Gloria
Esperanza may
be my most unpopular student ever. Most
teachers
loathe her because The she fixes things they can’t, speaks her
mind, and expects reasons for requests. Since most teachers demand
unquestioning obedience,
Gloria
swims against the current, tending to dive into hot water head -first
(“Why not
– my head’s the toughest part of me”). Gloria also
chews gum faster than anybody
else at Confucius Middle School, holding the current school record
for twenty
-two consecutively popped bubbles
Rumors
flutter around her since she seldom wears a skirt or a dress,
preferring
black jeans, t-shirts, and her ubiquitous flowered denim jacket. The
boys fear
her fists ever since she flattened Willie Rosa in a fire drill.
Willie swore he was shoved
into her; Gloria claimed sneaky hands: “ He put his paws where
they don’t belong!”
she bellowed on her way to the Dean’s office. “No one
plays me like that! ‘less
they want their lights out! Suspend me, but I don’t play that!”
The
girls envy Gloria’s dexterity. She heals broken-down proJectors
and runs antiquated reel-to-reel film with Scotch tape and chubby
fingers,
muttering curses while dispassionately ignori cries
of “ What’s
the hold up?
Can’t
you fix that piece of junk?” They hate her confident face and
her short, slicked hair,
coppery red like the wires she loves to handle.
“I
get it from
my Pop,” she explains. “He’s been trying for years
to get into three different unions - electricians, carpenters, and
stationary engineers, but there’s always some ‘problem’.”
Gloria’s
father, Frank Esperanza, helps lead the United Builders
Coalition,
a city- wide minority labor group pressing for more hiring in the
all-white
construction
trades.
“Ever
since I was a kid my dad took me and my brother with him to his jobs
and
show us how to do stuff.” This statement seems to make some of
the other
students
jittery although several girls defend her right to hammer nails. When
Gloria
answers a peer writing assignment, “What Careers Have You
Considered?” with
“my own construction company!” heat starts.
“Yo,
a woman can’t have her own company!”
“Why
not?” asks Yolanda.
“’Cause
she don’t know enough,” explains Rolando.
“Says
who?” demands Gloria.
“We
run everything,” Eddie adds, “A woman just mess it up.”
“Oh
RIGHT!” Nilsa snaps. “Like you think how men run things
is so hot and all that.
Dope
all over. Homeless people living in bedroom set boxes. Everybody
shooting
everybody.
Someone stabs somebody they get probation. Wasn’t no women come
with
all that. You men are wack!”
“Well,
if y’all do get a company and build a house,” Jermaine
says, “Let me know where
it’s at ‘cause I wouldn’t move in if you paid me.”
“How
do you know what me or anyone woman can do?”
Gloria
sneer-laughs. “I challenge you right here and now, sucker, to
build something.
Name it.”
Jermaine
stares at her. Gloria laughs, jiggling her leg.
“Pick
anything. Go ahead. I bet you a hundred bucks mine be better.”
Jermaine
studies her warily.
“Watch
it now. I can use a hammer.”
Gloria
chews her gum.
“What
about nails?”
Jermaine
stares at her.
“What
about nails? Nails go with the hammer. You think I’m stupid or
something?”
“Great.
So what’s the bet?”
Jermaine
scans the class, then chuckles.”
“I
ain’t gonna take a girl’s money. That wouldn’t be
right.”
The
kids jeer.
“Go
on!”
“You
chicken?”
“Show
the bi-“
They
see my face.
“Language!”
I snap.
There’s
a sudden hush until Gloria drawls, “Well, is it a bet?”
Jermaine
waves his hands as if it’s not even worth discussing.
“He
CAN’T!” Gloria exclaims, holding up her palms for Nilsa
and Angie
to
high-five.
“’Cause
he knows she’s too good!”
“She
be the only girl in the advanced shop class!”
“I
like Mr. Wanamaker,” Gloria smiles,”I’ m gonna do
welding!”
The
girls tease Gloria about almost never wearing a dress.
“Mira,
when you gonna get out of them pants?”
“When
I take a shower.”
