2014

Lola accepted the pig ear like she was taking communion.  She advanced slowly, eyes raised toward the giver and gently took the ear into her mouth.  And then, she ran away with it.  Alec and I laughed.  We know she really likes something if she runs off with it, as if we would buy her an expensive treat, give it to her, and then try to take it back for ourselves. 

I ripped the lights off of the tree, threw them on a chair and dragged the tree through the front door, along the side of the house and into my trunk.  It was sticking about five feet out, but I just crammed the truck door on top of it and drove down the street, watching the door open and close on top of the tree.  The fucking Boy Scouts would be done with the chipper in seven minutes.  I could make it.  If I didn't, I would be stuck with this thing that the trash men refuse to pick up.

The tree stayed in the trunk all the way to the first turn around the south end of the park.  I was thrilled.  I saw a man at the bottom of the hill in jogging clothes.  He was on the ground, holding his leg and grimacing.  Some weird stretch?  I almost kept driving.  I don't stop for men in need no matter what the situation is.  Especially not white men.  They just have to find someone else, because I like my lady parts unmolested and value my life.

I slowed the car.
"Are you okay?"  I called hesitantly.
"I just twisted it, really bad..." he responded, short breathed.
"Um....do you....need a ride... to your nearby house....?" I asked with an obvious look of trepedation on my face.
"Really?  Can you do that?  Hey, you're my neighbor!" he said grimacing and stating my address.  I realized that he understood why women are fearful of closed spaces with unknown men. 
"Can you walk over here?"
He limped slowly across the street, dragging a leg behind him.  I felt like an ass for not parking the car and helping him. 

Lola clandestinely walked toward the front of the house.  I followed her and was surprised when I saw the pig ear hidden behind the chair cushion.  She has done this before, but I didn't realize she loved this particular ear that much.  She extracted it, and walked around the house with the entire thing 'hidden' in her mouth.  Her lip was sticking up were a tiny bit of the ear protruded from her large jaws.  We sat on the couch.  I helped her hide it again behind a couch cushion, pulling the cushion away so that she could insert it and secretively shoving the blanket forward that she was trying to advance with her nose to cover the buried treasure.  She repeated the burial all afternoon, in four parts of the couch, under my pillow on the bed, back in the chair, in plain view by the fireplace, shoved between the bed and the wall.

He made it into the car.
"Sorry, but do you mind if I get this thing out of my trunk?  It's on the way and the Scouts are done in five minutes".
"Yeah... " he said, flinching with pain.

"Okay, five seconds!"  I said brightly, wheeling through the Boy Scout stand and on around the park.    

Express yourself

"STRAIGHT OUTTA COMPTON!!"  my radio screamed.   The hooptie was driving north.  I feared it would break down, but was anxious to get to the college graduation.  It was raining.  Gray.  But I felt good.

I have told you about her before, but you might not remember.  I have told you a lot of things.  I can't remember the name I made up for her, for her on the blog.  To respect her privacy.  I met her during my first year of teaching.  I am now in my eighth, which seems impossible.  The first year was horrible.  Except for her.  A quiet girl, from Afghanistan.  In Spanish One, which was ridiculous because she needed to be in ESOL.  The kids made fun of her name, they said it sounded like 'fuck'.  Her last name is Hussain.  'Saddam Hussain' they yelled, if I said her last name.  Idiots.  Stupid ass pieces of shit that didn't know their elbow from their asshole. 

That was back in the day when kids knew who Saddam Hussain was.  Maybe it's good that they don't anymore. 

She was determined.  She came to tutorial everyday, DETERMINED to get a good grade, to learn.  "How do you say 'I cried in the night'" she asked me one day, during tutorial.
"'Lloré por la noche', but... why?"
"I went to school for a year in Afghanistan.  But, it became too dangerous, so my parents kept me home.  One night, there was a terrible fight.  My father and the other men sent us, the women and children, into the house.  We came out in the morning.  My father was dead.  We fled to Pakistan.  My mother took us there.  We worked in a rug factory.  It made my fingers hurt, but we had to get by.  And then, we got visas, we came here.  I always wanted to go to school."

