The Last Day of School

June 11 was the last day of school. It also marked the end of my AmeriCorps service days this year. in total, I have completed 1,714 hours of service in 10 months, give or take an hour. I am tired.

We celebrated the end of the school year with a massive water fight. School let out at 1:00, with the usual rumbling and uncontrollable outbursts expected from kids about to be released into the wild of summer. The kids who stay after school, however, had 5 more hours before their freedom, and we would spend the next 5 hours preparing, executing, and recovering from a massive water balloon fight.

There were 4 tutors and about 50 kids who participated in this endeavor. We spent the first two hours filling water balloons, telling children to be patient, and trying to prevent the water fight from prematurely breaking out. Anyone who threw a water balloon before we began would have to sit out for the first 5 minutes of the real water balloon fight, and everyone knows those first 5 minutes are crucial. After that, you're really just throwing wetness as wetness.

Then, after two entire trash cans were filled to the brim with water balloons (in addition to multiple hidden stashes the kids filled themselves), we met in the cafeteria for a debriefing. We told the children, most importantly, after the fight we would be responsible for picking up all of the pieces of water balloons outside. That was the only rule.

Next in the cafeteria came the dissemination of additional weaponry. The 4th, 5th, and 6th grade tutor (or as I call her: Lisa, War Profiteer) bought cheap but effective super soakers for those of her kids that gave her a dollar. The only advice for these weapons: don't break them. And as an afterthought: maybe the big kids will share.

Then, at 3pm, we broke into teams and ran to the infield of the track. Each tutor's kids lined up on separate lines. Adi and I had only six kids between us. Robert had about 13. Lisa had 20, all much older, and armed with super soakers as well.

The fight was beautiful. I threw maybe 1 water balloon and spent the rest of the time running around screaming. The children were merciless. One kid ended up with a bloody nose. Another's glasses were broken in two. I've never heard more thrilled squeals and frantic laughter from these kids. I was soaked from head to toe. We all were.

The "weapons" kept getting refilled long after the water balloons ran out. The fight lasted for 40 minutes. In the end, everyone was soaking, and exhilarated.

Most kids went to change after the battle subsided. For those of us who hadn't brought spare clothes (including myself... I didn't think I'd get that wet!), we went to the basketball court, where the blacktop was scorching in the California sun, and we sprawled out in attempt to dry our clothes. It was the first time all year I've seen upwards of 15 children resting peacefully together. That lasted nearly as long as the war had.

As I dried out on the blacktop, basking in the sun with these 8-year-olds, all I could think was this: water balloons make great weapons.

The Fastest Kid in Salinas

I coached the winner of the 100M Dash for 5th Grade Boys. This is Jose Jaradmillo, my hero.

Photo brought to you by Angel Cruz, 5th Grade.

These Girls.

I'm assembling and organizing all of my pictures from the year, and it keeps hitting me: these children are beautiful. Especially the girls.

One of the saddest things for me is to look at the girls, and then look at their mothers, and think that before long, they will look as tired as they do. Most of the mothers are fairly young, but the sun, stress, poor health, and lots of work have not been kind to them. They are wrinkled, their hands are torn and callused, their skin pock-marked, their bodies overweight or their backs bent. Some of the mothers are my age, but they look at least five years older than me. I hope time is kind to my girls.

Then there are the girls who will choose to make themselves up and dress in ways they shouldn't for their age. The ones who will disrespect their bodies. The ones who will get pregnant in high school. The girls who might get pregnant before I do, even though they're 12 years younger than me.

But for now, they are beautiful, and I hope they stay beautiful.

Nightmares

The kids have also penetrate my psyche now.

I've dreamed about work before, which can be expected, considering I spend 10 hours a day in this school. My past 2 dreams, however, have been less than pleasant.

The first one was about Javier. I woke up and felt... not right. Other people in the house said they could hear me making noises in my sleep. I couldn't place it until I saw Javier later that day, and my stomach just churned and fell to the floor. A flash of him in serious physical danger came back to me. In my dream, he had been cold, shriveled, shaking, discolored... basically on the verge of death. In the dream, he was wearing the black sweatshirt he always wore, with the hood up, but he was basically a skeleton. He's skinny as it is, but looking at him in my dream gave me a physical sense of his harm that couldn't be hidden by a giant sweat shirt.

