So Satisfying

You have to understand that my brain doesn't hold onto things quite so well these days, so I make my eventual declaration with one caveat:  I can't swear that it has never happened before, but if it has, I certainly don't remember it.

I had a real "teachable moment" yesterday.  For the uninitiated, that just means that, unplanned, an opportunity presents itself in the classroom to teach something that you know will hit home and mean something on a much deeper level.  Some teachers never give in to those moments, they're too afraid. . . afraid of being chided for not sticking to the curriculum, afraid of giving up total control.  Well!  Needless to say, I'm well beyond that stage in my teaching.   Sometimes, it's necessary to just seize the moment.

Jessi interrupted the Spanish lesson, asking generally about what happens to the people of Cuba who (sometimes through blind determination) emigrate to the U.S., landing on our Florida shores.  Do they have to go back, or can they stay?  Gesturing toward the large mural on one of my classroom walls ("Varadero, Cuba,") I launched into a history lesson of the "Wet Foot Dry Foot" Policy that articulates our laws about who can stay and who must be returned.  Admittedly, I was treading on the history teachers' turf by explaining our relationship with Cuba - at least the last contentious 50 years' worth.  Neglecting Spanish grammar and the "thou must speak in Spanish for the entire period" rule, I reveled in the obvious interest that the question provoked. 

I've studied about Cuba in great depth, ever since the day my husband came home and casually announced, "I got a phone number today from a gentleman who lives down the beach.  You'll never believe this - he fought with Fidel Castro and Che Guevara in the jungles of Cuba during the Revolution."  And, almost as an afterthought, "They're friends."  (Are you kidding!  A friend of Fidel Castro lives 2 miles away!)    It took me several weeks to work up the nerve to call this man.  I did, though.  Our conversation was like no other.  Never before had I spoken with someone who truly saw Cuba (up close) as a beautiful country. . . beautiful people. . . beautiful landscape. . . beautiful (if frozen in time) architecture.   It set me to thinking; how did we as a nation come to view Cuba as unworthy of our respect and admiration?  Consider this:  some of the world's best doctors and surgeons are Cuban.  (Did you know that when Sadam Hussein needed back surgery, Castro sent one of his surgeons who, of course, could not personally accept the millions of dollars that were awarded for the medical procedure; after all, it is a Communist nation.)  Cuba's literacy rate is higher than ours.  And their music and dance . . . OHH! It's astonishingly first rate!  You should try a sampling:  http://www.bembe.com/elzorro_lavidaentara/El_Borracho.mp3.

The unfortunate fallout from Castro's Revolution and the consequent (endless) U.S. boicot, however, can be appreciated and accessed viscerally by viewing Ry Cooder's documentary BuenaVista Social Club.  You should check out this sampling of the video here.  The film is a worthy tribute to some excellent musicians whose music fell by the wayside at a time in their careers when they should have been soaring. Given our national dismissal of all things Cuban, it should come as no surprise that Europe gave its positive appraisal well before the United States.  Long story short, Buena Vista Social Club (more accurately, its individual artists) earned our respect through the Grammy's that it won.  (It saddens me that my favorites of the group have passed away:  Rubén González and Ibrahim Ferrer.  Watch the movie, and just see if you don't fall in love with these two guys - especially when they visit New York City.)

Returning to my original point in this blog, I hastily concluded my improvised lesson about Cuba just as the period ended; the Malecon, Elian Gonzalez, Mariel Boatlift, thriving black market.  A student afterwards approached me and said, "Thank you.  No one ever teaches us culture in our foreign language classes.  I really found that interesting.  I hope we learn more."  I am indeed honored.  I will store that one in my very special bag of Teacher Memories.

Sigh......

My year can be simply divided into two parts, the summer and the rest of the year.  I'm obviously a teacher if I make that kind of a distinction.  Alas, summer is over, and with it, my earnest pursuit of creativity, craftiness and fun-fun-fun.  Friends and family will observe - as they do each year - my annual turn toward seriousness.  I become the one that must plan endlessly engaging classroom activities, grade compositions and tests, and steer department professional development.  And don't even expect to have an enlightened conversation with me after 9:00 pm on a weeknight. . . or - jeesh - any night, for that matter.  (Right here is where I would provide the expected disclaimer about the inexpressible rewards of teaching thirsty young minds.  That will follow, of course, when I'm not feeling besieged by the at-once lengthy list of tasks, . . . I promise.)

But, before I turn my back once again on a relaxing and inspiring summer, I will coax y'all to take a look at the evidence of my seasonal productivity.  Take a look:

www.etsy.com/shop/joyhandbags


And here's a sample: