Schooled.

I'm really, terribly grateful for my job. It suits me so well and I honestly don't think there's another position out there that combines the elements of international work, Spanish, focus on reconciliation, theological education, church interaction, spiritual formation, and being with college students. To leave would be to acknowledge I am giving up something rare.

I know to be daily grateful for my work because I used to cry or feel the dreaded knot in my stomach or both every morning pulling into the parking lots of International Christian School, Wilson Middle School, and Sojourner Truth Charter. In my former life, I was an elementary school teacher. Besides feeling too confined in the role, I believe I was also cursed with crappy leaders. The administrators over me lorded their power, moved about the campus with robotic, cold affect, and some were downright corrupt. The third school was actually shut down because the principal and VP ran off with millions of charter school money. Gross. I couldn't imagine starting over at another school, so my inclination to leave the profession solidified into my resignation.

When I reflect on my days in the classroom from my happy stance today, I thankfully recall the funniest, sweetest, more rewarding moments. So, mostly for my own enjoyment and hopefully yours too, a few memories...

* At the start of our poetry unit, my 5th graders had to create a couplet. Simple enough. I walked around the classroom reminding them to really try on this one. Just two rhyming lines wouldn't be good enough. It needed to communicate a point. This was an assignment they could tackle fairly easily, so the room worked in silence. Out loud, asking for all the class' input, Paris called out, "What rhymes with playa'?" Oh no... a couplet with Playa as the central character. Without two seconds' hesitation or removing her eyes from her paper, BreShaun remarked, "Hatah".

* Lorenzo was a small, shy Native American boy - the only non-African American in the class. He mostly only spoke about video games and had the most over-bearing, helicopter mom I'd experienced in my 3 years of teaching. Rough combo in 5th grade. Grading papers after school one day, I noticed he signed his name at the top of the paper as "Blazaken". Hmmm. I kept him behind at recess the next morning to inquire about the name change. "Lorenzo, What's up with this?" "Miss Tucker, I'd just really like to go by Blazaken from now on." Uh-oh. Social suicide. I couldn't participate in this. "Ok. You know and I know that you are Blazaken, but I think if the rest of the class finds out you have this special identity, they might be jealous. How about we keep this one just between you and me?" "Soooo, you won't call my Blazaken in front of the class, but I can turn in papers like that?" "Sure." I learned later that Blazaken was a Pokemon character. Of course. The best part of this story is how Rosco calls out "Buh-laaaaa-zaaaa-keehhhn!!!!" in this sort of creepy, booming wizard kind of voice.

* My best language teachers were my 6th graders in Costa Rica. I taught them in English, but if I ever had to use Spanish, they were mercilessly particular. I think they relished having this knowledge power over me. To practice subject-verb agreement one day, I wrote a paragraph about a dog. A simple little dumb paragraph. The first dog that came to mind was my grandparents' dog, Penny. So, I wrote the story about Pene. Midway through the assignment, kids were literally falling out of their chairs and giggling annoyingly. Subject-verb agreement is NOT this fun. What??? Turns out, "pene" in Spanish is "penis".

* Teaching sex ed to my 6th graders could be a whole post on its own. I'll share just one story. I thoroughly loved teaching sex ed. The kids gave full attention, which was lovely, and I knew I was doing them a service. I was delivering appropriate info in a confident way, and they were invited to respond with similar maturity. Remember the secret/not-so-secret question box? This was my favorite part of the whole experience because it kept me on my toes. Now, in 6th grade sex ed, you teach about anatomy, puberty, STDs and HIV/AIDS. Notice there is no education on actual sex in there. That comes in 8th grade. When kids ask about sex-sex, you have to avert the mechanical how of it all, though you can loosely refer to it. Tricky. I explained this, but still got the question: "When Snoop Dogg sings about doggie style, what is that?" Ummm, "Who has a dog in here?" Lots of hands. "Have you ever seen two dogs be connected in a strange way?" More hands. "People do that too." I didn't get fired, so I take it that was acceptable.

The great lesson of going on blind dates is - even if the date fails miserably, you'll at least have a story. It makes the whole thing less of a big thing. You laugh, recall the event better than it awkwardly was, and move on with a little more info about yourself and life to work with. I guess my outlook on life is similar. Look for the stories. You never know when Blazaken might strike.

ps: I've got it! My next post will be my best/worst blind date story so far...

Theology Lessons with Abuelita

I'm really tired and since tomorrow is Monday, I should be asleep by now. Instead, I'm going to write a post because a) I've been sitting here at this table writing all day, so it feels comfortable to keep doing so and b) it's been FAR too long since I last posted. (I'm already sucking at blogging - and it's only my second one.)

Just Friday, my Grandma Shirley passed away. In honor of her memory, I'll tell one of my very favorites...

So. In 2009, YouthWorks/SALT visited 3 churches waaaaaaaaay down the Baja peninsula. I feel like I've got enough travel experience at this point in my life to make some serious comparisons. Proof that his trip was, by far, the gnarliest one I've been on: we rode on a bus for 36 hours without stopping to sleep, we watched High School Musical one too many times on that bus ride, it was around 120 degrees every single day, we waited on average 7 hours between lunch and dinner every day, we changed camp location 3 times, the most showers we ever had for 120 people was 3, I killed flying cockroaches with fake stoicism, my bus driver hated me. Don't equate "gnarly" with "bad". It was seriously amazing. Just some really, really rough conditions.

At the first church we were at, some of the guys worked on replacing the toilet. This was the only toilet on site. You'd think this would be a big issue for 120 people, but since we were sweating out every drop we drank, we hardly peed. I stand by my claim that I didn't pee for a full two days.

Eventually, somebody admitted they needed to pee and about 15 others immediately rushed to tell me the same. A sweet little grandma offered to take them to her house. Perfect solution! Off they went. An hour later, my co-coordinator's wife asked me where her kids where. That's when it hit me that I had not thought about that group once since they left and, come to think of it, I hadn't seen any of them in a while. Good job, Camp Director. Oops. So, Lupita and I walked the streets, calling out for our students, both trying not to let our nerves win out.

We found the group just a couple blocks away. They exited Abuelita's house laughing and they blamed their delay on Rufio's extended time in the bathroom. I was happy to see them, though I truly was confident they were just fine in her care, and we rolled on to the rest of the week.

The last night of camp is always a highlight of my year. This particular camp we installed the talent show (now a regular fixture of camp life) and afterward I started the tearful process of trying to thank everyone. As I finished up, Bethany ran up to me with something in her hands covered by a sheet. She said some absolutely beautiful words to thank me and then unveiled the object she held. It was this seriously COOL map of the Baja peninsula. Let me describe: thick black frame surrounding the Baja map made of abilone (native to the Baja shores), script-fonty-cool lettering of the major cities, abilone representations of certain cities' symbols, an abilone whale out in the water, and a clock up in the right hand corner. It is quite a piece.

Bethany then recounted how she came to own the picture. Back at Abuelita's house, she admired the Baja map and used Spanish to compliment it. Right then, Abuelita removed it from the wall and told Bethany to take it. She said she couldn't. This went back and forth until Abuelita said, "Can I tell you what it is to be Christian? If you have something and somebody else wants or needs it more than you, you should give it to them. That's it. I have this picture, but you clearly want it more than I do. So now, it's yours."

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! So good. As if that weren't enough, on the walk back to the church, one of the teens (who, I should add, we let come on the trip even though he was recently released from Juvi) turned to Bethany and said, "I've been trying to think all week how to say thank you to Melissa. You know who would love that map even more than you?"

At least once a week, someone asks about it. My response is, "Have time for a quick story?"