La Bamba

Last year, my school made me organize an assembly for Hispanic Heritage Month.  I love my kids, love Latino culture, but I hate organizing assemblies.  It's incredibly stressful and time consuming.  And, I guess I found it odd.  My school isn't always very respectful of diversity and I felt like my kids were being used for a dog and pony show.  This year, I hoped they would forget about the assembly.  Especially considering how crazy this year has already been.   I have been completely overwhelmed by reclassification meetings for kids exiting ESOL, screening A LOT of new students for services, my actual student roster increasing dramatically, three classroom changes, a multitude of schedule changes, no planning period for weeks on end, I could keep going but I think I've made my point.  I kind of know that the school doesn't care how busy I am, but I thought the assembly might at least be off the table because the room it would take place in has been off limits most of the school year because of the building construction.

I was wrong.

Less than three weeks before the assembly was to take place, I was informed that I better get on it.  My eyes widened in horror.  Why was this my responsibility?
"Don't worry!!  I'll get you a team!"  I was told.

I knew I wasn't getting a team.  I told the kids it was on and they were in my trailer the next morning, figuring out what we were going to do.  The Chorus teacher told me they could perform the same Spanish-language song as last year, which was a huge relief.  I put up the bulletin board.  Provided a list of "fun facts" about Latinos for the morning announcements.  I bought a ton of full size flags for our parade of flags.  We finalized what the kids wanted to say, in Spanish and in English.  We practiced every morning.  I made a little 'ol Power Point of pictures that flashed behind the kids while they presented.  I made a Spanish-English flyer to be sent out on the school's message system and individually invited all of my Spanish-speaking parents, many of whom had children presenting in the assembly.  I made a Spanish-English program to be handed out.  I bought and spray painted large wings for some of the kids to wear while they talked about the Quetzal's importance in Guatemala.  And, I did my day job at the same time.  

About a week and a half before the assembly, two teachers mentioned off-hand that they were going to help me with the assembly.

"I think we have everything pretty ready, we're just practicing now."  I responded.

They seemed put off.  I was put off, too.  Now you want to help?

Two days before the assembly, I received a text message.  

"I want a forty-five minute assembly and a parent fashion show!"  it read.

That's when I lost it.  

"You said you didn't need us!"  one of the "helper" teachers mentioned when she saw me and the Chorus teacher trying to practice.

"I thought we were ready."  I responded.

"I didn't expect to hear that what I was doing wasn't good enough and to start getting forced additions two days before the assembly.  The kids need time to practice and I definitely don't want to corral a bunch of parents."  

I felt angry and ridiculous.  It looked like I had rejected help.  I busted my ass, my kids practiced like crazy and now somehow, we had failed.  

"We are going to add some music and put pins in the map on your bulletin board to show where the kids are from."  she responded.

"We'll do it.  You don't have to do anything."

"Okay."  I responded, trying not to cry.  

They got another teacher to add music from various countries to my Power Point.  It looked pretty good. The day before the assembly, after school, the "team" that was supposed to do all the international-type assembly stuff met for the first time.  

"So!  Hispanic Heritage Month! I want to eat tacos!"  one mentioned.

"When does it start?"

"It's over in a couple of days."  I responded, placing my forehead on the table in front of me.

Then, the day of the assembly, the person that was supposed to present the music wasn't at work.  People started looking at me to present.  I refused.  I thought I "didn't have to do anything".  And, I hate public speaking and this would be the worst kind, a dancing, heat up the crowd kind of public speaking.  They figured it out.  

The morning of the assembly, I ran around the school gathering about twenty-five kids from all grade levels to practice one more time.  One of the teachers started giving me a hard time.  I answered as cordially as I could, then she barked at me.  I turned, grabbed the kid's hand and walked away.  Suddenly, the principal was there.  She grabbed me and hugged me.  

"You handled that perfectly."  she said.

"Thank you for saying that.  I don't know what I'm doing right now."  I answered. 

The assembly was actually really great.  The parent were thrilled.   As soon as their kids started speaking, I saw a bazillion phones shoot up, filming.  The parade of flags was great.  I was happy that they were happy.  I made a mental decision.  My students and their families love that fucking assembly.  Next year, I'll start early, it will be forty-five minutes long and I will embrace the damn thing.  

"Is that your deodorant?"  I asked pointing a random tube of deodorant laying on the sidewalk while I walked Mercedes, Eduardo's sister, to her mother.  

She giggled.

"Eduardo wears deodorant now!  It's blue!"

"Really?  Is he getting all stinky?"  I responded.

She laughed more.

"Did you try it?"  I continued.

I saw her little side-eye and knew that she had definitely investigated that deodorant.  

