Don't Stop Believin'

I took a left past the Sikh Temple, its towers beautifully lit in the early morning darkness, and into the neighborhood behind it.  It looked like the neighborhood I grew up in after we moved to Georgia and went from the apartments to a home.  But the homes here were a little more raggedy than ours was.  The school even looked similar, but a little not-so-nice.

I got up early Sunday morning and dropped Alec off at the airport so that he could visit his dad.  I hate it when he is gone, but knew that it was important.  I roared home and went back to bed.  I woke up, startled, when I heard Alec walking through the house.
"My dad died.  My brother called when I was going to the gate.  I ubered home."

I watched the other ESOL teachers at a neighboring school, not so neighboring, thirty minutes away but in the same district, administer a standardized test that I would at some point have to administer.
The kindergartner was a bit unfocused.  She could not identify the word "yellow" on the test.
"My dad had to drive to visit a friend...."  she offered, "his friend was arrested."
"He did not have papers so he brought him clothes and money....".
I really thought her discourse was above the "yellow" range.

I walked down the stairs from the parking lot, to the school.  I saw a little outcrop of vegetation by the handrail.
A succulent garden, I thought.
But, it wasn't.  It was a crop of weeds with purple flowers on top.

I went into the place where I have an empty desk. The kids were playing "Black Butterfly" on their violins in the back of the room.  It is an awful song that sounded equally awful on the violin.

I was surprised when I met one of my first graders.
"I love Minter's Creek High School." he announced.
"I can't wait to go there."
I shuddered.  I started my teaching career there.  I have never been treated so badly in my life.  I fled the school and the district.  Now, I was back.  I watched him rave about the school and I saw visions of Adrian, the teenager from that school that we visited for months in the detention center, praying that he wouldn't be deported.  And he wasn't.  I worried that my PTSD was showing all over my face and hoped that Minter's Creek was a new and wonderful place, now.

We experienced one of the coldest nights of the year metro-Atlanta had to offer.  Yeah, a little below 30 degrees.  But then, I smelled gas.  They turned it off while we waited for the plumbers to fix the lines that go to our water heater.  And I took cold, hooker baths for days, just trying not to reek while I went to my new job.

"So, we really want to start this ACCESS test on Monday..." one of my administrators let me know.
"Usually, people complete the training weeks before the testing begins, over several days....but..."
"I'll get it done on Saturday."  I answered, knowing it was my birthday.
"Great!"  she answered.

I walked into the room, Monday morning, grumpy from a missed birthday and on my first day of a cold.  I sat at my empty desk, cramming to give the test I was supposedly able to do after hours of online training.  One of the many subs that have taken the place of teachers who have quit came in the room.
"Hey.. " I said.
"Just so you know, I'm going to have to test in this room today, I don't know if they told you...."
"Okay!  There aren't any classes in here for an hour at 12:30."
"The test takes a long time..." I started to answer.
"Not for these kids." she responded, bluntly.
Why.  Why?  Because they're stupid.  Because they don't want to learn.  Don't waste your time. They're shit.
I've tried to stay sunny, but I was pissed.  My eyes narrowed.
"This one will take a long time."  I answered and walked away.

I stood in the carpool line, watching parents drive up to pick up their kids.  A pretty woman rolled up and rolled her window down, motioning toward me.  Her son walked toward the car.
"I'm British!"  she announced, with an accent.
"Okay, um, yeah!"  I muttered in response, and smiled.
"These people are never around white people...." the teacher to my right muttered.
"Segregation is wrong."

I stood at my post, watching the kids walk out of school.
"BITCH" a kid mouthed at me.
I didn't care.  I watched teachers yell at kids.  I watched kids cry.  I felt like I had quickly gone through the phases of culture shock and the honeymoon phase was over and the hate phase was there.
"This school is bad." a second grader announced while he walked by.

For a minute, I thought I saw Mahja in the hall, Mahja from the Housing Authority, but then I knew it wasn't him.  And, I was relieved he wasn't there.  And then, I felt guilty.  And then I wondered why every educator, every educator that claims they care, that is better versed in general education than I am, wasn't standing right where I was.

                                 The Emperor's Guard
I did notice as I walked that Amos had stayed right next to me. And Jack was close on the other side of me. And Miles was in front of us and Henry was in back of us. They were surrounding me as we walked through the crowds of kids. Like I had my own emperor's guard. 

I read my section aloud to my students at the Housing Authority and then, I closed the book.
"What are you doing!" Aazim screamed.
"That is the most important part!  He has friends now, that is all he ever wanted!  You just stopped!  You just acted like it was nothing!"
"You're just like Miss Baranco!  You taught Spanish and you quit and teach ESOL!"

