For American families, Thanksgiving is synonymous with turkey, stuffing (or dressing if you prefer) and of course football. For the first time since I can remember, I did not watch any football on Thanksgiving (too busy) but I definitely had a “futbol” moment that has made me very thankful.
Futbol, or soccer to those living north of Mexico, is the passion of Honduras and every boy at Trinity spends his free moments playing on the concrete patio in the center of the school. Consequently, many balls end up stuck on the roof of the office that doubles as a backstop for errant shots. The afternoon before Thanksgiving, with the smell of turkey everywhere as Veronica prepared for the feast, one of the students asked me to go get a ball off the roof so the he could play. Never one to pass up the opportunity to climb anything, I proceeded to ascended from the terrace of the secondary school onto the roof of the office. As placed my foot on the roof, there was a crack and suddenly I was sitting on the roof, my foot dangling in space and the secretary looking up through the hole I just kicked through the ceiling. Apparently the roof has been bad for some time and several people have actually fallen all the way through. I only broke two panels so it was a quick fix but everyone was very thankful that I did not end up landing on the tile floor. I did get the ball though…
We have not had classes at Trinity since Wednesday to celebrate Thanksgiving and for the national elections that took place on Sunday. The students were still required to come in on Thursday for a half day of school. Even though it is not a holiday in Honduras, Veronica likes to celebrate Thanksgiving as a school because of its message and to show the students a side of American culture that isn't fast food and action movies. After an all-school Holy Eucharist, the kids hung out while half the teachers got everything ready for the big lunch. My first job was to help peel about 40 lbs. of boiled potatoes so we could mash them, using only my fingernails. I did not ask why they were not peeled before hand or where a peeler might be found; I just put my head down and started scratching. It took forever and I was thrilled when Veronica asked me to come with her to get my masher because the food processor was not producing the desired results. We also picked up carving knives. When I got into the kitchen, I saw four large turkeys and lots of kids sitting impatiently at long tables in the auditorium wondering when they were going to get fed. I washed my hands, grabbed to sharpest knife in the pile and went to work.
Luckily I have had plenty of training from my dear old dad but this was a little more quantity than the Pinkston household has ever had. I am not sure how Veronica managed to get four 20lbs + turkeys to La Ceiba(turkey is not a common food choice) but there wasn’t really time to ask questions. After removing all the limbs, I got into a good rhythm making big, thin slices of white meat. However, I realized that there was no way to make the dark meat look pretty and the kids probably wouldn’t care anyways. So I grabbed a paring knife, cut off any piece I could get a hold of and piled it on the tray. This went on for more than an hour nonstop. I cleaned every little piece of meat off the bird then moved on, the plates of meat disappearing as faster than I could replenish them. My back was turned to the auditorium so I never even got to see the kids eat but I guess they liked it. By the time I left the kitchen with my plate of meat, potatoes and stuffing (salad on Thanksgiving, not a chance), the only people left in the auditorium were the teachers and all the kids had gone home.
I promptly wolfed down my plate, washing it all down with about a half bottle of apple juice. My hands were so tired that they were shaking as I lifted my glass. It started pouring rain so I hung around for a bit, hoping it would let up. I hitched a ride home with the math teacher, who lives in the same barrio as I do. My feet still got wet crossing the river between the sidewalk and car but it certainly beat the alternative. I walked in the door at around 1pm, fell onto my leopard print bed, and did not wake up until 6 pm when Veronica called to tell me she would be picking me up in 10 minutes for Thanksgiving, round two. Veronica always invites people who don’t have any nearby family to join hers for the holiday. This was much more laid back family affair, with seven adults and six kids total. I got to carve their turkey too, but it was much smaller so it didn’t take much time. I just was happy to be able to sit down and enjoy it with everyone this time around.
Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday because of the food, the family and the reflection it brings about. This year, I have plenty to be thankful for: the health and safety of my family and their unfailing support of me in all my pursuits; Veronica Flowers and Trinity Episcopal School for giving me the opportunity to connect with students and learn how to teach; Javier, Nelson (the organist), and all my soccer buddies who do their best to give me some semblance of a social life; and Mike and Betty, who have adopted me as their Honduran son and always provide an ear to my daily frustrations. Most of all, I am thankful for my family at St. James Episcopal Church. I would not be here if it weren’t for your generous support and prayers. Even on the toughest, worst days, I think back on the applause I received the last time I was with the St. James’ congregation. I feel like I have my own long distance cheering squad pushing me onward and that’s what I do. I am truly blessed and honored to be part of such a dynamic congregation. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Turning the Power On – from Jake Pinkston on teaching mission in Honduras
As I type, the sounds of smooth Latin love songs are shaking the table that my laptop is sitting on. All around me there are teens in skinny jeans and mothers trooping around herds of children. There is a stiff breeze from the industrial fan above my head and I am overcome with the smells of fried food and disinfectant. Where am I? Why the food court at the Mall of course, the only place within two square miles that has power right now.
