Rebirth

Rebirth The last week of the school year. Time to find inspiration energy, new ideas. Time for a field trip. When we received a flyer from Roxbury Community College advertising their “College for a Day” it was the perfect opportunity for us. I had never visited RCC and I very much wanted to see the place that we had been recommending to our students all year. We handed out flyers, talked about the day as if it were God’s gift to GED students, and arranged to meet at the school at 10:00. I hoped that at least one person would show up. I happily counted ten students waiting for us in front of the building. I must have sounded like a slightly demented cheerleader, laughing and greeting everyone, running from student to student exhorting them to sign up, grab their stuff and find their seats in the auditorium. I was just so happy to see our students there that I couldn’t stop bubbling. Eventually I settled down, and we waited for the program to begin. When the Dean of Student Affairs, Charles Diggs, asked the various schools to shout out if they were there, we all yelled, “Yes!” when he called out the Blackstone. Surprisingly, our group sounded really excited. We listened to the day’s agenda, welcoming remarks from the head of the Community Coalition and then waited to hear three RCC students tell us their stories. One woman had waited until her seven children were grown before becoming a student herself. She got her GED then decided to try college. Despite her fears and uncertainties, her many supporters convinced her that she could do it. She told us how everyday she would finish class and everyday she would declare that there was no way that she was going back. And yet everyday she did. Before she knew it she had finished her first year. “And I’m coming back next year!” she told us triumphantly as we applauded her. “If I can do it so can you!” The next gentleman told us about emigrating to the U.S. from the Cayman Islands. He learned English in an ESOL program then moved on to a GED school. Once he got his GED he attended RCC, finished its two year program and transferred to UMASS Boston. He had just graduated a few days before. “If I could do it so can you!” he told the crowd. The third gentleman was a Navy vet who, after many detours, decided to attend college when he retired. He regaled us with his life’s story ending with his schooling at RCC. And once again we were told, “If I could do it so can you!” Now you have to understand that all year long we have been talking, cajoling and even shouting at our students that that they could get their GED if they only worked, but their responses were dispiriting. Yet as they listened to their peers, all around me I could see heads nodding in agreement and secret smiles. I knew they were telling themselves, “If they can do it then maybe I can too!” Hope reborn. Afterwards we each chose a class to visit: Theater Arts, the Humanities, even Chemistry. I decided to go to, “Poetry and Morality.” Nine of us followed the teacher, Ted Thomas, trooping off to his class. The room was small and airless and for the first few moments I had misgivings. Professor Thomas handed out a syllabus and told us that he would be treating us as if we were attending our first class of the semester. I felt warm, stifled and bored and wanted very much to leave. This was a mistake. What was I doing here? Then suddenly our teacher caught fire as he began preaching poetry. He paced back and forth, asking us questions with his hands, pleading for poetry, drawing us into a passionate conversation. I moved to the edge of my seat, trained my eyes on him and smiled. I had forgotten this--the excitement of a great teacher stirring thoughts in my brain that had lain dormant for too long. It felt like church with all of us yearning to yell out, “Amen!" to his assertions about poetry and life. And then he asked us to write a poem. A poem? Was he kidding? I couldn’t remember the last time I had written a poem. He saw our frightened faces and said that it was not so very dreadful a task that he was asking. Just a poem. I sat there, feeling rebellious, angry, scared and then suddenly, my hand began to write as quickly as it used to so many years ago. Within five minutes there was a poem on my page. How had that happened? Wonderingly I held up my sheet of paper and showed it to him and he smiled. “May I read it?” he asked gently. My hand shook a bit as I gave it to him. I watched as he read it, wondering that I had handed it to him at all. When he turned around and told me that he liked it and would I send it to him, I suddenly realized that I had been holding my breath. My prayer felt answered. Oh yes, I would send it and quickly before I had second thoughts, before I could lose my nerve. Who was I to question a rebirth?

