A sense of wonder

For the last several weeks, my class has been learning about the Solar System and how we fit into it. We've been using the FOSS science kits, which are exploration-based and are very good. The "Sun, Moon, and Stars" unit starts by observing how the sun "moves" across the sky from East to West. Students used compasses to find East and West and traced their shadows throughout the day while standing on the line. Back in the classroom, we used a globe with a slightly raised piece of tape symbolizing a person and the overhead projector to observe the same phenomenon and to explain and visualize that it is the Earth that is actually moving, and not the sun. We have also read several books on the Sun and the planets.

During one of these Read Alouds, while looking at a picture of the Solar System, and pointing out the blue and green ball that symbolized Earth, L raised his hand. "But, how... I mean... How did we get on that ball??" he asked incredulously. He seemed to be grappling with the immense concept that we live on a gigantic sphere, perpetually spinning around in a vast emptiness. At that moment, I was reminded of how amazing it all really is and let him know so. It's easy to walk past the things in our world that happen every day and forget how fascinating they really are. I feel lucky to work with children and to be constantly inspired by their raw sense of wonder.

Brussels Sprouts

My kids (students) tried Brussels sprouts today. It wasn't a planned thing- not part of an organized theme on nutrition. I often get the Trader Joe's Brussels sprouts and when I've been lazy and haven't felt like making an involved lunch for myself, I grab the bag from my fridge in the morning along with other random foods that are laying about and shove them into my tote. When the kids go out to recess, I pop them into the microwave (the beauty of some TJ veggies is that they are microwaveable!), and have them as a warm mid-morning snack. I admit that having them plain can be kind of wretched or unappealing to others... especially since they smell mildly of farts, but the taste has grown on me and I tell myself they're good for me, like the nagging mother I never had. Sometimes they smell up a good chunk of the pod and I try to diffuse commentary of my embarrassing eating habits, by fessing up to being the source of the smell and making a joke about it.

Needless to say, my kids have grown curious. When they have their mid-morning crackers as a snack and see me crunching down on miniature cabbage-looking things, their eyebrows furrow and they ask, "What's that????" or "Is that GOOD??????", not trusting me for one second that it really is. So, I finally asked them if they wanted to try them. Four brave souls raised tentative hands. I cut one Brussels sprout into four pieces, seasoned the pieces with salt and olive oil, and passed them out to the now dubious takers. I have to give them props for popping them into their mouths, because all of the other kids were staring, expecting the worst. T. and A. chewed and swallowed their pieces with no problems. A. told everyone that he wants to be a Nascar driver when he grows up and that he needs to be strong, as an explanation for eating the stinky green thing. J. and T., however, had a much harder time with it. Their reaction was unexpectedly strong. They both started tearing up and looked like they were going to be sick. I told them to just swallow it. J., always the drama queen made a huge scene of it, but finally swallowed it and shoved animal crackers in his mouth to cancel out the taste. He continued to make a contorted face, like a man on his deathbed, until I distracted him by reminding him of the writing piece that he was working on. T., however, took the approach that my sister used to take when she was younger- Stubborn Mule. He sat for minutes with the Brussels sprout in his mouth, looking at me pitifully. Although I was cracking up inside, I tried not to show it. And when he thought I wasn't looking, he grabbed a tissue and spit it out, also quickly shoving animal crackers into his mouth to cover the taste.

After that episode, several of my kids confessed to not eating veggies at home and I thought about the need for perhaps greater exposure to veggies (although in a more appetizing form) and healthy eating habits, and have been playing around with the idea in my head. In retrospect, 2/4 liked them. That's 50%... not too bad!

Mammone

This word has been floating around in my head for the past week. It's the Italian word that describes the result of years of unrestrained doting of a mother on a son... the kind of doting and adoration that frightens eligible young ladies away, feeds the stereotype of the monstrous mother-in-law, and makes the mother's home nearly impossible to leave. The kind of doting that will have a man living with his mom until he is 45. Essentially, the word means 'mamma's boy.'

Ever since a month ago when he was first tentatively placed in my class, J's mom has been a constant thorn in my side. Aside from being blinded by mother's love that her child can do or say no wrong, she is also ailed with the notion that no one can care for her 'baby' as well as she can. To make matters worse, her child actually has a medical condition, which allows her to make endless excuses for him and to create dozens of fictional other handicaps for him that she as a lone crusader must fight in order to get him the special things he needs.

