matching tracksuits

fun in threes, sometimes fours

Sebastian

Saturday 14 September 1996

12:17 p.m.

An interesting thing happened in the store today. As I was paying for my stuff I set down my shopping list–in English, of course–and the shop keeper (I’ve no idea what her name is) took an interest in it. “Aggs?” she said. “Eggs,” I replied with a smile, followed by the Polish. She read the whole list–I translated what she didn’t know. It was good–I’m not quite sure how to explain it. It’s just that I’ve often felt an impatient tension when I go in there. This helped dissolve it to some degree, I think.

I think much of these kinds of problems come from the fact that: a) I don’t know what is expected of me in many social settings; and, b) I don’t have the linguistic tools necessary to fulfill those expectations. I fear that people think I am being rude when it’s simply a matter of ignorance. “Stranger in a strange land . . .”

9:35 p.m.

I just returned from Mountain Haven–what a wonderful experience! I’ve no idea how to describe my reaction. I can only record my impressions and what I did.

I first met a group of girls–the only name I remember is Sarah. They were about nine or ten, if that old. They kept asking me for a souvenir–I had nothing to give them. I was with them for a few minutes. Then I met Sebastian . . .

With his snaggle-tooth grin and excitement, Sebastian made an immediate impression on me. He is one of the most affectionate children I’ve ever met. Seven years old, he was a strong boy for his age. When he hugged me and shoved a loving kiss on my cheek, I realized why everyone had told him, “Gently!” I spent a while playing “basketball” with him. “I am a good basketball player,” I taught him to say. I also played soccer, baseball, volleyball, and tennis with him. He was a big energy producer. I was exhausted after a few minutes of trying to keep up with him.

I wonder what the future holds for little, loving Sebastian. His father killed his mother–he’ll probably end up in an orphanage. Who knows what will become of him then? It’s an awful thing to say, but given his present conditions the future doesn’t look bright for him. Yet he is so very bright–maybe he’ll break out and become successful (and more importantly) happy.

How many Sebastians are there in the world? I know that millions of children are worse off than he is, but still, the cards are really stacked against him. The children are always the ones that get the worst of the shit in the world.

It takes a special kind of person to work at Mountain Haven. To se all those kids passing through would kill me. Just tonight I felt so strongly for Sebastian–think if I was with him daily, then suddenly his two weeks are over and he is gone. Yet I want to spend more time there. I guess the risk of attachment is one of that is inevitable. Maybe that’s where the real giving comes from. Yet all my life I will think of Sebastian . . .

Coming back could have been a real nightmare. As I left MH I realized it was terribly dark. I went back to see if I could borrow a flashlight, but they only had one. I began and soon realized that I could only continue on foot: I couldn’t see my hand three inches from my face. After a few minutes one of the MH staff members appeared with a car. He drove behind me with the lights on bright so I could see where I was going.

It rained all day again today–it’s unreal how much rain can fall in a two-week period. It aade me so mad as I struggled up to MH. It does no good, for the weather is certainly out of my control. I realize this fully. Still, I’ve really had quite enough rain . . . So has everyone else, I’m sure. The hay in the fields is rotting; any unharvested corn is likewise rotting on the stalk. At least I’m not taking a monetary loss . . .

Some General thoughts

Friday 13 September 1996

I just graded the quiz we gave to IA yesterday. It was not a pleasant experience: everyone did well but Magda and Żaneta. I saw them talking during the test. I walked over to them, standing there for a brief moment before taking their papers. I was actually surprised when I did it. I hated to do it, too. I know they weren’t cheating. Still, I had said no talking--I had no choice but to take the papers away. I really like both of them—they (along with several others) show real potential, especially Żaneta—she is so quick that it’s almost frightening (in a very good way). I talked to them afterwards. I told them that I wasn’t going to give them ones, but I told them too that I had no choice but to take their quizzes. It was a crossroads: a time to set a precedent, and I didn’t want a bad one. If I’d done nothing, I’d never live it down.

Yesterday I got paid: 580 złoty for September. I took the opportunity: this afternoon I went to Nowy Targ and bought a portable CD player. It’s nice because I don’t have to worry about batteries or adaptors, and I am not restricted by headphones. It’s nice to have my apartment filled with music. I took a bath with Beethoven’s Sixth and a mug of hot tea . . .

