[su_label type=”info”]Column: The Devil’s Advocate [/su_label]
—“Anyone else watch the international news with a sick feeling of dread at the pit of your stomach? The other night, I had a conversation with my 11-year-old that went something like this: ‘You will learn to garden. You will learn to sew. You need to know how to cook and fix and repair—this isn’t only a matter of teaching you values and virtue—your survival may depend on you having these skills.’ And as I was saying these things, I felt so very sad. This is the world we are handing to our children.”
This quote comes from a former theater student, a very intelligent woman who now lives in Italy. It was recently posted on Facebook.
In her post, she speaks to the sense of dread that many feel today in this world.
Sometimes I also feel it—a sense of impending doom, a feeling dressed in impotence and fear. It is something that we have to deal with and hopefully defeat, especially if we are trying to make sense of the times we are living so that we can help in the healing of our Mother Earth.
As I get older (not necessarily wiser) there are times when I truly feel that the world might actually end in my lifetime. Earlier in my life, I did not feel that way.
Is it only because my bones are creaking more and I am now more selective of what kinds of adventures I should attempt? …Like crossing the street when the warning light flashes under 10 seconds?
That is only partly true, because I know that much younger people, even children, are visited, while awake or sleep, by some mental discomfort about living (or attempting to live) on this planet.
A song created by the U.S. rock group REM comes to mind. They first sang it in 1987: “It’s the end of the world as we know it… and I feel fine!”
I mutter to myself “Why does he feel ‘fine?’” Is it because he is at peace with the inevitable? Does he think that he has lived enough? Or is he evoking that wise phrase: “We should not worry about what we cannot control?” Where do the answers lie?
The above jammed my brain as I made my way towards a celebration that took place last week at the César Chávez Elementary School, in our (?) Mission District. My granddaughter Itzel was moving from Kindergarten to First Grade!
Her mother, Geri Almanza, who teaches there, told me about the happy event. Itzel had asked about her Tata! Since I was that Tata, it was not a dilemma, but a yes or yes invitation.
At the same time, schools all over San Francisco, were celebrating graduations. In fact, my daughter Dulce, a teacher at Glen Park Elementary School, was participating in the graduation of her first class, a Spanish-based kindergarten. I could not be at both places at the same time. I am a mere Devil’s Advocate, not God.
So, Cesar Chávez it was.
I found a parking space right in front of the school. That rare luck should have made me suspicious. Had I thought about it, I might not have found that parking ticket on the windshield when I got back!
I entered and looked for the kindergarten classroom. On my way there, I noticed many family members, almost all Latinos/as, dressed with their best-looking clothes, carrying flowers or balloons. I carried a bunch of white carnations. There was a festive vibe in the air.
When I got to the Itzel’s room, my granddaughter shrieked happily: “Tata!” I gave her the carnations and a little girlfriend ran over to smell the flowers.
Then I moved towards the main auditorium, where the ceremony would take place. It was already almost full. The excitement was palpable. Exactly at the announced time, an orderly and beautiful group of children, almost all Latinos/as, came walking in and proceeded to go up onto the stage.
The proud parents, relatives and friends took photos, called names, made happy sounds. The children smiled back, soaking it all in, maybe a tad surprised by the enthusiasm that their first formal graduation elicited.
Then, they sang. In three languages! Spanish, English and sign language!
The song was amazingly positive, clearly reflecting the educational goals of the school:
“I have a happy face, shoes on my feet. I’m so lucky! That’s all I need
The sun is up, little birds are singing! I’m so lucky! That’s all I need
I don’t need money, for expensive gifts! I can do so much with my music and song
If I had a million, to spend it as I’d wished, I’d share it with someone less fortunate than me
I have a happy face, shoes on my feet. I’m so lucky! That’s all I need
The sun is up, little birds are singing! I’m so lucky! That’s all I need!”
The people there, teachers, students, family members, took the ceremony seriously. Clearly, it was an important step forwards in the lives of all involved.
As I finish writing, I am reflecting back to the beginning of the column.
I realize, happily, that the sense of impending doom had been postponed in my mind. That wonderful graduation ceremony smelled of hope.
Those parents and teachers were planting a future, hoping to harvest it. I saw it. I believe it possible.