Category: Teaching

As mentioned prior, the little woman and I live in a mostly-Latino apartment complex nestled in a mostly-Latino neighborhood residing in a mostly-Latino region of the United States (which, as of July, 2006, is 15% of the nations population).

As two of the six white people in a city made up of Spanish speakers, we stand out. I’m a full head taller than most individuals in our complex, and-thus far-the only one that wears a collared shirt to work (spare me your privileged culture lecture; I know). Andrea is probably the only one in the building that doesn’t speak a lick of Spanish, and we have two cars. Needless to say, we stand out.

So, we bought one of these:

Obviously, we weren’t already easy enough to spot, so what better way to make myself seen that to zip by at a brisk 37 mph on the smallest street-legal cycle in existence?

I know, I know; you’re probably thinking, ‘Matt, you flashy prick! How dare you drop money on a rice rocket when you are trying to save for a house?’

Actually, it costs about 10% of what we would have paid for a new car and will pay for itself in insurance alone after 18 months. But, surely the qualm you have is valid. Driving a status symbol to work every day lumps me into the same demographic as the Starbucks-drinking, Mercedes-driving,  menthol-smoker screeching into his bluetooth headest in the carpool lane by himself. How shall I preserve my sense of humility if I’m weaving through traffic at stoplights to be the first one through the intersection?

Luckily for my image, it’s been raining the last few days. Let’s consult the diagram of the man on the scooter.

If the blue arrows represent the rain coming toward the rider as he clips along at 37 mph, you can see that they will mostly bounce off the front panel and helmet, with the arms catching most of the vertical rainfall, see Fig. 1

But, in the case of an exceptionally tall rider, the chicken legs stick out the side of the scooter, funneling the air and accompanying rain inward, toward the groin, see Figure 2.

So, since I have been riding the scooter 6 miles in torrential rain, my swimsuit-zone has been getting a bath every morning. So my collared shirt and dress pants are soaked, see Figure 3.

I did not messily shit myself on the scooter. Few things more humbling than my students asking that.

Luckily, the ladies in the PE department (who dote over me for some reason) insisted that I change into dry sweats while my shirt and pants get dried in the school dryer. Super. Now I am the youngest individual on staff, and I’m wearing sweats.

I look like a sleepover.

The next day, I figured that I could save some time drying clothes if I wore my snow pants over my dress pants.

So now, picture me. I wear a goofy collared shirt with pens, pencils, and a laser pointer in the pocket. I’m 6 foot 2 with skinny legs sticking out the side of a blue scooter, I’m wearing snow pants, and my pants are soaked.

Meep Meep, and away I go.

Figure 4: Lambda-Lambda-Lambda

Don’t judge me.

~

Sometimes some of my students come in during lunch and talk with me under the guise of work. I want 28 minutes of quiet in 6 hours of yelling and questions. When they burst in through the door with all the grace of a virgin on prom night, the conversation goes something like this:

“Whaddaya want?”
“Mr VeeEEEEE! You’re so mean!”
“Really, what?”
“I wanna take a test.” (Knowing this is the only valid excuse to interrupt me half hour of peace)
“Which one?”
“The one I failed.” (Knowing that know I have to check the gradebook and they have time to chill in Mr. V’s room)

A few weeks ago, I was talking with Marge, a teacher on my team (we have Teams, where 5 core teachers have all the same kids, so we can talk about them by name at our monthly meeting). Marge told me that these kids come from a troubled home life, and that I may be the most positive Male role model they will ever see. She was very eloquent, but I was struck by the emotion behind her words; it was as if she grabbed my arm and said,

“You are the only daddy that Ron will ever see.”

“Be careful what you pray for,” one of my professors told me when I was in college. “If you ask to see kids like Jesus sees them, it may mess you up.” Those words echoed in my head when I was in a meeting for Ron with all his teachers, mom, aunt, psychologist, counselor, and principal. I gave my best assessment of his behavior and performance in school, mostly just affirming what my seasoned cohorts said. Towards the end, the issue of his truancy came up. “Ron,” his counselor calmly stated, “you gotta start going to your zero-hour, bud.” Ron’s response would have gotten me slapped when I was 12:

“Pff! I’m not goin!”

I can only hope that my shock wasn’t apparent to his mom, or maybe I hope it was, because she did nothing. She peered across the table to the principle and gave a facial shrug with flat lips, as if to say, “Oh, well; whaddaya gonna do?”

At this point, Evil Matt was welling up inside me. I bit my tongue to keep from leaping from my seat and screaming, “I’ll tell you what to do! You slap him upside the head when he speaks that way! You train up your child in the way he should act, so that when he is old and gray, he won’t depart from it! (Proverbs 22:6) It is YOUR responsibility to make sure that Ron doesn’t end up like his dad in jail! By allowing this behavior, you are demonstrating that it is acceptable, and your are turning the key to his jail cell yourself.”

Of course, that monologue only happened in my head, and Teacher Matt prevailed. Teacher Matt sat quietly in his chair and let the big dogs run the meeting, as he was instructed before the meeting began. This is the part where my old professor’s words were ringing in my head. God, help me to see what this kid needs and give it to him. I’m glad that Ron didn’t look up for the next few minutes; I was staring at him and thinking.

Fast-forward to the flock of 12-year-olds congregating to eat lunch with me under the guise of taking a test. These children of gang members don’t have male figures that give recognition of accomplishment. When I thank them for working quietly make little notes on their test, am I shaping their development?

I hope not. I don’t know if I can handle that kind of accountability.

~V