Dreamers, Poets and Nap-takers

"Oh wow, there was a dictator in Libya, it's a country in northern Africa, he was known for doing kind of crazy things.  You know like, setting up a big tent to sleep in while visiting New York City or he had this like, all-female security team that would bust out with him whenever he appeared in public...."

I have no recollection of what prompted that conversation.

"Wait, will you write his name on the board?  I would like to do further research on him...."

"Qaddafi," I wrote slowly on the board "but it can be spelled other ways..."

"I demand that you change my child's grade from a two to a three.  If she did not learn what she should have, it is your fault."

I walked into school, noticing one of my Housing Authority students carrying the same lunch box as mine.  The Center gave them to us and we all use them.  Our padded, purple boxes with an inspirational message on the outside.  

"My child has NEVER had a disciplinary issue at school and I repeat, NEVER.  We would like to speak to you.  Our phone number is (404) 877-2030.  We are available after 5:30 on Friday."

As I timed Naado reading her passage out loud, I glanced up to see that the other two members of our group had clandestinely rolled up the skirts of their hijabs and flipped them backwards over their heads, transforming their head covers from long, nun-like items to a sort of weird turban.  They laughed hysterically upon being noticed, exposed necks stretched tall and eyes wide with excitement. 

"Noooo!"  Naado shrieked, covering her eyes and tugging on her own hijab as the girls quickly jerked them back down, bubbling with laughter.  

"Telling our child to reflect on his behavior is COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE.  Now, he does not want to come to school.  If you are looking for suggestions for appropriate consequences, I would be HAPPY to provide you with some."

"All day, I watch humans scurry from store to store. They pass their green paper, dry as old leaves and smelling of a thousand hands, back and forth and back again.

They hunt frantically, stalking, pushing, grumbling. Then they leave, clutching bags filled with things - bright things, soft things, big things - but no matter how full the bags, they always come back for more. 

Humans are clever indeed. They spin pink clouds you can eat. They build domains with flat waterfalls..."  Muslimo said aloud, while the rest of us followed along.  

The clock ticked and the sunshine outside dimmed as we sat around a table under fluorescent lights, ten noses in ten copies of the same book.  

*Quote and title, The One and Only Ivan