and this is why...

In first grade, I stood in front of a few girls, not proudly, rather shyly, and told them about my family's beach house. I told them how much fun it was to go to the beach with my grandmother, go surfing with my father, to frolic until the fire flies came out and the street lights came on.

Although I was simply trying to share with my classmates something that I truly loved, in hopes that they would find enjoyment and happiness in my enjoyment and happiness, I had girls make fun of me, and worse, some claim that I was nothing but a big liar.

As a seven year old, I was quite hurt. I went home and cried to my mother, telling her there were an awful lot of mean people in my class.

Nearly 16 years later, I realize that these girls were simply jealous. envious. and cruel.

In sixteen years, I still remain awfully innocent and naiive to the ways of people, the ways of the world.

I often share my stories with others because I want them to be happy.

I was raised very well, and I am extremely comfortable with myself, often beaming with confidence, energy, and generally positive attitude.

I love myself.
I really love who I am.
And I believe if I didn't, than no one could love me, and I in turn, I could love no one.

Still, this confident energetic` demeanor ` is often regarded by some individuals as being boastful, careless, and some cases, concieded.

These thoughts that people have about me are often so deeply hurting that I question my healthy self love, and ask if maybe I should be more insecure, maybe I should tone down my behavior.

The truth is...I should not.

No one should.

Insecure people see me as a threat because although not the most attractive or intelligent person in the world, I genuinely love the gifts I have been given by God, and use them each day to love others.

I think the reasons I wrote this entry today are many, but for anyone reading this, know that I will not stop loving myself, no matter how hard you try to get me to!

And that is final!

Holy Sunday

This morning, after spending a marvelous night in the intoxicated streets of Chicago with my invigorating roomates, I drove over to St. Ann for the monthly children's mass.

My students were in the church, dressed in their best, ready to take the alter and recite the readings they had practiced with me on Friday afternoon.

They were a little nervous, especially because the Bishop was going to be saying the mass, since Father Felipe (the most attractive parish priest I have ever met!) was on vacation.

While the Bishop was giving his homily, after the children had read, he commented on on how wonderfully they had done, and that many times he can never understand the readings when they are done by youth. My kids were smiling, and so was I.

After mass, we went over to the small cafeteria to have some cake and refreshments. Many old women lined up to get blessed by the Bishop, and a multitude of mother's helped to serve the refreshments to the congregation.

I sat down at a table with Louie, Memo, and Brianna, three of my all stars, who happen to be brothers and sister, and their cousin Christopher, a very awkward 7th grader. It was funny to be to see how these children were all related, as the Villasenor siblings were so well adjusted, and their cousin was shy.

I began to talk to Christopher's mother. She was extremely well spoken, and loving. She seemed highly educated. I had the idea that she must have a very good job. She seemed like she had so much to offer the world.

I shyly asked her where she was working.

" I am out of work right now. I am looking, but there is nothing."

She said this with a smile. I smiled too, but couldn't understand how this wonderful woman could be out of work, and worse, I wondered how she managed to pay her bills or send her son to St. Ann.I worried because she had a Breast Cancer awareness t-shirt and bracelet on, and wondered if she was a survivor, and how she paid the hospital bills. I wondered if that is why she lost her job? I wondered why God would give so many hardships to just one person...

We began to talk about her son.

"He wants to go to De LaSalle for High School" she said. "I am looking into what kind of aide is offered."

I told her I went to a LaSalle school, and that my grandmother paid for it. My parents, full time working teachers, could not afford to send me to LaSalle, and I wondered how this woman would ever be able to send her son.

The kids' smiles and laughter around the table allowed me to not focus on the small tragedy that was joining us at the table, and then I remembered the gospel from Mass that morning.

"The first shall be last, and the last shall be first."

I knew there was terrible injustice in the world. I knew that this woman should have a good job, and should have whatever she wanted.

But I remembred her smile, and that God's ways are not mine. This woman was a wonderful mother and aunt. She was a good person, and her son Christopher was surrounded by love each day, at home, and at our school.

I remembred that her reward would be in heaven, her rewarded would be something much greater than I could ever offer.

I remembered we are all taken care of somehow.

Why I'm Here...

"only rich people don't have Link cards..."

Link cards are food stamps.


The fifth graders had a discussion in my class today about how it is only the very rich who do not have to use food stamps.

This broke my heart. It is certainly true that rich people do not use food stamps, but neither do people who are making enough to provide for their families, whether or not they need the extra help.

I started to realize there was a reason why I am at St. Ann school, and not another type of school.

At the end of the, kids are kids. They have similar likes, dislikes, dreams, and desires.

But what sets my students apart from the white kids living on the North side of the city is the problems they face when they go home: absentee parents, empty tummies, gang violence, and a multitude of social disparities.

It is hard for me to not take their problems back with me at night, to wish that I could somehow guarentee that each of them would have a bright future.

It is hard to hear that some of them don't see their mothers all week, because she leaves for work before they wake up, and comes back after they are sleeping. Although this is a reality in many social classes in America, it still turns my stomach.


It is hard to hear that a school down the street recently just lost two of its students, one 4th grader and one 2nd grader, because their father shot them to death.

It is hard to watch them eat the governement provided lunches, even if it's something they hate, because it might be the only meal they get that day.

However, these are the reasons I strive to find the stregnth to shine brighter and last longer in the classroom. To step outside of my comfort zone, to eat those government lunches with them, to get in touch with my imagination, to really give 110% of who I am to these kids everyday.

This year is for them. It is all for them.

Teaching

Well ----
I have realized today that not having money to spend is something i could certainly get use to...

Last night, I rearranged my small Chicago bedroom because it was beginning to feel unlivable

I put the bed along the wall, so now I sleep horizontal to Lake Michigan

The roof outside my window, that I often climb outside on at night, woke me up, loud with the splashing of rain against the concrete.


I rolled over on my side to look at the beautiful mess outside.

I thought about my Grandmother. She suffered a stroke this week.

I thought about the day before, the blessing I had received...

At school, one of my responsibilities is to organize the Children's Mass.

I was running late on Friday morning, and I reached the school as the kids were coming into their classrooms.

I met Father Felipe, the parish priest, at the door, to tell him that my Grandmother was sick, and to pray for her at mass. I wouldn't be able to attend because I had to help out with the pre-schoolers.

The day went on. I was pretty considered about her, stopping at moments to hide away in the teacher's lounge and let tears stream down my face. Being away from my Grandma was hard enough, but being away from her when she was sick, very sick, was impossible.

I don't teach any classes on Friday, so I went around to visit my students.

I stopped into third grade.

I walked around and greeted the children who were working on a math problem.

"hi Louie, how are you" i asked one of my favorite little spit fires.

"Ms. Laura, is your grandma sick?" he looked up at me.

"Yes, she's in the hospital," I answered.

"We prayed for her at mass, I hope she feels better Ms. Laura."

I smiled all over my body, and felt connect to this child. My student.

I went back up to my room and began to make galleries of the best paintings from the week.

I covered two whole walls of the third floor with beautiful inspiring pieces.

I sat in my office, and watched after the bell, as the kids gathered around their work, proud and beaming.

I saw the color in their hearts.