Lost in Translation

I cried at my kids' chorus concert tonight, which embarrassed me.  I loathe crying in public (well, who doesn't).  The only trick I have is to let the tears run all the way down my face without acknowledging them, then wipe them away with the pretence of, like, scratching my jaw.  No way am I going to wipe my eyes!  It was especially embarrassing because I had become friendly with the mom sitting next to me:  we had been making small talk and getting acquainted.  She kept looking at me on and off to say little things about our kids.  Ugh.  What if she noticed? [surreptitious cheek wipe]

She would have thought that I was crying at the schmaltzy songs thanking our troops, extolling the virtues of this fair land or reminiscing about days gone by.  In fact, I was examining this large group of children.  I was thinking about how almost all of them had eaten a good supper and talked to their families; how they were singing for a gym crammed with adoring relatives holding video cameras; how they were soon to go to home to warm showers and clean spacious beds.  I know there is one kid across town whose circumstances are different.  It eats at me.

My job involves a smidgen of pseudo social work, and over the years I have become very used to hearing about bad stuff grownups do to each other:  domestic abuse; human trafficking; chasing each other around the Sudan or Cambodia, committing genocide.  So I am a little sheepish to admit that I can't handle child abuse.  It makes me crazy.  Yesterday, I was writing about needing to decompress after work?  Hilarious, in the context of today.  On the rare occasion that I am involved in child abuse stuff, I get very upset.  Tonight it's like my soul has been sucked by Dementors.  I called Si a little while ago, so the kids could say good night. I thought, if he sounds like he's not mad at me, maybe I can talk to him about it for a couple of minutes?  At different times in the past when work was deeply disturbing to me I would blah, blah, blah to him about it for two hours straight. Lift it off and lay it down.  Tonight, I did not get a welcoming vibe; and anyway, I need to learn to deal with this on my own, now.  If it were earlier, I would call Moira; or my friend Robin in Denver, who would understand.  But it's too late at this point.  How do the childhood staff DEAL with this?  I am a baby.  One child abuse incident, and I need snuggles and alcohol.  You'd think I was the abused child, for Pete's sake.  [eye roll]  My reservoir of peace?  I miss him today, even more than yesterday.  I shall try to vent here, but I need to be very delicate about privacy. 

I only get called to interpret for the childhood programs once in a while.  There are others at work with way better Spanish than mine.  I am untrained at interpreting, so I have a little homegrown protocol.  I try to keep my hands behind my back, so I don't get too animated.  I carefully state that I will be interpreting for X and Y.  Today, it was an uncle who is concerned about the safety of a little girl and wonders why we have had no results from Child Protective Services (CPS), despite the fact they have been called a couple of times.  He is a young guy, maybe in his early 20s.  Low riding jeans and a torn muscle shirt. I tried to just stay focused on him, 'cause that's why I was there.  It was obvious to me from the tension in his body language that he was SO frustrated and worried.  Other staff interviewed the girl about her home life.  What she described was hard for me to listen to.  The child was crying.  My voice cracked - I had to stop and swallow hard.  Pinch the bridge of my nose.  Explanations of what evidence CPS needs in order to remove a child from a parent's home.   The uncle stood, and I interpreted as he said that in Utah, children have no voice. The bureaucracy was impenetrable.  I relayed the assurances from the staff that, in emergency situations, CPS could act quickly. Today, there was finally evidence that could be substantiated.  CPS would surely act on it and the child would be removed from the situation. I understood his anger and tried to relay my sympathy through my tone of voice, but keep just being the interpreter.  I was relieved when the meeting was over and CPS was called.  Everything else could happen in English and they wouldn't need my nose-pinching little self.

Later, at the sports field, I was doing cartwheels with the girls and trying to think about what drives people to treat their children like that.  It's a bit rhetorical, though; we all know:  poverty, frustration, addiction, lack of parenting skills...  It just happened that CPS arrived as practice was ending,  so the agent met us at the sports field.  The others returned to school while I introduced him to the girl. I said that while they talked, I would wait over here, so I could walk her back to school afterwards. He said to the girl, "Unless you'd like someone to sit with you and support you?"  "Y'know, my only involvement  with-"  She had already grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward a bench.  Which is how I found myself holding this kid while she talked into the agent's little recorder.  Holding this kid and feeling so angry.

