teaching

In Defense of Young People

/ Juliana Lightle / Leave a comment

Recently, at a party I attended, someone claimed young people these days are lazy, don’t want to work, feel entitled. Sometimes I can keep my mouth shut, just listen, and disagree inside. Not this time. When I hear comments like this about young people, comments with which I vehemently disagree whether it is in person or on social media, I feel compelled to speak up.

During at least half the year, I spend one day a week at an inner city high school. Granted the students I work with are high achieving, students who are the opposite of lazy, some almost to the extreme. When I mentioned this, the person said, “Well this is because they are recent immigrants.” In most of these cases at this school, that is true. Then I explained that I had taught more than 20 years at two Title I high schools where nearly no one was a recent immigrant. Of course, like throughout history, there are some lazy young people. That, however, does not describe the majority. I’ve had homeless students who took the hardest dual credit classes and prevailed. I’ve had students who spent extra time at school because it was safer than being home. I’ve had students whose parents were in jail or drug addicts but still made it to school, did the required work, and graduated. I’ve had students struggling with mental health issues but no matter what managed to do the work required.

Reasons to be lazy abound. Reasons to feel hopeless about the future abound. Look at the present economy, look at the wage cap between the rich and poor, look at how many struggle to find a decent job. Young people are aware of all this, acutely aware. Yet most do the work required and press on no matter what.

I applaud them!

Essence Objects

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While reading the novel “Landscapes” this afternoon, this passage struck me: a man, recently blind, explains, “I rely on my other senses. I get by. But in another way I’m not sure I ever knew where I was headed, not even when I had eyesight, you know what I mean? I doubt anyone really knows where they’re going. But you walk ahead anyways, no?”

This caused me to reflect on a video I saw earlier in the day at Mendez High School where I work for College Match LA. The purpose of the video was to help students address what they will write about in their college essays, how they will write about themselves. It’s called “Essence Objects”. The task is to think about various objects you would put in a box, objects that represent how you see certain things or people, how you think. Here are some examples:

  • What object reminds you of your mother?
  • What object represents your favorite piece of music?
  • What object reminds you of a fear you have?
  • What object would you choose to illustrate your favorite book?
  • What object would a friend associate with you?

The list goes on and on, thought provoking questions. I don’t have to write a college essay but I’m going to go over the whole list and think and think and think.

Note: I picked this photo because the objects that make me think of my mother are roses. She had a rose garden in front of the barn on our Missouri farm. All summer when the roses were blooming, she floated roses in a glass bowl on the kitchen table where we ate.

Book 22 for 2025: “The Wind Knows My Name”, Isabel Allende

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This novel details the lives of several immigrants fleeing violence in their own countries. One is a five year old boy in Austria whose father disappeared during the beginning of the Holocaust and whose mother put him on one of the Kindertransport trains from Nazi-occupied Austria to eventually reach England. He never sees her again. All he was allowed to take is one change of clothes and his violin.

Another is Leticia who is now a US citizen; she was carried on her father’s back across the Rio Grande after they escaped the El Mozote massacre in El Salvador, only because they were out of town when when paramilitary men came and killed everyone in their village.

The third is Anita, a blind, eight year old girl whose mother brought her to the US from El Salvador to escape threats on her life from a former military officer who was dismissed because of his behavior. She is separated from her mother by US officials and taken first to a detention center and then later to various “foster” shelters for such children.

Other characters include Selena, a woman working for a non-profit that helps such children and Frank, the high powered attorney she convinces to help her with Anita’s case. The novel illustrates how so many lives intersect and inter-relate in ways no one ever expected.

Book 15 for 2025: “Jack”, Marilynne Robinson

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Last year I read her novel “Gilead” which takes place in fictional, small, Iowa town in which the main character is the father of the main character in this novel, “Jack”. John Ames Boughton, Jack, is the wayward son of a Presbyterian minister. Previously, he has been wrongly imprisoned for a theft he did not commit. He loves literature, especially poetry. He lives off of odd jobs, drinks too much, smokes, and is somewhat of a lost soul who continuously philosophizes about live, religion, and societal rules. One day he sees a woman walking in the rain. When she drops her bundles on the sidewalk, he helps her. She thinks he is a preacher because of the way he is dressed and invites him in for tea. She is Della Miles, a teacher and the daughter of a Black Methodist minister. This is the story of interracial love when it was still illegal in the US, the lengths they go to resist and hide it, and the reactions of her family. Reading this, one realizes how it was not that long ago that most of the US was not only segregated, but sometimes even talking to someone on the sidewalk from another race could get a person into trouble with the police.

Book Two for 2025: “Memory Wall Stories”, Anthony Doerr

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While wandering around in the library, I found this book. His two more recent novels, ” All the Light We Cannot See” and “Cloud Cuckoo Land” remain two of the most touching and fascinating novels I have ever read so decided to try what he started with, short stories. These stories do not disappoint.

The title of the book comes from the first of the stories. It is a combination of science fiction and paleontology. Via an operation to his head a young boy in South Africa possesses the memories of an old woman. Through her memories he learns of a her deceased husband’s interest in rocks and fossils. This allows him to make a discovery that changes lives. In the next story, due to the death of her parents, a young girl in Kansas has to move to Lithuania to live with her grandfather and makes a myth come true. The following story, “Village 113”, won the O. Henry Prize. It details what happens to one woman, a keeper of seeds for an entire village, when the Three Gorges Dam was built in China. Another story tells what happens to a couple in Wyoming when they desperately want a child but cannot conceive. The shortest of the stories, “The Demilitarized Zone”, is well about that–sort of. The final story, like several others, is about memory, in this case the memories of a Holocaust survivor, who like many who survive horrible events when others they know do not, wonders why her.

