Some reflections

A little while ago I signed up to write a 'volunteer testimonial' about experience here so far. Here's what I came up with, plus some fun photos of me teaching (see above).

- - -

Being already most of the way through my year here in Honduras, it’s hard to pick one issue or experience to focus on. That’s probably because this has been a year of learning and thinking about a whole lot of new things, everything from teaching and discipline techniques, to reflections on love and respect, to how to successfully bake a cake with four or five excited and crazy 12-year-old assistants. And lots about positive thinking.

So, I've decided to talk about some of those things I’ve learned…Or better said, some the things I’m still only starting to learn:

-I no longer freak out about evenly serving lunch out of a cooler to 40 teenage boys, most of whom will inevitably say you didn’t give them enough.

-How to feel thankful about some of the privileges I never appreciated before, like running water, regular electricity, or growing up with a sense of security and things to keep me stimulated.

-“Dios es amor”, a common phrase you see here in Honduras. Coming from a fairly secular background, I wasn’t sure what the religious aspect of this experience would be like. However, my experience with religion here has challenged me and taught me a lot about love and spirituality.

-The kids really are, as someone explained to me, like sponges: they take in everything. Even though they might not act like it in class.

-Any action, done with a sense of love and solidarity, drastically changes the effect. For me, this has been most true in the classroom, where I’ve had to learn to laugh at the crazy things the kids do every day, even as I’m telling them to stop doing it. Trying to understand and feel where the kids are coming from has helped my teaching a lot. It’s also something I still struggle with every day. Love doesn’t excuse their behavior, but it helps lead to a more positive relationship with the young person that might help them feel less need to act that way in the future.

-Cake or candy can be an incentive for just about anything.

-How to focus on, and feel excited about, the many positive things all around me here on the ranch. Such as: a smile from a student who’s usually challenging; drinking coffee on a tranquilo Sunday morning, surrounded by the beautiful landscape and a good conversation; or a group of 12 year old boys dancing with their mops as they sing along to the radio (well, that last one happens pretty much every week). In short, to really feel good about the small victories. Because there aren’t many obvious big ones.

- - -

The article, plus more photos, is on the NPH Website here.

This photo was taken with the random girls who happened to be around (or saw and ran over) when the photographer showed up, though they are a handful of my 7th grade students and they are generally very nice.

Oda a la Alegria

I'm slowly working my way through Pablo Neruda's "Odas Elementales", which celebrate the wonders of life -from happiness to onions- in a really cool way. Plus, his poem about bread makes me feel revolutionary ("No tiene alas/ la victoria terrestre:/ tiene pan en sus hombros"). I told this to Sonia, a Czech volunteer here, and she responded "Well of course, he was communist, right?"

I guess sometimes the populist stuff does get a little heavy (it sounds much more dramatic in Spanish!), but I guess I really like that stuff too.

This is one of my favorites so far that I translated, since I haven't been able to find any translation. Plus, this way I got to try and keep the poem the way I read it.


Oda a la Alegria (Ode to Happiness)

Happiness,
a green leaf
fallen on a window,
a tiny
feeling clarity
recently born,
sonorous elephant,
dazzling
coin,
sometimes
a brittle gust of wind,
but
better said
bread on the table,
hopes come true,
obligations accomplished.
I looked down on you, happiness.
I was advised badly.
The moon
took me along its paths.
The old poets
lent me their glasses
and over every thing
I put
a dark nimbus,
over the flower a black crown,
over the loved mouth
a sad kiss.
It's still early.
Let me repent.
I thought that only
if my heart
was burned
by the brambles of torment,
if the rain soaked
my clothes
in mourning,
if I closed
my eyes to the rose
and touched my injuries,
I would help people.
I was not just.
I made mistakes in my steps
and today I call you, happiness.

Like the earth,
you are
necessary.

Like fire
you sustain
our houses.

Like bread,
you are pure.

Like the water of a river,
you are sonorous.

Like a bee,
you share your honey while flying.

Happiness,
I was a taciturn young man,
I found your long hair
scandalous.

It wasn't true, I found out
when in my chest
your waterfall was untied.

Today, happiness,
found in the street,
far from any book,
accompany me:

with you
I want to go from house to house,
I want to go from town to town,
from flag to flag.
You're not just for me.
We will go to the islands,
to the seas.
We will go to the mines,
to the forests.
Not just solitary wood-cutters,
poor clothes washers,
or bristling, august
stone workers,
will receive me with your fruits,
but also the congregations,
the meetings,
the unions of sea and wood,
the young men
fighting for you.

