Ironic or Insurgent?

Sometimes the pieces of circumstance align around you to create meaning, but sometimes the forces at work are merely human. I humbly request your opinion on this situation.

Here's what happened:
Chongo struggles with passing Spanish and we work with him religiously to help/force him to accomplish this. On the night in question, Grandma was in that honored spot at the dining room table doing his Spanish homework with him.

Chongo likes listening to music while he does homework, and pretty soon I hear Pink Floyd's album "The Wall" coming from the stereo.

Me: (coming back into the room) "I think you should turn this off. It's hard for Grandma to work with you when the music's playing."

We don't need no education.
We don't need no thought control

Chongo: "No, Mom, I can work fine."

No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave the kids alone...

Me: (in my cracking the whip voice) "Chongo, you have to work hard at this. You can't concentrate on Spanish with the music going."

All in all you're just another brick in the wall...

Chongo: "Okay, okay... but listen to the next song first. You should hear it. It's called "Mother" -- it's for you."

Me: (feeling a little flattered... ) "Oh, okay, one more song."

Mama's gonna keep you right here, under her wing
She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing
Mama will keep baby cozy and warm... oooh baby...
Of course, Mama'll help build the wall....

I listen to the whole song, waiting for some redemption.

.... Mother, did it need to be so high.

When I turn off the stereo after the last line, there's no complaining -- just the sound of Grandma explaining the use of subjunctive conjugations with words that express hopes and desires. And my own bewildered thoughts -- Espero que no pienses asi, que no sea la verdad -- because there's something so damn true about what I just heard.

Ironic? or Insurgent? You decide.

Observation #1

Even the coolest kid can look forlorn, standing all alone on the sidewalk -- the last one -- waiting for a ride home.

A rant

As I went looking through the file where I throw everything school related for Chongo, I came across his Freshman class request list. And that old anger at the way counselors have steered us wrong came bubbling back up into my stomach so that I sat there for several long minutes, just trying to recover.

We've had many negative and discouraging experiences, but do all the details matter? Today I saw proof that we really had tried to get the counselor's help in placing Chongo in the right art class. But we were never contacted and Chongo was placed in a beginning art class. After freshman year Chongo said, "I'm never taking another art class. It's such as waste of time." Which made me very sad, since he's actually good at art. Even his teacher at the end of the year told us, "he really didn't belong in this class." I know now it was my naievete as a parent, thinking I could rely on a counselor to be looking out for my child.

So this is a rant about counselors (Mr VB excluded, except that he retired just when we needed him most)...

1. Every time I turn around I discover that something they told me, even insisted on is either entirely untrue or contradicted by the next counselor.
2. When you don't take seriously something they said (" we don't change classes") they get angry despite your repeated experience of #1.
3. They seem to think scheduling classes is formulaic, as if there's homogeneity among the 2500 kids trying to keep their heads above the academic water without losing interest or stamina or hope.
4. It appears there's more interest in getting their schedule organized than in personalizing students schedules to best serve them.
5. A pure, unadulterated prejudice against anyone who keeps her desk perfectly neat, devoid of papers, nothing out of place. Really? Okay maybe that's my own issue, but I believe it explains why this particular counselor does not understand the vagaries of my child.
   

A caveat: I am fully aware that counselors deal constantly with pushy, insistent parents who can only see their child's needs and not the larger community, and I am sure it can make them cynical. And I know there are many great counselors out there who have made a real difference in the lives of their students (did I mention Mr. VB?).

Now that Maia's filling out her high school registration form I had to email her counselor. "Surprise me," I wanted to say. Show me up, let me be wrong. Care about students as individuals, assume vocal parents might actually be saying something worthwhile, and above all, work imaginatively.

This time, I'm going to follow up.

P.S. I couldn't decide if I should publish this one... because a rant generally serves only to make me feel better, not to actually help anyone else. And I don't have any good advice. Except to counselors, which I mentioned, but which, if I were a counselor, I wouldn't even be able to hear after a rant... unless I was already a good counselor...

Conversations in Middle School

A seventh grade conversation after I had used the desire to cheat as an example of internal conflict.

Argumentative Boy: "But what if you were a bad cheater. That would be external."
Me: "Yes, if you were caught, it would definitely be an external conflict."
Another boy (off-handedly): "That would be a sin."
Lovely, young girl (world-wearily): "Does anyone still sin these days?"

I would have loved to continue that conversation... but we were pressed for time and it wasn't on the sub plans!

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday is upon us... and since it's so late this year, I've had a long time to think about what I might doforLent as in "what are you doing for Lent?" When I was growing up we never talked about Lent, but our church now celebrates Ash Wednesday with a service... so now I think about what I might doforLent.

The big question is always why.

A couple years ago I began to ask myself this question and was inspired by a poem by Mary Oliver called "Gethsemane" from her book Thirst. And it reflects on the poor disciples, falling asleep in the garden when Jesus was agonizing over the death to come, and the stars and wind that kept watch with him that night. In the Bible Jesus says "watch with me" and this is what I want to doforLent. I want to keep my eyes open to Jesus in this world, not to fall into the bleary sleep of everyday life. It takes intention, and open heartedness, and more courage, I am sure, than I have.

So I do acts of discipline, like pinches and slaps, to keep my eyes open during the long night of Lent. And sometimes I still fall asleep. Because, as Mary Oliver says, "this too/must be a part of the story."

dying young

I had one day of overlap with the teacher before I'd be on my own with the class for the last month of school. And I showed up to terrible, terrible news. One of my students had died unexpectedly the night before. What a day of utter sadness. Stillness and quiet kids who didn't know what to say. No misbehavior. No goofing off meant to garner attention. Just a sense of being stunned. The teacher talked about her feelings a little and offered them time to talk with a counsellor, then had the students do a some work and left them to talk among themselves. I overheard one boy saying, "you know we just don't really believe that could happen. None of us thinks that could be us. We don't think about death, do we?" he asked his friend.

It was a heavy day for everyone, especially his friends. What surprised me was the fact that they all knew about his death before the announcement. When I asked them how they said, "It was all over Facebook." I know that was fine for most people, but I wondered what that experience was like for his closest friends. Did they log on to their account to discover that their friend had died? Bad news, life and death news, society has always delivered in person. There's an unwritten understanding that you wouldn't want to read in the paper or learn by hearsay about the death of someone dear, that it's news given face to face. But no longer -- and I'm not sure what I think about that.

At promotion, they left an empty chair for their fellow student, and when his name was called, his brave parents came forward to accept his diploma. The tearful, standing ovation was a fitting memorial.

back to work

I'm headed back to work full time for one month only. I'm looking forward to being in the classroom every day just to see if I can deal still enjoy it over a sustained period. Same students every day. Grading. Four whole weeks of getting lunches ready at night so we can all be out the door by seven thirty.

One thing I love about being a sub is not having the same schedule everyday. I've noticed in my life that new places, new opportunities interest and enliven me. Can I stay interested and enlivened everyday? I know all these students well having subbed for them on and off for the whole year. So what I'm looking for is the newness that comes with knowing people more deeply, enjoying more of the nuances of the their character and personality.

It will be a little like enjoying music in our house. Chongo plays the same C.D. every day for about a month before he moves on. Right now it's Pink Floyd "The Wall" just because it was sitting around. Every day the music grows a little dearer, both more familiar and newer -- a musical motif, a lyric -- to perk up my senses.

So here's to the mundane, to the new becoming old becoming new again. I'll let you know how it goes.