It’s raining again. I had no idea it could rain so much. The creek is rising again. It finally had fallen to its normal level before all this deluge. Am I in Poland or Asia during the monsoon season?

I’ve come to the final conclusion (What other kind is there, though?) that I do not like shopping with Danuta. She shops; I hunt. Age-old difference, I suppose.

Good Morning!

Thursday 12 September 1996

While hurrying to the store across from the church I encountered one of my students, pulling/leading two cows up the road, presumably taking them into the barn for the evening. I waved at him, smiling. He grinned and waved back. As I neared the shop I noticed another student riding toward me on her small bike. I could tell that she was getting ready to greet me. A smile shot across her face and she said, “Good morning!” at 5:55 p.m. “Hello!” I said in response. If these two encounters are indicative of what these two years will be like, then I can only say that I look forward to them with great anticipation.

I had six lessons. I was so very tired when the last one finally rolled by. I think things went rather well, but that didn’t change the fact that I was hardly able to stand at the end of the day. I hope things at least maintain for the next two years. Deterioration of class morale could be quite a blow to me, but I think things will only get better.

General Thoughts

Wednesday 11 September 1996

Once again I am shocked at how much better things went today. It was so radically different from the stressful disasters of yesterday afternoon. I had IIA for two back-to-back periods and established, for the most part, their general level. Iaa was an absolute dream—those kids really want to learn English. IB was great too—they put forth effort, which is all anyone can ask of them. Instead of being frustrated and tired, I am excited and tired. I lok forward to working with them tomorrow.

Danuta and I ate lunch with the priest who teaches at the school. He is a nice guy, eager to laugh. I like him. I wish my Polish was good enough to discuss matters of religion with him.

Yesterday, as VI was rushing from the classroom, they all folded their hands in prayer and, in unison, said a quick prayer to the crucifix hanging above me at the front of the room. it was surreal and a bit sad—more mindless religious automatons. I hope these kids question things at some point, though it seems doubtful, at best.

An interesting observation I had this morning: Religion is like dancing—without the music, it looks stupid. When I look at the average Christian believer, it is like watching people dance from a sound-proof both. It makes no sense, for I have great reservations about the existence of the god to which they are praying.

I wish I was back at King on a full-time basis: I would be much more outspoken about my new ideas. I am sure I would get a chilly reception from most people.

When I look back at my beliefs in the past I am struck by their incredible ambiguity. (“Give me ambiguity or give me something else.”) If I had been quizzed as a teenager, “Do you believe in Christ? Do you believe in the nature of his existence and sacrifice?” I would have not known how to answer beyond the shrug of my shoulders. This is especially true when you consider the Jewish nature of the old WCG. I did not even consider myself an Christian then, not in the broader sense of the word.

Regret

Tuesday 10 September 1996

This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. It was all I could do to keep from walking out on IIB this afternoon. The chaos of VI combined with the late students in II was just too much. To begin with, I have no teeth concerning tardiness. You’re late–so what. You’re not even considered “late” until it’s at least fifteen minutes. It’s like saying, “Don’t murder, but if you do, we’ll write down in a little notebook that you murdered and then, oh, won’t you be sorry!” It’s a fucking joke to say that there’s even any such a thing as tardiness. Second, I can’t even communicate the most basic things with 99% of my students. This is going to be the most hellish two years of my life–that is assuming of course that I can survive this first damn semester.

10:10 p.m.

I’ve calmed down significantly since I wrote that. I am not sure where all the frustration went, but I am now determined to beat these kids at their own game. I’m going to teach them whether or not they want to learn.

What is really surprising is the difference between the classes. In IA they are almost falling over themselves volunteering. In IB they are reserved; in II they are comatose. I don’t know what the problem is but it will not defeat me!

I taught V and VI today for the first time. What an experience! Imagine trying to keep 10-12 year-olds on task when you don’t share a common language! I don’t know what I’ll accomplish with just one hour a week in each class. But anything is better than nothing, right? Let’s hope that cliché is true.