With you towards the world!
With my song!
With the twinkling flight
of the stars,
and with the delight
of ocean's foam!

I'm going to work for everyone
because I owe
to everyone my happiness.

No one is surprised that I want
to give to people
the gifts of the earth,
because I learned through fighting
that it's my terrestrial obligation
to propagate happiness.
And I fulfill that destiny with my song.


Spanish version.

Saturday Morning Reflection

While curled up in a warm bed at 9:42 am (which is sleeping late here) on a weekend off, with Michael Franti on in the background ("Sometimes"):

These are the moments in which I need to thank life for giving me, and soak up as much comfort and thankfulness as I can to hold me through the rest of the moments when its harder to remember how much wonderful stuff there is in the world. (And use it do my best to make this feeling possible for others.)

Reggaeton videos are hilarious.

With access to TV for the first time in 6 months, while Jenny and I were travelling I got to see some Reggaeton music videos. I find it hilarious that they just seem to do whatever they want, as long as they hit the standards of 1) women dancing in very little clothing, 2) artists dancing with those women, and 3) artists posing together in front of a solid color -or slightly designed- background.

As you can see from this video, after hitting the above points they basically just do random stuff. My favorite is the guy doing the one-arm-dance-move-thing (and, actually, sorta legitimately pulling it off):

Here's the video.

For a comparison, check out the video posted below, which is a much more innocent version (ie, more clothing) but still mostly gets are the same ideas.

Mi Niña Bonita

I just got back last week from 2 weeks of vacation around Honduras with Jenny. I have a lot of ideas that, en teoría, I'd like to turn into blog posts, but por mientras here's a cute music video that was saw on our trip and got stuck in my head:

Also, check out the photos from our trip (which I spent an hour two in a Tegus internet cafe yesterday uploading) here.

Can Santa even carry this much hair gel?

Christmas is coming up (all the writing tutors I've learned from would say not to start with such a generic opening...). Starting tomorrow, the tíos and tías go on vacation, and all the high school and college kids --and us volunteers-- take over watching the kids through the año nuevo.

Buying presents for the kids over the last few days turned out to be an interesting process. The questions that it raises are surprisingly tough: how do you find a balance between giving presents in a way that stimulates their excitement, but without being too over-the-top or making them think that you're just here to buy stuff. On other words, somewhere between making them feel excited (which is certainly a worthwhile thing to do), while also making the present part of some larger process of growth.

After brainstorming a variety of ideas, Leila and I laid out the best possibilities in a spectrum, from 'Most short-term/most obnoxious' to 'Most long-term/most emotionally meaningful'. In order, my options were:

-Candy
-Hair Gel (they love their spiky hair here)
-Boxers with cartoon characters/soccer logos on them
-Printing photos of the kids that I've taken
-Photo albums in which to put those, and future, photos

With Leila's help, I ended up with the photos and photo albums, and candy. We decided that the candy would last short term; then, even if many of them wouldn't be thrilled with a photo album, if it could be meaningful for a few kids, that would still be better than something that loses its meaning for everyone after a week.

I'm scared that it will be a less popular choice in the short term, but I guess learning to keep in mind and work towards that long-term growth is part of why I'm here...

But then Leila came up with how I could also get hair gel cheap, thereby cementing both the meaningless and deep sides of my Christmas gift. Which is how I ended up with this:
It's something like 10 pounds of hair gel (which I'll split into little containers for each of the 23 kids). It's so big, there's actually another normal size hair gel container suspended inside this one.


Well, ¡Feliz Navidad y Año Nuevo!

Every once in a while...

Every once in a while, I find myself in a situation that makes me feel 'This is really cool'.

The other night, sitting at our volunteer house picnic table, eating a homemade bagel with strawberry jam, drinking a beer, and reading good poetry, was one of those moments.

So I tried to take a picture:
And, to prove that it was good poetry (though I should be reading more poetry in Spanish- any good ideas?), here's one of the Langston Hughes poems I was reading:

Juke Box Love Song

I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day--
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.

El Espiritú Aventurero...

...is the Spanish translation of "The Spirit of Adventure", a key phrase from the movie UP, which I just watched the other day. And I'm not sure if it's just my English degree that made me see this, but the movie's story and symbolism really addressed some of the issues and frustrations I've been having here lately.

