I Cannot Tell A Lie

There are many rewarding moments when working with children. Some of these include being a role model, watching them reach their goals, and seeing their faces when the light bulb finally goes on. One thing no one ever talks about is how completely blunt and truthful young kids are. Spending 3 hours a day, 5 days a week with a group of 25 1^st graders gives nothing but truthful comments. The great, and sometimes awful, thing about 6 year olds is they have no filter between what they think and what they say, providing some pretty priceless conversations.

A little girl in my class came up to me one afternoon and said, “Your hair looks like you just woke up.” That day, instead of slicking my hair back in a ponytail, I took the time to apply product and hairspray, embracing my natural curls. Apparently, 30 minutes of prep time= bed head.

A coworker of mine experienced a similar situation. A child in her class told her she looked pretty that day and wondered why she didn’t look pretty every day. A simple compliment can turn into an insult in a matter of seconds when talking to a 6 year old.

The only time a 1^st grader can lie is when they are tattling on someone or they desperately want something. Most of these white lies are so obvious that anyone but a 6 year old would know it’s not true.  Every day there is a countless amount of tattling about physical fights. A little boy runs up to me crying and says, “The boy in the white shirt kicked me.” About 30 seconds after that, Jimmy comes running up to defend himself, saying Ben kicked him first. So I ask Ben, “Did you kick him first?” “Well yea, but…”  He still doesn’t realize he turned himself in.

The second most told lie in my classroom has to do with homework. Every kid has homework and every kid doesn’t want to do homework. Getting them to complete their homework is a chore in itself. So, of course, I bribe them. It’s amazing how much motivation a bucket of candy can provide. Knowing they get a prize for reading, they say “I read these two books already. Do I get candy now?” I glance up at the clock, realizing only 3 minutes have gone by. Knowing quite well that a 1^st grader cannot possibly read that many pages in 3 minutes, I ask what the books were about. The only response I get is an “um” and a blank stare.

If we all think about it, maybe the 1^st graders have a good thing going there. Granted, when they lie, they hardly ever get away with it. But the part about being extremely truthful, to the point of being blunt may be a brilliant thought. It would make things a lot easier for everyone and people would benefit from the truthfulness. Husbands could simply say yes dear, that dress does make you look slightly fat. Or that your meatloaf is a little dry. We always tell children to tell the truth, yet we tell little white lies every day.

Imagine a college university filled with students with the truthfulness of a 6 year old. All of the comments whispered under your breath during class can be expressed without concern. With this technique, teachers will always know how stupid their assignments are and how much of a waste of time these math problems truly are. There wouldn’t be a filter stopping people from expressing the thoughts they were always taught to keep to themselves.

We’ve all had classes that seem to be filled with nothing but busy work. There are ways to learn materials from classes without having to answer pages full of analysis questions yet it seems these are the types of assignments due every other day. When students receive this assignment, everyone always accepts the inevitable but there’s always a hand full of students thinking, “Are you kidding me? I’m not doing that. What a way to completely waste my time.” Expressing these views to teachers will help them realize students aren’t doing the work anyways and they will eliminate it from the workload.

Writing for the school paper can be difficult. There are so many special rules that go with media writing that applies nowhere else in the writing world. The team was handed a worksheet to practice our editing marks and abbreviations. A classmate of mine turned to me and said, “A worksheet? Really? What are we 12?”  I couldn’t agree with her more.

I absolutely love the professors that deduct a significant amount of points for simple grammatical mistakes in papers. Their reasoning being we need to take the time to proofread our papers more thoroughly. Yet students receive study guides and paper assignments with grammatical errors all over the place. There’s a huge difference between the Sahara Desert and the Sahara Dessert. Do I get to take points from your teacher evaluation?

There’s always that teacher that drills into your mind the fact that “you’re going to need this someday.” There’s always that student that thinks, “When am I ever going to need this someday. I need a time and a place, ‘cause I don’t see it ever becoming essential.” Maybe someday teachers will actually explain when class material will show up in real life.

Take the pledge to become blunt from this day forward. Help those who are stupid enough to not know the truth and help those who can’t help themselves. The whole world will prosper from our honesty. The next time you find yourself thinking up a lie, just spill out the truth. What harm can it do?

