No more swimming lessons, for now. 14, November 2009

I think that my time with my girls has come to an end.

I was obligated to make a move, and this move has cut off my communication with them.

No more Nutcracker, no more restaurants, no more library, no more swim lessons, no more summer camp.

It makes me sad, when I see this little girl at school.  She barely says anything to me anymore.  She doesn’t stop by my room.  She doesn’t hug me in the morning.  I put little notes in her locker, but she doesn’t acknowledge them.

The move I was obligated to make  resulted in me being cut-off from them.  With no replacement.  I had to do what I did, but nobody will take over my role. These girls are on their own, now more than ever.

You would think that the social systems involved are there to benefit the children.

In this case, I think the opposite has happened.

Bleeding heart 17, October 2009

I have a bleeding heart.  And I don’t know what to do about it.

On Thursday at school,  a teacher gave me one of her students for a time out.  This little girl took her ‘time out’ in my room.  After that, I sat her on my lap (she is a really little 6 year-old) and began to talk with her about what was going on in her classroom.  Slowly, this little girl elongated her body, until her head was in the crook of my arm.  Then, she began sucking her thumb.

I almost lost it.  This little girl is most likely having a rough time in school because she is missing some lovin.  We sat like that for 20 minutes (there was a different teacher in my room…I wasn’t neglecting the others).  But now, I want to see this little one.  Maybe she can eat lunch with me, maybe she can spend her recess time with me…?

The problem is, I feel like this often.  With many of the inequalities I see, in many of the people who are effected by them.  If you’ve read my previous posts, I am already taking one of my ‘boys’ shopping and to job interviews, etc., so that he may get out of his homeless shelter.  I am already taking a previous student and her sister to swim lessons and the library and out to dinner every week.   I don’t have enough time or money to keep doing this with every (very) sad case I see. 

But think this is an unexplicable symptom of my bleeding heart.  And I can’t seem to stop it.

Pencil sharpeners. How devestating. 30, September 2009

Today was a rough day at school.  Rougher than usual.  My kids were agitated.  Oh la la.

One girl completely freaked out when she dropped her pencil sharpener on the ground and it broke.  It got so bad that I had to call her mom.  She almost pulled the phone out of the wall…so that I wouldn’t be able to call her mom.  She hung up the phone a few times, before I got through.  As I reached her mom, this charming little thing was screaming “shut up!” aloud to the class.

I usually feel like I have control of my class.  But not today.  Today, near the end of the day, you may say there was a mini reveloution.  The many seemed to take control of the one.  The one being me.

Thankfully, there are not many days that feel this bad throughout the school year.   But there are a few…this is probably the third so far.  I hope that doesn’t mean there are 24 more days like today, in store for me this year.

Even sadder… 22, September 2009

I did it.

I lost it, today.

I took my boy, the homeless one mentioned in the previous post, shopping.  At the GoodWill.  He wanted 11 pairs of pants.

What??? Isn’t that a little too much, for a homeless guy?

Life has told him no so many times, that I couldn’t bring myself to tell him no again.  They were just pants.

Then we went to another store, so he could get other necessities.  I mean…this boy was starting from zero.  The clothes on his back.  I bought him socks and toothbrushes, soap and t-shirts (btw, he wanted T-shirts that said “I love my country”. I’m not telling him no…I’m not telling him no…I’m not telling him no…).

Then we bought bus passes.  This one has no way to get around, besides his own two feet.  Try finiding a job within walking distance of the inner city of Milwaukee,

Back to my original point.  I lost it, when I was driving him to where he was sleeping tonight.  I could feel the tears coming on, but I told myself “hold it together Andrea, not that much further.  Pull yourself together”.

But I couldn’t.

I cried.  I asked him why I was born where I was, and he was born where he was.  I told him how unfair life was.

As if he didn’t  already know that.

Dropping him off where he was staying tonight, I told him I would wait until he got inside.  I don’t think he understood me.  I dunno if anyone has ever done that before.