It seems the power company is changing out some of the telephone poles that have been massacred by termites with concrete ones. This is a rather delicate task as the preferred method of telecommunications maintenance is just put a new wire next to the one that isn’t working and call it a day. Moving the tangled spider web is an all day affair however so I have had to relocate in order to get my work done. As there is no public library to speak of in the city and my favorite coffee shop is also off the grid, my next best option was a table across from Pop-Eye’s next to the twinkling Christmas tree with massive ornaments (it has a power outlet). Honduras just scored a goal on the television. People are going nuts!
I have been having trouble the last few weeks with the internet connection at my house and loading my blog entries onto the St. James website. I think it is sorted out for now though. I have posted my blogs for the last two weeks below for your reading pleasure.
The new after school tutoring program got off the ground this week which is exciting. The goal of the program is to identify the students that are failing or very close to failing, get some extra time in to figure out what is going on and hopefully turn it around. The students have to stay after school for an hour once a week for every subject they have below a 75 until the midterm (most of the participants are repeat offenders), when if they have pulled up their grades, they are no longer required to attend. Each of my science classes has a day for review while math and English are also participating.
The eighth grade managed to use a chaotic end of the day on Tuesday to run out the door before I could gently remind them that they had to stay after so I did not get to work with them. I cannot say I was disappointed as they had been bouncing off the walls all day but I will make sure to get them next week.
Wednesday was complicated by the two hour, after school detention that the entire secondary school got for misbehaving during their chorus classes over the past few weeks. My 7th grade after-school group ended up being the entire class. The first hour was actually really fun as we reviewed for the upcoming Life Science quiz on the chemistry of organisms. I set up a jeopardy game on the board and split the class into teams to answer questions using their notebooks. It got a little out of hand at the end as the students were getting a little over competitive and apparently I was not doing a very good job keeping the scores straight but it was an effective review.
The next hour was a bit of a challenge for multiple reasons. The teachers who imposed the detention had commitments and could not stay for the full time, which left myself and Veronica watching 4 classes. The students normally don’t eat breakfast, eat their main meal at 9:40 then eat as soon as they go home at 2pm. At 3:30, they were all flipping out because they did not bring food for detention and were dying of starvation. It did not help that 10th grader girls had found a way to have Wendy’s delivered and were eating it while walking by the classroom. I was very happy when 4:00pm finally came around and we could all go home.
Thursday and Friday were also all school detention but went a lot more smoothly. I spent Thursday with the 10th grade reviewing dimensional analysis, which just a fancy way of saying converting quantities from one unit to another. I put six problems on the board and they worked through them, yelling at me to come over and help them now and again. I had a great time because by the fourth problem they had figured it out and were just calling me over for a pat on the back and to lecture me on why I should find a Honduran girlfriend. I spent a half hour on Friday talking with the four boys who are all hovering around the 70 mark in my 9th grade Physical Science class, discussing strategies for studying and communicating when they are lost, which is often.
I am optimistic that the program will be successful for at least a couple of the students who are falling behind. There are a few however that seem to be giving up and not really caring, which is frustrating because it would not take much effort for them to turn it around and that attitude is contagious. A lot of it has to do with their English abilities as well as the fact that they have always been able to get by with the minimum effort. I am hoping that the extra attention will get them back on the right track. However, like the telephone poles, it is going to take some effort before I will be able to turn that light on.
It seems the power company is changing out some of the telephone poles that have been massacred by termites with concrete ones. This is a rather delicate task as the preferred method of telecommunications maintenance is just put a new wire next to the one that isn’t working and call it a day. Moving the tangled spider web is an all day affair however so I have had to relocate in order to get my work done. As there is no public library to speak of in the city and my favorite coffee shop is also off the grid, my next best option was a table across from Pop-Eye’s next to the twinkling Christmas tree with massive ornaments (it has a power outlet). Honduras just scored a goal on the television. People are going nuts!
I have been having trouble the last few weeks with the internet connection at my house and loading my blog entries onto the St. James website. I think it is sorted out for now though. I have posted my blogs for the last two weeks below for your reading pleasure.
The new after school tutoring program got off the ground this week which is exciting. The goal of the program is to identify the students that are failing or very close to failing, get some extra time in to figure out what is going on and hopefully turn it around. The students have to stay after school for an hour once a week for every subject they have below a 75 until the midterm (most of the participants are repeat offenders), when if they have pulled up their grades, they are no longer required to attend. Each of my science classes has a day for review while math and English are also participating.
The eighth grade managed to use a chaotic end of the day on Tuesday to run out the door before I could gently remind them that they had to stay after so I did not get to work with them. I cannot say I was disappointed as they had been bouncing off the walls all day but I will make sure to get them next week.
Wednesday was complicated by the two hour, after school detention that the entire secondary school got for misbehaving during their chorus classes over the past few weeks. My 7th grade after-school group ended up being the entire class. The first hour was actually really fun as we reviewed for the upcoming Life Science quiz on the chemistry of organisms. I set up a jeopardy game on the board and split the class into teams to answer questions using their notebooks. It got a little out of hand at the end as the students were getting a little over competitive and apparently I was not doing a very good job keeping the scores straight but it was an effective review.
The next hour was a bit of a challenge for multiple reasons. The teachers who imposed the detention had commitments and could not stay for the full time, which left myself and Veronica watching 4 classes. The students normally don’t eat breakfast, eat their main meal at 9:40 then eat as soon as they go home at 2pm. At 3:30, they were all flipping out because they did not bring food for detention and were dying of starvation. It did not help that 10th grader girls had found a way to have Wendy’s delivered and were eating it while walking by the classroom. I was very happy when 4:00pm finally came around and we could all go home.
