"Y'all, I don't know if you saw our parking lot yesterday. It was empty." our principal announced during a quickie staff meeting.
"Thank you. Just thank you. Thank you so much for....coming today. Lord, Ms. Kake had like, the whole first grade in one room and she doesn't even teach first grade. Ms. Heard and Ms. Carr both had their babies and we have three more pregnant teachers on the way to leave. Mr. Taylor got promoted to another school and Ms. Terry, well she quit. Ms. Kent, you know she had a family member pass away and now she's got a pneumonia...."
It just went on and on and on.
"If y'all can eat with your classes in the cafeteria....I hate to ask but we have no one to do lunch duty. You can leave the minute the kids leave at the end of the day if you could just eat in there.....you can wear jeans, too. Whatever you want.....just come back, okay?'
And then, I got sick.
My phone started blowing up by about ten in the morning. Texts from multiple people, apologizing, but filled with comments about a mysterious kid that showed up from Venezuela. Mom didn't speak English. No one knew what to do and they were using phone apps to communicate with them. Getting him registered was apparently complicated. I started looking up what stuff I could find on him from my couch. The state longitude system wasn't telling me shit but I at least was able to start a transcript request. I came back to work the next day, even though I still felt shitty.
I walked into the front office to sign-in and saw an anxious looking administrator standing there.
"I don't mean to jump on you right when you walk in but....." her eyes gazed to the left at a little girl and her mom sitting there.
"They're from Panama."
I don't usually get "off the boat" kids. Most of my students were either born in the United States of immigrant parents or arrived as refugees or asylum seekers when they were less than five years old. Now, I had two in one week.
My mom's dog died recently. I have avoided mentioning it because it is awful. That is all that I have to say about that.
"Wagner, your gonna have to help me. That boy, Rafael, he won't keep his narrow butt in that seat. He's up, all over the place, all the time. He even started eating chips in the middle of class." the meanest teacher in the school announced as soon as I walked through the classroom door.
I stared at the little boy from Venezuela. I was still trying to figure out why an eight year-old was placed in fourth grade, but I digress. I told him quickly in Spanish that he should stay in his seat and not eat in class. Then I looked back at the teacher, hoping she was satisfied.
I sat next to the little boy and tried to talk to him a little. His English was pretty good and his Spanish, obviously beautiful. I asked him which town he was from in Venezuela. He answered 'Caracas' like there was no other city in Venezuela. When I asked him if he missed it, he breathed in deeply and responded 'yes'. I looked at his clean but dingy short-sleeved white t-shirt and his skinny arms sticking out from it. Wide, hyper eyes. Funky street-wise, fake leather falling apart jacket slung over the chair. Thin Mickey Mouse printed pants that appeared to be pajama bottoms. And, a huge smile.
They were just going to have to get used to his narrow butt and show some compassion.
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