August 28, 2008
Disclaimer: I’m a good teacher. I hug my kids. I love my kids. I’m a good teacher. I really, really am.
The scene.
Two hundred Colombian kids in one small cafeteria. Eight teachers on duty plus all of the lunch ladies that I love. There are lentils for lunch. My favorite! There are two fourth graders sitting all of five feet from me.
Aforementioned boys proceed to use the BBQ sauce as free ammunition.
I leap forth from my seat like a jack-in-the-box on crack and in front of an attentive crowd say—-
“HAVE YOU TWO LOST YOUR EVAHLOVIN’ MINDS?!”
I take a deep breath. So do the boys. Assuming it is their last, no doubt.
I take them outside the doors. “Follow me. Walk faster. I walk fast when I’m angry. Keep up, boys. WALK!”
We’re safely out of ear shot. Round two.
“Holy Toledo, Mother of Mackerel. I CANNOT believe you would do such a thing?! Seriously?! I mean, really, boys?! WHAT. WERE. YOU. THINKING?!”
Both boys’ heads hang. My teacher voice is up and running. My teacher face has death written all over it. My blood pressure is somewhere near, oh the stratosphere.
BBQ sauce is dripping from ears and hair and shirts and the director walks by. And the high school principal walks by. And those two boys don’t even see them. They see me and they are very, very afraid.
I regain my composure.
I walk them (in that mad teacher march) to the principal’s office.
Fast forward to after lunch reading time with my fifth graders.
“Miss Witt, you know how Grandma in A Year Down Yonder is trigger happy? Is that what you wanted to be at lunch today?”
Ahem.
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August 25, 2008
Seriously, these are two of my very favorite people.
She was my assistant my first year teaching. She’s organized and honest and she loves Jesus bigger and better than anyone I know. Part of her heart is in Africa and her car is always a disaster. She used to write me little notes on the bottom of my calendar that said things like, “Think happy thoughts. Cheeseburgers, Jesus, me…” And she’d leave music playing on my computer when I couldn’t sing on my own. We talked about missions and orphans and how we wanted to change the world. We used to sit about twenty feet from each other and pass notes back and forth like junior high girls to make bus duty pass more quickly. She drew pictures of mud huts and sunsets and I wrote about waves and words and somehow those little notes changed my life for the better. SHE has changed my life for the better.
And then there’s him. He loves her like Christ does. He’s patient and good and he sits and plays his guitar while she and I talk for hours. He’s a rock star in the making. He reads books and then mails them to me and he writes to me and says, “The wife says hello” because he knows it could be a week before I hear from her. He’s a godly example and he records old hymns and Christmas music and then he gives them to me. He’s witty and gentle and today he’s going to be a daddy.
And I don’t think there’s a luckier little girl in the whole wide world.
Happy Birthday, baby. I’ll see you soon.
There will always be a part of me
Nobody else is ever gonna see
But you and me
A little girl
My Gracie girl
from “Gracie” by Ben Folds
Posted in friendcitos 4 Comments »
August 22, 2008
I’m guest blogging for Dr. Mims today as part of his 1 Thing series.
You can read my post here.
(I’m really proud of this one. Y’all check it out and let me know what you think!)
Posted in teaching 5 Comments »
August 22, 2008
I spent four of the five Thursday nights that I was home at The Sizzler. I ate until I thought I could hold no more and I laughed and visited with the regular crowd. And each of those Thursdays I’d make my way toward the register to pay my ticket only to find that “tonight’s on me” or “Mr. Pete already paid for it” or “that gentleman has your ticket.” I’d feel guilty for a moment and then just smile to myself knowing that those folks are my Thursday family even if I’m not refilling their glasses.
I sat with a table full of friends on my last night there. They laughed when I asked the retired-English-teacher-turned-waitress that I love so much for toast and honey as my dessert. Next to me was part of my heart and she wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t surprised at all.
We’ve shared more music and car rides and snacks and stories than I thought was possible in a lifetime. I’ve wondered what in the world brought us together and how in the world I’d survive if she wasn’t with me. I’ve prayed for her and yelled at her and hugged her until it hurt. And I’ve thanked Jesus and Pat for trusting me with her for a while.
