J’s two moms (spoiler: one is me.)

First week of school, September 2023. School starts without incident, save for one very young-looking, very slight young man weighing probably 120 pounds max, with prison-style tattoos on his neck in my 11th grade class.

He sits down at the table where I have my handouts, not at a student desk, with his not-so-long  legs spread wide apart. One elbow on the table, slumped back as if he's drunk at the bar.

I know full well that any kid not complying with standard rules of comportment on the first or second day of school is… trouble. I have also learned not to be confrontational on day 1, or even week one. It's not so much about making friends with kids as it is about patiently waiting, a quality I solely reserve for children, giving the benefit of the doubt. I assert myself, but I kill them with kindness.

I walk over. I use my standard beginning of the year voice, which I call my "white girl, inoffensive, flight attendance voice." Experienced teachers, even those who have no background in second language acquisition learn to code-switch early on. The voice I use with my students at the beginning of the year is different than the one I use when the class has grown comfortable with me, provided that that happens, which thankfully, usually does. I use a different voice if it does not. A more stern one. With an accompanying personality that exposes none of what I think and who I really am. 

I use a different voice/personality/humor with honors classes, on-level classes, classes with a large percentage of English language learners. 

This might seem elitist, classist, racist at worst. Seemingly lowered expectations, a big "no-no" in education. It's not. It's adapting what you say to different kinds of learners so that you can connect with them and “meet them where they are.” For example, what is considered funny is different from country to country. Consider standard British versus American comedy. Completely different, and both cultures are quite similar. The American version and the British version of The Office reach different audiences.

Different cultures have different views on what is considered acceptable in a school setting. Foreign-born Latinos, I have come to learn, in decades of teaching, have a completely different version of what is acceptable behavior and attitude in a classroom. How they and their parents view and treat teachers, the directness of teacher reports they accept, the role they see the school fulfiliing for their child. Completely different. Ask your average New York City teacher of Caribbean and/or Latino students their thoughts on having those kids as students and their parents as allies… even if the teacher doesn’t speak the family’s native tongue, they will often report that they are the easiest parents to deal with.

They are typically a teacher's greatest ally. They trust us to care for their kid, no matter what we say and no matter what we do.

American families these days, more often than not, do not. This is one reason it's so hard to hold onto good teachers in American schools these days. We don't feel supported.

And how can you do your job if the community and/or the administration do not support you? I work in a district that pays teachers pretty well; most do not.

So as noble of a profession as teaching is, many sadly feel that it's just not worth it.

Back to Latinos. One of the reasons I personally love this population is that I have spent the last 25 years immersing myself in Latino culture. Most of my friends are Latino, I speak Spanish and some Portuguese. I understand a lot about Latino culture, despite not being born into it (I’m culturally Jewish with Eastern European ancestry.) I've visited their homelands, I have connected with their people, I am often confused for Colombian or Brazilian. Because of all of this experience, I know that in general, I can be more open and speak with more affectionate language without being accused of being inappropriate. Latinos use affectionate terms we in America reserve for romantic partners and familial relations like "mi vida, mi amor, cariño" for ANYONE. 

To me, this is beautiful, and I've adopted this manner of speaking as my own. Because of this, I always teeter on the edge of appropriateness in my classes. I call everyone in my life, including my students "sweetheart, my love, beautiful." I would have never done this when I was significantly younger, but now that I'm 50, and have become more and more mothering as I've aged, I don't really think about it too much at all. If a kid is creeped out by me calling them "sweetheart," well, I'm 50. I'd like to think the kids I’m just being a mom, and are not going to think I am a pedophile.

And now back to the young man. He is sitting there on day one, "manspreading" at my table, so after a moment of strategic thinking, I gleefully bounce over and in THAT voice that is NOT who I am at all and say, in English, "hi sweetheart, I need you to sit at an actual desk."

In English, he looks right at me with a cunning smile and says, "but I like it here."

I think to myself, oh, here we go. This year's patient zero alpha male.

I gently reply, "I'm sure you do, but I need you at a desk so I can take attendance and this desk isn't on my chart."

I take a moment to marvel at my clever de-escalation of the situation as Mr. Prison Tat Junior (I will call him PTJ) shockingly complies.

Day two. He is at a desk and is GLARING at me. No notebook, no pencil, does nothing. Instead of confronting him, I let him stare at me. I know he knows I notice him and his shenanigans. On day two, that's enough. I don't feel the need to make an example of him, I don't need to be confrontational yet.

