Field Trip: Manila

Week Without Walls is a popular program in international schools. Many schools have a designated week where students go to another city, village, or country for a week. These programs have different goals. Some are meant to teach leadership skills, others are more service based. In the past, while we were working in Ecuador, I was a part of two Week Without Walls programs, to mixed levels of success. This year, we both were involved and we just got back. 

Our students' options for 9th grade included Romania, Switzerland, and Sri Lanka. Our 10th graders were given the choices of Thailand, the Phillipines, Nepal, and Cambodia. Early in the year, an email was sent out to teachers to gauge interested in chaperoning these trips. Shannon and I both volunteered and told the school that we would be interested in any trip option. Not long after, we were approached about going on a trip together. We agreed, and were told that we were going on the trip to Manila. 

As the weeks passed, our colleagues told us that the Philippines trip was "one of the worst" from the standpoint of reputation and perception as being the trip that the "bad" kids went on. We quickly replied that this school's "bad kids" were in fact, no problem to us. 

As the trip approached, we had a few meetings where we discussed our itinerary, our expectations for students, and behavior guidelines. Each of these meetings got louder and louder and students who I regularly saw as quiet and polite in class, morphed into beasts of some sort of wild pack. They, at their worst, were still nothing in terms of behavior problems compared to students we had taught in the past, but it was clear that this trip was going to have some serious highs and lows from that standpoint. As the weeks went by, we ignored email after email regarding preparation and planning. We ignored all recommended vaccinations, and all of the sudden, our trip was upon us. We backed some bags and hit the airport. 

We got to the airport on Friday afternoon and the six chaperones shepherded 36 students through

check-in and baggage drop off. We collected and redistributed passports and Saudi entry/exit visas seemingly every ten minutes until we got them to the gate. When it was departure time, we did a quick headcount, and after seeing that we weren't missing any, proceeded to the flight. 

Our flight there was a 10 and a half hour direct trip. There were babies crying, students switching seats, constant chattering, screaming, and general frustration. Passengers from our plane complained to the flight attendants about our students multiple times, and after a few conversations with them, we were able to get them to go from "unruly and frustrating" to "annoying but tolerable." That in conjunction with a mid-flight manic attack from a student resulted in a long night. 

When we got to the airport in the Philippines doning our school issued trip shirts, I was quickly told by a local man that the symbol and image on our vertical Philippines flag on our shirt, as displayed, actually represented the word "war." How appropriate. We wrangled the kids through customs, baggage claim, and currency exchange. Basically, we did all of the things people hate about traveling, compounded by 36 students. It was frustrating, but we got it done. 

Since we were there too early to check in to our hotel, our first stop was to a mall where the teachers

let the kids wander and had a meal to themselves. After a bit of time wandering, we went to the hotel and then had a presentation. We were partnered with a local NGO whose job was to help build communities through guidance programs, occupational training, and house building. We heard all about the program and its goals, and our students eagerly looked forward to the next day when we would start work. 

As the next day came, we set off to the village. When we got there, there was a welcome dance prepared by the community's children. The community had representatives speak to us about their village and the program had representatives as well. After they were done, our students were led through 5 stations as a part of an "Amazing Race" style contest which focused on incorporating customs and traditions of our hosts, with team building activities. We had students eat boiled duck eggs, that in my opinion, were way too developed, as they had fully formed wings and bones. After that, we enjoyed a lunch prepared by the village and our kids spent the rest of the time playing with children from the village. I myself participated in playing basketball with some village teenagers. We played on an old rim made of bent rebar and their kids destroyed the children from our school. The rest of the afternoon was spent profiling the type of work we would be beginning the next day. 

After that, we went back to the hotel and got showered up. We went to dinner at a mall across the street from our hotel. At night, when curfew time arrived at 9:30pm, the chaperones taped the doors shut for the students so we could tell who left throughout the night. 

