Blackstone Love Affair

Blackstone Love Affair

Please don’t hate me when I tell you that I love my job. Since I spent most of last year dreading each morning that I had to go to work, I feel I’ve earned this honeymoon that I seem to be on right now. And I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it won’t end--the job or the honeymoon.

I’m the manager of the GED program at the Blackstone Community Center in the South End. We’re around the corner from Washington Street, known as “restaurant row” because of all the incredible eating establishments that live here. Most open only for dinner, but luckily one of them, Café Stella, also serves quick lunches. Their chicken soup is to die for.

But it’s not the local cuisine that makes this such a wonderful place to be—it’s the people. I have two bosses--Mike, who represents the Boston Center for Youth and Families (BCYF) and Keith--the director of the center itself. They couldn’t be more different. Mike is no-nonsense, practical, what-you-see-is-what-you-get; for me, a gift from the gods. I always know where I stand with Mike and I know he’s got my back. Keith is a gentle visionary, who views problematic people and setbacks as opportunities to grow stronger—I have a lot to learn from him, especially forbearance.

Our program’s secretary, Lalitta, describes the community center staff as a close, loving, dysfunctional family. So far I’ve seen the close but not the dysfunctional but then I’m not yet one of the family. I need to be here much longer and overcome the countless hurdles that they’ve dealt with for years. At a staff meeting last week, an administrator from BCYF explained how the difficult economic situation in the city would affect us. He told us, “You have to do more with less and do it with a smile.” Sonia, the no non-sense Center Program Director, just looked at him and said, “We’ve been doing that for years!”

I watch them all, Sofia, Tanya, Keith and Natalie, do their jobs, do them well and do them with smiles for the kids they care for and I realize that whether the community realizes it or not, it would be much poorer without them. And I know that I can do no less for my school.

If you work in Adult Basic Education (ABE), you don’t do it for money or glory. Greg teaches the highest level class in the morning then manages the Allston-Brighton site at night. For 20 years he’s been a guide to all the students who have come determined to better their lives. He does it calmly, quietly, and well. He deserves a medal. Vanessa, who teaches the mid level class, reminds me of my Lisa--young, enthusiastic, out to change the world, and I think she just might. And Lalitta, our program assistant and counselor, works two ABE jobs, no complaints, no regrets, just does it easily with humor, helping the students when they’re lost, applauding them when they succeed.

The students grab our hearts. Last week I was impatiently tapping my foot as I waited for my class to quiet down when Deanna started laughing. “We’re a handful are we?” she said. “But confess you love us!” And I laughed and told her, “Yes I think I do.”

There’s Joan from Barbados, whose soft voice gets louder when she gets something right. She tells me about her beautiful island and tells me that she dreams of returning there to open her own restaurant. Her friend, Pearl is determined to get her GED if she has to stay in school for the next ten years. She gives us all advice on how to live a healthy life.

Tonya regrets dropping out of high school and waiting so long to return. She battles illness to come to school every week. When I read Langston Hughes’ poetry to the class she “gets it” every time—right to the heart and soul of it. But when I mention that we’ll be starting math soon she tells me that math is a four letter word. Her friend, Deanna is a single mom who drops her daughter off at school then races to class. She writes poetry, loves the computer and refers to herself and Tonya as the class clowns. But she’s serious about studying forensics and I’m serious about helping her.

Mercedes and Diomarys are friends from the Dominican Republic. Both struggle to understand this weird thing called English. I tell them to have patience, that English is a hard, unpredictable language that has more exceptions than rules. I correct their pronunciation and grammar and try to get them to hear the beauty of poetry. Mercedes works hard, asking for homework and determined to succeed. And she will.

Ramutu is quiet but has a quick laugh and surprises us with her sense of humor. And then there is our only gentleman, Jeff. Dear Jeff. He brings us snacks to share along with his sense of humor and belief in God. I enjoy his French accent, his sheer exuberance and his love of learning.

My class. My new family. I spend restless nights wondering how to teach them more effectively; how to make it interesting, fun. How to help them through this educational maze to that eventual prize—a high school education. My job. What a joy it is.