Friday, April 30, 2010

Friend #18

Lon is the father of five. Two of the five children have special needs. One is autistic and one has Down's syndrome. His other three children are in their late 20s and early 30s, raising families and enjoying their lives. Lon's special needs children are 24 and 31: Danny and Katie.
I met Lon today while I volunteered with four of my students at the Special Olympics in Mesa. We do this every year, and I sparkle with joy as I watch my students interact with the athletes. It's an opportunity for them to be the minority for once. 300 Special Olympians and only a handful of average needs high schoolers. They let their guard down and don't need to look cool when their friends aren't there. They cheer and high-five the athletes after the races. They help them find the restrooms. I get that Mom feeling inside, like I'm truly teaching my students the meaning of life.
Lon allowed Danny and Katie to "school" my students into their world. My students followed them around and by the end of the day, they had become real honest-to-goodness buddies. Lon and his wife have had to put their "empty nest" plans on hold, but they had known that parenting special needs kids would never be just an 18 year job. They have a network of parents who are in the same lifestyle and they seem to really take care of each other. They spend major holidays together, sometimes 3 or 4 families together all at once, opening Christmas gifts together.
My students learned about the school/center where Danny and Katie learn and live. My kids asked Lon if they could help with special events at the center and he actually got tears!
He said what we all say, "Just when I thought teenagers were only thinking about themselves these days, I meet some who are the nicest people in the world." Bless Lon and his family, and bless my wonderful students.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Friend #17

Susan is the woman who has been making the "Prop 100" window stickers for the teachers at my son's school. I met her today (stalked her, tracked her down, creepily waited for her to arrive...whatever you want to call it). I ordered some stickers for my teachers and friends while Susan listened to me rant about the Proposition that she obviously believes very strongly in, as I do. After five minutes of her gracious listening, she said, "You DO know that I'm for the Prop, right?" I guess I've been so used to defending the bill to strangers and aquaintances that having someone who already knows about it was refreshing, albeit strange. I felt as though I could relax around Susan. I've been compaigning for it for two months now and she was too!
At that moment, I randomly asked Susan, "You know the cliche cartoon where two men are wandering the desert and meet in the middle and they both realize they're both in the exact same predicament?" She said, "Yeaahhh?..." "That's US!" I said, as I pointed back-and-forth to the two of us. "You're SO right!" she said.
And a weight was lifted off of my right then. I realized that I wasn't fighting this alone.
My overly controlling ego has a way of taking over when I realize that something big is at stake. I resist all deligation opportunities and end up doing things myself in order to "get them done right." Well, Susan is doing it also doing it right...her way, but also the right way.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Friend #16

Today I met Marie. It's pronounced "Mare-ee"...cause she's french. Oh yes, she is one of those delightful, happy strawberry blonde-haired french people who speak like they are Nobel Prize winners with their beauty and intellect.
Mare-ee (and you HAVE to say it like that; If you don't, it will deminish her classiness, I swear) has an equally stunning 3-year-old daughter named Madeline who has tiny red lips, puffy cheeks to rival Shirley Temple's, and the dark brown curls to match. I met these two ladies at the Classy-Organic Park today. I call it the Classy-Organic Park because all of the families who play there come with Dad, Mom, and Children. Everyone. No babysitters or grandparents in sight. The parents feed their children organic snacks and juice boxes. They speak languages that aren't english to their children. They engage their children in educational opportunities at the drop of the hat, "What shape is the tire swing? Where are the clouds? What color is that duck?" I love this park because you never hear yelling or swearing (which runs rampant at most others in the area.) It's a family utopia. You can fish, play in the water jets, skateboard, jog, play baseball or tennis, grill, climb the 5 ft high rock wall or just visit with other cultured parents.
I heard little Madeline asking her mom for help on the Monkey Bars in french. An adorable little girl speaking french! After her mom helped her, I asked her if she was born in France, and indeed she was. Marie came to Connecticut to be an au pair for a family when she was 18. When her contract was over, she returned home and told her family that she was going to return to the U.S. for college. She attended UCLA and fell in love with her now-husband (yes, he was at the park also!). They moved to Tempe right after she got pregnant and she stays at home to raise little Madeline. Before mommyhood she was a college French professor and hopes to return to the classroom some day.
I complimented her on her choice to stay home with her child. I admire that. And she seems to be doing everything right. Next week she's going to start teaching Madeline spanish. After that, it'll be piano.
I need to move to France.

