This is Marcela. And this post is a little a bit about her.
Two years ago, when I first came to Nuestro Futuro and volunteered in the first grade classroom, there she was, a tiny thing, almost cowering at her desk. Dressed in jeans and a bright red, 101 Dalmatians sweater, she rarely looked up, and when she did, it wasn't really up, but with a slight lift of her chin and a sideways stare.
That year, the instruction included a lot of one on one; after Seno Liseth (then the teacher) gave instructions, the kids would work out their assignments and come up to the desk one at a time for either Liseth or me to review and correct their work. Some kids always got cien por ciento (100%), others not very often. Most of the second group accepted with fairly decent grace the added work of fixing what they had done wrong. Marcela, member of group two, would walk timidly to the desk, her face lifted in nervous and hopeful anticipation, and would drop her head to her chest with what looked like almost a scowl of resentment when her work wasn't so good.
"Man, that girl does not like me," I thought. It seemed that, no matter how encouraging I tried to be, she did not like being told that she had errors. And the way she looked at me from the corner of her eye made me take the whole thing a bit personally. But what do I know?
After a week or so (and after I began to get a feel for the personalities and dynamics in the classroom), I noticed that Marcela was a bit of a target. It was a kind of a Darwinian, survival of the fittest sort of thing. The kid just didn't have any friends. If we played duck duck goose at recess, she never got chosen. If kids paired up to read, she never had a partner. She walked to school alone and returned the same way. Kids can be assholes. But what do I know?
One day, after reviewing her work and doing my best Spanish cheerleader routine, she slumped back to her desk, as usual. I got busy with another kid, but before too many minutes had passed, there she was again, standing at my side, a piece of paper in her hand. I said--in my wonderful version of Spanish--"You have to wait Marcela; you just had a turn." (These kids LOVE to learn and would beg beg beg to get shot at either Liseth or me).
Her chin dropped to its common position, but she didn't budge. "Okay, show me what you have." I was prepared to see a page of mangled spelling words or math problems. But what do I know?
The paper was folded many times over, not the typical school work page. I unfolded it and cried. "Te amo," it said. Okay, so I am crying just a little right now remembering that moment.
Last year, there she was again in her red sweater, not an inch bigger than I remembered her. What had seemed to be sullenness the year before seemed to have turned to mean. Still without a legitimate friend, she had turned to pilfering stuff and pinching. Many times over, she was sent to the Director's office for what was basically a time out. I remembered the note from the year before, and did my very very best to include her at recess (volunteers are like rock stars only better) when little girls were begging me to play one game or another, most of which I didn't understand. Marcela liked the attention and stuck to my side as much as possible.
My time passed and I came home.
So this year, there she was again, but without the sweater. She was indeed a bit taller and some how changed. Well, duh. Kids grow up, right? Even undernourished ones who come from very short genes. On my first day, I got busy doing one on one tutoring in the library (can you see why volunteers are essential? No one at home can help because they have never been to school themselves), so I didn't really see much of her. But then recess began.
Someone in the last year gave the school a bunch of jump ropes and taught the kids how to jump. And at recess, there was Marcela. She can jump fast; she can jump slow; she can jump on one foot and then the other; she can cross her arms and jump and she can jump backwards. And she can jump longer than anyone in the universe. She is the jump rope star of Nuestro Futuro.
She is the center of attention, and when there are jumping competitions during the half hour break from study, she is The One everybody--absolutely everybody--wants on their team. Head held high, her smile shining like a string of fireflies, Marcela, Queen of the Rope.
The possibilities for change are almost as startling and surprising as the things that bring change. A jump rope. Really? Yep, a jump rope. But what do I know?
My sister leaves in two days (lots of fun showing her around/showing her off:)), and my querido esposo comes next Wednesday. Right now, we have "little summer" going on--a short respite from the winter rains and colder temperatures that have forced us into sweaters and rain jackets. The past three days have brought warm, 75 degree days and NO RAIN!!!! My most sincere sympathies (and empathy!) for all Seattelites who have been enjoying exactly 78 minutes of summer.
Paz a todos--
Jali
Comments welcome; Just sayin' :).