Diversity

The summer school program with which I work draws students from schools and neighborhoods throughout St. Louis. In their ceaseless campaigning for students, the volunteers at the summer school gained for us the first bit of diversity I have seen at a school this year : We have a Vietnamese boy.

I had a moment of well-concealed shock the day I looked across the courtyard and saw him, startlingly Asian among a sea of African American faces. He made one or two comments at first about being the "only one;" I can imagine it came as a quite a surprise to him. The other kids, in turn, call him "Chinese," which he politely ignores.

Other than outward appearances, he doesn't stick out at all, just another little boy wriggling around, kicking soccer balls on the playground. I can't imagine but that he's going to learn and change a lot this summer, though I have no idea what his home life is like, so that could be an erroneous assumption. His father does stand out; when he comes to pick up his son, I see him walking down the stairs, and he, unlike other parents, will make eye contact with me and smile, genuinely happy.

Office Space

Here's another poem that I've finally edited enough to be shareable. It's about the three rooms at school that were most "mine."

I am a spare office at the end of the hall

A shared space, scattered with the chaos

Of other people’s forgotten paperwork:

File-folders stacked in star patterns

Textbooks – catalogs – cabinets with drawers that stick –

A light switch behind a cupboard

That can only be reached by stepping through

The wire frames of disassembled shelves.

I am the unsorted books of the new library

With Dewey Decimal spines and no place on the shelf

Scattered with frustration when someone wants a specific book,

Never given a second glance afterwards,

As I sit, collecting dust and pollen.

I am the “science room,” fluid space

Ordered and reordered by someone else’s whim –

A convenient empty dumping ground –

Used often enough to collect distended experiments

But not enough to make upkeep worthwhile.

The flotsam and jetsam of a busy school –

Broken tables, desks, and Petri dishes

Line the walls to wait for

Dental exams, flu shots, and reading services.

I am the scientific method, almost followed.

I am the alpha-numeric code, striving to be understood.

I am the .pdf on the computer, that explains the world

Unopened because no one here has Acrobat.

Latin Mass, Take II

While my sister was here, she, her friend, and I attended the Latin Mass across town. About nine months ago, I attended the same church, for the same Mass. I remember being confused and enamored, loving the ritual even as I didn't get it.

The Greek philosopher Heraclitus said, "A man cannot step in the same river twice. Either he has changed or the river has." Since the "river" in this case is the Latin Mass that people attend to avoid the Novus Ordo Mass, I'm willing to bet that I've changed. This time I picked up a little red booklet that had Latin and English facing each other and ADD descriptions of what the priest was doing. So first of all, that was distracting, and it could have taken all of Mass (and this one was an hour and 45 minutes) to figure it out. And although I still curiously noticed the ratio of veiled to bare-headed women, this time I fell on the veiled side... sitting with two on the other side.

My opinion of organ music has not changed. At all the "dramatic" parts of Mass, I found myself watching for phantasmic men swinging through opera galleries. In addition, the Latin was hard to follow because they put in samples of "Proper" prayers -- ones that change depending on the day -- so that I often tried to hear Latin that wasn't being said. Fortunately, the "Et cum spiritu tuo" always caught me up with the rest of the congregation.

At communion time, I got nervous, because I have never received behind a communion rail or on the tongue and both were suddenly necessary. However, I liked this method better than the express line that we use now. It was reverent, sacred, and right. And the parish had some ushers who knew what they were about, directing even the clueless like me to the proper place at the proper time.

The change of opinion relates fairly strongly to where I stand with God. Back in September, I was seeking the sacred. I understood God as a person in my life, but I wanted God as a majesty, God as divine, God as supreme. I was feeling a sense of lost reverence and confusion about the order of the world. I have not found anywhere where God is more profoundly God than this Liturgy. Now, in July, I need to know God as near. I need reassurance that He cares for me, for my students, for those the world doesn't see. I am looking for a frighteningly intimate God. Tridentine Mass doesn't exactly scream, "God wants to be your best friend!"