The rest of this story is kind of like "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie".

We returned to school on foot while the agent followed in his car.  I told her that we had to race him: we would get there first, even though he was driving.  We made a production of our mad sprint to the door and our "neener-neener" at winning.  This meant that I was still in the role of supporting adult  when the agent asked if a private room were available.  Which is how I ended up being the person who helped her undress enough to show her bruise and get it photographed, all the time thinking, "I need a bigger set of cojones."

And because he was used to talking with me at this point, I ended up being the one the CPS agent told that that the bruise wouldn't work for substantiation, and that the girl would have to return to the situation tonight after all.  I went and explained to her that she would be going home with XXX, but that the agent was going to go with her, too.  I did not like the fear that flickered over her face at all.  I needed to get going, but I felt reluctant to leave. I was packing my stuff when the girl appeared at my office door.  "Hey.  Is it time for you to go home?  Where's the agent?"  "I dunno.  He left."  Her chin started to shake.  "He LEFT?"  I hurried up front.  Maybe he just ran out to his car.  Nope.  He had left. He left her his card, though.  WTF!?!?!?!?

A frustrated little voice whispered what I really wanted to say to this scared kid.  "We're having ham and cheese potatoes tonight.  My boy is just your age.  After dinner, they have a concert.  Wanna keep me company?  And we're finishing Harry Potter!  You can sleep with Sara - she has a big bed, and I'll bring you back here in the morning."  My eyes are welling as I write this; because of course, this is impossible and I couldn't say it.  That made me very sad.  You know, in the absence of adult support, my kids sometimes comfort me without realizing they are doing it.  But tonight, their carefree life is reproaching me.

I realize that the girl is not in mortal danger.  But I hated the way she looked at me after the agent left.  And I hated the disappointment and disillusionment in the face of her uncle.  I feel ashamed by our assurances that this time, the problem could be solved.  It doesn't matter that I was just the interpreter.  Stuff like this, I take personally.

Decompression

[Actually, I wrote this last night, but got sleepy and didn't publish it.]

My day is not... quite... over, yet.  Nate and Sara looked after themselves this evening while I was at work, which is great; but they left the kitchen a mess.  I need to take the trash out... get the paperwork for the San Luis Obispo trip organized... there is some Guadalupe data-entry stuff sitting here on the table.  Boy, that would require more ambition than I have at the moment.  I will make myself a cup of tea in a few minutes, too.  I need to decompress.  If you work in the evenings, perhaps you will understand:  it takes me a little while to wind down.  My work is fast-paced, somewhat stressful.  The students leave at 9 PM.  To come down off the energy, I often linger in the office to joke with the other teachers, straighten my desk a bit...  Then I drive home with some music.

One thing that kind of sucks about being single (or I guess I'm quasi-single) is that there is no one here when I get home to make me a cuppa and ask about my "day".  I always have stories:  some good; some bad.  Good thing I have a blog!  It's not as much fun, though:  I have to sit up straight when I would prefer to sprawl in an unladylike way; I have to spell. 

Today was hectic, too.  It's always a little chaotic to coordinate all those people.  It's important to plan, but also important not to over-plan:  we exemplify the saying about the best-laid plans of mice and men often going awry! Nothing went seriously wrong this evening - but we had to make some really big changes at the last moment and the session just didn't hang together as well as I would have liked.  There was scrambling and switching.  Then a whole bunch of new applicants came in to do intakes. 

