It Still Doesn’t Really Feel Like Christmas But I’ve Got My Friends So It’s Okay

Last year was my first Christmas back in the States from Japan, and I was bursting at the seams with Christmas spirit from December 1 until well into January. I did every Christmas-y thing possible and it filled me up with happiness and excitement. But this year, even though I’ve gone to holiday parties, decorated trees, seen church Christmas productions, sung Christmas songs, drunk as much eggnog and eaten as much fruitcake as possible, even read “The Dark is Rising” like I do every December. . . everything still feels far away. Yes, I’ve gotten glimpses of that childhood Christmas feeling this year, like when my friends and I went to Duke Homestead for an 1870s Christmas (albeit in 70 degree weather) or dressed up in shimmery attire to enjoy musical performances. But the overarching “It’s Christmas!” feeling is lacking for me this year.  

You know that old Christmas song with the line, “from now on our troubles will be miles away”? Well, this year, it seems, they’re not. The month of December really threw a curve ball to a lot of people in my life, giving them troubles that overshadow the light spirit that usually accompanies this season. As a child, even when my dad lost his job and we didn’t have any money, I was too caught up in myself to feel worried about it. As an adult, though, I can’t help but mourn as I see people I care about struggle with infertility, illness, heartbreak, ailing parents, doubt, divorce, and unemployment. I want to take it all away from them and give them joy. Could it be possible for us to forget all of these things for a day, and be able to enjoy the present moment? I’m not sure, but I hope so.

However, the joyous part, is that in the midst of the anxiety, uncertainty and sleepless nights, in the midst of one of the worst Decembers I have ever experienced, I still count myself as indescribably blessed. Somehow I have been gifted and surrounded by compassionate, caring people, who seem to know just what I need and when I need it. I feel overwhelmingly grateful for my friends and for the community that surrounds me. There have been times in my past when I felt like I had no one close to comfort me, but now, I have never felt alone. I only feel thankful.

I am thankful for L holding me tight and telling me it’s all going to be OK when I was wracked with sobs at her door

For S texting me I’ll be right over just when I needed her

For C and T and M and their concern 

For the instant connection I have with J and K, and their uncanny knack for explaining God to me in a way I hadn’t heard before

For NRCC and their welcoming arms and prayers

I am more grateful than I can ever say

When I felt overwhelmed and incapable, I was surrounded by competent people who knew what to do

When I felt broken and confused I had good counselors--or at least good sounding boards

When I was in a spiritual crisis searching desperately for my path and not knowing what to believe, I had numerous people supporting me

When I felt hopeless, I was given hope in that I am never alone

Today is Christmas Eve. I’m going to a service at my church this afternoon, and to Midnight Mass tonight. Tomorrow I'll go visit my mom, and it will be wonderful to reconnect. I hope that all who are suffering today find a bit of peace and rest, if only for a little bit. I am so lucky to have good people in my life even in the hard times. It doesn’t really feel like Christmas for me, but I think it does feel a little like Thanksgiving. 

A Most Awkward Goodbye Letter

Last year, when I first started teaching ESL, I was operating under a grant that allowed students to continue attending the same class for several semesters. Here in the 2013-2014 fiscal year, I'm working under a different grant, one that is fairly number-heavy. So, for the first time, I'm only allowing students to stay in class for one semester, so I can teach new students and serve as many as I am required to serve.

Yesterday was the last day of my last class of the semester. I gave the students their certificates and awards, we had a big party with lots of food, and the students showered me with Christmas presents and love. All except one woman. She, maybe 65 years old and a returning student who has spent 8 months in my class, surreptitiously slid a note on my desk while I wasn't looking, only to come up to me after class and say, "Read my note!"

When I came back to the office, I unpacked my things and opened it, written in pencil on a sheet of lined paper torn from a notebook. Her orthography is not perfect, but here it is, written just as she wrote it. The most awkward goodbye letter I've ever received from a student.

