The Student Series: Back log

So here are my favorite student stories from my first year of teaching:

During small groups for Reading, a couple of my students were having a side discussion while I was helping one of their classmates. One of my girls approaches me and says, “Miss, Como se dice prostituta in English?” I look at her, dumbfounded for a moment, trying to compose myself so I don't show her that I'm shocked at her question (as well as trying to figure out what sparked the question). Before I get a chance to say anything, she says, “You know, a bad woman who sleeps with many men?” I have to catch myself from letting my jaw drop for 1)the original question, 2) her ability to explain to me what a is prostitute, and 3) her knowledge of the subtleties in the English phrase “sleeps with.” I keep my face straight and say, “It's a prostitute, Ileany.” “Oh, la misma, Miss.” “Yes, Ileany, they are almost the same.”

I have a student who's mother runs my favorite place to get baleadas. Baleadas, if you don't know, are the Honduran staple-food. It is a large, thin tortilla with a spread of beans, crema, and salty cheese. I usually get them with egg and avocado also. The Urban Promise folks in town know her as the “Chicken Lady” because she also serves good chicken, but I stick to the baleadas. Her comedor does not have a name, you just have to know it's there and when to go, which I do. However, every time I do go, Katia, my student, will sit or stand just out of sight and try to listen in on my conversations, whether they be in English or Spanish. I call her out on it regularly and it's just become a game we play, and I know that I can't talk about anything private there.

During recess, while I was watching my kids go through the line, Judy, an ex-pat friend of mine from Pittsburgh came up to talk to me. We were chatting about a variety of things and my student, Issella, was sitting with us, just listening. After some time, Judy turned to her and said, “Why are you listening to our boring conversation? Why don't you go play?” Issella responded with, “Oh, I do that in class.” Fantastic, recess is English time, class is play time. At least she still wants time for English.

As I mentioned earlier, the baleada is THE Honduran food. Any one who knows much about latin culture knows that soccer, or futbol, is THE sport. All my kids ever want to do is play and talk about futbol. At recess, we have a rule where the kids must keep their food in the caseta (cafeteria) because otherwise they litter all over campus. However, I had a student who, when he could get away with it, would take his baleada with him to play futbol. This child could have been the Honduran flag, going for goals with baleada in hand.

Some of the students at my school have a lot of money, some are on scholarship, and some have parents who make great sacrifices to pay for their kids to come to this school. Because of the uniforms, you can't always tell who is who, but sometimes a child will break your heart. One of my girls doesn't have a mother in the house. I'm not sure what the story is, but I know she has a lot of aunts, uncles, and grandparents around who take care of her. For mother's day, I had the kids make picture frames with photos I took of them reading (everyone looks beautiful when they are reading!) and give them to their mothers. I told the kids who didn't have a mother around to give it to an aunt or grandmother. However, at the end of the year when the kids gave me a book for my birthday with a picture and write out by each child, I found that this girl had taken the photo out of its frame, cut around the edges with patterned scissors to make it new, and put it in my book because it was the only picture she had of herself.

My weight fluxuates, but never to a degree I've ever been too worried about it. However, working with children has taught me two things I've always known but never experienced: 1)kids will say anything and 2)they will get up close and personal. My students touch me all the time. They want hugs, they touch me to get my attention, they use me as a stop, they try to direct me, and so on. They are about at belly height, so the hands always fall on my stomach. When I've gained weight, my kids would always notice and, without fail, comment on it. But, I live in a culture where I'm relatively old not to have kids, or at the most, I'm at an age where I should be, so their comments are often along the lines of, “You're belly has grown. You are pregnant, Miss!” However, the first time this happened it took me a moment to translate, because it was in spanglish, with the important word in Spanish, “You are embarazada, Miss!”

I have no shame admitting that I have an addiction to caffeine. In fact, I use it to my advantage as a means of humor, and to help force my kids into good behavior on certain days. Sometimes, the power goes out and when this happens, there is no coffee. On these days, I will walk into class and say, “There is no power, what does this mean for Miss Sarah?....that's right, no coffee. No coffee means?...that's right, no patience. So, if we want to have a good day, you're going to have to work really hard at being good, right? And if Miss Sarah has no patience, it might not be your fault, right? Good.” On one such day, when I was ill, I actually drew up a patience meter on the board and adjusted it according to their behavior. There was no real consequence attached, but it did cause them to help each other behave better. That's one to save for special occasions, though, or it will lose it's potency.

I had a student who goes my three different names, and it just depends on the day. I got to where I have a rotation for what I call her each time I call on her. On the last day of class, after all was done and we were free, several of us teachers went out for drinks. The next day we still had to be up to give recuperation exams (as required by Honduran law) to any student who had failed the quarter/year. We weren't going to make a long night of it, but I was still in my going-out clothes, and my tolerance was down from living in Latin America. After two drinks I had a steady buzz and it was about this time that my roommate Abby came up to inform me that my student, with three names, was desperately looking for me. Turns out, she had lost her study guide for her recup exam and was terrified. The fact is, she's a smart girl and had no business failing. I wanted to give her the chance to study up, catch up, and do better next year. I went down, and sat on a street corner with her and her cousin to recite the study guide so they could go study, buzzed, and in my party clothes.

I lost one student during those recuperation exams, and it simply broke my heart. This child would have been low in the first grade class, but was sweet as can be. He was always willing to help and to try, but English just wasn't sticking. Without English, the other subjects are really rather difficult. The best subject he had was math during multiplication and I tried to build his esteem on that, but it wasn't enough for him to have faith in himself. We tutored 3 days a week, but he always seemed to fall short and I couldn't foresee things going any better in fourth grade. The only hope was if all his subjects were in Spanish, maybe he could catch back up. But, when he came in for his recuperation, he was so excited because he had studied really hard. It was true, he obviously knew and understood more than he had before, but it still only gave him a 50%. He was crushed and I tried not to show that I was too.

My students knew that my brother James was coming to visit, but when the first student met him and asked his name, she just stared at him and nodded her head. James simply didn't make sense as a name. So, before he came to school, we practiced staying his name and almost all of them had it before he came in. But on the day he was to come in, the kids rushed to the room and looked at me like I was a traitor. “Where is he, Miss?” “He's coming during recess.” “But, he's not here.” They were crushed. Until he did come, and then he was the best thing to ever hit Mayatan, of course. He's James Barr.