I was just about to go help the other teachers with the intakes when Nate called, distraught.  I usually put my phone away during class; but tonight, Si is out East and Sara is in charge.  They had both just arrived home after their soccer practices. Nate realized that his soccer bag had the name "Reid" on it - belonged to someone else.  Which means - where is HIS bag?  [with gathering small-boy tension....]  In the possession of some other kid? Lying by the side of the soccer field somewhere in Draper?  "Moooooooom?  It has my homework in it... and the T-shirt I need to wear for the chorus concert tomorrow...[rising to a pathetic squeak] and... my... Nin-ten-do...  Mom, I don't think I can sleep if I don't know where my Nintendo is!" He doesn't have the phone number for this Reid, 'cause the kid is in the same club, but a different age division.  They don't know each other.  Nate asked if I would call Coach.  That's the place to start, I figured:  I'll check and see if Coach has it?  Or noticed it? I don't have Coach's number in my phone, so I called Si for it.  He got mad! Wanted to know why, since I am usually TOO BUSY to take family calls during class, I suddenly have time to handle a problem!  Uh, obviously, I thought:  usually, you are HERE!  With the kids! Now you're not, so I'm handling the problem.  I said that I wanted to ask Coach of he had seen anything.  "Why are you calling me when there's nothing I can do?" 
"Well, if you have Coach's number-" 
"This isn't Coach's fault." 
"Well, I know it's not-" 
"This is not his problem!" Coach probably didn't notice anything.  Everyone is gone, now.  Nate's bag is probably lying there at the park.  I again asked for Coach's number- if the bag is at the field, I will ask where they practiced, so I can go look for it after work.  "In Draper?  In the dark?  After work?" 
"Well, we need the bag!  What do you want me to do?" 
I finally had to say, "Please.  Please, just let me have Coach's number!  I just want to ask if he saw anything." By this time, what I thought was going to be a 30 second request for information was a full-blown argument.  I was taken aback - I still can't figure out what I did wrong.  A couple of teachers were waiting to ask me about things and were pretending not to hear.  I was embarrassed.

Finally, he texted me Coach's number.  I called him and he was still at the field, coaching a different team.  I told him what was up and he started laughing.  "Reid?  Yeah, he's still here!  Looking everywhere for his bag!  And Nate's is right here."    I asked to talk with the boy's mom.  Explained the problem and asked what school her son goes to.  I could leave Reid's bag at his school office for him, and ask Coach to hold Nate's bag until the next practice.  Instead, she offered to bring Nate's bag to our house and exchange them.  I gave her directions and it all worked out fine!  But it all happened right at the busiest time of the night and added to the pressure of the evening. 

I am starting to unwind, now. I am starting to feel sleepy. You know what else sucks?  There's no one here to listen to my shit - but there also isn't anyone for me to listen to.  I am so lonely for CB.  All my Type A drops to the floor when I'm with him.  Day 16.

Bright spots? It was a crazy night at school, but the day was not a bad day.

I had tea this morning with a very nice guy who is interested in a relationship with me.  Flattering, absolutely. But I have to admit that it seems like a lot right now.  I guess I would say I have emotion fatigue.  I think a gentle holding pattern for a few weeks while I let some other things fall into place would be a good idea.  I could have scared him off by telling him that the only way to truly win my heart is to leave a rat on my doormat...  Instead, I dodged a little: I felt more comfortable when he was talking about himself.  Especially now, it feels good to just curl up in the chair with a cuppa and listen to someone else.
Another bright spot was spending a little time with Chad, my friend / attorney today.  Just social, so fun!  Heard a little about his relationship problems.  He is never relaxing to hang out with - but very engaging, very opinionated.  A little combative.  I always like sparring with him.

Oh, yes, and I saw Olga, the housekeeper, when she arrived today.  She has been away, visiting Colombia for the first time in years!  She was down there for several months.  She looked fantastic and gave me a HUGE hug.  Said (in Spanish), "Next time I go to Colombia, wanna come along?"  HELL, yes!  Wouldn't we have a great time. 

Naturally, my students provided me with my biggest smiles today, despite the evening's stress. 

I got to work with a group on pronunciation of "th" sounds.  This reliably causes hilarity.  And spit.

Best, though, was my jokester student Victor.  Yet another elephant joke.  When will he exhaust this genre?  "How do you get four elephants in..."  I didn't realize that I had misunderstood him until he got to the punchline.  "Two in front and two in back?  Wait! Does he mean in a Volkswagen?  Not a bull's back end?"