She graduated within the four year framework.  Learned the Roman alphabet, learned to write from right to left, learned English, passed the Georgia High School Writing test and all of the rest of the standardized tests.  She had been to school for ONE year, before coming to the United States.  And still graduated within four years, something that a lot of our native born can't manage to do, with elementary and middle school backing them up. 

And then, she went to college.  Earned a full scholarship at a four year, private liberal arts school.  It was difficult for her to leave her family.  Though they were only two hours away, it was hard for her not to live in the house with them.  Or help support them.  She felt self indulgent for concentrating on her own education.  And, her brother died unexpectedly on her first day of college.  I wish I hadn't been concentrating on my own self during that time.  I could have helped her.  She needed my help and I didn't give it. I was a grown woman and only thought about myself. 

"COMPTON!" my radio screamed.  I knew I could drive fast enough to get there. 

I stared at the kid in class behind me.  Was he really using his phone like, right there, in class? 
"I gotta hit you back," he said into the phone.
Someone resisted.
"No really, I got to hit you back".
"Look, he needs to hit you back!"  I said in a high pitched voice.
"No really, it was 'bout MONEY" my student told me.
"You can't text about money?"
"Callins faster"
Alright.
"Okay, it appears K-rod has closed up the business shop and we can get on with things." I announced to the class.  I was actually pleased that he had respected my look and hung up the phone. 

I saw her in the graduation line up.  At first, I thought wow, look at my lady in her graduation robe.  And then I saw all her cords.  For honors, for achievements.  And I cried. 

I haven't slept all week.  I have a cold.  People get them.  I was counting the days until the break.  It finally came.  And when I arrived at my house, water was gushing all over the lawn.  The spicket was broken.  My sister and I couldn't turn it off.  Water in Atlanta is expensive.  Like, water the plants and pay fifty dollars more next month.  And this shit had been going on for hours.  I called the city to turn that bitch off.  They said they'd get to it.  Only took four more hours. 

"Shit, we won't have water for days, can't flush the toilet, shower, nothing!" Alec bitched. 
"It's the weekend before Christmas, we are going to pay out the ass".
But, I called Jesus.  And within one hour, we had repaired pipes with water running through them.  I wanted to pay him out the ass, but he wouldn't accept it.

Happy Holidays to all and to all a good night.  

Jekyll and Hyde

"Well, I agree with SOME of the things Nelson Mandela did..." one of my co-workers stated, a matter of hours after his death.  She made it sound like she was really going out on a limb with her generous praise.
Who the fuck has a problem with Nelson Mandela?

"Kids these days!  I fear for our future...." the older, almost grandmotherly substitute teacher said to me in way of greeting.  I had just arrived at the high school.
"Yeah, totally.  They're bad..."
"I mean the things they will say!  My goodness!"
"Yeah, they're pretty bad" I responded staring at my computer.
"Pussy.  They were talking about pussy!"
Okay....now you have my attention....
"Eating pussy!"
Not exactly what I expected coming out of your mouth.....
"And!  I will not use the words THEY used, but another young man spoke of the girl passing gas while he did it!".
Okay, you are really freaking me out now.  Casual discussion of 'eating pussy' with a complete stranger is okay, but the word 'fart' is apparently off the table?
"Bye now!  I SO enjoyed our conversation!" she said, sliding out of the classroom.

Seventh period of the day.  Friday.  LET ME OUT.  The kids were not up to working.  They were pulling out everything, personal questions, the difference between Mexican Spanish and Spanish Spanish, when did you start wearing glasses?
"Look you guys, I can tell you are not really feeling it today.  Let's just get through this warm up and then I have games for you".
"Why is the first one in the imperfect instead of the preterite?"
"Well Chicho, 'siempre' implies a general time frame instead of a specific one, so go with the imperfect".
"Okay, I got it".
"So, why DO we study Spanish in high school?" another kid asked in an attempt to avoid the warm up. 
"Just lucky"
"So, why does 'se niega' switch to 'se nego' in the preterite?"  Chico asked.

