It's over!

I was so relieved to hear the 3:45 PM bell today. After spending days locked up in a room getting only 45 minutes to myself, I was ready to be back on our regular schedule. I was giddy with excitement thinking that I won’t have to tell kids to read, stop talking, turn around, or what time it is. Next week, we’re exploring poetry in the form of corridos, haiku, and limericks to name a few.

In my quest to be a medium brown girl, I joined a gym last week. I’ve been working out almost every day. Well, except for Easter because it was closed and the day my heel was killing me. Anyway, as an employee of the school district, I get a huge discount on membership, as do some of my colleagues. I usually run into two of them. Today, we planned to attend the Salsa class. It was actually quite fun, and I managed to look like I was kinda dancing. Have a mentioned before that I’m a horrible dancer? That could be another reason people think I’m a gringa.

It’s not all fun and games though. On Wednesday night, I received some horrifying news. My nephew, Richard, a sixth grader at a school in El Paso, got beat up by seven kids on Tuesday afternoon. He was trying to be chivalrous because some kid was pinching his girlfriend’s breasts. So he confronted the kid and they ended up meeting after school. Well, the kid took his friends and they all joined in on the fun. Richard passed out and didn’t wake up for a while. He’s got some bruising of the brain and yesterday he told me his face looks funny and his head hurts a lot.

I tear up thinking about the whole thing. I work so hard to keep my kiddos safe. If I know that they’re talking about fighting someone, I’m on them. I tell the counselor or another teacher. I watch them as the go from class to class because they don’t have all the skills to deal with problems rationally. I’m not saying his teachers had to do this. His mom could have helped out by getting off her lazy ass to take him to and from school. But I digress.

I hope you all are having a good week.

Wha?

A couple months ago, during one of my post-observation meetings, my faciliatator, said to me, "I think you're a great teacher and you have so much to offer to your students, but I'm afriad the harsh reality of the classroom is going to push you away."

At that moment, I thought, "Hah, you're crazy!"

But her words resonated in my ears this morning when the principal came on the intercom this morning and said, "We want SJ to be recognized! Do your best today!"

It took me back to my Wal-Mart days. It gave me a sick feeling in my stomach. Yeah, our kiddos have to produce, but not in this way. It further upset me that at 3:15 kids were sent to their 5th period class and we're expected to teach. What the heck are they thinking? You force a kid to sit for six hours and test, then read, and you don't allow them to go outside, stand up, or breathe and then you want them to go to a class at the end of the day to learn?

I took my class outside and we played Red Rover. All anyone talks about is TAKS, it's over now, so of course the kids think school is out. I think I'm up for a couple of challenging weeks. However, I think they might actually be fun. Goodbye TAKS prep packets hello Literature and Writing.

In other news, my heel is killing me. I decided to do something good for me and join the gym and either the walking around all day or the working out has irked something in my heel. It hurts like a mother to walk and at times, I get these excrutiatingly painful throbs.

I hope everyone had a happy Easter and/or Passover. I'm off to look for poetry lessons for the last couple of weeks.

Immigration & Little League

You all know about wearing white on Monday, not purchasing anything, and being encouraged not to show up to work or school, right? I'm showing up to work because I'm a square like that, but I am wearing white and not purchasing anything (I must say, the purchasing thing will be difficult because I usually eat dinner w/ my co-worker & classmate because we have class on Monday night.)

Anyway, my sis and I were talking about this the other night because she was asking if I was going to any of the protests. It gets a little hairy because my commitment is to the kids not the education system. On our trip to "teacher happy camp," I had a conversation with one of the other fellow Latina teachers. She wasn't aware that there were only about four Latino teachers on staff and fewer African Americans. I think it really opened her eyes.

So when I think about it, I feel like I'm doing more by actually going to work. I submitted this week's headlining article with my lesson plans. I didn't get them back yet. We're still reading it on Monday, regardless.

On Monday, when I asked them to write about their weekend in their journal, A.T. told me all about opening day and getting the game ball. I asked about his team and what position he played. Friday a few minutes before the bell for the end of homeroom rang, he said, "Ms. will you go to my game later?"