The list of special requirements is seemingly endless. J has to take medication at 9 every morning so he must have his breakfast. Fair enough. However, mother and son arrive at school 20-30 minutes after breakfast is served, she manages to have breakfast given to J anyways (in spite of the school policy that breakfast ends at 8:00).. This sets off a whole chain of events. J eats late, so he misses the first 1/2 hour of school, he is unable to finish his morning journal, so he completes it on the bench during recess (as per our classroom policy). As a result, J starts to tantrum and complains of a headache. A headache is supposed to be the unquestioned 'sign' that he might be getting a seizure. We must send him to the office, where he calls his mom and gets immediately picked up.

For a while, she was actually bringing him to class to help him get settled. She would stand in the back of the class and yell at him to do things. He constantly turned around, yelling "mommy, look...." or coming to her with minor scrapes for her to tend to. She would pull out her phone and make some calls, occasionally putting the call on speaker phone, for the benefit of all my other easily-distracted students to hear. She questioned all of my policies in front of the class, asked loudly why I hadn't called on him right then, wondered (again loudly) why I had asked her son to tuck in his shirt, but not another student. I was under her mama bird microscope and she was getting satisfaction from picking at me and fulfilling what in her view must be her motherly role- the unequivocal protection of her 8-year-old 'baby.'

Things reached a breaking point one day when after coming in 20 minutes late, heckling me from the back of the classroom, loudly disrupting and speaking on her cell phone, it was time for my students to bring their morning journals to the front of the class and read their entry to the other students. Due to all of the to-do that morning, J had not finished his journal and knew that he would have to complete it at recess. Thus began and ugly display of huffing and crying. Without missing a beat, Mama Bird swooped down, petting him, and questioning my policy of having kids complete their work at recess. I felt myself getting warm and angry. I looked at the mother and said, "This, is too much right now," designating the whole situations with my hands. "Why don't you just do your job and teach the class. Just teach the class," she said in a chilling voice. It was more than I could handle and all I could do to stay polite. I turned got on the phone and asked to speak to the principal. The principal asked me to ask the mom to come talk to her. After I did so, the mom stayed and glared at me for several minutes before leaving the room.

As a result of that morning's clash, a meeting was called with me, the mother, and the principal. In the meeting, the mom explained how hard she worked to be an advocate for her son and was concerned for all of his health issues. I tried to plead my case in telling her that she should allow her son to be more independent, that he needed time to establish himself in the new classroom and accustom himself to me as his teacher and to his new environment.

She didn't like the fact that I didn't let kids sharpen their pencils during class and wanted to make sure that I provided 'razor sharp' pencils for her son. "He only works if his pencils are razor-sharp. It's his thing," she insisted, "When he's at home, he does not do his homework unless his pencils are razor-sharp. He sits and keeps sharpening his pencils."

Listening to her made me want to slap some sense into her. I felt like yelling, "He only says that because you let him get away with it, you idiot! It's not a condition!! He also avoids doing his homework that way!! Why are you so blind??" Instead I told her that the pencils in my class were of a 'normal' sharpness and that he didn't seem to have a problem with that and completed his work in spite of their butter knife point.

After about 40 minutes, the meeting ended. My principal (who had mostly sat there quietly) ended up convincing the mother to not come into the classroom, but promised her that I would think of ways to "include" her in my classroom (something that I had previously told my principal I had no intention of doing). She also convinced her to bring him to school in time for breakfast. For several weeks, Mama Bird kept her distance.

Then, one morning, after breakfast, as all of the students funneled out of the cafeteria for the morning meeting, I asked J to throw away the remnants of his breakfast and go outside with the other students. He likes to waste time and looked at me smiling, unwilling to throw his breakfast away, standing over the trashcan with his tray in his hand. After asking him for the third time to throw it away, I took it from his hands and placed it in the trash. He began to walk outside, but was intercepted by Mama Bird, who pulled him over to comb his hair before she sent him on his way. She had seen me throw his breakfast away and she was not about to let that go.

As I took my class back in from the yard, she accosted me and began to have a "talk" with me in front of the whole class. She said that J and her were speaking last night and that he told her that I don't "appreciate him" in my class. I told her I was surprised and that I treated him no differently from the other students in my class. She insisted that I did and I told her that perhaps we could schedule a meeting to discuss it further. I reminded her that his IEP meeting was coming up and that if she wasn't satisfied with his current placement, we could explore other options. Again in her icy voice, she said, "Just do what I told you to do."