Friend #15




Rosie is Isaiah's football "Team Mom". She has it together. I mean, this chick's organized.
I have watched her and noticed that she learned the player names AND all the names of the parents by the first game (while I barely remember the names of my dogs some days!)
I had brushed her amazing talents off as something she can do since she "only has one child." But wait! There soon was another little boy with her. She has TWO kids??? Something was wrong one day when a little boy arrived with her, called her "Mommy", dug through her purse, and later left with her. It wouldn't have been so strange if she hadn't been a completely different skin color from this little boy. Rosie is black; Devin is white. Rosie's son on the football team looks identical to Rosie, so I was left perplexed for a few weeks. Tonight I got the story as I sat with Rosie at our last practice of the season.
Devin is four-years-old. His mother is in prison. Rosie is his foster mother. End of story, right? Well, I'd gotten to be pretty good friends with Devin in the past few weeks; I became his twice-a-week Spiderman playmate. Devin is sweet...I mean, Sweeeeet. His brown hair and big brown eyes are nothing in comparison to his lispy, yet very ar-tic-u-late little voice. On top of that, he is a snuggler. Oh, man I wished my own boys had just snuggled in my lap once like Devin did.
Rosie told me Devin's story tonight. She's had him for a year now and in that time Devin went from being very "all over the place" at preschool to being at the head of his class. In fact, his IEP (Individual Education Plan for Special Ed students) was just deemed not necessary last week. He has made a ton of progress, just by having a consistant schedule and the same bed to sleep in each night for a year. I complimented Rosie on Devin's great snuggling. She pointed out that getting close to strangers is very typical of foster children who have been abused or neglected. It's not the great characteristic I thought it was, as it can lead to sexual abuse and many other issues later on. Oops.
Rosie was told in December that Devin's mom will be out of prison this October or November. She was excited that he'd get even more stability before his mom gets out. Not so much.
Rosie got a call today that she was released 7 days ago. One would think that a mother's first desire when she gets out of prison would be to see her baby. She didn't even contact her social worker. She wanted to get some partying out of the way first.
Rosie isn't sure what will happen now. When the social workers and the mother are ready, Devin will begin visitation with his mother, which will become more frequent as the weeks progress. Rosie doesn't know how much contact she will have with the little boy who calls her "Mommy" after he's goes to live with his mother. She can only do what she has the power to do right now, and that is to love and snuggle with this little boy every minute that she can.