"La Parodia de los Estudiantes"

A donde iran, tristes y fatigados, los estudiantes, que de aqui se van. O si en el cielo se veran angustiadas. Cuando Dios nos llame y no poder entender. A la mejor Dios habla ingles? Unas nos veremos angustiadas, por no poder entender.  Otras fatigadas por el esfuerzo que hisimos y no pudimos aprender. Estos estuduiantes que de aqui se van. Triztes por no aprender. Se va la maestra no la volveremos a ver.
Gracias por todo el esfuerzo que hizo para que pudieramos hablar ingles. Nos vamos triztes y con muchas ganas de volver. Para unas el esfuerzo no fue en vano. Para otras fue dificil entender pero nos llevamos el esfuerzo que hicimos para poder entender.
Adios maestra adios.
Bendiciones."

Translation:

The Parody of the Students

Where will they go, sad and fatigued, the students, who leave this place? Will they be anguished in Heaven? When God calls us and we won't understand. Could it be that God speaks English? Some of us will go anguished for not being able to understand. Others exhausted by the effort we made but couldn't learn. These students leave from here. Sad that they can't learn. The teacher is leaving we won't see her again. Thank you for the effort you made so we could learn English. We are leaving sad and anxious to come back. For some, the effort was not in vain. For others, it was difficult to learn but we take with us the effort we made to try to understand.
Goodbye teacher goodbye.
Blessings.

Am I really that terrible of a teacher? Do my students really have such a low opinion of themselves? I do understand that many of the intermediate students feel badly because their test scores didn't go up as high as the lower students did (mostly because it's easy to make a level gain from Beginning to Intermediate, but hard to take that step from Intermediate to Advanced), but they shouldn't be so worried. Also, I don't like feeling like I've failed them.

I have a stack of presents and hugs from the other students, but this one letter is the one that worries me.

Hopefully next semester I won't disappoint them!

To Be in Love

Today I was at a store in Kernersville, killing time until my mom and stepdad got home and I could go to their house. I wandered around the aisles, glancing at the posterboard, shampoo, potato chips, whatever. Stopping in front of the cleaning supplies (do I need any of this? I asked in my head) I heard a couple talking from a few aisles over. They both sounded youngish; the guy with a loud, excited voice, and the girl, a lower, almost bored one.

“Don’t forget the dish detergent,” I hear her say.

“Done!” he shouts triumphantly. “What else do we need, baby?”
She mumbles something.

Again, he happily responds, “No problem! I’ll get you anything you want.”

They appear around the corner: both in their early 20s, the guy tall and heavily built, with thick plug earrings, both sides of his lips pierced, black hair, black jacket, combat boots. The girl is pretty, skinny, with blond hair, tight jeans, lip ring.

“Do you know how happy I am, baby?!” the guy breaks into a huge grin, wrapping his free arm around his girlfriend, the other one holding the shopping basket. “I got paid today, and I feel on top of the world!”

“I’m glad, too, sweetie,” she smiles.

“I oughta make you pay for these cigarettes and Fabuloso,” he teases, and kisses her hair. “But I’ll get it all.”

She punches him good-naturedly in the arm, and they walk off to the cash register to pay.

Something about this hardcore, punk rock couple in love struck a chord with me. I don’t know anything about their situation or their relationship. Maybe they fight all the time. Maybe they just met. Maybe the guy hasn’t had a job in six months and just now got one. In any case, he’s overjoyed that today was finally payday so he can buy his girl some cigarettes and Fabuloso so they can go home to smoke and clean. No matter what the background story is, he was full of joy tonight, and it was a beautiful thing to see.  

What I Love About My Job

There are always things people don't like about their jobs, and I could name them, too, but ya know, I think mine's got a lot of perks, in the grand scheme of things. In no particular order: 

1. On Mondays and Wednesdays, my first class, which is a 10-minute drive from my apartment, doesn't start until 10:00 a.m. This means I don't have to leave my house until 9:30, giving me an extra hour around the house to spend as I please. Sometimes this means washing dishes or straightening up. Often, it means an extra cup of coffee, yoga, or reading. (Don't worry, I make up for it by not taking a lunch those days.)