At the end of the day, all I wanted was to come home and sleep. Since getting over my cold, I haven't had the sleeping effects of medicine and so I don't get to fall asleep until very late. Pair that up with feeling dizzy and weak b/c of the nasty salad the night before and you'll get one tired me who didn't want to go to this game.

However, Rachel Ray was making ballpark food, and I knew this kid would be waiting for me to show up, besides what's two hours. So come six o'clock, I headed toward the general direction of where he said his game would be. After weaving through some neighborhoods, I found the park.

I was a little shy about showing up. It's mostly parents that go to these things. How would I look showing up there. I don't even know this kid's parents. After watching the little girls eat ice cream as the jump on a trampoline in the backyard of the houses that lined one side of the park, I gained enough courage. The only thing I kept thinking was that I'd made a commitment to this kid.

After a couple plays, he saw me and alerted A.S., the pitcher and another one of my students, that I was in the stands. They both looked at me and smiled. Later, another one of my students came to the bleachers and looked as if he'd seen the most amazing thing in the world. "Ms. Baeza! What are you doing here?"

After I told him, I inquired about his game. He was playing after the game we were currently watching. I told him I'd stay to watch him too. As more of his teammates showed up, more kids asked his same question. They would go run around and come back to sit with me while I watched the game. When shocked kid's mom showed up, he whispered to her that I was there and that I would be staying to watch his game, too.

It was so nice to see them outside of school, doing the things they love. I felt like I do when I read their journals, honored, that they would share this part of their life with me.

Overdue Update

I know, I owe you guys. I owe you about a million entries, but you’re going to get one, a long one. Unless of course, I mess something up so bad that I need to come back and add it.

WPA Conference

It was pretty awesome. I went to most of the Con Tinta events. I was actually at the one on Thursday night. The most exciting part of the night besides being greeted by Alicia Gaspar de Alba and chatting with Rolando Hinojosa was seeing Matthew McConaughey. He was eating dinner with some buddies on the patio. Fortunately, we ended up having dinner there and got a table in the patio adjacent to his. When he walked through the lobby (where were sitting) from the restroom to his table, we all just about fainted.

Anyway, this Con Tinta stuff is pretty cool. Rich was awesome for looking through the program and hooking us up with the Latino events so that we could go and support each other. It was cool to have to choose between a couple of events instead of having only one option. I would encourage any of you writers to attend. Just like the protests for immigration, we need the Latino voice to be heard in places like this. Anyway, I’m sure you all know how I feel about certain top selling authors.

Capturing Kid’s Hearts

I got sent to this training in Podunk, Texas. Okay, it was really Round Top, those of you who don’t know Texas, it’s just outside of Brenam, which is near College Station (home of Texas A&M), which is just outside of Austin. So really, it’s in the middle of nowhere.

Anyway, we got to stay at this Christian Retreat. It was a huge chunk of land with about four farm houses. We got to stay in the biggest one. It was a really nice house. My room had a door to the balcony and bunk beds. The décor was country-style. They had a little pond with fish and the porch on the first floor had about a million rocking chairs.

The training was pretty good. When I got back on Friday, I had students running up to my room to see if I had turned into one of the “nice” teachers.

TAKS

I’ve been busy because I had that training and I’ve been lagging three days. TAKS is only a two short weeks away and yesterday we got the “talking to.” I seriously don’t get what these legislators are thinking. I mean, how can I increase the percentage of kids passing TAKS when I don’t have the same kids as I did last year, but I digress. If I’m absent, this is why.

Immigration Protests

So there have been protests going on. Our school is freaking out that our kids are going to protest. They keep talking about it and the kids are like, “What protests Ms.?”

It comes down to an issue of safety. I’m not against the protest, heck, had I known, I would have been there. But these kids, the ones I teach, they have no idea. If they protested, I’d be upset because they would make us look like dumbasses. Anyway, I’m doing a lesson on the whole issue. I’m getting the ones that want to, to write letters and sending them off. I think we might have a debate in class on this issue.