I liked these stories so much that I ordered his earlier collection of short stories, “The Shell Collector.” He has won the O. Henry Prize for short stories five times and the Pulitzer for “Cloud Cuckoo Land” in 2015. I keep wondering how he knows so much about so many places. His short stories and novels are set in countries all over the world. The research must never end.

Book 42 for 2024: “These Is My Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, 1881-1901, Arizona Territories

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This fictional work is based on the life of the author’s great grandmother. Written as a diary with specific dates, the narrator is not yet a teen when the novel starts. Her parents are wanderers, always looking for a better, new place. Sarah’s character is that of a tough, pioneer girl and then a woman. She can ride horses, shoot to kill, manage a ranch, do whatever it takes to survive. Much of it includes a rather accurate portrayal of life in Arizonan territories as well as Texas at the time including the prejudices of many of the white inhabitants toward the Spanish speaking people already there, fights with Apaches, and the hunt for Geronimo. It is not just the story of her own life, including her relationship with the Army Captain whose job initially is to protect a wagon train, but also portrays other people living in the Southwest during that time period.

I read this as part of a book club. Reactions to the book varied widely from those of us who thoroughly enjoyed the book to at least one person who insisted it is poorly written and viewed it as a romance novel. The rest of us did not. She used an audio book edition. After her descriptions, it appears the audio book does not correctly follow the book itself and is poorly done which may have contributed to her view of this work. I borrowed this novel from the public library and it was obviously well read because it was not in the best condition.

One Book a Week-17: “Olive, Again”, Elizabeth Strout

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Never having read the first book about Olive, the book that won the Pulitzer for Strout, I did not know what to expect. As I read, I often laughed out loud and then later thought, “What!” Olive is quite the character, sometimes almost blunt to the point of cruelty, sometimes unexpectedly considerate and kind, and always strongly opinionated about things I did not expect. She also has the ability to sometimes look at herself accurately and question herself, which would seem to be a good characteristic. Olive goes on in spite of numerous setbacks, mishaps, and illnesses, including the realities of old age. Strout’s portrayal of some of these realities seems stark, almost brutal. Yes, it’s accurate and she’s good at it, but I kept thinking, “Do I really want to read this?” If I get like this, they can just shoot me. But they won’t.

The Murals at Mendez High School

/ Juliana Lightle / 2 Comments

Every Wednesday I visit Mendez High School in Boyle Heights near downtown LA. I volunteer as a college counselor for College Match LA. The school is named after the couple who, in 1946, sued for equal education for Mexican children and won.

This is the couple and the school mascot is the jaguar.

This explains the ruling that gave Mexican children equal educational rights.

View of downtown from in front of the College Center area where students go to get help with college applications, learn from presentations by admissions officers from different colleges, and work on college and financial aid applications.

Thanks to the two guys sitting here chatting for giving me permission to take this photo.

When I asked who did the murals, I was told that students did them in conjunction with an art class several years ago.

The Boy From Honduras

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My current writing endeavor is part of a challenge to write 20 minutes per day six days a week. The story I am going to relate now was written as part of that project. The brief introduction here was part of something I wrote the day before I wrote about the boy.

I watched “60 Minutes” on Sunday about German Jewish Americans who volunteered to go behind enemy lines before and after the end of WWII to either spy on or interrogate Nazis, often officers of higher rank. One of them related that he never met a Nazi who had any remorse for atrocities he had committed, who thought what they had done was wrong. How horrifying, to hate anyone, any group so much over religion, ethnicity, sexual preference, status, remains to a great degree beyond my comprehension. Although I may view people like the Nazis as my moral enemies, to hate anyone so much as to torture and murder them seems incomprehensible.

These views also affect my attitude toward immigration. People rarely leave their countries because they want to, they leave because they need or have to in order to survive. Often it is a matter of life or death. Now I will tell you about the boy from Honduras.

Short, straight black hair, obsidian eyes, skin the color of café con leche, he showed up at high school one day absent any knowledge of the English language. His brother, married to a US citizen, lived across the street from the high school secretary. The assistant principal brought him to me. By Texas state law he had to spend at least one period of the day with a certified ESL teacher, me. He came often even from his other classes because everything except Spanish class was in English. Written Spanish helped him only somewhat. In Honduras poor country students only attended school for a few years. The more advanced middle and high schools were in cities and required fees paid.

The counselor claimed he had not been to school at all. I knew better; he knew things that a kid only learns if he or she has gone to school. When I did not understand his Spanish, I asked him to write it down. It took me a while to figure out some of his written Spanish. He sounded it out and so instead of writing habla (h is silent in Spanish), he would write abla. When I really could not understand, I went to the Spanish teachers from Mexico; they could not always understand him either. One, who had travelled all over Mexico, said he spoke a dialect she had never heard. Over time, I learned he had started school at six, attended for four years, then went to work on a coffee plantation. He was 15 when I met him. After I showed him a photo of me picking coffee in Costa Rica, he became very excited.

His father had been murdered; his mother feared for his life so she sent him to his brother in the US. He was cheery, always smiling, played soccer at lunch with the other students, missed home. He told me his family was working with an immigration lawyer so occasionally he traveled to Dallas to meet the lawyer. Then one day he disappeared. We never saw him again. Later one of the Spanish teachers told me he had come, smuggled in a shipping container, had survived this for days. And now he was gone.

Students asked about him; we had no answers. Some who had ranted about illegal immigrants stopped ranting. It was someone they knew, liked, who had left with no answers. He was a kind, funny kid whom everyone liked. Is he in hiding? Is he safe? Is he alive? Who knows?