Even
our Special Ed. Dean, Roz Braverman, asks her one day while
Glory
serves a detention. I’m waiting for another dean to discuss
another student.
“You
ever wear a dress, Gloria?”
“Yeah.
When I was eight.”
“And
what was that stupendous occasion?”
“My
grandfather on my Mom’s side passed. He was ninety.”
“Lucky
you. You got a healthy family.”
Gloria
chews.
“I’m
kiddin’. I wear a dress when I go to church.”
“And
when is that, pray tell?”
Gloria
stares at Roz.
“Sundays.
Ain’t that when you go?”
Roz
sighs. “I’m not Catholic. I don’t go to church. I
go to
Synagogue
when someone kicks the bucket or some friend’s acne display
gets barmitzvahed.”
“Oh
yeah. You go on Saturday. That’ s tough. When do you go
shopping?”
“That’s
off the point. Don’t you ever want to wear a dress?”
“What
for? So some jerk can make remarks about me? Or hassle me walking
down the
street minding my own business? Forget that!”
“A
feminist at fourteen! Her wonders to perform!”
Gloria
blushes, pops a bubble, and leans forward.
“I
don’t know about that. I just got tired of it. “
“Wear
tights. That’s what I do.”
Gloria
claps her hands.
“You
don’t either!”
“I
do. I’m very cold –blooded. Didn’t you know?”
“You’re
pretty weird for a Dean, you know that?”
Roz
peers up from her stack of student discipline referrals.
“I’ve
known all my life, my dear. That is – my life as a dean. I’ve
had others.”
Gloria
grins dubiously.
“You
believe in that stuff? Reincarnation and all that?”
“Yes.
I’m planning in my next round to return as a millionaire with a
gorgeous
boyfriend.”
Gloria
laughs.
“I
mean, why should I keep stifling my innate flamboyancy?”
“So
you wouldn’t come back here, huh?”
“Ah,
you manipulative little wisenheimer. Gloria, if I died tomorrow, I
would
come
back just for you – to make your life as miserable as possible
and ensure
you
graduate ninth grade.”
“Ninth
grade nothing. I’m going to college and post-college work.”
Roz’
eyes gleam.
“Elucidate,
please.”
“What’s
that? Don’t use them fancy college words with me.”
“If
not with you, my post-college munchkin, who else? Elucidate –
to make things clearer.
Repeat.”
Gloria
hesitates.
Roz
stamps her black suede Goofy boots and flings back her
purple-streaked
silvery
hair.
“O.K.
girlie,” she snaps, “You wanna go backwards or you wanna
go for the gold?”
Gloria
stops a snarl and frowns.
“Go
for the gold.”
“Elucidate.”
“To
make things clearer.”
“And
whom do you and I know who excels at making things clear to people?”
“Uh?”
“Someone
you know exceedingly well.”
“Me?’
“Precisely.”
Gloria
blushes.
“Braverman.”
“Yes,
my wonderbar.”
“What
does exceedingly mean?”
“Ahh,
now you’re cooking! It’s a nice snooty British
tilt-your-pinkie –up-the
stratosphere
word meaning more than ordinary tending towards the overboard.
Say
it.”
“Exceedin’ly.”
“Ing.
Ing. Get that g in there.”
“Inguh.”
“No,
not a native Peruvian. Relax. Ing .”
“Ing.”
“Good.”
“Try
it in a sentence, “I say.
Gloria
studies the ceiling, blinks twice, and smiles.
“My
mom uses garlic exceedingly in cooking, but I still like it because I
like garlic.”
“A
compound complex sentence yet,” Roz exclaims, “Wonder of
wonders!”
She
claps Gloria on the back.
“We
may save you yet from your environment.”
“Can
I go now?”
“One
last thing. When you tell people you will study after college, it is
called graduate
work. Gra-jew-it. That doesn’t mean you become Jewish; it does
mean you
continue
to obtain vital pieces of paper that will save you from McDonald’s.”
“In
other words,” I add, “You have a fine brain.”
“Even
as insane as you are,” Roz winks.