When Señor Fredricksen (I watched the movie in Spanish) goes off on the adventure he and his wife had always wanted to have --by tying a bunch of balloons to his house to make it fly-- he's so intent on his goal of getting his house to Las cataratas del paraíso that he's not able to see the crazy adventure that's going on around him (involving talking dogs, exotic birds, crazy kids, etc). And it's not until he actually accomplishes his ostensible adventure that he realizes that, in the process of getting there, he actually missed out on the 'Spirit of Adventure' that was the whole reason for going off in the first place.

At which point he has to --both emotionally and literally-- throw out all the baggage that's keeping him weighed down, so that his house can fly again and he can go save his boyscout friend Russell (it took me a while to figure out the name they were saying in Spanish).

In the same way, I've recently been struggling with feeling like I'm not doing things right, like I'm not giving my whole self in my work here, like I should be taking more advantage of being here. But the movie helped remind me that all of these are expectations of how I'm 'supposed to be'. They're expectations which turn into frustrations and thereby actually make it harder to be open hearted, harder to remember the Spirit of this Adventure.

An adventure which is, as I like to put it, "learning to be open-hearted in the middle of Honduras with a bunch of crazy orphans" (actually, I just added the 'learning to' part after finding myself struggling with the kids almost immediately after finishing these thoughts).



What I wrote down in my notebook after finishing the movie reminded also me of Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon, which I recently finished. (And, to be honest, I also just like the idea of comparing Toni Morrison and Up). Learning to fly is also very important at the end of that book: flying as a way of reaching your dreams, and also of breaking free from the emotional/historical/literal chains that bind us.

One of the cool things is that, in the book, the purpose of flying isn't so that you can fly away from the world (which the main character, Milkman, is trying to do the whole book). Rather, learning to fly is a way of being more fully part of the world. And our ability to fly is based on our dreams, and on the emotional connections build with one another-- connections that make us feel respected and loved, and dreams that give us motivation and excitement.

Which, I think (I hadn't planned out this part), brings me back to why, for me, maintaining my 'Spirit of Adventure' is so important: that through that spirit, I can try to help the kids feel the same way, help them to find those connections and dreams which will allow them to fly. I like that idea- though of course writing it is much easier than enacting it.


*The English major in me also makes me feel like I need to note that this is a pretty rough interpretation of Song of Solomon, which --without the balloons and talking dogs-- is a little more morally ambiguous than Up...

Bagels!

This weekend I finally had some time to just sit around, and I made bagels. I was inspired after one of the other volunteers made a recipe that involved boiling bread dough, and I realized that if I was already making bread it shouldn't be that much harder.

The taste definitely reminds me of home! (Even though they're not quite up to 'New York Bagel' standards yet). Plus, I figure if I can't get a job when I get back, maybe I can sell bagels on the street (I actually really like that idea...)

I also had a difficult time trying to explain them to Patricia, the Spanish girl here: ...Son una comida tipica de los judios en nueva york...O sea, no es que todos los judios comen bagels todos los días...tal vez son más una comida tipica newyorqueña...pero también lo comen en muchas partes de los Estados...umm, no sé.

Any better ideas for describing bagels to foreigners?

Quiero presentarte a mi madre

Earlier today, during a special mass for quinceañeros (the traditional party for kids turning 15), that's what one of my kids, Yunior, said to me. His mother had come for the event because Yunior's brother was one of the quinceañeros*.

But what made me feel really, really good wasn't that he wanted to introduce me to her, but the proud smile on his face when he brought me to meet her (for her part, she just seemed confused about this extranjero that her son was introducing to her). It makes me feel really good to have something to do with him looking so proud and excited to show off to his mother.

A foto of Yunior and I fighting before graduation the other day. He's both in my hogar (where I east dinner and spend 6-8 on weekday nights), and I also have him in one of my classes at school.

Their family is also just generally really cute- Yunior's younger brother Yeison (yeah, they spell a lot of names with Y's here) is in the reading club I help run once a week with one of the other volunteers. One day he and I were drawing with crayons, and afterwards he said I should keep the drawing. "¡Pero hay que poner to nombre!", I told him ('You have to put your name'). Then, as everyone was leaving, he handed me the drawing. He had written "Yeison y Max son amigos". (Yeison and Max are friends).


*A number of the kids here on the ranch still have a living parent, but that they're here means that that parent could no longer take care of them sufficiently.

I finally decorated my classroom!

These pictures make my English-teaching career look a lot more under control than I feel like they actually are. Though I definitely am proud of how the room looks (maybe because decorations are something small -and fun- that I feel like I can control...).