*Pic: Devin and Jack, with permission to print from Rosie

Monday, April 26, 2010

Friend #14

Friend #14 came to the United States from Somalia about ten years ago with her children. Ashka has eight children and brought them all to safety when warfare broke out. Her youngest was only a year old at the time. One would think that escaping war with a year-old baby would be terrible. It turned out that this baby saved the family's life more than once.
There were three instances where Ashka's family was confronted by soldiers. First, soldiers demanded money when they found Ashka's family fleeing, otherwise they'd kill the family. They had no money, but they did have a baby. The soldiers had an unwritten rule that they will not kill a child who could not yet walk. (Apparently that would be crossing the line to these men.) It was because of this child that the family was allowed to live and arrive in a safe area of Somalia.
The family established themselves in new land. Although still not well off, they had 100 goats and 100 sheep. This year-old baby, now five, was put in charge of herding the 200 heads, feeding them, and sheering the sheep. Once again, soldiers demanded money or they would go to the house and kill the family. This time they still had no money so the child and her older brother offered up 10 heads. The soldiers warned her that they would return whenever they wanted more goats or sheep. This little girl didn't tell Ashka what had happened until years later.
Five years after this incident, the family got word that their opportunity to come to the United States had arrived. They would be refugees. In the refugee camp, the little girl, now nine, had learned English and a few other languages. Being the youngest of Ashka's (now six) children, she was the only child allowed to go to school at the camp.
Ashka's daughter has saved her mother many times in their ten years here. She helped her find an apartment, a job, and a new life. Ashka's daughter is now in my ELL class, and I had no idea how much she had gone through until Ashka came in to introduce herself.
Next time I think my five-year-old is too young to help unload the dishwasher, I'll remember that there are kids herding goats and keeping their families from getting executed in the world.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Friend #13

Kimlee is Friend #13. She intrigues me because she had the guts to name her two boys the coolest names ever: Zion and Kingston. She can get away with it because her husband is from Jamaica and I'm jealous because I wish my Scandanivian roots had cooler names than Sven or Thor.
Kimlee is the person who oversees the ELL teachers in my district. She has a voice like honey that's been sitting out in Brooklyn for three days. Very soothing with a hint of East Coast spice. I briefly met Kimlee last year when she came to my school to give a brief meeting. She was pregnant with her second baby. My staff was eager to get out of the meeting because I was throwing a party at my house right afterward. Kimlee used to be a teacher. She told me that day that she missed the comraderie of working on a personal level with other teachers. She now works in a corporate environment where you get promoted for being professional and serious all the time. Needless to say, there aren't many corporate bonfire parties like the one I was holding that evening. Even though I didn't know Kimlee, I sensed a sort of despiration for adult time with other teachers so I invited her to the party. She couldn't make it, but I noticed a sparkle in her eye just for being invited.
When I had a looong conversation with her this time around, I learned so much about her and her family. I invited her over for a family BBQ when summer comes around. Maybe I'll get some goldfish before she arrives, just so she can name them for me : )

Friday, April 23, 2010

Friend #12

I don't like being told where to sit in meetings.
Usually I choose a seat near the front so that I'm not distracted by other people's off-task BS like whispering, doing Sudoku, or texting. I do this not because I get mad at these people. I sit in the front so that I'm not the one being seduced into whispering, Sudoku or texting. Call it "fear of being called on and not being prepared" or "wanting to seem perfect and knowledgeable."
Today's meeting had assigned seating. I was seated in the back, right next to a co-worker of my bff Wendy. This made me nervous. Nervous because I knew I would be temped to talk/learn about each other/gossip with this woman, and because I knew that the leader of the meeting likes to call on people. A LOT. Besides, in the end, there was NO reason why they needed to have assigned seating at all.
LuAnn is my new friend. I've met her briefly before because we hold the same Curriculum Coach positions at our schools. She oversees three elementary schools and I only have my one, but I also teach. This makes us equally busy (ok, she's actually a ton busier than I am.)
LuAnn has two kids, ages 5 and 8. Last night when she came home at 7pm, her husband announced, "Look, kids! There's a stranger in our house!" We talked about how it's perfectly acceptable for fathers to work until after dinner hours, but when a woman does it, we're being selfish and bad mothers. Dinner usually ends up consisting of lollipops, cold pizza, cereal, and pieces of bread on those nights because either that's what the dads make, the kids make for themselves, or what the mother makes after being too tired to make a decent meal. Sigh.
LuAnn also brought up the fact that her husband has the habit of leaving doors unlocked and windows open. On any given day she may come home to an unlocked front door. Both LuAnn and her husband are from the Midwest, but they're very intelligent people who have lived in Arizona long enough (it seems to take about 8 minutes to learn this) to understand that if you leave your home open to bad things, bad things will happen to it. Evidence: The home invasion that happened yesterday in the neighborhood of my school. Door unlocked, bad guys invade.
I'm not sure what it is that divides the genders SO MUCH, but one would think that after thousands of years through evolution, we'd have each other figured out by now.
I'd like to fast-forward 1000 years (if anyone is still around) and just peek at the gender differences. I wonder if we will still be sacrificing balanced dinners for our families in order to get ahead in our careers.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Friend #11


