By now, anyone who follows this blog knows that I collect quotes, remember them like art collectors keep track of where they put a particular painting or hand carved piece of jade. Then, like the Native American totems I wear on a tether around my neck, some quotes just will not be put away. Not on a cord, quotes under my tongue or behind a tooth, they wait ready in the moment for a chance to be my voice. Some are hook lines from songs. One came to mind spontaneously this a.m., It was Willie’s “I woke up still not dead again today.” and I was delighted that I did, wake up still not dead again.
I weighed in three pounds lighter than yesterday. I keep track every morning, the second thing I do after I get up. How much I weigh is not so important but knowing the number is like turning the key to start the day. I drank enough water yesterday but I was out in the full sun from 9:00 a.m. to 3:30, on my feet, moving, talking. I volunteered to help work an, end of the year field day for an elementary school that my church supports.
The public school district for Kansas City, MO is typical of inner city systems where white flight and poverty go together like weeds and an untended garden, schools underfunded and berated. Carver Elementary is a Dual Language school. Both English and Spanish are taught simultaneously. They want their students moving on to middle school to be bilingual. Without digging into that pedagogy, Latino parents like it because English is integrated along with Spanish and many if not most, ‘no hablan Inglès’ in the home.
I was in charge of the football throw. I had a (grandparent) volunteer who limped with a cane, perfect for chair sitting, data keeping and supervision at the launch point. I organized an ever changing , rotating cadre of ball chasers and ball returners. Out on the hash marks, in the line of fire, I marked and measured, called out the best score of three attempts and enjoyed the kids. If something unexpected happened that needed action I made the call .My recorder was busy enough, content to be in the subordinate role.
I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the physical activity on a game-field with kids. I slowly realized that some of my ball chaser’s English was weak. The blank eyed stare was universal in that regard. So each new set of replacements I asked who spoke the best English and told him/her to make sure the others understood and that worked. My directions were simple: we don’t have time to waste, you need to finish here and move on to your next event. So whoever is closest to ball, run it back to me and I’ll throw it back to the helper at the line. With three balls, we should be able to keep them supplied. If I got a daydreamer or slow poke we had a little conference and I told them, “You have to do better. If you can’t, I will have to get another helper.” They understood that.
We finished all the boys before the lunch break. Afterward, we helped a couple of young (high school) ladies who were basically doing the same thing with the girl’s softball throw. The volunteer worked the clipboard again while I helped chase down softballs, call out the distance and roll the ball back. The old, dormant coach in me resurfaced. The young lady was cool and smart but I am old and set in my ways. We only needed to record the best of three attempts, which I marked with my foot on the corresponding hash mark. If the next throw came up short I kept my foot on the best spot. But the universal score sheet had five space for attempts and she felt obliged to record every throw. The extra effort was unnecessary but my job was to help her and I happily conformed to her method.
After that came the running relays, the last events on the day’s schedule. I sat down on a folding chair beside the grandfather volunteer. His granddaughter had been in both the softball throw and on two relay teams. I should not have been but was a little surprised as the girl was Latina and he was a level #10 gringo. I work at being nonjudgmental. The man was probably a good neighbor and grandpa. Likewise it is normal for parents, grandparents to brag on their progeny and I do that as well. But you can’t spend forty years with kids, students, parents and educators and not recognize bullshit when it wafts your way. He was a bullshitter, talked way-too much, not offensive but embellishing believable truths with unbelievable exaggerations. Trying to put our best foot forward, sometimes we stretch the truth. I know that. With 8 kids and dozens of grand kids, his story segued from one kids extreme anecdote to the next without a pause.
After what seemed like a really long time he did pause. The silence was nice. My dad (another quote) told us all,”If you have to honk your own horn to be noticed you don’t deserve to be noticed.” That went through my mind, wondering how long it would be before he realized I had nothing to say. But then I did say something, another quote came to mind. It was hot, we were sweating, the day was just about spent and I was ready to move on. I asked, “Does this make you think of mad dogs and Englishmen?” He looked at me with the same blank stare I got earlier from my 5th grade Latino helper. I didn’t wait for a response, just finished the line: “. . . they go out in the midday sun.” Still no replay. Our conversation had run its course. Over my shoulder I called back, “It was nice working with you today.” He replied something appropriate. I didn’t have my hearing aids in and he didn’t know that but I got the message.