Parades, bachatas, dinosaurs, etc.

Por fin, something that's actually "about my time in Honduras"!

Wednesday, el 15 de septiembre, was Honduras' independence day. After practicing marching on Monday and Tuesday (which meant that, although I technically had class in the mornings, no one was in any place to do anything; and after a terrible class Monday morning, I learned my lesson and just played soccer with them on Tuesday morning), on Wednesday we went to Talanga, the nearby town, and participated in a parade with a bunch of other area schools.




These two are two of the boys from my hogar.

When we came back, everyone was totally exhausted. While waiting to eat lunch with my hogar, everyone fell asleep, including me and the tíos as well. I had a child asleep on me, there were kids on the tables, on the floors, all over. It was super cute, and also felt very, well, familial. They also put on bachata music, which I discovered is super relaxing. Today I picked up a CD by the group we were listening to, Aventura.

Then we had Thursday and Friday totally off, and a bunch of us travelled up to Lago de Yajoa, a gorgeous lake about 5 hours (and a number of bus trips) from Tegus. It was much more tropical in that region, and often what I'd stereotypically imagined Central America too look like.



More than anything, though, I was struck by the lake- it felt very old and natural (primordial would be the fancy word), and I wouldnt've been surprised to see a dinosaur wander by in the distance. I guess one thing about Honduras' relative lack of tourist infrastructure is that, taking a row boat out on the lake (which was an adventure in itself), besides a few fishermen, we were really the only people out there.
All the northwesterners (most of the volunteers are from Oregon and Washington) say they're used to this kind of scenery, but for me it was very beautiful. Click on the picture to see it full size.

Jane Jacobs is a Baller

I generally don't use that phrase but it seems appropriate here. Totally unrelated to Honduras, I recently started trying to make my way through The Death and Life of Great American Cities, and so far its pretty awesome:

There is a wistful myth that if only we had enough money to spend --the figure is usually put at a hundred billion dollars-- we could wipe out all our [urban problems]...

But look what we have built with the first several billions: Low-income projects that become worse centers of delinquency, vandalism and general social hopelessness than the slums they were supposed to replace. Middle-income housing projects which are truly marvels of dullness and regimentation, sealed against any buoyancy or vitality of city life. Luxury housing projects that mitigate their inanity, or try to, with a vapid vulgarity. Cultural centers that are unable to support a good bookstore. Civic centers that are avoided by everyone but bums, who have fewer choices of loitering place than others. Commercial centers that are lack-luster imitations of standardized suburban chain-store shopping. Promenades that go from no place to nowhere and have no promenaders. Expressways that eviscerate great cities. This is not the rebuilding of cities. This is the sacking of cities.

...There is nothing economically or socially inevitable about [this]...On the contrary, no other aspect of our economy and society has been more purposefully manipulated for a full quarter of a century to achieve precisely what we are getting.


What's really impressive is that this was written in 1961, but it seems like many of the problems she lays out we are still facing today (even, in many ways, in Tegucigalpa, Honduras). Its also just so well --and hard-corely-- written!

What if Calvin and Hobbes were written from the teacher's perspective?

I've been having some great emails with Theresa Tensuan recently, and this is one response I wrote that I thought was pretty interesting (though edited to make more sense and sound less obnoxiously intellectual...I felt like I could indulge myself since I was writing to a professor).

Theresa had written to me about "kids' creativity and resourcefulness in countering adult authority", noting: Here I'm realizing, a la Solnit, that often, as we think we're imparting one one kind of lesson the folks we're trying to reach are learning something else entirely.


The same evening I read the email, I found myself reading a Calvin and Hobbes book before bed, and was thinking about the fact that exactly what makes the comic strip so funny is that Calvin is on an entirely different plane of existence than the logic of the adults and general outside world.

Or, to use some language from English class, Calvin is always undermining the structures of our day-to-day adult logic-- and thereby, he often exposes that these structures really aren't quite as important, or logical, or infallible as they seem to be when we're saying them.

And whereas I general like to think of myself as siding with the 'underminers of social structures' in these kinds of situations, I suddenly find myself as the person who is trying --more or less-- to impose structures onto others. (Here you could make a pun about imposing 'grammatical structures' as well as social ones...).

So I was also thinking, if I were Calvin's teacher, what would I do? Or similarly, what if Calvin and Hobbes were written from the point of view of his parents, or of his teacher? It might still be entertaining, but probably would be a very different kind of comedy (...or, I like the idea of Calvin and Hobbes as more of a 'Freedom Writers' or 'Dangerous Minds' style drama, too).