"He put it on me and Sabrina too!"  

I burst out laughing.  A full, hard, massive throaty laugh.  The biggest, longest laugh I have had in a really long time.  

Paper Moon

I walked behind the school to my trailer last Monday.  It was a bright, sunny day but a strange wet mist hung in the air, accompanied by a strong chlorine, swimming pool smell.   

"Hey Wagner, they sayin' there's some kind of big dog up there, like a German Shepherd-type dog." one of my co-workers called as I walked the kids up the hill at the end of the school day.  I paused for a minute, then slowly started walking again.  The kids froze.
"Ya'll follow her!  She's the dog whisperer.  Just stay behind her!"
I smiled and kept walking.  The kids followed.  

One of my "interesting" kindergarteners shot out of his classroom while I picked up the rest of the kids.
"Hey, Pah."  I greeted.
"Hey."  he responded. 

"I pooped my pants."

"Uhhh, poop?"  I whispered.

"Not uh, you know, pee?"

"Yeah.  Poop."

I inadvertently sniffed the air.  There was a poop smell.

"So um, did you change clothes?"

"Nah."

"Are your parents coming, you know, to bring you some?"

"No."

"Okay Pah, you wanna, um, like go to the bathroom or something and clean yourself up?"

"Sure."  he responded, with a shrug.  

Yup, just walking around super casual, pants full of poop.  

October 5th marked a year since Temple came to our house.  We adopted her on October 9th.  In ways I can't believe that a year has passed, in other ways it seems like longer.  I spent the day yesterday at a work conference.  I didn't want to go, but was actually kind of inspired after I finished it.  I picked up Temple's anniversary cake from the dog bakery and headed home.  I spent some time creating and spray painting Quetzal-wings for our Hispanic Heritage assembly next week.  

I think everything is okay.  

  

Ta blu

I stood in the cafeteria during Curriculum Night, feeling pretty rough.  I had been up since three in the morning and was still at work after nearly eleven hours.  A strange man approached the building.  Soon, he was in front of the group of parents with the microphone.  He was a politician.  He started giving his speal to the captive parents that awaited Curriculum Night information.  I watched one of his volunteers specifically target the Latino parents, pestering them while they waited.   As soon as the politician was done with his campaign speech, he sidled over to me and another teacher, two of the only white people in the room.

"So, I'm the one who brought the ice cream truck for the kids."  he informed us, waiting for our approval.  We stared back at him blankly.  

Parents started approaching me, asking me questions.  The interpreter I requested was there, but a lot of the Spanish-speaking parents were approaching me anyway.  The interpreter stood next to me while we both answered questions.  I heard a parent of one of my new parents call out  "NO, ELLA, ¡ella habla espanol!.  I turned and saw that she was referring to me.  The campaign volunteer who had been targeting the Latino parents was literally standing in between me and the parent, physically blocking her path.  I started trying to answer her questions and the campaign volunteer repeatedly interrupted both me and the parent.  Abruptly, the volunteer stood directly in front of me, way too close, and again, blocked the parent.

"Look."  he said, leaning in and clasping his hands like he was praying.
"You think you speak Spanish, but you don't."  he had a a strange look on his face, a mixture of aggression and condescension.  I was shocked.  
"She wants to know if she can leave."  he continued.
"That's not what she asked me."
"Can she leave?"  he repeated, his face still twisted in the nasty smirk.
I laughed.
"Of course."  I said and turned and walked away.  

I drove home crying.  Angry, frustrated, sad.  

"Alec, we need to drive to my mom's house.  She isn't answering my calls and I haven't heard from her in days.  I'm afraid she's dead."

When we arrived, my mom answered her door serenely, as if I hadn't called a million times.

"Well, I spent the night in the ER on Tuesday, Eitan took me...."

"Mom, what the fuck?  Eitan?  How much more money are you going to let him steal from you?"  I answered.  

"Well...he's the only one that will answer my calls....."

I got up and left.  

You all are such terrible daughters to your poor elderly mother that I have to keep calling the man that ripped off one of you years ago and who I randomly gave twenty thousand dollars.....and probably more and more and more....

I sat on the floor of an apartment in Clarkston on a Sunday afternoon, eating Kaw Naw.  Ku's older sister had invited me over to help her with college scholarship applications and made me lunch as a thank you.  It wasn't exactly the way I wanted to spend one of my weekend days, but I knew I would be glad once I was there.  

And I was.  

Welcome Back Kotter

"So....you remember when I stopped being a walker?" a student asked me.  She was referring to something that happened last spring, as if it had just happened.  

"Yup." I responded.  

"So, I didn't know we were moving.  I had to take the bus and while it was pulling away, I saw you, I saw all of you walking away without me."

