matching tracksuits

The end of the school year for seniors � today was the last time they’ll all be together, and as of this afternoon, they are officially graduates, with only the matura (exit exam) awaiting them. There was of course something like a graduation ceremony, complete with a series of skits and songs performed by juniors, as per tradition. Naturally, among the songs was that school classic, “Ale to juz bylo / I nie wroci wiecej”�

(”But that has already been, and won’t return again”�).

I sat there, facing the seniors, watching some of the girls get teary-eyed and sing along, and I couldn’t help but smile. I wasn’t happy because of their obvious sadness, but because of the privilege I was experiencing � to be that close to so many young people that are of no relation to me at all. I see their joys and troubles, and sometimes have to put up with their troubles jointly when they come pouting to class. When I’m extremely fortunate, I’m even part of the cause some of their joy; and unfortunately, I’m certainly the cause of their troubles too often. But young skin, hearts, and bones mend quickly, I tell myself.

I’ve taught these seniors for three years � their entire high school career. I’ve seen some of them go from being complete beginners to relatively eloquent English speakers.

I’ve seen some of them come in and leave with the same level. Most have improved, as evidenced by letters that I had them write to themselves at the end of their first year in high school and then gave back this week. What a feeling, watching them read and hearing them laugh at their own silly mistakes, and what a sense of accomplishment for them that they can now see those mistakes.

But it’s not only been their English that has improved. Girls have become young ladies, in appearance and behavior. Little boys in teenagers’ bodies have become responsible young men. Nerdy outcasts have improved their social skills and have even become semi-popular. Boys learned how to comb their hair and became young men, and awkward young girls became attractive young women.

That’s the best thing about having taught in the same place for a while � you see the kids grow up. It’s like parenting, without as many of the worries.

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I recently got pulled over by the border guard. He asked me for my driver’s license and registration, and I duly handed over my American license and the international drivers permit I got a couple of years ago in the States.

“What is this?”� the border guard asked.

“It’s an international driving permit,”� I replied.

“Who issued it?”� he asked.

“I got it in America.”�

He thumbs through it, then asked, “Yes, but by what authority.”�

“It was an agreement by the United Nations, in the late 40’s I believe. Participating countries agreed to recognize each others’ driving license.”�

“Hold on.”� He goes back to his truck, where another border officer is sitting. He comes back and tells me what I’d been expecting all along: “This is not valid. It doesn’t have a stamp from the United Nations or anything.”�

If something in Poland does not have a stamp, it’s not valid. End of story.

The international driving permit has all this information explained”�in English, French, German, Russian, Chinese, Arabic, and a handful of other languages, but no Polish. And this guy speaks no foreign languages.

What to do?

Kinga was sitting with me, and he suggested that she drive home, because I’m clearly driving illegally.

Which goes to show, that if the officer is ignorant and monolingual, “legal”� is a completely relative term.

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