the week in review

Oh, that first week of school. As a student, I remember having all kinds of feelings about it, positive and negative, but I can honestly say that I never even considered how it must have been for my teachers. I understand completely how my mom feels: I came home today, face-planted on the bed, and slept for three and a half hours. Then I woke up and spent about an hour lying there, feeling melancholy and wrung-out. Eventually I decided that starving to death wouldn't help a whole lot, and made some pasta. That about brings us up to speed.

Today the room situation grew even more dire. It turns out that no one, in the past two days, had actually tried to fix our locks - they had just been picking the door next to mine with a paper clip. Mine still had half a key broken off in it and would only open from the inside. Today, though, the door wouldn't open, no matter what they tried, by which I mean "no matter how much they jiggled the paper clip." So, instead of cleaning up my room and returning books to the already-testy textbook lady, we stood outside for an hour waiting for a custodian to "come right back" with an empty room to take us to, until we received an invitation indoors from Mr. Labat, a veteran teacher, well-liked by both students and colleagues, who has sort of taken me under his wing. His class was watching King Arthur with the Spanish subtitles on, as film English is often difficult for ESL students, and British and fakey-Saxon accents make understanding well-nigh impossible. Fortunately, there is not much talking in King Arthur. Mostly just battle cries and stabbing.

Eventually, the master custodian (the most useful person I have met yet) came and persuaded the door to open, by hammering Mr. Wulf's key into the lock with a big chunk of cement. We were lucky it didn't break, as I still do not have one. The A-track teacher who has my room as of Monday says that he hoards every key he has ever been given, because it's the only way to ever get into your room: the front office actually does have enough keys for everyone, they're just too lazy to organize them. One of the assistant principals (we have nine) is in charge of the keys, but today alone she was described to me by three separate people, all of them unprompted, as "completely incompetent," "useless," and having "no idea what's going on." She has big key rack thing in her office, but there are only about a hundred keys on it. My key is a 1B, for which there is no label on the rack. The A-track teacher told me that there is a room (I have seen it and can vouch for the believeability of this statement) where all keys go that do not have a little sticky-label on the key rack. Then, when you ask for them, they tell you what they told me: we don't have any, but we're calling the key man later in the week...

Moments and situations of note from the week:

• While waiting for my door to be opened, getting to know the kids. Some of them have just come from traditional middle schools into B-track, meaning that they had one week of summer, then came to high school. Considering that they have been in school for the last thirteen months without a break, I am all the more impressed with their dedication.
  
  
• Meeting Mr. Harris, who gave me advice on the best places to buy summer fruit in LA, who has an avocado tree that gives bags and bags of the things the size of softballs, and who cannot stand avocados. It is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Also: another new teacher who has my "trouble students" in her class and with whom I can collaborate on a behavior plan; my head of department, who studied English at Berkeley and has answers to the questions I did not even know to ask; the long-term sub who was raised on a ranch in Arizona by cowboys.
  
  
• Learning the ingenuity of my students, who taught me how to turn on the air conditioner, the knob of which is broken. It involves the holes in the top of your house keys and some clever angling.
  
  
• Unexpectedly discovering that the lunchroom, usually home to all things deep-fried and covered in dressing, was selling big slabs of watermelon for 50 cents.
  
  
• Being expected, despite being completely untrained in the program, to teach 20 hours' worth of ESL classes.
  
  
• A long conversation with a student my sub had told me to "watch out for," in which he told me he moved here from Guatemala three years ago, right about the time he started learning the alphabet. He's proud of his rising grades, especially his improving work habits and participation marks, and he says his teachers tell him, "You're a good boy, but you don't come to school!" He explained that he works several days a week so he can help send money back to Guatemala, where his little sisters still live. I told him if he works hard for me, we will find a way to make sure he gets an A or a B in my class. I fully anticipate this being the case.
  
  
• A short conversation with a friend of one of my students, who looked at my stomach and asked, "Are you going to have a baby?" No," I laughed. "It's just a tummy." "Oh," she said, not unkindly. "Because it looks like it."
  
  
• Another brief conversation with a student, one I already have a deep affection for. He works hard, loves to draw, and always takes time to think before he answers or asks a question. He is very small, and though he has many friends, they are not kind about it. Today he spotted my paper towels and spray cleaner, and asked if he could clean the desks. While doing so, he called me over, telling me he wanted me to see something. "See this?" he asked, pointing to an artistic tag in the style he himself favors. "That's him." He pointed to his t-shirt, a picture of a boy not much older than him, with birth and death dates and a Tupac quote, "Only God can judge me." The boy died in April; already the shirt shows wear. "He was my friend," said my student. I asked what happened, and he explained matter-of-factly, "In Los Angeles, the blacks and the Mexicans are fighting. The black people killed him. In a drive-by. They shot him in the mouth." He continued cleaning for a moment, then paused again and pointed to another name carved into the surface of the desk. "That's my uncle," he said. I asked what happened to him. My student smiled. "He's in college."