Hey, try saying them both with a heavy Spanish accent. 

Uuuugh.  Bed.  Paperwork will just have to wait.

Peanut Butter and Jelly

Position:  Floor Manager (Part-time)

Adult Education seeks a Floor Manager to supervise support services for the program:  collection of student attendance; orientation of new volunteer tutors; supervision of one kitchen assistant, one van driver, one computer lab assistant and two child care providers.
 

Mark is quitting after about 15 years as our Floor Manager.  He got a raise at his day job, and he would rather have extra time than extra money right now. I have dreaded trying to fill this job, because it is so uniquely Mark's.  I have only posted it internally so far, hoping that a current volunteer might want to do it.  It would be really hard to cast my net upon the sea of Craig's List and come up with the right person.   

Sean M. has expressed an interest. He wants to follow Mark around for a couple of classes, to see exactly what he does.  I think Sean could be a good choice. 

Sean asked Mark, "Would I have to grow a ponytail?" (Mark has a long braid.)  "Yes," said Mark.  "That's so she can catch you when you're goin'.  Watch."  I played along.  When he walked by, I grabbed his ponytail and he spun around to face me.  "And how does she catch you when you're comin'?"  I laughed and reached up to snag my fingers in Mark's chest hair where it emerges from his collar.  Sean laughed too, but his hand went protectively to his throat.

Once, on a hot, lazy afternoon when we were camping, Mark was walking along without his shirt on.  He was carrying two-year-old Nathan, who snuggled up to him sleepily and started running his fingers through Mark's chest hair.  Nate murmered, "You're so sof'... jus' like a lamb.  You got a lotta lamb.  You got more lamb than my daddy OR my mommy."  We always call chest hair "lamb" now.

Although Mark and I have enormous affection for each other, we have absolutely no chemistry of any kind. He has no butt.  Jokes that if he wants people to think he has an ass, he has to put a wallet in each pocket.  To me, he's like a super-fantastic older brother. He and his wife Edie were the first good friends Simon and I made when we moved to Salt Lake 19 years ago.  Mark slept on my sofa and took care of the kids when Si was in the hospital a few years ago.  He sometimes calls me when he needs to comb though a problem with a fellow mind-fucker.  I sometimes need him to sit across from me and listen to my unburdenings, too. 

Here's the thing.  Some other person will do Mark's job, but no one will ever fill his shoes.  The requirements to fill his job are above; but what candidate would also be willing to:

1. Rub my neck while I work because, "your think-muscles are all in a knot, Miss Kate!"
2. Allow the staff to dress him up in wizard hats, fuzzy sweaters or super hero capes and then take his picture;
3. Allow children to follow him everywhere, like some kind of hippie Pied Piper;
4. Tell me that I have a "tiny hiney";
5. Bring in chocolate bars for the teachers on stressful nights;
6. Arrive at work from his other job and say, "Whew!  It is great to get here and be able to spend some time with some SANE women!"  (If you have read much about this staff, you will raise your eyebrows at this comment.)
7. Take a fussy baby from a mother who is trying to study and carry it around while he works;
8. Say the same trite things over and over to me for 19 years:  "Drive cheerfully!"  "That dude was a few fries short of a Happy Meal."  "What time is it?  Is it beer-thirty yet?"  "You look like you been rid hard and put away wet!"
9. Bring a huge grill to the annual picnic and be the weenie roaster guy.
10. Gently remove the crazy guy who comes around looking for his old teachers from the Catholic school days and ransacks the Kindergarten room.
11. WAY overdo high fives.  High five for EVERYTHING. 

I came down the stairs last night and heard him talking to a couple of volunteers who were expressing sadness that he would be going soon.

"How long have you worked here?"
"Well, 20 years!  But first I was the building custodian, then I took this job about 15 years ago."
"Wow, you have stayed for a really long time."
"I love working with these students and this staff."
"Was Kate your boss all that time?"
"No, just the last eight years.  But we work together great!"  I walked up to him as he was saying, "We go together like... like... uh...  Kate, how do we go together?"
"Like peanut butter and jelly, Babe!"
"Like peanut butter and jelly!  WHOO!"

