i will swallow my remorse
as i (accidentally) open and close
this door, shutting out (shutting in)
the last of what was left.
you smile politely, in your moment
of meeting them for the first time
(it is no longer our moment)
and as i enter the chaotic world
i have chosen, i can only guess
where my stupidity will lead me next.
like a hurricane where
it doesn’t belong, stress
has swooped in from a
once-peaceful tropical locale,
tearing down trees,
ripping off roofs,
destroying in its path
every last bit of calm
that the summer once
peacefully offered me.
i stare into the beast’s eye,
reminding me that the middle
is only a moment of waiting,
that the end will whip around
and leave remnants of the
past in pieces behind its
horrendously angry tail,
pieces I will pick up, put back
together, and swallow in peace.
you sit like a tiny blue frog
hidden in the twilight on
a lily pad surrounded by black water
almost impossible to see
but i know you’re there
hiding out, zippy tongue ready
in a moment, you will snatch
away my summer, swallowing
my girls as if they were annoying flies.
i can’t disappear from this encounter,
but only work my way closer, ready
to pry you open, releasing them, in spring.
Congratulations on finishing eighth grade!
If you ever need a laugh,
Miguel will step it up
with irony, astute observations,
and constant requests for
bathroom breaks,
everything with a smile
on his face and
“I understand” in his heart.
If you ever have a doubt,
Rafael has your back,
plugging away at his work
to try and get ahead,
coming in early
and turning in late,
he’ll get it done and thank
you for the help.
If you ever need to smile,
Sophia will show you her art
so skillfully crafted by her hands,
her pencils, her colors,
she’ll show you the way to
overcome when things get tough,
plowing ahead and working hard
and always keeping her head held high.
If you ever wonder what happened,
Juan is sure to point out
the funny little things
the rest of us don’t notice,
and is the first to apologize
if he is wrong, and is always happy
with life’s simple pleasures,
something we all need to remember.
although your eyes weren’t meant
to read those words
i’m still glad that you know
because it’s the truth
and you’re right,
i should have told you before.
it’s all in the past now,
and we won’t be walking
hand in hand today
or ever.
but i will still remember
how well you knew me
(personally anyway)
even if you could never
quite see my professional side.
and though it is awkward now
time will lick our wounds clean
i will no longer have nightmares
and we will both be
more careful about
the things we say
and the things we do.
what you and i lack is so obvious to me,
but paperwork blinds you from the truth.
i ache from illness, from distaste,
the acrid absence of your concern
resting on my tongue as if
i’ve been bitten by a venomous snake.
after one year of this nothing
has changed, and they will walk away
with little more than a few disconnected
terms rattling around in their brains,
burning me to my depths so that I am
unable to see the kindness in your eyes.
I will forgive you. After months apart
and casual hand waves in the hallway,
my ever-blossoming but always-behind
protégés tucked safely in another classroom,
I will look you in the eye, smile, nod,
and be forever content with my decision.
Sometimes I wonder what has become of parents and their kids. I feel constantly surrounded by families who seem to think that their children, and their needs, come before everyone else around them. It’s not just the parents of the students I teach—in fact, this is rarely the case. I see it in the parents of kids who are the same age as my daughters. And the more exposure I have to it, the more it burns me up.
It begins with the questioning of authority. Teachers in particular. These parents seem to think that they should be running the classroom, and in effect letting their kids have no consequences for their actions. And if the teacher thinks for one moment he’s going to punish his students for their behavior, he’s got another thing coming. Those parents will go straight to the principal rather than taking the time to set up a meeting with the teacher.
What I would like to see is this: a teacher going into an office of one of these parents. Maybe he wants to read one of the reports they wrote. And when the report doesn’t satisfy him, he won’t make suggestions for editing and revising. He’ll mark it up in red and go straight to the parent’s boss, complaining about what a shoddy employee he hired.
It’s a perfect analogy, really. Is that the way to deal with a problem? To take your angst behind the “perpetrator’s” back and try to get that person disciplined? And what message does this send to our kids? That’s the part that’s beyond fucked up.
Scenario:
“Mama, Mr. Jones won’t let us have our holiday party because he said we misbehaved.”
