Signs, But You Don't Believe in Signs

Wednesday morning was one of those Wednesday mornings I wish I had stayed in bed for. Sometimes they are nice relaxing mornings for reading, talking with students, planning classes, etc. This morning was different. I was asked by my boss to substitute in a second grade class until their teacher returned from a medical appointment. I took a deep breathe and accepted the challenge. For the past year and a half this group has notoriously given me the most trouble, the biggest headaches, and the highest blood pressure. Needless to say, I was not excited about what was to come.
I was given no plans for class so I went to the other second grade teacher to ask her the what to do. She said, "llévelos a educacion física." Great, I thought, take them outside, wear 'em down, and then put them to sleep until their teacher gets back. Well, after an hour of litterally running around chasing a dirty flat soccer ball the kids came back into the classroom covered in sweat and dirt. They actually sat and worked on some Spanish work for about fifteen minutes until a wave of dissent slowly swept over the group of 40 seven-year-olds. I could feel my stress levels slowly rising as I witnessed the ungluing of order in the little classroom. One student, Gary Sheffield (Yes, the same name as the MLB ball player. Yes, I had to look that up.), went Ringo Starr in the corner of the room on a couple of buckets with whiteboard markers. Then one boy roundhoused another in the head and they started to punch each other in the face. I about lost it. Aftering telling Gary to sit down so many times I almost went hoarse, I changed tactics. I said, "Gary, come here, I want to talk with you." We had the following chat (in Spanish originally):

Me: Gary, how are you?
Gary Sheffield: Well.
Me: Did you eat breakfast?
GS: No.
Me: Nothing?
GS: Nothing.
Me: Where do you live?
GS: Over there.
Me: Do you live with your mom?
GS: No, she lives in Costa Rica.
Me: With your dad?
GS: No, he lives in Costa Rica.
Me: Who do you live with?
GS: With my grandma and aunt.
Me: Do you get to play much at home?
GS: No, they don't let me play in the street.
Me: Do you want to bring your desk over so you can work with me?
GS: Yes.

That's where the conversation ended. I thought I had him. I thought I had used my training in popular education to win some trust, to get into his shoes a little bit, to treat him like an adult instead of yelling at him. That's what we preach at Fe y Alegría. But, I lost him. He went back to his corner to kick out some more jams on his makeshift drumset. Damn.
Their teacher finally arrived around 9am. I had only spent 2 hours with them, but I was spent.
I walked to the snack bar to treat myself to a much deserved liquid refreshment. As I turned from the bar, with my cold 7up in hand, I heard the song Another Day in Paradise by Phil Collins playing from the boombox behind the bar. I laughed outloud--paradise. If that's not enough, later that same day, I had what some would call an existential coincidence (as seen in the movie I ♥ Huckabees). A senior approached me with her English homework. In surprisingly good English she asked me, "Can you proofread this song for me?" She handed me her notebook where the lyrics to Another Day in Paradise were perfectly written. With wide eyes I proofread the song and walked away shaking my head. I could hear my mom's words in my head, quoting one of her favorite movies, "signs, but you don't believe in signs." Call it a sign or an existential coincidence; it was strange. It got me thinking about Gary and my other students. They deal with stuff I can't even imagine: malnourishment, broken families from abuse, divorce, and migration, lack of infrastructure and resources. In sociology and political science classes we talked and debated about things like malnourishment and infrastructure. It was all too abstract. Here those topics become all too real. Too real to even see on a daily basis. On Wednesday morning all I needed was a sign, a moment of grace, to reveal the poverty and stuggle that is always hidden in plain sight. Sometimes all it takes is a little Phil Collins to put things in perspective.

And now for your viewing and listening pleasure, I present to you, Phil Collins.