Gloria
adds more gum, smiling.
“Crazy.”
Gloria
is crazy enough to challenge Cesar Reyes on a bad day. Cesar
has
a peculiar academic status, living in Hell’s Kitchen but
attending our school since
he is persona non grata in his district for unspecified reasons kept
even from Mitch
Silverman, our Special Ed Director.
Cesar
is a “lookout” for Tenth Avenue Hell’s Kitchen
crack dealers. His mother
died from an overdose last January very suddenly and now he lives in
a perpetual
rage with his diabetic grandmother. As Meg McClaren, the other
eighth
grade Special Education teacher points out, “If you had to
empty an old
lady’s
bedpan three or four times a night, you might be testy too.”
Meg also discovers
that Cesar “cuts” school to take his grandmother to
various Medicaid appointments
since she speaks little English and can barely walk.
“And
you know where she lives,” fumes Cesar, the goddam twenty -
sixth
floor
in the 58th St projects.”
“So?”
Jesus deadpans, awaiting Cesar’s reactions.
“SO?
YOU TRY CARRYING TWO OR THREE BAGS OF GROCERIES UP TWENTY -SIX
FLIGHTS
OF DAMN STAIRS BECAUSE IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE A NEW BUILDING AND
THE
DAMN ELEVATOR BREAKS DOWN EVERY OTHER DAY! What new building you
know
has elevators break down every other day?”
“This
one,” Jesus replies.
“Bull!
This aint no new building. You got some little addition they built
when my
brother
went here. That aint nothin’. It makes the school look like
some cheap
parking
lot.”
“Elevator
be new.”
“Not
with people like you messing with it ‘til it breaks.”
“He
got that right,” claimed Gloria.
Gloria
performed heroically when the “new” elevator jammed
between floors with
a packed crowd yelling, pressing buttons, slamming the alarm, and
shrieking
opposing
instructions and suggestions. Gloria chewed and tinkered.
“Ah!”
From
her back pocket she took out a Swiss Army knife and fiddled with the
front door,
then returned, her knife blade full of greyish pink crud.
“Nasty!”
After
a slight jolt, the elevator proceeded smoothly.
“Gum”
pronounced Gloria.
Everyone
stared at her.
“Not
mine.”
She
pulled hers out as if displaying dentures.
“Mine’s
new. That crud was old.”
On
the bad day, the challenge day, Cesar enters cursing, “Braverman’s
crazy! Telling me if I’m a minute late that counts as half an
absence if I don’t make it up after school when she knows I
didn’t agree to no rule like that!”
Nila
motions to him
“You
sign that piece of paper first week of school?”
“How
should I know?”
“It
was pink. It said you read the rule book they gave out.”
“I
know the rules here.”
“Yeah?
Well, that’s one of them. If you signed, you were told.”
“DAMN!”
“Next
time, read it,” Nilsa advises disgustedly.
“What
did you think it was?” Gloria laughs, “You get a cake?”
“Who
asked you?”
“No
one. So what.”
Cesar
shoves his seat back. Gloria jumps up.
“I’m
with it if you want it.”
I
scramble between them, gripping the collar of Cesar’s
down-to-the- floor-length
leather
coat. Slippery, it smells like catfood and cologne.
“Let
go of my coat, man! Let GO of my COAT!”
He
surges towards Gloria who is gripped around the waist by Angie. I
brace
myself,
holding on, hearing chairs scraping all around me, kids getting out
of the way.
“Chill,
bro,” warns Orlando, his big arms around Cesar’s right
shoulder. “You gonna
get
in trouble, yo’.”
“He
don’t care,” Nilsa says, He don’t care about
nothin’“.
Cesar’s
a bull, but Orlando and I hold on firmly. I never realized Orlando’s
strength.
Cesar
sits, a fuming bomb.
“Sit
down, Gloria.”
“I’m
moving.”-
She
yanks her chair to the far end of the class by the small window that
gives us a magnificent view of the cafeteria supply room. I take a
few deep breaths. O.K.