In the morning, we woke up to an early breakfast and went to the village again. When we got there, we set off to different job stations. One station involved digging in a giant pile of rocks, using a hollowed out bucket to bag the rocks, and moving them to a center cement area. Another group did the same with a giant pile of sand. Another group, a bit larger, went to an empty field, and worked on digging trenches with shovels, and pick axes. The trench would later be used as a foundation to pour concrete into. That first day of work resulted in whining, complaining, dirty teenagers, and even a little bit of hard work. A few of them even ended up with some blisters. After explaining what those were, we looked back on our work and whether due to the sheer number of workers, or my relentless shaming of those students who needed 9+ 20 minute breaks throughout the four hour work day, we got a lot done. I had to remind myself throughout the day, that this was the first time for many of our students, that they had done any form of manual labor. Most of them were born with multiple nannies, maids, drivers, landscapers, and a whole staff who did this work for them. We even had a students, who is a part of a prominent family here, bring along a bodyguard to shadow him throughout the trip. It was a reminder as to who our students were, and how unaccustomed they were to doing this type of work.

That night, I took a group of students with another chaperone to the mall again. We had some dinner

and then went to see the movie, Black Panther. Since Saudi doesn't have movie theaters yet, my group was quite large, and quite excited. We enjoyed the movie before making it back to the hotel for curfew, and of course, the ceremonial taping of the doors. 

The next day was another work day, with increased effort, decreased whining, and even more accomplished. That day, we added in some concrete mixing. The students learned about mixing rock, water, sand, and instant concrete mixture. They transported the concrete using buckets and a human chain, and even laid some out and smoothed it. Only a few kids got heat stroke! It turns out grueling work+Mountain Dew+Flaming Hot Cheetos-water=passing out. Who knew?!

The following day, we took a bus to an inlet, and took motorboats to an island where we hiked a volcano. As we went up the side of a volcano, we saw steam spouting out of vents. The 25 minute hike resulted in three more students passing out due to lack of nutrition and water again. One was even taken to a local hospital. It was a hot mess. The students who made it up without incident, however, enjoyed the hike, and being in nature. Shannon had to explain to one that leaves falling on him from a tree were in fact, not harmful. Some of our students have such limited exposure to...outside. 

That night, a group of students who had raised money for the village through independent bake sales, and fundraising, went to the mall with me and another chaperone and decided to buy a bunch of toys for the kids, and a new basketball hoop, not made of rebar. Their fundraising and generosity was inspiring to me, and to the other chaperones. 

The next day was another workday. We mixed cement. We played music. We hung out with the kids. We had a great lunch of fried fish, mangos, rice, and vegetables. We spent more time playing with the kids and some even gave the kids in the village henna tattoos. It was a great bonding experience. In the afternoon, after we finished the work, we assembled the new hoop, which they loved, and played a few games of basketball with them. It was a transformative experience for me as a whole, and hopefully one for the kids as well. 

On our final full day, we went by ferry to Corrigedor Island. The island was a hub for military outposts throughout its history. It served as a primary strategic location for the US troops during WWII. It served as a military hub in the Pacific campaign. We toured old historic barracks, weapons, tunnels, and a fort. We saw some museums dedicated to those who fought and lost their lives in the war. We saw a monument focused on General MacArthur's time there, and another museum that focused on horrific treatment of people during war. It profiled Nazi concentration camps, local treatment of Filipinos by Japanese soldiers, and other atrocities. It was informative, upsetting, and important. 

The next day, we set off, after 8 days abroad. We brought back all 36 kids, without having lost any. No one was badly injured, and hopefully all of them were changed, at least a little bit, by the hard work they endured, by the poverty they saw, by the connections they made, and by their experiences. I had an incredible time with our students. I made stronger connections with my students. I met new people. I had new experiences. I got to push some students to do some things that they don't normally do, and I got to share frustrations, triumphs, and another adventure with Shannon. 

An Ode to Jeff

I may have mentioned this in a post prior. In fact, I think I did when we first made the decision to leave the US and come overseas. Living overseas is awesome. It is a lifestyle that has been very good to us. There are many adventures, travels, weird quirky events that couldn't happen elsewhere or in any other circumstance. But it's not all great. The hardest part of living as a guest in another country is being so far away from your own home. From your own family.

