Yesterday I rode my bike to work. It was supposedly in the mid thirties but it felt much colder, the wind piercing my coats and numbing my gloved hands. Yet instead of feeling resentful of the wind, I found myself feeling grateful.
This is the start of bus season.
The seed for so many of my stories is back in my life! But not solely because of the cold.
I’m on “safe walk” duty again this year, which I completed on bicycle yesterday and which I, happily, completed by riding the bus today. The teachers and I hadn’t been as dedicated to the safe walk this year because, honestly, the incentives had changed and I didn’t have the capacity to really take it on. But a little while ago a former student was jumped just behind the school and so, with the sun setting before dismissal, I insisted we reinstate it. Even though teacher presence by the buses had been sporadic up until that point, my students adjusted to my presence seemingly seamlessly, chatting me up and waving bye as they leapt towards lurching buses.
A quick moments to share:
I have three boys in my class, all English-learners who are adorable but can be really annoying. They’ve become sort of the three musketeers, fumbling their way through classes, their friendships, and their new lives in America. It is hard, sometimes, when they won’t be quiet despite being asked a thousand times to remember that they’re just energetic little boys. But standing with them in the cold waiting for the bus called this to mind. We joked about candy and hats and the fact that I probably shouldn’t ride my bike to school in the cold. One asked me if students are even allowed to ride bikes.
“Por supuesto,” of course, “when it is warmer.” A great reminder of their innocence at all that is new and the ripples that violence can have.