I felt a rage boil up inside of me and responded, "No, I will not." She insisted, "Yes, you will." To which I replied, "No. I. Will. Not." It may seem pretty childish to have responded that way, but there's only so much degradation I'm willing to take and I will only humble myself so much. There was no way I was going to let this mother order me to do her bidding (what she was bidding was in fact unclear), as if I was her maid, in front of my entire class. She pulled her son out of the line and stormed off, proceeding to badmouth me to anybody who would listen.

The thing that kills me about the whole situation is that her child is actually making improvements in my class. For two years, he has been frustrated in the general education classrooms and was starting to act out on a regular basis. He was constantly getting sent to the office and as a second grader, still didn't know how to read or write. In my class, he works all day (when she doesn't make an appearance), is making friends with the other kids, and seems to be generally happy to be in school. It seems almost as if she actually liked it better when he was failing and had to constantly fight and intervene for him- that it was a situation where she felt needed and important. Now that he is beginning to succeed and that I don't require her help with him in class, she possibly feels threatened that her role is being redefined.

As she explained when she was venting in the school's Parent Room, "Nobody can take care of my baby like I can." (The Parent Room is next to the room where my classroom para works in the morning. Since there are no doors and no complete walls anywhere, I got a detailed update of the events.) Two mothers who work at our school and who both have sons tried to reason with her, explaining to her that they had to learn to 'step back' and let the teacher take over once it was time for their boys to go to school. One mom explained that if she continued to do everything for J, he would be 45, jobless, and still living at home. Mama Bird, stood firm on her position. In trying to explain how well she takes care of J, she told all of the other moms that she even blow dries his socks and underwear before he puts them on so that they're warm. And that, pretty much sums it up right there. I couldn't make up things this crazy.

So, she's right, I will never do anything that is as disgustingly spoiling as blow drying his socks and undies. But, I will teach him to read and write. If only she'll let me.

It's been a while since I've written in this blog. For the most part, this year has gone a lot more smoothly than last year and it has made a world of difference in my life. The most important change has been the students in my classroom. Last year, I had several students who were (in my opinion) misplaced in my mild/moderate speech and language class. They had intense emotional issues, were very violent, and posed a constant threat to their safety as well as the other students' safety in the classroom. The year was spent teaching while trying to manage their constant outbursts and disruptions. I often finished the day feeling exhausted and upset. The year made me lose a lot of faith in the system and its ability to provide students with an appropriate placement, while at the same time ensuring that other students' right to a safe educational environment is protected.

The fact that my classroom was so tumultuous affected me personally. It was often impossible to separate my home life from work life. I felt a strong need to communicate my frustrations and the daily insane episodes in my classroom to friends, but found that talking about them made me more upset and that nothing was resolved. The summer effectively dulled the corners of my memories from the year and allowed me to begin again this year.

Like I said, the main difference this year is my students. They are (for the most part) sweet, kind, and interesting. I am excited by their small successes, both socially and academically. I admire many of them as people, who in spite of being young, have already overcome so many obstacles. I glow when I see them running around as a unified pack on the courtyard, protecting each other like brothers and sisters, and also when I see them fearlessly playing with the general ed kids.

Some stresses are still definitely there- the micro-managing administrators, the bully and negligent parents, and the extended school day, but the fact that my classroom is peaceful makes it bearable.What scares me most about teaching, is that a whole year can be driven and shaped by one or two students and how intensely it can affect me as a person. This makes me question whether or not I can continue teaching in the long term, at least in this school.

Coming into the new semester however, I hope that I can continue to enjoy the serenity that comes in the absence of thrown desks, chairs, and wild tantrums. This is my toast to the new year.

pajamas

One of my students is constantly amazed by the little things that make me a regular human being and not just the daily figure of "teacher" that he sees every day. He will randomly ask questions such as "You have a mom?!" or "You were a BABY??", his mind wrapping around these common traits that kids and adults share. When I answer him, a giddy smile creeps over his face and he counters my answer with "nu-uh, nu-uh!"
Today, on the bus ride back from our field trip, he took a pause from gazing out the window and pointing out everything he saw, turned to me and in a voice that was almost a whisper said, "Do you have pajamas?"
It took me a while to understand what he was asking me and when I finally did and told him that yes, I had pajamas, he asked,"What color?" I told him: "Blue." He smiled broadly and said, "Awww! I have blue ones too! With motorcycles." His eyes were glowing with amazement at yet another unexpected commonality in the eyes of a 7 year old. Something then caught his eye outside the window and he continued verbally tagging what he saw most of the way back to school.