We are gonna chill now. Easy does it. Everybody take your seats
please.”
I
sigh and take three deep breaths. I’ve modeled it for them,
many times, so I murmur
“OK now? Three, deep, breaths.”
Gloria
presses her lips stubbornly, but her chest is rising up and down. Cesar
gulps
three throatfulls of air.
“You
two will apologize to each other, or take a walk to Ms. Braverman’s
office.
You’re
wasting class time. It’s not fair to the other students, or to
me.”
“No
one messes with me,” Cesar says.
“Same
here,” says Gloria.
“I
don’t play.”
“Same
here.”
“Hell,”
Cesar says, and starts taking off his coat. I notice some of his gold
chains are
missing.
“This
class sucks, “ he hisses. “This school sucks. It all
sucks.”
“So
you just noticed?” Gloria says.
“Mira,
enough,” Angie says.
Gloria
makes a face and mutters, “I’m the only one here with any
guts.”
Many
students also envy Gloria’s writing. I’m reading their
work about the
Underground
Railroad. The assignment is to write an escape story.
Most
students write like Rolando:
I
was tired of it. I
got my stuff together and left. got away. I wasn’t a slave no
more. I was happy about it.
This
is Angel’s idea of an essay with a beginning, a middle, and an
end with details
and suspense.
Jesus’s
is a slight improvement.
One
night, I took a bag and jammed my stuff in with some tools. Then I
went and slit the overseer’s throwt and snuffed his dogs. I
took a torch and lit the barn and the front of the big house. I
wanted to stay and watch them burn to hell but I figyered it was
better get out and go as far from there as I cud.
He
mutters, arms folded. I nod “Not bad”. Then Gloria reads
her piece while the
girls
sit restlessly as Gloria describe a woman escaping with a baby.
“She
turned past the big elm with shadows like monstrous arms. She heard a
noise! She thought she might faint! Now! A squirrel stared at her
from behind a tree and she took it as a sign to follow.
She
did. She suddenly felt stronger. The baby slept. Now she was safe,
deep in the woods heading for freedom. She looked North. She saw a
huge determined silver lite.
It was the North Star! It shone silver lite on the baby’s face
“HI
North Star,” she smiled. “If yore good enuf for Harriet
Tubman, then yore good enuf for me.” The baby smiled and fell
into a deep sleep. The next day she met Kunta Kintay and Fiddler and
they formed a team.
To
be Continued
P.S.
I would like to continue this story though it’s kind of long
already. I want to keep
it going and try some things and do more research. I’ll do it
for extra credit and
the two of us can figure out how much extra I get when I’m
done.
I
sit reading, wondering: why is this girl in Special Education? What
is her learning
disability?
The
next day, reviewing Gloria’s elementary school records, my
blood quickens.
The faded folder contains sparse notes. The blue Teacher Remarks
read:
This energetic but extremely disorganized student needs intense
structuring. Compulsive talker. Weak in math. “Hates” it.
Hands-on math activities recommended. Loves science which along with
English are her strengths. Likes to write. Easily distracted.Tempers.
Refer to medical. Consider Ritalin.
A
fading salmon medical card, undated, reads: Referred for hyperactivity.
Ritalin suggested, considered by family. No consent or
implementation. Slightly overweight student claims she can “Put
it on or take it off.” Student cautioned re long-range effects
of crash dieting.
I
check her grades. In all grades after fourth she has straight As and
Bs. On
her yellow behavioral record the column for Third Grade has a starred
note and
red ink script: ASSAULT ON TEACHER. TRANSFER TO SPECIAL EDUCATION
LEVEL
II. Follow BEHAVIORALLY CHALLENGED PROTOCOLS.
To
my limited knowledge, any transfer into special education classes
requires
a full meeting with the existing Director of Special Education
Services , Mitch
Silverman, both parents (if possible), a record of transfer from any
other facility,
and, last but not least, the student’s guidance counselor, the
part-time psychologist,
and an administrative representative.
I
search Gloria’s folder. There is no Incident Report, as
required by city law.
