Letter to school administration

Fall 2007 - Ale, 5 and Sebas 3

While looking for a document, I came across this letter than I had written to the administration of my sons' school after my youngest son was pushed and kicked by two classmates. The letter, that dates back to 2008, still resonates with what I believe. In 10 years, I might have improved my writing and I may now choose a different path of action (may be). Yet my heart today aligns with my heart of 10 years ago.  Below is the letter on its entirety.

Friday, January 17, 2008

Dear Kozy Montessori,

Today after school, Alejandro told me that Sebastián had been kicked by a boy at school and pushed to the ground by Rico. He told me that Sebastián cried and that he was worried that Sebastián's hand would hurt even more. He told me that Ms. Snapp had talked to Rico. After Sebastián woke up from his nap, I asked him what had happened. He said that Jacob kicked him and that Rico pushed him to the ground and that he had cried. I asked him why they had done that and Alejandro and Sebastián explained to me that it was because some time ago, Sebastián had not shared with them his brother's yellow ball. Alejandro said that Ms. Snapp had told him (back then) to bring the ball home so that the boys won't fight. I called Ms. Keener on the phone to inquire about this incident and she told me that she had not heard anything about it. I called Ms. Snapp and she said (on voice mail) that Alejandro had told her about it in the afternoon and that she had spoken with Rico (Alejandro had only told her about Rico). Following Ms. Snapp's advice, I asked both of my sons if any adults saw this or did anything about it. They said that no adults had seen this.

These are my thoughts and reflections as a mother, a high school teacher, and a person completely committed to the education of minorities.

As a mother, I am definitely worried that there was no adult supervision on this incident (if it is indeed true that no adults witnessed this). I am worried that everything that I teach at home will be erased by the violent and inflexible type of behavior that my sons will witnessed in school. I would lie if I told you that I was not very worried at the ‘type’ of students that the school has and that somewhere in the back of my brain, still exists the dilemma of private vs. public schooling for my own children. I have to admit that I'm angered and hurt at the thought of my son being physically or verbally attacked. Safety of my children is, after all, an almost instinctive need that I have. If I don't feel like they are safe, then I am not at peace with my decision of their schooling. With all that said, I will also state that I know Sebastián. I know that he does not have a strong verbal inclination. He does. And that very often has filled me with beautiful tear jerking moments (a flower, a kiss, a back massage) and has also brought some distress and worry when I think about his future. I know that Sebastián needs more scaffolding to express what he feels and needs a hand to walk him through what happened and what were the possible options. I know that Sebastián can be selfish and, if he is tired, can be down-right stubborn. Yet, I also know that he is very susceptible to unfairness and like any other human being, he will react, physically react, to anything that is perceived as unfair.

As a teacher, I am aware of how impossible it is to fulfill all the demands of public education, given time and other resources. I know that for all the classroom management trainings, modifications, etc, I still feel horrible when there is a 'breach' in security in my classroom or with my students (not long ago, I had one of my students get so fed up with the behavior of a couple of young men that she lost it and threw every textbook at them, including tables and chairs. At that moment, and for a couple of days, I felt like the most inefficient teacher on the face of the earth). I know that as a teacher, I feel like I live in a world of contradictions between NCLB and all its standards, parent's expectations, administration's short comings and expectations, system wide flaws, theories published from the white ivory tower of academia and my reality within the walls of my classroom and the lives of my students and mine.

As an educator committed to the education of minorities, I am hunted day and night by the history that has brought us to where we are. I am hunted by drop-out rates of minorities. And my heart sinks at the reality of this education system that serves more as a filtering system than as anything else. 

To make an already long letter, short, this is what I would like you to consider. Yes, there should be adult supervision - but that is not the answer or the strategy that our children need. In my opinion, adult supervision at all times is only a band aid solution, and, like all band aid solutions, it's more a drain of resources that produces very little change.

