Kirsten’s World: Azquita Pa’l Cafe
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By Kirsten Phillips (Niigata-ken, 2005-08) who is currently a teacher in the NYC Teaching Fellows Program.
I have an ESL kid! WHEEE!
I am way too happy about that!
I became fast friends with the ESL teacher at my school, Amercy. And she is. I love her first name. It’s eloquent! Once upon a time she worked as a push-in for my class but no longer. I was sad to see her go. However now she is coming back because someone gave me Jesus!
Though a majority of my native-speaking students need major assistance with English reading, writing and most importantly, EXPRESSION, this kid is mandated. His former classroom was taught by a Spanish-speaking teacher and his classmates were all bilingual.
But mami wants her baby to start speaking English.
He’s a good boy. Let’s call him Jesus. Jesus is half Puerto Rican and half Dominican. For the most part he sticks with my native-tongued Paras in the kitchen. Sitting him down for instruction in English is understandably a slow process. It’s scary being the kid who doesn’t quite catch everything. He’s a smart boy, though, and damn have I missed teaching ESL.
I don’t get much one-on-one time with my new kid and I always try to corner away just a little for everyone when they first come in. Plus, there’s no way I’m letting Graciela mommy him. He’s in my class because his parents want him in an all-inclusive English environment. It’s been a while since I’ve forced English on innocent kids who need it.
“Jesus.” I put on my apron. “Come help me, please?”
I was making sugar cookies dammit! I don’t often get a chance to use the kitchen as it is lorded by Senora Graciela and that woman fucking owns me. ^^ Half my room is actually a kitchen and the other half (my domain) is a teeny, cramped classroom which most of my kids would rather grind cig butts into their knees than sit in. Jesus had been happily busy in the kitchen all day baking, cleaning, grilling, frying…in Spanish.
“I need strong arms. Do you have strong arms?” I posed for him. Jesus demonstrated his ample bicep and grinned. He’s a big kid. I laid out the ingredients one by one.
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the contents of my bowl.
“Azucar y….” his brow furrowed. “…mantequilla.”
“English, Jesus.” I growled.
“Sugar y….no se.”
“Butter.” I said.
“Butter.” He repeated as though such a word being used in reference to ‘mantequilla’ was SO unnecessary and absurd. Butter. How lame.
“Mix the butter and sugar please?” I handed him a spoon. He complied. I passed the time.
“Como se dice espanol?” I pointed to the 粉.
“Harina.” He said, rolling his r’s proudly. I copied him and frowned as though “harrrrrina” was such an unnecessary word to use in place of FLOUR.
Jesus barely comes to school but I like him. Jesus knows how to speak to adults which is a skill most of my students have not mastered.
Q. is a sweet girl with sweeter intentions but her outside is very rough and hostile. She never speaks when she can bark. She never says please, rarely thanks and never apologizes. She’s slower at things and the world has not been very nice to her about it.
I was at the computer when I should have been at lunch, half asleep and unaware of it when she burst into the room and shouted: “MS. PHILLIPS!”
“YIKES!!!”
You’re never aware of where you are until someone screams in your ear. I gasped and nearly spilled my tea.
“I’m sorry, Ms. P. I’m very sorry that I scared you. Your cupcakes are downstairs.”
“It’s okay, Q.” I panted. “I-I’ll be right down.”
Kirsten is off duty.
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