Let it Snow

"Hey. Lindsey says the Hale girls are going to beat her up after school."  a co-worker told me.

I looked back at her.  I was waiting with my dismissal line of walkers.  What the fuck was I supposed to do about that?

We walked up the hill.  I saw all three Hale girls surround Lindsey, but when they saw me see them, they disbursed.  

"Get up here."  I hissed at Lindsey.

"I'm afraid to walk home."  she responded, once she was by my side.

"Hey!"  Demetrius yelled.

"They sayin' they going to beat her up, they're going to wait until they get around the corner so you can't see."  he continued.

I kept walking.  I got them to the corner and turned around.  One of my bosses had explicitly told me to let this shit lie, that what happens after the corner is their parents' problem.  I caught Mr. C two minutes later.

"The Hale girls are going to jump Lindsey.  I don't know what to do."

"I'm going over there."  he answered, pulling his keys from his pocket and walking to his car.  

"They were in her driveway!"  he announced, as soon as he pulled back in.

"And you know, they live the other way.  You should have seen their faces when I pulled up.  I told them they better not be doing what I know they were doing and they left."

Donor's Choose was matching donations for "equity schools", aka, schools like mine that are majority minority and poor.  I quickly launched my project, asking for hundreds of dollars of new books for my classroom library and a new bookshelf to hold them.  Then, I turned my Facebook into a beggar's station, repeatedly re-posting my project and soliciting my friends to throw me a few bucks.  I threw myself a few bucks, more than I would like to say, mainly to get the funds matched before they ran out.  Alec shucked in, too.  

My school has adopted a reading focus this year, which I think is great.  They have been conducting PLs on how to do guided reading and remarkably, bought each teacher a classroom library of diverse books.  I attended my collaborative planning when they unleashed the books.  I watched the overview that entailed the diversity of the new books highlighting Black and Hispanic children.  I started shifting around a little.  Where were the diverse books about Asian kids?  They are one of the largest rising minorities in my school and the group receiving the most hate.  And no, they aren't Chinese or Japanese.  They are refugees.  Burmese, Karen, even Khmer.  The kids yell "ching chong" at them and the girls even face additional sexual harassment.  IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL.  

I helped unload the boxes of books into the various classrooms.  At least five boxes each, phonics books, literary texts and even little bins to hold them in.
"Man, this must of cost a small fortune."  I muttered to the admin helping us.
"Girl, yes.  This is thirty thousand dollars worth of books."  she answered.  

And...you know how many books were allotted to me, to my classroom?  Zero.  Not one.  

"Ms. Wagner....can you help me with my homework?"  

I looked at my phone to see who was texting me.   It said "Paw Ku's mom" from my contacts.

"BTW, this is Paw Ku."  the second text read.

We texted back and forth, with her sending pictures of this brutal 6th grade math homework.  Alec and I were trying to figure it out until after nine one night and the next night, I even enlisted Mr. Warren.

"I think the answer to number two is four."  he texted back.

"But I got a buddy who teaches 11th grade math, let me get him in on this."

Finally, Paw Ku face-timed me.  It was so good to see her.

"Ms. Wagner!"  she said, as she usually starts sentences.  

"I miss elementary school.  But middle school, it's okay."

I smiled into the phone.

"How is Kaw, is he doing okay?"

"Yes, he is."  she answered.

"But, he might move where his niece moved.  And, there is a girl that's like way taller than him that likes him."  she continued.

I burst out laughing.  

She put her little brother on the call, the one I now teach with my kindergarten group.  We talked a long time.  It is really hard letting them go.  

 

A torrent of Michoacan Spanish poured from the mother's mouth.  Jaime's mom was pissed.  

"Those girls!  They follow Jaime and yell groserías at him and one of them hit him in the head last week!  There are three of them and one of them is grandote!  They bang on our door, begging for snacks, like I would give them anything!"  

It was one day after the Lindsey incident.

"Mire, esas chicas son locas.  La mamá, también."  I answered.

I didn't even tell her that mom nearly got in a fight with another mom in the front office last week.

"Es ridículo.  No sé que decir.  Voy a contarles a mis jefas.  Pero si no puede venir Ud. a caminar con él, lo haré.  Voy a llevarle a casa."  I continued.

"Oye?" she asked Jaime.  

"Espera la maestra.   She is going to take you home tomorrow." 

I walked through the neighborhood the following afternoon, not because of Jaime, but because of a different situation with a child.  She held my hand and trotted along, with a lollipop sticking out of her mouth.  

It was a really pretty afternoon.