Please, oh please don't scream "foul" for Friend #11. I had to. I really, really had to make Friend #11 my 86-year-old grandma who is returning to MN tomorrow after spending three weeks with us in Arizona. You see, on this visit I feel like I finally got to ask her all of the questions that I never knew about her past, the grandpa I never met, and life in the 1920's and '30s.
All my life, my grandma lived in northern MN - about three hours from where we lived. We saw Grandma each Christmas and in the summer. All of my cousins had a much different relationship with Grandma because they lived within 15 minutes of her home. She babysat for them a lot, so her relationship with them was occasional feelings of annoyance and more care-givery. For my siblings and I, Grandma was the nicest lady who always had a clean house, fresh oatmeal cookies, and Frosted Flakes. I called her the "purse grandma", while my hoarder grandmother was the "box grandma". I didn't know them by name, just by epithet.
Grandma came to Arizona to avoid the Spring flooding that has threatened her apartment for many years; the Red River is in her back yard. We love the floods because it forces her to come here.
On this visit I asked her questions like, "When you were younger, did you know any gay people or black people?" She didn't. The first gay man she'd ever met was the man who purchased her home about 20 years ago. She hadn't seen a black person until she was in her 30s. She told me about my grandpa, how he was in WWII as an X-Ray tech. She told me a TON about my mom and her brothers when they were children. I offered to write her memoirs but she doesn't think that her life is anything to write about. I almost cried. If only I had more time with her...
The one thing I really wanted to ask her was how she feels now, being one of only two siblings left, out of eight. Three sisters and one brother have passed recently, all of whom she was close to. I found that her Norse stoicism was a wall between us, preventing us to get closer. I'm hopeful that she will be around for many more years. I still have a million questions and it pains me that I could lose my one connection to the past. Those memoirs will get written. I promise.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Friend #10

I don't like the "friend" I met today. I tried really hard to "appreciate the differences of others" and all the things Mom taught me, but this guy really has it wrong.
It all began this afternoon at Parent Pickup at Jackson's school. I noticed that almost all of the teacher's cars had really cool window stickers that said "Vote Yes on Prop 100, Your child is worth every cent!" (Back story: We're voting in May to raise - yes I said raise because it better pass!- taxes one cent for the next couple of years. 2/3 of that money will go toward education and the rest toward public safety.) I wanted one of those stickers really badly. I asked Jack's teacher who told me that one of the parents made them and that she'd love to get me one - yay!
I've been spreading the word, but man I'm worried about those anti-tax people.
Later at football practice I couldn't help but overhear - due to this guy's idioticly loud pie hole - two men discussing Prop 100 and the possible immigration reform. Don't you hate it when you see two grown men talking and one is obviously just screaming his overbearing opinions while the other man really doesn't know or care about anything and he's just smiling and nodding with his hands in his pockets? I do.
The loud man, as I learned later, is named "Trent's dad". He had his facts allll wrong about Prop 100 and when seeing the number of people overhearing this misinformation, I had to step in. I politely informed him that the money will NOT go toward giving "lazy teachers more vacation days", nor will it add more testing in the schools, or give Principals salaries comparable to Bill Gates's. The money will not be used to give teachers raises, but will prevent schools from having to lay off as many teachers. The money will allow schools to save the very few extracurriculars they have left. We will have a tiny bit of money to fix our broken desks and maybe, just maybe add some much-needed RAM to our 8-year-old computers which are each used by over 75 kids per day. The money will allow MY little school to keep the same eensy-weensy budget we had this year but if the Proposition does not pass, we will have a $100k decrease in budget. That's three teachers we may have to lay off. That means classes would increase from 35 students to 50.
Trent's dad asked if I had any proof of any of this. As a matter of fact, I did...in my car...30 feet away. Lucky for him and our audience of parents, I had just completed a 22-page report on how it would "help" (if you can call keeping things in the horrible position they've been in for two years "help") my school, and how it would harm us if it is rejected.
Raise your hands if you think Trent's dad opened my report binder and read my information. Nope. But then again, he probably can't read, due to all the "lazy teachers taking vacations all the time" in his life. Poor guy.
Poor Trent.