There
is no parent conference form and signed consent sheet as required by
city,
state, and Federal law. There is no referral form transferring Gloria
to Special
Education
although her current Level I Class serves students with documented
learning
disabilities. There is no record of Gloria entering this category. No
grade
lists
any official status change.
In
the sixth grade section of the behavior sheet, a Teacher’s
Remark reads:
Tends
to be impulsive. Still no parental consent for Ritalin . Poor peer
relationships.
That
afternoon I find Mitch.
“Mitch,
what do you know about Gloria Esperanza?”
He
pauses, smiles.
“Funny
kid. Tomboy. Smart . We’ve considered some mainstreaming, but
her
teachers
always felt she wasn’t ready. Poor peer relationships. Most had
no special
reason for that. Why?”
“I
think she’s ready.”
“How
so?”
“Her
work’s fine. Maybe her peer relationships aren’t that
good because she doesn’t
fit
a certain stereotype. Maybe she never did.”
“So
what do you think the story is then?”
“She
stands up for herself. She does not wear dresses, or skirts.”
Mitch
rubs his beard.
“We’re
missing something.”
“Her
records indicate she was transferred to Level II in third grade”
“And?”
“That’s
just it. There is NO record of ANY transfer into Special Ed at all.”
Mitch
glowers.
“Oh
Jesus, I need this like I need leukemia.”
He
scribbles vigorously into his datebook.
“Let
me look into it. Between the two of us, we’ll get this figured
out.”
He
returns in several days.
“Unbelievable.
I tell you, I’ve been in this business for thirty years. You
would have thought I’d seen everything. I double-checked
all her files.
They all want to pass
the buck; no one knows nothing. What I keep asking is how do you lose
papers from
a kid’s file? It makes you wonder: what else is missing? But if
I start worrying about
that too much, they’ll be fitting me for a straightjacket. So,
I talked to the teachers
that are still here. In fourth grade, the teacher says Gloria was
“distracted.”
Of
course she was, her father was in a very bad car accident. But get
the kid in and see
what she has to say.”
I
talk with Gloria the next day after school.
“There’s
something I want to ask you, Gloria.”
“Shoot.”
“You’re
doing really well in this class.”
“Yeah.
I like this class.”
“You’re
really good in English and Social Studies.”
“They’re
my best subjects.”
“So
uh, how come you were in Special Ed in the first place? Any idea?”
She
chews her gum rapidly, squints, and crams another three pieces in.
I’ve never seen her chew her gum so fast. She stares out the
window as if seeking the furthest sight possible away from me.
You
know,” she sighs, “ you’re the first person ever
asked me that
.
Still
staring out the window, she speaks in a low, slow voice, taking a
deep breath with
each word, trembling.
“No
one ever asked me that. Not the principal, not a guidance counselor,
not teacher no
one.”
“What
happened, Gloria?”
Slowly
unwrapping a piece of gum, she pops it into her mouth. She doesn’t
chew it.
She
takes another long look out the window.
“In
third grade, we were doing ART, which I liked. It was no big deal; we
was draw-
ing
trees with a sky. I thought I’d try something cool and make the
trees blue and the
sky green. I thought it came out really fresh. The teacher looked at
it, made a
face
and called me a stupid spic. I hit her with a chair. I know I
shouldn’t have done it,
but it was like everything around me went red. They called my parents
and suspended
me for two weeks. When I came back, I was in Special Ed.”
I
whistle.
I
realize I shouldn’t, but I whistle.
“What
a joke!” I blurt.
“Wasn’t
a joke to me . Still aint.”
“ I
didn’t mean you. I mean- what was done to you. It’s a
travesty.”
“What’s
that mean?”
“Look
it up. Wow them in mainstream English with your dynamite vocabulary.”
“You
puttin’ me in mainstream English?”
“In
all of it. If you want it.”
“You
want my parents to come in and see you and Mr. Silverman?”
“When
can they come?”
“I’ll
ask them tonight!”
“Fine.”
“And
if they ok it, I’m out of Special Ed.?”
“Yeah,
but if you miss it too much, you can return as a Guest Speaker.”
