It's been a year since I met the sweetest, kindest thirteen-year-old girl I've ever met, and having been a teacher, then a counselor, in public schools, I've met quite a few. We met when I was called in to help her enroll in our mid-Minnesota small town school. She came with her mom and a local nun who learned Spanish when she was working in Central America in her younger years. I was called in because they knew I spoke a bit of Spanish. I introduce myself, and it becomes clear that this sweet girl, who has the thickest black hair I've ever seen, doesn't understand a thing beyond the "hello." I continue on and begin to fill out the forms. Her eyes light up when I pronounce and spell Oaxaca correctly. She senses an ally--someone who might be able to communicate with her in a new world in which she is surrounded by a language and a culture that she doesn't understand.
Please join me below the orange curl....
And so our school year begins. I attend all of her classes with her on the first day of school and translate the basics--the very basic--to her. I meet with my principal and the ESL teacher, and the plan is to have her attend class with the ESL teacher one hour per day and to have a study hall one hour per day with the nun, who has wonderfully offered to come to the school every day to help this girl. Her study hall falls during my lunch, so I'll be able to help facilitate the academic portion of the study hall and give guidance to the nun in ways to best help. I get online and find a Spanish version of her math book and her history book, but her science class doesn't utilize a text, so I scour the web for science links that are in Spanish. We meet with the teachers, none of whom know a shred of Spanish and none of whom have ever taught an ESL student before. The plan is agreed to, and our adventure begins.
And we all fall in love with this kid. She never complains. She works diligently on whatever is put in front of her. She smiles constantly, even though she is exhausted by the end of every day. She learns greetings and goodbyes and proudly tests them on us. "Have a good day!" "Good morning!" "See you tomorrow!" She is determined to learn English. She loves it here. She LOVES George Washington when she learns about him in history class. She loves math. She loves science. She loves choir. She loves fisica (PE). Nothing fazes her. Her teachers can't get over how hard she tries, and she does so well despite the language barrier. The nun and I discuss how frustrating this must be for her, even though when we ask her, she refuses to complain.
As I earn her trust, the nun shares more of the story with me. The girl's mom has been in the U.S. for ten years. The girl was left in Mexico with grandma. Mom had two more sons while in the U.S. but something happened, which I don't know, that spurred mom to send for the girl. Some of Those damn Catholics, you know, what with their social justice, plot to get her over the border--I don't know those details either. What I do know is that I gave this girl most of my lunch hours this past year. I drove to her home two days a week this summer to continue tutoring her. The ESL teacher did the same, as both of us are determined to help her meet her goals.
She wants to be an American, when I'm not sure I do. She wants to go to college. She and her family want a good life. When I grow ashamed of my country, embarrassed that anyone might see me as another ugly American--thanks Trump...and Cruz...and Paul--she works to embrace it.
I pray--and I'm agnostic at best--that this country embraces her back.