Don't Stop Believin'

I took a left past the Sikh Temple, its towers beautifully lit in the early morning darkness, and into the neighborhood behind it.  It looked like the neighborhood I grew up in after we moved to Georgia and went from the apartments to a home.  But the homes here were a little more raggedy than ours was.  The school even looked similar, but a little not-so-nice.

I got up early Sunday morning and dropped Alec off at the airport so that he could visit his dad.  I hate it when he is gone, but knew that it was important.  I roared home and went back to bed.  I woke up, startled, when I heard Alec walking through the house.
"My dad died.  My brother called when I was going to the gate.  I ubered home."

I watched the other ESOL teachers at a neighboring school, not so neighboring, thirty minutes away but in the same district, administer a standardized test that I would at some point have to administer.
The kindergartner was a bit unfocused.  She could not identify the word "yellow" on the test.
"My dad had to drive to visit a friend...."  she offered, "his friend was arrested."
"He did not have papers so he brought him clothes and money....".
I really thought her discourse was above the "yellow" range.

I walked down the stairs from the parking lot, to the school.  I saw a little outcrop of vegetation by the handrail.
A succulent garden, I thought.
But, it wasn't.  It was a crop of weeds with purple flowers on top.

I went into the place where I have an empty desk. The kids were playing "Black Butterfly" on their violins in the back of the room.  It is an awful song that sounded equally awful on the violin.

I was surprised when I met one of my first graders.
"I love Minter's Creek High School." he announced.
"I can't wait to go there."
I shuddered.  I started my teaching career there.  I have never been treated so badly in my life.  I fled the school and the district.  Now, I was back.  I watched him rave about the school and I saw visions of Adrian, the teenager from that school that we visited for months in the detention center, praying that he wouldn't be deported.  And he wasn't.  I worried that my PTSD was showing all over my face and hoped that Minter's Creek was a new and wonderful place, now.

We experienced one of the coldest nights of the year metro-Atlanta had to offer.  Yeah, a little below 30 degrees.  But then, I smelled gas.  They turned it off while we waited for the plumbers to fix the lines that go to our water heater.  And I took cold, hooker baths for days, just trying not to reek while I went to my new job.

"So, we really want to start this ACCESS test on Monday..." one of my administrators let me know.
"Usually, people complete the training weeks before the testing begins, over several days....but..."
"I'll get it done on Saturday."  I answered, knowing it was my birthday.
"Great!"  she answered.

I walked into the room, Monday morning, grumpy from a missed birthday and on my first day of a cold.  I sat at my empty desk, cramming to give the test I was supposedly able to do after hours of online training.  One of the many subs that have taken the place of teachers who have quit came in the room.
"Hey.. " I said.
"Just so you know, I'm going to have to test in this room today, I don't know if they told you...."
"Okay!  There aren't any classes in here for an hour at 12:30."
"The test takes a long time..." I started to answer.
"Not for these kids." she responded, bluntly.
Why.  Why?  Because they're stupid.  Because they don't want to learn.  Don't waste your time. They're shit.
I've tried to stay sunny, but I was pissed.  My eyes narrowed.
"This one will take a long time."  I answered and walked away.

I stood in the carpool line, watching parents drive up to pick up their kids.  A pretty woman rolled up and rolled her window down, motioning toward me.  Her son walked toward the car.
"I'm British!"  she announced, with an accent.
"Okay, um, yeah!"  I muttered in response, and smiled.
"These people are never around white people...." the teacher to my right muttered.
"Segregation is wrong."

I stood at my post, watching the kids walk out of school.
"BITCH" a kid mouthed at me.
I didn't care.  I watched teachers yell at kids.  I watched kids cry.  I felt like I had quickly gone through the phases of culture shock and the honeymoon phase was over and the hate phase was there.
"This school is bad." a second grader announced while he walked by.

For a minute, I thought I saw Mahja in the hall, Mahja from the Housing Authority, but then I knew it wasn't him.  And, I was relieved he wasn't there.  And then, I felt guilty.  And then I wondered why every educator, every educator that claims they care, that is better versed in general education than I am, wasn't standing right where I was.

                                 The Emperor's Guard
I did notice as I walked that Amos had stayed right next to me. And Jack was close on the other side of me. And Miles was in front of us and Henry was in back of us. They were surrounding me as we walked through the crowds of kids. Like I had my own emperor's guard. 

I read my section aloud to my students at the Housing Authority and then, I closed the book.
"What are you doing!" Aazim screamed.
"That is the most important part!  He has friends now, that is all he ever wanted!  You just stopped!  You just acted like it was nothing!"
"You're just like Miss Baranco!  You taught Spanish and you quit and teach ESOL!"

The next morning, I walked into the room where my empty desk was, again.  The kids were playing Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" on their violins.

It sounded alright.

*Quote, Wonder RJ Palacio