Two Perspectives

Hola. Mi nombre es Quinta. Yo soy una estudiante de Español.

Rummaging through my old spanish stuff from high school, I found some really interesting things. Never thought I’d keep something as useless as this introductory level sentence. I’m sure a four year old could have said it better. But there it is, amongst the mementos from my years of study. This past fall I took a class where we learned all about El Salvador. That’s a country in Central America, kinda squeezed off to the side. The first day of class, no one could point to it on a map. I didn’t really think anything important would stick out to me from that class, but it didn’t take long before I realized how much I’d learn.

For the longest time, El Salvador had a serious economic problem. It’s been calculated that about 2 percent of the population owned the majority of the land. If you have a brain in that head of yours, you know something is not right. I’m surprised no one noticed it sooner. Anyways, in El Salvador there are great plantations known as haciendas.  These haciendas are usually owned by one family and then these families hire on campesinos to help work the fields. Sounds like a pretty good system right? Wrong. Here’s the problem: these haciendas are owned by the Catorce Familias (14 Families) that are the richest and most powerful families in all of El Salvador. The rest of the population owns less than 40% of the rest of the land, most of it being useless. That’s where the campesinos live. Also, the people that actually work their asses off in the field all day get paid basically nothing.  They have no rights. We learned about the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in this class too…ya know, the ones that say everyone has the right to an education or the right to see a doctor. yea..they don’t get any of that. For rights every human being is supposed to get, despite gender, race, and social status, they get nothing. Kinda shitty if you ask me. So the rich people get all of the profits and the campesino farmers get next to nothing. They live in two bedroom houses made of stuff you’d find in the woods and can hardly get by.  Completely not fair to them. It makes me sick inside to think there is nothing I can do.

Hello. My name is Pam and I am the CEO and co-founder of Peace for Kids, a non-profit organization that travels all around the world to help children in need. Before I get into what we do as an organization, let me first get into why it’s so important to get help to those children in need. In the society we live in, children are a huge part of life. Families value children, which is why so many families are having children. Obviously, there are some families that have what I like to call “oopsy babies” but most families plan in advance. These children, whether planned or not, grow up to be adults eventually. They become business owners, politicians, police officers, teachers, and so many other wonderful things. But if a child experiences a bad childhood, where nothing is positive and they live amongst bad influences, he or she will grow up to be the same way. It is the parent’s job to teach a child right from wrong, especially when a child gets to the toddler ages, when everything is new and exciting and kids want to know everything. They say kids are like sponges: they absorb everything they hear and see and experience in the world around them. We want kids to suck up all the good things, rather than the bad.

Peace for Kids focuses on children in conflict areas. What this means is, we help out children in communities that have been struck by war, violence, poverty, and natural disasters. Often children do not know how to react in these cases. The reactions vary greatly, between violence and drugs to crying and isolation. Each child is different. Each situation is different. However, these kids still need help in any way they can get it. Despite their story or the way they respond to their situation, we are here to help.           

The way we help is simple. For about a year, we spread the word. We let everyone know in the surrounding areas about what is going on. People should know these things already but they don’t. If it’s not on the local news at 5, which most of our cases are not, they don’t care. They don’t go out of their way to find out. So, we bring the information to them. So, like I said, we spread the word, we also fundraise to pay for the trips of the volunteers as well as collect donations to take with. Donations also vary greatly, between food and clothing to school supplies and soccer balls. All the things kids here like to play with, kids from different countries like to play with too. So every little bit helps.

So you may be asking yourself: What can I do to help? Again, this answer is simple. Get involved. There are many different levels of this. The least involved would be just to find out more. Learn what’s going on in other countries. The most involved would be to buy a passport and take a trip with us. Otherwise, donations and spreading the word is great too. Every little bit makes a difference. What are you going to do to make a difference?

Thank You.

No Forgetting

No forgetting by Pablo Neruda

 

Translated by Morgan Pelot

If you all asked me where I have been
I must say – it happens
I should speak of the ground that’s as dark as stone 
The river that has been destroyed:
I don’t know  anything without the things the birds lost,
 the sea left behind or my sister crying.
Why so many regions, why a day
joined with another day? Why a black night
 becomes accumulated in the mouth? Why so many dead?
If you ask me from where I come, I have to speak
with broken things,
with so many bitter utensils,
with great beasts, many rotten
and with my grieving heart.