The next morning, I walked into the room where my empty desk was, again.  The kids were playing Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" on their violins.

It sounded alright.

*Quote, Wonder RJ Palacio

Super Blood Wolf Moon

"Faggot!  I think I can spell faggot!"  Tyrone announced during our weekly Scrabble game.
"Don't say that.  It's bad, it's not an okay thing to say...." I answered, trying to control my anger.
"But Neva spelled 'raping' last week!" he responded, genuinely confused.
"Rape is a bad thing, but it's not a derogatory statement."
He looked confused.  I knew 'derogatory' was a word he wouldn't understand, I just couldn't think of another.
"The word you said...faggot... " I whispered,  "is not just another way of saying gay.  It's like an insult for being gay...." I continued, watching his face get more confused.
"I don't want to use this analogy....but, it's like the difference between saying someone is African American or Black and using the N word to describe them." I said, worried and watching his face closely.  I saw recognition.
"Okay, I get it now." he answered.
I was relieved when he smiled and started reshuffling his letters.

I walked into the public safety office after signing a contract for the rest of the school year.
"Welcome back to the county!"  the woman at the desk announced.
"We are so glad you're here.  We need experienced teachers.  Our kids need you."
"Thank you.  Thank you for saying that." I responded, genuinely touched by her statement.

"So, here's your desk...." the principal stated, showing me an old empty desk in the corner of the computer lab.
"You get a laptop because there isn't a desktop in here...." she continued, handing me a Chromebook.
"And here's a roster of your students.  So, walk around, explore, meet your students.  You have all day!"

I organized the few things I had brought with me inside of the empty desk.  I made lists.  I felt oddly like George Costanza in the episode where he shows up for a job he wasn't actually hired for and ends up sitting in an empty office, pretending to work because he has no idea what to do.  I looked across the room at the substitute teacher occupying the other teacher desk.  He was sleeping.

I met the students, one by one.  They were from Mexico, Thailand, Burma, Cambodia, Haiti...some just said 'Africa' and didn't know which country their parents were from.
I knelt down and spoke quietly to the little kindergartener.
"Hi, I'm Ms. Wagner.  I'm the new Mr. Creedy.  I'll be working with you like he did."
The little boy stared at me shyly.  I asked him questions about his family, about his classes.  Finally, I wished him a happy Friday and a great weekend.

"You're welcome." he said, instead of 'thank you', smiled and walked back into his classroom.

The Ultimate Law of Life

I sat at my kitchen table, alone.  Food was spread out everywhere.  My crown of thorns was really starting to dig into my forehead, but I realized that I probably deserved it for being so sacrilegious.  I imagined my neighbors glancing in my windows from their houses and thinking, oh God, how weird, our horribly lonely neighbor is sitting all by herself in front of a banquet of food dressed as Jesus on Christmas Eve.

My sister and I had decided a biblical costume party was in order to spice up my family's annual Christmas Eve party.  I helped Alec make a giant Middle Eastern-style spread for the occasion.  We love that kind of food and it is a vegan meal that other people actually like to eat.  And, it was regionally appropriate.  I was relieved when the cars started pulling up.

New Year's Eve came and went and after a feast of beans and greens and Bloody Marys on the first, I began my second annual, thirty day Soberuary.

The calls and emails resumed when the principals returned to the schools after the break and realized they needed to fill some vacancies. I visited a school that I really have had my eye on and got a relatively lukewarm response during an interview for a job I am wildly overqualified for.  I anticipated the classes I am starting next week, embarking on round three of graduate school and two new areas of study.  I accepted an interview from a school practically composed of English Language Learners, located not far from where I grew up.   I randomly decided to apply for a couple of jobs in the district where I started my teaching career, a place I thought I would never consider returning to that surprisingly seemed not so bad now. 

"What are your goals, you know, we know you have a lot of things going on, but what is your, you know, GOAL....." the principal asked a matter of days later, after processing my application and contacting me in record breaking time.
I glanced around the little low rise, old-fashioned school building.
"Well,....."  I said and started laughing.
"I'm just trying to be the best me I can be."
Everyone started laughing.  And then they offered me a job on the spot.

If You Loved Me at All

New Year's Eve. New Year's Eve. So much to think about.  I thought about life.  And I thought about death. 

I thought it was my last night to sign up for Obamacare.  I had an extension, because I "lost" my job.  I thought the extension was until December 31st.  Papi came home and we started making dinner.  I had to pull the trigger on expensive, shitty healthcare (dismantled and fucked up for you and I by the Republicans).  I logged in to the platform, ready to put a $250 a month premium on my credit card.  I message came up.  I was outside the extension.  It ended on the 30th.