In my dream world, we would throw out a couple of standardized tests and other cookie cutting measures of achievement that consume time and energy and in the classroom we would spend time analyzing situations. I would like Sebastian to think the answers to questions such as: Why did Rico push you down? What did he say? How was his voice? Was he angry at you? Why? How did that make you feel? Why? What could you have done? Was there a way that you could have calm him down? Was there a way you could have defended yourself?. I would like Rico and Jacob to think of questions like: What did you feel towards Sebastián? Why? How did you express your feelings? Was there any other way of expressing your feelings? How did Sebastián feel when you kicked him? Is it right for someone to feel that way? Why? Could you have told him how you feel without hurting him? I would like all the boys involved in this incident to sit down and, with a mediator, find a solution to their problem, a solution that truly comes from them. And yes, I believe that 3 year olds CAN do this. I have done it with Sebastián. And I believe this because I am completely convinced that sensitivity to another human being's dignity is not something we have to learn. Sensitivity is about all we had when we were born. We need to not loose the ability to sense the state of another.

I do not want the message of 'we do not tolerate this behavior in this school' be the only thing that is heard. I do not want the message of: 'you need to tell a teacher' be the only solution offered. Because, to be completely honest, those messages stop working before a young person reaches 10 years of age. What I wish my 15, 16 and 17 year old students have (what I want my sons to be able to do), is the ability to analyze a situation; allow themselves to feel their feelings by recognizing them, but not acting on them. Rather, be able to reframe a problem in way that the problem is not a person, but a situation. And be able to project at least a couple of different options as possible solutions. ‘Flexibility of thought’ are the only words that I can think of. What would happen if a young person is exposed to this kind of thinking (as opposed to a limited: 'we do not do that in school') from the time they are in K3? How will they react when problems arise at 13, 15, 19 years of age?

I leave my reflections in your hands. I do ask that you let me know what was decided and done about this issue so that I can talk with my sons about it at home. Lastly, I would like to let you know that I, above all, am committed to my sons. I will not have the slightest hesitation if at any point in their elementary and high school years; they would need me to quit my job for them. Please, let me know how I can help you. Thanks.

Sincerely,

Verónica Mancheno

Dignidad intacta

Hoy me desperté pensando en todo lo que ha pasado en los últimos 18 años. ¿Puedo yo decir con certeza que he sido una 'buena' mamá? La lista de errores... o supuestos errores inmediatamente comenzaron su grabación. Pero, espera! un momentito! Comencemos por el principio. Bueno, tal vez el principio, principio está ya muy lejano... mejor comencemos después de mi divorcio cuando vine a Milwaukee hace 7 años.

Vine con 3 camas, un escritorio, una estantería de libros, un juego de platos y vasos plásticos, un juego de 4 ollas, una licuadora comprada en Good Will. Vine recién graduada de la universidad con mis hijos de 5 y 3 años. A una ciudad donde no conocía a nadie. Me divorcié, me cambié de ciudad y comencé a trabajar a tiempo completo como madre soltera.

En 7 años, saqué mi maestría, compré casa. En mi casa ya hay de todo, hasta piano para los chicos! Compré y vendí 2 carros. Tengo perro y lagartija. Corrí una maratón, dos semi-maratones, dos triatlones sprint y comencé Tae Kwon Do en cinturón blanco y ahora estoy en cinturón café a dos cinturones del negro (esto en los dos últimos años).

Hoy caminé por mi casa antes de que los niños se despertaran y lloré... lloré de alegría, de agradecimiento, de dolor. Lloré porque no podía creer que solo hace 7 años no tenía ni la mitad de lo que ahora tengo. No solo en cosas - que es lo menos importante, pero las personas que venían a mi mente con cada cosa que observaba. Los que me regalaron tal asiento, el que me ayudó a armar tal mesa. Las mujeres que han llorado conmigo y me han dado fuerza. Al que de una u otra manera amé y con tanta esperanza construí un sueño imposible.

Lloré por mis errores que han sido más lecciones. Lloré por desamor, por promesas no cumplidas, por esperanza, por fuerza, por nostalgia, por agradecimiento.

¿Qué es ser mamá? ¿No cometer errores? Esos los he cometido mucho. ¿Qué es aquello que nos impulsa que nos hace tan fuertes y tan vulnerables al mismo tiempo?

Entonces me di cuenta que lo que tengo es esa valentía de abrir el corazón y comenzar de nuevo. De abrir los brazos y amar y entregarme estando dispuesta a llorar y doler si es necesario. Y así como tengo la valentía para abrir el corazón también la tengo para cerrarlo. Y cerrar mi corazón es más como agarrar un cuchillo y cortar mi corazón, o un pedazo de él de mi pecho - un proceso profundamente doloroso: poner de lado mis sentimientos por el bienestar de mis hijos. Así me he enamorado y desamorado, así he soñado y construido castillos y cuando los castillos se me han desmoronado, he llorado - cuánto he llorado! y he vuelto a comenzar de nuevo. Vamos! a construir otro castillo, otro sueño.

Lo que nos hace madres es esa capacidad de nunca darnos por vencidas. De amar a pesar de que seguramente sabemos que nos dolerá. Ser mamá es abrir siempre el corazón y también cerrarlo. Es comenzar de nuevo sin importar cuántas veces se debe comenzar. Es siempre y obstinadamente creer en un futuro mejor para nuestros hijos y todos los que los sentimos como nuestros. Un futuro por el cual se trabaja día y noche, se vive a full en el presente sabiendo que del presente sale mañana y mañana también queremos verlos sonreír. Ser madre es tener luchas internas constantemente entre las expectativas de otros y el corazón de uno, es levantar oraciones al cielo cuando parece que ya no hay Dios porque el cielo está nublado y hace frío pero ahí está - sabemos que ahí está.

Tal vez eso es lo que llevo dentro. Un corazón fuerte con una dignidad intacta.

Abierta a mi Futuro

Y si el mundo me quitara lo que más aprecio,

sería todavía feliz como me siento hoy?

Y si no pudiera volver a ver a mis hijos,

pudiera respirar profundo y en paz como respiro hoy?

Y si perdiera mis piernas en un accidente,

pudiera sentirme tan libre como me siento en las madrugas cuando salgo a correr con mi perro?

Y si perdiera los brazos,

pudiera sentirme serena en el agua como me siento hoy al nadar?

Y si nunca encontrara compañero para mi vida,

podría sentirme amada como me siento hoy?

Y si nunca pudiera volver a mi tierra,

podría ver el sol, el mismo sol que brilla allá, con la misma esperanza

con la que lo miro hoy?

Y si nunca pudiera volver a ver a mis padres, y no pudiera cuidarlos en su vejez,

pudiera yo escuchar su voz en lo más interno de mi alma,

como la escucho hoy?

Supongo que si la Vida escoge mantener su aliento dentro de mí,

es por un propósito más grande que los sueños que me permito tener

o las razones a las que aferro la razón de mi vivir.

Supongo que si la Vida me tiene aquí en este momento,

rodeada de esta gente,

bendecida con estas cosas…

supongo que es para amar más allá

más profundo

más fuerte.

Si mi razón de vivir son mis hijos

y ellos dejan de ser

lloraría…

sería como una tormenta

un terremoto, un apocalipsis

Si mis padres dejaran de ser

serían un tornado

Si mis hermanos dejaran de ser

sería sequía

Y si llegara a conocer el amor de mi vida,

y después él también dejaría de ser

o nosotros dejáramos de ser nosotros

y yo quedara sola otra vez,

sería oscuridad espesa  y penumbra

Pero, dejarían y dejaríamos de ser solo en carne y hueso,

en proximidad física.

Y al fin de cuentas, después de las lágrimas

y el profundo dolor encontraría que sigo siendo

madre, hija, hermana, y amante

porque lo que soy hoy no puedo dejar de ser

porque dentro de mí sigue soplando el Aliento de Vida

Hoy, yo también me extiendo al más allá

orgullosa de mis logros,

en paz con mis errores y

abierta a las sorpresas de mi futuro!

¿Qué es la tristeza?
Tal vez un vació entre la garganta y la panza
Tal vez las lágrimas que nunca salen
las mejillas largas
o los labios sellados por no saber qué decir
o a quién decírselo.

y ¿qué es este vacío?
la ausencia de alguien
la presencia opresiva de otro
el sentirse incompleto
o perdido
o tal vez es solo la incertidumbre del cambio
de no saber para dónde van las cosas
si uno ha hecho bien al decidir

y ¿por qué ya no ruedan las lágrimas?
porque se acabaron
porque entre el disgusto y el dolor
se quedan atoradas en la sien
o tal vez porque uno ni sabe si llorar o no

que te extraño y que no te extraño
que te quiero y que no
que te conozco y te desconozco

al fin de cuentas, cuánto siento por quién tú eres
o cuánto siento por quién yo soy?

Una palabra

Con solo una palabra
se cierra una puerta
y se abre una ventana

Con solo una palabra
se rompen promesas
se tapan verdades
se encubren secretos

Con solo una palabra
se cambia el futuro
se olvida el pasado
se vive el presente

Una palabra
solamente una
y nada más

Tiempo

¿Cuándo me di cuenta que ya no había amor?
¿Cuándo me enteré que tu amor no era lo que yo pensaba?
¿A qué hora descubrí que mis sueños eran eso, exactamente eso, sueños y nada más?

¿Desde cuándo es que se llenó de nubes el cielo?
A qué hora es que comenzó a llover?
Cómo es que pasé de flores de colores
de fotos y sonrisas
a llantos, rostros sombríos,
a copas de vino 
a luz de la vela
para suavizar la soledad?

Cómo es que llegué a creerte?
y cuándo es que me di cuenta no tenías ni la más puta idea de lo que hablabas?

Cómo es que llegué a la conclusión que prometías lo que no podías dar?
cómo es que no llegué a esta conclusión antes?

En qué momento pasó el tiempo
y me interné en el mundo de los adultos
donde los sueños de gloria padecen
ante el trabajo diario?

En qué momento me di cuenta del futuro que me esperaba?
el que no quise pero tal vez sí quise?
al que le tenía miedo

en qué momento desperté
o tal vez dormí
o tal vez morí?

fue mi juventud en vano?

en qué momento?
cuándo?
por qué?

(y me levantaré mañana igual que ayer, y seguiré haciendo lo que tengo que hacer. Tal vez debajo de algún árbol encontraré las respuestas y las razones; tal vez debajo de alguna nube sonreiré bajo un cielo azul; tal vez, cuando sola, volveré a escuchar el latir de mi alma y la razón de mi ser.)

Why I 'tri'

I do it for a thousand reasons that perhaps boil down to: the heart that pumps my blood is strong. It dreams, and cries, and laughs. It loves and hopes. As a young girl,  I felt exactly the same way as I do know. I also liked sports very much. Soccer was my favorite! But I was a girl... you know how it goes. I not only internalized sexism but racism as well. My body, my eyes, my skin, my hair were just not the right color, the right size. .. and so the story goes. By the time I was 19, I had bulimia (I didn't recognized it at the time) and with that comes depression (not to mention asthma, extremely painful knees, and of size 16).

What force was able to pull me out of the hole? Love for my brother (who was adopted and was born with some physical deformations). I wanted him to love himself, to not hate his body, to have a future,  to have hope. (This is another long story in itself ). I realized that I couldn't ask him to love himself if I didn't love myself. And so I began to seek after my own healing. After my brother came my sons... oh how I loved my body then! But then came my divorce... and once again I saw myself going back to the same hole.

Then, I made a choice: no way! Not going back to the depression,  the bulimia  the hopelessness,  the darkness... nope! I was going to find the answer. .. I was going to fight for my sons because they deserved more than a functional mother, they deserved a fulfilled mother that is overflowing with hope and peace.

It is love that drives me... passion for a better world, commitment to my own healing and peace, and therefore, the healing and peace of all.

Somewhere I read a bumper sticker: 'born to tri'. That's me: born to live, to keep trying, to keep learning, to not give up the search for love, peace, and harmony... no matter the circumstances (with family or without, with man by my side or alone, with money or broke), my heart, my soul are far too free to be constrained. 

Crossing the finish line fills me with such freedom to express all the power that flows within.

That's why I do it: I was born to tri!