2. I have enough time between my morning and afternoon classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays to do 30 minutes of yoga in my empty classroom and still eat lunch. Before it got too cold and rainy, I was having a picnic outside on a blanket in a field behind the church twice a week. Fresh air, blue skies, good food, and a good book. And sometimes a free cup of coffee if the secretary makes it. 

3. Also on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have enough time to eat dinner and watch an episode of 30 Rock before my next class. 

4. Mileage reimbursement = free gas

5. My coworkers are fun and easy to work with. 

6. I can come to the office on no-class Fridays wearing jeans, a t-shirt, no makeup, and my hair in a ponytail and it's totally cool. No one to see, no one to impress but my computer and my papers. 

7. Sometimes (like, a couple times a year) we close the office early on Fridays and I'm home by 3:30.

7. My office is close enough to everything that going to the bank, supermarket, or post office during lunch or right after work is totally doable.

8. My students might annoy me sometimes (like when I have to explain how to conjugate "to be" 15 times a day) but for the most part, I love them all. Especially the students in my jail class who say funny things like, "We might kill someone, but we wouldn't ever rob anybody," as if that makes them win the Morality of the Year Award. And of course, the moments when I see that what I'm teaching is actually sticking, and I can see progress in their English ability, it makes it all worthwhile. 

9. Complete autonomy when it comes to lesson planning. No one tells me what to teach, so I can make a mix of life skills, grammar, vocabulary, literature, history, music and culture (all the things I love) and there's no problem. As long as students' test scores go up (which, invariably, they do), everyone is happy.

10. Not being in the office all day. Being able to go from site to site keeps me from being bored. And it makes the day go by faster. And I can do things like visit a roadside grill or farmers market in the middle of nowhere Wake County between classes.

See? There are always things to be grateful for. I'm never gonna make it rich working at a non-profit, but it definitely has its pluses! 

Autumn

Last autumn I was so busy apartment-hunting and then finally moving in, while at the same time getting settled into my new job, that I didn't have time to do anything autumn-y except go to the State Fair. This year I've got a vase of goldenrods sitting on my table with my pinecone candleholders, a weekend camping trip to the mountains planned, and a host of fall recipes waiting to be cooked. I want to savor this season before it slips away from me like I let happen last year.

Not that I don't have a lot going on, though. You've probably all heard how wretchedly busy I am this semester. I'm teaching four separate classes at the Literacy Council, plus my usual Wake Tech night class, all twice a week. Add to this the weekly updates I'm doing for the Wake Tech EL/Civics blog (two posts a week) and the mentoring I'm doing for a promising ESL student-teacher, and I've got something like a 60-hour work week facing me until Christmas. Throw in the 9-week Financial Peace class I'm taking at church every Wednesday night, and it's no wonder my friends complain that they never see me. It's stressful and tiring, but it has taught me how to be organized and manage my time. Ha! One of these days life will slow down . . . but until then, I have to relish these pockets of beauty and quiet when I can.

I love the fall, love the leaves turning colors, love the harvest food at the farmers market, love the big blue afternoon skies, the late afternoon sun going down that always reminds me of reading "Three Dreams and a Nightmare" outside in the field behind my house, wrapped up in a blanket on the ground until it got too dark to see. I'll miss the warmth of summer, but always welcome the nostalgic homeyness of fall.

"O suns and skies and clouds of June
And flowers of June together
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather."

--Helen Hunt Jackson, 1831-1885

Poetry

I was surprised at the poems my students wrote in class this week.

