Just another Manic Monday

Day 36

Like those last few m&ms in a bag of trail mix, my days at school take on a certain sacred quality. My body is on full alert to not oversleep, to not miss the train, to not forget any books and to not forget my lesson plans. I’m especially wired on Mondays. You’d think I was the only teacher in the school with how anxious I get about not missing class, instead of being the measly teacher-in-training. But like the kid with 1 line in the school play that puts all he has into those precious few words, I make sure my part matters.

I usually start having ‘false alarm’ wake ups at 5am, totally certain that its 10am and I’m late. Today though I was up and alert, the latter which rarely occurs in tandem with the former in the early AM by 6am and could not for the life of me fall back asleep. I went back into fetal position, telling my body to sleep, please sleep. But the racket of doors banging in the building roused me, making me imagine people breaking into our building, when it was really just the rowdy early morning wind. So being up, I thought, hell, why not take the 7:10am train to work instead of killing time till the 8:10am train. I was a space traveler hurtling through the darkness at high speeds. Specks of light from houses just awakening blinked on like stars twinkling in the distance. There was an element of eerie exhilaration rolling through the countryside in the pitch black. It reminded me of how I love (eh...well, that word is a bit strong) to fly into a city in the wee hours of the morning and see the grid of life illuminated from above.

I’m sure if I were at an American school my early arrival would still have gotten me in later than the veterans. But I’m in Spain, so being 30 minutes early I’m the ONLY one in the school. The office is closed. Not a single teacher is in their class. Not a single child is roaming the halls. Perhaps a janitor was cleaning, but I seriously doubt it. I began to seriously worry that there wasn’t school, that perhaps there was a vacation they hadn’t bothered to tell me about. Or maybe it was one of those “Puente” days (where if they have a holiday on Thursday or Tuesday, they don’t go to school or work on the day in between, so Friday and Monday also become holidays). But after enduring 15 very anxious minutes, I began to hear voices in the halls and the sound of loud chatter bounced around and into the teacher’s lounge. Phew….class is on. I’m sure it would have been funny if there wasn’t school and I was the earliest I’d ever been. But sometimes you get really tired of laughing at yourself, trying to ‘laugh it off.’ You wonder when you can start laughing at someone else.

My 2nd graders apparently woke with the same frenetic energy, blasting me away with the usual morning introduction, “HELLO! HOW ARE YOU? I’M FINE, THANK YOU! AND YOU? I’M FINE THANKYOU!” (HIGH 5). Energy is great because trying to teach to a class of kids bored to death is tortuous, but sometimes energy is bad. Like today. I wonder if the only English they’ll actually remember is “Quiet Please! BE QUIET! SILENCE! SILENCE NOW! SIT DOWN! EVERYONE IN YOUR SEATS!!”

I get a reprieve after 2nd grade because I get to go to my favorite class, 3rd grade B with Gema. I’m pretty sure it’s a class of only the cutest kids in Álora. There must have been auditions because they all make my heart melt. One of the more endearing of the supremely endearing is Álvarro (who always sparks the memory of Alvin from Alvin and the Chipmunks for me, even though he is no where near as hellacious as the chipmunk cartoon), came up to me and before he said anything I knew exactly what he was going to say. He was walking in an odd way with his little tummy pushed forward, like a woman 9months pregnant and her back is killing her. He pointed to his shirt, which was in English and said, “Mira Mira! (look look!)!” Feigning total amazement I said “WOW!! What a cool shirt! It’s in ENGLISH!! Do you know what it says??” He grinned from ear to ear and said “No, my uncle gave it to me.” I laughed; a man would have given him this. I said it really slowly so he could repeat the words, “Some day I’ll be the boss of you!” when I translated it to Spanish for him he laughed and ran away to tell his friends. And all along I had wondered where the Spanish men learn their machismo….ha. A bit later in class after playing some games and hopefully learning something another one of the cuties came up to me. This little guy is especially wonderful because he stutters, so anything he says takes at least 5 minutes and he says it in about 20 segments before it comes out all together. He takes my hand into his tiny hand and looks to the ground, bending his head down, almost like he were asking me to pray with him and he whispers so softly, like a secret wish he wasn’t sure he wanted to be heard, “Gracias, Senora Katie. Te quiero.” [Thank you Ms. Katie. I love you.] Okay, fine, now I know how the government gets away with paying me only 700 Euros and providing absolutely no support. They count on these little kids breaking your heart and making you almost commit to doing anything, anything for them. And I think we’ll be playing those games again, damn they were effective. HA! God it felt good to be loved in the moment, unmitigated by email, Skype, cell phones or oceans.

I was a smiling fool the rest of the day. During recreo in the teacher’s lounge the principal handed our evaluation forms to the teachers to judge the books they used in their courses. The principal was especially interested in what they thought could improve the books. All the teachers begrudgingly take the sheets, and one of them, as soon as the principal steps out says to the rest of us lounging on the sofas, “I always say that they’re “inmejorable” (unable to be improved. The best.) Look, there are people who dedicate their lives to making these books. I spend 1 hour a day with them. So of course, if they spend all their time making them, they’re the best. What can I say to make them better.” Then another snappy teacher says, “Well, do they help you plan lessons? Or do they complicate your lesson plans?” and he waves off her question, his bocadillo like a shield, and says, “I plan like this. Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Turn the page, turn the page. Bam bam bam. Planning done. If any one has an idea to make the book better, I’ll listen, but I’m not being paid to make the book, so I say it is fine. Jostia! (Damn it!)” I was almost crying and rolling on the floor at this point. You must understand that this rebellious teacher is most certainly a hippie with a rat tail and wears AC/DC t-shirts to work. He would say that he doesn’t give a shit about the books.

I rode the high from recreo to class with the children 5 years old. It’d been a while since I’d taught because of schedule changes and so Estefania, my teacher-partner, asked the class if they remembered my name. One of the more rambunctious ones blurted out with the attitude of a 16 year old that just got their braces off, “She doesn’t remember our names and she doesn’t even speak Spanish.” I was bent over laughing, blushing a whole new hue of red. Oh little one, you think you’re so sassy, eh? I said, “Wow, ouch, okay okay. Well, I try and speak Spanish the best I can, SARAH.” (She had tragically forgotten that their names are taped to the back of their chairs). oooooooooo children. I made sure to ask her the hardest questions on the flash cards. Hahahahaa!! You can’t have it all I guess.

Hoping someone said something to you today that made your jaw drop :)

Peace & love.