Dearest NIP,
Today’s
letter really isn’t a letter at all. Rather, it’s a short essay that I wrote
about 3 years ago after the events mentioned within transpired. I intended it
to be read to my AP Human Geography class, but the sentiment is one in which
anyone can share. I hope that you and yours have a wonderful holiday season,
whether you celebrated Hanukkah earlier this month, are celebrating Christmas
today and tomorrow, or the New Year next week. May each of these special days
remind you of what’s truly important in your life. I hope to continue with the
thematic letters on the five qualities soon.
Happy Holidays,
- Ryan
*****
I want
to tell you about a boy named Jonathan. Jonathan is the five year old son of
two migrant workers and is the oldest of four children. When he joined Erin’s
kindergarten class, it was his first exposure to school and he began more than
a month late. He came to her speaking no English and, surprisingly, little
Spanish. Salimar, another of Erin’s students, would often try to act as a
translator for Erin, but Jonathan just stared at them when they would try to
talk with him. Over the past few months, though, he slowly made gains as Erin
worked closely by his side. About two months after his arrival, the word
“apple” came from Jonathan’s lips along with a huge smile. Shortly thereafter,
he could say “yellow,” which is apparently his favorite color.
About two weeks ago, Jonathan
stopped coming to school. By the end of the first week, Erin came home with
tears welling in her eyes because she was afraid of what might have happened to
him. She wondered whether or not he had enough to eat; she told me that before
the school had placed him in the free and reduced lunch program, he would come
to school with an ear of raw corn for lunch, undoubtedly food that had been
given to his parents in lieu of cash for their labor. An entire second week had
almost passed when he finally appeared alongside his mother last Friday. She
explained and apologized in broken English for Jonathan’s absence; she had
recently given birth to his baby brother and, coupled with not finding any
work, the circumstances had forced her, her husband and the rest of Jonathan’s
family to move in with relatives in Ruskin. Before leaving, Erin asked for the
address so that we could bring his Christmas gifts to his new home; he was the
child Erin and I specifically adopted to shower with gifts, especially
educational toys that would help him continue to learn English.
This past Saturday, Erin and I
packed Jonathan’s wrapped gifts into our trunk and made the drive to Ruskin.
When we found the address, we turned into a large trailer park that was clearly
home to only migrant workers. Driving through the park, my eyes caught sight of
a dilapidated swing set that sat barren and lifeless with only one chain
hanging from the bar that playfully jostled in the wind. It only got worse. As
we neared Jonathan’s trailer, his mother emerged from the doorway onto the
wooden and weatherworn ramshackle steps with the newborn in her arms. She waved
to us as we pulled up alongside their home. I got the presents from the trunk
and as we proceeded up the steps the rest of the children gathered about the
mother excitedly. Jonathan beamed with his characteristic smile, the same one
Erin had described to me when he said his first word in English. Jonathan’s
mother invited us in.
As soon
as I entered, I was shocked by the emptiness of the home. It was a singlewide
trailer with one bedroom at either end. The one to the right was presumably the
bedroom of Jonathan’s extended family. Three small girls curiously peeked out
of a crack between the door and the frame before hearing their mother tell them
to close it. The only furniture in sight in the entire middle section of the
home was a lone picnic table, toward which the mother motioned me to sit. Erin
had made small stockings for each of the two younger sisters and I’ve never
seen two children so grateful to have one lollipop, a canister of generic
Play-Doh, and a few stickers. They opened the Play-Doh and looked with
amazement as they removed it from the can and squished it in their tiny hands.
Jonathan began unwrapping his first gift, a soccer ball, when his oldest cousin
opened the back bedroom door and sadly asked me a question: “Where do you put
your name in to get presents?” Erin explained that she was Jonathan’s
kindergarten teacher and that he was part of a program at school to give
students gifts. The girl remarked that they didn’t do that at her school and
then closed the door.
The
afternoon sun was beginning to come through the window and I squinted and moved
over before noticing the “curtains,” which were black garbage bags that had
been split down the seams and then stapled to the window frame. I began to take
stock of the rest of the house; not only was it devoid of furniture, but there
was no television, no radio, no phone, not anything that most of us sitting in
this room take for granted. Besides an old electric stove and a beat up
refrigerator, the only piece of “technology” they had was an ancient microwave
with a dial timer. After Jonathan opened all of his gifts, Erin gave him a hug
and said “te amo”; he smiled again and went right back to his toys. Erin and I
then gave his mother some cash to help them through what are sure to be tough
times this holiday season. When we left, Erin told me it took everything she
had not to cry when she saw how Jonathan lived. Imagine: four adults and seven
children living in a trailer, presumably sleeping on the floor with blankets
and eating communal meals on their one piece of furniture, a picnic table.
The other day one of my students
asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I thought about it for quite some time
and I told him that I wanted him to do something kind for someone he normally
wouldn’t. In our American culture, we have the tendency to point the finger
when things don’t go our way—we judge, label, accuse, mock, or deride anyone
who doesn’t fit our worldview. In high school it’s even worse because peer
pressure often forces students to accept only certain people into the fold and
shun others. If anything, I sincerely hope that the first semester of AP Human
Geography has taught you that life is not black and white. Life, more than
anything, is a struggle. And we all rise to meet that struggle in different
ways. So before we judge, label, accuse, mock or deride those who don’t fit
into our worldview or what we think of as “normal,” perhaps we should celebrate
our diversity and try to become a little more inclusive of others. After all,
people are people. It doesn’t matter what color your skin is, what types of
food you eat, the religion you believe in, or where you come from. If you cut
someone, I guarantee that person will feel pain and his/her blood will run red.
We are all one family after all. We are all human beings. And all I want for
Christmas is the same thing we all want: to be good to one another, to be loved,
and to accept each other for who we are and not who we want them to be.
