Chapter 09
Smile… Never Mind
“Mrs. Jackson?” Dr. Franks was speaking. Mr. Thomas was at his side.
“Sir?”
“We don’t get too many teachers taking phone calls in the workroom from generals in Germany.”
I laughed.
“I imagine you don’t! It was new to me too.”
“You were speaking German.”
“Ja, ich kann Deutsch sprechen.”
“That wasn’t on your resume.”
“The classes were in my transcript. I don’t believe you had a chance to look at those.”
“I’m just curious…”
“It was a job offer. I said no.”
“Can you get someone to show me to the morgue?”
I was told it would be ready for my classes today.”
It was down a hall, around a corner, and around another corner. No locks.
I guess people don’t break in here.
I can see my breath.
My husband convinced me “the morgue” was just a nickname.
“You aren’t bringing a coat on your first day!” he spoke.
Then made it worse by continuing.
“They were just turning a phrase. It’s probably in a basement.”
His words echoed through my brain.
I shut the door, leaning on the inside of it for support.
Of course it’s not a basement.
Who builds a basement in a country with no ground beneath it?
I began unpacking my first-day placement tests and extra pencils.
I can still see my breath.
My camera came out last.
I set it up in the front corner of the room in full view.
I did a few stretches to push the cold away as the bell rang.
I opened my door with a smile.
I was startled to see another teacher,
“Hello, Mrs. Brown.”
“Mrs. Jackson. We missed you at the science department meeting this morning.”
“I’m a split teacher, three-ways. I was told I didn’t need to go to each meeting.”
“True. True. Still, we missed you.”
Math and Science couldn’t find me either.
“Thank you.
Is there anything I need to be filled in on?”
“No, not at all.”
“How about a textbook for my biochemistry class?”
“There isn’t one.”
“That’s good to know. Curriculum statements? Standards?”
As the students began to walk down the hall, Mrs. Brown laughed and left.
The framework of the school was there.
But I couldn’t find the support.
“Your names are on the back of the test where you are sitting.
Pick up a calculator on your way in.”
The girls were quiet and polite walking in, but the boys.
Oh no, the boys.
They saw the camera and were showing off.
They were either flipping off the camera, swearing in English and Spanish, or saying hello to their grandmothers.
I can’t wait five minutes.
I walked quickly to the camera and to turn it off as the warning bell rang.
I began to pack it away.
This isn’t what I expected.
I do not want a permanent reminder of this.
With the camera in my hand three more students walked in flipping off both me and the camera.
“Miss, over here point it here.”
“Miss, look at this!”
Yes, another middle finger.
I put the camera into a lock box.
Then placed the lock box in a cabinet and locked it.
“Miss, record this!”
Another vulgar action.
I just stood there.
This is my only first class.
My only first chance to have my first impact on young minds.
And I’m already disgusted with them.
“Miss, aren’t you going to speak?”
“Miss isn’t really a teacher.”
“Aren’t you going to tell us what to do?”
“What are you going to do with the camera? Why was it out?”
Finally! A question I don’t mind answering. I pointed to the one who asked.
“You, yes, you.”
“What is your name?”
“I didn’t do nothing wrong. Why do you need my name?”
“Excuse me. I’m Mrs. Jackson. I am your teacher.”
The class started to quiet down as I spoke in a normal tone to the young man.
“I should have introduced myself first.”
I walked toward him and stuck out my hand.
“I want to know your name so I can properly answer your question.”
I said that at almost a whisper and the class was as quiet as a tomb.
“Rudy. I’m Rudy.” He stuck his hand in mine.
“I’m glad to meet you, Rudy. Would you mind repeating the question you just asked me?”
“I asked you why you had the camera out.”
“Well, Rudy, I had it out because I thought I wanted to record my class.”
“But then you put it away?”
“Yes, I decided I didn’t need to record the class.”
“What are you going to do with the film?”
“I was going to enjoy watching it thirty years from now.
This is my first day ever teaching in Panama.
Observing your behavior walking in, I believe I have changed my mind.
I don’t want to remember.”
That brought some whoops, hollers and a few more middle fingers from the boys.
Think. Plan. Engage.
Their accents shifted—English, Spanish.
It is a dichotomy surviving in an area known as “the zone.”
More than once, the zone has not been large enough to hold both.
But both existed with one strong truth.
Parents ruled.
I walked slowly to an extended middle finger.
I saw my own children’s eyes looking back and I understood.
“No.
I don’t want to remember the way you were behaving.
I’m going to quickly try to forget.
But if I ever do need to remember…
let’s say for a parent-teacher conference…
or one where the MPs have to bring a parent in…
Then, I would be glad I have that video.”
I turned and walked to my desk.
They groaned.
My back was still toward the class.
They just supplied me with permanent evidence of their disrespect.
“Now, turn your entrance to Algebra test over.
You may use a calculator, start.”
Not a word.
The shivering began.
Daniel's Den 