Last February all of the previous paragraph came to fruition. We were on break for Carnival and we were traveling from Chile to Argentina to Uruguay. It was a great plan. There was great food, hiking, and all of the adventure stuff. However, as we landed in Argentina, I got a phone call in the airport. My stepdad had died suddenly. Well, really my dad.

Without going to far into detail on this, because it is irrelevant to the story, my sister and I have been without the presence of our biological father for about 20 years. We saw him last when I was in fifth grade. I mention this to highlight the fact that during that time, in fact right around fifth grade for me, my mom started to date a man named Jeff.

It was a grand love story and one that I simply cannot due justice on a blog. But the relevant information is this man, who was a commercial fisherman by trade, a blue collar worker with a generous heart, a sometimes short temper, and always a caring and good person, entered our lives 20 years ago. With no obligation to me, no duty, not responsibility, he did his best to be a father to me and my sister. He went fishing with me. He played basketball with me, poorly, but he still did it. In fact, that might be the point. He went out of his way to be the person I needed him to be. He did the same for my mother and my sister.

He was a good man and during my adolescence as a trouble-making teenager (only at times), as a young man, and as an adult. He did his best to guide me along the way as if I were his own son. We had arguments; even a fight or two if I'm being honest. But he did his best to be his best for us. When I needed to learn the value of hard work, and I needed money to pay for my car, or my books for college, he was there to show me how to work hard. He took me under his wing as a commercial fisherman and showed me what real work ethic was. We worked side by side for 20 hour shifts. I fell, he laughed, then he helped me up; time and time again. He showed me a lot because he was a great man.

We were very different people. His interests and my own rarely intersected. But there was always mutual respect and mutual appreciation for one another. One of the areas that we found common ground was our interest in sports. Jeff was a Philadelphia sports fan in all sports. As a man who grew up in Pennsylvania, and who made his home just a short ride from Philadelphia, he felt strongly about his teams. We would often go to games together. But despite this overlap in interests, we still rooted for different teams. He was an Eagles fan through and through, something that I just simply was not.

I write this blog post as a cathartic means for hashing out my own thoughts on the matter. In fact, when he passed away, Shannon and I got on the next flight, flew 10 hours from Argentina to Mexico City, spent a night there because we couldn't get out sooner, then woke up at 3am to fly to NYC. We attended his funeral service, I gave his eulogy. Then we quickly were rushed back down to Ecuador. While there, I didn't allow myself to grieve properly. I felt the need to be the support for my family. Then, when I got back, I busied myself with work to distract myself, then we were busy with moving away from Ecuador, busy moving to Saudi, busy getting used to a new country and new people, busy with life. I never had an opportunity to think through, in adequate means, what he meant to me, what it meant that he was gone, or what it meant to be so far away from family. But I did on Super Bowl Sunday this year.

From the moment the Eagles started winning games early this season, I thought of Jeff. As they won game after game, I felt this sense of hope that they were going to win the championship, for him. As heavy underdogs, they won game after game. Eleven months after Jeff's passing, I realized that he would never be able to cheer his team on. He would have gone the duration of his whole life without having seen his favorite team be the ultimate team. He would never be there to take joy in the small things that make life feel like life. It was poetic timing that the Eagles made the Super Bowl.

When the day arrived, I woke up early. I had invited friends over to watch the game. To the best of their knowledge, it was just the Super Bowl. It was a game that they, as red blooded Americans, HAD to watch. To me, it was something more. I don't know that I can put it into words. Perhaps it was some sort of divine coincidence. Perhaps it was symbolic. But it didn't matter. To me, it was a three hour block of time, where I thought about Jeff. I gave him his due. I sat there, with the game on thinking about his botched layups he took in an effort to connect with me. I thought about how we nearly died one time on a fishing boat, 200 miles off the coast of New York, when our boat caught on fire, days away from anyone who could help. I thought about the day he and my mom got married. I thought about the day I met him as a punk kid with spiked hair and an attitude. I thought about how he taught me how to drive. I thought about how he taught me how to do terribly irresponsible things like donuts in our car in empty (mostly) parking lots. I thought about everything he meant to my family; to me.

