Some things are universal. This week at Nuestro Futuro, kids got report cards and waited with anxious faces to see who did well, who did not. Juan Antonio did not get straight "cien por cientos"(100%), but all things considered, did very well, and Susana, our dyslexic goddaughter, did really great in math and okay in everything that was language-dependent. I am proud, just plain proud of them and all the others who continue to apply an incredible amount of energy into the process of getting an education.

Another grade school universal this week at Nuestro Futuro: the first grade boys chased the first grade girls all around during recess, and to escape their tormentors, the girls fled into the girls' bathroom. The boys of course followed them in and were promptly ordered out by a mindful teacher. Here's where things change up a bit. The girls slammed the door shut; the lock slid into place and refused to budge in the small hands of the the five captives. Screaming and crying and general panic ensued. A key was produced, but did not open the door. More screaming, more crying, more panic. Silvia, whose vocation is social worker and whose avocation is saint, finally climbed up a ladder and waved her hand through the ventilation holes at the top of the wall. There she remained for about two hours talking to the girls, getting them to sing and count and even laugh, while Estuardo, young hottie who also is up for sainthood, drilled several holes in the heavy metal door in order to get the damn thing open. Finalmente, exito (success)!

I am tired, tired, tired. Today was my last day at Nuestro Futuro and it has been a long five weeks of grimy kids and all kinds of things that I don't understand. I don't understand why toilet paper sits on the teachers' desks and must be asked for. I don't understand why dogs sometimes wander in and then out of the of classrooms. I don't understand how a kid can slide across several feet of concrete and stand up laughing. I don't understand how a kid can be so skinny and still manage to come to school every damn day, homework completed. I don't understand why there are rules that say I can't give my left over jar of Skippy to that same skinny kid. I don't understand why someone would send a box of books, all in English and all old-school canon (Billy Budd, for Christ's sake), to a primary school in a country where the people struggle to attain literacy in their own language. I don't understand why one teacher sells candy to her students from her desk. And I don't understand why it is almost time to go home.

Okay, so I understand a lot of those things, but some will forever be a mystery. I am not a Guatemaleteca and never will be able to unravel the tiny threads that weave together in order to create this country. But who would want to, anyway?

I have said good bye to a lot of people--kids, teachers, my instructor here a Centro Linguistico (did I mention that I again studied with Elsa, the grammar dominatrix?!? She rocks--not that she understands that particular vernacular:)). One week left and I am going to travel a bit--to Xela (finally!) and yes, Once More to the Lake. but right now I am going to sit around and cry a little bit because I already miss those snotty kids.