These are not memories that have been healed
 and the yellow pigeon that sleeps in oblivion,
 but faces with tears,
 fingers in the throat,
 and what has fallen from the leaves:
the darkness of a day spent,
a day with our sad blood fed

Here are violets, swallow,
all whatever we love and appears
in sweet cards of long tails
by where they pass the sweet time

But they don’t penetrate most of those teeth,
they don’t bite the coverings that silence builds,

Because I don’t know what to answer:
There are so many dead,
And so many levees that the red sun left
and so many heads that beat the ships,
and so many hands that have locked kisses,

And so many things that I want to forget.

Apocalipsis

Una mañana me despierto

a la salida del sol

El barrio por la ventana me parece

lo mismo de ayer

A perfección habían tallado los céspedes

Siguen brillando las luces de los garajes

El mundo queda sereno

No actividad, no caos

Nadie.

El mundo está desierto

 Dónde están?

mis amigos con quién hago memorias

mi familia con quién paso tiempo

Un amor con quién comparto mi vida

No tengo nada.

Me despierto con un sobresalto,

cubierto de sudor

Sólo un sueño.

Apocalypse

One morning I woke

to the rising of the sun

The neighborhood through the window seemed 

the same as yesterday

To perfection the lawns have been cut

The lights of the garages still shine

The world remains serene

No activitiy, no chaos

No one.

The world is deserted

Where are 

my friends with whom to make memories

my family with whom to spend time

A love with whom to share my life

I have nothing.

I woke in shock

covered in sweat

It was only a dream.

A Positive Place for Kids

The buzz of voices and children greet visitors at the front door of the Boys & Girls Club of Fond du Lac Johnsonville Site. At the end of the school day, elementary children begin filing in by the bus load to find their classrooms. The stairs lead you to the Teen Center, a space set aside for teens to hang out.

 Filled with games and laughter, there is always a big crowd of middle and high school students. The elementary section of the building has several rooms, one for each grade level, and a computer lab. The classrooms are filled with voices, laughing, and learning until the place closes at 6 p.m. each night.

For those of you who are unaware, the Boys &Girls Club of Fond du Lac is just one part of the large non-profit organization spread throughout the country. In the Fond du Lac area alone, there are three separate sites: Johnsonville Unit and Teen Center, Chegwin Boys & Girls Club, and Pier Rocks Boys & Girls Club. Children can become a member starting in first grade. Of those members who begin at a young age, most of them stick with the program well into their high school days.

The afterschool program provides a place that’s more than just a daycare. When a child walks into a Boys & Girls Club, they are provided with a warm meal, homework help, and structured programming, including tech lab training, healthy eating tips, plenty of exercise, and the common core subjects.

As a Program Aide at the Boys & Girls Club, I have the privilege of working with a group of first graders on a daily basis. I am on a basic level their teacher, helping them with homework and leading them through programs. The students in my class come from several different ethnic groups and learn at different speeds, providing my classroom with a variety of personalities.

Every day is a new and exciting adventure. No matter what kind of day I’m having, my class can always make me smile. The same kids come daily making it easy to build a great connection with them. They look up to me as a mentor and watch my every move. I’m bombarded with hugs after a long weekend. It’s amazing how much they learn from me but it’s even more amazing how much I learn from them.

It’s a great privilege to be part of a program that affects children so positively. The club provides a place for kids to go afterschool to be safe and make friends. The staff members honestly care about each child individually and want them to succeed in the future. Great futures truly begin here. 

The Coffee Shop

                Walking into the coffee shop on campus on Friday morning, the place is relatively empty. There’s a few workers behind the counter, restocking shelves and filling coffee cups. The three computers are free from students rapidly typing up last minute papers. There are a few girls sipping coffee and chatting by the windows. The radio can be heard from the speakers lining the ceiling. The most comfortable spot there, the sofa by the fireplace, is fair game.

When searching for a cozy place to study and get a bite to eat, Common Grounds serves as the ideal place. At about 11 a.m. every weekday morning, students are led by their growling stomachs to get in line for their delicious Erbert and Gerbert’s sub sandwich.  Not only are sub sandwiches available but also a variety of beverages, soups of the day, and items a la cart.  Whatever craving someone may have, the coffee shop has it covered.