Friend #9

Getting to know my new friend tonight was (excuse the cliche) like pulling teeth. Mr. Sanchez is his name. I never found out his first name so we'll just call him "Mister."
Mister sat next to Isaiah and me at the Suns game along with his beautiful, yet jockish teenaged daughter. As they sat down next to us I greeted them with a friendly "Hi. Aren't you excited about tonight's game?!" "I guess so. It was HER idea to come here," was Mister's grumbly reply. This is going to be a tough one, I thought.
Isaiah and I are very energetic at games. We scream, we clap, we holler, we bang those obnoxious orange clacker sticks they give out at the door. Mister and his daughter sat. Isaiah and I sang along to the songs they play to rile up people just like Mister and his daughter. Mister and his daughter sat.
I asked Mister's daughter if she plays a sport. With a sparkle in her eyes, she told me that she plays basketball and softball at her high school. If she's lucky, she wants to get a scholarship to ASU, play basketball there, and earn her degree in sports medicine and be a physical therapist for a pro team. She is looking forward to her prom this weekend because her team got all matching dresses and their dates are the boys basketball team. Mister's daughter is fun!
For three hours, Mister offered nothing to the conversation. He was bored and probably would have rather been at home watching TV.
I am sad for Mister's daughter, but I'm not going to judge. Maybe I'm the parent who has too much fun with my child, but in the end, my child will remember this game fondly while Mister's daughter will go on with her life, having lost an opportunity to see her father as a pal.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Friend #8

I have to admit, since I started this project new faces have been placed in front of me very easily. The hard part (and most awkward for my new friends I imagine) is the engagement of conversation with a stranger.
Today I got a phone call at work. I hate phone calls at work because they're either solicitations for fund raising (how did I become the fund raiser at my school again???) or a school nurse telling me to pick up one of my sick children. But today was a good-phone-call day.
Her name is Julia and she is a marketing person for the Phoenix Suns. Earlier in the school year I was contacted by one of Julia's "fund raiser marketers" (See? I told you!). He wanted me to sell Suns tickets for "only $40" and we'd make a small profit if we sold 50 or more, yadda yadda yadda. Well, being the protege of a fabulous Southern Belle - Wendy! - I quickly turned that call around to see what the Phoenix Suns could do for me. Five days later, I was getting a VIP tour of the Suns stadium, complete with gear for my students. Wendy has taught me well.
After this visit, I was contacted by Julia who now understood that my students are not financially well-off and that a fund raiser would never happen. Instead, she offered all employees of my company discounted tickets!
We played Voice Mail Tag many many times. Each time, her messages were extremely pleasant, as if discounting tickets was the greatest job on earth!
During our actual phone conversation today, she invited me to tomorrow's game and to meet for coffee beforehand. You see, she was amazed that someone could flip a sales call around so easily and wants to meet me to find out how she and the Suns can further help students like mine!
What should have been a five minute conversation turned into an hour. Julia is from Iowa, which has no pro teams, so she grew up rooting for Minnesota teams. She has two boys; I have two boys. She wants chickens; I have chickens! And I think she loves Led Zeppelin as much as I do (her 'on hold' song was Black Dog).
I have a feeling that tomorrow night's coffee meeting will be the start of a fun friendship!