- - -

Additionally, I had just finished reading Daniel Wallace's Big Fish, and as I finished the book I was really moved emotionally (I love the movie too, which really does a good job capturing the book's spirit).

In the end of the book, the narrator has to accept that is father IS the stories and jokes that he always tells. In other words, accept that his father can only be the 'myth' made up of the stories he's wrapped himself in, rather than idea of 'what a father is ' that the son has always wanted him to be.

And that acceptance is what I think is so moving for me. In the case of working with kids, I guess it means really being willing to accept who they are, rather than my idea of 'what they are supposed to be'. With both the humor and the frustration of their ability to be "learning something else entirely" from what we're trying to give them...and I guess use that acceptance as a starting point for figuring out how to teach/work with them?

(It seems like it would be more ideal if it there were more humor and less frustration, though...Why does frustration seem like an inevitable part of the process?)

Como Calle Trece?

A conversation while training one of the 9th grade boys for an 'Oratory and Poetry in English' performance that we had to do last week (as part of a week of 'talents' while some of the big funders of Talleres --the informal name for Centro Vocacional N.P.H.-- were here).

We tried to give him Shakespeare's 'To Be or Not To Be' from Hamlet, but quickly realized it was too complicated. So I tried to explain why we were giving up on it:

Me: Bueno, las obras de Shakespeare son muy complicadas para las personas que ya hablan inglés, porque él tiene sus propios ritmos, palabras, formas de rima, etc...

Bryan: Ohhh, sí. ¿Como Calle Trece?


(Me: Well, Shakespeare is really hard for people who speak English too, because he has his own rythyms, words, rhyme forms and so forth...

Bryan: Ohhhh, yeah. Like Calle 13?)


We did have another student -who's also really good at English- read the Gettysburg Address, though. And when she read "Es totalmente justo y propio que obremos de este modo", I was suddenly brought back to Mr. Miller's 11th grade History class, in which I seem to remember him often repeating the phrase 'It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this'.

Some Tegus Street Art

This last one is a picture from an art show we went to on Saturday afternoon. One of the pieces was a series of photos of the artist going around the city correcting the spelling and grammar mistakes of other graffiti. Apparently the political graffiti --which is everywhere in the city-- got a lot more common/intense after the golpe (coup) last year.

More on love, annoying kids, and El Principito

Thursday morning we had a big celebration for the Día de Padre Wasson, who was the Catholic priest who founded the first NPH home in Mexico. Anyway, one thought from that celebration that's been stuck in my head was a comment along the lines of:

"Everyone in the world is made in God's image, and thus all of us are perfect as we are."

I feel like, for me, this idea is just another way to help me to try to be open to things as they are, and work to make things better from a place of respect, empathy, and solidarity, rather than a place of frustration (where I've often been finding myself).

Because if we are all made in God's image (no me importa which God it is, though), then that means that the 'annoying 8th graders who don't want to pay any attention and learn this super easy grammatical construction' are God's image. So, God must be an annoying 8th grader sometimes, and God must also be the annoying younger kids who, after every single question on their tests, wanted me to tell them whether it was right or not. And, if that means I'm also made in God's image, then the crazy scheduling mistakes I made on friday are also, for some reason or another, a manifestation of that perfection.

I guess the idea is, no matter how annoying the kids here are, or how many mistakes I or anyone else make, this is just a reminder that they can be seen as perfect for being who they are. Not that this means we can't be better in a lot of ways-- just that no matter how bad someone might seem, they can still be respected and appreciated...

(Hope in the Dark, a book I recently finished (and which I think I talked to almost everyone I know about) which explores how social change happens in surprising and subtle ways, talks a lot about being being open to the change that happens through people or means that you wouldn't expect-- and seeking out alliances that accomplish that. I feel like this thought is in a similar vein...)

I've also just started reading The Little Prince (El Principito, in Spanish), and I think there's a connection to its discussion of how adults are too serious and miss the possibilities that the world holds in favor 'reasonable' things. That is, if you could see all things in the world as perfect as they are (or, as little kids do, without judgement), then I'd imagine everything would be infinitely more enchanting.

School...

Well, I'm about to start my third week teaching, and it feels like I'm too in the middle of processing everything to describe it without taking forever.

Suffice it to say that I've had some very nice moments --like bringing in a Langston Hughes poem for 9th grade and translating it with them-- as well as breaking down and crying after a rough class, and wanting to many more times than that (though this is seemingly obligatory for first-year teachers, wherever they are).

