a Grey Lady

It's no secret that I teach because of my kids.

This evening, I told a friend that they were the light in my life, and even on the days when they're infuriating; when they won't stop trying to kick each other or are too busy watching life beyond the window to be bothered with what's happening within the classroom, even then, just being with them helps me to remember who I am and I why I teach.

The past week has been tough. Guatemala is life now, so much more than an extended vacation, and life always carries highs and lows in her suitcase, dolling them out like sweets to street children, a ready combination of the honeyed and the bitter.

Sadness rolled in this year with the rains. Normally, from May through October, the rains come only during late afternoon or evening, with mornings and middays gloriously calm, cool, and clear, and for this, the rains mark my favorite time to be in Guate. But the change didn't go smoothly this year, and for almost a week we had grey skies and a constant, cold rain that hung heavy in the mornings. Up in El Hato, where the paved road ends as soon as it arrives, it meant mud tracked into cold classrooms, thick fog lying like a wet blanket along the mountains, and sickly children ill inclined to pay attention. Coupled with an emotional falling out of sorts between me and a friend back home, and a tiff between the preschool teachers that I'm trying my hardest to stay out of... well, it's been an interesting week.

I've felt out of sorts as a teacher, which is strange, because teaching is usually what helps me escape any melancholy that creeps in because of homesickness or adult drama. The kids are a constant in my life, which is a funny thing to say about these little people who keep my days in a constant flux. But for some reason, a light tap on my shoulder from a lady in grey turned my head, and suddenly the school up the mountain was no longer my safe haven.

But after school today, a few second grades came into the English classroom and started messing around- starting a puzzle with me, bugging a volunteer to see his phone, pretending a stack of stools was a car.... and they were all so full of a joy and movement that I hope to never forget.

Today, I wasn't the best teacher that I am capable of being, but that doesn't mean that tomorrow I can't be. Today, the Gray Lady was a faithful shadow, but that doesn't mean she must also accompany me tomorrow. This morning, I let sadness win, and the hurts in life overcame her beauty, but tomorrow I will remember the lessons of this afternoon. Because the thing about children is they overlook so, so much, and with them, the tomorrows are always fresh ones. And if tomorrow I still don't feel strong, it's no matter; because they don't ask me for my strength, but for my patience and love, for understanding and energy. And in return, they make each day I spend with them astoundingly bright.

It's true that life is hard. But it is also incredibly sweet.