Talking with the Devil

4 March, 2014

This is an interesting day. It is the only day with a command. March "Forth". I know it's kind of corny, but I still like it. A pastor used it one time in our church, as a means to prod us to take action. It was his last sermon at the church, so I guess it worked.

The "Christian Army" is a strange beast. We have a general, who left the field, in physical form, 2000 years ago. It was like Douglas McArthur in the Philippines. "I shall return." Only Dougie didn't leave behind our General's secret weapon, the Holy Spirit. So we don't have a physical general, but we do have a spiritual Master Sergeant, who leads us in battle, gives us direction and occasionally relegates us to KP duty. (For all my current Army buddies, that means Kitchen Patrol. You can see examples of it in old John Wayne movies about WWII, along with Jeeps and Tommy guns.)

Sometimes I feel like I'm taking the wrong hill. The mission is somewhere "over there", but I am running in the wrong direction. Not to worry, because we're making good time getting there. So how do you know if the war you're waging is the right fight? Let me know when you have the correct answer, so you can tell me.

We have two polar opposites in Elizabeth and Katherine, when it comes to school performance. Elizabeth wants a gold star for showing up to class. Katherine turns down the gold star for getting straight A's, because she should have gotten all A+'s. Applying that to our Spanish situation is doubly hard for her. Katherine is absolutely mortified with failing a test. We told both of them to expect to fail for at least the first semester, while they made all the requisite adjustments, like learning a new language in a new school in a new country. Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat, and she promptly set about doing nothing, in an effort to pass the bar as low as possible. Katherine went straight to defib at the prospect of failure.

The other day, Katherine had another meltdown. In airline parlance, she is experiencing some turbulence. Hormones are surging within her like the Mighty Mississippi, and her mood changes direction quicker than a fat rabbit eluding a skinny fox. Most of her anxiety stems from being a perfectionist, which is nothing new. What is new is the level of rage, despair and hopelessness to which she will fall. This is followed by soaring heights of happiness, affection and playfulness. I feel like I am watching an elephant on a bungee cord, in an awesome display of Newton's Law of equal and opposite reactions. Sometimes I feel like the cord.

Katherine related to us yesterday how the French teacher had singled her out in class to say that Katherine wasn't paying attention and that she needed to do better. That sent me to the moon. The Redneck in Europe was about to pull out a can of whupass on somebody; the economy-sized version with the easy pour spout.

I better preface this with a little note to the reader. My mama was a teacher for 30 years. I have the utmost respect for teachers, and I have always taken the teacher's side, when my children or other parents have complained about a particular educator. This time, however, I have previously met and spoken to Anti-Christ. I have seen her expression, when she asked if my daughter did any work at home. I have witnessed the condescending look in her beady little Hell-stained eyes. The can is open and ready to pour.

My first attack was an email, which I am proud to say was written entirely in Spanish. A good letter or email should contain just the right gas/air mixture to combust without causing damage to the engine. Just spewing out a bunch of expletives is sophomoric and belies a lack of vocabulary. I wanted to tell her that if she was on fire, I wouldn't pee on her, but it is much more effective to paint word pictures that lead the recipient to the inevitable conclusion that she is Wormwood, who needs nothing less than a rectal exorcism and a one way ticket back to Hell, without actually saying that. My daddy gained some notoriety on his way to becoming chairman of the Darlington County School Board for his letters to the editor of the Hartsville Messenger. If I can see far down the road, it is because I stand on the shoulders of giants.

Being something of a perfectionist myself, I first sent the email to Julio for proofreading. The worst thing in the world is a poorly written beatdown letter, especially one that is going to a teacher.  Julio dutifully returned the missive with the appropriate corrections and added, "Are you sure you want to include the last paragraph?" Well, duh, of course I want to send the last paragraph. That's the one that says she is a shame to her profession and qualifies her for water boarding. A good friend will make bail. A best friend will punch you on the shoulder and ask, "Who are we gonna call to make bail?"

In the meantime, I had also requested a meeting with the principal, who is our friend. I had told him I wanted to discuss Katherine's French teacher, so he would know precisely how I wanted to direct fire. I waited to send the email, until after my meeting with the principal, and Mephistopheles. Susan rode shotgun, in case I ran into linguistic barricades. I laced up my roach-stompin', tail-kickin', sphincter-insertin' size 13EEE boots and waited patiently in the outer offices. If you mess with my family, you will pull back a nub.

