It’s late afternoon and I’m sitting in my apartment alone. The morning sun has given way to an afternoon rain and like the Manizales soil, my heart is heavy.
Two weeks ago we received more rain in one night than we usually get in the entire month of November. By the time dawn broke the land was saturated and sliding. It took out houses and bridges and people making no notice of class lines.
The city scrambled to right herself, but the damage was done and the rain had not stopped.
It still hasn’t stopped.
In the passing days, we’ve been to school only twice. Eighty five percent of the city is without water. Countless people are sleeping wherever they can find rest. Roads are in ruin. Stores are closing. Families are scrambling. The sky is falling.
I like to imagine that if you saw me in a crowd you’d think rockstar or artist or writer or America’s Next Top Model.
Okay, that last one’s a stretch, but a girl needs dreams.
Sadly, I am none of those things, and today when I saw my reflection in a window all I could think was, “I cannot hide my shame. I must share it with the bloggy world.”
So here you go, friends. Me, the teacher, in all of my fashionable glory.
There’s a pencil in my hair.
And paint all over my hands.
And my shirt says, “I need a hug.”
Heaven, help me. I’m one step away from button covers and holiday sweaters.
This post is lovingly dedicated to Lauren who bought me my first mumu, introduced me to two letter words that have four syllables, and sent me a sweet email yesterday saying, “Do you think you could start posting something everyday or at least the days I get to check your blog?”
School has been out all week due to the landslide situation here in Manizales. We’re still under red alert and praying against the rain, but teachers came to school today.
We called it a curriculum day in the hopes that we won’t have to extend the year once June rolls around. (Heaven help me if they do that. Heaven help THEM, too. Y’all know I’d be a squalling mess if they tried to delay me seein’ my Momma.)
As part of the curriculum day schedule, we had a workshop on conflict resolution. We each took surveys and tallied our little score sheets to find out which conflict animal we were.
There are the foxes who are listening and polite, but always try and lead the way to their point of view. The owls are optimistic and good listeners who believe that reaching a compromise is probable and possible. The lions who won’t leave until they’ve won and the turtles who act like they’re listening and nod to make you believe it.
Then, there are the teddy bears. For Sisser‘s sake, the Fuzzies of the world. (Y’all have gotta ask her about Fuzzy because I would NEVER tell you that she still sleeps with him and gets furious if you lay him on the floor or cover his head with blankets.)
Now, let me say this before I move on. I’m a lover not a fighter.
But if I must fight, I’m doggone tough. I promise I am. I can do ten push ups without stopping – the boy kind- and that ain’t easy, folks! Equipped with that knowledge would you believe that that silly survey had the nerve to tell me that I’m a teddy bear? I’m a Fuzzy for cryin’ out loud!
Evidently, I avoid conflict at all costs. I want to make people feel good so I agree with everything that they say. I apologize for their feelings and don’t force my opinions on them. I’m all cuddly and warm and my chief concern is that people like me and want to be my friend.
I briefly considered throwing that blasted survey at them and telling those moe-ron workshop leaders that they didn’t know diddley about me or the way that I handle conflict. I thought about yelling and stomping my feet until they heard me out. “I’m an owl! I’m wise and reasonable and I can accept that we may have different opinions and I can make a valid argument! I CAN! DO. YOU. PEOPLE. HEAR. ME??! I am NOT a teddy bear!”
But I didn’t do that.
I just hugged them both and thanked them for such a lovely and insightful presentation and told them to have a blessed day.
At least I did. Until someone decided that they needed it more than I did and kindly removed it from the floor beneath my feet and cut out running.
I mean, seriously, how does some moe-ron expect to hide their brand new polka dots in this city of gray, navy and black. HELLO. Impossible. Now I’m just wondering what I’ll say when I see my umbrella sheilding someone from the Manizales mist.
“Excuse me, sir, that’s my umbrella.”
