Bananas

Ukrainians have incredibly nice handwriting. They also eat bananas backwards, holding from the top and peeling from the bottom. Though I guess really, “top” and “bottom” are all in the eye of the banana eater. Less arbitrary is good handwriting, which I used to think I had, until I realized I didn’t.

The teachers at my school have beautiful handwriting; beautiful, flowing, cursive that puts me to shame. After history class, or Ukrainian literature class, the chalkboard is a real work of art. I don’t even want to erase it, so I usually have a student do it for me. I get enough chalk dust on myself as it is.

Towards the end of one of my classes the other day, I found myself standing in the back of the room, for the first time staring at my shame from the students’ perspective. It was bad. It looked like a first grader had written the assignment on the board. It looked like I’d tried to use my left hand, or to write with my eyes closed, or for that matter, to write with my left hand AND my eyes closed.

My handwriting is at its best when I’m writing on a napkin with a ballpoint pen. Now that’s a good combination, the pen really flows. These soviet-era chalkboards and chunks of cheap chalk don’t really give me top of the game flow, if you know what I mean. It’s hard to find your groove when the chalkboard is as smooth as a cobble stone road.

It also doesn’t help that I’m always writing things as fast as I possibly can. Nothing good happens when my back is to the class. Things usually start flying around the room. Once it was a broom, though usually it’s paper balls, or paper airplanes, or spit-wads. Sometimes I’ll turn around to find my kids darting around switching seats to be near their friends. Other times I’ll turn around to find them hitting each other, flicking each other in the head, smacking each other with books, or pushing each other out of their desks. If you had these rascals, you’d speed write too.

There was a time when my eighth form boys were rolling paper cigarettes and “chain-smoking” them in class. I don’t know what was more annoying: the sound of ripping paper as they rolled, the sight of them “puffing” away, the constant “ashing” in the plants along the side of the room, or the discarded “smokes” all over the floor. Initially I thought I’d be frank with them, so I said: “You do know that you look really stupid, don’t you?” Unfortunately, Ukrainians kids are used to being belittled by their teachers, so my words had little effect.

I then told them to knock it off and made them put all their “butts” in the trash, and they responded by spending the rest of the lesson “smoking” covertly. But kids aren’t half as sneaky as they think they are. They tried to mask the sounds of ripping paper with hacking, tuberculosis-type coughs. They snuck “drags” by burying their faces in their book bags. They faked long, drawn-out stretches as they “ashed” into the plants. Oh, they thought they were real coy, until in exasperation, I was forced to finally exclaim, “I can see you!”

Today was my last day of lessons and the last day my kids will drive me bananas for a whole three months. Tuesday is the last official day of school, but I don’t have to teach. It’s mostly a day for class parties and for teachers to put their final marks in the registry. The semester went pretty fast, as things usually do, after the fact. Now that it’s summer, perhaps I’ll spend some time working on my handwriting, though probably not. More likely I’ll try to master an easier Ukrainian art, like eating bananas backwards.

Jason

My little brother left for boot camp today. I guess he’s not so little anymore. I’m so proud of him, and nervous for him, and scared for him. It’s not something I would ever choose, but Jason has dreamed of being a Marine since he was young, and it’s not my choice to make. And so I’m happy for him, even if I cry.

Jason has always had zeal for the military. His room has been plastered with Marine Corps posters since his early teens. He’s been known to create entire power-point presentations about the Marine Corps just for fun. His I-pod shuffle includes a number of military cadences, which, like Country music and 50 cent, he actually enjoys listening to. Once on a road trip together, he slipped one of his cadence CDs into the CD player. One chant in and I nixed his selection.
“What?” he’d said looking hurt, “You said you wanted some mood music.”
“Yeah, but not the kind that will put me in a bad mood,” I’d replied, “I tolerated Hilary Duff, but dude, here I draw the line.” We never did see eye to eye on music.

Over the summer, I recruited Jason to help my friend and I dispose of a couch. I told him it was a covert operation in need of some leadership. That was all he needed to hear. He disappeared into his room, blasted some cadences and emerged 30 minutes later in full camouflage. “Operation Couch,” he assured me, would be a success.