Day 3

It’s day 3 of Spring Break. Funny how I’d be wishing it was Friday if it were any other week. At least when I get back, I work one full week and I'm off to "the camp that will change my life and make me nice." (The entire staff has been signed up to do a three day training in Round Rock, TX.) But after that, it's nose to the grindstone time. We don't have much longer until TAKS.

I'm heading out to Austin tomorrow. I'll be attending the WPA (Writers and Poets Association) conference. It should be fun. A lot of Latino faces will be there.

I suppose I should get back to cleaning. We're trying to get the place all spic and span before we head out to the park to fly kites. Monday we went to the zoo and it was one of the best days I've had in a long, long time. Anyway, foaming bubbles are waiting to be scrubbed onto the bathtub.

Mala

What channel will the Grannies or Oscars or whatever the heck is going to be on TV tonight be on? I’m guessing it will probably be ABC so I’m going to have to miss my Grey’s Anatomy. The bastards.

Well, Spring Break has turned out to be quite eventful. I woke up at 2:00 AM Saturday morning needing to drain the turtle and freezing half to death even though I was wrapped in two blankets. Two hours later, I woke up burning up, even though said blankets were on the opposite side of the bed. Yep, I got sick, majorly sick. I guess that’s what happens to for saying, “Nope, haven’t used that insurance yet. I haven’t gotten sick at all this year.”

It wasn’t until today that I could fathom the thought of ingesting anything food-like. Now, I’m dying to eat bread. Not any bread, a bolillo with a crispy crust. It seems like that’ll make my stomach finally feel okay. Earlier, I was craving chicken breast with rice and some kind of green vegetables, but I think I’ve waited too long. I’m heading out to Kroger in a few in search of the perfect meal for the sickling. The only good thing that has come out of it is that I’ve slept. I think I was awake for a total of two hours yesterday. The rest of the day was spent either clinging or fighting with the blankets dreaming about saving the youth of American with an IKEA duvet.

P.S. I blame all this sickness on the fact that I asked someone to get me a six pack of Lonestar and instead, they bring home a six pack of Keystone Light.

Spring Break and Acts of Cuteness (?)

This afternoon, the faculty vs. students game, kicked off our Spring Break. Boy was I excited to get out of dodge. I got home at about 4:30, I haven’t been home that early in forever. I hardly knew what to do with myself. I turned on the T.V. and passed out for about two hours. I still think I need to go pick up a six pack of Lonestar to celebrate.

Today, my cool friend M., asked me to cover her class for the last five minutes or so because she had to see the doctor before she skipped town. I arrived ten minutes before students were released and low and behold, the handsome young man was in there.

The handsome young man and I have developed a sort of interesting relationship. He manages to stop by my class about two or three times a day to say “hi.” He always walks in and says, “Heelllooo.” He sounds a lot like a Tele Tubby when he says this.

The other day, I was joking with him and told him that I was quitting after spring break. He quickly replied, “But you can’t! Not until the end of the year!”

“Who said that? I can quit at any time.”

“Let me see your paperwork!”

“I don’t have any paperwork.”

“Who’s going to be our teacher then?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess some sub.”

“But Ms! Can I give you a hug then?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re retiring!”

“Maybe after school.”

Well, ever since Thursday, he’s been coming back after school, to claim a hug.

So anyway, he was very happy to know I was going to watch the class. As soon as he heard me speak, he turned around in his chair and said, “Ms. Baeza! Come watch me play!” (This was a Tech. Applications class and playing on the computer is part of the curriculum.)

After they turned off the computers and were standing around waiting for the bell to ring, he invited me to sit next to him at the basketball game. I didn’t because I had to stand around and watch, make sure no one was up to any funny business. He did get his hug at the end of the day though.

During morning detention, another one of my students invited me to the skating rink. When I said I didn’t know how to skate, he quickly said, “I’ll teach you!”

And during our third period conference, I went to help my mentor and another fellow teacher practice shooting hoops for the game. The 6th grade girls came out of the locker room and one of them lunged herself at me and wrapped her arms around me squealing, “Ms. Baeza!”

It’s so funny that at the beginning of the year I was so afraid of them. I thought they were going to eat me up alive. Now, I have issues thinking about being away from them during vacations and my three day out of town training. My mentor said to me the other day, “Oh, you wait until the end of the year. You’re going to cry.”