Thursday and Friday were also all school detention but went a lot more smoothly. I spent Thursday with the 10th grade reviewing dimensional analysis, which just a fancy way of saying converting quantities from one unit to another. I put six problems on the board and they worked through them, yelling at me to come over and help them now and again. I had a great time because by the fourth problem they had figured it out and were just calling me over for a pat on the back and to lecture me on why I should find a Honduran girlfriend. I spent a half hour on Friday talking with the four boys who are all hovering around the 70 mark in my 9th grade Physical Science class, discussing strategies for studying and communicating when they are lost, which is often.
I am optimistic that the program will be successful for at least a couple of the students who are falling behind. There are a few however that seem to be giving up and not really caring, which is frustrating because it would not take much effort for them to turn it around and that attitude is contagious. A lot of it has to do with their English abilities as well as the fact that they have always been able to get by with the minimum effort. I am hoping that the extra attention will get them back on the right track. However, like the telephone poles, it is going to take some effort before I will be able to turn that light on.
When It Rains, It Floods – from Jake Pinkston on teaching mission in Honduras
November 15, 2009
The rainy season has finally arrived in earnest here in La Ceiba and somebody already stole my umbrella (I suspect my neighbor). Go figure. We had a storm system come through about a month ago that got stuck for two days and caused so much rain that we actually had to close school because it was unsafe to drive on the roads (drainage is a luxury in Honduras). However, it has been sunny and hot since then. This week, the temperature dropped about ten degrees to the low 70s and it has rained on and off almost everyday.
I love it. For once I am not drenched in sweat and can stand to wear pants outside of the classroom. I can actually spend time outside walking around and not feel like I am going to drop dead from dehydration. I have been able to sleep with the air conditioning off. With the rooster finally gone to the country where he can sing the hourly watch to his hearts content and the local stray dogs staying home, all I can hear at night is the rain. Much more my style of climate.
The students at school however, have not adjusted so well. I have to laugh when I come into the classrooms because it reminds me of a Senior Center bingo game: every student bundled up in a sweater or a light jacket chair, the collars of their uniform popping out awkwardly and fidgeting with their notebooks, uncomfortable and wishing that class would get started already. Meanwhile I am more comfortable than I have ever been, I can actually hear myself because the fans are turned off and the windows are shut, and I don’t even have to ask the class to settle down. I hope this weather lasts for awhile.
One problem that the rain does bring is that my apartment is not particularly water proof, as I have mentioned before. There are no gutters above my kitchen windows and when rain hits the aluminum roof, it bounces pretty high. The windows leak even when they are shut but when they are open, anything on the counters is in the flood zone. I have found this out the hard way a couple of times, but I am now pretty well trained to close my windows anytime I leave the house. When I remember…
I came home from school on Wednesday this week during a down pour, soaking wet from foot to knee after wading across my street to get to the sidewalk, wondering if I had remembered to close my windows that morning. The sinking feeling in my stomach subsided as I climbed the stairs to the second level and saw that in fact the windows were tightly shut.
It had been a tough day in a tough week. I was on the wrong side of a tradition I did not understand that had taken a strangle hold on Trinity in the last two weeks. United Nations Day. “A spirited discussion and celebration of the history, parts, functions and future role of the UN as an intergovernmental organization?” Wrong. This was a two hour evening presentation to the parents where each class was required to study a country then come up with a dance, make a booth, and sell typical food of that culture. “Okay, maybe there is some relation to the UN.” Three such countries included Ancient Egypt, Ancient China, and Ancient Rome. “What?” And, in order to complete this project, the students needed three class hours per day, plus after school preparation time. Any other classes they had (ie Science class), they would blow off, too tired or distracted to really contribute let alone get the homework done. “Does anyone know who the UN Secretary General is or what he does?” AHHHHH!
Ready to sit on my couch, unwind, check up on the news and the Red Sox off-season activities, and eat a Granny Smith apple with peanut butter, I unlocked my door and walked in. Splash! My already wet sneaker was inundated in an inch of water. My entire kitchen was inundated with an inch of water. I searched for the source of the flood. I saw a thin silver stream flowing from the faucet, hitting a rippling lake of water and a few protruding plates and rolling gracefully over the counter, down the peach tiles and onto the floor in spectacular waterfall and I knew exactly what happened. My sink has a mind of its own. Some times it is silent, other times it drips, other times it flows in spits and spurts. It all depends on the water pressure, which can change at any minute. Some time during the day, my leaning tower of dirty dishes had succumbed to the forces of gravity, fallen into the sink, closed the drain and the rest was history.
Finding no better tool than an old yogurt container I had been using for Tupperware and my trash can, I proceed to bail and dump the contents of the floor for the next hour and a half. I filled three two-gallon trash cans before finally I grabbed the mop, spread the remaining water out, turned up the fan, and let evaporation do the rest while I enjoyed my apple. I realized then what a better mood I was in than when I had started the clean-up. Luckily I had not left anything important on the floor and the beauty of concrete construction had prevented any damage below. And to be honest, my apartment really needed a good mopping.
