I went to the most boring seminar on Monday. I had to drive an hour to get there, and it was so exhausting to sit there from 9 until 4. I don't understand why sitting and listening would make you feel so very tired. After the 2pm break, one third of the crowd had not returned.
The reason I went at all was the topic of autism inclusion. That is what I had wanted to learn something about.
At the lunch break, I decided I would try the cafe everyone had been talking about, the one across two parking lots out there, somewhere. As I walked outside at noon, I felt the raindrops and walked back inside. I was stuck with the little cafeteria inside the cavernous Shultz Center.
The food would be awful, I knew. I had eaten there once. I stood in the slow moving line, and just wanted to be back at work. That's when I saw her, the ESOL teacher I had seen on certain days at our school. She smiled at me, and waved me toward a table, inviting me to join her.
I really didn't feel like it. I was tired, and really looked forward to just sitting alone today. The line was not moving, and I nearly gave up and went to the snack machine to forage for something. But, that would be rude.
I finally got my salad, and made my way to the booth where she sat alone.
That hour was the most moving of the entire day.
I learned that she was from Bolivia, had moved here with her husband, a politician, and their seven year old son. They had to leave Bolivia after her husband stood up for what he believed. They soon learned the opposing party was planning to kidnap their son. They had already lost a son when he was only a year old, from an immune deficiency disease. How do you survive something like that?
She told me.
Then, she said, they left for America.
Her husband is the author of a book about America. He is grateful to this country, and wants other immigrants to appreciate all the opportunities here. As we talked, we discovered we had much in common. She, too, had gone back to school in mid-life. She had owned her own business.
But she had led a very different kind of life in many respects. From a wealthy family, she had been a model, and had gone into business at just 18. We connected, and her story was simply fascinating. This seemed to be my reason for coming, and I had nearly passed it by.
By Friday, I would be called into the principal's office for some very bad news.
There will be no job for me next year.
This hit me so unexpectedly that, on the outside, it probably looked like I had no reaction at all. It was sinking in, and slowly. I would not be back next year.
What was I going to do? This could not be happening, I kept thinking. I had finally been feeling secure and safe, confident, unlike last year. There had not been those warning signs in the paper every day, that had tormented me on a daily basis last year. Suddenly, he was looking at me and writing down on a legal pad all the reasons that this had happened. The budget had no room for me. The main ESE teacher was being cut two days a week. How could this be happening?
Politics are in everything, even schools.
I hardly got an hour of sleep last night. So many things run through your mind at times like these...
Again, friends saved me. Suddenly, there was Andy, Deb, and Ryan... walking up my staircase. They had brought their puppy to cheer me up, and for a brief moment, I felt like things would be alright. There are so many worse things that happen to people every day. "You have to compare," as that little boy said in that old movie, what was it's name?
Sean called in the morning, and forced me out. "Let's go to breakfast, my treat," he said. We went to the dog park. I collapsed on the bench. I feel so very tired. But, I have great friends.
You have to compare. I don't know how or where this next chapter of my climb up the molehill will end. All I know is I feel worn down.
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