 The first thing everyone does is get into line, praying it will move faster. A few men come in and take a seat, waiting for the line to go down. The line remains within the roped off area, not as long as usual. After the long, snake-like line begins to diminish, the eating tables that fill the center of the room become occupied quickly. Although the silence turns to a distinct murmur of voices and a continuous crumpling of wrappers, the atmosphere remains pleasant. The soft couches provide a great place to sink into a book while the tables serve as a strict study zone.

Once the food is gone, the noise level changes completely. The soft murmurs turn into loud bursts of laughter. The large TV by the stage is changed from a muted CNN to MTV’s Jersey Shore, volume blasted.  A group of girls close their large nursing textbooks to join the crowd around the television, beginning their weekend early.

By noon, the cycle begins all over again. Most students from the first lunch rush have either gone to class or have left. The rest remain near the TV discussing their plans for the weekend. The food line begins to wrap around again, this time almost reaching the doors of the entrance. Acquaintances in line make small talk about absurd amounts of reading assignments. A girl embraces her friend as if they haven’t seen each other in years. 

The buzz of the crowd makes it difficult to study. A whole page can be read with only a few words being registered. It’s much easier to people watch, taking in the feel of the place. The atmosphere is filled with happiness and excitement for the weekend. There’s only a few voices heard that seem to complain about everything. The complainers quickly leave and head off toward the parking lot while the rest remain until they slowly diminish along with the minutes.

By 1 p.m., the room is empty, leaving behind it the echo of talk and laughter. Once again, the radio can be heard. The lunch rush is over. 

September 11, 2001

Farmer’s wife:

That morning happened like any other morning. I got up at the crack of dawn to get breakfast ready. Steve came moping down the stars, quarter to 5 I’d say, mumbling something that sounded like good morning. We ate our breakfast quickly, put our barn clothes on, and headed out for the daily milking. It must have been close to four hours later when I headed in to get some house chores done. I mechanically turned on the small tv in the corner by the sink as I started filling it with dishes. I didn’t pay much attention to the screen at first, but slowly the words started registering in my head. I turned my head towards the screen, where it stayed for a long time. On the screen, I saw live footage of two passenger planes crashing into the World Trade Center. It looked like the planes were directed at the building, making it obvious that it wasn’t merely an accident. There was smoke everywhere. The image kept replaying, showing one building smoking and fire emerging from the top of it. As that was being shown, a second plane crashed into the building next to the first tower and an explosion happened. I felt numb as I watched this. The news caster said it looks like a terrorist attack. I don’t know how she knew that. I didn’t know what that even meant. Standing in the kitchen of an old farm house in Iowa, I couldn’t do anything but watch.

4^th grader at school:

In the middle of our spelling test, we were told to line up at the door. It was a really odd time to have a bathroom break. I didn’t even think twice about it at the time. We were ushered into the school cafeteria, where we sat on the floor, looking towards the large white wall with a blue screen projected onto it. Once the entire school got there, Mr. Koyen got up and began to talk. It must have been hard to tell a room full of elementary kids about such a horrible thing. I remember him saying, “The image you see may be scary to you, but history is being made right now, and it’s important for you to see this.” He then turned to the television that had what seemed like a ton of cords hooked up to it. Soon, the image from the tv was projected on the wall and we began to watch. I don’t remember many details, because I was 9 at the time; what I know now is all from watching it over and over again as I grew up. I remember my teacher trying to stay calm and stone faced, but when I looked to him for reassurance, he couldn’t give me any. Some kids were crying, scared this would happen to our school. Other kids were laughing and pointing, because the explosion looked so cool, like movies on tv. They were soon corrected, being told it wasn’t make-believe; real people were getting hurt and it wasn’t something to laugh at. I didn’t know how serious it was back then.  I never really understood what would happen next.