That's not to invalidate the experience of the profound. I have changed in my spiritual life between September and today (thank God), but that doesn't mean that my old needs were wrong or immature. Rather, I think it's a lovely sign of the variety of ways I can seek God, and the ever-vital nature of our relationship.

Independence

Yesterday was the 4th of July. Generally, it follows the 3rd and precedes the 5th. Since on this day, many moons ago, a group of philosopher-politicians created our great nation, the nation tends to celebrate.

St. Louis has a fair, which consists of people and music beneath the Arch, as well as an air show and fireworks. The three of us remaining in the house, plus my sister and her friend who are visiting, took the Metro down to the Arch. We got there in time to see stunt planes turning cartwheels in the sky.

We had one brief and violent burst of rain. Byrd, Ana, and I huddled under a blanket, held over us like a tent. The blanket was soaked and we got damp, but were fairly dry at the end. While the sky continued to spit at us for a bit, the fireworks came on as scheduled.

They were beautiful, as always, and set off choruses of crying children.

The Book Thief, Markus Zusak

More of an Idiot: The Book Thief, Markus Zusak: "I should maybe leave this book to Susan, because she recommended it to me. However, I just finished it and have quickly added it to my favorite books.

The Book Thief tells the story of Liesel Meminger, a young girl living with foster parents in Nazi Germany. She cannot read at the beginning of the book, but slowly falls in love with words through the people closest to her. And these people offer different revelations about life, death, morality, obligation, love, and what it means to be human -- against the backdrop of one of the most inhumane times in history.

Zusak chose Death as his narrator, a character who has the dubious privilege of seeing much of Europe during the time of the book. This narrator places Liesel's story in a horrific historical context. At the same time, he keeps the story focused on, and revolving around, Liesel. Zusak's richness of metaphor and unique use of language fit both his narrator and his main character very well. Death is a straightforward narrator with an outside-of-human perspective on his subject matter.

Despite this understatement, the story loses nothing of the horrors of the time. Somehow, Zusak keeps a childlike tone to his narration, so that people like me, who are chased off by too dark subject matter, still enjoy it. The story made me cry without depressing me. It offered no false hope, but did not crush characters or readers. It is brilliant.

Other than that, all I have to say is, you should read it."

A Summer Job

Summer school started up on Monday, so I have been remiss in updates on my summer job. Ana and I went into work Monday afternoon, excited about a program from the Butterfly House : "A-MAZE-ing Cockroaches." Excited, but a little nervous. After all, it was the first day of school all over again; plus, what if the students really didn't like cockroaches?

We got to the school early than necessary, so had time to set up and calm our nerves. The number of students was lower than expected, but the fourth and fifth graders were excited and eager, something I didn't see often as a middle school teacher. The cockroaches went over well, with the girls conquering their fear of the Madagascar hissing cockroaches more easily than the boys and a friendly maze competition ending the day with high spirits.

Tuesday and Thursday the Shakespeare Festival sent us two dynamic teachers who taught our children about Shakespeare and did drama-type games with them. To my surprise, they knew more about Shakespeare than they had known about insects. Or at least, they could answer more questions for the Shakespeare team than the Butterfly house lady. Theories of explanation : 1) They may have learned about Shakespeare earlier that day in preparation; 2) the instructors know how to phrase questions for their age range.

Wednesday our planned activity fell through so we did crafts. I was amazed at the amount of enjoyment the children got from making God's Eyes and beaded bracelets. Friday ditto as to planned activity; we made ice cream. Or attempted to. I don't know why, but the ice cream refused to freeze. Luckily, the children didn't care -- it was hot out and they got to play with ice. Eventually, they gave up and drank the sweet cold milk. A few kids did get upset, but Ana managed to put a positive spin on it and encouraged them to try it again at home.

The best part about summer school is seeing kids again. I've missed them. At school, I get outside of myself. I have a hard time focusing anywhere other than the students. Plus, little children give so much love when you give them positive attention. It's good for me.