The Middle of Everywhere (18 page)

November 24, 1999—Thanksgiving Day Celebration

The sycamore flamed in the morning light, and this morning the blazing tree made me philosophical. I wondered if this was what amazed Moses, a tree backlit by sunrise, and made him feel God spoke to him.

As I walked in, Khoa carried over a white rat with a brown head and a mark down his back. After much deliberation, the kids had named this rat Sunny, because of his happy disposition. As I patted Sunny, I noticed that the kids seemed perkier. Deena was handing out hard candies. All the others clustered around us, laughing at Sunny's movements and explaining the process of selecting this rat from the psychology lab at the university.

Pavel came up to show me his new Coke-bottle glasses, which he felt made him look smart. I thought they gave him a rather comedic, Dickensian look, but I didn't challenge his opinion. Instead, I ruffled his hair and offered to help him finish his homework.

Mai approached me shyly and stood by my side as I helped Pavel. When I finished, she pulled out a black-and-white photo of a woman in a cotton dress in front of a flowering bush. The woman was squinting into the sun and her face looked like Mai's. I said, "You look like your mother." She hugged the picture to her chest.

Grace beckoned me to a corner of the room and told me that Khoa had been assigned to a class for behavior-disordered students for two hours each day. He was learning to be more compliant and proper in class. That was good for him and for the others, but Grace missed the old Khoa.

The school custodian, Mr. Trvdy, had agreed to let Abdul shadow him a couple hours a week. Abdul started yesterday and seemed proud of his new job. He'd told Grace, "From now on I'll be fixing up this school."

Grace reminded the class of the Thanksgiving Day story and read a book on the arrival of the Vietnamese boat people in America. Trinh listened with interest. Mai looked closely at the pictures of Vietnam and twice whispered something to Khoa. When he examined the cover to the book, Khoa said happily, "That boy was my friend in Vietnam."

A few minutes after nine, we marched to the next-door classroom. The students from the other ELL classroom had prepared a tablecloth on the floor with hand-decorated paper napkins. Grace handed every student an Indian headdress or a Pilgrim's cap. They put on their costumes and giggled at each other.

Grace led the class in songs. As they belted out the songs "The More We Get Together the Happier We'll Be" and, of course, "Over the River and through the Woods," all the random energy became group energy.

I reflected how fitting it was that this class celebrate Thanksgiving, the refugee's holiday, the holiday that said we came to a new land and endured hardships, but we survived. The Native Americans said to the Pilgrims, "Welcome, there is room for us all. We will help you until you can take care of yourselves."

The Sycamore students' stories were unique to their places and times, yet universal to the American condition. The refugee kids had tales as harrowing as that of the Pilgrims, but now they were warm, well-fed, and safe. Of course, there was sadness and poverty in the room, but there was also the sweet glaze of hope.

With her red jacket and blond curls, Deena sang and clapped, as exuberant a Little Red Riding Hood as I'd ever seen. Ly showed me her tattoo of a dragon on her left wrist. Then she jumped on my lap and nestled in.

While Walat and Fatima passed out slices of bread and pumpkin pie, Grace served cups of chicken soup. Then she said, "Let's all go around the table and say what we are thankful for." Ignazio, his mouth fall of soup, said, "Food," and everyone laughed. Trinh whispered, "My house," so quietly only a few of us heard her. Walat said, "I am thankful for books." Khoa shouted out, "Toys and pizza."

Abdul didn't want to answer, but when Grace pushed he said shyly, "My teachers." Mai said, "I am thankful for Amy and my baby brother." Deena said, "For our church that gave us clothes and furniture." Fatima said, "I am thankful to the hospital that treated my burns." Pavel said, "I am thankful for Sunny." Everyone cheered. Ly said, "I am thankful for Miss Mary." I asked myself, How did I deserve this honor?

We ate the healthy soup in silence. Unlike many American children, these children don't take food for granted. They came from places where food is respected and where people had been hungry. But today's meal was more than vitamin supplements designed to keep humans alive. Food celebrated the soul of our little community. It is our most ancient and beautiful ritual of connection.

While the kids ate, Walat took pictures with Grace's camera. Khoa, Pavel, and Ignazio got into a contest to see who could drink the most cider. The tables were cleared and the music games began, "Itsy Bitsy Spider" was first, followed by "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes," then the "Chicken Dance." Only Ignazio and Trinh didn't seem to like dancing. Trinh didn't have the energy and Ignazio just didn't like to move much.

