know who I am--"

And with a shout:

"I AM FRIDA!"

And somewhere in a sunny corner of a garden in Coyoacan, a little black cat stretched and yawned, sunlight like tiny diamonds sprinkled on its fur.