Chick Flick Dreams

Last night, I had a dream that I was the star of a chick flick. Everyone in the movie was white. I think I may have been white too. I can’t say for sure because I was seeing it through my eyes.

The movie was about this girl who can’t make up her mind between two guys. There’s the one guy who is the good guy. He loved her with all his heart, but eventually, he got tired of the way she treated him. It was at this time that my character falls in love with him. However, it’s way too late because he asked the perfect, goody two shoes blonde, to marry him.

Then there was the other guy who has financial promise, but he’s sort of an ass and not as handsome. He proposes to my character, and she says no, but he tells her to keep the ring and think about it.

At the end of the movie, my character is at the wedding of the guy she loves and the perfect woman. At the wedding reception, the younger sister of either the girl is shooting hoops in her bridesmaid dress and everyone is shouting, “Go Squirrel!”

My character is eating a piece of pie feeling sorry for herself. Someone sets on fire the binder that contains all of the secrets of these girls (there was like four of them). The perfect girl, who’s wearing a simple cotton dress for a wedding dress, says she needs to get some joints out of her purse to burn in the fire. One of the other girls is watching my character eat the pie and says, “I loved him too.”

And the other character, who sort of looks like the lesbian friend on Roseann, is saying that she’s hoping to get transferred to Virginia (she’s a teacher), but the school secretary won’t let her.

At this point, I woke up, but fell back asleep and the dream continued.

Before the final credits start running, there are those freeze shot scenes that tell you what happens after the action. There’s a song in the background, but I can’t remember what it is. Anyway, lover boy and perfect girl end up happily ever after. Squirrel makes the basketball team, becomes some sort of All Star player. The chick that wants to move to Virginia doesn’t. And my character, she ends up with the ass.

I wake up again and force myself back to sleep. I want to change the ending.

The chick that was in love with lover boy ends up with the ass.

This is where the dream ends. I couldn’t break apart the perfect couple because somehow, it would ruin it. It would be too much like every other chick flick. And so, I’ve decided, I should never attempt to write a chick flick.

It's All in the Way You Say It

The horrid TAKS test is coming up, and since our school's budget and the teacher bonus depends on scores from this exam, we have all sorts of help for the kids. We hae the pull-outs in which certain students are taken out of their Math, LA, or elective class to practice TAKS strategies. We have what my mentor calls "The Giant Fairy" which is known schoolwide as KBL (Knowledge Baseball League). Homerooms go up against each other in Math and LA. We will eventually have a World Series, but we also have a door, locker and scavenger hunt competition. Finally, there are the extended days. Math stays after school three or four days a week. LA does three Saturdays before TAKS, 8-noon.

Last week, I had to hand out the letters to my students who I though needed the extra help. The day before I did this, I had an observation with my mentor. Before she read Ch. 3 of Face on the Milk Carton, she said, "I have given some of you a letter for Reading Extended Day. I need you to take it home and bring it back signed by your parent. It's going to be a lot of fun. We will be playing games and you will be getting candy every time you switch classes. And at the end of the day, we will have gym time and the teachers will be playing games with you."

"What kind of games?"

"Any kind of game you want. We'll have basketballs and pretty much all the gym equipment."

"What about wrestling," asked another student.

"Oh honey, don't even try because we'll beat you. Right Ms. Baeza?"

"That's right."

"I want a paper," one kid said.

"I'll have to put you on a waiting list."

"Put me on the waiting list too," said another kid.

The following day, when I handed out my Extended Day letters, I put to use my mentor's tactic. I had a similar response from my students. There were about five kids that wanted on the waiting list in each class.

During our ELA meeting, the racist said her students were complaining about getting a letter. My mentor quickly responded, "Not mine. Georgina saw, right?"

"Yep. I did the same thing with mine and they were asking to be put on 'the waiting list.'"

When academics are competing against entertainment industry, it's important how you say things. Of course, they're going to be learning, but it's going to be fun. If we have to take away a Saturday because these kids aren't drawn into studies to begin with, making it fun is our job.