What the fuck was it, opposite day?  The rest of the class was going nuts and Chicho was actually asking good questions, instead of openly talking about jumping people and doing drugs.
"Well, Chicho, lucky for us you don't have to do stem changes in the preterite"

"Oh, okay.  I think I'm getting this" he responded, diligently correcting his work while in the middle of a seventh period, Friday-circus.

It had been that kind of day.  

Hallowed

"Any interesting news?  ¿Noticias interesantes del fin de semana?"  I asked my quintos, my fifth graders.
"Mi cabello quedó atrapado en el mezclador y los bomberos tuvieron que venir" a small, transparent girl with blue veins on her forehead answered triumphantly, reading from Google translate on her Ipad.  
"Hijo de la gran puta, your hair got stuck in a mixer?  What kind of mixer?"
"You know, the big Kitchen Aid".
Holy shit.
"It got all tangled up and my parents had to call 911". 
I noticed the bruise on her forehead.  She's lucky her hair wasn't ripped out at the scalp.   
"Definitely a weekend gone wrong...".
She nodded enthusiastically, blue eyes and veins radiating from her face.   

"Shit, I need to try to get some work done....." Alicia mumbled, holding a stack of papers that she intended to grade in front of her while we both sat on the ground, ducking beneath student desks with the lights off.
"Oh God, I forgot my phone...." I responded, refiling through my "intruder alert" packet of colored cards and escape route maps.  I could barely fit under that desk.
"My lower back is killing me..." she responded, bent over and Indian style in an attempt to fit under the desk.

It was quite a crowd.  I love the Grant Park children's Halloween parade.  My niece used to be in it before she could barely talk.  But wow, so many kids now.  I walked down and watched from the sidelines.
A couple of kids starting waving and their mom brought them across the street.
"You look amazing!"
"Thank you, look!  I have short hair now!" one of my former lovelies responded, removing the hood from her costume.  They crossed the street and got back in line for the parade, amid the sea of new, unknown children.
I felt like a ghost. 

Halloween finally came.  I passed out candy at my sister's house, dressed in my Bearded Lady costume.  I could not tolerate the mustache attached to the beard, and ended up looking like Amish bearded lady. A large group approached the house.
"Trick or Treat!!!!"
"Here you go, here you go, take that....hey, are you okay?" my sister asked a heavy girl that looked a little off.
"She just having an asthma attack" the adult of the group responded.
"Her mom told me that she'd be able to walk this!".
Holly has asthma.  She brought the girl her inhaler in an effort to help.  The girl slid down on the front steps.
"You guys go along," Holly instructed, "she can rest here".
They went about their trick or treating.
"You're okay, just relax.." I instructed.
I was surprised when she rested her head against my shoulder and gripped my arm.  I instinctively cradled her head and looked up at the the stars.
"It's okay, honey.  It's okay".

"Hey, what was the first step?  I remember 'evade' and like, attack, but what was the first step?"
"Escape" Alicia answered, looking at her notes.
"Fuck, well, I guess they are assuming we didn't escape.  Do you have your weapon?" I asked, looking at the scissors I had grabbed, along with my packet and rosters.
"No!  Well there must be something in here..." she responded, grabbing a plastic pencil box from under one of the desks and opening it.

"What is your name?"  I asked the girl, while sitting next to her on the couch.
"Umba..." she responded faintly, eyes like slits.
I ripped of my beard, imagining how unsettling it must be to be barely conscious and in a strange house with a bearded woman in front of you.  She could barely speak.
"More...cold..water.. please...."
I got it for her.
"Are you in middle school?"  I asked, thinking I was undershooting her age.  
"Fifth.." she breathed.
Fifth grade.  Her weight made her look so much older.  Fifth grade and abandoned on Halloween.  I put a cold compress on her forehead.
"You're safe.  You are safe..."  I kept repeating.
"I can't... walk... back there...."  she wheezed "I can't make it...."
A younger member of her group came in.  
"I wanted to check on Umba.  Umba, you okay!?"  I was glad someone cared.
"She can't walk back.  I am going to give her a ride home.  You guys Trick or Treat.  Umba, where do you live?".  I handed her a piece of paper and pen, to write the address.  She couldn't write.  Her eyes remained slits, her breathing heavy.  The boy wrote it down.  Hank Aaron, right by the stadium.   

