Here are some starting points.
        When I was three or four, my parents bought a new house in what would later become a small suburb of Nogales, Arizona, on the border of Mexico, some four miles outside town.  My father was born in Mexico, on the border of Guatemala, and my mother was born in England.  I had languages.
        As we kept driving out to watch the house being built, my mother got to make a number of choices regarding details, among which was the color of various rooms.
        My mother, when asked what color she wanted the kitchen, said to the workers who were all Mexican, and who spoke very little English,
limón.  She said it both because she wanted the kitchen to be yellow and because she wanted to start learning Spanish.  The workers nodded yes.  But when we came back the next day, the kitchen was painted bright green, like a small jungle.  Mexican limones, my mother found out, are small and green, that color exactly, no mistake.
        So that's the color that wall stayed for the next eight years.  She said it was a reminder to us all that there was a great deal to learn in the world.  You might laugh at first, but after eight years you start to think about it. 
        And she was right.  It was a perfect, small example of that other way to see things, and for eight years the kitchen for us was, perhaps in a very large way, an even better place than school.