The Lies

Back in December, I found out that one of my “Katrina” kids was an orphan. She lives with foster parents. I found this out because the day before we went on vacation, one of the coaches sent a kid up to my room with a gift for her. The gift had no name or anything. The kid, who brought it, secretly told me that the coach didn’t want my Katrina kid to know who had sent it, to simply say it was from Santa. When they announced that it was time to go to homeroom class, I called her over to my desk and gave her the gift. She didn’t ask any questions, she just took the gift and sauntered on out of my room.

When I took my homeroom class into the gym to watch the Orchestra concert, the kids sat on the bleachers so I was able to converse with other teachers who were standing on the sidelines. The coach was in there. She asked me if I’d given the present to the kid and asked if she’d liked it. I told her she didn’t open it in front of me. In fact, I saw her put it in her locker after she left my class.

“She talks to me a lot. Sometimes she comes to my office and she talks and talks. She lost her parents. You know that she lives with foster parents? They have a lot of kids and there is always a lot of noise around.”

So when coach had asked her what she wanted for Christmas and she said, “Something to listen to my music on.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know Coach, one of those CD Players. The ones with the headphones.”

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day, we were sitting around after we’d read the novel. I think the kids were working on some kind of activity. Katrina kid sits right by my desk. I was sitting at my desk grading and she says, “Ms. whatcoo making for dinner?”

“Steaks I think.”

“Mmmm, I love steaks. You know, my mom defrosted some but she ain’t make ‘em. She said she was too lazy. Can you save me a steak?”

“I’ll try.”

"You know, I’m an only child. And my mom always says she ain’t got nothing for me for Valentine’s Day and when I get home she always has a surprise for me.”

Last week, on the mock writing exam, she turned in an essay that talked about her mom, dad, brother, and sister leaving Louisiana.

I’d like to believe that she was telling the coach the truth and lying to me, but it’s hard to tell.

El Paso

I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before somewhere, but it’s been on my mind lately and I have to write about it. Last night, I was procrastinating my work duties. I felt entitled to it though. I woke up at the butt crack of dawn to take my PPR. I was done in about two hours, but it still doesn’t negate the fact that I’d been freaking out about it all week. I think all went well, though.

Anyway, I was messing around on Yahoo playing games and junk when this guy contacts me via the messenger thing. Turns out, he’s from El Chuco. I was amused because I don’t get to talk to many Paseños these days. It was interesting that he said he prefers San Antonio. It brought back all these memories.

When I used to live in El Paso, all I wanted was out. I wanted to get the farthest away as possible. During my high school years, my friends and I all made plans about how we were going to leave as soon as we graduated. One of us was going to Texas A & M, another to Texas Tech, and me, well, my sister had put out the invitation to Houston. We were going to help each other move and we would all meet up for Spring Break.

When I graduated, all that became well just talk. Most of us ended up at EPCC (El Paso Community College), the lucky ones at UTEP, and the really unlucky ones, well working for the man. Years passed and still, all I could think about was getting the heck out of there someday. Then there came that day that I got the e-mail from my sister, once again, extending her invitation. I knew it was “now or never,” so without thinking about it further, I said yes and started making plans to leave.

A couple months later, I was beyond eager to leave. I couldn’t wait for the summer to end; I made it my personal goal to leave by the 4th of July weekend. Never mind that school didn’t start until late August, I needed to leave before to get things in place. Thinking back now, I don’t know what the hurry was. I like to think that I was dying to get out of Hell Mart.

It’s been about three and half years now, and I wish I could go back. It took me leaving to realize that my hometown wasn’t El Craphole. It’s so rich in many things. Yes, things are much different there. In some ways, life is slower, in other ways, life is much harder, but you can’t deny that the place has personality, lots of it.

Sometimes, I think the saddest thing is that no one really cares. Many of us, who have left and “made” something of ourselves, dream and think about going back, but we never will. We’ll extend a hand to someone else in hopes that they’ll make something of themselves and go back and help out our fellow Paseños. Me, well, I’ll continue to teach these kids that go to a school a lot like mine, but I’ll probably never go back and help out the kids that go to the school I went to.

Are You Going to a Quinceñera?

