I go up to the fourth floor of the center building, looking for Rita's creativity class. I'm the guest speaker. I see a big crowd in the halls. I ask Rita if class will start soon or if I have time to go get lunch. She says, "Five minutes," so I say "Good, it's too crowded out there anyway." I see lots of orchids and calla lilies in green florist paper and comment on their beauty. Rita, who is glad to see me, says that the students brought them in. An angry young man enters the room and talks. He's complaining and noisy! I don't think Rita is handling it well, so I start my class lecture. He leaves. I use an allegory example from my childhood. I say, "Maybe the only way I can get my family to notice me is to make noise or trouble." So I shove some blocks and toys off a hassock onto the floor. Then I talk about filters. We are communicating to each other through many layers of ideas. So I talk about my mother having her filters and so by the time my noise gets to her, she's responding to that, not to my inner message of need. So I describe her reaction. "Be quiet. What's wrong with you behaving in this bad way." Her voice is angry and sarcastic. Rita and a woman student flinch at the strong negative picture I describe of my mother. I feel a little guilty. Maybe I went too far. The students admire me and my insights.