Fun Facts

I stared at the student-made anchor charts about World War II displayed around the classroom.  I have never seen descriptions of the Holocaust followed up by a couple of "fun facts" before, but, to each his own I guess.

"I just take it when she does it."  Alejandro said, shaking his head.
"I cry, because I'm weak, but I just get it over with."
"Yeah...." the other kids seconded, while speaking of their parents' corporal punishment practices.  I was surprised that all of their parents do it, but I guess I shouldn't have been.
"Does your mom do it, or your dad, or both?"  I asked them.
All said mom, except one, who said both.
"Gustavo runs away.  He makes her chase him through the house and climbs under the bed.  He snatches the belt away from under there."
I couldn't help but smile.
"There is this thing, this thing that Spanish moms do...." Patricia began and the other Mexican kids started laughing, knowingly.
"Let me guess, la chancla?" I asked.
"How did you know that?!"  Patricia howled and what was a somber conversation changed to a funny one.

Every time I look at Gustavo, I can't help but laugh, interiorly, at his badness.  I picture his little self whipping through the hallway of a house I've never visited, too fast for his mom, thinking hell no, I'm not just going to let you fucking smack me with a belt.  You're going to have to work for it.
"Jaime is sick."Alejandro continued.
"We went outside to feed the dog with our hair wet and now he doesn't feel well....."
"Your dog stays outside?"
We have been experiencing a cold snap and it was been in the twenties at night.
"Yeah, it used to come inside, but my mom didn't want him to come in anymore....."
I cringed.
"Does he have a little house, a blanket?"
"Yeah....he has a house, but he ripped up his blanket and his bed."
"Do you guys play with him a lot?"
"No....we are too busy." he responded.
I tried to tell myself it was cultural and not to judge, but I can't stop thinking about that dog.  And the beatings.  I don't like the way I am feeling about the parents of a family that I have admired since I started teaching their kids.

Bugs have been seeking refuge in the trailer from the cold.  They're gross.  One landed in my hair.  The little gecko lizards that usually hang out outside have been visiting indoors as well.  Them, I like.  Sometimes when I sit in the trailer and the rain beats on the cloudy windows and I see little geckos on the walls or camouflaging on a table, I feel like I am in a surreal submarine.
The life aquatic. 

Inquiry

"So, I need to know about this impeachment thing." Aazim informed me.
"What do you want to know?" I asked, weary of the whole Housing Authority group I have this year and how out of control I might get explaining this political situation.
"How does it work?"
"Let me give you the fast version," I responded, before drawing all over the white board.
"The House of Representatives gets to decide if the President has broken the laws of the Constitution.  They don't just get to say, 'We don't like you', they have to be specific about what he did that was against the Constitution.  The laws of our country.  They have to lay it out."
"Alright." Aazim responded.
"So then, the House of Representatives gets to vote on the charges against the President and decided if they are true or not."
It became abundantly clear they didn't know who the House of Representatives were.  Or, their role in government.  More drawing on the board.
"Look, you guys will learn about this in school, soon. But, we have the President."  circle around name, orange pumpkin, lines drawn.
"Congress. Equal part."  circle, lines drawn.
"But, confusing, there are two parts of Congress, House and Senate."
"House, depends on population, representation upon how many people live in your state.  We've got a lot in Georgia, but like, I don't know Montana, they've got hardly any."
"Senate, you get two, no matter what."  circles, lines.
I never even mentioned the Supreme Court.
"The House is the only part that can begin Impeachment."
"Why can't I?"
"You can't.  I can't.  It's how it is. It's their job."
"So, they vote."
"Does everyone have to vote the same way?"
"No.  It's majority rules."
"What's majority?"  Then, I explained what majority means.  I couldn't remember if the House rules were simple majority or more, so I just showed them simple majority.
"So, if the House says yes, the vote goes to the Senate, the other half of Congress."
"Wait, who is my Representative?"
"Mine is John Lewis.  Yours might be Hank Johnson, but I'm not sure."
"Why don't you know?"
"I don't live here.  It depends on where you live.  We can look it up."
"If the House says yes, it moves to the Senate.  And then they vote.  If they say no, it's over.  It's done."
"But, what if they just vote with their friends...."  Aazim asked, eyebrow knitted together.
My heart stopped.
"Well, that's what everyone worries about...the House has a Democrat majority.  People think that's why they brought up the impeachment inquiry.  Who do you think has the majority in the Senate?"
"Democrats?"  Aazim asked, hopefully.
"Think again."
"Republicans....." he replied, and put his head in his hands.
"How do people get this job?!" Suleymann asked/screamed.
"Well, buddy, that's where you put your sign in someone's yard, give speeches, talk to the people, and WE DECIDE, if we want to vote for you or not."
"Who's we?"
"US!  That's our part!  That is the part we get to play!"  I responded.
"And, what if the Senate votes with their friends, and he robs someone, robs them again?" Suleymann continued, his mind not really getting high crimes and misdemeanors, more robbery and murder.  My mind flashed back to sitting on the rug at The Center with his older brother Mahja, when he was only in fourth grade.
"So, can they put Trump out if he kills someone?  Even his own wife?"  Mahja had asked me.
I remember laughing and telling him that it didn't have to come to that, that simply violating the Constitution was enough.  Boy, was I wrong.
"So, if he breaks the Constitution after the Senate says no, yeah...they have the opportunity to do it all over agin...."  I responded.
"Again!?"  Suleymann, asked, sighing.
"Yes, again." I responded, sighing.