First Day Teaching Primary School

Monday 09 September 1996

I taught at the primary school for the first time today: seventh grade. In many ways they remind me of the Chameleons. I think twelve- and thirteen-year-olds are universal. I was pleasantly surprised by their English.

Something Bigger

Sunday 08 September 1996

It has stopped raining though the sky is still gray. The wind has not really calmed but the gusts have become less powerful. I took some pictures of the stream—I will take more when the level returns to normal. It will be good for comparison.

Last night, on the way home, Danuta asked me if I wanted to go to Mass with her today. (I mentioned that I might like to go.) From that came a brief discussion about religion. “You must believe in something,” she said calmly. “You must have something bigger than yourself to rely on.” I did not say this, but that is why man invented religion: WE frail humans felt a need to have something stronger that would eventually pick up the pieces when things go cosmically wrong. How are you going to comfort who’s grieving over someone’s death without religion, without something that can make it all right, can bring justice and fairness to the world? (This of course deals with Western beliefs, not Easter mysticism.) I told her that I rely on myself.

“I never felt peace until I admitted to myself that I don’t believe in much of anything.”

“I can’t imagine how I could survive without my God,” she said in response.

“Have you ever tried, but really did not receive a response. (I did find it surprisingly liberal that she said “my God . . .” I wonder how open to other religions she is.)

Michener on Polska

Saturday 07 September 1996

I just finished Michener’s Poland and I realized again how troubled this nation’s history is. It has rebuilt time after time: Tartar invasions, Teutonic “Christianizing,” the partitions, the Nazi devastation–each and every time the Poles rebuild their country, only to have it destroyed again in a few generations. I am in Poland now at another time of rebuilding. The Communist destruction was not physical (Warsaw was not leveled, again), but psychological. Yet again the country finds itself in charge of its own future instead of its fate decided by some foreign power. The question is: Will Poland once again be conquered? If so, how? Will the world let it happen again? Russia is certainly in no position to do such a thing. But I remember the apprehension of many Poles during the Russian election.

The creek that runs through Lipnica is flooding. This is the highest the water has been since 1975. Already some houses have 1.5 meters of water in them. And there is more rain on the way. When Danuta and I left for the mayor’s house this evening, I was shocked at how furiously the water was rushing by. The small stream is now a vicious river. I would not be surprised if some of the smaller bridges were pulled away, leaving families stranded.

The sound the water makes is awful. I thought when I first arrived in Lipnica, “I wish I could hear that creek . . .” and now I am thankful that I cannot–I would be such a bundle of nerves. Those who live by the stream must be unable to rest–their nerves . . . I can only imagine, and I am sure that I cannot do that well . . .

Return from Krakow

Friday 06 September 1996

Danuta and I made it to Kraków and back today and so now our students have books. I did not like having to get out of bed at 5:00 this morning, though. It was a boring day for the most part, as I feared it would be.

I managed to find Kevin’s office and we talked for a little bit. It was nice to see him again—a familiar face will do wonders for one’s morale . . .

It is so cold here. My hands are numb and my feet too, though I am bundled up. I hope it won’t be like this during the winter. Right now the heat is not on and I am suffering for it . . .

School Days

Thursday 05 September 1996

I survived my first week here, but things will only get more difficult: My schedule is slightly brutal now that I have taken on four additional hours in the primary school. I don’t know what I will do when it comes time to start a secondary project. I am going to count my time at the primary school as at least a portion of those necessary hours.

Tomorrow I am going to Kraków again. We have to pick up books for the kids. I don’t think I would mind so much if it wasn’t for the time: The bus leaves here around 6:00 a.m. The good thing is that I will be able to track down Kevin, I hope. I never thought I’d be complaining about having to go to Kraków. Have things become so commonplace already?

It is raining, again. The day began with tempting sunshine, but by the time school began there were clouds in the sky and the rain came shortly after that.

First Impressions

Wednesday 04 September 1996

Second class went much better today. I am relieved. I hope I am not going too far in saying that I have given them some hope that my classes will be somehow different from what they are used to. First class went fine, but I am a bit worried about my inability to communicate with them.

One thing that made me feel so good in class is that I got many of them to smile. I don’t know how many Polish teachers even do that.