I took that positive energy to school the next day and instead of fighting the UN day program, I tried to be a little more flexible and see what I could do to get the project done. I even gave my 7th and 8th grade classes the afternoon off to get prepared for their presentation that evening. In an attempt to recognize what the day was supposed to be about, Veronica asked me to give the opening speech and discuss the UN briefly. Considering the speech was in English, the parents only speak Spanish, and the kids were all upstairs getting ready, I would say it absolutely flopped but it’s the thought that counts, right?
I was really proud to see all the students participating and performing. They went all out, choreographing their dances and making all the costumes by hand. The Pharaoh and Michael Jackson were in full regalia. There was a wardrobe malfunction that derailed one of the dances but that was the only drama over the entire night. I even got a free cheeseburger from the 9th grade booth (they did the USA) for picking up glitter for their American flag the day before. Even though it only has 9 stripes and 37 stars, I decided to put it up in my apartment afterwards. By the end, the students were completely wiped out but there was an aura of happiness and accomplishment that seemed to wash over everyone.
I am hoping that this upcoming week will be a little more normal and a lot more relaxed. After Noah’s flood, both figuratively and literally, I think we are all ready for a fresh, positive start. While I did not understand what UN day is to Hondurans and I hope I never have to deal with one again, I know I grew from the experience and I think everyone else did too.
The rainy season has finally arrived in earnest here in La Ceiba and somebody already stole my umbrella (I suspect my neighbor). Go figure. We had a storm system come through about a month ago that got stuck for two days and caused so much rain that we actually had to close school because it was unsafe to drive on the roads (drainage is a luxury in Honduras). However, it has been sunny and hot since then. This week, the temperature dropped about ten degrees to the low 70s and it has rained on and off almost everyday.
I love it. For once I am not drenched in sweat and can stand to wear pants outside of the classroom. I can actually spend time outside walking around and not feel like I am going to drop dead from dehydration. I have been able to sleep with the air conditioning off. With the rooster finally gone to the country where he can sing the hourly watch to his hearts content and the local stray dogs staying home, all I can hear at night is the rain. Much more my style of climate.
The students at school however, have not adjusted so well. I have to laugh when I come into the classrooms because it reminds me of a Senior Center bingo game: every student bundled up in a sweater or a light jacket chair, the collars of their uniform popping out awkwardly and fidgeting with their notebooks, uncomfortable and wishing that class would get started already. Meanwhile I am more comfortable than I have ever been, I can actually hear myself because the fans are turned off and the windows are shut, and I don’t even have to ask the class to settle down. I hope this weather lasts for awhile.
One problem that the rain does bring is that my apartment is not particularly water proof, as I have mentioned before. There are no gutters above my kitchen windows and when rain hits the aluminum roof, it bounces pretty high. The windows leak even when they are shut but when they are open, anything on the counters is in the flood zone. I have found this out the hard way a couple of times, but I am now pretty well trained to close my windows anytime I leave the house. When I remember…
I came home from school on Wednesday this week during a down pour, soaking wet from foot to knee after wading across my street to get to the sidewalk, wondering if I had remembered to close my windows that morning. The sinking feeling in my stomach subsided as I climbed the stairs to the second level and saw that in fact the windows were tightly shut.
It had been a tough day in a tough week. I was on the wrong side of a tradition I did not understand that had taken a strangle hold on Trinity in the last two weeks. United Nations Day. “A spirited discussion and celebration of the history, parts, functions and future role of the UN as an intergovernmental organization?” Wrong. This was a two hour evening presentation to the parents where each class was required to study a country then come up with a dance, make a booth, and sell typical food of that culture. “Okay, maybe there is some relation to the UN.” Three such countries included Ancient Egypt, Ancient China, and Ancient Rome. “What?” And, in order to complete this project, the students needed three class hours per day, plus after school preparation time. Any other classes they had (ie Science class), they would blow off, too tired or distracted to really contribute let alone get the homework done. “Does anyone know who the UN Secretary General is or what he does?” AHHHHH!
Ready to sit on my couch, unwind, check up on the news and the Red Sox off-season activities, and eat a Granny Smith apple with peanut butter, I unlocked my door and walked in. Splash! My already wet sneaker was inundated in an inch of water. My entire kitchen was inundated with an inch of water. I searched for the source of the flood. I saw a thin silver stream flowing from the faucet, hitting a rippling lake of water and a few protruding plates and rolling gracefully over the counter, down the peach tiles and onto the floor in spectacular waterfall and I knew exactly what happened. My sink has a mind of its own. Some times it is silent, other times it drips, other times it flows in spits and spurts. It all depends on the water pressure, which can change at any minute. Some time during the day, my leaning tower of dirty dishes had succumbed to the forces of gravity, fallen into the sink, closed the drain and the rest was history.
Finding no better tool than an old yogurt container I had been using for Tupperware and my trash can, I proceed to bail and dump the contents of the floor for the next hour and a half. I filled three two-gallon trash cans before finally I grabbed the mop, spread the remaining water out, turned up the fan, and let evaporation do the rest while I enjoyed my apple. I realized then what a better mood I was in than when I had started the clean-up. Luckily I had not left anything important on the floor and the beauty of concrete construction had prevented any damage below. And to be honest, my apartment really needed a good mopping.