I had no idea that would make her sad.  When she said moving, she was talking about going to the women and children homeless shelter in Atlanta.  There aren't a lot of them, so I actually know where she was.  This eternally optimistic child told me last spring that even though the bus ride was long, she thought the city lights of Atlanta were beautiful.  

"Look at this."  she instructed, showing me a blingy necklace that said "TAURUS".

"It's my zodiac sign.  I got to go to the mall last weekend."

I smiled.

"Taurus are good people."

The internet has been restored to my trailer.  After seven weeks and three classroom moves, my classroom trailer is almost fully functioning.  I still can't hear the school announcements or the fire alarm, or enter the building without running all the way around to the front because the key card thing doesn't work, but my mood soared when I finally got internet.  The phone works, too, but I was good with it never working again.  I am not sure what you call this syndrome, the one where you get treated like such crap that you appreciate a dry piece of bread instead of the full dinner that they owe you.  

I actually think the lessons I design are pretty good.  Not having the internet impacted my activities.  After using up all my hotspot data, my students and I took to roaming around the school, trying to get inside because the key card doesn't work in the back of the school and to search for a wifi signal.  We joked that our next step would be just to pile in my car and sit in the McDonald's parking lot, using their wifi.  

I started hiding out in random places in the building, trying to get my planning and paperwork done with the internet access I needed.  It sucked because my files and reference materials were in the trailer and no matter where I went, I was constantly interrupted.  By my students.  By teachers.  By this awful chair by the copier that pinched my fingers really hard whenever I tried to skootch up.  My only productive day was sitting with one of the custodians in my pinchy chair while he ate some kind of Lean Cuisine and watched Netflix on his phone and I got some plans done.  

"Hey.  I've been wanting to talk to you.  You come in my classroom a lot, and get kids."

I looked at the little boy while I tried to get some work done in the library.

"My mom's Puerto Rican.  My dad's Black.  I live with my grandmother.  I don't see too much of my parents, haven't seen my dad in eight years.  This school, I don't know, I'm not sure if I like it.  A lot of yelling."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  But it is really nice to meet you.  Hopefully I'll see you again soon."

I turned back to my computer.  

Around a third of my students this year are brand new.  They have brought an array of, I don't know, issues.  Three of them have never been to school before, though they should be in first and second grade.  One has been periodically removed from school by her parents, missing both second and fifth grade.  Another clearly has a cognitive issue and steals compulsively.  She has physically attacked one of her teachers, twice.  One of my kindergartners rolls on the floor under the table the rest of us are sitting at, scratching my ankles.  Another kindergartner just randomly screams.  A third appears to not be school age, but he keeps coming anyway.  Everyone keeps complaining about my new third grader that spits at everyone in the cafeteria.  I saw one of the "never been to school before" kids pick up a Capri Sun off the floor and try to drink it.  My "never been to school" first grader crashes into walls with snot all over his face.  

"Hi...."  a little girl said while sidling up to me in the library while I tried to work.
"I think I have ADHD.  I wanted to talk to you.  I just have a lot of anxiety....."  she continued.  
"Well, if this is something that really concerns you, ask your parents to take you to the pediatrician.  They can figure it out!"  I said, patting her hand.
"So... what do you do here?"  she asked.
"I teach English to kids that speak other languages."
She looked at me blankly.  I guess she thought I did something else.  

I have about ten more students on my overall roster than I did last year. I also have a new boss.  I am not even sure how to tactfully describe this.  I'll just say, I got a bit of a dressing down for my "communication".  For not telling my new boss that I needed a schedule.  Which of the students are in the ESOL program.  For not scheduling our new part-time ESOL teacher their instructional hours.  Things that are really basic components of said person's job and honestly, things that I neither want to do or am authorized to do.  My students are also usually clustered in one classroom, by grade level.  Now, they are sprinkled throughout the school in around thirteen different classrooms.  I haven't had a planning period in weeks.  

"How was I to know that you did not have a schedule?  I have seen you with children." she informed me, leaning in to my face.

"Well, I wasn't going to just sit here for six weeks, doing nothing."  I responded. 

My bad.  Really, my bad.  It's hard to explain the problems I am having on the job but the bottom line is, I am not training an administrator.  Their job is basically the same at whatever crap-ass school they go to in the district.  I am upset that I am stretched so thin that I don't feel like I am serving my students in the best way that they need.  And they need.  They need a lot.  

Summer Days

"They just wheeled her back.  They said it would be two and a half or three hours."
I thought of my sister, alone among doctors, being wheeled into surgery.  I knew she was terrified.  I stood in my trailer and gripped my face really hard.  I thought if I could somehow smash it it would compress everything, everything inside me.   

