My partner, Marci, and I landed in Moyobamba at the beginning of their biggest cultural celebration: The San Juan Festival. There was dancing and parades and food and tremendous joy and a sense of pride in sharing their culture. When the students asked us what our national dance was, or what our national foods were, we were kind of stumped. Uhhhh…we don’t really have a national dance or a national food, do we? I was suddenly faced with having to define “American culture” to a group of curious teenagers.
We began our residency by sharing our own “Where I’m From” poems and pictures, then we invited the students to create their own version of the poem based on the original by George Ella Lyon. Next, we challenged them to put their heads together and craft a collaborative version of the poem that is reflective of all of the members of the group, collectively. Marci and I did the same, struggling to write a US “Where I’m From” poem that is true to her experience growing up in Texas, and my childhood in the 60’s & 70’s in Florida, and my subsequent years (mostly) in Pennsylvania.
There was much to admire in Moyobamba. The James Taylor song “Secret of Life” kept playing in my head. There was just a beautiful balance between work or school and home life that seemed, well…respectful! There was an understanding that time at home with family is equally as important as time in school, and to impose your demands on a child after his or her school day was somehow robbing them of family time. There seems to be an understanding that playing a role in the family is critical to becoming a contributing member of society. And there is a kind of respect that is granted to elders and teachers that has dwindled in the U.S., perhaps, in part, because school and teachers here have literally invaded childrens’ private lives. We are in their homes on a daily basis with whatever it is that we have demanded be completed at home. In my school, teachers are required to post their assignments on Schoology, and some parents have these programs set up so that their childrens’ homework assignments arrive as alerts on their cell phones. If a parent hasn’t received this notification, there are sometimes complaints that because they were uninformed, they couldn’t enforce that the homework be completed. It’s crazy! So when Julio said that teachers at his school are not permitted to give homework, all that insanity was erased. Families could relax, because that’s what helps children rest and recharge so that they are better prepared to bring their whole self to class.
Part of me wanted to remain in this town that knows how to enjoy the passage of time, but now I feel motivated to bring that same awareness home to my school family. I honestly think I need to become acutely aware that I am not adding to the stress in my students’ lives. My focus is on awakening a passion for reading and learning about the world…sparking curiosity and teaching students how to use their words in powerful ways. I want them to know that they can use language to help repair the world if they’re well informed, passionate and persuasive. Now I have to live my vision. My identity as the teacher who has the pen pal projects that collaborate with kids in Uganda (and now Peru!) is my opportunity to forge an identity as a global educator, and to present my students in the best light possible. My students can combat the ugliness that is portrayed through our government We can partner with classrooms around the world and find common ground with kids from different cultures. And we can learn to inquire about our cultural differences in ways that are courteous and culturally curious. It’s time to put my “Make the Foreign Familiar Film Festival” into action. I hope to host a series of foreign films and have TED-style discussions about how various cultures are portrayed and how members of these cultures feel they are perceived in our school community. I am about to bust open some doorways and hope like hell that my school plays along. Time will tell. But as James Taylor croons: The thing about time is that time isn’t really real. It’s a new school year with a new principal and I have the newfound courage that comes with having been part of this dynamic Fulbright experience. With this team around me, it’s time to help my school community open their hearts and open their minds to forging a more culturally inclusive identity.
Crafting a nationalistic “Where I’m From” poem at the COAR School in Moyobamba