I took that positive energy to school the next day and instead of fighting the UN day program, I tried to be a little more flexible and see what I could do to get the project done. I even gave my 7th and 8th grade classes the afternoon off to get prepared for their presentation that evening. In an attempt to recognize what the day was supposed to be about, Veronica asked me to give the opening speech and discuss the UN briefly. Considering the speech was in English, the parents only speak Spanish, and the kids were all upstairs getting ready, I would say it absolutely flopped but it’s the thought that counts, right?
I was really proud to see all the students participating and performing. They went all out, choreographing their dances and making all the costumes by hand. The Pharaoh and Michael Jackson were in full regalia. There was a wardrobe malfunction that derailed one of the dances but that was the only drama over the entire night. I even got a free cheeseburger from the 9th grade booth (they did the USA) for picking up glitter for their American flag the day before. Even though it only has 9 stripes and 37 stars, I decided to put it up in my apartment afterwards. By the end, the students were completely wiped out but there was an aura of happiness and accomplishment that seemed to wash over everyone.
I am hoping that this upcoming week will be a little more normal and a lot more relaxed. After Noah’s flood, both figuratively and literally, I think we are all ready for a fresh, positive start. While I did not understand what UN day is to Hondurans and I hope I never have to deal with one again, I know I grew from the experience and I think everyone else did too.
In Memory of Reina Melisa – from Jake Pinkston on teaching mission in Honduras
11/9/2009
It was a very sad week for Holy Trinity Episcopal School. A girl in the fifth grade, Reina Melisa, died suddenly on Thursday morning. While the story has changed several times in a likely effort to protect the doctors and nurses involved, it is probable that she died from an allergic reaction to medication while being treated at a local clinic for Dengue fever. They rushed her to the hospital but were unable to save her. She was 11 years old.
The students and staff at Trinity were informed as we arrived at school on Thursday morning but the secondary school continued with classes as usual, offering time for students to ask questions and reflect but not disrupt the schedule too much. I joined Mike, Betty, and Mary Ann, the assistant principal in charge of the primary school and we walked over to the funeral home, which is literally right next door to the school, to meet the parents and give our condolences while the students had their recess.
On Friday, the students had classes for an hour and a half then made cards for the family. At 9am we went down into the auditorium for the funeral service. The fifth grade class sat at the front while the rest of the school sat at the back. As friends and family members filed in, they placed flower arrangements on the steps of the stage behind the altar so that there was a solid back drop of bright colors.
The immediate family members wheeled in the casket from next door, which was closed but had a viewing window on the top and the service began. The 5th graders read scripture in both English and Spanish and Reverend Neri spoke, followed by an older sister and an uncle of Reina. I stood at the side with some of the 10th graders and they followed along with me in the Book of Common Prayer. The most poignant part of the service for me was how every five minutes or so, one of the classes would stand up from their seats and move to the back to accommodate for people filing in late for the service. First the 9th, then the 8th, then the 7th, and so on until there were no students sitting and it was standing room only in the auditorium.
At the end of the service, there was a long caravan to the cemetery, which is about 20 minutes east of the city, outside of town. I rode out with Neri, Veronica, and Licenia, one of the custodians, and we followed the gray Dodge caravan, which serves as the funeral home’s hearse. There is no parking to speak of at the cemetery so everyone just pulled off the highway and walked the quarter mile, dodging the tractor trailers screaming by. The cemeteries in Honduras are on the more marginal land, this particular one on a hillside next to a stream. The gravestones are more horizontal than vertical and the entire grave is decorated, not just around the headstone, with plastic flowers and other trinkets.
There were close to a hundred mourners at the graveside. The service continued with more memories of Reina followed by a series of official condolences from the hospital and from the places where the parents worked. The family gathered around the casket one last time and cried together while a woman led the mourners in songs. Then the casket was lower into the ground and it was over.
I have become accustomed to seeing funeral gatherings on almost a daily basis, as Trinity is in the center of the funeral district of La Ceiba. There is Funerario San Jose next to the school, which has wakes going on almost every day. The in-town offices of the cemetery are one block south, complete with a full window front display of their selection of coffins and memorials. One block to the east is the poor mans funeral home, where you can see the owner making the coffins out of rough-hewn planks on his back porch. While death is a part of life, it is always a tragedy when a child dies. But as the sister said during the services, God has a plan for everyone and we must have faith that Reina is in a better place.
The day brought back memories of when I returned to Deerfield Academy the year after I graduated for the memorial service of a student who graduated with me and had died while away at college. I only knew Gordie as an acquaintance, but I was still glad to be there, wearing my green Class of 2004 tie, showing my support to his family and my classmates. In the same way, I never knew Reina and was only vaguely familiar with the smiling face that was on the front of the service bulletin. I felt strange being there and witnessing the people who loved her so much grieving her death when I had not even met her. Even though I was very much an outsider, I hope that being there in my white polo with the Trinity shield did a little to ease their pain and show that even although her time on this Earth was short, it meant something and she will be missed.
