Something Happened Last Week

Something happened last week. It was so small that my emotional reaction masked the importance rather than affirmed it. You might have noticed by now that I have made very few references to ISA. Also, you should have noted that there have been no images of the students. There is an excellent reason for that: it’s not permitted. (Hey, like every other A-type out there, I’m a rule-follower; and…doing so potentially puts my kids in harm’s way. Who knows the length someone might go to learn the identities and likenesses of the children of wealthy parents?) Sooo, you won’t see them here. But I am going to tell you about one of them: I call her “AB.”

Let me back up first. Before the winter holiday, my students were directed to research the migrations of family members. In other words, they were asked to find out how their family members wound up wherever they currently are. The results of their inquiries were as interesting as they were different. The stories included Nazi persecution, Russian internment camps, and leaving Vietnam when the American War boiled over. I am not sure that all my students appreciated the depth of the results revealed by fairly simple questions. AB did. Not satisfied to ask cursory questions and jot down substandard responses, she made a DVD.

Oh, let me tell you one more thing: on my sixth day on the job, the director, Ed Greene offered me the position as a fifth grade teacher permanently. Hey, it’s an ego-stroke; right? I get to live in one of the most famous cities in the world; the one with, um, stuff a guy can’t legally find in little ole Wake Forest. I thought about it. I even discussed the idea with the better half.

I worked my way through a pile of 18 migration stories, some of which were as tragic as they were interesting. At some point I got to AB’s DVD. I popped it in. Except for a clever use of graphics, AB’s movie was fairly straightforward—she sat with her grandparents as they answered her questions. It is so good; I eventually showed it to my class.

The appeal for me was not in the answers; it was AB herself. As I watched, I saw an 11-year old listening to her grandparents—really listening. She asked the questions and sat patiently, listening to her grandparents telling the stories of their lives.

I think what did it was the look on her face. It was a look that I recognized. It was a look I know well. It was a look every grandparent knows. I declined Ed’s offer.