High five!

Happiness is a Choice

That is such a goofball title.  Gack. 

I am winding down from a day that was emotionally more difficult than yesterday, for no real reason. Day 11!  I forgot when I chose my shoes this morning that I would be conducting a training for new volunteers tonight and would be hopping all over the place.  I think I will just kick them off.  Yessss!  My feet were killing me!  I have crates and attaches  piled up around me, ready to haul out to the truck:  administrative work; materials for my assessment workshop tomorrow; more materials so I can give the salesman a speech test.

I'm committed to getting more sleep tonight.  I have felt really fried all day.  Becca noticed my fatigue and asked me whether I have insomnia.
"No, I sleep great!"
"Then why are you so tired?"
"'Cuz I don't go to bed."  Becca really does not understand this.  "Well... I procrastinate going to bed in favor of reading the newspaper, or blogs; or thinking about stuff.  Late at night is when I have peace and quiet so I can think or write.  I lose track of the time and Si isn't around getting ready for bed, so nothing reminds me." It isn't as much about lack of reminders, though, as it is about general preoccupation with my current difficulties.

She knows about the divorce part, but not about CB; so she only knows a portion of my preoccupation.  She asked me if she could express her opinion about my divorce.

"Lay it on me."

Becca gives voice to her thoughts in a way that makes it clear:  she has been waiting to tell me what's on her mind for ages but has never had the chance to say it.  She has been sad at times over the years.  This could surprise some people, given that she is generally so gregarious, positive and humorous. 

She feels that when you are down and don't work hard to change your point of view, you make yourself MORE down and drag yourself and others into a nasty cycle.  Staying UP when life sucks is an exercise in willpower that pays you back by becoming easier and easier as time goes by.

Now any of you who have struggled with depression probably know this already and you are amazed that I don't.  But I'm not depressed.  The therapist I visit tells me that I have situational sadness.  I have never even experienced sadness for more than a few days at a time.  I had a couple rough weeks when I was sick, I guess; but that's it.  My gloom skills are lagging.  Becca reminded me that I am usually so happy; also strong and determined.  Surely, I could make the choice to put some effort into my happiness?  Yes, she is absolutely right.  I have made loads of progress since the darkest days, in February.  The part that heals alone with time is doing really well. The parts that require me to actively pursue joy require some remediation.

Becca was very careful in her language, as she always is.  I admire the way she takes her time to express her ideas clearly and diplomatically.  She was very tactful and loving, but takes a very strong position that divorcing Simon is a huge mistake.  She wants me to turn back NOW.  To actively seek happiness would mean staying in the relationship and do what I have done before:  shrug off the things Si does that hurt me.  I should create a well of happiness that is fortified against the vicissitudes of my relationship with Si. She is very worried that I will divorce Si, I will be overwhelmed with problems, I will be alone and lonely, I will be sorry.

I was happy to hear her thoughts, but pointed out that the argument for happiness being a choice would also be a rationale for leaving, rather than for staying.  I see leaving as a step in the right direction.

"So, Becca.  Have you been dying to tell me this for weeks or something?  You've been talking like you've rehearsed what you want to say over and over."
"Yes. I've been waiting for an opening."
"You know that you don't have to wait for an opening.  We're friends.  You can just speak your mind when you want to!"
"Well, I'm your friend.  But I'm also your subordinate," [Oh, ick.]  "and this is the work place, so I can't be unprofessional."
"Oh, no!  'Cuz you are NE-VER unprofessional."  [Pfffft!]

Then we decided to wrestle.  I have a dream of someday being able to knock Becca down. We are about the same height, but she is more muscular.  It has been over a year since my last attempt.  I attacked, but she effortlessly tipped my feet out from under me, grabbed me and put me on the floor.  Because we're professionals, Becca.  And I thought you were my subordinate!  Nothing Becca says to me could ever hurt my feelings, but she did rug-burn the hell out of my elbow.