Rule of thumb as a high school teacher these days: be confrontational as little as possible. You never know these days what a kid is going through, and what that confrontation might escalate into. De-escalate. Try to remain calm. Try not to take it personally, whatever it is. This is not how things used to be. Teachers were confrontational all the time, at the slightest offense. No pencil? Confrontation. No homework? Confrontation and public scolding. The days of that being acceptable teacher behavior, especially, at an urban school, are long gone.

I write an email to my friend, former colleague, administrator, and someone I respect greatly, Mr. Russo. I simply say "what's up with this PTJ kid? He has been… difficult."

He replies with concern, "oh no really? That's surprising and disappointing. He's a really sweet kid, in a difficult situation. He's 19, came here from Cuba last year. He will age out before he has a chance to graduate. He says he just wants to learn as much English here as possible because he basically graduated from school in Cuba and knows he's not going to get a diploma here. He lives with his dad, I think."

I reply, "WAIT, he's the CUBAN?!?  There will NOT be a problem here."

I am a Latin dancer, a hobbyist, but utterly devoted to spending the majority of my free time dancing, and since 2019 I have been dancing strictly Cuban style, a minority here in New York (“on-2” from Puerto Rico in New York City is king here.) I have been to Cuba a number of times since then learning from master teachers, and bringing much-needed medicine and other things to the people I know there and people connected to my dancing community here. I started and run a volunteer organization called “Timba-Pop-Up” dedicated to providing dance opportunities for New Yorkers that also support local businesses. I LOVE Cuba, I connect with Cubans, I feel at home there. 

My school has about 2200 kids, about 60% from the Latino diaspora. PTJ is the ONLY Cuban. I was told last year we had one, and when I went on a personal mission to deliver goods and medicine to Cuba that year, I went to his class, introduced myself, and asked if he had family in Havana. He said no. I asked if he had any advice for me, even though I already knew his country and its challenges.

With sadness in his eyes and an intense gaze, he simply said, in Spanish, "talk to Cubans, or you will never know Cuba."

I knew how heavy those words were.

(I wrote about that difficult visit to Cuba in a separate piece here.)

And now, that kid is MINE. THAT kid.

The very next day I bounce right back up to him and I say, "You don't REMEMBER me."

Here is where his very practiced English fails him. He looks at his neighbor for a translation.

I switch to Spanish, with hands on my hips for added, animated drama. I continued, "I was the teacher who met you last year and asked if you had family in Havana. You said no."

He looked at me with either confusion, or disbelief, or a combination of both. I repeated myself, "No me reconoces."

He finally understands and acknowledges.

I say, "SO. Welcome. And once again, I am going to Havana to bring food and medicine to Havana. Do you have ANYONE there who can get things to your family?"

He is in shock. 

When I say the next day, he behaved like a completely different young man. Sitting at attention. Smiling. Hands folded together. My lesson on the desk squarely sitting right in front of him.

I went out of my way to attend to him whenever he showed up. He insisted on trying to speak to me in English, and I always spoke to him with intention, choosing my words carefully, using as many cognates as possible to increase the possibility of him understanding me and giving him the opportunity to acquire new language (this is a common instructional tool for teachers of English language learners.) I pivoted to Spanish when it didn't work. 

I asked him to come for extra help in math, as he clearly understood nothing. He came and explained everything to me, his life story. His father was with him sometimes, but mostly he lived by himself. He pays for his own food, he cooks his own meals, he can't really be friends with these other kids, even the ones who speak Spanish, because… and I interrupt him… "they're kids, and you are a grown man."

He nods. He knows I understand.

My heart is breaking, and I don't show it, out of respect. I tell him my whole story, what I decided in 2002 to learn Spanish (I was working in another school with a similar proportion of Latinos and there was not one math teacher out of 20 who spoke any Spanish.) I shared how I came to dance Cuban style. How much I love Cuba. I try, in vain, to teach him some of the math. He understands none after quite some time although he proclaims he KNOWS all of this, it's just been a while, because in Cuba they're quite advanced. He continues to say that he's horrified that kids in America have to use calculators to get by, even though he needs it as well.

Cuba DOES have one of the world's best systems of education. In a socialist country that doesn't have a lot, what better thing to do than be educated? Cubans have an unquenchable THIRST for knowledge, as they were denied the outside world for so long. 

(That being said, one wonders how much of this boasting is just socialist-fused rhetoric. If Cubans didn't come to believe they have it better than everyone else, why would they stay and be satisfied with the status quo, which is usually lacking.)

