All of my students are sick of Albinus. He hits and kicks everyone for no reason. It pisses me off.
"I won't hurt you! I won't hit you!" Albinus pleaded, all while continuing his rape hug.
"Let go! Albinus, when someone says they don't want a hug, you have to respect that." I instructed.
Htoo wrangled himself from Albinus' grasp, his face contorted in anger and frustration.
"I don't....I don't.....like you." he sputtered slowly, his face turning from anger to sadness.
Htoo is one of the friendliest children I teach. I felt angry with Albinus and his stupid parents for making Htoo even experience these negative feelings that were so contrary to his normal disposition.
Mya and I opened a new tab during the boring Social Studies lesson. I typed Aung San Suu Kyi's name into the browser so that Mya could see the latest news on her trial.
"My parents said Karen people put her in jail." Mya whispered.
It felt like a punch. I had hoped that when the various ethnicities left Thailand and Myanmar and came to the U.S. as refugees that they had left their hatred of each other behind, but they clearly brought the same old bullshit with them.
It's not her fault. It's not her fault. I made myself think, over and over again.
Her parents are teaching her this stupid shit. You have to question it out of her.
I love Mya. It honestly pains me that she could feel that way toward the Karen people. I worry what she thinks of some the students I work with everyday.
"Hilary, we received horrible news last night....." the text from my sister read. It came through early in the morning on the day after Halloween.
"Mike is dead. He died last night."
He was thirty-three years old.
He was fun, someone you always liked running into. I remember years ago when my sister was getting rid of Emma's trampoline because she had outgrown it.
"Oh my god! I want it!" he exclaimed instantaneously, eyes wide with happiness.
He would tell us about his dance parties, girls he liked and tried to hook up with, and how he bought one of his ladies flowers on the way out of work one day and got himself some tulips too, because they were on sale.
"Bueno, Sra. Martínez, lo siento pero.....algo pasó hoy en la escuela.....um, un alumno orinó sobre la botella de agua de Mauricio. Y pues, lo hizo a propósito....."
I hated the phone call. CAN SOMEONE ELSE IN THE SCHOOL HANDLE THE SPANISH LANGUAGE WITH PARENTS????????? The last time, I had to tell a parent in Spanish that we lost her kid during dismissal and didn't know where he was. Now telling a parent of one of my students that a kid deliberately pissed on something of his was not a conversation I wanted to have.
She burst out crying.
"Mauricio tiene miedo, tiene miedo todos los días.....quería que esta escuela fuera buena.....se tira sus cosas en la basura....se le roba...."
My palms itched with an overwhelming desire to beat some ass.
"I was with my mom at Wal-Mart." Femke started.
"We saw this guy out front, you know, one of the guys, and he asked us for money. My mom went inside, bought a loaf of bread and what are those things called that you sleep in?" she asked, positioning her hands like a triangle
"A tent." I responded.
"Yeah, a tent. She gave him the stuff and said next time you see me here, you come to the car."
I pictured her mother. A Rwandan woman with ten kids that barely speaks English and lives in poverty herself.
Next time you see me, you come to the car.
"Children....." the intercom instructed, "if you see Miss Henrietta in the cafeteria, be sure to tell her happy birthday!"
One of the general ed. first graders motioned to me to come over.
"Is she the old girl in the cafeteria?" she whispered inquisitively.
"Friends, let's all gather to do a drive-by of Ms. M's house on Friday. We have the day off because the Braves won the World Series." the text explained.
Ms. M is one of the nicer co-workers I have. My first year at the school, people kept saying she had cancer. I never wanted to ask her the details, but assumed she was in remission the following years. At the beginning of this year, she took an extended leave for what I heard was a standard "procedure". I had noticed it was taking longer than six weeks and was alarmed when the drive-by parade message came through.
I got up the next morning and shortly before the drive-by was to begin, another text came through.
"She passed in the night." it read.
She was thirty-seven years old.
I remembered the way we used to greet each other.
"Here comes trouble." I'd say.
"That right, Ms. Wagner, nothing but trouble." she'd answer, putting a tough look on her sweet face.
We drove to south Georgia on the Sunday after Ms. M's death for Mike's memorial. He came from a small town of a little over a thousand people. I really felt like they shouldn't have just counted him as one person, but more like two or three. People say that memorials provide closure but the sight of his bike, suffering family and the small urn that held his remains inadvertently felt more like ripping the scab off of a barely healed wound.
"Good morning!" I greeted my kindergartners, carefully keeping one eye on Albinus in case he started hitting and grasping Ku by the hand so he wouldn't run off.
"I'm moving!" Htoo announced.
"No. What? When?" I responded.
"Friday is my last day. We are moving to a small house and I will go to big school." he continued, excited.
"I'm happy for you." I responded.
I was lying. I wasn't happy. I wanted him here. Here with me.
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