July 1, 2006
Jul. 3rd, 2006 03:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947I went to a GEAR-UP, STEPS Summer Academy graduation for 7th Grade students from MASH Middle School and Malaria MS at the CSUN at 10:00 A.M. I attended the hour long breakfast and beginning of the ceremony. It was incredibly hot! The buffet breakfast set up had been placed in the middle of an open grass expanse with very little shade. There were two barren groves of trees in the area, and families were relocating the tables and chairs to these leafy refuges. I felt awkward and isolated for (what seemed) a long time. I recognized few parents and students, even though half of those present were mine. I put down a rising urge to flee after a brief appearance. I calmed myself by “mindful” breathing, and took stock of my situation. I was with MY students and parents, sharing an important moment in their lives. It probably did not matter if I knew them by name or sight, what mattered was that I was present. I was there to share a moment with them. They knew who I was and why I was there.
This philosophical revelry was interrupted when two cheerful and beaming girl students came up to speak to me. One was African American, and the other Latina. Both carried big smiles, with a slight hint of embarrassment in their voices. Had their parents prompted them to come and speak with me, or was it their own idea? Did it matter? No. Their welcome gave me the opportunity to chat with them and ask questions about the classes they took, their teachers, and events. I looked like I was there for a reason: to interact with people, and speak with students about what they had accomplished. After a few minutes more of conversation, the girls excused themselves and returned to their families. This interruption into my alternating panic attacks and philosophical musings had calmed me. I felt better. Soon after, one of the Academy instructors came up and engaged me in conversation for about 20 minutes.
I stayed at the ceremony longer than I had intended because Sophia, the director of the project, invited me to say a few words of welcome at the start of the program. I agreed. It would give me an opportunity to address all the parent and students before leaving. Sophia said my presence meant a great deal to the parents, and they appreciated it very much. I was flattered by the sentiment, but couldn’t really believe that my presence was that important. Once I subsumed my false modesty, I accepted the statement as factual. I was there because it was an important event in the present lives of these students and parents, and I wanted to share in it. At the same time, I am more than a silent witness. I am an institutional part of their lives, if I choose to be. I have a choice. My presence at that event was both a public manifestation of my sense of duty and my desire to be part of their familial joy.
I was introduced. I said a few things in English and Spanish and I sat down. I left the ceremony a few minutes later. It was a good morning.
Later that day, Kathy and I went to see Superman Returns, the movie, at the IMAX theatre with Prisa, our daughter. After the movie we went to dinner. It was there, for the first time in my presence, that Prisa stated that she and Joe were planning to wed in the very near future. They had committed to each other, but still had family and financial issues to settle before announcing an official engagement. This confirmation was sobering. My little girl (even at 26) was getting ready to take that final step of independence. I was flooded with memories and speculations: holding Prisa’s hand when we went on long walks in the old Reseda neighborhood, and holding the hand of a granddaughter/son, as we stroll around a park, and I tell stories of their mother and family. I smiled a lot for the rest of that dinner.
This philosophical revelry was interrupted when two cheerful and beaming girl students came up to speak to me. One was African American, and the other Latina. Both carried big smiles, with a slight hint of embarrassment in their voices. Had their parents prompted them to come and speak with me, or was it their own idea? Did it matter? No. Their welcome gave me the opportunity to chat with them and ask questions about the classes they took, their teachers, and events. I looked like I was there for a reason: to interact with people, and speak with students about what they had accomplished. After a few minutes more of conversation, the girls excused themselves and returned to their families. This interruption into my alternating panic attacks and philosophical musings had calmed me. I felt better. Soon after, one of the Academy instructors came up and engaged me in conversation for about 20 minutes.
I stayed at the ceremony longer than I had intended because Sophia, the director of the project, invited me to say a few words of welcome at the start of the program. I agreed. It would give me an opportunity to address all the parent and students before leaving. Sophia said my presence meant a great deal to the parents, and they appreciated it very much. I was flattered by the sentiment, but couldn’t really believe that my presence was that important. Once I subsumed my false modesty, I accepted the statement as factual. I was there because it was an important event in the present lives of these students and parents, and I wanted to share in it. At the same time, I am more than a silent witness. I am an institutional part of their lives, if I choose to be. I have a choice. My presence at that event was both a public manifestation of my sense of duty and my desire to be part of their familial joy.
I was introduced. I said a few things in English and Spanish and I sat down. I left the ceremony a few minutes later. It was a good morning.
Later that day, Kathy and I went to see Superman Returns, the movie, at the IMAX theatre with Prisa, our daughter. After the movie we went to dinner. It was there, for the first time in my presence, that Prisa stated that she and Joe were planning to wed in the very near future. They had committed to each other, but still had family and financial issues to settle before announcing an official engagement. This confirmation was sobering. My little girl (even at 26) was getting ready to take that final step of independence. I was flooded with memories and speculations: holding Prisa’s hand when we went on long walks in the old Reseda neighborhood, and holding the hand of a granddaughter/son, as we stroll around a park, and I tell stories of their mother and family. I smiled a lot for the rest of that dinner.