There was a slight tapping on the door.  Should we open it?  Was it for real or some sort of trick?  Alicia and I looked at each other.  This stupid drill had been going on for over a half an hour.  We sat still, crunched under the desks. 

"Hey, we go with her!" the adult chanted, cheerily.  I hadn't anticipated loading six people, including a few really little kids, into the car.  I mean, really?  Umba was sick.  This wasn't a free fucking taxi.  "Her Umba, you ride her on your lap" the adult instructed, putting a child on Umba.
"Umba's sick.  Someone else needs to hold her" I responded and instructed the child to the back seat.  They crammed in.  As I was starting the car, my brother in-law ran up.
"I got this" he said, instructing me out of the car.
I watched him pull out, carefully dodging trick or treaters.  And then they were gone.

I stared at the marigolds, the pretty colonial buildings, the altars.  I have never been to Morelia before and have been wanting to go for a while.  When I stepped off the plane and walked across the runway and through the sliding doors of the airport Friday afternoon, I was surprised how comfortable and happy I was just to be in Mexico, if only for a couple of days.  

I felt bleary. A week had passed in three days.   I loaded my work bag into the car Monday morning, having returned to Atlanta a few hours before.  

I paused.  There was a little pile of candy on the floor.  Where did that come from? What?

And then I remembered Umba...
 

Kaup Jai Lai Lai

"Unfortunately, we will not be able to visit the King Center or the Carter Presidential Library while we are in Atlanta, due to the government shutdown".

Great.  The Fulbright program that has been the main reason why I continue to teach is no longer funded, after sixty-five years, due to the sequester and general assholery in D.C.   When I say not funded, I mean it's over, done, no longer.  Now the fucking federal government can't even keep its ass open so one of the last workshops of my beloved program can host a pinche cultural visit in Atlanta.

"So, where you from? What you do here in Atlanta?"
"Oh, I live here.  I'm just working a conference in the hotel".
"Okay, I get you your beer".
I don't like speaking with bartenders.

"We are sorry to announce that Richard Zolinski, U.S. State Department representative of Cultural Affairs, was unable to travel to Atlanta, due to the federal government shutdown.  He wanted you to know that he is here in spirit".

"What kind of conference?".
"It is an international conference, teachers that are from a lot of places, teaching here this year in the U.S.".
"My daughter teacher.  University.  But only part time work".
"That happened to me last year.  Only part-time work.  Were you...born in the U.S.?"  I asked carefully, knowing the answer was no.
"Nooo!"
"Wait, wait, let me guess.  Sorry, let me do this.  Cambodia?"
"Close!"
"Alright, Laos?"
"Wrong!"
"Vietnam?"
"Only one lefffft!"
"Holy shit, Thailand!"
"Yes!"
"Okay, which part?"
"I from a small town, called Bangkok".
We were both laughing.  Kind of screaming laughing.
"Tell me where you been..."
Oh...where I've been...so many places that I have been...so lucky that I have been...

I remember my first workshop as a grantee in the program. I had received notification a couple of weeks before and after all the waiting, things went into high speed.  Direct flight to D.C. into Reagan, at a convenient time.  Posh ass hotel.  Cash handed to me on arrival to be sure I didn't pay for my cab from the airport out of my own pocket.  As I sat in our first meeting, dressed up and nervous, Richard greeted us:
"On behalf of the U.S. Department of State, we would like to thank you for your time, for taking time out of your schedules to be here and participate in this program".
That is just not something us bottom class of public school teachers hear very often.  Or never. It felt important, like we really were valued.
"Wow, we're not in DeKalb County anymore" my co-worker from Atlanta whispered to me. 

"So, we ate everything we could see.  People told us Bangkok was a shit-hole but we loved it...so much to do, so much beauty..."
"Yeah but that plane!  Nineteen hours in plane!".
"Oh my God, no shit.  I made the mistake of watching the monitor, you know, where the little plane is sitting over the ocean".
"You watch that thing!  It horrible!  I drink beer and sleep!"