It was a very sad week for Holy Trinity Episcopal School. A girl in the fifth grade, Reina Melisa, died suddenly on Thursday morning. While the story has changed several times in a likely effort to protect the doctors and nurses involved, it is probable that she died from an allergic reaction to medication while being treated at a local clinic for Dengue fever. They rushed her to the hospital but were unable to save her. She was 11 years old.
The students and staff at Trinity were informed as we arrived at school on Thursday morning but the secondary school continued with classes as usual, offering time for students to ask questions and reflect but not disrupt the schedule too much. I joined Mike, Betty, and Mary Ann, the assistant principal in charge of the primary school and we walked over to the funeral home, which is literally right next door to the school, to meet the parents and give our condolences while the students had their recess.
On Friday, the students had classes for an hour and a half then made cards for the family. At 9am we went down into the auditorium for the funeral service. The fifth grade class sat at the front while the rest of the school sat at the back. As friends and family members filed in, they placed flower arrangements on the steps of the stage behind the altar so that there was a solid back drop of bright colors.
The immediate family members wheeled in the casket from next door, which was closed but had a viewing window on the top and the service began. The 5th graders read scripture in both English and Spanish and Reverend Neri spoke, followed by an older sister and an uncle of Reina. I stood at the side with some of the 10th graders and they followed along with me in the Book of Common Prayer. The most poignant part of the service for me was how every five minutes or so, one of the classes would stand up from their seats and move to the back to accommodate for people filing in late for the service. First the 9th, then the 8th, then the 7th, and so on until there were no students sitting and it was standing room only in the auditorium.
At the end of the service, there was a long caravan to the cemetery, which is about 20 minutes east of the city, outside of town. I rode out with Neri, Veronica, and Licenia, one of the custodians, and we followed the gray Dodge caravan, which serves as the funeral home’s hearse. There is no parking to speak of at the cemetery so everyone just pulled off the highway and walked the quarter mile, dodging the tractor trailers screaming by. The cemeteries in Honduras are on the more marginal land, this particular one on a hillside next to a stream. The gravestones are more horizontal than vertical and the entire grave is decorated, not just around the headstone, with plastic flowers and other trinkets.
There were close to a hundred mourners at the graveside. The service continued with more memories of Reina followed by a series of official condolences from the hospital and from the places where the parents worked. The family gathered around the casket one last time and cried together while a woman led the mourners in songs. Then the casket was lower into the ground and it was over.
I have become accustomed to seeing funeral gatherings on almost a daily basis, as Trinity is in the center of the funeral district of La Ceiba. There is Funerario San Jose next to the school, which has wakes going on almost every day. The in-town offices of the cemetery are one block south, complete with a full window front display of their selection of coffins and memorials. One block to the east is the poor mans funeral home, where you can see the owner making the coffins out of rough-hewn planks on his back porch. While death is a part of life, it is always a tragedy when a child dies. But as the sister said during the services, God has a plan for everyone and we must have faith that Reina is in a better place.
The day brought back memories of when I returned to Deerfield Academy the year after I graduated for the memorial service of a student who graduated with me and had died while away at college. I only knew Gordie as an acquaintance, but I was still glad to be there, wearing my green Class of 2004 tie, showing my support to his family and my classmates. In the same way, I never knew Reina and was only vaguely familiar with the smiling face that was on the front of the service bulletin. I felt strange being there and witnessing the people who loved her so much grieving her death when I had not even met her. Even though I was very much an outsider, I hope that being there in my white polo with the Trinity shield did a little to ease their pain and show that even although her time on this Earth was short, it meant something and she will be missed.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
All Saints Sunday Sermon, November 1, 2009 by the Rev. Frances A. Hills, Rector
On this All Saints Sunday, I have a quiz for you. It’s from Charles Schultz, the creator of the Peanuts comic strip. So, here’s the quiz: (You needn’t answer out loud.)
1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world.
2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners.
3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America crown.
4. Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.
5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winners for best actor and actress.
6. Name the last decade’s World Series winners.
How did you do?
The point is, most of us don’t remember yesterday’s headliners…even these, who are the best in their fields. The applause die. Awards tarnish. Achievements are forgotten, the accolades and certificates are eventually buried with their owners.
Here’s another quiz (answer silently):
1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school.
2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time.
3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile.
4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special.
5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.
Do better?
(You’ll have an opportunity to name these silently or aloud during the first communion music while the cantors chant The Litany of the Saints.)
Charles Schultz observes the people who make a difference in your life are not the ones with the most credentials, the most money, or the most awards. They are the ones that care.
On this All Saints Sunday and Stewardship Ingathering Sunday, we’re focusing on the people, the “saints” we’ve known, and who have made a real difference in our lives. These are the saints, with a small “s.” They may still be alive or ones we’ve known who have died, but they’re the ones who practice God’s love and blessing in their ordinary, yet extraordinary ways. On All Saints Day, we remember these saints as well as the ones
formally acknowledged by the Church like Peter, Andrew, James and John; Mary, Martha, Julian and Theresa.