Friend #7

I've always wondered what sort of lives crafty people have when they must sell their wares at weekend fairs and festivals. Do they enjoy spending their weekends at places where they're surrounded by a guy who makes a living creating and selling beer can art on one side of them, and a lady who makes tiny tutus on the other side? To me, it's be like Groundhog Day each weekend. What sort of person would want to spend 20 hours each weekend eating festival food while trying to seem interested in every person that glances at their booth?
I met Lori, who became my 7th friend after I walked into her booth at a festival near my house. Lori is from Yuma, AZ and she creates jewelry out of beads, glass, and anything else that sparlkles. During the week, she rides with her hubby who drives a semi-truck. Needless to say, it's not the most stimulating way to spend the week. She does it to keep her husband company and she says it keeps the marriage strong. At night when they come home she claims her alone time and designs jewelry until 3am.
Lori's children have flown away to various careers around the U.S. and she misses crafting with her daughter, whose idea is was to start this weekend job eight years ago. She now does it all alone. Lori's husband is on a dart-and-bowling league each Saturday because let's face it, he wouldn't be much help selling jewelry.
I admire Lori. She finds a way to keep a strong marriage, heaping with communication, during the week. And she claims weekends for her passion, for her girl time, for herself.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Friend #6

Friend #6 walked through the door of my house tonight sweeter than anything I've seen lately. Victoria is the sister of my beloved sister-in-law, Parris (who's really more like a real sister). I met her tonight. Without putting all of her business out there, Victoria is amazing because she's 20 years young and going through a divorce after only a few months of marriage. I admire her assurance that marriage is not right for such a young girl.
She showed me tonight what a caring and attentive aunt she is to our shared brilliant nephew, Emerson. I was so happy to see with my own eyes that my Golden Child nephew has another wonderful, loving aunt other than me (he can't be with me ALL the time, you know!) She will overcome the obstacles that the past year shoved in front of her and come out even stronger. I know because I was once 20 years old, too.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Friend #5

Today I met Sean. He is the assistant manager of my Blockbuster (don't you love how we say "my" when talking about anything within 5 miles of our homes???).
About two weeks ago, I asked a really embarassing question and I had to make it right today.
Being a teacher, when I want to show a really really good Rated-R movie I either have to view it ahead of time and write down the exact minute and second that boobies or swear words appear and be ready for battle when it comes time to show the film in class. I'm not sure if I'm more annoyed by the boot-camp-like training it takes to do this, or the fact that the vast majority of my students are over-18 and I have to do it anyway. I needed a way out. My home life was suffering.
So last time I visited my Blockbuster I smoothly asked the boy at the counter, "Hi, Sean. I have a question. Er...um...uhhhh...you know how in 'Knocked Up' the guys are in the process of making an adult website that tells you the exact time in movies where nudity is shown??? Well, er...uhhh...do you know if anything like that really exists?"
Without missing a beat or letting any form of snicker sneak out, Asst. Manager Sean replied, "Oh, yeah! Totally! Mr. Skin.com! It's totally real!"
I guess I should have been concerned that my Blockbuster boy knew so much about this, but I so was focused on getting out of there that I really didn't mind.
I entered today, hoping he wouldn't be working. But oh yes, he was. "Hi, welcome to Blockbuster!" said a forgetful Sean. Or so I thought.
We quickly picked out our weekend movies and headed for the checkout. "Did you ever check out the website?" the little twerp asked. I suppose you don't see much action at Blockbuster so when you have a nervous customer/teacher/mom ask crazy questions, you're probably going to make a note in her file on your little computer saying, "Remind Kirsten Peters that you remember her!" just to keep up the embarassment.
I told Sean that I did check out Mr.Skin.com and didn't find what I was looking for. He asked me if I taught at the high school down the street, which is where he went two years ago. He loved the classes where teachers show "rad movies, not the lame documentaries on herpies." I like to think that I show "rad" movies. He looked down at the movie I was returning. "Grease, huh? Man I hope you didn't show this one!"
"I did, and my students loved it! Even the toughest gangsters were into it!"
For ten minutes we debated the educational value of Grease, discussed "rad" documentaries, and suggested a handful of films for each other to watch. He suggested things like the Mortal Combat series; I offered up "Higher Learning" and "Dead Poet's Society" which he shrugged off as teacher films.
All in all, I now have a new friend in my Blockbuster Assistant Manager. Maybe some day I'll invite him over for popcorn and teacher movies.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Friend #4

