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. 

Time Is On My Side

I threw the big tennis ball up the front hallway. The tall ceiling-ed, wood floored, wide beautiful long hallway.  Lola ran forward, sprinting and jumping and lurching.  She would grab the ball, then chase me with it.  I would freeze, jump, make a weird noise with my mouth, and then she would run and I would chase her.  Up and down that beautiful, one hundred and fifteen year old hallway.   It was just like being in the yard, no better!  Air conditioning and no mosquitoes.

We needed to get used to the idea anyway.  Construction will be starting any day on the McMansion that is being built nine feet away from our house, leaving us little more than the hallway for a yard around my beautiful princess house.  I wish I could pick it up and transport it somewhere safe. 

The parents filed by at the high school on curriculum night.  I saw parents from my old elementary school.  Some, former co-workers from the school that had moved so that their kids could attend the lauded school system I work in now.  Some of these parents had worked at my old school even before their kids attended it.  They had always literally been side by side with their kids on a daily basis and were able to exert influence in a way that only a person that worked at their child's school can.  They looked wide-eyed, almost timid as the walked the hallways.  In some ways reveling in the autonomy of being just another parent, but in other ways, almost intimidated by being another face in the crowd. A parent's first day at school. 

The fifth graders would not shut up.  I was getting frustrated.  I had warned them several times that the game would stop if they couldn't control themselves.

I guess the weren't telling me to fuck off like one of the high school kids did the other day, without administrative repercussion.  Or the one that walked out of class when I told him to put his cell phone away.  "You pay my bill?" he asked, walking out of the door and not returning.  Without repercussion. Nothing I can't handle.  But I dreamed that that kid dragged me by the arm down the hallway, physically menacing me, like I was a child.  Maybe flashbacks to my first year of teaching, when the kids did whatever they wanted and I was always to blame. 
 
"I am going to be late to the high school...," I warned in an attempt to get them quiet.  I wanted to finish the game with them, but did not want to cut into my time at the high school. I felt a little arm wrap around my shoulder and pat my back.

"It will be okay," Jonathon stated blankly, staring me in the eyes.  Jonathon, my new favorite Aspie.  He took the string that holds my keys and school ID from around his neck and handed them to me.

"You are two minutes over your allotted time here". 

Walking the Floor

I stood outside, fully dressed, at 7:15 in the morning.  A line of cars led to the school as others whipped in, boot kicking their kids into the parking lot and roaring away. One car barely stopped moving as an eight year old jumped out through an open door.  

The first day of school.  At least the parents seemed pretty excited about it.

I had felt like crying.  I was strangely homesick.  I missed Alec.  I missed my dog.  I did not want to be back at work.  I wanted to be home.  I was relieved that the presence of the students had actually made me feel better.

"See there, she funny," the mammoth sixteen year old called to his friend while we reviewed the syllabus, "we be alright in this class".  I was glad one of us felt confident.

I looked into the familiar, little face of one of my 5th graders.  He looked exactly like his teenage brother that I taught last year, minus the air of assholery.   I never thought that I would see that face and find it sweet.

I analyzed my instructional hours.  An elementary assistant principal had literally walked up, handed me my schedule, then bolted.  School was starting in three days.  I had been begging for a schedule from the elementary since May.  Between my mornings at the elementary and afternoons at the high school, I would be teaching a ridiculous number of hours.  I felt my stomach start churning.  It wasn't fair.  I would have two completely different age groups.  I would be driving between two schools, daily.  I would float into five different elementary classrooms and four different high school classrooms, daily.  Why would I also have three additional instructional hours, literal TEACHING KIDS hours a week, than any Spanish teacher at either the elementary or high school campus', for the same exact pay as the rest of them?

Well, I decided I wouldn't.  Six hours and multiple master schedules later, our hours became much more commiserate.  I stayed nice, but was simply not going down that road again. 

"Ms. Wagner!" a kid from one of last year's classes yelled down the hall, waving.  I was flattered; it was nice to be greeted.  Last year, he told me that a hand motion I was making to describe a vocabulary word looked like a male jacking off.  I knew at that moment that he and I would get a long well.  