Mon frere

"You are the one, you're the one in my heart, you're my darlin' my life's greatest thrill...."
I sing softly to Lola.
"Yes, you are the one, you're the one in my heart and I love you and I always will...."
I sing the Carl Smith song at a slower tempo than he did, but I've sung it to Lola since she was a baby.  It's our jam.  Or mine, at least. 

"Alright, mon frere, you have a good weekend!" the nicest teacher at my school called to Alejandro, as he got in his mom's car.  Alejandro's face spread in a huge smile. 

I drove from school to the Housing Authority, on Halloween.
"And I, I..... will always, love you!!!!" I howled, with Dolly Parton.
That is one of the few songs that has always brought me to tears.
I sing that to Lola lately, too.

"Goodbye, Jennifer Faulkner." Alejandro said jokingly, as he snipped a small piece of his cut and paste worksheet into little pieces as we worked in a small group.  This was not my class.  It was when I push-in to his big class and cluster them and try to make it work. 
"Wait, who is Jennifer Faulkner?"  I asked.
"Her name is at the bottom of all the worksheets she gives us," Alejandro stated, cutting Jennifer's name in two again, while motioning slightly, ever so slightly, at his teacher.
"I hate Jennifer Faulkner."
It's weird, ever since he showed me, I have noticed that his teacher must be caught on some Teachers Pay Teachers fetish worksheet thing with this one author.  Jennifer.  Jennifer Faulkner.  And every time Alejandro sees Jennifer's name at the bottom of one of those worksheets, he snips it into little pieces. 

We joke about it.  I see it in the recycle bin.  I ask him where her name is and he has it snipped apart in his desk.  It's everywhere. 

We have a new student coming.  He is a big boy, though he is only ten. Our grade level group is tight knit and we are very bonded together.  We've suffered losses and we've tightened up with who is left.  We look out for each other. 

I can't wait to meet him. 

Nobody Knows It

Mornings are weird.
I drive to an area I am still unfamiliar with, in the dark, setting the cruise control so that I will arrive on time.  I put on makeup at strategic stoplights.  And chap stick.  And eye drops.  And I clean my glasses.  I gather my shit and recheck several times that I have not left the keys in the car before locking it.  For some reason, my fork keeps flying out of a hole in my lunch box and I have had to drag it out from under the car.  Then, I run in the front door to arrive at my 7:00AM start time, dodging cars and buses to get into the school.  I go directly to duty in the Media Center.  After, I walk to the trailer in the dark, behind the school.  I leave the door open until I turn the lights on and make sure a murderer isn't in there, then close it and turn on the heat or air, whichever is necessary.  I unpack my things, including jugs of water from home and coffee, and have a seat.  I usually am not quite ready to work, so I read the newspaper while I eat a hard boiled, slaughter-free egg with Valentina hot sauce and a Wasa cracker and drink my black coffee.  Sometimes, I take some water from my thermos and mix it with Emergen-C.

I sort of like my routine until the announcements come on.  They blare through the intercom that only seems to work for the announcements, but not for tornado, fire or intruder drills.  Our librarian instructs us to stand and face a flag for the pledge and after, a horrible, pre-canned most-awful shrill version of the national anthem blares through the intercom.  I sit and eat my egg under the fluorescent lights of the trailer and imagine someone watching me, wondering which alternative universe I live in.  This strange woman, sitting in a strange place, with strange music playing, in the dark.  Is it hell?  Has she been sent to hell?

I stood at my post in the cafeteria, watching the kids eat.  The instrumental version of "Sexual Healing" played loudly.  The kids are not allowed to speak while the music is on.

"I wonder which is farther away from here, South Africa or Burma...." I pondered, as I walked with some of my students to the trailer.
"But I'm not from Burma, I'm from Thailand." Prem responded, yanking on the trailer door.
"But your family is really from Burma, right?  And you just spent some time in Thailand....?"  I asked carefully, trying to figure out how to mention a refugee camp in a casual way.
"Yes.  They were murdering Karen." he responded, swinging the door open and shooting inside.