I wish I could have waited for him a bit longer.  Maybe until tomorrow morning, to make sure he got going all right.  Maybe until tomorrow night, to make sure he got back.

To make sure that he doesn’t get lost.

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Sad… 16, September 2009

I know that some of you know I am currently taking 2 of my former students to swim lessons.

What you might not have known is that a friend and I used to do the same thing for a family of 5 we knew, when she and I were in high school.  There were 4 boys and 1 girl.  They lived in the “projects” in Milwaukee.  We would go to their house, pick them up,  bring them to her parent’s house or my parent’s house, and we’d bake cookies, make pizza, watch movies, and have a sleepover.  We did this for about 4 years.

A few years ago, I had a frantic call from their mom.  The oldest one was in jail.  He was carrying a gun (without a license, or whatever it is you need in Wisconsin to carry a gun).  My mom posted bail for him, but he went to jail for 6 months after that.  I can’t say that I blame anyone…we all want to feel safe and don’t want people running around with guns.  I completely agree.  I’m sad that his life got to the point where he felt he needed to carry a gun.

I had another call today.  A different brother now lives in a homeless shelter.  All of his things were thrown out a few days ago, and he needs some new clothes.  I’ll be taking him to the Good Will next week.

What I am really, really sad about is that their lives have turned out this way.  My friend and I thought that what we were doing would make a difference.  That these kids would see how different their lives could be compared to the cards they were dealt at birth.  That  they would be able to get out of the crummy situations life gave them.   But now…now I’m not so sure.

(1 of the 5 seems to have figured things out a bit.  He graduated from high school, and is going to college.  He has a Facebook account, and therefore might be reading this.  !!)

I called my friend tonight.  The one who looked after these kids with me, while we were in high school.  She told me  “Andrea, imagine how much worse their lives could have been.  We probably did make a difference.  They could have ….” and she proceeded to tell me all of the even worse things that could have happened to them in their lives.

What I’m saying though…what I”m wondering…is how much of a difference am I really going to make in the lives of these 2 girls I am now looking after?  They come from as crummy a situation as the other family.  I love these girls, as I love the other kids.

I wonder, though, how far can love take a person?

4 year olds and the police 2, September 2009

I have a sad story.

I often take 1 of my former students and her older sister out…to swimming lessons, dinner, camp, etc.

I went to pick them up today, for a celebratory 1st day of school dinner.

I always hug and envelope  their little brothers while I am at their house.  The baby is adorable, and has chipmunk cheeks that beg to be kissed.

The 4 year-old I am just starting to know.  He is a little, scrawny kid who doesn’t always wear shoelaces in his shoes.  Today I asked him if I could give him a little peck on the cheek.  He shied away from me.  I asked what was wrong.

His sisters told me that he was brought home by the police today.  Apparently, he was beating up his K4 teacher.

I can’t even begin to  imagine all that this little bitty tiny man has seen in his giant 4 years.  Which makes me wonder…how much will he see of the coming 95?

Fresh young love 30, August 2009

I know that some of you who read this blog aren’t going to like this post (we both know who you are!).

But I wanted to post a picture of my new love.

This is my new baby nephew.  He’s not mine, but I love him like he was.

Sometimes I wonder why we do love ‘forever’.  How can people get along forever?  Sometimes more than an hour is too much for me.

Maybe we try to make forever work, or as close to forever as we can get, so that we can make new love.  Like this one.

I’m–in–love.  :>)

Health care 24, July 2009

I have some conservative friends (gasp!) (just kidding…!)

And, for some reason, we have been getting into the health care debate.  Not with 1 or 2 of them, more like 4 or 5.  And I’m not really one to debate others.

But this is an important matter.

The discussion often seems to start with me  saying  something like “Universal health care is a good idea because people who work part-time, and those who have lost their jobs, as well as their families, can still go and see a doctor”.