“Um, mister, pink doesn’t really do it for you, but I looked awesome under it.”
“Permisso, senor, POR FAVOR that cute umbrella is M-I-N-E.”
“Disculpa, this rain does nothing for my hair. I used to stand under THAT umbrella.”
“Hey, buddy. My Southern gentility is being drenched. GIVE ME MY UMBRELLA!”
Yeah right. I’ll probably be all: “Buenos dias, senor. That is the cutest umbrella I’ve ever seen” and go on about my rain-soaked day.
When I arrived in Colombia, I was sure that I would be surviving on sign language and charades forever. Going to the grocery store was a chore and catching the bus was impossible. And talking to my students’ parents? Yeah, right.
I’ve come a long way.
Our principal ran our staff meeting in Spanish last week and I found myself sitting next to one of the newbies. About half way through, he looked up at me and laughed.
“Mississippi, are you translating for her?”
“Yes, sir. I think I am.”
I don’t know how it happened or where it came from or if I meant to do it at all, but I was. I was hearing things in Spanish and saying them in English without thinking about it all.
Traffic jams don’t really bother me. Neither do long lines in Wal-Mart or the grocery store. I don’t get stressed when it takes me ages to get my food in a restaurant.
I’m generally pretty patient. Hello. I work with nine year olds. I have to be.
Truth be told, I can only think of two things that really try me. The opposite sex. (No surprise there) And as of late, the incredible mood swings of the internet here in the coffee region. Come to think of it the opposite sex is rather temperamental, too, huh?
Moving on.
I’ve drafted approximately seventeen blog posts, 58 emails and 73 facebook messages (read: I never exaggerate) in the last week only to have them lost somewhere in cybersphere when the internet goes haywire. I’ve started 62 skype chats and gmail chats and phone conversations and had them cut off mid important sentence.
People are going to think I’m mad at them or ignoring them or that my life has gotten too boring to discuss. And it hasn’t! I’m here! I’m fun! I’ve got stories to tell and the internet just. won’t. let. me. do. it!
And I didn’t even mention the number of episodes of Friday Night Lights I haven’t been able to watch via Surf the Channel! Friends, the Dillon Panthers need me to help them pull this state bid off. Oh, and poor Jason Street! That fine young man is in serious need of my wise relational counsel.
Oh, ye internet, how I loathe thee! At least for today. Maybe tomorrow we can be friends again. You know, like, if you get your act together and function properly.
It’s my job and I’m crazy about it. It’s hard and I’m exhausted at the end of every day, but it’s fun. It’s an adventure and it gives me all sorts of things to write about and think about and read about.
Truthfully, sometimes I feel like the dark horse. My classroom is different from a lot of others I’ve seen. At any given time we might sound like farm animals or look like the aftermath of some nuclear disaster. We’re messy and loud and I know that our neighbors wish we’d give it a rest every once in a while.
But we can’t. I can’t.
That’s not the way I work and it’s not how my kids learn.
They need the hubbub as much as I do. Because when it’s loud they’re involved. They’re asking questions and putting things together and writing plays or playing in the dirt and talking about worms. They’re doing things, exploring things, learning things and that’s what matters.
I’m not the best that there is at my job; I know that. And that knowledge, I think, gives me an advantage. See, I’m learning, too. I’m looking up to people like Dr. Mims, Ron Clark, Rafe Esquith and Daniel Robb. And their stories are helping me to become a better teacher.
As nerdy as it sounds, I get excited when I read about good teachers and creative teaching. It makes me want to work harder and do more and come up with new ideas and innovations for my classroom. And I get even more thrills when I see kids getting excited about what they’re doing. This video gave me chills and a few chuckles today. And it added a thing or two to my list o’ dreams.
You know, like teaching at the Ron Clark Academy. And on a boat. And at a Prep school. And in a one room school that still uses chalk. And at an all boys school. And at a university. And at a charter school.
November 27, 2008 
Posted in colombia 
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