Pretty Little Numbers

Yesterday was 11/11/11. It was also Veteran's Day. Put these things together and surely something will arise. H told me that a baby was born, at 11:11, on 11/11/11 and that both the baby's parents were in the Air Force. I have to say that this strange little fact made me smile this morning. I know that somewhere, a family started yesterday, and that for them, fate had her arm wrapped around the whole divine experience. Even if a cynic tells you that statically, it isn't that incredible, you know that the mother of that baby boy believes that her child was meant to come out just when it did, to enter their lives at that very moment.

My 11/11/11 was a bit different. It started with a Veteran's Day ceremony at school, where I corralled children into an over-packed gym that smelled too much like dirty laundry. I realized pretty quickly that I was a real ass for not wearing any red or white (I did have an unintentional white tank under my tan sweater, but I doubt that one me any patriot points). So, I scribbled out a flag on one of my forgotten name-tag adhesives, before scooting my 7th graders to the assembly. The ceremony itself was nice, with the music and actual good behavior of all those teenagers crammed in together in a tiny space. They had a great speaker, who had been in four wars and had that sternness about him that was secure but doesn't make you uneasy. He spoke smoothly and confidently and I was nearly ready to encourage my kids to fight under his tutelage. The part that shook me though, were the letters from war that the theater students read. One, in particular, mentioned being so close to Dakau, the concentration camp in Germany, that they could smell bone. I remember going there myself, during my 13-country-whirlwind through Europe that somehow was completed in 33 days. When I went, it was summer, and there were yellow flowers scattered along the green grass, and it was too warm to appreciate the hell of winter, with no clothes, no hair, and nearly no body fat.
This got me thinking, of numbers, of the years, that decide what your life will entail. That my students were too young to remember the sheer panic of 9/11, and no matter how passionate of a lesson I gave on it, they couldn't get goosebumps the way I did, every time our principal comes over the loudspeaker, because it reminds me of my high school principal, telling us in his deep voice that the towers had fallen. I wonder what their memories will be, how they will stick, and if I will even dent them at all.
I did have a nice surprise at work, other than the assembly, and that was the return of one of my students from last year. He returned to Mexico last March and I hadn't heard from him since. I remember being so worried about him for weeks afterward, and then, as time passed, I worried and remembered less. I pretty much begged for him to be in my Reading class, and was pleased to see him on my roster Friday morning. He looks a little intimidating perhaps, with his baggy clothes and solid stature(and an almost perpetual hood), but when he smiled upon seeing me, I couldn't help but hug him back and beam. I will hopefully get the chance to bring him up to grade-level in reading, and, possibly equally as important, monitor him and help to make him feel welcome and safe at school.
As the day progressed, and my 4th period class filled with 7th grade boys sucked all the energy from me, I found myself gearing up for a rowdy 'Choir Practice' with some co-workers after school ended. I drank two beers and ate about a pound of queso, all while enjoying the bitching and banter that is unique to teachers. We have our own vernacular, as many professions do, and middle school teachers love to discuss the chaos of our daily working lives. It is a funny bond that teachers have, I think, mostly because when you're at school it feels like nothing else in the world exists. When I'm at work and in my room, which has no windows, there could be any number of natural disasters sweeping through Pflugerville and I wouldn't bat an eyelash. Beautiful, 70-degree days are simply wasted on me, because I am in a room that smells of sneakers and boys all day long. Let's not even go into the cleanliness of the pillows I have in my room for students to use while reading.......
But let's fast forward to last night. So, it is H, C and myself heading over to my friend D's house for an 11/11/11 party. We are meant to bring 11 shaped food items, such as long thin pretzels, or perhaps we could bring Yasmine Bleathe and let people snack on her fingers or something, but instead I brought those french Piroutte cookie things. Anyway, right off the bat I see that most the people there are the church folk I met the previous weekend on the retreat, so I was feeling mildly popular, which has not been a common feeling in Austin, let me tell you. There were so many sweet, charming twenty-somethings that I about died of joy. H immediately saw one of her own idols, a famous Austin blogger that she follows, well, I would say religiously but H and I aren't great at going to church....so let's just say H follows her methodically, the way a mathematician has to count those tiny squares on ceilings. The woman's boots were akin to the torso of a Collie, and she had a glow about her that assured confidence with a hearty dab of warmth. Now, it isn't often that H and I have an 'on' night in front of the cool people in our presence, but I do believe last night was one of them. People seemed to at least think we were as resoundingly funny as we thought they were. It seemed everyone we met was either in film, writing, or the business of saving African countries from emotional distress and famine (perhaps in that order). A few times I looked around to see if we might get our picture snapped for the local paper or something. It is strange to crave that kind of juicy discussion, where you can talk politics, poetry and philanthropy and then just as quickly crack a joke about how your pastor got the word "package" during Taboo and turned beet red. (Too bad the buzzer sounded before he could attempt to give us clues on that one.)
I find that most of the time, being in my mid-twenties is not so glamorous. It is mostly me flopping out of bed at 6 a.m. and messing with the coffee maker in a baggy t-shirt and blurry vision. Or, me looking dozing off to bed around 9 p.m., with a copy of some literary gem I've picked out to feel more well-read but have hopelessly discarded after ten minutes of skimming. But, occasionally, I meet friends for wine at Vino Vino and look around at the dim lighting, at the incredible people surrounding me, and I really let it sink in that these are probably the damned days of our lives or something. At work, things are a little too crazy to really sit around thinking, "Wow, we're changing lives here....." it's more like me looking around and saying, "Please, so and so, take off your hood," or "Seriously, is that your foot on my chair?"
A saying I have like recently, which naturally stemmed from my shouts at H's dog, Sophie, is "In what world?" I find that I want to say this all the time to my students, except I know they won't understand it. Though, in the hallway, when a kid was banging on the walls and disrupting other classes, I couldn't help but let slip, "In what world is that OK?" and give him my most ferocious scowl. He looked too confused to really give me any satisfaction (this seems to be a trend when teaching tweens).
So where was I going with this post? Well, I haven't the slightest, so I will attempt to connect that numbers are strange and confusing and yet, in a weird way, they are the equalizer of language. My kids straight from Mexico can't greet you but hey, they can knock out a division problem. I could end with something cheesy, like a smile is also universal, but let me just leave you with my guilty admission instead.........speaking of numbers........I watched two seasons of The City (yes, the spin-off of The Hills) in the last week, and though they are just 12 minutes long each, it still is gross and I probably should have tar poured on me and then rolled into a pile of feathers or something.