We've been studying Nikki Giovanni's "Knoxville, Tennessee" in my jail class. It was fun to introduce Southern cuisine and various gospel music songs (both country-gospel and black gospel) to a group of Spanish speakers who didn't know such things existed. After analyzing the poem almost to the point where it lost its feeling, I asked them to think of the place where they were the happiest. After doing some pre-writing, they all wrote a poem about their favorite place, following the same style as Giovanni's.

I was expecting a bundle of poems about Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador. Instead, what I got was a stack of poems about Raleigh, Benson, Wendell, and Zebulon, North Carolina! Sure, there were a few poems with titles like "Jalpán, Querétaro" or "Igualapa, Guerrero," but the vast majority of my class, apparently, has been happier in the U.S. than in their home countries.

The food they mentioned, too, surprised me. Not many students wrote about carne asada and tamales and sopes. Instead, they mentioned hamburgers, hot dogs, pizza, hot wings, fries, turkey, barbecue, hush puppies, and any number of other typically "American" dishes.

What does this mean? If I were going to write a poem about the place I was the happiest, where would I write about? Takasaki, Gunma? Oaxaca, Oaxaca? Littleton, North Carolina? Greensboro? Raleigh? Where have I been the happiest . . . ?

My Self-Help Post, In Which I Bare My Soul

I just found out I’m a Two.

That probably doesn’t mean anything to most of y’all, but don't worry; it didn’t mean anything to me either until a few months ago.

Probably everyone, even if they don’t put any stock in it, knows their Astrology Sign (I’m a Leo, in case you wanted to know), and, if you’re Japanese, you probably know your blood type, too (I’m A-, would you believe it?!). However, it’s quite possible that you don’t know your Enneagram type.

I’m not even going to pretend to explain the Enneagram here; you can kindly go to www.enneagraminstitute.com yourself. All I’ll say is, it seems to me like a more detailed version of the ol ‘Myers-Briggs personality test, but with additional social and spiritual implications. They’ve been studying it at church recently, which is what got me interested in it to begin with.

So, in a nutshell, here I am:

Twos are empathetic, sincere, and warm-hearted. They are friendly, generous, and self-sacrificing, but can also be sentimental, flattering, and people-pleasing. They are well-meaning and driven to be close to others, but can slip into doing things for others in order to be needed. They typically have problems with possessiveness and with acknowledging their own needs. At their Best: unselfish and altruistic, they have unconditional love for others. 

Sounds pretty accurate to me. Both good and bad.

Finding out that I’m a Two has helped me understand a few basic things about myself and how I relate to others.

First. If I want to sit at home all by myself and not talk with anyone, I shouldn’t feel guilty about it. The joy of being a Two means that I give of myself ALL. THE . TIME. I do it at work, in my personal relationships, and in my family. It’s not a bad thing; Twos put others first. It’s what we do and we’re happy to do it. But it can become bad when we lose ourselves in the process. Once in a while, we need to shut the door, turn off the phone, get off the internet, and just relax. Other people do it without feeling bad. I shouldn’t feel guilty, either.

This leads us to a very important point: I AM NOT AS IMPORTANT AS I THINK I AM. What a revolutionary thought. That the world will continue spinning happily on its axis if I say, “Sorry, I just want to stay home tonight.” If I don’t respond to a text within 30 seconds. If I buy a pre-made cake instead of making one from scratch. I am not that important, and neither is what I do.

Back in January I Googled my 2013 Yearly Horoscope just to see what kind of nonsense they’d say about what to expect this year (no, I’m not getting married). But damned if they didn’t hit the nail on the head with a couple of other things: namely, that 2013 would be a year of complete metamorphosis and self-analysis. Bing! We have a winner!

I’m still on the super huge Self Improvement kick I started back in 2012. Bigger than anything else has been this unrelenting thirst to connect with God. I’ve never felt it before. Even during the height of Jaimie’s Christian Era (1996-2009, give or take a few years), I never felt like all I wanted to read was the Bible or the only thing I wanted to do was pray. Not even a little bit. And yet here I am, unashamedly basking in the confusion and incomprehension that I am connected to something much greater than I. I will sit and meditate for 20 minutes and come away (most days) knowing that God has been with me. It’s been wonderful.