They often reply with “I understand why some people need health care.  But not ALL people.  What about all of those lazy bones who don’t work?  Who aren’t even looking for a job? Why should I have to pay for them to go to the doctor?  I work hard.  So should everyone else”.

Then, I usually say something like “Yah.  I see your point. I guess we’ll just agree to disagree”.

But after thinking about it (which is why I’m no good at debating…it takes me a while to come up with what I want to say…),  I have  a more logical reply.

“When we drive down the road, does someone stop and ask you where you work before you’re allowed to use the road?  When you are in danger and need the police, before coming to your house, do they make sure you have a job?  When you send your kids to school, is there someone at the door making sure you are on your way to work after dropping your kids off?”

No!  There are many things in the U.S., that we pay taxes for, and then we get to use.  Without question.  Why should health care be any different?

If we take streets and police and schools as something that comes with living in the U.S., why can’t we put health care in the same category?

Rome-Paris…I may have found my airplane cure 11, July 2009

I have been scared of flying for a while. Not a little scared…a lot scared. If I travel with Fabio, I grab his arm whenever there is a little wind. If I am alone, I grab the arm of the stranger sitting next to me.
Fabio has suggested 2 different rounds of psychiatric drugs for me to take on the airplane…neither of which has had much effect.
Today, on the flight from Rome to Paris, I had a glass of wine.
I felt fantastic! I could almost have a normal conversation with Fabio, and I noly touched him lightly when there was wind. He did not leave the plane with a blue arm.
I am not sure what to do for tomorrow’s flight from Paris to Chicago. I can’t be drunk for 9 hours. Also…the plane takes off in the morning. Can I do wine for breakfast?
I’m going to try the drugs once more.
I will be happiest tomrrow afternoon, when I have 2 feet on solid ground in Chicago.
Maybe I’ll have a drink upon landing.

We’re late, we’re late, for a very important date! 9, July 2009

We are always late when we are going places here in Italy.

We are late for reservations we make.  Sometimes by 15 minutes, sometimes by an hour.

We were an hour late for my appointment to choose a dress.  The store called to say that if we weren’t there in 20 minutes, we would have to come a different day.  They had another client.  Fabio got upset by this!  He thought they shouldn’t have taken another client, because that wouldn’t give us enough time.  However, I pointed out, if we had arrived on time, we woud have had more than an hour to try dresses.

Last night, we had a restaurant reservation for 8:00.  We left the house at 8:10, and arrived at the restaurant aroud 8:30.  The couple who owned the pizzeria was happy to see us, and they seemed they could have cared less that we were running late.

I am under the impression that the MOA in Italy is to be late.  Maybe the hour we were late for the dress store was too much. But it is telling that they only called when we were actually an hour late, not 15 minutes late or a half hour late.

Last time I was here, we were late for our plane. The plane from Rome to Chicago.  Take off was at 9:00 a.m.  We left the house at 6:30 a.m. Without traffic, Fabio’s house is 45 minutes from Rome’s airport.  But if you thought traffic in Chicago was bad, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.  On this particular day, it only took us one and a half hours to get to the airport. That means that we arrived at the airport at 8:00.  For a 9:00 international flight.  The counter was empty. They told us we had to run for the plane.  We ran to security…where we had to wait in line for 20 minutes.  Then, I had to do a passport control, which took another 20 minutes.  When we left this 2nd line, after getting from place to place to pace, it was 9:00.  And we weren’t at the gate, not to mention on the plane with our seat belts fastened.  We ran by some pilots who said to each other °wow.  they must be late°. Right.  We arrived at the gate, and they shuffled us to  bus, which would drive us out to our plane.  We got onto the plane, a full half hour late.  I walked to my seat covering my face (I HATE being late), and sat down  The plane proceeded to take off, and we made it to Chicago on-time.  We were lucky they waited for us.

Right now, we are waiting for Fabio’s mom’s friend to come over and cut our hair. She was supposed to be here 20 minutes ago.

She’s here!  No discussion about being late.  I guess that 20 minutes late by our standards is considered on-time by Italian stadards.