On the walk to the bus to the highway crossing at Tlacochahuaya, it started sprinkling just enough to make me wonder if we’d be drenched before we got to the little town to teach. But it stayed dry the rest of the way and into the bus ride home. In fact, at 6:30, as I headed out to the highway to catch a bus home, the sky was Oaxaca blue, a blue that has just been washed and is drying on a line in the sweet blue air.
I had four students. The boy, David, was late. As soon as he arrived, the mood shifted. The girls were less serious and not as smart. They suddenly seemed to know nothing, not even for the promise of a prize. All four are twelve though one girl is smaller and more tired.
I brought them each a copy of Flat Stanley, but they lost interest as soon as they saw the books were filled with the hieroglyphics of English. They could only listen to the story for so long because it was slow and they lacked familiarity with this foreign world containing, among other things, bulletin boards and street grates.
Instead, after learning Stanley could slide under a door, they wanted to imagine all of the things Stanley could do and skimmed through the book’s illustrations to find that they had guessed correctly: of course, he was a kite; of course, he could be sent through the mail.
Next class, I think we will make Stanleys and practice plucking our own Stanley stories out of the sweet blue sky.