When I think of the people, the mentors, who have made all the difference in my life…the saints I’ve known…I am overwhelmed with gratitude. They are the people
of Christ Church Detroit who taught me as a young adult that even I am a child of God, loved and capable of loving. Then I think of the supervisors and members of my Clinical Pastoral Education groups, who taught me to take risks by sharing something of my real self with others. Through them I learned to trust…one of the hardest things I’ve ever learned to do. And there are the Spiritual Directors who have helped me become aware of God’s constant presence. And there’s my Uncle Lee: So wise. So curious. So fair. So powerful. So generous. So humble. And the teachers and priests who opened the Bible to me, and helped me see God’s word is alive and living today…That our stories are part of “The Story” of God’s Salvation History. And I think of the parishes I’ve served, and especially you of St. James, who have shown me over and over again how God’s Spirit is alive and active in community.
When I think of these, and I imagine when you think of the saints God has placed in your lives, the feeling is overwhelming gratitude. It is in such a posture of gratitude that we can begin to see life as abundant, and then have the capacity to become a blessing to others. When we’re grateful, then we know the truth of that little stewardship sermon we preach every Sunday at the Offertory, “All things come of thee, O God. And of thine own have we given thee.”
The mentors and communities that have really mattered in our lives were given by God. We didn’t earn them or necessarily deserve them. They just came into our lives, and blessed us in ways we could never have asked for or imagined. So it is in God’s economy. So it is in the Communion of Saints, of which we are a part. We too can be the ones God uses to make a difference in someone’s life. God can use us to be a blessing to others. We cannot make that happen, but we can fill our hearts with gratitude for all that’s been given us. When we do that, we will become generous, and my hunch is that generosity will spill over into God’s world as blessing…
“For the saints of God are just folk like [you and] me, and I mean to be one too!” Don’t you?” Amen.
1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world.
2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners.
3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America crown.
4. Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.
5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winners for best actor and actress.
6. Name the last decade’s World Series winners.
How did you do?
The point is, most of us don’t remember yesterday’s headliners…even these, who are the best in their fields. The applause die. Awards tarnish. Achievements are forgotten, the accolades and certificates are eventually buried with their owners.
Here’s another quiz (answer silently):
1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school.
2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time.
3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile.
4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special.
5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.
Do better?
(You’ll have an opportunity to name these silently or aloud during the first communion music while the cantors chant The Litany of the Saints.)
Charles Schultz observes the people who make a difference in your life are not the ones with the most credentials, the most money, or the most awards. They are the ones that care.
On this All Saints Sunday and Stewardship Ingathering Sunday, we’re focusing on the people, the “saints” we’ve known, and who have made a real difference in our lives. These are the saints, with a small “s.” They may still be alive or ones we’ve known who have died, but they’re the ones who practice God’s love and blessing in their ordinary, yet extraordinary ways. On All Saints Day, we remember these saints as well as the ones
formally acknowledged by the Church like Peter, Andrew, James and John; Mary, Martha, Julian and Theresa.
When I think of the people, the mentors, who have made all the difference in my life…the saints I’ve known…I am overwhelmed with gratitude. They are the people
of Christ Church Detroit who taught me as a young adult that even I am a child of God, loved and capable of loving. Then I think of the supervisors and members of my Clinical Pastoral Education groups, who taught me to take risks by sharing something of my real self with others. Through them I learned to trust…one of the hardest things I’ve ever learned to do. And there are the Spiritual Directors who have helped me become aware of God’s constant presence. And there’s my Uncle Lee: So wise. So curious. So fair. So powerful. So generous. So humble. And the teachers and priests who opened the Bible to me, and helped me see God’s word is alive and living today…That our stories are part of “The Story” of God’s Salvation History. And I think of the parishes I’ve served, and especially you of St. James, who have shown me over and over again how God’s Spirit is alive and active in community.
When I think of these, and I imagine when you think of the saints God has placed in your lives, the feeling is overwhelming gratitude. It is in such a posture of gratitude that we can begin to see life as abundant, and then have the capacity to become a blessing to others. When we’re grateful, then we know the truth of that little stewardship sermon we preach every Sunday at the Offertory, “All things come of thee, O God. And of thine own have we given thee.”
The mentors and communities that have really mattered in our lives were given by God. We didn’t earn them or necessarily deserve them. They just came into our lives, and blessed us in ways we could never have asked for or imagined. So it is in God’s economy. So it is in the Communion of Saints, of which we are a part. We too can be the ones God uses to make a difference in someone’s life. God can use us to be a blessing to others. We cannot make that happen, but we can fill our hearts with gratitude for all that’s been given us. When we do that, we will become generous, and my hunch is that generosity will spill over into God’s world as blessing…
“For the saints of God are just folk like [you and] me, and I mean to be one too!” Don’t you?” Amen.
Monday, November 2, 2009
¿Chapeaste? - from Jake Pinkston on teaching mission in Honduras
The first term is done! I have trouble believing that I am saying that. My final exams are finished and corrected, and after some nifty work with Excel, all my grades are calculated and ready for the homeroom teachers to tabulate into report cards. Exhale. Now onto second term.
But first, some reflection. All in all, I am pleased with the progress that my students and I have made in the first ten weeks of classes. But their is always room for improvement.
