The last few weeks have been super cold. A brief snow storm cleaned the air a bit, last night, but it's also been smoggy. Goodbye and good riddance to January, 2007. Jessie hasn't left yet. I'm still thinking any day, or week, but who knows. I got a letter from a former favorite student. It was sweet and positive and he sent his report card along, too, which was outstanding. I love remembering the big picture.
Damn, saying goodbye to this child is killing me even more than I predicted. He's making it hard on purpose, the little punk, cuz it's easier to lie than to face the truth. I've been struggling to find some words to help him understand all this, but it's hard. He's just a kid. But maybe "you are strong enough to face the truth" are some words that he'll understand. I'm going to tell him that he can choose to be strong enough to face the truth and truth is this: that he is scared to leave and sad to leave, and that he's going to miss us as much as we're going to miss him (honestly, more, of course) But scared and sad aren't very acceptable emotions for baby homies, so I understand the need to lie, but I'm going to flip this screwed up version of masculinity on its pathetic ass and help this child be sad and scared and admit to those feelings and stop acting out lies like "I hate it here anyway, and I don't want to be here anyway." Cuz that kinda nonsense is making it too hard on me. Am I just selfish? Should I let him create his little lie of a fantasy world so it will be easier for him. No, cuz I really believe that it takes more strength to tell the truth and I still, even though we're down to our final days together, want him to learn this important kind of strength. It's okay to feel sad, it's okay to feel scared, and it's even okay to express these feelings.
My student teacher this year is incredible. First and foremost, he adores the kids. He enjoys their wild, wonderful spirits, listents to their stories with rapture, and fills the playground with his own raw energy---running, screaming, and playing hard.
He's in charge, all day, everyday, starting next Tuesday. I hate being away from my class, but that's just cuz of my selfishness. I like being surrounded by little people who love and need me. But they will still learn plenty because they are in good hands. And Mr. C is going to learn that he can do it on his own, that he is not only able to hold things together, but that he is a capable teacher.
I got a little tripped out yesterday when I was planning with him and I realized just how firecely he hangs on every word I say. Also, I'll often notice him interacting with the kids in ways that are very similar to the ways I interact with them. It's a feeling even stranger than watching Easter talk to her dolls like I talk to her---it's a heavy weight of responsibility as I come to understand that I'm shaping this teacher's whole career. Each class he ever has will be full of little people that he teaches in ways that he learned from me. I am overwhelmed by this realization, but I'm also somewhat thrilled by it. I'm grateful that I've been able to do things this year with my own teaching that I can be proud about---I've been true enough to my own ideals of best teaching practice that I can say, with confidence, that I'm glad this is what he's learning.
About a million crazy things happened at work today. I stormed out of a meeting and was then confronted by Joann in front of six other people. I wasn'’t as articulate as I wish I could have been for this showdown. Later, in the cafeteria, in private, Johnny cried. That was unforgettable. It was while he was comforting me and giving me some really valuable advice---the main point being that if I remember why I wanted to teach in the first place and the kind of things that truly motivate me, there'’s no reason to get so upset over these situations. I don't feel like describing the whole entire situation with my boss today. She was her normal cruel tyrant self, and that's not going to change. (For the record---Johnny doesn't agree, at all, with this characterization of the boss.) But, he said, I still make a huge difference within the realms that I am able to influence, a really huge difference in those little lives. Enough of a powerful, good difference, that I need to focus more on that and less on other people's bad choices. To illustrate this get-some-perspective point of Johnny's: Adrian and Ulises, two former students, visited me this week. It was abundantly apparent that they continue to remember, fondly, their time with me, and I know they continue to benefit, academically, from the things I taught them. And then, not long after this motivating, but very emotional conversation with Johnny, three more tiny moments occurred which have led me to a new commitment, which is so deep and feels so right and final and true to my center of spiritual selfness, that I can't help but use corny phrases like I've found my calling.
The first moment: Jessie told me that his mom, finally, after 15 months of living in the Road Home shelter, got her voucher to move her family into public housing. They are looking for a house in West Valley. So Jessie's leaving, probably not by Monday, but likely very soon. Which is wonderful news for him and his family. This news came up as we were processing this whole kid drama situation today. At one point I said something like, "Well, you know what I believe about you." And he mumbles, nodding, "Yeah, about how I'm capable and talented and incredible." Like these are just the facts, like the floor is dirty and it's hard to make good choices, Ms. Simbe believes I'’m capable and talented and incredible. So even though I knew this day was coming (the day, mid-year, when Jessie would leave) and even though I'm very attached to this child, I feel confident that he'll be okay. I've had more than two hundred fifty days with him and even if he doesn't believe those things about himself, he won't soon forget what I believe.
The second moment: The mother of my new student Juan, who just before Winter Break moved into the Road Home, visited the school today. I was only in the room for about fifteen minutes, but heard her describing the Road Home environment, which I knew was horrendous, but to hear it from this loving mother'’s own mouth helped me understand, even more, how much these kids from the Road Home need a safe, loving, structured place to spend eight hours a day. It reaffirmed everything I did, far and beyond the call of duty, on Jessie's behalf. She was also very grateful for the Christmas present I helped Juan make for her. Juan can barely read at a first grade level, so later in the day, I made sure that his special education services will be intense enough to support his needs in reading.
The final moment: Because of the confrontation with Joann and the name calling and tension that'’s not going to go away, I kept telling myself I had to make a choice, to either make real peace with Joann or to firmly commit to transfer at the end of the year. All day, my whole body and self and emotions were like a tempest storm because it seemed like an impossible choice. But what this raging storm and the lightening bolts of the first two moments I just described, finally pushed me to realize, is that I am committed, fiercely, passionately, outrageously, and obsessively committed, to the kids that come to Washington from the Road Home. And this commitment is the undercurrent of my final answer: I'm staying, for the long haul. I know there are students that I would love and be happy with everywhere, but not kids with the unique needs of those that come to us from the Road Home. Not only do I believe those kids need me to stay, the Jessies and Juans and Regans of Washington, but late this afternoon, in the quiet stillness of my classroom, I also realized in a very spiritual (uncomfortably Mormon-ish) way that this is where I'm "supposed" to be. The vast, infinitely loving, but mysteriously personal, spirit of the universe wants my talents and passions and love to continue to be a well from which these particular children are able to draw. Final answer.
As for peace with Joann--I don't know--it doesn't feel urgent or important anymore, not compared with the grace that I continue to feel emanating from the center of the Universe's loving heart.
