10:59 a.m. - 2005-05-18
Head Start Rant
So there I am, crying and writing poetry. Nineteen and not a clue of what to do with my life. Work? Not an option (given Fred's traditional values not to mention fragile ego). I listened to alot of Dylan back in the day. Queen Jane Approximately was my favorite really cynical song. Once (I swear) I made myself a construction paper crown, sat in full lotus in the den & played that song over and over and over. I was a bit of a mystery to Fred. Every once in a while, I would get an unexpected surge of estrogen and make parfaits or something. But mostly (as I think I have sufficiently indicated), I cried and wrote poetry. Feeling abandoned by God (that infertility thing sent my Catholicism on quite a tailspin), I made the decision to be "a really good person without God". No, really, that's what I did. I remember sitting over ham and hashbrowns at Don's on Glenoaks when I looked Fred square in the eye and said with a completely straight face (because I was too weird to know how weird it would sound) that I was going to be "a really good person without God". I'd show Him all right. Not only was that bizarre, blasphemous and incredibly narcissistic, it was (as I'm sure you've culled by now) profoundly geeky. I mean, who makes a decision like that? But decide I did. So now, I was faced with the (I had no idea how) daunting task of pulling that off. So, I dialled 411 (should probably instead have dialled 911 & gotten myself the help I obviously needed)& asked for a list of places to volunteer my meager services. I thought maybe I would work with children (given that pesky 'barren' thing). So I chose a program called Head Start. It was set in the heart of the 'barrio' in Van Nuys. My secret hope, looking back, was that children would not be able to detect how horribly flawed I was. How incompete. How empty. How invisible. Not so. Children are much more adept at that than practically anyone else (except, perhaps, the mentally ill). But, gratefully, they took to me (as do the mentally ill). Every morning, I would arrive in my 1970 Volkswagon the color of cafe au lait. And thirty kids would screech with delight and adhere themselves to my body as I opened the gate. I acquired the Spanish vocabulary of a four year old (actually, it was what is now known as 'Spanglish'). Phrases like, "Pusha me" (while they looked pleadingly at me from the swings with beautiful dark eyes) were music to my childless ears. I felt seen, wanted, almost happy when I was there. Tirelessly, I patted tortillas out of Playdough. I served juice & cookies. I even swept the courtyard (brooms were not my strong suit). I felt like I belonged somewhere and it was not that house that held me captive or the family that couldn't understand why I would ever want to do something so stupid as to give my time for free. There was a whole new cast of characters to fill the void I called my life. There was "Teacher Lorraine", a big boned, confident Jewish lady with a broad smile and no make up (I was too insecure to go to the 7-11 without at least eyeliner). There was "Teacher Margarita", who had come from Cuba when Castro took over. She would tell me colorful stories so vivid that I could feel the tropical breeze on my skin. Then there was "Teacher Ofelia", a woman of a certain age with the eyes of a saint. Clear and penetrating. She was from Mexico. I felt part of a family that cared to actually know me. That recognized me as one of their own. One summer day, like any other, I was sitting at a small metal table, surrounded by chattering kids. I was busy producing various animals out of the pastel dough to the delight and astonishment of all. Suddenly there was a shadow momentarily blocking the sun. I looked up to see him silhouetted against the light. I squinted as he came into focus. There are pivotal moments in life when everything could easily go one way or the other. Moments that can never be retracted. Moments after which we are never the same. Moments that quite possibly alter and define the rest of our lives. Moments when secret decisions are made inside and we do not even know of them. Moments in which we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the eyes of another and do not recognize the person that we see but only know that we want desperately to be the person that we see. And this was such a moment.
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