Last Thursday, I wore a skirt to work for the first time. Since I have tattoos on my ankles, I shy away from capris, guachos, and skirts since it is school policy to not show tattoos. However, I felt real macha that day, not to mention, I got a pair of free panty hose in the mail and that was the day I was going to see Dolores Huerta and the Guerrilla Girls, so I risked the balls of my feet and wore my boots with a skirt.

The kids were shocked. Some of them walked in and were like, “Ms. you’re taller today.” Others walked in and just stared. One mentioned to his neighbor that I looked nice which he immediately reported to me and the rest of the class. During the last period of the day, there was a lone student who inquired, “Ms. are you going to a quinceñera today?”

It was amazing to see Dolores Huerta. I was giddy with anticipation the entire day. I couldn’t believe that after two cancellations, I was finally going to see her. Sadly, I didn’t get to be there for the entire session because the Guerrilla Girls would be taking the stage across campus at 7:30. My sis, ex roomie, and I all agreed that we should have ditched the Guerrilla Girls and stayed at the Dolores Huerta event. In retrospect, even though I didn’t get to hear her entire lecture, I’m just glad to have seen her.

A similar thing happened when Rigoberta Menchú was giving a lecture. I had to miss it because I had to be in a math class that I would be dropping later that week. However, that weekend, I attended LASA in Dallas selling books for the press. I went up to the room to get something and when I came out of the elevator, right in front of me, all alone, was Menchú. We looked at each other and smiled, and then a group of people consumed her with questions and requests as I walked off the elevator. Even though there wasn’t an exchange of words, it was cool to see her like that.

I am rather excited because this week, my students and I will embark on a literary journey. We will be reading The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963. Being that it is Black History month, I think that this book is very appropriate. I would love to have them read Y No Se Lo Trago La Tierra or something of the like, but I’m taking baby steps at la escuelita. I’m going to be doing an in depth study with them about the context of this novel. Luckily, I found this neat magazine on Civil Rights at the library and it has a ton of information on 1963. I’ve even downloaded some of the songs that were cool at the time to play for them. I hope they enjoy it.

Day off

Today was one of those teacher waiver days. That just means that if there’s some kind of training we need, this would be the day to do it. The thing about these days is that the trainings only really take 30-40 minutes and we’re left to our own demise the rest of the day. The only stipulation is that we have to stay on campus. Well, we were fortunate enough to have to day off. I’ve done nothing that useful.

I did my homework and graded a big pile of papers. I also managed to read a couple more chapters of Inkheart. I would love nothing more that to stay in and read. Or put a chair on the balcony and read the rest of the afternoon, but I have that class to attend tonight. If all goes well, we should be out by no later than 7:30.

I really don’t have much else to say. I hate having so many bitchy posts. For now, I'm off to do more reading until I have to get to class.

What's Going on in Houston:

(Please excuse the breaks)

Kicking around Houston 1836Soccer team sends the wrong message to Latinos
By RAÚL A. RAMOS

