March 30th: parcels and Monkey defense

Day 195

Lessons went well, even the Junior 2 kids are getting into the song and they're well nigh impossible to enthuse. Jeni stopped by for tea again and we sat on the sunshiney stoop, chatted about stuff and things. I got a phone call, which is rare, and it turned out to be Jenn and Sara Jett. I sure love my friends. Sara was calling to make sure I was going to be back for her "moving to NY" party. She wants me to not only attend, but perform. I have a gig lined up already.

In between third and fourth class, I have an hour break, so I played soccer with some primary kids and thir fleet-footed PE coach. I wasn't able to shut down his advances as much as I'd liked, but then he had cleats and I didn't. The grass is slick.

After working up a good sweat, I had to go teach the Monkey and Harry class. Rose walked by and I thought she would say soemthing about my raggedy T-shirt appearance, so I tucked it in, put my sweater back on. I filled up my water bottle in the teacher's office and she told me, "I have your parcel on my desk." Awesome! I ran and got it, promised my students if they were good, I would open it at the end of class.

The "fool Mr. Willis" part of class lasted so long, we didn't even get to the song. Once they found out candy was doled out as a reward for fooling me with their lie, students were begging for another chance, especially Emnite (whom I named after M. Night Shyamalan which he resembles slightly.) I started opening the package at the end, which had maple nut goodies, a Napoleon Dynamite magnet (Tina! Eat your food!), water balloons, etc. but they mobbed me, so I put it away to the tune of their loud protesting.

At recess I had noticed Monkey crying. I tried to ask him what was wrong but he just looked down and shook his head. I think he gets picked on more than I had realized. I think for the students, the moniker "Monkey" is more teasing than nickname. At the end of class, I gave him a caramel apple sucker and the otehr students started holding their eager palms out. I told them, "Monkey is my favorite student. If you are nice to him, maybe I will give you something. He is very cool. you need to be nice to him, ok?" Monkey looked at the sucker, humbly said, "Thank you."

He always has a rascally grin, always says hi to me in the dining hall, sits and eats with me frequently. I even taught him to "hit the rock" (a kind of urban tuffguy handshake). Even though his English is limited, the little guy's trying, you know? It breaks my heart to think he's getting grief. By saying he's my favorite, I may run the risk of inadvertently causing more teasing his way, but that's only what American kids do. These kids are different, and plus I'm a badass teacher. My praise holds water.

I rode up to the middle school and we had a badminton tournament on the roof while Jeni played some Phillip Glass on her pipa. The wind certainly gave a handicap, and we played until dusk robbed us of the ability to distinguish shuttlecock from white paint and sky.

We went downstairs, had a couple highballs, walked to get Muslim noodles. Mike had too many scotch and Cokes, had to exit as the food smells and bright lights were muddying his buzz chi.

After dining, Heather, Jeni, and I watched "A Bug's Life" (first time for Heather) and then I pedaled home, listened to the new Zero Seven disc (cheers, Jenn) showered sweatcakedom off myself, curled the blanket over me like an ocean wave and plunged into dream aquatica.