I write to you today (Friday, February 28) in the comfort of our beloved sala [living room] with a lit “Scented Soy Candle” permeating its flavor of Balsam Fir and the sound of gargantuous waves crashing in the distance accompanied by dainty pellets of a calming rainfall. We have just about finished a full month of school (can you believe it? Because I can’t) and we have officially had our first weather related school cancelation of the year. No, it wasn’t due to those dastardly but oh so pretty, glittery white crystals falling from the sky. In Honduras, we have “Rain Days.” The only time I ever got off for school because of rain was from a bad call by the Maryland school system who canceled for fear of potential snowfall that only ended up being rain, but here, it’s legitimate. It’s not so much the rain that causes the cancelation but the effects of the rain on these things called planchas used to cross the rivers which mark the path to school. They’re not bridges, they’re planchas. They’re like slabs of concrete placed in the middle of the river so that you don’t go overtop the river but kind of through it. Does that make sense? In any case, with big rainfalls, they’re often overtaken by the rivers and it becomes way too dangerous to try and cross them. And that’s why school was canceled.
Making this announcement to the kids brought yelps and leaps of joy, a reaction I’m sure many of you are familiar with either growing up or telling your own kids. Hundreds of miles apart and yet every kid on this earth, I’m certain, knows the true delight that comes from school cancelation.
When we’re not canceling school for rain, I’m in the classroom molding the minds of 5th, 6th, 8th, and 9th graders teaching English. I’ll be honest, I knew it would be a bit difficult, but it wasn’t just difficult. I was nonplussed. My first or second day of classes, I had this conversation with my 8th graders:
Student: “Why are your eyes red?”
Me: “I don’t know? They do that sometimes…um…*suspiciously* why do you ask?”
Student: “No reason”
Other Student: “Teacher, so you like English?”
Me: “Well, um, yes? Why wouldn’t I?”
Me: “Ok class. For homework, write 5 sentences to introduce yourself like we learned in class today.”
Student: “Do you want us to write them in English?”
Me: …
Now, four classes is a large work-load, and naturally, every classroom is its own beast, its own make-up and environment that I’m forced to traverse every day. And because each grade is higher than the last, they’re all learning different material. It’s a whole heck of a lot of planning (I’m better at that part of it, however). My biggest challenge thus far is understanding how each of the classes operates, how I’m going to keep them engaged and maximize their learning. Again, all four classes are different. 5th grade refuses to learn anything unless the material is in a song, dance, game, I teach them whilst hanging from the ceiling, changing my voice, you name it. 6th Grade has the biggest “too cool for school” mentality ever. They are the oldest in Primaria [Elementary School] so I guess it’s natural, but they’re difficult to keep focused for that reason alone, I’m afraid. They don’t have to learn English because “they’re in charge,” that is, until I give them a zero for the homework they didn’t do. At that point I’m sitting in a room with puppy dog eyes and tears streaming down cheeks. 8th grade tries so hard to work the system of my class. I never knew what it was like for language teachers to see work done by something like Google Translate, but now, I walk around with my gradebook thinking to myself, “Fools. Who do they think they’re kidding?” My favorite class, and potentially the easiest, is 9th grade. They’re not the best-behaved class by any means, but they have the largest desire of all my classes to learn English. And unlike with 5th and 6th grade, I’m not faced with the difficulty of teaching them a complete other language with its own rules and nuances while they’re still trying to understand the grammar rules and such of their native language. It even becomes a tool I can use, to reference the way they speak in Spanish and apply it to how we speak in English.
My respect for teachers has sky rocketed after teaching for a measly four weeks, and it was already very high before. Despite the difficulties I’ve faced, there have been joys, too. My birthday passed last Saturday, and to celebrate, the 8th grade surprised me with a cake, candy, and soda. I’m not naïve to the fact that this was to avoid learning that day, but of course I indulged. It was a celebration for me, after all, but actually, somewhere in their conniving little hearts, I think there was a desire to celebrate me. I find that’s why Hondurans make such a big deal out of birthdays. They want to celebrate YOU! It was nice, and I proved to them that the “Big Bad English Teacher” can be bribed. I’m still very open to any teacher advice anyone would be willing to impart on this novice educator.
As I mentioned, my birthday passed last Saturday, and it was a good one. On the eve of the day, I was sitting watching “Princess Diaries” with my community when our director, some of the house parents, and our littlest boys came with a large cake and surprised me. One of them would be having a birthday the day after mine, and he was very happy about that. He even tried to convince me that he was actually born on the 22nd but someone just wrote the birth certificate incorrectly. We sang, and sang, and sang some more (honestly, they put the traditional “happy birthday” song to shame), and upon blowing out the candle, my face went directly into the frosted square. Maybe that’s supposed to upset the cumpleañero, but I secretly loved it. No fork. No plate. Just cake. The actual day had us traveling to a place called Betulia to swim and relax in the (perhaps) biggest posa [river pool] in Honduras. There were waterfalls and a 20 or 25-foot cliff that I very willingly threw myself off. I had someone ask me, “Aren’t you afraid of dying? Although, it would be kind of cool to die and be born on the same day.” And so, they had their answer. Some baleadas, sun bathing, and a sneaky missionary who found a way to “ice” me, it was maybe the best birthday ever (though to be fair, I say that because I hardly remember any of the others, and NOT because I was too drunk for them). We ended the night with breakfast for dinner and a birthday cookie dough in lieu of a cake. Yum.