But, at least one interesting thought: After reflecting a lot on the classroom management difficulties I've been having (and getting lots of good advice from many people-- thanks mom!), I've sort of realized that I can't really blame the kids.

I mean, as kids it's their job to give me a hard time (and especially as kids that have gone through all sorts of terrible stuff). They're busy testing the world, and (ideally) learning from the results. I'd imagine adults do the testing-boundaries thing too, though maybe in different ways.

And its my job to be clear on the rules and boundaries to help give them a good response to their probing. So far, I wasn't as clear on the rules and discipline stuff as I should have been, and then when they pushed me I'd get stressed out --and consequently, angry-- because I had no idea what to do. But if I'm clear with myself on the rules, and then make them clear to them, ideally I shouldn't have any reason to get stressed.

An example: Yesterday, I left my house while eating a banana, and ran into three kids from the ranch outside. One of them asked me to give him the half a banana I had left ('regálamelo', or 'gift that to me', is a common phrase here), and of course I said 'No way, this is my breakfast'. 'Plus,' I added, 'you already had breakfast'. 'No,' one of them responded, 'we're not from the ranch, we're poor and from La Venta' (a nearby town). 'Oh, I know you live here. You're in Hogar San Fernando!'. 'No, that's not us, we live in Hogar El Puente, under this bridge' (we were passing a teeny little bridge). At that point they pretended to go down under the bridge, and I kept walking.

The thing is, I feel like that encounter was more funny then anything else (plus it shows that these kids can be creative when they want something). I knew that I wanted to eat my banana and that there was no reason I should give it to them, and because it didn't make me uncomfortable I was able to play around with them, and leave the experience smiling.

I know it will be a lot harder in school, but I'd like to --eventually, at least-- be able to feel that way with my students. This week is exam week, and then next Monday the 4th quarter starts, so I'm excited to start fresh (well, I feel that way right now, at least...I'll probably feel differently next Monday).

Unrelatedly, we hiked to a pretty waterfall today about a half hour up behind the ranch, and got to go swimming in it too.

Esa noche en la habitación de Max nació un bosque...

A few weeks ago I got to read 'Donde Viven Los Monstruos' with a few of the kids (it started because one of them mentioned to me 'I have a book with someone named Max').

This time around, I felt like I understood the book in a new -or at least, different- light, due to my time here at the ranch. I was never sure why Max, after having such a great time with his imagination and his monster friends, decided to get mad at them and tell them to stop playing.

"'¡Basta ya!' gritó Max y ordenó a los monstruos que se fueran a la cama sin cenar. Y Max el rey de los monstruos se sintió solo y deseó estar en un lugar donde hubiera alguien que lo quisiera más que a nadie."

("'Enough!', shouted Max, and he ordered the monsters to go to bed without dinner. And Max the king of the monsters felt alone and wished to be in a place where someone loved him more than anyone"...this is the direct translation back from the Spanish. It might be a little more blunt than the original, which also helps with interpretation...)

Anyways, in his imagination, Max reenacts the same scenario that had happened with his Mother, except this time he was in the position of power. But it doesn't make him happy to do it, and afterwards, he realizes that all he wants is be loved (or maybe its through the reenactment that he's able to realize?). That need to replay or reenact your experience on someone else is so interesting though-- I don't know why we do it...

What's good about the book is that Max does this in his imagination, and not (at least as far as we know) to anyone in real life.

Oye, Cuckold!

Yefri: (pronounced Jeffery; a really nice teen in my 9th grade class) ¿Cómo se dice cabrón en inglés?
Me: No sé. Creo que es una palabra mala. ¿Por que?
Yefri: Los mexicanos siempre dicen "Oye, cabrón" cuando hablan con otros.
Me: ¿Buscamos en el diccionario?
Yefri: (looking it up in a Spanish-English dictionary) Dice "cuckold".
Me: Oh, pero esa es una palabra muy vieja, no se usa todavia.
Yefri: Entonces, ¿No puedes decir a un gringo "Hey, cuckold!"?

Translation:
Yefri: How do you say cabrón in English?
Me: I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure it's a bad word. Why?
Yefri: Mexicans always say "Hey, cabrón!" to each other.
Me: Let's look it up in the dictionary.
Yefri (reading from the Spanish-English dictionary on my desk): It says "cuckold".
Me: Oh, that's an old word that no one uses anymore.
Yefri: So you can't say "Hey, Cuckold!" to a gringo?