The second one was about Kim. She was wearing a necklace, and a man came up behind her and strangled her with it. I actually lashed out in my sleep when that one happened.

I can only protect them from so much.

"Mommy!"

Two of the girls I tutor afterschool have taken to calling me "Mommy." Talk about disturbing. I am a long way from wanting children of my own, and this year has reaffirmed that ten times over.

Every time they say it, I remind them that I'm their teacher, not their mother. They see how strangely I react to the idea of being a mom, and they find it funny. That makes them say it more, I'm sure.

One afternoon, we went to the computer lab. One of these girls started typing a letter to me. It went something like this:

Hi Miss Dawn!

Do you want to know why I call you mommy? It's because you are so nice and so pretty and I love you so so so so so much much much much much!

Love,
Kim

There were a few more "so's" and "much's" but that was the gist, and the gist was heartwarming.

Dia del Niño/Children's Day

Dia del Niño-or Children’s Day/Day of the Child-is the Mexican holiday to celebrate children. Think of Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, only for kids. What a brilliant idea! Why don’t they have this in the States!? With how commercialized every other holiday is in America, Dia del Niño would be an absolute success. Think of the toy companies and Chuck E Cheese!

The extremely supportive parents at our school used their budget to throw the kids a party of carnival proportion. Classes were cancelled for one entire morning to celebrate children being children. There were tents for nachos, free toys, and games. Kids ran around from bowling stations to spoon races. Jump houses (brincolinas I think?) were inflated and rowdy boys bounced until the walls of the jump houses became the floors. My personal favorite was the musical chairs event, where every time the Mariachi music shut off, the kids scrambled to the empty chairs, accompanied by apocalyptic screams.

The core group of parents at the school passionately endorsed the day, as they do all other school activities. At the very least, reluctant adults gave in to the morning. The more serious children were bored by the carnival and didn't see the point, while others giddily ran about collecting free pencils and wistfully remembered all the Dias del Niños they had ever celebrated.

In a place with so little, the celebrations are so big. It makes you wonder: are they overcompensating for childhoods harder than I could imagine living even as an adult, or are they simply living and valuing what’s most important in life?

April was a busy month

I saw two (good) events at Alisal Community School in the month of April that I've never experienced anywhere else. One was a pep rally for the California State Tests (CST) held at the beginning of May. The other was Children's Day.

First up: The Pep Rally. Every classroom made posters with motivational messages, like "I will rock the CST" or "Do your Best on the Test." At 1pm, all the students lined up with no semblance or order on the blacktop outside the school. Teachers and staff gave every kid a helium balloon, either yellow or black in honor of the school's colors. They were marched towards the infield of the track, where a DJ was blasting Black-Eyed Peas and Shakira hits. The 5th and 6th grade cheerleaders led the school in cuteness and pep. The principal, Ms. Armenta, led the school in dancing with awkward school-appropriate hip movements (which is hard for Latina girls, even if they're only 5 years old) and frightening love. Some of the more intense young men decided to try out their breakdance moves on the grass, with varying degrees of injury and success. One little first grade boy was so overwhelmed by the festivities that he prostrated himself into a defense curl, on top of a manhole, and hid his head from the enthusiastic noise and Californian sunshine.

Possibly the most touching was the chanting, started by the 4th graders at the request of Ms. Armenta. She encouraged each grade to come up with a cheer, and the 4th graders chose the famous "Sí se puede" (or "Yes we can," the motto of the United Farm Workers coined by César Chávez). Yelled from a grassy field in the Salad Capital of America- Chávez's own soapbox and stomping grounds-the passion of that cheer carried beyond the test in the coming weeks. The kids yelled the chant in words understood more clearly than most of the ones that they would see on the fast-approaching CST. I've never felt as connected to the strength and passion of the Mexican people than I did at that moment. Their parents might be working hard in the fields, and now their children work just as hard, if not harder, in the classroom.