Material-wise, we did not manage to cover anything close to what I anticipated, but that can be blamed on over a week's worth of lost classes do to rain, soccer, coups, and special programs and maybe some overly ambitious goals on my part. Of the material that we covered, I would say that half the students have a good idea of what is going on, a quarter are struggling but managing to keep their head above water, an eighth are mastering the material and need to be challenged more, and an eighth have no idea what class they are in at any given time, let alone what the Cell Theory is. Not bad considering this is the first time any of the students have had challenging science classes.
I am not the hardest teacher in the school (that goes to the math teacher, who is also in her 20s) but certainly not the easiest. While my class averages are on the low side at 80%, only 5 out of 50 students failed the first term. Labs need improvement but now that I have a better idea how quickly we move through subjects and how much prep time labs take, I hope to get in more this term. My handwriting is good enough so that I only get yelled at once or twice a class for illegible scribble on the white board. That has probably been my biggest improvement.
The most crucial thing I want to change for next term, and hopefully the rest of the year, is the cheating. To be clear, not all of my students cheat. But a lot of them do. They cheat on homework, quizzes, labs, even tests. And they are terrible at it. They are always the last kids to finish an exam. The cheaters who don’t know the answer cheat off others who don’t know the answer so like a virus, one random answer that has nothing to do with the question ends up on a half dozen tests. That’s assuming they manage to get the answer under the correct question, which often does not happen. It is almost comical.
They saved the best for the final. One boy, “Manuel,” passed another boy “Vicente” his test to copy. The answers of course were terribly wrong but that was only half of the problem. Vicente, after copying the test, wrote his name on the top of the both tests, not sure which one was his. After erasing them both, he figured out which one was his and handed the other test back to Manuel. Manuel then turned in the test, forgetting to write his own name on it. When he came up to me after the exam to fix his error, I noticed the wrong name erased. I also noted the perfect copy of the life cycle of an active virus, right down to an equal number of virus bursting out of the host cell (the question was on Pasteur’s experiment proving biogenesis). Game. Set. Match.
Mr. Mike gave both boys a good sit down and by the looks on their faces, that will be the end of their cheating. As for the rest of their classmates, it is less optimistic. There is very little cultural value placed on academic honesty here. They are concerned with the ends and not the means. The studious kids won’t let the others cheat off them, but that just depletes the brain trust. The rest just seem to want to pass the class with the least amount of effort possible and that usually means cheating off anyone convenient. For now, I think fear will keep their eyes down on their papers. I am hopeful that by the end of my time here, it will be pride in their education. I am not giving up.
“And if [the shepherd] finds [the sheep], truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.” Matthew 18: 13-14
But first, some reflection. All in all, I am pleased with the progress that my students and I have made in the first ten weeks of classes. But their is always room for improvement.
Material-wise, we did not manage to cover anything close to what I anticipated, but that can be blamed on over a week's worth of lost classes do to rain, soccer, coups, and special programs and maybe some overly ambitious goals on my part. Of the material that we covered, I would say that half the students have a good idea of what is going on, a quarter are struggling but managing to keep their head above water, an eighth are mastering the material and need to be challenged more, and an eighth have no idea what class they are in at any given time, let alone what the Cell Theory is. Not bad considering this is the first time any of the students have had challenging science classes.
I am not the hardest teacher in the school (that goes to the math teacher, who is also in her 20s) but certainly not the easiest. While my class averages are on the low side at 80%, only 5 out of 50 students failed the first term. Labs need improvement but now that I have a better idea how quickly we move through subjects and how much prep time labs take, I hope to get in more this term. My handwriting is good enough so that I only get yelled at once or twice a class for illegible scribble on the white board. That has probably been my biggest improvement.
The most crucial thing I want to change for next term, and hopefully the rest of the year, is the cheating. To be clear, not all of my students cheat. But a lot of them do. They cheat on homework, quizzes, labs, even tests. And they are terrible at it. They are always the last kids to finish an exam. The cheaters who don’t know the answer cheat off others who don’t know the answer so like a virus, one random answer that has nothing to do with the question ends up on a half dozen tests. That’s assuming they manage to get the answer under the correct question, which often does not happen. It is almost comical.
They saved the best for the final. One boy, “Manuel,” passed another boy “Vicente” his test to copy. The answers of course were terribly wrong but that was only half of the problem. Vicente, after copying the test, wrote his name on the top of the both tests, not sure which one was his. After erasing them both, he figured out which one was his and handed the other test back to Manuel. Manuel then turned in the test, forgetting to write his own name on it. When he came up to me after the exam to fix his error, I noticed the wrong name erased. I also noted the perfect copy of the life cycle of an active virus, right down to an equal number of virus bursting out of the host cell (the question was on Pasteur’s experiment proving biogenesis). Game. Set. Match.
Mr. Mike gave both boys a good sit down and by the looks on their faces, that will be the end of their cheating. As for the rest of their classmates, it is less optimistic. There is very little cultural value placed on academic honesty here. They are concerned with the ends and not the means. The studious kids won’t let the others cheat off them, but that just depletes the brain trust. The rest just seem to want to pass the class with the least amount of effort possible and that usually means cheating off anyone convenient. For now, I think fear will keep their eyes down on their papers. I am hopeful that by the end of my time here, it will be pride in their education. I am not giving up.
“And if [the shepherd] finds [the sheep], truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.” Matthew 18: 13-14
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