By naming the team Houston 1836, the newly arrived Major League Soccer franchise has chosen to identify with a year that may divide the city rather than unite it. While the team intends to highlight Houston's founding along the banks of Buffalo Bayou, the year also commemorates the defeat of the Mexican Army by a largely Anglo Texan militia at the Battle of San Jacinto. Whether by ignorance or design, choosing 1836 has the potential to alienate Houstonians of Mexican origin, a group that is surely a large part of the team's fan base.
The year 1836 was, no doubt, a significant year in history. As a 19th-century historian, I welcome the attention the team name brings to what I feel is a misunderstood era. But choosing 1836 sends the wrong message at the wrong time. Texans of Mexican decent constantly struggle to identify with a place that was created out of Mexican defeat.
Houston stands perched to take its place among the economic centers of the Americas, thanks in great part to its sizable Latino population. This is not the time to exclude us.
This team name comes at a time of increased awareness of how mascots and names can stereotype or offend Americans. Last year, the National Collegiate Athletic Association scrutinized the use of Native Americans in team names such as the Florida State Seminoles and the Carthage College Redmen (now Red Men). Team names such as the Atlanta Braves and Washington Redskins sound anachronistic to modern ears. Not long ago the Washington Bullets changed their name to Wizards for similar reasons.
Thus it came as a surprise to me, and many of my students and colleagues, to hear 1836. Some thought it was a joke when I mentioned it. Surely the team must have anticipated this response if they knew anything about Texas history.
Lately I have noticed college students taking a more cynical or media savvy approach to explaining these marketing terms. One student in my class thought the name was a ploy to get attention for the team and that the real name would could later. But all of them saw the contradiction inherent in naming the team 1836 while expecting Latino fans to attend games.
Team officials state that 1836 was primarily chosen to represent the city's founding. A team name doesn't have the luxury of explaining itself. The link to Texas secession from Mexico during the Texas Revolution is inescapable.
The team logo compounds the connection by depicting Sam Houston on horseback, leading the charge against Mexican troops. What other conclusion can we draw?
While the year represents Texas independence, it also raises the complicated and sometimes shameful history that came along with it. Initially seen as economic boosters, Anglo American immigrants brought slavery and failed to keep contracts made with state officials. For Mexicans, Texas secession started the process of American conquest culminating in the invasion of Mexico in 1846 and the loss of almost half its territory. Few would disagree that Texas independence was an important chapter in the imperial story of American Manifest Destiny.
Houston has undergone many transformations and reinventions since 1836. Digging the Ship Channel, the Galveston hurricane of 1900, discovering oil and sending a man to the moon all took place since then and all changed the face of the city. Naming the team 1836 smacks of nostalgia for a time when Mexican people were absent or at least knew their place.
Another student in class generously noted that perhaps the team took for granted Latino fans and wanted to increase Anglo interest with this team name. Perhaps soccer is already too identified with Latin America and Europe Perhaps this is retribution for the vocal support the Mexican national team receives when it comes to town.
A more sinister reading suggests the team wants Latino aficionados, but only on their terms. Those terms are leaving your heritage, identity and family at the door.
The team has started its relationship with the Latino community off on the wrong foot. Short of changing the name, the team needs to make extra efforts to appear open to Latino Houstonians.
Only then, and by removing Sam Houston from the logo, will the team come to symbolize the promise of a global capital.

Ramos is assistant professor, Department of History, University of Houston.

I told the people I sit with at lunch about this and the racist from across the hall said, "I don't know what the big deal is."

May I Have Your Attention Please?

As I started talking about Poe’s eerie stories today, I noticed that, for the first time since all this TAKS crap started, something strange happened: all the kids were paying attention. Although they were to fill out a TAKS like questionnaire after reading Poe’s biography, the kids were really interested in it.

I told them about the Simpson’s episode that was very similar to The Tell Tale Heart. They wanted to know if they could find a copy of The Black Cat of The Pit and the Pendulum at the library, and it was dead silent when I read Annabel Lee.

It felt good to get them so excited about literature. Maybe the same thing will happen when we read the autobiography of Emily Dickenson.

This is how I feel sometimes:

me vs The System

The Ire in Me

I’ve started my college classes again. This semester I’m taking Adolescent Psychology. Our first class was last week, yes, on MLK day, but the prof didn’t show. Anyway, today, she had us create a Venn Diagram comparing & contrasting what adolescents are like to what we were like at their age. After about thirty minutes, we came together as a large group and shared. We sounded like a bunch of grumpy old people.

Then I got to thinking about the things we were saying, and I got really angry. Mostly because it all came back to my issue of the month: teaching to this test. It was good that the prof validated our feelings or I would have really gone off the top. I would have begun to write furiously upon my brand new notebook.

Here are the two things that upset me the most:

Kids are not allowed to choose any book they want to read. Instead, they have to read books that are in the Accelerated Reader program. When they get done with the book, they have to take a test to prove they read the book and then they acquire points for these books. We have to give them two grades from this, one is based on the amount of points, the other is based on the percentage of their tests. So in my class, they need to have 10 points every six weeks. So if they read a book worth 36 points, that’s 100. But if they made 75 percent on the tests, then that’s the other grade. It pisses me off to no end because to be honest, I don’t give a damn what they read as long as they read.

