Summer Salute

I always admire our students as I watch them filing into class, most freshly showered, nicely clothed, and ready to go. They give me energy. When I'm tired and feel as if I've practically had to drag myself to class, I look at them. I know they've been working all day, too. Or - worse yet - I know they have to leave my class at 9:20p and go to work! I don't know where they get their energy from, but I'm grateful they unwittingly share it with me.

Given that our students come to us in the midst of a busy schedule, juggling work and school and family and all the other responsibilities, it is no wonder to me that so many drop out. Year after year, semester after semester, I see it happen. And I never know what to do.

This summer I started with 35 students. I had a few no shows, so I added six students the first week and one this. I've had several not show up again this week. So, even though the roster is up to 40 now, there are only about 35 that I'm expecting. Of them, 5 people were absent yesterday. And five the day before.

What can I do?

On Lee's message board, he has asked us to survey our students to find out how they found us, and I think that's a great idea. Indeed, I'm (still) working on my MBA thesis built around a survey we did last summer. The research question is: How can we better reach the population of ESL students? In class, though, I have a different question: How can I keep the students who've already found us? How can I keep the students I have? I think it's the more difficult query.

For some, being in this country is a real life and death issue. We know this. Financially, I believe many are just making ends meet and often doing so by living in conditions we wouldn't consider. Emotionally, I'm sure many are simply stealing themselves to continue everyday, so far from family and friends and all they hold dear. I personally couldn't do it.

My grandmother left her home off the west coast of Africa pregnant, with three little kids, to join a husband somewhere on the west coast of America. She sailed into Boston and made the trip across country on a train with three little kids and a baby. My aunt Carol was born on the crossing. My mother was born here a few years later.

Growing up, I had no idea I was from an "immigrant" family. We lived closer to my Dad's family and they figured they were from Texas. Period. It wasn't until I was studying to become an ESL teacher that I inquired of my mother about her native language. She took me by surprise when she got upset, "I speak English!" I pushed. Your mother spoke Portuguese. That must have been your cradle language. She cut me off.

Clearly growing up in an immigrant family had not been easy for her. I'd known that somehow. Her dark skin made life in Lily White Lakewood tough. I knew that though she never spoke of it. Many great talks were to follow that initial question. And I came to know of the sacrifices.

That was then. This is now. And like every immigrant before them, our students are making sacrifices. In this case, they sacrifice to come to class four nights a week, week in and week out. So, I try to tell them how proud I am of them. I try to explain that I understand what courage it takes, what effort is required. I try.

I wish I could do more.

As talk of yet more FENCING along the border continues, I want them to know that I am glad they are here, that I wish coming here were an easier thing, and that I have faith in them. I wish we'd build more bridges and less fences because I trust them to succeed like countless before them. And on the eve of our Independence Day, I salute them.