The Day's Balance Sheet

What day are we on?
Nine.
Are you fucking KIDDING me?  That's all?
Yep!  'Fraid so.

It's the end of a long day.  I am surveying the destruction of my desk.    Four dirty coffee mugs.  This is a sure sign of turmoil, because it means that people have been bringing me coffee before I get up and fetch it from the staff room myself.  Hmmm... One of these had chicken soup in it, not coffee...  How long ago did I have chicken soup?

I really should just stay here and work on administrative stuff.  Maybe I will, maybe I won't.

Let's see... what was good and bad about today?

Good:  Nate is ready to recite his poem for his book report tomorrow.  He knows it all and is adorably dramatic when he does it. "Spaghetti, spaghetti all over the place. Up to my elbows, up to my face!"

Bad:  Very short run.  No time for more. 

Bad:  Didn't eat at all until 2 PM.  Very unusual for me to skip breakfast. 

Good:  I went to see my counselor today.  The last little while has been dreadful and it helped to talk about it.  She thinks I am handling things reasonably well.  This surprises me.

Bad:  The weather.

Good:  Jokes from Chad in my e-mail.  I reminded him that we had said we would get together for a cuppa and asked what it takes to get a busy attorney out of his office?  Did I have to book him via his secretary? (That's pathetic, Chad!) Bomb scare?  Forklift?

Bad:  I had to go up to University of Utah to help conduct some job interviews.  I swear:  every time I go up there, they have rearranged the campus.  Wait! Was this road always here?  I also got every red light on 400 South.

Good:  I enjoyed doing the job interviews, once I got there.  I like college students.

Bad:  I left my planner up at the Union building.

Good:  One of my volunteers was studying at the Marriott Library right near the Union and was happy to retrieve it for me and bring it when he came to tutor. Thanks, Jeff!  What kind of cookies do you want me to bake you?

Good:  I got my first bit of corporate contract work.  A company out of New Hampshire wants me to assess the verbal English of one of their Utah-based salesmen.  Customers are complaining that they have trouble understanding him. He called me a little later in the day to set up an appointment with me - I thought his English sounded really good!  Sometimes, I think people can just be bull-headed where accents are concerned.  I think I'll give him my usual assessment that I use, but I will  also probably have him do a  few intonation exercises for me.  At any rate: money, money.

Good:  Hug from Zina - I needed it.

Bad:  I think my upcoming Tutor Boot Camp is going to be sparsely attended.  We just didn't add very many new volunteers this quarter.  More people = more fun.

Bad:  The student Adi did return to school today and was very, VERY angry that I have banned her from the childcare.  Mark was unable to reason with her so he brought her to me; he hates being the "bad cop".  This was not difficult:  "Threatening the babysitter is not OK."  Except that I don't actually know the word for "threaten" in Spanish, and my workaround ("saying a bad thing about your plan to do a future bad thing") was a little, uh, clumsy.

Good:  We had a fun student assembly tonight.  The choice was to crowd into the tiny, hot cafeteria or be cold out on the front lawn.  I chose the front lawn, finally.
   

 Student assemblies can have any sort of agenda.  We have done interviews, speeches, games, songs, reports, role plays, graduations, awards, whatever.  Tonight, we had a group of students interview Laura, the new teacher.  She has been an excellent addition.  I'm so happy with her work!  The students think her language background is a little odd.  "What languages do you speak?"  "German."  "WHY!?"  Here she is sitting on the fallen tree outside the school.  I wanted her to pose with it because it fell over in the wind storm on Thursday, just as she was driving into the parking lot - almost smashed her car.  You can see that it completely demolished our picket fence.  While we waited for everyone to get outside, I was amusing some of the students by jumping off the log in fake gymnastic poses.  Aaaaand, she NAILS that landing!

 Next on the agenda was a visit by a couple of pit bulls.  Rai talked to the students about socializing pit bulls, and about spaying/neutering.  Pit bulls are a popular breed in this neighborhood.  It was getting dark, so this is a really bad pic. 