A few words on the Polish education system: It seems that most teachers (in the past anyway) never treat students with respect. In fact, some of the things I’ve heard about border on contemptuousness. Many of the teachers ridicule students. I hope that my different (hopefully respectful) approach will yield good results. I want to help these kids–maybe this will help.

First Day Teaching

Tuesday 03 September 1996

I begin tomorrow with back-to-back periods with II. Since the class is not yet split up I will have to do two lessons. After today’s apathetic reception I am a little nervous about this. I have two lessons prepared, but they both rely entirely on active class participation. We shall see . . . All the same, I refuse to be defeated by these students. Frustrated, yes; beaten, no.

So, now I’ve met all my students. I have two first-year classes, a second-year class, and four hours a week in the primary school. In general, they’re all (mostly) beginners. This is good because it makes it easier to determine where to start. It’s bad because nie mowi du o po polsku. Musz mowi troche po polsku bo moja clasa nie rozumie duzo angelskiego. Mysle, ze jest najlepsz ze ja mowi tylko po angelsku, albo bede mowic po polsku czasami. It could be good for me because I will have to learn a bit of new Polish vocabulary to cover the time until I can speak tylko English. Tam bedzie dobry dzien!

First First Day

Monday 02 September 1996

The first day of school is now behind me. Nothing much happened: introductions, a brief speech from the headmaster, then the mayor -- nothing to speak of.

A minor tragedy happened while someone was speaking: a girl fainted. She was standing behind a crowd of people. She slipped forward through everyone, falling limp in the floor. Her head hit the hardwood floor with a thump that had a sickening echo. Several male teachers rushed to her. She came to and was taken from the room. I don’t know what else happened to her–I didn’t see whether she returned.

I finally received some kind of schedule, but it is still not finalized, for against my better judgment, I picked up four more hours (at the primary school). So I have twenty-two hours in four days, for I did manage to get Friday off.

I’ve mixed feelings about this: On one hand, eighteen hours is the minimum a teacher can have and I felt a little guilty having so few in comparison to Danuta. Yet my inexperience makes me understandably anxious about it. I want to do a good job, and if I am spread too thin . . .

Of course that is not the only thing: I will be teaching first year students. This will have its advantages and its problems. For one thing, my work is cut out for me. I know exactly what I must teach them. Yet communication will be tough at first owing to my virtually non-existent Polish. I remember my frustration in Polish class when the teachers would not speak any English (some, anyway). Now it will not be a question of willingness, but ability.

Problem of Pain

Sunday 01 September 1996

Like it or not, the question of God’s justice (and therefore, his existence) hinges on the problem of pain.

Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at least. Imagine that you are doing this but it is essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creatures . . . in order to found that edifice on its unavenged tears. Would you consent to be the architect on those conditions?

Those really are the conditions that God, if he is omnipotent, set on himself. And while many argue that Christ avenges those tears, I cannot accept that answer. Like Ivan I cry, “I want it now or not at all.” Damn than higher justice if one innocent must suffer. The only fools who proclaim that none are innocent are those who have never really suffered. No, that is an unfair, uneducated contention, and I take it back. All the same, Christ’s sacrifice seems little compensation. Make innocent suffering alright by more of the same? Can that work?
Have I finally made up my mind that there can be no god whatsoever?

First Bike, First Ride

Friday 30 August 1996

I was supposed to go to Mike’s in Jabłonka tonight – well, I told him I might. But I was simply too tired, for I rode my bike back from Nowy Targ today: a 40+ kilometer ride that I did in two hours, forty minutes. It was an utterly exhausting experience. Just after you get out of Nowy Targ there is a long stretch of road which is straight with slight hills, most of which are slight inclines than ever really present the welcome downhill slope I was seeking. I must say that I felt a little like Sysyphus, for each time I got to the top of one hill, another loomed in the distance.

I felt such astoundingly intense pain in my legs at some points. My thighs burned for the last hour and a half and my left knee began aching after a while. Yet I knew there was no way I could stop. What choice did I have? Yet the utter necessity of the journey did nothing for my legs.

Of course that was not enough pain for me – I went to Danuta’s about an hour after I got back home. I did not know that the whole six kilometers are a gradual slope . . . upwards. The pain in my legs returned and only intensified as I went along. The advantage is that the return trip was much faster and with a little less pain.