Proud Mary

I stood in the middle of chaos.  It was my daily lunch duty, but on the day when kids could invite their parents to eat with them when the cafeteria made a Thanksgiving-style dinner.  In the true style of my school, it was a massive, disorganized mess.  I didn't really care and decided to just free-style it.  Flats upon flats upon flats of yogurt were on the stage, our cafeteria and auditorium share a space, and parents and employees were filling their arms with them.  It was a donation from one of the dollar stores.  We ended up passing out the remainders in the carpool line, later in the afternoon.

Music rang out of my grandmotherly morning duty partner's phone, as she hustled her way into duty, late. 
"Lawd, that's the Sugar Hill Gang," she said, wrestling with her phone.
"Had to pump myself up this morning."

"There are only seventy-two hours left until our vacation.  They have this hot pool with bubbles in it."  little Gustavo informed me, his eyes aglow as they always are, with serene light.
"Boo, you are down to thirty-six hours." I reminded him.  They were driving to the beach.  The family I love, though Alejandro has started hating me.  And that I dislike their practice of beating the shit out of them and denying them blood infusions. 
"I have been in a Jacuzzi before,"  the kid next to Gustavo said.
"I ate hot dogs in it."
"Living large." I responded, and really meant it. 

"This is our monthly fellowship meeting!"  our principal announced, eyeballing the County observer that was evaluating her.
"Get into groups by the color of your lollipop, and think of an elementary-appropriate song you can perform together."
I was horrified.  And glad that she doesn't make us actually do forced fellowship too often.
"Greatest Love of All." someone suggested.  Barf.
"What about that rollin' down the river song?"  someone else asked.
"Wait, Proud Mary?"  I asked.
"We are going to sing a song about quitting our jobs, after working for the man, in front of the whole school?"
And, we did.  I was an Ikette.  Ike, or I mean Mr. Flanders, the special ed teacher, even took his tie off.  Everyone thought I would have no idea who Tina Turner was.  It bothered me.  At least I knew the real title of the song. 
Later, in a different team building exercise which involved joining hands, the County observer recoiled when I tried to touch hers, and I ended up holding hands with one of the only white people I work with. 

The kids at The Center really wanted to read "Smile".  So, we did.  Even on the day before Thanksgiving break, while all of the Housing Authority parents picked up the boxes of food donations the community donates every year. 
"Just take it!"  Miss Evelyn yelled at a couple of Somali moms, when they would open the box first to see if there was a better one near by.  It was a joyless affair, and I blamed myself later for contributing to that. 
I went out to my car, or Alec's car because I don't have my own anymore, and noticed the older sister of one of my former Center/school students walking through the parking lot.  She kind of intimidates me, even when she was only thirteen.
"Hey!"  I called out.
"Have you gotten your family's box yet?"
Her face spread into a broad smile.
"Yeah, those..."  she responded and I felt like I had seen her for the first time ever.  Beautiful.  Happy.  And awfully, in need.   Of all the nice things, of all the things and choices people get all of the time.

Patricia did this weird thing she can do with her eyes, where she drags them down and only the white parts show.  It's pretty creepy.   She is one of the smallest, yet oldest children I have.  And she chased Robert, my giant Nigerian boy, behind the school where we take our "nature walk" to return them to their Terrordome classrooms.  He shrieks and screams, twice her size, and Patricia chases him, giggling.