I've been really busy this week, so I've been blessed to have met my #2,3, and 4 during school. I'm sure it won't always be this easy, however!
I explained to my first hour students today that I have a very rational fear of two things: bats and dead people (and anything relating to dead people). I need to remember next time to keep my damn mouth shut when talking about things related to God cause today, He heard me.
Within five minutes of my comment, Ms. Jackson - school alcohol and drug preventionist - came into my classroom and asked me if her speaker for the day could set up in my classroom for next period (I don't teach that period). I was happy to help her out. In rolls a casket, a funeral director, and his assistant. My stomach turned very woozy and I couldn't breathe! Ms. Jackson saw my fear and assured me that the casket was empty. Better, but not great.
She introduced me to the funeral director, Eddie. He is a short, spunky Mexican man who weaved through english and spanish beautifully.
I voiced my fear and Eddie asked me to hear his speech to the kids. He was here to talk about the costs of a funeral and what happens to our bodies between the minute we die, through the various medical beds, and ending when we're in the ground (further assuring my nerves of my desire to be cremated.) He was trying to scare the kids and it worked.
Eddie started his career with corpses as a hairdresser for the dead. He now owns two funeral homes and the way he explained his concern for what he does was lovely. Creepy and lovely. He treats every body with dignity, always considering, "What if this were my mother?" I spoke to him after his speech and although he extended his hand to shake mine, I had to respectfully decline touching a hand that touches dead-body fluids 8 hours a day.
I still fear dead people, caskets, hearses, and grave yards, but at least now I understand that those who work in the field do it because they love people, not because they have a gross obsession with corpses.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Friend #3




I like to think of myself as very open-minded; that I treat everyone warmly and with care. I got schooled today.
I met someone who taught me that the people who do the everyday jobs I may take for granted are real people with real lives.
Let me back up to 6th grade. We had a school bus driver named Tom who was the devil incarnate. He was so evil that he wouldn't let us off the bus until he checked every seat for trash and made us CLEAN UP OUR OWN MESS! Inconceivable! That began my lifelong mindset that bus drivers are ogres who live for destroying little kids. (This was reminded to me this year when my own 6th grade son came home and reported that his bus driver has a SEATING CHART! Gasp!)
I took my students on a hiking field trip today and my best friend Wendy sent over her best bus driver (she helps run an elementary school.) In the front rows of the bus (because the nerdy teachers are forced to the front) my friends Robin and Teresa and I were having random conversations about belly dancing and knee surgery. Our bus driver (funny, she didn't look like an ogre...she was actually quite beautiful!) chimed in with her very valuable thoughts on our conversations. Erika. Erika was talking to us like she was a mom, with kids and everything!
When we arrived at the trailhead, Erika mentioned that she was going to stay with the bus, but I convinced her that she'd have more fun with us and she eagerly joined the hike.
At the top of the mountain, we chatted with Erika and I found that we had a lot in common...and she reads! An ogre, I mean, bus driver who reads? I now love bus drivers, thanks to Erika.
Amazing.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Friend #2

I saw him at the bus stop this morning. 7:20am. I drive past this city bus stop every day and wave to a few of my students who are patiently waiting for their bus. Today, however, there was a new body at that stop. A boy/man (???) who was sitting on the curb, his legs in that small space between safety and amputation-by-car. Dangerous, I thought. Perhaps even dumb.