Not I thought that he was a lost cause at that time, but the reality set in pretty quickly; he wasn't going to get a degree from my school. He came in with no Cuban transcript, so he could not prove he was ready to graduate; it would take him another 3 years to do so here and American education law would not permit him to do that. Evidently, we HAD a bilingual GED (general equivalency diploma (colloquially referred to as "good enough diploma" by my Brooklyn kids back in the day) but the pandemic was the end of that.

There was quite literally no hope for him to graduate. 

I told him to come see me once a week and practice his English and I would take every test with him so he would pass. His face lit up like a Christmas tree.

Once or twice, I brought him some stews I made. Feijoada (Brazilian pork and bean stew.) Ropa vieja (Cuban shredded beef stew, literally translated as “old clothes.”) Stuff that I like to cook that I knew would feel like home. Flan.

He thanked me, and said it reminded him of his mom. He said flan was his favorite, but NO ONE could beat his mom's, and that he would get her to send me her recipe.  I choked back tears again as he left, knowing that my charity was not taken as charity. It was seen as love.

He came to class a few times a week at the beginning, and he would try. I would try to help him. He told me how his mom was doing with all of the medicine I successfully procured for her and delivered to her via a cousin who looked just like PTJ. He would just look at me and say, "I can't believe what you did for my family." Once he wrote to me, "you are like my mom here. I love you. I hope that is not weird to say, but it's true."

From literally any other kid, I would have gone to our school social worker to stave off any potential accusation of inappropriate behavior with a student, to ward off a lawsuit.

Not with him. I replied, "I know what you mean. I am happy you feel at home with me."

Mom and I kept in contact, as he came less and less. She would message to check in on him and report things he said. She and I developed a really nice relationship, too. She sending me long messages about her and her life in Cuba. She is a teacher, too. She's sharp as a tack and taking the best care of herself possible. We had a lot in common, outside of her son.

He started showing up once a week, mid-class. I would stop and greet him hello with a big smile, no matter that he's not supposed to come once a week and show up late without a pass. My rules were different for him. What did it matter? My room was his home, and we long ago gave up the notion that he was there for any grade. He was there just to be there, more than most other kids. 

Until this week, where Mr. Russo regretfully let me know that TPJ was moving and leaving our school. He was upset. I told him not to be; he, more than most of our immigrant kids, was going to be just fine.

And despite the massive power outages currently in Cuba (the government shuts it down when there are protests to punish the people, who are hungry and leaving for literal greener pastures in droves,) it was only a couple of days that passed before PTJ's mom wrote to thank me.

This was our interchange (English translation.) Here I refer to him simply as "J."

***

Mom:  Hello Cindy, as you must know, J is moving to another state and I have to accept it, although I really would have liked him to finish his studies, but sometimes changes are necessary. 

I want to thank you once again for always supporting my son, it was very important to me to know that he could count on you.

I have had difficult days and things around here do not promise to be better for the current year, but I am always doing useful things that I like. I take care of being well mentally and emotionally and so my physical self automatically follows.

My family will always appreciate your kindness and affection towards my son. And whether in Cuba, in the United States or in another place in this great universe, you and your family can count on me and if one day life gives the opportunity to meet each other, dance salsa and share joy, it will be very good, and I think it will be worth it! !! Greetings and affection with all my heart. 😜😆🥰

Cindy, in life you only have to carry what makes you happy 💖

Me: Well, now I'm crying. 😭 

This year was a really strange one for me.  Full of coincidences that I couldn't possibly explain.

Everything that TWO SANTERIA PRIESTESSES from Cuba told me would happen.

Too much to explain at this moment, but one day I'm going to gift you with the book that I am writing. 😁

Coincidences that I can’t explain, including receiving J into my class. How is it possible that in a school of 2200 students, he gets put in MY class. What are the odds?!

God sent him to me, or the universe, or whatever.  It was an honor. You and I are Family.

And so I thank you for sending me your son. He didn't come to class a lot this year, but I always treated him special.

Because I know very well the Cuban heart.

I'm right now in Spain at a Son Cubano festival, and there's only about ten Cubans here, all teachers.

They have also said to me that I have the heart of a Cuban.

I hope that we see each other soon, and please remind your son to maintain contact with me.

He has a second mother here. What state is he moving to? New Jersey?

Mom: No, not at all, he’s moved to Florida. 😭 It will only be for a while, and then with more money he will look for another place, my husband really doesn't like the South. There my eldest son was offered a job and he can help, certainly everything will be for a while. He will have news later, when? ... I don't know.