"Wait, what do you mean?" I asked one of the other alum that was working the conference. 
"She doesn't have a job anymore, it's over".
"Yeah, I know it's over, but I thought...I thought she would stay on and work with the other Fulbright programs.....what is happening?".
I can't make up any more fake names for her.  She made my Fulbright exchange happen, first from the Commission in Mexico and later supported me from orgs in D.C. that administered the grant.  She has been the only non-family person that has stuck with me through thick and thin, the only person that has told me for the last five years that I have been doing something good, more than good, honorable, in the classroom.

"Her job is done in two weeks".

There are places you will go

"¿Qué hiciste el fin de semana pasado?" I asked the fifth graders.
"Well," Jonathon answered, "One of my chickens was cremated.  Do you know what creamated means?"  he asked the class.
"It was injected with something and slowly died as the air went out of his lungs" he added, flatly.
I didn't correct his mistake.
"I'm sorry, Jonathon.  Something like that happened to one of my sister's chickens recently.  It was very sad".
He stared at me with the same dead look.

"So, how is Jarod doing in Spanish?  What are his weaknesses?"
"Honestly, I couldn't tell you.  He comes to class late everyday, and never even has paper or pencil.  He hasn't turned anything in in three months.  Can't even get him to copy off of the board.  Your guess is as good as mine".
"What's wrong, Jarod?" his caseworker asked.
"Well she, she goes too fast" Jarod answered, voice raised, sounding innocent.
"Well.  If she go too fast, we will have to see about a schedule change".
I teach the bottom feeders.  The mouth breathers.  I repeat everything, day after day, over and over.  I sit and read out loud to them.  Something I don't even have to do for my fifth graders.  But white lady Spanish teacher go too fast.  Whatever.  Change him if you want.  Get him out out of my class.  It is one less headache to deal with.  But it pissed me off.

"And then!  I just sent mind-controlled sonic missiles to your house!  It is gone, burned!"  Jonathon's eyes were rolling back in his head.  He was almost delirious.  We were laughing hysterically.  He was hugging me while he talked about my demise.
"Jonathon, please though.  What happened to my pets, Lola and my birds?"
"They escaped!"
"Thank God"
"But then animal control got them!"
The kids were screaming.  Jonathon was screaming, but crazily articulate and inventive and scary all at the same time.  Ms. T's class has never gotten over what happened and she hasn't either.  I walk in to teach Spanish and her face has a horrible, defeated look on it.  The kids are going crazy.  She leaves and doesn't even try to get them ready for me.
Jonthanon was stabbing and swinging a pencil around wildly while he told his tales.  He almost hit me in the eye, but I have been wearing my glasses since the day I couldn't afford to go to the eye doctor for a new prescription or buy contacts.
Then, he almost stabbed me in the arm.

"You're are making excuses, Jarod.  It's always everyone else's fault.  The problem is you".
The football coach's eyes locked with mine.  I was so glad someone was going to say it.
"Hey, do you know his reading level?" he continued, asking the head of the Special Education department.
"Three and a half, four" she responded.
"Grade?!"
"Yes".
"Why is it so low!"  Jarod exclaimed, visibly upset.  I don't like this little fucker, but I was surprised they outted his reading level in front of everyone.
"Those are your scores, Jarod".
"I can read!" he responded, frustrated, lowering his head.
"He also has a low verbal IQ" the department chair added.
He didn't even get that.
"I want a consequence" Jarod said slowly.
"If I don't go to tutorial, I need a consequence".
"How about we go positive!  What would you like if you DO go to tutorial?".
"That doesn't work for me.  I need to get into trouble".
"Okay, then a silent lunch.  I know you hate that.  But let's go positive!  You drink Gatorade.  I'll get you a Gatorade".
"Okay, I guess. Gatorade".
"I have to go.  I have a class tonight that starts in fifteen minutes".
My Specialist class.  My Ridiculous class.  Half of the other teachers had already left.
"Jarod, you know where I am.  We can work through this".
And then I left.

"Animal Control!!"
"But they escaped!  Now they are sitting in front of the charred remains of your former house!"
"Thank you for that, Jonathon.  Thanks for saving my babies".

"Here's your keys. You are over your time allotment here".

