curriculum

"You mean people make computer viruses?" he asks, his open expression unmistakably sincere.  He's been listening to some conversation about the perils of Limewire, and once again I'm reminded that common knowledge isn't always. A boy seemingly tech savvy somehow believes that a plague of the internet is generated by nature: it's a virus, after all. It's one part language learner, I think, and one part innocence of the ways of the world. Ignorance, by definition. 

My theory is that these kids lose, maybe never develop, the expectation that the world make sense. They spend such a chunk of their formative years surrounded by seems-to-them gibberish that instead of being inspired to analyze they accept everything and question nothing. Education should be the solution, and maybe it is, but meanwhile they believe that eating pork will transmit H1N1 and Saddam Hussein sent the jets to the Twin Towers. 


Perhaps they're more American than they know.

Meanwhile, I rig up lessons to fill-in the blanks. The textbook reading on Yellow Fever becomes a compare-contrast assignment with Swine Flu so I can stand at the front  of the room and say, "If you learn nothing else today, remember this. . . ."

the senior

It's just some Thursday in the dregs of February. A day after day after day.  But then she sits down and asks to talk, and it becomes something else. 

She starts in the middle of the discussion, right where we left off last time we plotted her strategy. She is inclined to believe that she is destined for a lifetime of taking orders for sweet and sour chicken, and she does have reason to think so.  The restaurant is the be all and end for her parents, and for good reason: it is their income, their hope, their come-to-America story. 

I am not going to call it a dream

As she launches into her doubts, any twinge of been-there, done-that evaporates in the suddenly serious atmosphere.  On another day in this same spot we'd pasted together a delicate framework of if-this, maybe-that intended to bridge the gap between her college hopes and her parents' expectations. If she went part-time, if just took English. . .we'd hoped the mutual benefit would be a toe-hold. 

Alas. 

Alas they are steadfast. They are intent. Whether out of belief or need they have offered up a steady stream of reasons why she could not, should not go to the community college she's mapped out.  They tell the girl who's breezing through pre-calc that she's not smart enough to try. They tell the best writer I have that her English is not sufficient. They tell her there's no point, no hope, that she cannot work, that she'd be taking a job from an American. They tell her-- and this is the crux-- that if she were to go it'd be doubly expensive because then they'd have to pay a worker. 

"I understand," I say a thousand times.  


And then I tell her what I know about her smarts and her potential. I tell her why I know she can do it, and despite all truths about Asians and eye contact she looks at me directly when I say, "I am not wrong. I believe in you."  


My heart breaks when she says I'm the only person who does. "You and me," I remind her. "That's two." 


As we sit huddled across the corner of the desk, we acknowledge all realities and my encouragement is tempered except for my urging to have faith. What she wants is possible, eventually, if she does not concede the dream. I make no promises to this girl I met in August except to be there for her long past her May graduation. I give her my phone numbers and addresses. She takes the card and cries.

news (despite supposed hiatus)

"I'll try to be a good father," he writes, slipped in to the end of an unrelated message. Facebook may be killing my blog, but at least it does keep me in touch.

I reply immediately, cautiously  are-you-telling-me-what-I-think-you're-telling-me excitement soon replaced by pleased, nearly aunt-like surprise and for a little while I reflect on this new milestone, this first of the next generation-- until I realize that's ludicrous on the face. For Pete's sake, there's a baby shower invitation on my desk, the honored guest one of my two current students who are currently expecting, and then of course that now two year-old who I held as a newborn as her mom did her homework. 


So this isn't the first time one of my students has become a parent, but it is different: this time, no teenagers are involved.  Sure, the mom-and-dad-to-be are young --he's barely 25--but they're adults and they're established, savers who own cars and a home; they've even been married more than a year.  I imagine las abuelas have been tapping their feet. In two countries I'm sure there's rejoicing. 


And while I cross my fingers and hope his new blessing doesn't replace his other dreams-- I believe in him, but I'm realistic--it feels good to congratulate without stifling a sigh.

Hiatus

I'm just putting a label on what's already obvious: I'm not writing much right now, and I haven't been for a while. I try, now and then: the drafts folder is full of not-quite-what-I-intended. I'll be back when I figure out how.