Papi started making pasta.  I tried to help.  It's New Year's Eve.  I played 'Sunspots', a Julian Cope song I loved when I was fifteen.  We take turns with music in the kitchen.  I thought of Margaret.

*Photo, Obliteration Room, Yayoi Kasuma
*Title, Julian Cope

Everything Is

My face felt horrible.  I woke up, and it was swollen on one side and when I scratched it, it bled.  I am well into my forties, but don't think I should be fat, wrinkled and experiencing some sort of cystic acne, face eating virus all at the same time.

I walked into the dark hallway and saw a couple of people already waiting.
"Is this where the test is?"  I asked, motioning toward the closed door with a sign on it. At the university that I have attended off and on, for more than twenty-five years.
They made a few monosyllables that indicated yes, barely looking up from their phones.
They looked young, but multicultural.  What a bunch of badasses, I thought.  They'll make amazing ESOL teachers.

They let us inside.  I watched as they wand-ed people, like at the airport.  Made them lift up pant legs, shirt sleeves, actually shirts.  A turban.  And then it was me, pulling my shirt up in front of a big window, raising my arms, pulling my pants' legs up, re-signing my name multiple times before they thought it matched.  I sat in front of that test for nearly four hours, after waiting a half an hour to get in, blowing of my break, just because I was afraid I would invalidate something or do something wrong and blow the whole, nearly three hundred dollar thing.  And the preparation I had done.  Yeah, I waited until a week before I was supposed to take the test to study, but when I did, I did bust some ass.  And, I am supposed to know this stuff anyway.

I stood in the Infinity Room, feeling like my feet weren't below me or that my head was above me.  The more I looked, the more I saw.  We were on a boat, that was floating, through everything.  Through infinity.  When I looked down, I saw the Blue Mosque.  When I looked far, I saw everything.  The heat hit my face.

I saw my sister, and we spoke and laughed.

I saw everything.

*Photo of Yayoi Kasuma's The Souls of Millions of Light Years Away, Infinity Mirrored Room.  

God Bless the Child

The holidays are upon us.  I usually like them, but I have been in high job hunting and making sure I am ready for taking classes in January mode. And, I was taking a test to add a field to my teaching certificate.  One of those long, multiple hour, multiple hundred dollar tests.  It's weird, I've taken them before, the GRE, the PRAXIS Spanish test so that I could teach it, my GACE Curriculum test -  the one that validated my degree and ensured I got an eight thousand dollar a year raise.  This new one though, one that shouldn't be difficult, for some reason was worrying me.

As I drove to the Housing Authority, my phone was exploding.  I thought it was about a different, gossipy thing.  I like gossip.
"Hilary, um, call me.  I don't want to text you this."
"Have you heard?"
"Hilary, call me back."
Finally, "Hilary, he's died.  I didn't want you to read it on Facebook or some weird email."

I put my phone down and started preparing to hand out pizza to the Housing Authority kids.  Every year, they have little parties all during the week before they get out for Christmas break.  I knew he was ill.  When they mentioned his name, I almost expected it.  I thought I had it together.

"I see trees of green, red roses too...." Tyrone sang.  He is one of my students.  They were making them practice for February's Black History celebration.
"I see them bloom for me and you...." he continued, low voiced and off key.
"And I think to myself, what a wonderful world..."

And then I cried.  And cried.  And I couldn't stop.

Warrior Pose

"Highs and Lows?"  I asked the students.

"My high was that we got extra recess today, my low, I got sent out of the room for throwing scissors at the teacher." Theo responded.

"What did you gain by throwing scissors at her?"

"What do you mean?"  he asked, genuinely.

"I mean, you like extra recess, did you get that for throwing scissors at her?"  I responded.

"No,  I got sent out."

"Did you like that?  Did you want to get sent out?  Did you get something you wanted, like extra recess?"

"I didn't want to do math.  So, yeah, I didn't have to do it."
He got his reward.

"The Christmas festival is this weekend.  That's my high.  We'll get presents...."
"Wait, when is it?"  Zoey asked.

"NO.  It's only for Muslims, because we don't get presents like you do."
I watched Zoey's face fall and felt completely pissed off that one low income kid would say that to another.

The days are shorter and grayer.  People ask me what I'm doing.  So, what I'm doing.  Still working in the projects.  Subbing when I feel like it.  Taking a bunch of classes in January and testing in to more endorsements on my teaching certificate.  Working shit out.

Being the best me I can be.