Poison Ivy

I drove fast and west.  It felt like a road trip.  Atlanta, sliding behind me and signs of actual Georgia popping up.  This is the first summer in five years that I have not driven completely across the country and into the smoldering western borderlands.

But, I wasn't on a road trip. 

I was stunned when I saw the sprawling school.  The lack of landscaping made it look like it should be in Texas, just a big building sticking straight up out of the ground.  My car was freaking out, I was afraid that the transmission might fail again.  I found my way in.  I couldn't believe that it had come to this.

I sat at a table in a county that is nearly in Alabama.  Two very country white men sat across from me.  I have never driven that far for a job interview.  Not even before my first year of teaching when I had absolutely no experience, no certificate, no Fulbright, no anything.  And this was a middle school of all things, something I have always categorically ruled out.

"It's not supposed to be like this" I thought. 

We got talking.  They were very cordial and polite. I wasn't smiling.  I put on my song and dance but knew I lacked enthusiasm.  Before I could ask the questions I always ask at the end, you know, the ones about diversity and not just racial diversity but everything, socioeconomic, the whole nine yards, the main country principal began speaking.

"So, let me tell you about us.  We have a 38% transient population.  A lot of turn over every year.  We are 99% percent Black and have a couple Latinos.  Our kids come from a neighborhood that has 600,000 dollar houses and from a project that is in our feeder.  We have 60% free lunch".

I stared back at them.  Things were looking up.
"I'm intrigued," I said, "intrigued".  I was starting to wish I had tried harder.  The poison ivy rash that covered the side of my face and parts of my neck was starting to itch.  I am sure they viewed that as one of the only positive things about this city-teacher.

I drove back.   I admit I was relieved when I saw the Atlanta skyline.  And I wanted to see my dog.

"It will only make more people come!" the Republican radio commentators howled.  I smiled.  Actually, I wanted to cheer.  He did it, he really did it.  I know so many people that will benefit from Obama's decision.  We have waited a long time for this.  And it has been painful.  Painful for many.

As I pulled up the hill to my house, I saw a former fellow teacher, a friend from school, walking with eight of my former students.  They all started waving and yelling to me.
"Let me park my car!" I called, "I want to see you!".
As soon as I emerged from the car, all of them pulled cameras out and started photographing me.
"Whaaaa...?" I asked.
"We are in Art Camp!" they cried and started hugging me.
"Do you want to see Lola?"
"Yes!" they screamed.
As I unlocked the house, one of my kids followed directly behind me, all the way in, snapping pictures of our bird Momo and following me into my bedroom to let Lola out of her cage.  I love that kids have no sense of limits sometimes, or that this kid knew I wouldn't care if he came right in.

They stayed a while.
"Say goodbye to Maestra" their teacher called as they snapped photos of my plants, my dog and my poison ivy.
"We don't want to take up her whole afternoon!"

"No, really it's okay.  Anytime.  And I mean it.  Thank you for coming and please come back."  I said, gathering my dog in my arms and walking slowly into my house, watching the kids walk up the street to the school, my former school...