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.