Super Bowl Sunday of this past year started for us at 2:00am. So goes the time difference. I woke up early and cooked everyone waffles. I made coffee. I cheered on the Eagles. I enjoyed the game. I enjoyed the opportunity that was long overdue, to set some time thinking about a person who meant a lot to me and who in a lot of ways, defined who I became as a man.

The Eagles won. They played a great game. It was emotional for me. I experienced the drama of a great game, and of a victory. I rooted afar for a team that was never my own at a time of day that I swore never to see again after I finished college. I thought of my friends and family members who grew up in the shadow of Philadelphia as I had. I felt joy for them. I thought of Jeff. I wish he could have seen it. But either way, I finally did my part in saying goodbye.

Fire Nights

One of the biggest misconceptions I had about moving to Saudi Arabia was the weather. I assumed that because it was in a desert and obviously very hot, that it would be hot all the time. I resigned myself to a notion of Saudi weather that was a dry version of Florida weather. In response, I was mentally prepared for 10 months of unbearable, face melting heat, with two months of comfort to look forward to where it would only be hot. We were coming from Ecuador where it was consistently cool in the mountains, so we were expecting even further shock to our systems by moving to Saudi.

Our first few months proved that the face melting heat was a real thing. We only have a 100 step commute to work, but we would frequently arrive with a nice sweat sheen by the time we got to the refuge of air conditioning. Yet, once November hit, it was flat out delightful. The days hovered in the 75-80 range, the nights a cool 50-60. It even got cold for a few months. I had to break out a sweater at work on a few occasions.

In an effort to take advantage of the lovely temperature before it gets to face melting status again, we have outfitted our backyard area with a nice grill, a comfortable outdoor couch, and a fire pit. We have spent many a night in the back yard, with our sliding glass doors to our living room open and a movie projected on the wall. Outdoor movies, bonfires, and BBQs aren’t a bad way to take advantage of the weather in the few months that it is bearable.

I don’t anticipate we’ll have much longer to enjoy it, but in the meantime, Saudi has proven to be quite a pleasant surprise, and we’ve found that outdoor backyard comfort is a real thing that we can look forward to moving forward.

Trading Places

One of our favorite things about our new school is the fact that they place a high focus on the development of the whole student, rather than merely focusing on curriculum. They have put systems in place to help guide students with emotional, physical, and character growth issues. In this light, our school has adopted a policy of a theme every year. This year’s theme focuses on the idea of compassion.

Throughout the year, we have focused school assemblies, activities, community events, and even classroom lessons on the aspect of compassion, and the focus of growing compassion within our school community. I specifically say our school community because it’s not just the students who are targeted with the focus of developing compassion. School administration, teachers, and staff members are a part of this growth process too. While our students have character education lessons and community service involvement tied to the theme of compassion, the teachers approached it from a different lens. Our task was very literally to step in the shoes of another teacher to develop our own appreciation for the various roles of staff members from across our school. At least, this is the justification I have come to understand, and the reason that for a day, that long long day where I became a third grade teacher for a day. We would be living the movie Trading Places for a day.

Prior to 3 Day (chosen by me for its resemblance to D Day), I was absolutely intimidated. Throughout my career, I have taught middle school or high school students. I chose those age ranges for a multitude of reasons. I find that I can utilize my own sense of sarcastic humor in class with them, I identify with some of their personal interests, and I can relate to them on a different level than I ever could with a younger kid. When I heard about my matchup with a third grade class, I instantly had visions of all of the horrors depicted in the movie Kindergarten Cop.

