"Yeah, I do." I responded.
"But....I went on my sister's Facebook and looked for you and you weren't there. I typed in 'Ms. Wagner' in the box and couldn't find you." he continued.
I smiled. Ms. Wagner.
"Oh Kaw, don't worry, when you're in middle school we can be Facebook friends, but it might be too early now." I answered.
"That's okay," he responded.
"I see you on Instagram."
I stared back through the laptop at Ku. It was early, before eight o'clock. His hair was sticking up and he was wrapped in a blanket.
"Okay, Ku, we are going to read something different today." I announced.
I was really relieved he was smiling. His sister was smiling, too. Many days he cries and runs from the computer. His sister chases him and forces him to sit down, stress contorting her face. She grabs him hard and threatens to hit him. It's misery.
"It's called Where the Wild Things Are. I hope you like it because YOU are a wild thing too!" I continued.
"You are a wild thing!" his sister said jovially and they both laughed.
His face filled with fascination as the story unfolded. Suddenly, I heard Prem's voice.
"Look, trees!" he said, when the trees began to grow in the boy's bedroom.
"Tree....." Ku repeated. It is very rare for him to speak words. In any language.
I looked at the screen and watched Prem and Ku's faces fill with wonder as the story continued. For just that second, everything felt really okay. It was still dark outside and I was in a broken down utility trailer behind the school and they were clustered in Ku's bedroom. And we all read Where the Wild Things Are.
Pablo stared back at me, defiantly.
"Pabloooooo," I implored.
"We have to get this thing done. Okay, so the question is, how are you and Jimmy Carter the same?" I asked, reading the question off of the assignment he did not want to do.
"We both have dads." he answered.
"Great! Write that down."
"Okay, next one...." I continued.
"How are you and Jimmy Carter different?"
"I am a little boy. And HE is a BIG GIRL." Pablo answered, slamming his pencil down.
"So, my brother. He did not come with us." Kaw mentioned, randomly. He has told me that before.
"Is he still in Thailand?"
"Yes, but he is being chased by the soldiers now. We cannot reach him."
Many of my Karen students left Myanmar for northern Thailand because of persecution. Some arrived directly from Myanmar as refugees. Even my Burmese students left Myanmar and have Malaysia as their last residence before arriving as refugees to the United States. Considering the fucked up government there, being Burmese sounds bad enough, but to be persecuted by the Burmese for being an ethnic minority sounds even more hopeless. The military coup has come up several times. They will mention it when I least expect it and drop the subject just as quickly. Anti-Asian violence comes up in the same way.
"If he comes here, will he stay at your new house?" I asked Kaw.
"No! Ms. Wagner, no! When you come to United States, first you go to apartment. THEN, you go to a house. First, apartment." he explained.
I smiled. The rules of arriving as a refugee, explained by a little boy who came when he was five and just moved from the apartments to a house.
"Are you looking forward to Spring Break?" I asked.
"Yaaaasssss!" he responded, his voice rising and cracking like it does when he's excited.
"I am going to sleep and then I am going to stay up and I am going to play Call of Duty!"
"I hope you have a great break." I responded, waiving furtively into the camera before hanging up, turning off the lights and locking the trailer for a week-long break.
*Title from Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak
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