The last thing I’ll mention about me (because as the title suggests, this post is really about kids) is that cooking, in general, but especially in Honduras, is a humbling experience. I asked my mom the other day for the recipe to a dish I very much love to eat at home, “Lemon Chicken,” because I had the grand desire to make and share it with my community. I don’t know how long it usually takes my mom to make the meal, but for me, it was maybe 3 hours. I admit I am a newbie to the whole “cooking” thing, but I know, too, that when people write these recipes, they’re working under the assumption that the chicken cutlets are pre-cut in an 8 piece value package at the grocery store, the lemons are not the size of a foosball, and that the meal is being cooked on a stove rather than an outside fagon. This realization came to me again while cutting up and pulverizing pineapple to procure just a cup of pineapple juice for a recipe calling for a can of pineapples containing pre-cut pineapples and juice all ready to go. It’s just mind boggling to me noticing these differences between Finca life and life back home.
We’ve recently received some new kids at the Finca, and they’re on the younger side. I sat with some of our newest little girls at Mass on Friday and one of them began looking around the church very puzzled. She leaned next to me and asked why they crucified Jesus. Unsure how theological to take the conversation, I simply said that they didn’t like him very much. She replied saying that wasn’t very nice. I agreed with her and decided to take it a little deeper explaining that he died to save all of us. Not too satisfied with that response, she explained, “But I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t kill Jesus. They shouldn’t do that.”
The next week, I sat with her again for Mass. This time, she was less concerned with the stations and more worried about her “finger guy” traveling up my arm and jumping across to the pew in front of us. It was quite the distance, but he made it just about every time except once. For the rest of the time, he was hopping around on one finger, I mean, leg. Since “finger guy” needed time to heal, it was on to the next pre-Mass activity: balloon making. She had me put my hands out holding her imaginary pile of balloons, and one by one, she would blow them up and release them into the air, gazing as they floated all the way to the top of the church ceiling. She nearly passed out when the bells rang to signify the start of Mass because she was quickly blowing up the rest of the pile in my hands! The church was now beautifully adorned with rubber globos, she knew it, and she was very proud of herself.
Some of the newest members were having some tooth pain, so this last week, I accompanied them on their journey to the dentist. My main job was to watch and entertain whoever wasn’t sitting on the dentist’s “torcher chair.” I call it this because I was in Super Dad Mode comforting one of the littlest, trying very hard to convince her that there was nothing to be afraid of. I used all the necessary parent strategies, I crouched down to her level, she held very tightly around my neck, I rubbed her back, I told her that the dentist was our friend and that she wanted to make our teeth healthy, strong, and pearly white. She calmed down and walked tentatively to the chair. I was so proud of her. When it was finished, she came out of the room with the biggest smile, hopped onto my lap, and displayed her squeaky clean chompers. We spent the rest of our time in the waiting room snuggled up watching Spanish cartoons
I mentioned last time how I finally tamed the beast that once sat atop my head, but I have to tell you that hasn’t stopped the boys and I from playing barber (minus the scissors, of course) making ourselves look tip-top and ready to hit the town. As the hairspray fills the air and combs are swooshing in all directions, we gaze at our “bad-selves” in the mirror winking and shooting finger guns at “the ladies.” Unfortunately, in those special evenings, we never actually make it to the town. Our good looks will forever have to be enjoyed by our own company while we enter another enthusiastic round of the card game “war” and stuff our faces with watermelon.
You gotta love those tender moments with the little ones. It will melt your heart, but my own experience has shown how kids can take a complete 180 from their loving and cuddling sides. I have moments with kids where they’re just obnoxious and little boogers who will make you scream your head off because they don’t want to listen to you or have the sass of a fifteen-year-old when in fact they’re only seven. I can still hear very clearly my dad explaining to me, an annoying, stubborn youth (though this only ever happened once because I was an angel growing up ;)), “I’m not your friend. I’m your father.” And now it’s come full circle. I feel like I need to remind these kids of that every so often. It’s just so incredible how good they are at pushing my buttons, because in on instance they can be little brutes and not 15 minutes later after you’ve just expressed your frustration to them, you’re joking with them about how you don’t eat because you’re incapable of making tortillas (povre gringo). As you can see, it’s difficult for me to stay annoyed with them for too long.
My greatest memories to ever come about from this place always, always involve the kids. I mean, of course that’s the case. Would you have guessed otherwise? There’s this innocence about them that can only be embodied by a child. They live their days with big eyes and even bigger hearts. Their curiosity is unmatched and their smiles infectious. When they snicker, giggle, and chuckle, you can’t help but burst with joy. They inspire us, fill us with life. I am astounded by their capacity to love and be loved, and it is a true gift to live with and love them in this capacity.
"Whoever receives one child such as this in my name, receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but the One who sent me." ~Mark 9:37
Happy Leap Day to all! (I’ll admit, I was strategic about trying to post today)
Until next time
Ryan