If you’ve only met me post-2009, it might seem odd to hear me say I am searching for God, especially if we haven’t talked in a few months. But if we’ve known each other for longer, it might make sense that I’d try to find my way back. Of course, some of the patterns that have been deeply ingrained in me (God is an angry unsmiling judge waiting for the opportune moment to send your sorry sinning ass to Hell) are changing for the truer version that God is Indeed Love. A girl I knew in Japan (an American girl, completely non-religious herself) told me that it’s usually true that one finds a stronger spirituality the second go around. In my case, at least, she was right.

OK, just a little bit more and then I’ll go.

As well as reading plenty of spiritual texts, I’m also going through Simplify Your Life by Elaine St. James and Romancing the Ordinary by Sarah Ban Breathnach (what a name). Despite the fact that SYL was written in 1994 and thus has constant references to how indulgent the 80s were, and how if only you would remove call waiting from your house phone and get rid of your CAR PHONE—yes, your CAR PHONE, remember those? I don’t—anyway, if you would do these steps, you would live more happily. Despite its datedness, it still has a lot of practical tips that I enjoy. And RTO puts into words many of the thoughts I’ve often had: that it’s not about having the best of things, but learning to savor the simple ones. Amen, sister.

As I was reading, I started thinking about the things I do to simplify and romance my own ordinary life. By no means exhaustive, here are a couple of things that help me:

#1: I don’t check Facebook every ten minutes like I used to.

#2: I don’t text as much as I used to. I’ve become a big fan of telephone conversations.

#3: I stretch, run, walk, do yoga, dance, and go to Zumba class as much as possible. I WANT TO MOVE.

#4: I put puzzles together. You can think I’m lame ‘cos I said that. That’s cool. I won’t take it back, though. I love putting puzzles together.

#5: I visit the Farmer’s Market. I cook.

#6: I find shapes in the clouds. It connects me to my childhood.  

#7: I drive with the windows down. Most days.

#8: I pay attention to the time of day. I love how the light filters into my house through the trees at sunset, and how the morning light slants in through the kitchen window.

#9: I don’t use the A/C unless absolutely necessary. I love to sit in my house with the windows wide open. It feels like summer in North Carolina, and that’s something I’ve missed.

#10: I meditate. It keeps me grounded. 

Thanks for listening. See y’all next time.

            

The Thing About Teaching . . .

It's been a long couple of weeks. This past week, the last in a series of long weeks, was the worst. It's like this.

Monday mornings I wake up at 7:00, I get to work around 9:00, and am out the door, heavy laden with two bags of teaching materials, a rolling cart of computers, and my lunch bag, by 9:15. I drive 20 miles south to the dot-on-the-map town of Fuquay-Varina, unload the computers, lunch bag, and one of the teaching materials bags, and proceed to have class -- ESL/Family Literacy/Computer Literacy -- from 10:00-12:30. (I'll save the description of the frustrations and joys of teaching multi-leveled classes for another day.) Then it's a hurried affair to clean everything up, woof down my lunch in the breakroom of the church where I teach (or outside, if it's a nice day), and be out the door by 1:00, headed back up 401 to the county jail, where I teach from 1:30-4:00 p.m.

I'm back in the office from 4:15-5:00, trying to summon the energy to prepare for the next day's lessons, answer all the calls I missed (I'm on the only one in the office who speaks Spanish), and make sure students' files are updated. Around 5:15 I head upstairs and sit with a cup of tea and whatever I brought for dinner, enjoying half an hour to read and play Words With Friends. But at 5:45 it's out the door again to teach my final class of the day, from 6:30-9:30 p.m.

I get home around 9:45 or 9:50, meditate to slough off the stresses of the day, and go to bed.

Tuesday, ibid, without the night class or the computers.

