I just realized that I graduated from high school 20 years ago--today, I think! I recently had a stress-induced dream that my high school (which no longer exists) decided that the education they had given us was not adequate, and the class of 1999 was required to come back and take extra courses so that our diploma would not be invalidated. As I was getting stressed trying to figure out how I would teach in São José dos Campos and then commute to Rockville, Maryland to catch up on physics and calculus, I woke up, relieved to know that that season of my life is complete.
High school is complicated, and I always tell students caught up in its ridiculous pressures and extreme awkwardness that life may be weird now, but it does get better. Some things I am grateful for as I look back are a few lifelong friends, a few memorable teachers, and a chance to discover myself in the theater and the art room. (Do you know the joke where someone says, "The word 'gullible' is written on the ceiling," and the other person proves how gullible they are by looking up and finding nothing? Well, the ceiling of the art room on the third floor actually had the word "gullible" written on it, and I just might have played a small role in getting it up there! I discovered many forms of self-expression in that room.) But even with a handful of fun memories, I am very glad that period of my life is in the past!
This week I'll share a poem I wrote about a year after my high school graduation. I had come back to the school for another event--a play or a friend's graduation, and I was feeling nostalgic. I was also grieving the recent loss of a friend while breathing in every drop of springtime beauty in his absence. Now, I'm thinking of the privilege I have in being able to look back on a time that, as imperfect as it was, wasn't filled with turmoil caused by high school shootings or displacement from war and violence that so many other young people face. My June memories are thankfully peaceful, and I hope we can all work to make the same true for this next generation.
June is very different in São José dos Campos, as it is the beginning of winter and not summer, but it is also rich with memories. There are Festa Junina harvest celebrations with tasty, seasonal food. Some of the most memorable classes I have taught have been in the first semester, and we finish in June. Last year I was doing a lot of "urban hiking" during a truck strike, and I learned about the danger of falling avocados. My American friend Lizzie came to visit me three years ago, and my Brazilian friend Nara and I introduced her to açaí on a very cold day. The three of us were trembling, with purple lips, yet we couldn't stop eating the frozen treat. I've also done an 80-kilometer (50 mile) hike three and a half times, with the South American winter sun beating down on us over dusty roads of beautiful mountain landscapes.
Maybe I need to update this unrefined poem from my youth with June memories from my adulthood in the Southern Hemisphere. For now, however, I will share what I have from the North, from many years ago, honoring the person I was then, and the journey that led me to become the person I am now.
June Memories
I feel the breath of summer on my shoulders
Its mist is all around me, and I inhale the scents of seasons past
The music, the feelings, the colors all grip me again
A grin trickles down my face like hot fudge
My feet swing easily through the breezes, dancing to the made-up rhythm of a forgotten song
The colored ghosts with their glowing smiles return once again
And I smile and I think and I sigh
And a rich tear rolls down and splashes through the warm enchantment
High school is complicated, and I always tell students caught up in its ridiculous pressures and extreme awkwardness that life may be weird now, but it does get better. Some things I am grateful for as I look back are a few lifelong friends, a few memorable teachers, and a chance to discover myself in the theater and the art room. (Do you know the joke where someone says, "The word 'gullible' is written on the ceiling," and the other person proves how gullible they are by looking up and finding nothing? Well, the ceiling of the art room on the third floor actually had the word "gullible" written on it, and I just might have played a small role in getting it up there! I discovered many forms of self-expression in that room.) But even with a handful of fun memories, I am very glad that period of my life is in the past!
This week I'll share a poem I wrote about a year after my high school graduation. I had come back to the school for another event--a play or a friend's graduation, and I was feeling nostalgic. I was also grieving the recent loss of a friend while breathing in every drop of springtime beauty in his absence. Now, I'm thinking of the privilege I have in being able to look back on a time that, as imperfect as it was, wasn't filled with turmoil caused by high school shootings or displacement from war and violence that so many other young people face. My June memories are thankfully peaceful, and I hope we can all work to make the same true for this next generation.
June is very different in São José dos Campos, as it is the beginning of winter and not summer, but it is also rich with memories. There are Festa Junina harvest celebrations with tasty, seasonal food. Some of the most memorable classes I have taught have been in the first semester, and we finish in June. Last year I was doing a lot of "urban hiking" during a truck strike, and I learned about the danger of falling avocados. My American friend Lizzie came to visit me three years ago, and my Brazilian friend Nara and I introduced her to açaí on a very cold day. The three of us were trembling, with purple lips, yet we couldn't stop eating the frozen treat. I've also done an 80-kilometer (50 mile) hike three and a half times, with the South American winter sun beating down on us over dusty roads of beautiful mountain landscapes.
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| Photo by Naldo Silva |
Maybe I need to update this unrefined poem from my youth with June memories from my adulthood in the Southern Hemisphere. For now, however, I will share what I have from the North, from many years ago, honoring the person I was then, and the journey that led me to become the person I am now.
June Memories
I feel the breath of summer on my shoulders
Its mist is all around me, and I inhale the scents of seasons past
The music, the feelings, the colors all grip me again
A grin trickles down my face like hot fudge
My feet swing easily through the breezes, dancing to the made-up rhythm of a forgotten song
The colored ghosts with their glowing smiles return once again
And I smile and I think and I sigh
And a rich tear rolls down and splashes through the warm enchantment
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