Luis, the principal, is a wise man. He had assembled a few people for our meeting, including the guidance counselor and Katherine's adviser. We first met without Beelzebub. That took a little starch out of my collar. Even when I'm mad, I don't like to talk about somebody behind her back. I prefer to face the enemy and spew venom, rather than take a chance on somebody else diluting it. During this meeting I maintained decorum and only made slight references to French class, preferring to keep a professional demeanor. Luis related to me that Lucifer had actually told Luis that morning how proud she was of Katherine's performance on her last exam. Well, that didn't fit my image of the Beast. What this a clever deception? Then she walked in the door.

Southern grace dictates a warm salutation, even for the enemy. I kissed both of Judas' cheeks, as is the Spanish custom. We sat down and discussed Katherine's plight. Apollyon related how her own daughter (aka demon in training), who sits beside Katherine in French class and refuses to help Katherine, is having back trouble and requires physical therapy, due to stress-induced cramping. She also related how this entire class seems to be abnormally preoccupied with good grades and performance. Great. That's just great. Not only is my daughter nesting with a bed of perfectionists, but now the Beast is becoming more human-like. She even appears to care a little bit. The scales were retracting from her face. That is not fair. Then she pulled out her ace in the hole.

On Katherine's most recent French exam, she had written in big red letters, "Tres bien!!!" Katherine scored a 5.5, which was higher than many of the Spanish students. Maria related how happy she was with Katherine's progress. She even got emotional with Luis, and told him the other classes should have more modifications to help Katherine learn the material easier.

The pus began draining out of my heart. I don't know what happened to her, but she definitely changed from the last time we met. Perhaps it was her own daughter's plight. Maybe it was the fact that we involved her boss. Whatever the reason, for now we have an ally where we previously had an enemy. When we showed Katherine the test, you could see that she was having trouble reconciling this new truth with her old paradigm.

I did not send the email, and I am glad I didn't. I learned a lot of things, all over again:

• Julio is my friend.
• Katherine is tough, but fragile.
• Luis is wise.
• Teachers are people too.
• I can write a nasty, almost grammatically correct hate letter in Spanish.
• God forgives, even before I ask.

The right hill to take is the one called Calvary. The battle is already over. We just need to occupy the ground. Onward, Christian Soldiers.

Gettin' Learned Up

8 January, 14

My youngest daughter, Katherine, slammed her bedroom door, stomped into the living room and shouted out, “I want to go HOME! I hate this place! I hate school! Why are you making me do this?!”

Back in August 2013, my wife and I moved to a very small community close to Murcia, Spain, with our two daughters, aged 12 and 14. With two school-aged kids, education is obviously a big deal for my family. We agonized over what and how to do that. We still worry about it, frankly. Neither of my girls knew any Spanish, which made us lean toward homeschooling as a way to reduce the stress of moving. When we got closer to making our decision to move, we learned from our Spanish friend, who is an administrator in the local school here, that homeschooling is not a viable option. That left us with entering the girls into the local school, which has a very good curriculum and a partially bilingual program. We were understandably apprehensive, but after careful consultation with our friend and several of the teachers, we came to believe that this really was a good route.

My girls are 12 and 14, and in the American equivalent of 7th and 9th grades, respectively. Those are not easy years to start a new school, if you live in America. Try it in a whole new culture and language. Fortunately, our daughters have made several good friends. The locals here have treated us all so kindly. We are minor celebrities in town, because we live in a very small community. It's not the typical expat destination, by any means. The teachers, for the most part, have embraced the concept as well. They readily agreed to provide tests in English, and the school is providing Spanish lessons, in lieu of some classes. The only area that is a little lacking is in translating the math word problems. Sometimes, they come out a little wacky. We are working with the math department to straighten that out, however.

The material they are covering is at least comparable, if not better than, what we have back in the States. Seventh grader is a tablet-only class. All their books, homework and study materials are virtual. Last night I helped Katherine complete a PowerPoint presentation about a field trip to a nature preserve. This morning I received an email from Elizabeth's Physics and Chemistry teacher. He searched for and found the same book he is using in class, but in an English version, so we now have an English e-book.

The first semester's grades came back much better than expected. Our oldest passed all her classes in the "B" to "C" range. Our youngest did the same, except for French class, where she is struggling. Yep, French class. We didn't have a choice on that, but learning yet another language is not a bad thing. On a recent vacation to Paris, she was so excited to order four croissants for the family. I really believe that she is going to master French over this next semester.

After returning from Christmas break, we are now entering the second semester of school. They just started back last week. We moved from North Carolina. As a backup plan, we established ourselves as an NC homeschool. That gives us the ability to administer end-of-grade tests, which can be used for USA grading purposes, relieving the pressure from our girls. They can focus on learning here in Spain, and not so much on performance. At the same time, we will have objective measurements for the college boards, which are just around the corner.

