I smiled as I sat on the school bus watching the children around me. Inwardly I was laughing at my situation. I, the careful decision maker, could not believe that I was teaching kindergarten. I was a high school teacher. Yet here I was, on a school bus surrounded by my little charges on the way to the county health clinic for immunizations. I stifled my laughter.
How had I gotten into this? When we moved from Tucson to Texas, the school superintendent offered me a job teaching English in the migrant kindergarten. I immediately refused. I was not interested. In fact, I was not too sure what a migrant was. I knew they worked in the vegetable and citrus harvest and followed the crops northward.
The superintendent approached me again in mid-October. This time he told me that the job was from November through April and paid a full year salary. That was more interesting. That was how I found myself on the payroll. I was in an unfamiliar environment doing something I would never have imagined I would be doing. My students were non-English speakers. Fortunately, I had a full-time bilingual aide who was an excellent helper.
My education began the first week of school. The kindergarten classrooms were self-contained. I noticed that the children went into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, flushed again, and often flushed once more. This struck me as a little strange. After several days, a light bulb in my brain came on and I asked the aide if the children had indoor bathrooms at home. She thought for a few minutes and said, “I can’t think of any who do.” We had done a lesson on hand washing. Now it was back to the drawing board so to speak, and past time for a lesson on the use of the bathroom. When I told my husband this, he laughed and asked, “What did you think all of those little buildings were behind the houses?” I said that I had not really noticed, maybe they were tool sheds. Of course, he told everyone and this was a joke for a long time. It was a case of looking, but not seeing.
Another lesson about things I took for granted came at Christmas. I had set aside money to give each child a “goody” bag. The aide and I put them together. Each bag had a small toy, some fruit, a little book and some candy. When the children returned to school after the holiday, I was waiting expectantly to hear what they had gotten for Christmas. Not one child mentioned Christmas. After they went home for the day, I questioned my aide whether they had received Christmas presents. She thought and said, “Probably not.”
Some of the children’s parents spoke English. My aide acted as translator for those who did not. The parents soon learned that I was interested in their children. We became friends whether we spoke in English or with a translator. They had little money, but they brought cookies or refreshments when needed. If I needed volunteers for an event, they were eager to help. They found out that I liked homemade tortillas and often brought me warm tortillas.
The adjustment to this new experience was traumatic for some of the children and they reacted in various ways.
Angelica* was angry about having to leave her mother. She cried and had a temper tantrum every morning. She also had tantrums during the day when she did not get her way. Another problem was her language. She could cuss us all out without taking a breath. I did not know what she was saying, but I knew from the reprimands from my aide and the gasps of the children that it was bad. I thought that I was going to have to learn to cuss in Spanish. She got mad at me one day, looked me in the eye and shouted, “Diablo.” I did know that word. My aide was quickly beside me. I told her to tell Angelica that if she called me the devil again that we were going to the principal’s office and call her mother. A look of surprise came over her face as she realized that I knew what she had called me. She could no longer be sure that I did not know what she was saying. Her language began to be more acceptable. One day at rest time she was crying loudly and kicking her feet. One of the children, laughed, pointed to her, and in a whisper called her a baby. I wanted the children to be kind to each other, but somehow, I did not hear that comment. Angelica did not care what the aide or I thought, but she didn’t want her peers to think she was a baby. The tantrums stopped.
Joaquin* was small for his age and very shy. He spent most of the first weeks crying and needed much reassurance. A day came when he made it through the morning without crying. By rest time he was still trying not to cry. He sat rigidly on his rest mat with his dirty little arms clasping his thin knees to his chest. His unkempt curly hair formed ringlets on his sweaty forehead above eyes that were wide fighting tears and tiredness. There were so many things this little boy didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why his mother had left them when his baby sister was born. He was too young to understand death. He didn’t understand why he had to come to the school or why the strange Anglo lady kept talking to him. He began to rock back and forth and to whine softly. I quietly moved a low chair beside him and gently enveloped him with my arms. He lifted his arms to be picked up. It was difficult for us to get comfortable on the small chair, but we managed. He snuggled into my lap and began to sob softly putting his little thumb into his mouth. The sobs became quieter as he relaxed. My heart broke as he kept murmuring “mama, mama.” The aide helped me lay him on his mat when he fell asleep. This became a pattern at nap time for several months. I needed a rocking chair in that room.
Perhaps the biggest challenge was a deaf boy named Guillermo.* There were no experts to consult. I was told to make him feel accepted and work on socialization. He did watch the other children and followed along. The biggest help was a cousin who had the uncanny ability to tell exactly what Guillermo wanted. They had been together since birth and the cousin seemed to sense what Guillermo was thinking. He obviously could not follow the English lessons. He did other learning activities during that time. We did a variety of activities including manipulatives, coloring, and painting. Guillermo used only black crayons and paints. We were thrilled in February when he picked up a red crayon to color valentines. He began to use other colors after that.
We had a mesh container in the classroom for the children to observe live things. They had an affinity for bugs and worms. We would observe their treasures for an hour or two and then release them back into their own environment. Guillermo’s instinct was to smash all bugs and insects found on the playground. We had to watch him carefully because he did not understand why we just looked and did not destroy. One day a small bird flew into the open window of the classroom hitting the window sill. Stunned, the bird fell to the floor. Guillermo rushed to it, grabbed it and had his arm ready to throw it to the floor when I reached him. I surprised him by taking his arm, causing him to release his grip. Fortunately the little bird had recovered enough to fly back out the open window.
During the last week of school, I watched the children looking at something on a shrub at the edge of the playground. Suddenly Guillermo raced toward me holding something in his hands. He opened his cupped hands slightly so that I could see a beautiful butterfly. When he turned from me, I was ready to rescue the butterfly. I fully expected him to throw it on the ground and step on it. Instead, he raised his arms, opened his hands wide and released the butterfly. As we watched it take flight, I had tears in my eyes. He was learning without words.
I remained in the program for another two years until my husband was transferred. These were just a few years of many in which I continued to learn from my students, their parents, and situations that I encountered.
*names have been changed