By noon the music was Cuban music, easy to dance to any way we liked. Deena passed out temporary tattoos. Walat took photo after photo of the singers and dancers. Khoa mugged for the camera, sticking out his tongue and then his behind. Abdul twirled a hula hoop in time to the music. Mai, usually so serious, did a mean belly dance. Ly and Fatima held hands and twirled in a circle. Deena joined in on the choruses, softly, but with us. Only Trinh was in a corner watching.

It takes so little to make a party with children—a little food and permission to dance and sing. I was happier than I usually felt. The energy and the joy were infectious and I started thinking of all I was thankful for—my health, my family, my work, and finally my time with these kids who brought into my life something I hadn't had for a long time—the strong, fresh energy of childhood.

January 4, 2000

We made it into the new year with no Y2K disasters in our town. As I walked past the bare sycamore I thought that a new century had commenced and that the new century belonged to these children, not to me.

I arrived in the cold classroom to the news that Fatima had broken her arm. She had a cast covered with Snoopys and was playing Uno with Deena. It was below zero outside and Deena was wearing sandals and socks decorated with reindeer and Christmas trees. She had only her red cloak for a coat. I sat down beside the girls, watching the game and smelling their familiar garlic breath.

Pavel came over and allowed me to stroke Sunny. Ly jumped in my lap and showed me a puzzle she was working on. But when I unthinkingly asked about her holidays, she changed the subject.

Grace was worried about Deena, who had made low scores on standardized tests that require fluent English. Her parents felt she should have made a hundred percent on this test. Grace had tried to explain that no one made a hundred percent, but Deena's father felt Grace was being too easy on Deena. They had ordered Deena to her room from after school until bedtime every day for a month. Still Deena didn't seem too much the worse for wear. At least she knew her parents considered education important.

Grace said Abdul had been placed in a special education class first period and would come in at 9:00. She had fought this placement all first semester but had now acquiesced. Abdul wasn't even trying to learn to read.

Grace announced that she would be gone the next day because of a funeral. Mai twisted around in her seat and looked as if she might cry. I put my arm on her shoulder and asked, "Do you feel sad that Miss Grace will be gone tomorrow?" She nodded miserably but calmed down a bit.

Fatima asked, "Can I come with you, Miss Grace? I'll be good." Ignazio said he wouldn't come to school if Grace couldn't be there. Walat asked me if I could come and be the teacher. Deena worried the new teacher would be mean. Grace said, "No. The substitute teacher will be kind."

Khoa arrived late. His hair was still uncut but he wore a new warm coat. He sat down quietly and participated appropriately. Only once did he speak out of turn and that was to whisper to me that his brother was home. Otherwise, he was preoccupied with whether he would get his name on the list of students who caused trouble.

Ly was more restless this morning. As she had assimilated, she'd grown louder, more assertive, and more American in her actions. Today she'd rapidly finished her seatwork and she rolled her eyes impatiently that others were so slow. Ly had blossomed into a confident, loving girl, who also could be mouthy and impatient.

Ly sat gratefully by my side, not so much listening to my reading as absorbing me. She told me her family was Buddhist and didn't get a Christmas tree. She had wanted a tree—it's understandable in a country where Christmas is on TV from October until January.

We were all happy to be back together. Even a cold room with a wheezing heater had clean paper, sharp pencils, and a teacher to suggest that the universe was a bright, well-organized place that smelled like books and chalk.

Abdul came in at 9:00. He had grown taller in the two weeks since I'd seen him. He showed me his key ring with a key to the tool room and the furnace room. He reported that he had been checking the pipes with Mr. Trvdy, "his boss." He could have been president, he was so proud.

Grace had a clear plastic globe for the lesson, and she found the countries of her students and asked them to tell about their homelands. Deena said, "Bosnia used to be a beautiful place with many forests." "There were floods in Vietnam every year during our rainy season," Ly said. Khoa added, "There were cobras and rats in the rice fields."

Ignazio told of the flooding in Mexico near his home. He said, "The river was filled with frogs, and after the river went away, the frogs stayed in our yard." Pavel said, "It snows all winter long in Russia."