I plan on volunteering as a classroom assistant in the fall. I hadn’t forgotten how much I enjoy youngsters or how important speaking Spanish is but the reminder was timely. Volunteering will be, as it has always been, rewarding in both directions. Everybody wins. On the drive home I booted up a playlist I had burned on a CD several years ago, a compilation of favorites. When the volume came up it was Willie, in the middle of the chorus, ‘. . . still not dead again today.’
I weighed in three pounds lighter than yesterday. I keep track every morning, the second thing I do after I get up. How much I weigh is not so important but knowing the number is like turning the key to start the day. I drank enough water yesterday but I was out in the full sun from 9:00 a.m. to 3:30, on my feet, moving, talking. I volunteered to help work an, end of the year field day for an elementary school that my church supports.
The public school district for Kansas City, MO is typical of inner city systems where white flight and poverty go together like weeds and an untended garden, schools underfunded and berated. Carver Elementary is a Dual Language school. Both English and Spanish are taught simultaneously. They want their students moving on to middle school to be bilingual. Without digging into that pedagogy, Latino parents like it because English is integrated along with Spanish and many if not most, ‘no hablan Inglès’ in the home.
I was in charge of the football throw. I had a (grandparent) volunteer who limped with a cane, perfect for chair sitting, data keeping and supervision at the launch point. I organized an ever changing , rotating cadre of ball chasers and ball returners. Out on the hash marks, in the line of fire, I marked and measured, called out the best score of three attempts and enjoyed the kids. If something unexpected happened that needed action I made the call .My recorder was busy enough, content to be in the subordinate role.
I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the physical activity on a game-field with kids. I slowly realized that some of my ball chaser’s English was weak. The blank eyed stare was universal in that regard. So each new set of replacements I asked who spoke the best English and told him/her to make sure the others understood and that worked. My directions were simple: we don’t have time to waste, you need to finish here and move on to your next event. So whoever is closest to ball, run it back to me and I’ll throw it back to the helper at the line. With three balls, we should be able to keep them supplied. If I got a daydreamer or slow poke we had a little conference and I told them, “You have to do better. If you can’t, I will have to get another helper.” They understood that.
We finished all the boys before the lunch break. Afterward, we helped a couple of young (high school) ladies who were basically doing the same thing with the girl’s softball throw. The volunteer worked the clipboard again while I helped chase down softballs, call out the distance and roll the ball back. The old, dormant coach in me resurfaced. The young lady was cool and smart but I am old and set in my ways. We only needed to record the best of three attempts, which I marked with my foot on the corresponding hash mark. If the next throw came up short I kept my foot on the best spot. But the universal score sheet had five space for attempts and she felt obliged to record every throw. The extra effort was unnecessary but my job was to help her and I happily conformed to her method.
After that came the running relays, the last events on the day’s schedule. I sat down on a folding chair beside the grandfather volunteer. His granddaughter had been in both the softball throw and on two relay teams. I should not have been but was a little surprised as the girl was Latina and he was a level #10 gringo. I work at being nonjudgmental. The man was probably a good neighbor and grandpa. Likewise it is normal for parents, grandparents to brag on their progeny and I do that as well. But you can’t spend forty years with kids, students, parents and educators and not recognize bullshit when it wafts your way. He was a bullshitter, talked way-too much, not offensive but embellishing believable truths with unbelievable exaggerations. Trying to put our best foot forward, sometimes we stretch the truth. I know that. With 8 kids and dozens of grand kids, his story segued from one kids extreme anecdote to the next without a pause.
After what seemed like a really long time he did pause. The silence was nice. My dad (another quote) told us all,”If you have to honk your own horn to be noticed you don’t deserve to be noticed.” That went through my mind, wondering how long it would be before he realized I had nothing to say. But then I did say something, another quote came to mind. It was hot, we were sweating, the day was just about spent and I was ready to move on. I asked, “Does this make you think of mad dogs and Englishmen?” He looked at me with the same blank stare I got earlier from my 5th grade Latino helper. I didn’t wait for a response, just finished the line: “. . . they go out in the midday sun.” Still no replay. Our conversation had run its course. Over my shoulder I called back, “It was nice working with you today.” He replied something appropriate. I didn’t have my hearing aids in and he didn’t know that but I got the message.
I plan on volunteering as a classroom assistant in the fall. I hadn’t forgotten how much I enjoy youngsters or how important speaking Spanish is but the reminder was timely. Volunteering will be, as it has always been, rewarding in both directions. Everybody wins. On the drive home I booted up a playlist I had burned on a CD several years ago, a compilation of favorites. When the volume came up it was Willie, in the middle of the chorus, ‘. . . still not dead again today.’
No comments:
Post a Comment