Jason insisted upon driving to my friend Josh’s apartment. Apparently his black truck “would blend into the night” should we need to make a hasty retreat. He parked down the block from the apartment complex and did a full sweep of the premises “to get an idea of what we [were] up against.” Once inside, he drew up a floor plan of the building, noting exits, alleyways and high traffic areas. While he was writing the objectives of our mission, he made Josh and I change into sweat suits and beanies. Then the two of us, sweating like pigs, stood “in formation” while Jason barked out commands.

The mission, if you could even call it that, was simple: ditch the couch across the street without any witnesses. It certainly could have been accomplished without the pomp and circumstance of a full-scale military operation, but it was rather amusing to see Jason so in his element. He was dead serious as he deftly shimmied along the walls, ducked behind bushes, and gave silent orders with hand motions and head nods. “Sheryl,” he told me later as we drove home, “that was so much fun.”

“I’m proud of you,” I told him yesterday on the phone. And I am; I’m exceedingly proud of him for following his dream, for choosing his path, for climbing his mountain. I really wanted to give some sisterly advice, but I found myself at a loss for what to say. Perhaps there’s nothing to say, when people we love chase down their dreams. So I told him I loved him, and that I would pray for him, and that when I start to think my life is rough, I’ll remember him being belittled at boot camp.

We can’t choose the paths that other people take any more than we can choose the paths that strike our own fancy, that compel us to leave behind the person we are in search of the person we will become. If I could choose, Jason wouldn’t be in the military, he would be climbing a safer mountain, one where the possibility of being shipped off to war wasn’t lurking in the valley below. But it’s not my choice to make, and so I’m happy for him, because I know how happy he is in his element.

I'm Back

It's been so long since I've blogged that I almost don't know where to begin. Almost.

The school year is wrapping up pretty quickly. I only have two and a half more weeks of school left. This month has gone by fairly quickly thus far, no thanks to the many holdiays we've been celebrating.

The first and the second of May were Labor Days, and we had them off. Most people used those two days to plant their fields. I went to the village with Jennifer's host family and helped them plant potatoes. It was a lot of work. We had to turn the dirt in the fields where we were planting before we could even start dropping in the 'taters. We used shovels to turn the dirt. The chickens and the ducks had a field day running around eating all the worms that we dug up. Being in the village made me very thankful for my cozy apartment. The village had no running water and a lovely pit toilet (that had no door). It smelled like cow dung.

This past weekend we celebrated Victory Day. The official holiday was on Tuesday. So far, Victory Day is my favorite Ukrainian holiday. In the morning, there was a parade. Well, not really a parade parade. It was not Macy's Thanksgivind Day bonanza. It was mostly just people walking in the street with flowers behind a band. After the parade, there were speeches in the center of town near the War memorials. Flowers were laid upon the memorials and veterans were honored. Then everyone gathered in the park. I've never seen the park so alive with people. It was fabulous. There were picnic tables and kiosks selling food and drinks and ice cream. Everyone was all dressed up (except me, nobody mentioned that a picnic and a parade were semi-formal!) and in great moods. There was a very real sense of community at the park.

Jennifer and I sat with her host parents and their friends. We at shashleek and drank champagne. I over-indulged on ice-cream (still kind of embarassed about that one). In the afternoon, I went to the forest with Jennifer's family and we shashleeked and played volleyball and had an overall, very nice time.

In other news, my kolonka was broken for about a week. A kolonka is the gas contraption that gives me hot water. It wasn't working and a gas specialist came and looked at it. Of course, he made it work his first try and so he didn't believe me that there was a problem. He charged me two hryven for the "consultation". The day after, my kolonka went out again. This time is stayed out. Larissa called the gas guy again, but he never showed up to fix it. I guess he didn't believe me. In the end, a couple of neighbors came and fixed it for me. They spent 2.5 hours taking the whole thing apart and putting it back together. I was so blown away by their generosity, especially since they worked on it until nearly 11 o'clock on a Thursday night and I'd never even met them before.

That's it for now. I'm about out of time on the internet here and I want to post this before they give me the boot. My apologies for going so long without posting!