And now that little girl is growing up on me and I hate I’m missing it. But she’s doing just fine on her own, I think. She’s gotten the chance to tell me to get my act together (“You’re s’posed to be my role model, remember?”) and she’s loved on me when it was done. And she bought her own dinner that Thursday at the Sizzler and said, “Yes, I’ve got money” as if my question was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard.
And I was sort of tearful.
But then she asked if she could spend the night with me before I left. And she did. We talked and giggled at mistakes in our pasts (and our presents) and she thanked me for letting her know that I mess up sometimes, too. And we talked about her Daddy and we cried a little and missed him a lot. And we talked about that night at a theatre listening to Paul Thorn and how we could just ride and listen to good music forever.
And I wouldn’t trade that toast and honey or that hole-in-the-wall restaurant or that night with my bff for all the treasures in this world.
Currently my favorite picture. Can you see all of my favorite things?
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August 20, 2008
Yesterday started out as a sort of bummer.
I got home, took out my running shoes, laced them up and met some friends for a jog. We ended up on the track below my house. And I think my insides jumped a little.
Ten years and thirty pounds ago I was really fast. That’s not so much the case anymore, but it felt nice to run some 800s again and then some 400s and finally some 200s and just open up my stride. My breathing was heavy but rhythmic and when the workout was finished we were all spent.
I pulled out some change and bought us a bag of water from the lady that has the roadside stand. We sipped and walked up the hill talking about pace, speed workouts, and how lactic acid affects the aged. And I liked it.
I’d shrugged the biggest part of the funk. In fact, I’d left it out on the track. I deserved a reward. Seriously.
Good thing that the grocery store had real, live Kraft macaroni and cheese, spirals no less, on sale for 13.000 pesos (about 6 dollars). So, I bought that little blue box without a shred of guilt and then proceeded to eat it. All. By myself. Thank you. Thankyouverymuch. And then I had dessert.
I talked to my favorite camper of all time on the phone. I talked to an old friend and we laughed a lot. I took a shower in which the hot water stopped running only four times. I shaved my legs. I didn’t brush my hair. I climbed in a bed with clean sheets with smooth legs in an apartment on the main street of one of the coolest towns in Colombia. I read one hundred pages in my book. I turned on my fan, tucked myself in, and slept without dreaming.
I woke up to sunshine and had fresh blackberry juice with my breakfast. The bus was on time. I didn’t feel like hurling on the ride to school. My students had smiles on their faces. I had a note on my board. “Good morning, Miss!” And there was a Tootsie Roll in my mailbox. A TOOTSIE ROLL!
Life’s dadgum good today. And yesterday? I hardly remember the funkiness of it at all.
Now, tell me why today is good for you. I want to hear it.
Posted in colombia, rambling 7 Comments »
August 20, 2008
Somedays it’s hard to find a rhythm. I catch myself hurrying about, not taking the time to settle into a comfortable pattern. I let memories of yesterdays flood me and forget that there’s a brand new today right in front of me. I get lost in daydreams and wanting and I picture myself in anywhere but here. Children shuffle by my ankles and I don’t ruffle their hair or return their hugs. I loathe the rain and the fact that my feet are forever cold in this country and I let those things affect my temperament.
I avoid people and conversation and wait on the afternoon and a more semi permanent hiding that lies behind my apartment walls. I long for my books and my blanket and some time that is my own. Time to read and to write and to shake this funk from my shoulders. Time to pray and plead and resurrect the most important part of me. Time to spend on my knees letting Jesus peace my heart a bit while He’s piecing it a little more.
Posted in faith, rambling 3 Comments »
August 17, 2008
Dear Boomama,
I didn’t know who else might sympathize the way that you would. We are kindred spirits, you know. How could we not be? Southern girls, Mississippi born and raised. Bulldogs by choice. MA-ROOON! WHITE! See the spirit? Do you FEEL the spirit? I have it. You have it. WE have it, Boomama!
So, the thing is, kindred spirit of mine, I live in a third world country. There’s no Target. No Wal-Mart. No Kroger. Can you imagine?! But I came home to good ole Mississippi for awhile and brought back with me the bread of our shared land. Cheeze-Its.