"Have you ever had turtle eggs?" the guide asked in Spanish as we paddled back to shore after kayaking to a nearby island. There were only two other people who had signed up for the trip- a father and a daughter- and so I had been paired in a boat with the tour guide. He asked while trying to convince me to sign up for that night's turtle watching excursion to spot nesting turtles and camp out on the beach.

I continued to paddle, pondering my answer to his question and feeling like I had been thrust into a Costa Rican conservation after school special where endangered species' eggs were being pandered instead of alcholol or weed.

"No, I haven't eaten them," I finally said.

"They're very good," he continued. "I have the best recipe for the sauce to eat with them." He began listing the ingredients that he used.

"But, it's bad to eat them," I said, my Spanish getting clumsier with the awkwardness of the situation, feeling like a child pestering their parent to quit smoking.

He brushed off my comment. "No.... they lay so many. I only take about 60 or 80 and leave the rest there...."

A long silence followed. The boat rocked in the waves. We paddled. I thought of the trip I had taken to watch turtles nesting the week before and of the guide then explaining the struggle to get local people to buy into protecting turtle's nests and renounce a food that had perhaps been a traditional delicacy. I remembered being amazed at the large number of eggs that the turtle laid, leaving a mound of ping-pong ball like orbs that she meticulously burried and camouflaged before returning to the ocean. The guide that night had said that although a turtle will lay about 800 eggs per season, that only one of the turtles who hatches from those eggs will statistically make it to maturity. She described efforts by conservationists to involve locals by training them as guides and paying them to watch the nests. Guides like my current rowing partner.

There was really nothing more to say. I didn't know the guy and was just passing through this town. In a few days, I would be back in the states and he would continue to lead tours for a living in the place where he had grown up...a different reality. I am not so naive as to think that a few protests from a tourist could have any changing effect. So, we talked about the weather, both hoping that the predicted storm wouldn't come, and we paddled back to shore.

Things that don´t happen back home

Last night, my traveling buddy Oliver and I were eating dinner at one of the many restaurants that line the main strip in Cahuita. As we sat, perusing the menu for something tasty, I was startled by a loud clang coming from the direction of the kitchen. It sounded like someone had sent a heap of metal pots crashing to the floor. I quickly spun around and followed the glare of every other person in the restaurant to the rafters in one corner of the ceiling. Two small furry creatures were perched there. They had been discovered and like to runaway mobsters were quickly planning their escape. Rats! was my first thought. One of these critters was trying to make its way down the wall to the floor and as I continued to stare, my eye was drawn to a swift furball scampering towards me. I managed to see its furry coat and bare, pinkish tail and immediately raised my feet from the floor to the seat of my chair. A couple sitting at a nearby table must have seen my look of disgust, because they reassured me that what I had just seen scurrying through the restaurant where I was hoping to enjoy a meal were not rats... they were possums! And, I guess on the echelon of creatures that you don´t want sampling the ingredients of your upcoming meal in a restaurant´s kitchen, possums are one step less disgusting (one step up) than the more familiar, disease-ridden rats. That was my rationale, at least and what kept me sitting in my seat at this establishment. Throughout dinner, the possums made several more appearances, trying to poke through a hole in the ceiling that had been covered with a garbage bag. One of the waitresses nonchalantly sauntered over with a broom and shooed them away. She shook her head in frustration, like she was waving away pesky children. I am definitely adding this to the list of thing that do not happen back home...

We left Cahuita today and with it, the Bates Motel, which I was starting to grow rather fond of, though it had absolutely no charm to speak of. Right before leaving, I returned my key for my deposit. The owner, looked at me and asked, ¨What´s your name again?¨ I answered him, expecting him to say, ¨So long, e!¨at the very least, maybe some well-wishes for my future travels. Instead, he just gave me a cold hard stare and said absolutely nothing. Since it was apparent that there was really nothing more to be said, I made my way down the few stairs outside and headed for the train station.

I am now in Puerto Viejo and sadly, the day has been rather rainy... very, very hard rain. I did manage to squeeze in a few hours of beach and sun, before the sky was covered by a persistent gray blanket that is still hovering above. I´m hoping that it clears by tomorrow, because I am planning on renting a bicycle and riding the 13km to Manzanillo, a smaller town with a reputation for beautiful beaches.