 This one is better.  The owners took the dogs into the childcare room so the kids could play with them.

  Last item ion the agenda:  lots of jobs available with a custodial company.  They just got a contract to clean all the floors in one of the big new buildings downtown.  You have to be documented and you have to have a security check, but a lot of students were interested.  I'm holding the ads in my hand.  Amina wanted one for her husband, then wanted a photo with me for no particular reason.

As usual, my students saved the day for me. They have no idea how much they can move my daily balance sheet from "bad" to "good".

Blood and Drama

Oof.  What a day this has been!  I was incredibly busy from start to finish; often with hysterical people, querulous people, people piled three deep, all asking questions at once.  "Wait a sec.  How many problems do we have here? Do you two people have two separate problems, or are you sharing a problem?"  Do I attract this? Why, yes, I do.

I opened my truck door in the parking lot today just as fourth-grade Tejawna bit the dust on the playground.  Bit the asphalt, actually.  Mmmmm.  One of those wipe-outs where the victim was going full tilt?  Hands and knees...  She sat up screaming with her hands were so scraped that she had paint from the four-square embedded in there.  Blood running down her leg into her sock.  You know. 

I was headed into the building anyway, so I told the playground monitors that I would clean her up.  I kind of like playing doctor.  We went into the girls' room and loud was the screaming, especially cleaning up her hands.  Hell, YEAH!  If it had been me, I would've cried, too!  Road rash is the worst!  Except a burn, maybe.  So, I was clucking and commiserating.  The elementary teachers clean up a lot more owies than I do, though.  They were like, "C'mon, Tejawna.  You're fine.  Hurry up, you're missing lunch."  Aw, you guys:  have a heart. Poor little kiddo...  Later in the staff room, they were talking about how Tejawna was milking it.  I thought, "So would you be." 

That little drama queen had my sympathies.

Not so much for Adi M., my evening drama queen.  She needs to give it a rest, already.  I have to hear a new Adi hissie 'bout every other week.  [sung, in a "la-la" tone of voice] She's CRA-zy.  I hope it's not CATCH-ing. 

I was in the copy room when I heard a kerfuffle in the cafeteria across the hall, then one of the teachers came in and said, "I need to find the mom of one of the babysitting kids."  "Which kid?"  "I don't know his name. Come and look."  I went to the cafeteria to find Rosa, the head babysitter, with Adi's 3 year-old son, Alex.  Big, gushing nose bleed.  "OK.  That's Adi's son, so go find Adi, please.  Rosa, do we need ice?"  Someone appeared with ice.  But right about then the nosebleed stopped.  You know how they are.  Adi arrived to find that he was pretty much done. 

Now is it just me?  Nosebleeds are NO BIG DEAL. Personally, I have never had one.  Never.  Really.  But my kids get them all the time.  Sara gets huge ones that drip a trail from her bedroom to the bathroom.  They don't hurt.  Kids don't seen that freaked by them.  So, we wiped up Alex's face and I took a little look up his nose to see if there was more to come.  Nope.  Adi picked him up.  [In Spanish]  "Oh, my little darling!  What happened, are you all right?  What happened to him!?"  Clearly, her little prince had almost bled to death.  To Death!  Rosa explained that he bumped his nose slightly on the playground.  Adi fondled the bridge of his nose while Alex fidgeted.  "Maybe there's something wrong there.  Maybe we should see a doctor."  "You know, Adi," I said, "Some kids just get nosebleeds sometimes.  My son gets them if he cries.  My daughter gets them if she sneezes."  "But, Darling, how do you feel?  Do you need a transfusion?  Are you OK?"  Rosa asked him in Spanish if he was ready to go play again, and of course he trotted away without a backward glance.

But, at the end of class, there was Rosa, waiting for me.  "I need talk to you!  Is very important!  About that crazy woman!"  [Back to Spanish]  "When Adi picked up Alex at the end of class, she said to me, 'How could you let this happen!?  Why was I not brought in immediately!?  I'm taking Alex to see a doctor and I'm SENDING YOU THE BILL!!!'"  Hoo-kay.  I'm done.  She lost me at the threats.  I'm banning her from the childcare before Rosa gives HER a bloody nose.