Yes, Cheeze-Its, Boomama. I rationed them well. I, for once, had some semblance of self-control. But now, they are gone. The last crumb eaten. The box empty on the kitchen counter. And my heart is sad. (okay, it’s more like my stomach, but you get the picture. And seriously, “my heart is sad” invokes so much more feeling, don’t ya think?)
So, Boomama, connoisseur of Cheeze-Its, show mercy on my afflicted, starving (okay, not so much starving) belly. Send Cheeze-Its. Soon. Or peanut butter. I KNOW you, Boomama. You love peanut butter, and diet cokes on ice! You love anything cheese. You feel my pain. Only you could.
I’m checking the mail already. I am. Because I have faith in bloggy friends. I do. I have faith in YOU, Boomama.
Sincerely,
Your bloggy friend Emily
P.S. Annie, you’ve actually met Boomama. YOU know me. We’re real never-seen-each-other friends. I’m calling Jeff for you. Because I love you that much. So, you call Boomama, would ya? And either persuade her to SEND IN THE CHEEZE-ITS or to tell her, you know, um. Well, to tell her that I’m not so much crazy as tired of rice. Thanks.
Posted in colombia, friendcitos 5 Comments »
August 15, 2008
It’s no secret that I love cafeteria ladies. I love the heart that they have for serving and I appreciate how hard they work, not to mention that I heard all sorts of tales from the lunch room as a child. My grandmother, after all, worked in the cafeteria for umpteen dozen years.
So, each year I make an effort to befriend those ladies in the lunchroom. I say thank you and please and compliment the dish of the day while few others seem to notice the people behind the meal at all. Admittedly, getting to know those fine women in Colombia was harder. They often mumble and seem to approach new people timidly. And then there’s the language thing. I speak English. They don’t.
Still, by the end of last year I’d had a standing ovation from them and they’d each learned not to offer me the after lunch chocolate or give me a full helping of meat. They still laugh at my feeble efforts with Spanish. They wave to me in the mornings and call me Señora rather than Miss. They’ve warmed up to me, I think.
Yesterday on the bus one of them sat by me. The one with flecks of gray in her hair and wrinkles by her eyes. The one that I’ve never heard say a word. And I was surprised.
We sat in silence for awhile- her with her bag in her lap, me listening to some sort of music from home. Then, somewhere between the bosque and the city, she tapped me and in the softest whisper said, “Tan bella.” I politely mumbled a thank you though I wasn’t exactly sure about her words.
A few moments later I shuffled off of the bus and stopped my Spanish tutor. “What does she mean?” I asked. Paula smiled at me knowingly and said, “You are more than beautiful.” Not the blue-eyed, blonde-haired American girl sort of beautiful she explained. The your heart is beautiful kind of beautiful.
I love the cafeteria ladies.
I think that they might love me, too.
Posted in colombia, teaching 9 Comments »
August 13, 2008
I like beginning of the year activities. They’re a chance to get to know one another and to be silly and to build community. One of my favorites is Me Bags. I ask kids to put three objects that best represent themselves in a bag and to share the contents with the class. Today there were teddy bears and books and pictures of families. There were cleats and golf balls and art kits. Oh, and one handsome young fellow who pulled out a mirror “cause I like to look good,” he said.
I pondered my own Me Bag for awhile. What three objects represent me? How can you tell a crowd who you are using just three things? I worried myself senseless choosing those objects, but I finally did it.
A running shoe. I am, after all, a runner. In more ways than one.
An index card I use as a bookmark that reads, “Love with action and in truth.” I should do more of that.
A picture of Sisser and me standing by the water. Because if I could be with anyone, anywhere that’d be it.
Now you tell me. What would you put in your Me Bag?
Posted in colombia, home, teaching 9 Comments »
August 12, 2008
I had the perfect outfit. Black shirt, business cut. Gray pants. Flat front.
I had the perfect hair. Half up. No fly aways. A little oomph.
Very teacher on her first day.
Even Big Mama would have been proud.
Oh, and the shoes. A Target special, but still dee-vine in every way. A divine that lasted until oh, about 8:30.
And then there was pain.
Thank you, dear first day shoes of mine. Thank you for reminding me that teachers need not fashion.
Yes, that is my foot. My poor, sad, used-to-run-without-hurting-too-badly foot.
Posted in teaching 11 Comments »
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