Last Friday and Monday, I held some teacher conferences, with mixed results. The first teacher, Santiago, gave me great hope. He was very sympathetic to my kids' situation and even took it upon himself to seek out another teacher to help explain. Katherine's science curriculum is in French, which definitely adds a layer of complexity to the subject. Santiago approached the Science teacher with some possible classroom modifications, such as allowing Katherine to use earbuds and listen to English science videos. The teacher readily agreed and then told us that she had an English language textbook to use as well. While I was very happy to know that, I was also a little dismayed that the teacher did not conceive of these two solutions on her own, four months ago. Oh well. Some people just cannot operate outside of the tight parameters we call normal, without a little assistance.

My last conference was with Katherine's French teacher, who has not exactly been her favorite person this year. Katherine is very sensitive to body language. She picks up on things that nobody else does. At times she over-amplifies what she sees, turning a mild correction into a harsh rebuke. Having said that, I am siding with her on this one. I don't like this teacher either! She carries herself with a withering, holier-than-thou demeanor, which really frosts my butt. NOBODY can be holier than me. We did have a good meeting, however, after I assured her about how hard Katherine is working every night. Even she agreed to help, so there is hope for humanity after all.

After she heard about my teacher meetings and how I agreed that the French teacher needed to take a long walk off a short pier, Katherine’s postured changed, as if a millstone had fallen off her shoulder. We understood. Since then, her attitude about school, and life as an expat teenager, has changed. My girls still miss home, but maybe, just maybe, they are starting to see this more as adventure than torture.

Teacher Strike!

23 October, 13

Spain is in the middle of La Crisis. It is all part of the worldwide financial meltdown that began way back in August, 2007. I remember visiting here in 2001, just prior to the conversion from the peseta to the Euro. There were big cranes all over the place, and buildings were popping up like mushrooms in the forest. I asked my friend, Antonio, what was going on, and he told me that people were laundering old money with construction projects.

Now many cranes are sitting idle all over the country. I suppose it is cheaper to leave them where they are than to dismantle and store them. Four or five of them dot the landscape in La Alberca, so we have not been immune to La Crisis, but it is pretty hard to find any other evidence.

Everybody we have met has a job, and many of them are quite good. We don't see beggars in the street. We don't see bread lines or riots. The first personal encounter we have had so far has just hit us this week.

Teachers are going on strike.

It seems the government has cut their pay over the last few years, in an effort to get the budget under control, and the teachers are fed up. The rage is welling up in their souls, and they must be heard.

In a show of solidarity, the high school students at IES Alquibla, where Elizabeth attends, staged a strike of their own. It was a stirring show of support for their beloved teachers, as the students decided not to show up for class. Of course Elizabeth was swept up by her passion for teachers and education in general. She begged us to allow her to go on strike as well.

How could she focus on her schoolwork, knowing these poor teachers were underpaid and overworked?

How could she sit in a classroom, the very site of this financial slavery?

"Give me fully compensated teachers, or give me death!"

Her fervor reached a fever pitch last night, when we informed her that she would have to attend school, even if all her friends decided to go to the park and have fun instead. Her heart ached for teacher equality. She pined for a fair and reasonable wage on behalf of her teachers. She pleaded for the opportunity to make a declaration of independence from government tyranny. But to no avail.

We made her go to school, reasoning that she needed every minute available to learn the language and get a little ahead on her studies. Going to school when nobody was there would afford her the opportunity to meet with her teachers one on one and get some good teaching from them.

Elizabeth was not happy. We were ruining her life. We were making her look uncool. Blah. Blah. Blah. Insert your own teenage girl angst-filled histrionics.

She went to school, a slave to the system.

At 9:30, I got a phone call from my friend, Julio, asking if I could pick up his daughter from school. Apparently, she was the only other student in her class, besides Elizabeth.

Revolution springs up in the strangest ways. The despots just never seem to see it coming, do they? I went to school and scooped up Che Guevara and Sam Adams, feeling the sting of my defeat at the hands of the proletariat.

Or so they thought. (Insert evil laughter)

I deposited Julia at her house. I don't have a dog in that fight.

Elizabeth and I walked home in silence. She defiant and me calculating. That's when I had a stroke of tyrannical genius. She wasn't going to school. School was coming to her.

We got home and immediately started working on math, the bane of Elizabeth's existence. Polynomials. Order of operations. Powers. And tomorrow, when the teachers are really striking, more of the same. Bwahahahahah!


I lost a battle. I will win the war.