"Don't go breakin' my heart!"  we sang, showing off our best dance moves.
"I couldn't if I tried!"  Faba continued.
Juan and Prem didn't know the words as well as Faba and me, but they still danced furiously around the trailer, screaming out "Wooooo hoo!" at all the appropriate parts.
Halloween always makes a day feel good.

*Lyrics, Elton John

J

A Murder of Crows

As I walk from the school building out to the trailer, I've been noticing some big fat crows flying overhead.  The weather has finally decreased from the high nineties of early October to something somewhat resembling fall.  It no longer feels like the surface of the sun as I walk over the blacktop to my metal-clad school home.  I like the crows.  They, along with the pine trees that circle the back of the school, make things feel like Halloween. 

The trailer is showing some signs of Halloween as well.  Rain appeared after weeks of dryness, and the walls of the trailer don't seem especially water proof.  The adorable, "All About Me" posters the kids made about themselves at the beginning of the school year seem to be absorbing moisture from the walls, transforming their hand drawn faces into something quite speckled and ghoulish. 

There is also a strange smell.  I've gone to great pains to clean the tables and chairs weekly with lemon scented, disease killing wet wipes.  I also clean the board and my desk and antiquated computer and phone.  I spray the trailer with a natural orange spray that the kids say smells like a mix of the counselor's office and candy.  I keep my dry snacks in a sealed plastic box in order to not attract rats.  I deny residence to large cockroaches by chasing them from the trailer.  Most have declined to return. 

"Ewwww...." one of the kindergartners commented, scrunching her nose and waving her hand in front of her face.
It was only their second visit to the coveted trailer, the desired destination of all of my ESOL kids. 
"It smells like fish!"  another exclaimed.
My trailer.  My beautiful trailer.  FISH.  They might as well have told me it smelled like B.O.  I was horrified. 

"Agnieszka, the kindergartners said the trailer smells." I whispered to one of my first graders.
"Really?" she whispered back, perplexed.
"Maybe it's me, do I smell?" I responded, pretending to sniff myself.
She drew her nose closer and took a careful whiff.
"No, you don't smell.  You smell good. "  she paused for a minute, before exclaiming in a moment of realization,
"You smell like white people!  I smelled one before on the playground!" 
I thought of the lone white girl in the school, who happened to be in her class, and burst out laughing. 
We both did. 

Mudo

"Shift" Mr. Warner repeated, over and over.
"Shift to the left."
I watched my student carefully write "shit" on her spelling test.
"Oh man, you should have seen what Ja'quon put as his name on Kahoot...."  he said lowly, after seeing me look at her quiz.
"LOIN KING" he wrote on the board, before quickly erasing it with his hand.

I sat in the Media Center, my morning duty post, monitoring the kids in the lower grades that don't eat breakfast at school.
"A minute is sixty seconds.  An hour is sixty minutes.  A week is seven days...." a little boy prattled off.
"You really know your time segments." I responded.
"Yeah, but he can't make the errr sound." his fellow Speech classmate said dismissively, her own stutter surprisingly absent for a second.

"Both of my parents' birthdays are on January 1st."  Aazim mentioned randomly, as he worked on his math problems.
"My mom's birthday is on January 1st too!"  Habiba commented.
I've heard that refugees are often assigned January 1st as their birthday if there is ambiguity about their actual birth date when they arrive in the United States.  I've had a number of refugee students with the tell tale birthday.  I was surprised they didn't know this but didn't say anything, just marveled at the coincidence.

"I'm taking it!" I heard an unfamiliar voice utter, before Helina grabbed crayons from another child.
"She talked...." Ana said quietly, eyes wide.
"I think she just did...."
She has never done that before.
We all stared at Helina.
She looked back at us, a mischievous look in her eyes, before climbing on the table and drawing on it.

Heaven Only Knows

Heaven only knows just why... 
loving you should make me cry
Make me feel like I could die
That's the way it goes...

"I spoke to my doctor.  We're doing thirty-six weeks."  the radiant, yet wildly pregnant pre-K teacher informed us.
"She said it was supposed to be thirty-nine, but I said, no.  Not this time.  We are doing it differently."

"Get out of the car!  I'm going to fight you!"  the woman who had roared up beside my car screamed.
"Are you fucking crazy?"  I responded.
"You're lucky I don't have my gun.  I'd shoot you!" she screamed, before roaring off in front of me.
Good to know.
I am actually a very careful and conscientious driver, but, you can't win them all.

"The mandamus went through, they filed it Monday."  the text rang through moments after my driver friend threatened to shoot me, while I was pulled off on the side of the road calling 911.
"I am so glad," I responded.
"Wish they had filed it three weeks ago, but at this rate, we might have him by New Year's!"
One man, out of Afghanistan. 
Please pray that it works. 

*Lyrics and title, Emmylou Harris