Zoned Out

Zoned Out I used to love flying--the whole idea of getting away to something and somewhere new. Even the time spent in the airport was fun. Once you checked in you were already on vacation, poking around the airport stores, buying snacks that you wouldn’t usually eat and magazines that you would never read outside of a dentist’s office. People watching--wondering how that woman could possibly be comfortable in those shoes or wondering if those were pajamas that girl was wearing, the one who was carrying a pillow and teddy bear. You waited patiently to get on the plane knowing that they would let you on from back seats to front so that no one would block the aisles. The stewardesses smiled at you, welcoming you aboard and then asked you if you needed anything. I would always eagerly grab the airline magazine to check out the in-flight movies and menu. There was a pillow and blanket on your seat and earphones so you could listen to music. Once the plane took off the stewardesses would walk around offering people warm wash cloths, drinks and snacks. And best of all there was enough leg room so that you didn’t feel that if you sneezed you would end up with your knee in your ear. All fond memories. Luckily last month we were able to purchase our tickets for Tucson with points. Two seats cost us $70.00 plus $25.00 for a checked bag. Later I would find out that the headsets were free but using them would cost me seven bucks. Not bad, not bad at all. Or so I thought. What I hadn’t realized was that not paying full price for tickets had set me up for adventures before I was even settled on the plane. The first revelation was that even though I had chosen seats they weren’t locked in. My friend, Ginette told me that she had made plane reservations for her family months in advance and naturally had chosen four seats together. When they got on the plane though, they were scattered throughout the cabin like breadcrumbs. It seems that if someone is willing to pay an extra $25.00 for a “good” seat, i.e. near a window, on the aisle, or in the plane, they automatically bump you to another seat. Theoretically, I suppose, you could end up sitting in the bathroom. The second fun-filled adventure was zoning. United Air assigns you to a boarding zone according to how much you paid for your seat. After first class, business class passengers and babies, you are no longer seated from back to front, but by zones. I noticed that we were assigned zone 7 but since we already had our seats I didn’t care when we boarded. However I would shortly learn what being a denizen of zone 7 meant. It seems that after the enlightened people of zone 4 had boarded, there was no more room in the overhead bins for carry-on luggage. We were told that our bags would be shipped separately. All that time that I had spent carefully packing my carry-on with clothing and toiletries in case they lost my checked bag, had just been thrown out the window. I ended up groveling at a stewardess’ feet so that I could take mine on board. One desperate economy-gentleman pushed his bag into a first class overhead bin as he got on. The outraged stewardess threatened to throw him off the plane, have him arrested, and then claim his first born child, if he didn’t immediately and forthwith remove his offending bag. I was shaking as I boarded not daring to look at her lest she throw me off as well. Shatz and I soon realized that there were other differences between the zones as well: Zone 1—First class, business class, cute, quiet babies and paid in full AARP members. They all boarded first and were allowed to tread on the royal blue carpet on the right. Definitely the 1% of flying. Zones 2 and 3—Premier carpet people. These were flyers who had paid extra to board second, walk on the afore-mentioned blue rug, (I believe the rug vibrated to give them a foot massage) and have plenty of time to settle into their seats to contemplate everyone else struggling to get on. Zone 4—Was not allowed to walk on the blue rug, but on a red rug to the left. The last people on who could bring their carry-on bags, (see above) they were also allowed to wear a smug look on their faces. Zone 5—The last people to have over 6 inches worth of leg room. Zone 6—The last people that the stewardess acknowledged with, “Have a nice trip”, also the last people allowed to use the bathroom gratis. Zone 7—Our zone. The dregs of society, deadbeats, i.e. people who actually had the nerve to use points for tickets. They pulled the rug away when we walked up (while I was walking on it!) People in our zone had the flu. The stewardess told us to, “Have a trip.” When we got on board we weren’t even allowed to buy food! Our money was no good there. As we prepared for take-off I heard the lady behind me say, “These seats seem so small!” “First timer,” I sighed and thought seriously about hitchhiking to Tucson next time.