Wednesday, a repeat of Monday.

Thursday, like Tuesday.

My no-night-class-days should be my time to hang out with friends or go grocery shopping or something, and I do, even though what I'd really like most weeks is to come straight home, do some yoga, and sit by myself and watch a movie. Those nights are the best.

Luckily, this past week saw the end of two classes. I finished my afternoon jail class on Thursday, and my Monday-Wednesday night class on Wednesday night. The Wednesday night presentations/international party lasted until almost 10:00 p.m., but was fun times. I won't go back until the 21st. On Thursday, we watched "Big" and ate flautas and tortilla chips in our white cinder brick classroom. Then I have a vacation from Wake County Detention Center until the 28th, when a whole new set of students comes in.

May stretches out before me like a long grassy field . . . three glorious weeks of only teaching one class a day and having every single evening free. The afternoons at the office will be spent doing quality lesson-planning (no more hurried, ten-minute affairs), and the evenings full of 5:00 jogs around the park and happy solitude--well, at least until I get lonely. This weekend, though, I'm going on a personal retreat to recover from the past four months of my harried lifestyle. Then it's off to Greensboro for five days one week, Indiana another week to see my family, then lots and lots of time to relax.

Here's the thing about teaching: I love it, but I need a break once in a while. Luckily, that time is now!

Sin Titulo

I've been so busy with work and life that I've almost quit writing my blog entirely. It's not my aim to quit writing, though. I've got a list of blog posts in mind: religion/spirituality, living on my own, job excitement and distress, teaching, traveling, friends. . . but every day leaves me without anything put down. It could be the incessant working 48 hours a week, the lesson planning, the house cleaning . . . oh yeah, and the string of interesting dates, dinner parties, reunions, and chats with friends that keep me pretty busy, too! I don't regret moving here for a second, though! My dad is an hour away, my mom about the same, most of my closest friends are nearby, and I'm coming into my own as a noveau Raleigh-ite. I am, however, vastly bereft of self-reflection time, which I desperately need more of.

I've joined a "Life Story Group" at my church. We are a group of four women who meet about once a month at one of our houses to talk about our lives. One week it's one person's turn, and the rest of us sit quietly (or interject occasionally if something particularly interesting is said) as she starts wherever she feels comfortable and guides us through her life ups and downs until the present. We started in February and just finished number three two weeks ago. This Tuesday it's my turn. I wanted to be super prepared for this Confession/Story-Telling, as I feel that so much has happened in the last 30 years that needs to be told. Unfortunately, because of all of the above, I feel not quite ready. Perhaps chronological order is the only way to tackle it: that way I won't miss anything.

One day my life is going to slow down enough for me to have time to write regularly, reflect more, breathe deeper . . . and that day will come soon! I have a 3-day retreat for myself set aside the first weekend in May. I look forward to relaxing, and then to bring that into my everyday life.

Write soon.

Poems

One class assignment is to write a poem about a time when you were waiting to do something, or a time just before something was about to happen. Here are my favorites (in no particular order):

"I Got Arrested"
November 1, 2012

Once in winter
I ran, I tried to get away
It was cold and windy in that winter night
Everything was dark except for me
Blue and white light of the police cars all over
I tried to hide and get away
Everyone around me was scared and asking me where to go
And following me while the police were running after us
I felt adrenaline going through me
I felt scared, nervous, and mad
I knew that very soon they were going to catch up
And everything was going to be over
And I ended up in a green and white jumpsuit
with a $910,000 bond.
(L.A., 17)

"My Father's Murder"
September 2, 1986

Once in summer
I sat around the table with my brothers and sisters
It was raining
Everything was black for me
I only cried
Everyone around me was crying
I felt confused
I knew that everything would be slow forever
And nothing has closed, because I remember my father forever.
(I.G., 39)