Speech and its Consequences

Boy, Howdy!  I have a lot to blog about!  I should have taken some time yesterday; but my day was insane, and then it was over.  I will have to write yet more tonight, I think.

My friend Luz had a blog called "She Flies with Her Own Wings".  This one should be called something like, "She blogs with a tuna sandwich in one hand". 

Yesterday was the dreaded annual fundraising luncheon.  As I predicted, Laura Guerrero brought the house down. 

 Here she is, being nervous and doing last-minute pronunciation mark-ups instead of eating.  The student speaker is almost always too nervous to eat.  Sometimes, depending on the speaker, I am also too nervous to eat.  Not this time. I know this lady.  

And, who wouldn't be nervous?  There was quite a crowd.  If you were giving your first-ever speech?  And if it were in a language that you were just learning? 

And of course, she totally nailed it.  Great microphone control as well.  We had done a sound-check before the guests arrived, but seven-foot-something Mark Eaton spoke right before she did, so she had to grab the thing and pull it back down.

OK, Laura, you can relax now. Even if you don't bother with the chicken salad, you really ought to try this chocolate cake...  Here she is relaxing afterward with Team Guerrero-Cortez.  Then the reporters attacked, so Laura is the darling of the Spanish-speaking media today. 

And the speech with negative consequences?

*****

ANGRY LETTER TO Eurocentricity
FUCK YOU! Yes F U C K YOU for making me feel this way. For reminding me every single day how you colonized my people, this land, the ethnic-biological make up of my skin and the skin of others who claim superiority. FUCK YOU! Fuck your institutions of higher learning that are fucking with my HEAD, my intellect, and the vivid experience of my lived reality. FUCK YOU for posing myself doubt, politics, bureaucracy in the ivory tower. THIS IS WHY I choose to continue to connect top MY community, to my BARRIO, the GHETTONESS YOU CREATED and has resulted in my anguish and resistance against YOU. FUCK You white supremacy and white privilege. FUCK YOU male patriarchy and machismo. You are MONSANTO, NAFTA, FREE TRADE, WHITENESS, RACISM, RAPIST of CULTURE, patriarch embodied in western literature, western foods colonizing and patenting biodiversity and humanness. EUGENICS, westerns Eurocentric through and SCIENCE. FUCK YOU, and please note, I have chosen to fight you, until the day I die, because I’ve had it. And even if you have kidnapped me and you are holding me captive in graduate school (YOUR INSTITUTION) I will fight you, even if all I can spit at you with my sharp tongue and fire blood is FUCK YOU!
 no oppologies here, just ANGER

***

This is a Facebook rant by one of the graduate students in the College of Education at the U.  The reverse racism there is so bad that my white coworker who is enrolled in the program actually feels physically unsafe.  She got tired of feeling like she needed to apologize for being Czech.  She tried to point out that there are many kinds of oppression; and that her family experienced WW II, Communism and then the Velvet Revolution. Let's just say that didn't go down well.  Discussing political oppression would actually require knowledge of history.  Screaming about racism is so much more gratifying, and any ignoramus can do it. 

If I could say anything to the writer of this rant, it would be;

1.  I agree with you about some if it.  But screaming, "Fuck you!" at it doesn't make it go away. I wish I could just scream, "Fuck you!" at a BUNCH of stuff and make it go away.  If only. 

2.  No one is holding you hostage in graduate school.  Last time I checked, all you have to do to get sprung from that prison cell is to stop paying tuition.

3.  My co-worker is so disgusted that she has decided to leave the university.  She has been offered a full ride at University of Arizona, Flagstaff.  One of the best linguistics programs in the country. She will have a fantastic time down there, since her primary interest is language revitalization.  We were poring over her Navajo textbook late last night.  And so I will lose her at the end of June.  First, Anne, now Martina.

Question is, dear ranter, did this strike a death-blow to Monsanto?