The other thing that was making me upset was the fact that everything that we teach has to be backed up by a TEK, the objectives tested on TAKS. The problem with this is that we cover all of them every six weeks, so in actuality, we’re teaching the same thing over and over, with the exception of writing of course.

I really hope they get enough people into the education system so that we fight back all this teaching to the test junk. In the end, yes, our kids will be great at taking a standardized test, but they won’t be able to think.

One of the Smartest Songs I've heard in a While

I'm sure Gustavo is already onto this one.

Mojado
by Ricardo Arjona featuring Intocable

Empaco un par de camisas, un sombrero,
su vocación de aventurero,
6 consejos, 7 fotos, mil recuerdos.

Empaco sus ganas de quedarse,
su condición de transformarse
en el hombre que soñó
y no ha logrado.

Dijo adiós con una mueca disfrazada de sonrisa.
Y le suplico a su Dios crucificado en la repisa
el resguardo de los suyos.
Y perforo la frontera como pudo.

Si la luna suave se desliza
por cualquier cornisa sin permiso alguno.
Porque el mojado precisa
comprobar con visas que no es de neptuno.

El mojado tiene ganas de secarse.
El mojado esta mojado por las lágrimas que bota la nostalgia.
El mojado, el indocumentado
carga el bulto que el legal
no cargaría ni obligado.

El suplicio de un papel lo ha convertido en fugitivo.
Y no es de aquí porque su nombre no aparece en los archivos, ni es de allá porque se fue.
Si la luna suave se desliza por cualquier cornisa sin permiso alguno.
Porque el mojado precisa comprobar con visas que no es de neptuno.

Mojado,
Sabe a mentira tu verdad,
sabe a tristeza la ansiedad
de ver un freeway y soñar con la vereda que conduce hasta tu casa.

Mojado,
Mojado de tanto llorar
sabiendo que en algún lugarte espera un beso haciendo pausadesde el día en que te marchaste.

Si la luna suave se desliza por cualquier cornisa sin permiso alguno.
Porque el mojado precisa comprobar con visas que no es de neptuno.
Si la visa universal se extiende el día en que nacemosy caduca en la muerte.
Porque te persiguen mojado,
si el cónsul de los cielos
ya te dio permiso.

What's up?

Part of the TAKS drilling strategies is this contest we call the “Writing Roundup.” Basically, the kids do a selection off the seventh grade Writing TAKS from previous years. They fill in their answers on a scantron and we compare percentages.

On the bulletin board in the hallway, there is a race track with cars and pictures of the 6th grade ELA teachers. Positions are changed every Wednesday and Friday, the day after the kids do the “Writing Roundup” in class. Every other teacher has been in first place, except mine. This week, my car has finally ended up in a ditch, and really, I don’t know if we’ll be able to get it out.

Of course, I question myself as a teacher. Everyone tells me not to worry about. I was only three points behind, which is really nothing, but I still worry. Are these kids regurgitating answers to me or do they really know what they’re talking about? We practice our grammar almost every day on our bell work/quick start, and yet they fail to see the simplest things like the misspelling of schedule.

But then, when I ask them what we talked about the day before and no one in the class can tell me, I wonder if it’s really me. I guess the fact that the TAKS is only ten weeks away is pretty nerve wrecking in itself. I hate to have to teach to this damn test, a test that contains so many errors that leaves teachers and students befuddled when they go over the answers, a test that the entire Texas education system revolves around, a test whose results can eventually decide whether or not a teacher is worth keeping on board.

Fortuna

One of my favorite things about Asian food is the fortune cookies. No matter where I go or who picks my cookie, my fortune is always something that can be applied to my life. My most recent read:

Someone looks up to you. Don’t let them down.

Today was one of those difficult days. The kids didn’t really want to work. In every class, someone did something that provoked a lecture. I think I handled it better that I have before. When I delivered my lectures it was much more coherent and got to the point: I’m here because I care.

The apathy that some of these students have is incredible. It’s difficult to gauge where it developed. Although I’m a disappointed, it only gives me more ganas because in the end, someone is looking up to me and I really can’t let them down. And of course, comments like the on Ktrion left do wonders for a gal.