"Divorce"
July 1997

Once in summer
I wanted the time to go fast
But it went slow because it was hot
Everything was good
I was at the club at night
Everyone around me was boring
I felt happy
I knew that very soon I would be coming to my freedom
But I would lose my daughter.
(L.G., 37)

"Wedding"
Summer 2010

Once in the summer
I was sitting on the table drinking some tequila
It was sunny and hot
Everything was blue, gray, and white
I got up and staggered over to my friends
Everyone around me was happy and having a good time
I felt excited and happy
I knew that very soon I would have to drive home
And I knew I couldn't cuz I was drunk.
(D.G., 21)

"Christmas"
December 24, 2011

Once in winter
I stood in the middle of my living room waiting to open my present
It was cold
Everything was red, white, and green
I was talking to my cousins
Everyone around me was smiling and clapping
I felt very excited
I knew that very soon I would be spending it
And another party would start.
(J.R., 18)

"First Day of School"
August 25, 2012

Once in summer
I stood outside waiting for the school bus
It was a nice warm morning
Everything was green and tropical
I was talking to my brother
Everyone around me was murmuring and staring at me
I felt strange and scorned at the same time
I knew soon it would be over
And the day would end nicely.
(L.D., with points for using two vocabulary words, "scorn" and "murmur")

"First Day of School"
January 7, 2013

Once in winter
I took a shower and I got ready
It was kind of cold
Everything was orange and white and gray
I was looking around
Everyone around me was sleeping and snoring
I felt excited
I knew that very soon I was about to meet other people
And get out of the dorm.
(P.P., 30)

I'll Be In Jail If You Need Me

You remember that one of my ESL classes takes place in the county jail. I started teaching a group of adults there in September 2012--all Hispanic men from various Spanish-speaking countries, who had been in the U.S. for anywhere from 5 to 20 years. The youngest one was 27 or 28 and the oldest well into his 50s. Except for the occasional wisecrack, class went smoothly and for the most part, was really fun.

This semester they've added juveniles to my class load, plus more adults, so I have 14 guys over 25 plus 6 kids between the ages of 17 and 21. Some of these kids have been in the U.S. since they were just babies, so the U.S. is all they know. Some of them speak English better than Spanish, and I think most (if not all) are/were some kind of gang members. They're full of tattoos, piercings (using plastic pieces of a broken comb as jewelry now that they can't get to whatever they had before coming to jail), and huge personalities. I'm not afraid of any of them; they're basically all good kids, it's just that they act like the teenagers they are.

And they make teaching really difficult for me. I'm not good at classroom management: that's one of the reasons why I went into adult education instead of working at a public K-12 school. I want to teach students who want to learn. I know the guys who are in my class do want to learn, but they want to play, too. I feel like I need to have a tighter rein on disruptive behavior. Which isn't even anything I want to deal with!

Also, since they've come in, I feel the double weight of teaching English plus shaping futures. I feel like I'm teaching half a regular adult ESL class, and half 9th grade remedial English. The kids can speak English fine, but their writing is atrocious. I know I'm not a social worker anymore, but I want to do something to change these kids' futures while there's still time. But what can I do besides re-read Literacy With An Attitude and think about Paulo Freire? I never took any special education classes, or how to teach English literature classes. All I know is ESL . . .

One of my younger guys told me today that he's needed glasses for a while. "I always sat in the back at school," he said. "But I couldn't see anything, and the teacher, she never moved me, so I just quit coming after a while." I wonder if he would have still ended up in the Wake County Detention Center if he would have gotten glasses in middle school? That might be too much to ask, but just wondering . . .

What a change in students I've had over the past six months! The switch from co-teaching at a Japanese junior high school to being in charge of a program that serves immigrants and refugees from all over the world has been a big one. Even the mistakes they're making in English are worlds apart, worthy of a separate post.

In the meantime, give me some strategies for working with a multi-leveled, multi-aged class of kids and adults who have been in and out of the correctional system, but who are still trying to dream big. How can I help them without going crazy in the meantime?