The course I am taking - Language Acquisition and Learning in a Linguistically Diverse Society – is drawing to a close. My instructor casts assignments at us without cease, they sink to great depths, weighted by their complexity. I dive in after them, struggle down, down to see them clearly. Among the sizeable list of instructions for items to be included in a presentation: “create two different ‘visuals’ or graphic organizers that show the relationship between the course readings and the insights that you learned from the interviewee.” Well. From my interviewee I learned that if you are very bright, likeable, and beautiful, with strong and positive family relationships, strong ties to a tight-knit and stable community, and an optimistic attitude towards school, you may, like her, succeed despite having had to learn English without the benefit of sensitive support from teachers. I don’t know how to create a chart or diagram to illustrate this, and I don’t know why I should. The life story of my interview subject illuminates our readings by revealing the limited usefulness of the many generalities contained therein. I am disappointed when generalities and specifics are opposed, a toggle switch; I want them to reinforce and reflect one another.
I like to think of myself as a good student, but I am not. The tension between the general and the specific is but one source of irritation. I’m also weakened by tasks which demand that I make a ‘text to self’ connection. When asked to find such a link, I often lose the text, so overwhelming is my desire to reveal things about myself - and so tenuous is my hold on the author’s emphases. I sometimes suffer from “poor saliency determination.” http://www.allkindsofminds.org/learningBaseSubSkill.aspx?lbssid=47 Oh, well.
So, I just want to write a paper on a topic. I hate these multi-modal assignments: how long it takes me to even just understand what I am being asked to do, the way they chase precious knowledge from my mind, forcing me to replace it with personal tchotchkes that do not expand or refine me. I want something new, I want what I have not got.
But just then, there came the role play! Students were asked to choose an identity (from among a list of a half dozen) and have a blog-debate about illegal immigration. I chose to be an anti-immigration construction worker in LA. My group members chose various other identities and wrote politely – academically – about the needs and aspirations of immigrants. I wrote posts in the voice (as best I could evoke it) of an angry, bitter man. His basic premise was: the gains of illegal immigrants are his direct losses. I was alarmed, after posting a few replies to my classmates’ careful statements, to find myself sympathizing very much, ferociously even, with ‘his’ perspective that ‘your’ having results in my not having.
Hiroki (have I mentioned that his nostrils are the shape and size of tiny cinnamon heart candies?) would also sympathize with this perspective. He resents the happiness and autonomy – the equanimity – of his peers and seeks to strip, and pick, and peel it away. Rita says she doesn’t like carrots, Hiroki smiles at her in a way that is both malevolent and loving (she is, after all, about to validate his power), and says, “yes you DO, you DO like carrots.” Rita wails to me, “Hiroki said I DO like carrots, but I DON’T like carrots!”
Hiroki’s behavior includes, but extends well beyond, the typical 3-4’s assertions of emotional property rights (“Frederick is MY friend.” “No, he’s not, he’s MY friend.”) and intellectual property rights: (“I’m Spiderman.” “No, you’re not Spiderman, I’m Spiderman.”) Hiroki seeks out any opportunity to abrade. When I turn this about, “No, Hiroki, I don’t think you’re Spiderman, I think you are a hippo,” he collects himself, protesting, politely, that he isn’t a hippo, only a Spiderman. “Do you like it when I say ‘no you’re not,’ Hiroki?” I ask him. “No, I don’t like it,” he sweetly informs me. “Hmm, your friends don’t like it either, when you say ‘no you’re not.’” “But I LIKE saying that, I LIKE to say ‘no you’re not!’” I buy a little time, divert his conflictual urge with exchanges such as this, he seems glad for the respite or the chance to plead his case, but is soon back at his virtuosic practice of discord.
I mention hippos because Hiroki loves them. He spent weeks talking about his Hungry, Hungry Hippos game and is deeply attached to all our James Marshall George & Martha books – partly, I believe, because George and Martha are hippos and partly because they have many fallings out but are always friends in the end. Maybe he likes hippos because they are so, so big – maybe they are too big to feel lonely or jealous.
Early in the year I spoke with Hiroki’s mother and said I thought that his behavior – cruising ceaselessly from one area of the classroom to the next, knocking over children’s projects, resisting transitions, refusing to eat – might be an indication that he was missing her very much during the school day. She did not agree – “well, he acts like that at home, too,” she explained.
Hiroki is a hungry, hungry hippo, hungry for contentment, snatching it away from other children, only to find (like the hungry ghosts described in Buddhist tradition) that his fingers have closed only on unhappiness.
One recent day Hiroki was particularly unhappy – so unhappy that he wasn’t even interested in tormenting his peers. He focused on his own experience which had included a succession of disappointments. As we marched out to the deck to play outside, Hiroki collapsed in despair on the threshold, sobbing: “I want to go home, I want to go home. Tell my mommy I want to go home.” I held him a long, long time as he wailed. My assistant circled. She has, in the past, lifted Hiroki, sobbing, from my arms saying, “Ok, let’s go. I know you feel sad but you can’t scream like that. You’re ok. Let’s go.” This time she said, “What’s going on, Hiroki?” I turned my shoulder, just a little, shielding him, or us. I spoke softly to Hiroki: “You are missing mommy today. You are really missing mommy and feeling sad. That doesn’t feel good. You will see her later today, but it is hard to wait. Do you want to stay here with me for a little bit?” He nodded, still sobbing. I grazed the tears from his face, gently, with first -and second-joint knuckles, that’s how it’s done. “You know, you want to know something about hippos?” He was quieting. “You know, hippos poop IN the water?” He listened, his eyes no longer turned heaven-ward. “You know, what do you think that sounds like, Hiroki?” Attentive silence. “It sounds like: Poop! Bloop! Bloop! Bloop!” A deep smile. “What if you were a hippo, Hiroki, would I call you Hippoki?” “No,” he laughed, HippoROki!” Alive again, his limbs are suddenly lighter in my lap and ready to jostle, hustle, trick and play. I retie his shoelaces, they have come loose and are lonely, emptied of their knots and bows. I restore their charm. Hiroki jumps up and off he goes to Florian – who has been granted ‘most-favored-child’ status for the day. He looks a bit apprehensive as Hiroki approaches but as it unfolds their play is buoyant, sweet, and responsive.
I think of the assignments I have yet to complete for this course, sinking down, deeper into dark water. I feel too tired to dive after them, bring them up to light and air, though I know I will at least try. I want knowledge and I hope it will redefine me, contain but not confine me, distract me from my appetite for comfort. These complicated, strange assignments send me deeper into myself, exposing static-filled spaces where I do not wish to linger. I resent this and consider that only a person who feels happy and secure would conceive of such tasks. Someone with a loving husband, for instance, and perhaps, even, a housekeeper. What you have got reminds me what I have not got. I tie my shoes very tightly, to feel held and whole - secure. Oh sharp and shameful jealousy: perhaps hippos, with their huge heads, have got a wider and a milder view.