We were staying in a house on the Long Island Sound for a few days this summer.  I liked the cottage a lot, and the atmosphere there.  It was very beautiful.  But, the reason for our visit was difficult and Alec was away for days at a time.  On the day Biden left the race I sat watching the Tour de France on the screened in front porch.  It was overcast and atmospheric.   Temple and I went inside because I wanted a little air conditioning.  I heard a clunk in the formal-sh living room and darted out there.  Temple was galloping toward me, but lifting her front paw, limping.  I sat down and hugged her.  Hard. I looked at her paw.  She licked my neck and pushed in.  I was glad that she let me hug her.  I saw an ottoman by the windows skewed to the side.  It had fur on it. We sat like that for a long time. 

I have a lot to say, but have been feeling uncomfortable about putting my life online.  I guess after all of these years it's dawning on me that an online diary is overexposure for me.  I'm not sure what I'm going to do.  

The Day the Music Died

The little boy was screaming his brother's name, tears gushing down his face.  Words in Swahili were coming out, too.  I had my arms around his waist, holding him back from running into various classrooms, searching for his brother.  He howled and howled as we wrestled in the middle of the hallway.  Teachers with concerned looks on their faces poked their heads out and quickly closed their doors.  I looked at his distraught, swollen face.  I rested my forehead on the top of his head while continuing to hold him back and began crying too.   

My summer ended with an extension of my family blow out.  It makes me very sad.  I returned to work.  Our school is an open construction zone.  All of my things are boxed up in my trailer.  Unfortunately, someone added boxes and boxes of some sort of storage to the trailer, blocking me from getting to the majority of my things.  There is even a piano in there.  I dug out a few necessary items and put them in a milk crate that I took from the cafeteria.  I have a student desk in the corner of the C-50 room.  I put my milk crate next to it and placed my coffee cup on an overturned chair.  C-50 is all the broken furniture and dirty rugs and basically every other gross thing that teachers want to get rid of until the county brings a truck and hauls everything away.  

We have new administrators, too.  My go to person, the one that everything I do goes through was promoted to another school.  Now, I have someone new.  The school is really in chaos.  I am in chaos.  All of my beginning of the year paperwork and testing is backing up, piling up, while I wait for my new go to to acclimate.  My schedule is a mess and I'm getting new students, daily.  Our tree was cut down last week.  I have a developer that wants to buy the lot next to my house harassing me to the point that I peek out of the blinds before going on the front porch.  Temple has developed a cough since we drove back from Connecticut.  I made a vet appointment and realized I've got major anxiety about going to the vet.  I relive them telling me that Lola was going to die. I've tried to keep my head up, keep it together but by the time Friday arrived I had huge circles under my eyes, broken out skin and a container filled with only lettuce that I brought for lunch.  

My baby died a year ago today.  It has been on my mind, building, making me cry.  Scream cry.  A year ago this minute she was still alive.  A year ago today I woke up with her for the last time.  It is just never going to be okay.  It never will.  

The Giving Tree

Summer.  Hot, hot summer.  Spring lasted ten seconds, then it went up to five hundred degrees.  Then, the water went out in Atlanta.  For, like a few funky days.  I spent the first week I had off going to concerts.  The Magnetic Fields, Pixies with Modest Mouse and Catpower, even the Rolling Stones.  Then, I went to the beach.  

I have been renting a Tybee Island beach house for a few years now.  I get a big one, right at the beginning of June and invite my mom, sister, niece and whoever they want to bring.  I got the idea from Alec's brother.  I thought it was a nice way to try to keep my family together.  This year, it turned into a family brawl.  It has bordered on it a few times before, but this time was too much.  I'm upset, we're upset, it's bad.  

I came back to Atlanta and tried to wrap my head around everything.  I painted the front room of our house.  I exercised a lot.  I watched the Tour de France with my little six dollar Peacock app.  I thought about Lola.  She and I watched it together while I painted a different room last year, when I didn't know she was dying.  

We found out that our beautiful Oak tree has to come down.  It's as old as the house, probably one hundred and twenty years old.  We get it maintenanced annually.  Every year, they say great tree.  No worries.  This year, the first guy said it was on the verge of death.  We called three more opinions.  They all agreed.  Then, we had to wait.  For a permit.  The tree really looks bad now and I was getting scared every day that went by without the permit.  

My first reaction when we found out that the tree was dying was to think of Lola.  My baby died eleven months ago, today.  It's like everything in our lives, in our house is dying.  I used to lay under the Oak trees with Lola.  I'd look at the beautiful leaves, the way they swayed.  And I would hold her.  

All I can say is Hilary loves Tree.  And she will miss her, terribly.  

*  Title, drawing, Shel Silverstein