When fathers aren't fathers

Yesterday I got called in to take over at an elementary school. I reluctantly agreed.

When I arrived at the school the principal greeted me, told me of the troubles at that school since another substitute had taken over for an ailing teacher, and gave me the details of what had transpired since Monday. He walked with me to the classroom and read the students the riot act. While he spoke I wondered if I had gotten myself in deep waters for taking over this job. I stood by his side and smiled coyly. Surely all those obedient children who listened to the man would behave for me...

Well, not exactly but it also wasn't a repeat of Bisbee's 6th grade. Although I had to stay on my toes the entire time and never give the kids stagnant free time, by the end of the day I had several kids come up to me and hug me. "You did good!" said one boy, Michael, who gave me advice all day long about classroom procedures. Several girls also acted as aides and helped me pass out papers, assignments, student folders. The teacher's aide, a woman my age who is also working on her teaching certification through UA, helped me maintain my tempo. Without her I surely would have failed.

One girl, Claire, told me she suffers from depression and easily gets upset when classmates don't talk to her. Another boy told me he doesn't like being called by his real name and prefers to be called "Zay" so that is what I called him, much to his approval. One Mexican boy sat quietly at his desk and followed all instructions without fail. I smiled at him several times and gave him the thumbs up for doing such a good job on his class work.

There were also little battles among the students to gain my approval. Several boys fought over computer time to get their English assignments typed out.

"Steve has been on that computer for over ten minutes!" cried one boy.
"No, I haven't!"
"I got here first!" said another boy, also working on his English assignment.
There were times I just wanted to bang the heads of these three boys together to make them stop fighting. Enough fighting, already!

Then there was a little curly-topped boy, also named Michael, whose father was recently arrested on child pornography charges and who, according to him, could be "sent to prison for at least ten years." The boy, who by now was clearly hurting as he volunteered this information, hadn't seen his father since late August when the city cops stormed the house and ransacked the house looking for evidence. "I haven't been able to sleep since then" he continued, and has been restless and more disruptive in class. "I may never see him again!"

Michael was a sweet boy to me and although he was hyperactive (what boy isn't?) he did listen to me overall.

I wanted to hug this boy and let him know that everything will be OK, but how honest is that when the boy knows that he will lose his father for the next ten years, the most formative years of his life?

I left the school saddened for Michael's future, but I also left the school relieved that the day did not go as badly as I had feared. Although my voice was hoarse and my feet were tired, I left the school with even greater admiration for elementary school teachers who have to take care of little boys like Michael, little girls like Claire and all the other children whose parents failed them as primary caretakers. It's moments like today, despite all the screams and hollers and my warnings to cease and desist, that I drive away with a smidgen of satisfaction for a job well done.

Our Borderlands

Has it been almost a month since I last wrote on this blog? Where has the time gone? Although I am only enrolled in three courses, I have been working practically full-time at the high school and loving it. My teaching skills have improved so much in the past year and my continued studies have made me more knowledgeable in the subjects I enjoy the most: History and English.

Today I taught 7th-grade English. The kids, as usual, were tough and I had to play tough, too. During my first hour planning period I had hoped to get some Spanish homework done but instead kept getting interrupted by visitors: two students who asked for money for the Student Council, another teacher who came in to unlog myself from the computer so she could log on to upload a document, another student who came by to give the teacher a bouquet of chocolates and yet another student who dropped off a "confidential" document. I didn't get much work done.

But then Mike came by, my friend Mike who almost two years ago led a hike up San Jose Peak in Sonora. He is fluent in Spanish, loves the outdoors and gets out as much as possible. The last time we really talked was almost a year ago (!) when he talked about how he was held up by Mexican police at a gas station in a border town under the suspicions for being a drug runner. A drug runner! Mike is far from such a thing. He is an active member of the "Friends of the San Pedro River" and videotapes wildlife along the San Pedro river that originates in far northern Sonora. I have seen some of his videos and they are quite informative.

What made him suspicious to the cops, at best, was that he was seen videotaping the countryside along the San Pedro River. What Mike didn't know was that in the same spot he was seen was also the same spot in which a few hours earlier an SUV was ambushed and shot up with over 80 bullets. The driver of that SUV was killed.

The police had surrounded him with automatic rifles. It was the first time Mike ever felt cold fear run through him. It's been a year since this incident and he hasn't been back to Mexico since.

"I am not going back down there until that situation clears up" he told me today. For Mike to say that means that the situation has indeed become intolerable. Mike and I are people who don't just visit cheap touristy places. We explore back roads, talk to locals, and look for the real stuff. There are a lot of beautiful places in Mexico that I wish I could see but I don't feel comfortable traveling the back roads that are slowly getting taken over by well-armed narcotraficos.

It's a crying shame, too. There is so much history south of me. Every time I see the lights of Naco, Sonora on my way home I long to be able to visit Mexico without the fear of being held under suspicions of being a narco. Those who terrorize the Mexican people are a small percentage of the total population, but that small population have the arms, ammunition, money and the power to control an entire country through fear.

Some people say that that's all because Americans are heavy drug users, that it's all about supply and demand. If we weren't such heavy users, they wouldn't be so determined to smuggle the stuff across the border.

But maybe "we" are such heavy drug users because "they" for years had the advantage of a near-open border. Mexico admits that it has 400 million drug users within its own borders.

It wasn't even two weeks ago when I witnessed an SUV race up Hunter Canyon Road where I was walking the dogs when the vehicle stopped behind some trees. The dogs froze, I stopped and stood silently while I heard peoples' voices as the SUV was loaded with human cargo. A few minutes later the SUV sped back down Hunter Canyon Road to Highway 92.

I am angered, frustrated and tired of all the illegal activity along the border. I want normalcy. The few who are caught are given light sentences: deportation to Mexico where the shitheads come right back over the border. I want to be able to travel south of the border to explore the rugged canyons and meet real Mexicans. But as long as the drugs and human cargo are slipping across our borders I have to wonder why we spent billions of dollars on a more secure border fence when illegal border crossers are still coming across in such high numbers.

http://www.svherald.com/content/news/2010/09/21/officials-believe-arrested-suspect-same-person-who-led-police-chase-through-