"Maestra!"  the little girl called as I entered her classroom.  I couldn't believe it.  I had taught her for two years at my last elementary school.
"Mia!"  I answered, "It is so good to see you.  Did you move?"
"Yes!"  she answered, smiling.
"Well, it looks like you can't get rid of me for Spanish!"

"So, um, just chill with your bad self for a second until the others finish the pretest" I commented, picking up her paper.
"My bad self.....?"  the pretty teenager asked, smiling. 

"SWEET!"  one of my cohorts from the June classes exclaimed when I walked into his classroom.
"We got you for Spanish?!  SWEET!  I can't tell you, seriously, how glad we are".
Are you talking to me?  It was nice.  The elementary had been hurting me, but this was nice. 

During pre-planning, two fifteen year-old girls had busted into the area where I keep my desk.
"We have you for Spanish" they stated.  I didn't want to talk to them.  I was busy.  I started bitching to them about the weirdness of our classrooms this year.
"One period, we are way up on the third floor in a Social Studies room.  Then, another period, I am in some strange conference room thing.  And then!  Oh my God, the last period I have to teach in like a computer lab, it's crazy....I'm surprised we are not having class in the cafeteria...,"
"You nice....she seem cool...," one of the two fifteen year olds stated.  I was surprised.  I knew that my 'coolness' probably would not last for long, but at least they had a good first impression. 

"Hey, Darrius, what are you doing in here?" I asked my bobcat from last year.  It was the middle of class; I was trying to do my thing and I had a random student just walking in.
"Just sayin' hi to you..."
I decided to go with it.
"Alright muchachos, if you don't know Darrius Collier, you are about to".
He whispered in my ear.
"Oh, she, SHE bad.  Cell phone all the time"
"He, he bad too.  Hey bro!!"
Trayvon laughed and waived back.
"Oh, he, leGary, he..."
"He seems cool to me"
"Oh he is.  He a good guy".
Darrius decided to make his exit.
"Whoo!  You got some pretty white girls in this class!"
"No, no Darrius, no.  No sexual harrassment here"
"She!  Bonita!  he said pointing.
"Bonita, bonita, bonita" he continued, pointing at various white girls.
"Suck it, Darrius!"  the black girls yelled, as Elvis made his exit.

"Me llamo Aidan and me gusta fat cats".
So sweet, so earnest.  I could tell he was an Aspy.
"We have three cats and only one of them is fat.  He is my favorite.  He is sick.  He has been at the vet for three days".
"I am so sorry.  You must be so worried.  This must be very stressful".
"Yes, it is".
He finished his "¿Quién soy yo?" little man writing assignment.
At the end, they could decorate themselves.
Instead of a human face, he drew a cat's face with ears.

"Oh...oh, I like this one.."  Emma stated, flipping through my elementary papers at the high school while she waited for me to get my shit together so that we could go home.

"I know.  I think he is going to be a sweet one".

Me, Myself and I

"Hilary, we would love it if you could join us to represent the Fulbright program at the NEA conference in Atlanta".
I responded 'yes' to the email immediately.  I love Fulbright.  I always say yes to them.

I sat outside with Lola, in my pajamas.  I was finally done with my June classes and was again, sleeping late.  I only had a couple of off days before the two day conference.  A truck pulled up and parked, blocking my car in.  Two men walked confidently through my yard.
"Can I help you?"  I asked, feeling awkward in my pajamas and the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra.
Lola started barking.
"Looking at the land" one of the men responded.
"Really?  Do you know who owns it?  We have been trying to figure it out for a while".
"I do.  We just bought it".
"What....what are you going to do with it?"
"Put a house on it" he answered, dismissively. 
Our property line extends only two feet from our house. 
We wanted that land.  To expand our yard.  It was supposed to be 'undevelopable'.  The previous owners of our house had tried to buy it too, but could never figure out which bank owned it.  I knew this asshole had snapped it up at some courthouse auction and would make some money off of it.  But it means so much more to us.
"Can I get your card?" I asked, chasing this redneck fuck through MY front yard, bra-less and all.

Pervy-ass grey haired man-teachers tried to talk me up whenever I was alone at the Fulbright booth.  It wasn't flattering.  If anything, it was demoralizing.
I had met up with Tanya, the director of operations for the Exchange, the day before the conference began.  We had met and hit it off when she came to Atlanta last October.  We threw some shit up at the booth and had an amazing lunch and drinks.  
I was embarrassed when I met her the next day.  As I tried to park at the conference site, pro-life demonstrators stood outside with gory fake-ass pictures of red jello covered 'baby' hands.  I had no idea why they were there.
Inside, we saw booths selling science textbooks that promoted creationism.  A huge banner hung above their stand:  "Evolution is a Myth".
There was a bazaar type area where you could get a bedazzled t-shirt with your name written in gold.
A separate booth promoted 'life education'.  People, or I guess TEACHERS, were buying dolls that were supposed to represent fetuses at various weeks of development.  But they didn't look like little pieces of shrimp, they gave them limbs, eyes, finger nails, the whole fucking nine yards at a matter of weeks.  I felt a combination of laughter and disgust.  I wanted to mock them, take pictures and spread their ridiculousness all over Facebook.  But, I was horrified by the reality of their presence and the crowd of teachers surrounding their booth.

"Hilary, I have to tell you something,"  Tanya said earnestly.
"I couldn't tell you over the phone".
"Because of the sequester, State has cut funding to the Fulbright Classroom Teacher Exchange.  After SIXTY-FIVE years, the program is no longer funded".

Another loss.  It breaks my heart. 

Hunting

"I gonna hang that dog!" the teenager shrieked at her little brother.  The boy walked down the street with his friend.  When the puppy couldn't walk fast enough, he dragged it on its stomach.
I winced from my vantage point across the street.

"Please, help this puppy.   It runs around in the street at night, off leash, even in the rain.  He is probably two months old.  His mom was emaciated; we used to bring her food.  All of the puppies died a week after she had them.  Then, she got run over by a car.  The 'owners' left her laying in the street for two days, dead.  Finally a neighbor buried her.  Her remaining puppy is starving".

I was surprised when my mom responded to our mutual friend's call out.
"He is too cute to be treated that way.  What do I do?".
My mom has never owned dogs.  I was thrilled and started putting the wheels in motion to save the puppy. 

I was taking classes to upgrade my teaching certificate during June.  They were day long affairs that lasted for four weeks.  As soon as my moms said that she was in, I constantly monitored my phone.  Our friend was simply going to take the puppy one night while he wandered loose.
But it didn't happen the first night.  Or the second.  We felt desperate.  He could be killed in the street.  His belly was bloated with worms.   Now that we knew we wanted him, it felt frantic.

"I am coming over," I texted.  "We have to get that dog".
We couldn't take it anymore.  I wasn't sure how she would respond.
"Possee! I love it!".
And then I drove southwest.   

"He bit our dog!  He put marks on him!" the teenager howled.
The dog in question was a giant Pit Bull.  A ten pound puppy couldn't possibly hurt that dog.
"I don't know shit about dogs, so I locked him in a room for three weeks".

"Okay, I've seen enough" Kerrie said.
She walked over there.
"Hey, you guys know me.   I used to bring food to your dog.  I work at a vet.  That dog needs to see him.  Don't worry, it's free".

I watched from the porch.  I saw the dog in her arms.  I felt tense, scared.   Please, let her take him.  Please, let her be able to walk away with him.  It was taking forever.

"Y'all are fucking Cagney and Lacy".  Kerrie's partner commented. 

I saw Kerrie walking down the sidewalk.  I texted my mom. "Close" I said, "close".
She was on the porch, with the puppy in her arms.
"I am going to put him in my car and drive around the corner.  Follow me.  We'll trade off.  I am going to tell them that the puppy died at the vet".

I followed her left and right.  Every time people stood on the corner, she would take another turn.  I felt the same way.  Finally, she pulled off.  She placed the puppy in my arms and I took off.  Sweet puppy sat in the passenger seat and then, crawled to the back and fell asleep.

I hit the highway and drove north, to my mom's house.

Later I wondered about the little boy that would hear that his dog died.  I wondered if he slept alone in his bed that night, without the puppy.

But, that puppy never slept in a bed.