On a planet far, far away....

"Something happened!"  one of the fifth graders said the minute I walked into their room to do their Spanish class.  The class was buzzing. 

"Why I act the way I do?  'Cuz I got a teacher like you.  Put that in your head.  Fuck you".  Ah, always a pleasure working with certain students.  This kid's parents abandoned him.  Hmmm.  I wonder why.  I would definitely leave him out on the rocks to die if I hatched such a piece of shit. 

"Who are you?"  I asked the two men in safety vests standing next to my house. 
"We survey land" one of them answered with a Russian accent. 
Funny, then why were they on my land?

"Alright, one at a time" I instructed.  I knew they were not going to let it go until I let them explain what happened.
"Ms. T flipped out yesterday!  Something was wrong.  It's medical.   We tried to help". 
"Wait, wait, wait, one at a time".  I know Ms. T relatively well.  I know she has medical issues. 
"She wouldn't let us leave school.   When we tried to get her her medicine, she started yelling at us.  At first we thought it was a joke.  Then we thought it was a test.  And then, we got scared....".
I felt a sick feeling in my stomach.

"Who do you work for, the City or the architect?" I asked.
"We don't know.  What are they trying to put on this land?"
"A house"  I answered.
"Where?  There is no room.  This is horrible job.  We been out here three days.  We want to go home".
"Let me know if I can help" I answered, assuming it was better to be helpful than contentious. 

"I have to say that I don't appreciate that the two of you were laughing during the Trey situation.  It eggs him on.  Imagine if you had someone insulting you in front of a room full of people and others sat and laughed".
I had kicked the kid out of the classroom after an extended yelling exchange and was pretty fucking pissed at some of the peanut gallery.  I was surprised when it looked like they were thinking. 
"Really...I was laughing because he is just so... stupid...." one of the responded slowly. 
"Can we please have the fun day you promised, before all that happened?"  the other asked.  He is a large, African-American kid on an elementary reading level. 
"The rest of us are having the fun day, because everyone else in the class didn't egg him on.  You did.  You are getting poop work.  The most boring thing I can find in my bag". 
My bag.  I float between two schools, nine classrooms and a separate office that has a nothing but a table in it that I share with another teacher.  My laptop, speakers, activities, Expo markers and everything else I might need to teach all over the world is in that bag.  It gets heavy sometimes. 

"She kept saying the same words over and over again, but wasn't finishing the sentences.  Then she started doing weird body moves, like karate".
"It was almost three o'clock.  No one knew we were still in here".
"We started crying".
"Man, I was bawling" another boy added.
"Mr. Frank and Ms. Jones saved us".
"The buses were leaving.  I was running between them, trying to get them to stop but they left..."
"I sprinted home.  If I am not home by three my mom gets scared.  I won't be allowed to walk to school anymore".
"They tried to call my parents and warn them.  But they called the wrong number.  They called my PARENTS.  I live with my grandparents.  When I finally got out to the car, they had already gone home and gotten the shotgun.  It was in the backseat".
"Sandy Hook" one of the kids added.  Yes, Sandy Hook.  And the school that had a shooting two miles away a couple of weeks ago.  I felt like crying. 

I had finished the end of my movie when I saw the Russians outside again.  It was late, I thought they had left.  I went outside.  They had flashlights and surveying equipment and were shooting beams across the weeded area where a house will be. 
"Would you like a beer?"  I asked them.
They smiled and declined. 
"We have it!"  they announced.
I watched some more television.  Lola jumped up about an hour later and ran toward the front porch.  I followed her and saw the Russians on my front porch, measuring my doorway.  The jumped off and ran when they saw Lola.  Orange tape and rebar marked the other side of our lot that has nothing to do with the new construction. 
What the fuck?

"I'll let you play on one condition.  DON'T be buttholes".
The whole class started laughing, including the two offenders.
"Yeah, don't be buttholes!" another kid shrieked at them.
I started the Puerto Rican rap music and passed out the Bingo cards.  Kids started shaking it.  The elementary reader did a funny head tilting dance.  Others did a pencil drum to the beat. 
 
The vibe was right again and all was good in the world.