About a week prior to the swap, I visited her class to see the kids I would be teaching and to see her in action. I’m glad I did. I saw some of the tricks an elementary school teacher uses like choral responses the kids responded to, and heard some of the kindest feedback possible. Every conversation with the kids was phrased to “Friends” or “Helpful partners” and the like. That visit gave me valuable insight and context into what I would have to say that day in order to make it through. A few days before the swap, I finalized my lesson plans and reviewed them with the woman who would be teaching my high school students for the day. She was equally intimidated. We reviewed the game plans we had put together and committed to get through it as best as we could. I naturally thought she had an easier day ahead of her than I did. She obviously thought the same for me.
When the day came, I showed up early and went to the classroom to review the plan one more time. My partner was meticulously detailed with her plan, which helped immensely. I resolved to follow it as best as I could, but I was going to be satisfied if I got through the day without injury, or losing a kid.

When they came in, I put on my best kind “talkin’ to the kids” voice and used as many “friends” and smiley adjectives as I could. They were 7 and 8 and they could see right through it. Nonetheless, I managed to work my way through the first lesson, then the second. As I had them seated on the carpet for a reading lesson, I caught a kid from the side of my eye and watched him. I continued to read my story about poison dart frogs to the kids while glancing up periodically to see him squirming and hiding his hands as he wrote or drew something. I paid attention to him but didn’t call him out for fear of losing the attention of my audience as I profiled the dangers of poison dart frogs. After the lesson, I dismissed them to their seats to read their own stories about something or another and I went to check on the kid who I had noticed.

As I approached him, he tried to hide a pile of colorful Post-Its. I looked at them and they were full of third grade profanity. Words like “butt” “penis” “naked” and “fart” littered the pages. I laughed audibly and told him I was taking his papers and I redirected him to his reading area. I thought that would be the end of it. Boy was I wrong.

Throughout the day, as I managed to get through a writing lesson, a math lesson, and recess. I noticed the same student writing on more Post-Its. Yup, more elementary school profanity. I confiscated the entire supply of Post-Its hoping it would stop. Somehow more kept popping up on walls, trash cans, desks, and notebooks in different colors. He had a stash!

It didn’t disturb the other students so I was satisfied to capture the notes before others noticed it. Every time, I confronted the kid who admitted to it, apologized, and redirected himself back to his work. Every time, I found different colored bad words strewn about the room.

The rest of the afternoon was relatively uneventful. I took the kids to their specialist classes. I escorted them around to and from lunch. I even had a spirited conversation with one student about the merits of Hogwarts Wizarding School as a viable alternative to elementary school structures. At the end of the day, I escorted them to their designated places. These four go to this classroom for after school activities. These 8 go to this place for bus pickup. These 5 go to this place for parent pickup. It was difficult to keep track of. But alas, I had dropped off the kids and no more were dependent upon me to get home.

I scurried up to the room again, and led an after school activity on art and drawing with first grade students. We drew puppies. It was grand. One student asked me to throw hers away because her parents wouldn’t want it because it was bad. I told her I was sure they would love it, and she insisted it would go in the trash at home anyway since it wasn’t good. That was heartbreaking so I told her I wanted it so I could put it on my refrigerator. She seemed okay with the idea so that was that.
As we were putting the finishing touches on our puppies, the elementary school principal came in to ask me about a young girl from my class. It turns out she was expected in after school activities but was nowhere to be found. I LOST ONE!?!?! He said he would investigate while I carried on coloring puppies, but of course my work was shoddy because I was focused on the human being I misplaced. Then I heard a PA announcement alerting that we were on the lookout for this girl. Great, the principal couldn’t find her. The whole school was alerted, and everyone would know that I couldn’t keep track of a 7 year old.

As I escorted the first graders to their pickup locations, I ran into the principal again and inquired about the girl. It turns out she had walked home (on compound) and she was fine. I was off the hook. I piled up the Post-Its from earlier in the day on the desk of the REAL third grade teacher and went home. I was exhausted. I was full of compassion for her and her day to day plight as a wrangler of wild, adorable, sweet, artistic, wizard loving, profanity laced children. I was excited to be back in my own room the next day, but I had learned quite a bit during my time in third grade.