Four months after I graduated with my MA, I moved to Madison, WI.
I had no job, a new relationship, and over $30,000 in student loan debt.
We lived on the north end of town, in a big apartment we got for cheap, mainly because of how many registered sex offenders lived there, too. I job searched and I walked. Everywhere. Down to a strip mall branch of the Madison Public Library. Up to the state park bordering the city. Over to Warner Park to watch the geese. I usually carried a book and my discman. I needed a job and sent out a million and a half resumes. Mostly, for jobs I was, in no way whatsoever, qualified for.
I finally landed an interview with the Wisconsin Youth Company; an organization that ran Before- and After-School programs. I was hired as the supervisor for Hawthorne Elementary. It wasn't far from where I lived, which meant it was a poor school with poor kids.
It took us about two weeks to warm up to each other, and then it was game on. They were smart-alecky; so was I. They wanted to beat me in basketball; I wanted to school them. They wanted to eat homemade cookie icing; me, too. They wanted canned ravioli for a snack; I happily heated it up.
I think about those kids often. Emily, this light, sinewy little 5 year old, would be 9 now. You couldn't help but sweep her into your arms, she was that sweet. Drew, whose dad wasn't all that great and whose mom sucked even more, would be 13 now. I think about him the most because he was trouble and mean, and because we took a liking to each other.
There's Tony, the studly black boy who called me a "Cracker" after I beat him in 4-Square, which doubled me over, I laughed so hard. There's Anthony, who will probably grow up to be gay and who got teased for it mercilessly. Fernando, who hated it when I sang, "There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Fernando!" Jamila, who spurred me to take away the Kids Bop CDs because of the way she danced to it.
I miss Taran, who had to wear a back brace and who was obsessed with pigs. Kylie, who was an amazing artist. Gabe, whose parents couldn't get it together and who could only express himself in anger. And Curtis. Curtis came into my program late in the school year. Some days he was clean and well-rested. Others, his eyes were so tired my head ached for him. I never knew if Curtis had a home.
These kids made me laugh, cry, scream, throw chairs against the wall after they all left, hate them, love them, punish them, and play with them. I would like to see them again. Mostly, I just want to know that they are ok. That the person who took over after I left hugged them as much as I did.