Soldier overseas:

I remember 9/11 vividly. I got up to deliver mail like I always do. 2 years of training and I get deployed to be a mail man. I could have done that back home. It probably would have been a little less dangerous. Soon we were all summoned into the conference room where we were told what happened. Being a soldier, we were supposed to have no emotion. There hadn’t been a single tear in the room, whether or not anyone wanted to cry. Sadness isn’t what I felt, I went straight to anger. It felt sickening to think that we were thousands and thousands of miles away from our home country, trying to protect it, and hijackers back home are able to fly two planes into the World Trade Center right under our noses. I was pissed and I wanted revenge. We were on the same continent as them, nice and close. They always say, “Payback’s a bitch.” They were about to find out just how much of a bitch it really is.  

Newspaper Clippings

Rael thinks of him often

Bareheaded, in a soiled shirt,

he works with tweezers and

a magnifying glass

Presented in course

Where I am, I don’t know
I’ll never know,

In the silence you don’t know

You must go on, I can’t

go on, I’ll go on

I’ve only been here a week, no one’s asked me to stay.

There wasn’t a bagel or a cappuccino for miles, but I kept

turning my head in all directions, hoping to spot an elk. If I

have to take you in, and the chances that I will, seems to

Reference our life as a play:

                                -A child’s plastic wristwatch with time

Do you feel strong?

With your cigarette in one hand, glowing

like the blinking light of the wind turbine, rotating

slowly in the breeze, ticking, making progress

towards the failure of your once healthy lungs.

 

Pressing the apple red cup to your lips,

drowning out the stress,

hiding nothing

but the color of your drink.

 

How does it make you feel?

Like you could fight Goliath like David did

Lift a wheel-less car from a pinned down man

With unknown, supernatural strength?

Of All the Things I Should Forget

I sat on the top of the stairs, knees tucked into my chest, as I watched you walk out my door. You said goodbye to my dad, climbing into your car. He had no idea why you were leaving so soon. There hadn’t been enough time for it to sink in, yet tears slid down my cheek. What happened, I didn’t want to say. It took everything I had not to go after you; I had to salvage any dignity I had left. I couldn’t believe it was over.

You seemed off when you finally came over that night. You sat on the bed, listening to me ramble on about my first day as an adult, smiling at all the right spots. Finally you got the courage to say, “We need to talk.”

I asked, “Are you going to break up with me?” followed by a laugh.

You said nothing.

“Oh, you are going to break up with me,” again I laughed.

You weren’t laughing. You stumble over words I’m sure you rehearsed. I wanted no part of it. I tried to get up and walk out of the room but you grabbed my arm to pull me back.

 “Don’t fucking touch me,” I said. In seconds, anger was transformed into sadness. I finally caved into your arms and you let me cry.

You don’t want me.

***

 I flashed back to junior high, when I first met you. We didn’t know we would be best friends. A few years later, you helped me dump my newest jackass of a boyfriend. You kept me safe as my personal body guard. You never let me down.

That summer, it finally clicked. You had liked me that whole time. I couldn’t believe I was so oblivious. The next two years we were together. We spent days on the soccer field, pretending we were pros. So many days spent watching George Lopez reruns until we both fell asleep. I remember the first time you told me you loved me.  I had loved you too.

***

I don’t know how we got here. You’re dressed in your army uniform, saying goodbyes before heading off to basic. I stand on the tips of my toes as I hug you one more time. “Bye bud. Keep in touch ok?” you ask. All I can manage is a nod. 

Bits and Pieces

Dreams are things I don’t understand

They come to me in pieces, broken

jagged, belonging to someone

else, incomplete

I have their pieces.

Give me a story, I’ll tell you the meanings:

Behind a pregnancy in fall, the birth

in May. The large white

oaks in the cemetery. The cross

in your purse on an impossible day.

My grandfather died when I was ten. He came to me in a dream. He walked in the door as if nothing had changed, his body free of cancer. He hugged like only a grandfather can. The sandpaper chin scraped my cheek as he kissed it lightly. He sat with the family, enjoying his old fashioned sour with olives.  He spoke of the four-wheeler rides down to the woods.  He loved to spend his time there.  He talked as if he knew he was dead. He always was a believer in God. If you go to the woods, you can still feel him there, as if he never left.

I never really got to know that man. Young age doesn't allow for lasting memories.  So many little things I’ll never remember. But they happened and I was there. But the little things pass away as quickly as the years.

 “Use them up the way they are,”

he always used to say.

 I’ll never know what that means.