Noon. I began teaching a Pop Culture class last week and I am in Heaven in that class because it's not a "Core class" with strict standards. I wrote the agenda on the board and when I turned around "Living on the Edge Boy" was at my podium, asking where he should sit. New enrollee. Admin always puts the fresh meat in my class; they know I'll take really good care of them, make them feel safe, and help them make aquaintences. His name is Joe*. Today is his 18th birthday. I usually try to leave my new kids alone for the first class so they don't feel smothered by this weird lady wearing really high heels.

After class, I asked him to stay behind so I could make sure he had all the materials he'd need for my class. "I noticed you turned 18 today. Happy Birthday, but it's a bit curious that you'd start a new school on your Freedom Day." "Yeah", is all he said, which was hardly audible since his head was turned way down. I asked him how he liked our school so far and he said (with a snicker), "It's better than my last school." Our conversation developed into an awkward yet satisfying mix of facts and anecdotes.

Joe was homeschooled by his very controlling and very abusive, morbidly obese mother. He has been telling her since he was 14 that the day he turned 18 he would move out and go to a real school. And he did.


*not his real name

Monday, April 12, 2010

The Project Begins

I turned 34 yesterday. It wasn't only that I'm now in my "mid-30s" but also that I've been out of high school for 16 years now. I realized that my facebook friends are mostly old high school friends and the rest are related to my teaching career.
When we're in high school we communicate daily with 300 or more people. We work closely with those people for years and then we move on. Opportunities to meet dozens of new people daily don't happen in the real world. We go to work. We play with our families. Sure we might meet up for drinks with a few good friends but we close ourselves off to the rest of the world too easily.
If I've learned one thing about myself, it's that I have the most fun and learn the most when I leap out of my comfort zone. So here's the story that inspired this project:

Friend #1
At the park tonight, one of the baseball fields was flooded and left a horrible stench blowing though the night air. Charlie soon learned that I would want to run past this field each time we came to it and he happily obliged. On our third lap I noticed a gentleman in his mid-50s sitting on a bench, reading a book with his packed bicycle next to him. He looked so serene and peaceful. I wanted that kind of peace. All of the sudden, the stench hit my nose and I realized that this man was relaxing in the center of it all! "How was this possible?" I wondered. Millions of thoughts raced through my mind. Maybe he lost his sense of smell. Maybe he used to sit on that bench with his dearly beloved. I passed him and promised myself that if he was still there on Lap #4, I would stop and ask.
And there he was. Lap #4 arrived and he was still blissfully enjoying his novel. I mustered up the courage for the quarter of a mile leading to him. "Excuse me? Have you noticed that horrible smell coming from the field?" "Yes", he replied. I was a little too blunt when I commented next, "How can you STAND sitting here so relaxed when it stinks?" He looked unbothered, "Eh, I was tired of biking so I sat down."
I figured if that was enough of a reason for him, why fight him? I started to walk away. "Is that all you stopped to ask?" he wondered aloud. "Well, yes. Everyone else runs past this area and it doesn't even phase you."
That is when I officially met George. He introduced himself and explained that he grew up in Detroit and bad smells are a sort of childhood memory for him. I was intrigued. I mentioned that I grew up in Minnesota where people are nice and freely engage in conversation with strangers, and we enjoy our fresh air. He agreed that Arizona is a horse of a different color when it comes to "friendly neighbor-ness."
With that, I told him that I was happy to have met him and we went our separate ways.

After that inspiration (and the courage it took for me to approach a stranger to tell them how strange they were!) I decided to begin my project.
In the next 365 days (until birthday #35...ouch!) I will make a new friend each day. I will engage a stranger in a positive conversation and learn things from the strangeness of strangers. I will tell the world about each person - not for society's sake, but rather to help me remember each person I've met.
Come along with me and meet 365 new people in 365 days!