“Did you?”
“Well, it was half my fault, but the other kids were being naughtier.”
“I don’t agree with that at all. You’re in first grade, and I don’t think it’s fair to cancel the holiday party because of a few rotten kids. I’m going to speak to the principal in the morning. Mr. Jones shouldn’t do that.”
Thoughts in the child’s mind: I don’t have to listen to Mr. Jones. He’s going to get in trouble. We didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who’s wrong.
So the next time Mr. Jones asks this child to behave, will he? To do homework, will he? To show respect for authority, will he? Why? What is his motivation? The parents have stripped all authority and respect from the teacher, and their message to their children is loud and clear: your desires, no matter how petty, are more important than the teacher’s rules.
It doesn’t stop there. The parents lavish these children with every possible gift imaginable and birthday parties that cost upwards of $500. They invite every student in the class, expecting gifts (some invitations even specify which type of gifts!!) from all of them of course, and then don’t send out thank-you cards. (There are always exceptions, but they’re rare). And they do this for their kids every year so that the kids come to expect it. It’s no wonder these kids misbehave in the classroom setting (and other settings): they are the center of the world, the selfish, gluttonous world they’ve been raised in.
What is a parent to do? How can I raise my daughters to understand that they won’t have a giant birthday party every year, that when their teacher sends them home with a note that the class was naughty, they’re damn well going to write a letter of apology, that the world does not revolve around them even though their classmates seem to have this impression?
In this consumer-driven, corporate-sponsored society we’ve created for ourselves, we seem to have overlooked some important details about humanity: mainly, that our lives shouldn’t revolve around silly parties filled with cheap pieces of plastic, nonstop gifts, and a total disregard for what is most important—human relationships. The same parents who go over the teachers’ heads to complain to the principal are those who are spoiling their kids in every way imaginable. And while they complain, while they shop, they are missing out on what I value most about being a parent: spending quality time with my children as a family, showing them that giving to those in need is better than receiving, that respect is a part of going to school, and it begins at the classroom door, with the teacher.
In the end, how will they turn out? What kind of adults will they become? Only time will allow this revelation. But at least I can go to bed every night without the guilty conscious of a parent of an over-indulged, disrespectful child. And no matter how hard I have to fight this battle as my children witness this disrespect and indulgence among their peers, I know that in the end they will be better for it, that in the end, we will win the war. Because once they enter the real world, they will already know that it doesn’t revolve around them.
the end is near and we
itch for its arrival,
vigilant as predatory cats,
tails switching,
mouths watering,
eyes glowering,
prepared to pounce on prey
that will only feed us
for the summer months,
when, just as last fall,
we must accept our
new layer of fur,
duck in and out of doors
during cold winter months,
and wait, wait, wait
for the glory of the end,
for warmth,
for spring.
just when we thought you were ready for
eighth grade, the final year of middle school,
you whooped and hollered and sang along
to a show made for two-year-olds
we’re amazed at how accurately
you had the lyrics memorized,
how well you knew the story,
its characters implanted into your brains.
try to keep in mind, young ones,
that you are thirteen, just over a year
from the hard work of high school, and
Dora’s map will not be there to guide you through.
You were the Only One I chose.
My sister would call me from New York
and ask periodically.
“Only One?” she would say,
her voice apprehensive and expectant.
I knew. I always knew, even then.
Perfect. Small town,
old architecture,
friendly professors,
far away from home,
one of the few with
a major in creative writing.
How could you deceive me?
Your price tag floating down
from the clouds and stabbing me
in year one, your ridiculous parties,
your drunken frats and sisterhoods,
the teachers who were too snobbish
to help me with the simplest questions.
But I can’t say I didn’t follow you,
didn’t tuck my gumption into my pocket,
pack my bags, and head east.
It didn’t take long before I realized,
filing cards in the catalog at my
tiresome, tedious, minimum wage and hours
library job (the one that made me gag
about going into a library for years afterward),
that I wanted to be a teacher.
So even if you didn’t hand me my dream
(as you had promised in your glossy brochure),
the wind blew me west again
and my Only One stayed put,
waiting for another deception.
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