One Week

At the beginning of each day at the top of our lungs we yell, "Buenos días, Cholula!" to the church on top of the piramide, to the horses in the fields in front of us, to the buses running every ten minutes, and to the volcano, Popocatepetl.
To be honest, he yells. I only whisper. It's still a little strange to wake up each morning and look out my window to such a beautiful sight. I'm not comfortable enough yet to yell, to greet Cholula like an old friend. To me, Cholula seems almost sacred.
I'll get there though.
After one week I no longer pretend no one is home when the señora knocks on the door before she enters to clean; she isn't a religious man in a suit. She's just doing her job.
After one week I'm making eye contact with everyone I pass on the street. I'm not flinching when the low-lifes honk me off guard, and as to their cat calls... after one week, I'm not embarrassed. I feel sad for these guys. They're so lonely. I ignore them.
I'm already a pro at taking the bus to work, too; I have my six pesos in hand even before I can make out the word "LOMA" on the windshield.
I'm not quite sure what or where LOMA is yet, but maybe that is something I will learn in week two.

Today it is cloudy, but at the very top you can see Popo's white smoke.

I'm So Fast

Silver Lee comes to read with me at 10:00. At 10:00, his class takes a trip to the bathroom. Since first graders are very routine-oriented, Silver Lee, and the rest of his class, feel the urge to use the bathroom at this time. Needless to say when he's with me, Silver Lee always has to pee.
At first I let him go whenever he asked. It's hard to determine whether a kid really needs to go or if he's just yanking your chain. But then he started taking ridiculously long amounts of time in the bathroom, and I knew he was playing me. I even had to ask a staff member to enter the boy's bathroom and check on him before I wised up.
"I hafta go tooda bafroom."
"Alright. But I'm timing you."
"You timin' me?"
"Yes."
"Aw yeah! So cool!"
So I timed him. It worked. He was in, then out, in a matter of seconds. From then on, whenever I could hear him washing his hands I would start to count, "95... 96..."
The sound of paper towel sheets being quickly yanked out of their holder. "97... 98..."
The sound of little footsteps on linoleum, tearing around the corner. "99..."
"Oh! Oh man! I'm so fast! I'M SO FAST!"

And he was fast. Just don't ask me how long it took him to remember to wash with soap.

I Love You Too

Marcel is in kindergarten. Marcel is always in trouble. He is giggling when he should be listening and pushing when he should be standing still and yelling when he should be talking.
When he is with me, however, we are good learners.
We are smart. We have fun. We challenge each other.
It's this one-on-one time that brings out the very best in kids like Marcel.
We use context clues to guess the ending of stories. We memorize books after just two days.
We aren't worrying about the problems at home.
We are present and excited to learn. Most of the time.
Marcel recognizes all of his letter sounds when each one is presented alone, but when they're all out of order on once piece of paper, he gets confused. I test him with papers like these for one minute each week. He needs to tell me 40 correct letter sounds in one minute. After four months, his highest score is only 23. His classmates pass him by, leave my services. He wants to know why. I say, "They graduated, just like you will!" I say, "I don't want you to go yet!" I really don't know what to say. We practice.

Then, one day, Marcel sounds out 54 letter sounds in one minute. It's nearly one letter sound per second! I can't believe it! In the middle of the library I pick him up and give him a huge hug! I say, "You passed, buddy! You passed!" He wraps his arms and legs around me, monkey style, and will not let go. I wonder if he's ever been hugged like this before. I'm thinking, probably not.
With our faces at the same level, he looks me right in the eyes. "I love you!" he smiles.
"I love you too," I say, my throat feeling thick.
After dropping him off at his classroom, I see my supervisor and a fellow Minnesota Reading Corps member in the hallway. I run up to them and say, "Marcel passed!" Then I burst into tears of utter and total joy.
They roll their eyes at me, that Kai Lee. She's so crazy!

Lindsay Yang

Round, round face with big cheeks and bangs. This was my first impression of Lindsay Yang. It wasn’t until later I got to know her lopsided grin with the wide gaps between her teeth. Or her long, dark hair that swings back and forth in an exaggerated motion because she’s a little pigeon-toed and walks with a slight waddle. Or her obsession with stickers.

It wasn’t until later that I got to see her smile because Lindsay was a pretty surly first grader for the first two months we read together. As a reading tutor, I find it to be fairly common that students aren’t too keen on reading with you, in the beginning at least, but most of them don’t mind getting out of class. Lindsay wouldn’t even allow me that. She never spoke to me as we walked from her classroom to my work space each morning. She sighed deep, painful sighs if I asked her to repeat a sentence and would sometimes shut down completely, refusing to participate at all. We were both very frustrated with one another, but I continued to smile at her anyway. One day right before Thanksgiving break, however, I lost it.

I told her that she would not be receiving a sticker that day.

You might be thinking, what?! No sticker?? You monster! She’s just a little girl! She doesn’t know any better! Please, oh please, punish her in any other way you can think of, but do not deny her a sticker!!

Well, I did. I denied her a sticker.

The following day was just as bad, if not worse. She was reeeally upset about the sticker incident from the day before. So, I did what I had to do.

I refused her a sticker again.

On the morning of day three, I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t planned out my next move. I picked up Lindsay from her classroom. She said, “Hi, Miss Kai Lee,” in a sad little voice, but she said hello! I was floored.

“Good morning, Lindsay,” I said. “Are you going to read with me today?”

“I think so,” she replied, and she did. From then on she was no longer sullen. She even lost her unhealthy attachment to stickers.

I know this because one morning when I was standing outside her classroom, waiting for her, I saw a fellow Minnesota Reading Corps tutor with a huge sticker on her shirt. “Where did you get that?!” I asked. “I want one!”

“Oh, Miss Kai Lee,” Lindsay scolded, “you don’t need that sticker! Today is a beautiful day!”

She continued to read with me, talk with me, and even laugh with me up until the end of the school year when she graduated from my Minnesota Reading Corps services.

I will be sure to send her a packet of stickers when she graduates with a degree in English Literature from the University of Minnesota in 15 years so she can use them, or refuse them, with her future students.