Spring Break

I sit in an Albuquerque Starbucks where the iced coffee is 50 cents cheaper than in L.A.  I spend half an hour trying to override the spell check on the phone application I use to communicate to tap out a message in Spanish to my students. 

My project for the week before vacation is get them all library cards.  Many of them have no identification so I go on a huge campaign to get them a school issued ID with their photo and address.  This fortuitously coincides with a school effort to raise student body funds.  The price of the ID is reduced from $12 to $6 and every student with a card is eligible to compete in a raffle.   I help some students fill out the application and send them to the student store to purchase their IDs.   The store however is closed, as the manager is hospitalized.  An administrator comes around giving raffle tickets to students with id cards.  I show her the applications of students who try but are unable to get the cards.  Instead of just giving them a raffle ticket, she tells them to come to school early the next night to get their cards and tickets.  The office is closed the next night.  The winners are announced.  There are only 3 prizes: a pair of movie tickets, a portable phone charger and a reserved parking place on campus for a month.   The prizes are so puny, especially considering the number of students who don’t even own car, that I don’t feel too bad for my students who were unable to get the cards. The officiousness of withholding the raffle tickets is typical and just strengthens my resolve to do the best I can, despite the small-minded bureaucratic BS.

I encourage my students to attend by giving them a single colored paperclip to place on their nametag each night that they stay until the end of class and answer a question that I pose. “What’s your mother’s name?”  (I never ask about the father, assuming that there are some of them who might not know…)  “What do you eat for lunch?”  “Who’s your best friend?”   Because I don’t want to over-tax the librarians too much during our visit, I offer a bonus of fifteen clips to every student who can produce a library card BEFORE our field trip. 

Still, when we arrive at the library there about twenty- five of them who don’t have cards.  As a lot of them were unable to get the school IDs, I am delighted to learn that the library will issue a courtesy card to anyone, even without any ID.  This card restricts checkouts to a single item but gives the holder full access to extraordinary digital resources.  When we leave the library, every student has a library card.

About a quarter of my class is highly educated.  I realize how stultifying it must be to repeat “Is there an apple?”  “Are there any apples?” ad infinitum and I decide to provide, during the vacation, a little more intellectual stimulation for this group.

We return from the library and I show them all of the free language acquisitions apps that they can access with their library cards.  I show them how to watch films on Kanopy and read newspapers from their hometowns.  My idea is for them to download the audiobook of Love in the Time of Cholera, in Spanish, and listen to it over the vacation.  This is the first class I’ve taught that is 100% Spanish speaking.  I’ll listen to it in English and we’ll talk about it in English (probably Spanglish to be realistic) after the vacation. 

The library system has changed, and it is impossible to tell what e-books are available in unlimited quantities.  The librarian thinks, because Love in the Time of Cholera, is frequently assigned school reading that an unlimited number of audio editions are available on the Overdrive app.  We return to the classroom and I manage to get most of them to download the app and complete a somewhat complicated sign in process to link it with their library cards.  There are not unlimited editions of the audio-book however.

The next day I leave for Albuquerque, but I am bothered that the audiobook has fallen through.  I discover that another library connected app, Hoopla, does offer unlimited versions, and struggle to send them a message in Spanish about downloading and installing yet another app, linking it with their library card and downloading the novel.  There is a limited number of characters in the Remind communication app that I use so I have to divide the instructions into four separate messages and then send a fifth apologizing for my rotten Spanish.

As I write this now my phone continues to chime with students responding to my messages.  Lots of emojis—hearts, flowers and rainbows and tons of thank yous in Spanish and English.  “Tanks you techer. Hab good bacations.”  And I smugly note that my written Spanish isn’t so bad compared to that of some of the folks who aren’t confident enough to communicate in English.

This is the fifth class I’ve taught, and I realize that while there are similarities, each class has a different vibe.  This class has fewer twenty something men and more middle- aged men and women.  A lot of the students are university grads and there aren’t that many with profound literacy issues.  So, while the textbook comes with good supplemental materials and I’ve created a ton of my own stuff, each individual class requires some tweaking and I still spend about two hours preparing to teach a three-hour class. 

I am gobsmacked when I receive a nearly full-time assignment for the fall.  I will continue teaching my regular beginning ESL class weeknight evenings but will also teach a mixed level ESL class at an elementary school in the mornings.  Finally, all day Saturday will be spent teaching a combination ESL/Vocational class on health industry technology.  I am pleased that my hard work is being acknowledged but I am anxious about having the stamina to deliver the quality of instruction that my students deserve.  Even with my part time assignment the idiocy of the administration of the behemoth bureaucracy is disheartening.  I wonder if my increased immersion in the quagmire of wrongheadedness will break my spirit.  Now, when the bell rings and class starts, it’s for the most part, a period of pure happiness.  I hope my increase in teaching hours isn’t way too much of a good thing.

I have until August to ponder and prepare.  I am spending time in Albuquerque with my college pal Rachel and her family. I have no words to describe the Utah sky and why it seems so much more vast and commanding of attention.   From here, I fly to Chicago to stay with Number One Son.  This might be my last Chicago sojourn as son and partner are relocating to Portland in the June. The boy is stubborn about not returning to L.A. but at least Portland’s way closer than Chicago.

Himself, in exchange for a freezer full of meals, is to send me a photo of Larry the kitten every day.  Orange Perry is hissing at him less frequently, but Larry is fearless, bounding around confidently but screaming in furor when isolated behind a closed door.  When I’m in the feeding area, Perry rubs against me and taps his paw on the box of cans.  Otherwise, he doesn’t give me the time of day, interested only in Himself.  Gerry has no human social interaction whatsoever so I am hoping for a kitty that will like ME.  On the night of Larry’s arrival, he sleeps on Himself’s head.  He lets me pet him and will actually sit on my lap if Himself isn’t around, but he doesn’t conceal his true loyalty. 

My students bring me little tokens each night.  Mostly sugary treats which I bring home to Himself.  “Gosh,” he sighs.  “My students never bring me anything.”  At least the cats like him.