They work. Some have figured out how to balance love and work. Some struggle every day, wracking their brain, asking themselves how will they earn a living? Become a barista and save enough to open their own cafe? Teach Spanish? They could run a Spanish Immersion class in which everything is said in Spanish from day one. Sooner or later, students catch on. They can label everything in the classroom. Mesa labeled on a table, libro on a book, cahier on a notebook. Have the students label objects in their home. La ventana for window, silla for chair, la puerta for door. Hey, they could do worse.
For 5th period, Vince tutored students in Mister Sicily’s English Language Development class. Today’s assignment was toi look up a painting, sculpture, or architectural construction, research the artist and the materials used, create a slideshow, and present it to their classmates.
As usual, Maria, Vince’s student was absent. Very thin, with pale white skin and dark brown hair, she struck him as frail yet strong. Through a translation app, she’d told him she was from Ukraine where soldiers with guns and grenades had appeared one day in her neighborhood, shooting down a neighbor in her apartment complex who was out riding his bike to the grocery store. Every night she had violent nightmares, woke up screaming, and couldn’t get back to sleep. In the morning, she was so sleep-starved that she had to stay home and sleep.
Vince wondered what he would do if soldiers occupied his neighborhood, Glen Park, and his family was out of food. He made a mental note to stock up on canned goods and corn chips when his mother and he went shopping at the food bank on Saturday morning. For every hour they worked, sorting and bagging, they earned two cardboard cartons of groceries.
Mister Sicily, the teacher, looked up from his desk. “Students! Estudiantes! Please keep your voices down.”
The students who’d been talking went quiet for a minute. “Your classmates are trying to work on their projects.”
They had listened courteously. Now their chatter started again, louder than before. “Las Muralistas!” “Frieda Kahlo!” “George Washington!” ” Coliseum–El Coliseo–Los Cristianos estaban en el menu para los leones!”
“Mira! La Estatua de la Libertad!” “La Estatua de Simone Bolivar! It was as if they must let the world know that that they spoke their home language fluently, flawlessly, fearlessly.
Some students were on their phones, pretending to do research. Mister Sicily walked around, looking at their screens. “Look,” he said. “Mira! I’m here to help point you in the right direction, but you have permission to do art research, not play games.”
“Oh,” they looked at each, surprised, and nodded their heads. No games.
In the last ten minutes of class, in walked Miguel. “Teacher, be sure to mark me present.”