Of course he couldn't forget his second mother, neither could I. 💝

How synchronized we are, my God!!! What a good book, uff!! I love reading. Know what? Coincidentally, I am writing some chronicles regarding my children's departure to the United States, the reason for that decision, their experiences there... among other things typical of my country. 

Life goes by fast, Cindy, and sometimes we forget that the world is just a reflection of yourself and we have to learn to stop criticizing that reflection and not complain so much because everything that happens in our past had to happen for us to be where we are today... The people who come into our lives and situations that happen to us have created who we are today. Well, I tell you all this because perhaps one day I will think about publishing something and of course I want you to know that you, as well as other people who have connected with my son, are part of these writings.

The topic interests me a lot because of things I have experienced in my life, I have read books by Deepak Chopra: “Syncrodestiny” “The Book of Secrets” “Ageless Bodies, Timeless Minds” “The Mystery of Coincidences” by Eduardo R Zancolli and many others.

There is a trilogy of American films that I love because they address the topic of coincidences with people who cross paths in our lives: Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight.

We cannot always understand everything in life, there are times when you don't need it, but accept, enjoy everything that happens and continue the "journey"... Just as we tune in to the music we want to listen to, we also tune in to the energy we want to express and if you are Vibrating with the frequency of love, joy and abundance you will attract that into your life. You can perhaps find the explanation in a book, but nothing is better than living and feeling the experience.

You don't know how much joy and emotion I feel when you tell me that you are traveling, enjoying other cultures and especially the Cuban one, that makes you feel closer to my roots.

Take advantage of all the opportunities that life gives you, celebrate love, dreams and everything that makes you feel good without waiting for a date. That is something great and makes me admire you a lot as a human being because I adore people who are fun, and they exude happiness like you. 

You are very special Cindy. Health and prosperity to you.

Me: Everything that you sent to me I'm going to send to J’s administrator. He took really good care of him also, practicing English with him. Trying to get him everything the government says he’s entitled to. He really went above and beyond.

He had called me in order to say, Cindy, I have really bad news. J’s leaving school.

And he felt really sad knowing that and having to tell me.

And I told him, you don't have to worry. J’s gonna be FINE, just fine. He has a really good head on his shoulders. He wants to work really hard.

I have no fear for him in Miami. He’s going to have Cuban family there, although extended. In New York he had almost nothing.

J’s success is also due to Mr. Russo. Really, he had so much luck here.

Mom: Yes, I think it's good to send the administrator Mr. Russo. I also wrote to Mr. González, the Science teacher, to thank him for everything. 🫶

***

This essay is dedicated to:

Mr. Russo, Mr. Gonzalez, Ms. Restrepo, three teachers who went above and beyond the call of duty to make J's stay at our school as welcoming and loving as possible. Ms. Restrepo (who was a former student of MINE!) even changed her curriculum to include a Cuban movie J recommended and invited me in to give a talk on Cuba to her students so that would get a better understanding. Most teachers and administrators do this EVERY DAY and get no recognition of the good they do; only admonished for the complaints they receive. 

J's mom. Every mom knows that one day, it's her job to set her kid free. Most don't have to send them off to another country with almost nothing, just to care for them, at their own detriment. It is the story of so many immigrant families; being sent here unaccompanied, and only extended family to care for them. It's gut-wrenching, if you have any heart at all, personal politics aside, you feel this, knowing that someone would give up their own child just for the chance at a better life, only to be faced with the indignity America often shows them.

There is so much suffering in this selfless action, and yet is the greatest gift of love one can give, to let go of your own needs and wants so that your child can have a better life, to fly free. You are brilliant, deeply reflective, so strong and so beautiful. Thank you for trusting me with your boy. It was an honor.

(And to mothers everywhere who do this. I never had the ganas to have a child of my own.)

To my beloved Cuba, and the friends, Cuban and otherwise, who continue to enrich my life, brought together through the love for Cuban dance, thank you for everything. To Latinos everywhere, for the same reason.

And of course, to my adopted son, J. I wouldn't have called you PTJ except for trying to preserve your identity, and that of your mom, and it makes for good writing ;) It was a joy to know you, and I wish we had more time to spend together. You reminded me, again, what my job really is… not to teach math, but to care for kids. To love them like your own.

Thank you for letting us in to let us see how truly strong and special you are. Fly free, cariño, do good, live that American dream. I will surely never forget you.

***