Grace asked what the big chunks of land were on the globe. The kids had various answers—"cigarettes," "islands," "cabinets." Grace was gentle with the wrong answers, "No," she said tentatively, as if the answer were almost good enough to be correct. "The right word is
continent.
"

While Grace read a book with pictures on the history of the earth, Khoa played with Sunny, and Pavel pulled some toys out of his backpack. Grace had to reprimand both boys. Ignazio asked for my help and we struggled with the scrambled spelling words.

Abdul put his feet on a chair and didn't even pretend to work. I went over to sit by him and asked about his job. He said, "I like it, but they don't pay me."

Khoa's father was coming for a conference. Khoa wriggled in his seat and looked at the clock every few minutes. He showed me a report that had half happy faces and half sad faces and asked me if he had enough happy faces to stay in school. I explained that he wouldn't be kicked out of school. I said, "We want and need you at this school."

Grace decided to give the kids a pick-me-up. She taught them all twelve verses of "Hickory Dickory Dock." Ly smiled ear to ear as she sang. Mai couldn't carry a tune, but she belted it out anyway. Ignazio drummed on his desk. Not yet fully socialized, Khoa added a few nasty words here and there. Deena swayed to the music. Everyone but Abdul and Trinh sang.

Singing warmed us up. Some kids soloed, other kids didn't want to and Grace didn't make them. I remember a mean teacher who made me sing in front of the class when I was in second grade. I was so frightened when I tried to sing that nothing came out. Thank goodness, Grace was kinder. I couldn't bear to watch these kids get pushed around.

February 4, 2000

It was a gray, cold day, the kind of day that induces epidemic seasonal affective disorder. I was glad I had these kids to cheer me up. But this morning no one jumped up, as they sometimes did to shout, "Miss Mary, sit by me."

Grace looked tired. She had a bad cold and had been at the school every night with conferences. Fortunately, the class was getting ready to celebrate Tet. As students filed in, I filled red-and-gold paper envelopes with money and notes. Then I sat by Mai and Fatima and we looked at a book filled with pictures of flowers and butterflies, a good book for February.

Almost all the kids were talking; only Ly and Trinh's table was quiet. Ly was drawing ballerinas and Trinh quietly stared into space. Deena brought over Uno cards and she and Trinh began a game. Fatima still had her cast on and all the kids had written or drawn on it. By now I could recognize Ly's and Khoa's excellent art.

Mai told me her father's factory was having layoffs. As she chatted with me, I realized that we had a friendship of sorts. I liked and understood this tiny, angry girl, and she liked me, a gray-haired psychologist. It was a proud moment.

Grace read a story about Vietnam called
The Lotus Seed.
The kids listened, but afterward, they wouldn't do their seatwork. Usually, this class liked group work; they were a collective culture and floundered when they were left on their own. I wondered how they would change as they moved into the American system.

Abdul poked Walat and generally disrupted the class until, with a sigh, Grace wrote his name on the board. However, when I asked Abdul about his job, he said that he had earlier looked at the heater in the school's basement. Mr. Trvdy had asked him to carry the crescent wrench because he was so strong. As he told me this, he calmed down.

Ly wandered around the room, first to the bathroom, then to sharpen her pencil, and then to check on Sunny. Ignazio tilted his chair so far back that he fell over backward. Khoa laughed uproariously. Ignazio, who wasn't hurt, smiled sheepishly. Pavel farted loudly and the laughter started up again. Deena asked to go to the school nurse. Grace looked as if she would prefer to be home in bed. It was not this class's finest hour.

When all else failed, Grace encouraged stories. Khoa said, "When we flew to America we came across a great ocean." Abdul told how his family had been airlifted by helicopter from a place in the desert. Deena said they had dinner on the plane. "Very delicious. Ice and noodles."

Khoa told of Tet in Vietnam at his grandmother's house. He had burned incense sticks on a shrine to his relatives. He showed us some incense sticks. Almost all these kids carried totems of their former countries. Mai had her mother's picture. Ignazio wore a leather belt made by his uncle, and Pavel still had his favorite toys from Russia. Fatima carried a twig with one green leaf that her grandmother sent her from Iraq. Walat spoke of the Turkish delight that his family saved for special days. Deena's grandmother sent her spinach gum that she passed around.