C.E.L.M.A.

Thursday, May 25, 1995

Tuesday saw Alan accompany David to school with the intent of asking if he could "help" in the classroom the next day. It was, of course, actually a spy mission. The teacher gladly accepted the offer - and more. Alan ended up staying all morning. He came home INCREDULOUS! There were 46 students, one teacher who occasionally left the room, and one aide who liked to cut and paste. This same aide was sometimes in the room when the teacher was absent, and once left a butcher knife unguarded on the table for SOME time while both teachers were absent from the room. Alan was amazed that it took 20 minutes to hand out books and pencils. He couldn't believe that all the children were left to work on one small task, basically without supervision, for almost an hour. He sent me with David yesterday morning.

Since the teacher had consented to let us visit for the first hour for the rest of the week, I only stayed for about 1 1/4 hours. The look on David's face when I told him I had to leave just about broke my heart. It was like leaving a puppy in the pound! What I saw was as appalling to me as it had been to Alan. However, I was hit MUCH harder emotionally. I spent the rest of the day on the verge of tears.

I saw a classroom of 50 students whose teacher hadn't shown up and who had been left in the care of one incompetent aide. It really DID take 20 minutes to pass out books and crayons. Then another 5 to get a book opened to show the students what page to color. During the next half an hour (between cutting and pasting) the lady checked ALMOST all the students' books to see if they'd found the correct page. There were constant fights breaking out. Can you blame those bored little 3 ­ 5-year-olds? It was the only way to get attention, negative though it was. I was in no way surprised that David found either time or opportunity to reorganize shelves, scoot under the teacher's desk, escape from the classroom, etc.

The thing that REALLY bothered me the most was that there was always someone poking my son. On the way back to the room after music (another horrifying experience where I saw the "fake smile" Alan said David had worn all the previous morning) the class rowdy tackled David (who'd been ignoring his pokes). I found his shoulder in my vise-like grip while I spit out, "No lo hagas!)

"Little monster!" I thought. "Leave my son alone." Especially since my command produced only a "drop dead" look.

Alan and I went to see the Directora of David's school this morning. Alan explained that we felt David wasn't quite ready for school yet and that we needed to teach him more Spanish before we sent him. She quite agreed. They'd been well aware of the problem and were wondering what to do about it. Then we spoke to the teacher, giving the same explanation. She very sadly told David she loved him and kissed him good bye. She apologized a few times for not being able to speak English and not being able to help him. Although I felt she was sincere, I bet both she and the directora sighed a huge sigh of relief behind our backs.

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last updated May 31, 1999