She
laughs.
“Oh
that’ll go over real big!”
Two
weeks later, the parents appear with Gloria in Mitch’s office.
We don’t
need
an interpreter since Mitch speaks fluent Spanish. After the meeting I
say, “You
never
told me you speak Spanish and he shrugs, “You never asked.”
I
always have a bowl of fruit when parents come to school that I offer
but
Gloria’s
mother and father wave politely no thank you as Mitch shakes their
hands
and proceeds.
“Mrs.
Esperanza, Mr. Esperanza, thank you very much for coming here today.
We
greatly
appreciate your coming in to help us help your daughter.”
He
pauses, then broadens his smile.
“We
have very good new for you. Your daughter Gloria is doing very well
here, as you
know from her report cards and from talking with some of her
teachers, this
young
man here included.”
“Yes,”
smiles Mr. Esperanza.
“Si,”
says Mrs. Esperanza, “she works very hard. She’s a good
girl.”
“”We
feel that Gloria is ready to be mainstreamed which means to leave the
Special
Education classes and start taking regular classes, especially in
English and Social
Studies.”
They
are rapidly nodding.
“We
found out about what happened in third grade. The teacher was very
wrong.”
Mr.
Esperanza stiffens as his wife grabs his arm.
“You
see! I TOLD you”
She
turns to Mitch.
“I
told him about that teacher. She was , how you say, racista! Sometime
you just know.“
“How
so, Mrs. Esperanza?” Mitch says, almost offhandedly.
“You
know. By how they look at you. How their body move away from you.”
Mrs.
Esperanza gulps and starts peeling an orange. l
“That
picture, I still have it. I love that picture. That racista-
“She
hit the teacher. She cannot do that.”
Mrs.
Esperanza rapid-fires Spanish; Mitch stifles a smile.
She
turns to me.
“When
my daughter defends her honor I don’t care what anybody say or
does.
She
is right to do so.”
“It
is wonderful that you have such a strong daughter,” I carefully
agree, and, I tilt
my
head respectfully to Mr. Esperanza ,” It is also true she must
work on handling
her
temper.”
“Don’t
I know?” Mr.Esperanza chuckles.
Mitch
clears his throat.
“Your
daughter will need help and patience. We are putting her back into
regular classes.
It will take her some time to make the change and get used to it. We
have
complete
faith that she will continue to do well.”
“Gracias.”
“Good.”
“And
what can we do right now to help her make the changes?” Mr.
Esperanza asks.
Mitch
looks at me.
“Help
make her feel ready. Do what you have been doing. Make sure she has
her
supplies-
paper, notebooks, pens, pencils, compass, protractor- the usual.”
He’s
writing it all down in his head, nodding “Si” with each
item.
“Get
her a good dictionary. That helps a bunch.”
Mrs.
Esperanza grips my hands in her and whispers, “God bless you”,
pressing her
lips
in an unsuccessful attempt to stop tears.
i
“Come,
Mommy,” her husband murmurs.
In
the next week, I spot Gloria, frowning with a new book bag.
“How
goes it, Gloria? I don’t get to see you much now.”
“They’re
busting my chops.”
“You
can handle it.”
“Hey,
check it out.”
“Whatcha
got?”
She
unshoulders her book bag, opens it, and pulls out a huge book
resembling the Complete Works of William Shakespeare. It is Webster’s
Unabridged Dictionary in laminated plastic.
“My
Dad did this. He says it’s so my kids can have it too. He’s
like that.”
“You
carry this around?
“I’m
into it. Sometimes I look words up just for fun. Do you know what
excoriate
means
?”
“I
know what it means. But can you use it in a sentence?”
She
pops a bubble, spots the dean’s office, surveys the ceiling,
and smiles.
“Ms.
Braverman loves to make believe she excoriates recalcitrant students,
but she’s
really
a soft touch underneath her gruff demeanor that she feigns with
considerable finesse.”
“Impressive
plus!”
“That’s
six bases. Probably. I’ve got twenty five home runs. So far.”
