Three tamales and rock are sure to put a smile on anyone’s face

The morning is off to a chaotic start. I’ve already spilled coffee on my pants, neither copy machine is functioning, and I can’t find the paper I needed to return to the school secretary yesterday. Miguel is vibrating with anger as he walks in the door, and it’s obvious that Christopher had something sugar-filled for breakfast. Marissa and Daniela are in a tearful fight. Eric is unsuccessfully trying to hide the fact that he’s chewing a bright blue blob of gum. It’s only 8:15, and the threat of crankiness looms. I desperately wish I’d had the chance to drink more coffee before spilling it.

Andrea waits at the door as I greet the students entering the classroom. “Good morning, precious. Throw that gum in the garbage. Cute haircut! Nice to see you on time today. Leave your permission slip on my desk. No uniform today? Sweetheart, don’t give me your homework right now; you know I’ll lose it. Wait until I collect everyone’s, please.”
Andrea continues waiting. I can’t tell if she is ignoring the multiplication drill on her desk or really wants to talk to me. Her voice is quiet, and I know I won’t hear her until all the movement dies down. Every conversation with her takes longer than expected, as she addresses me in Spanish, I urge her to repeat it in English, and she searches her brain for the words she desires.

Finally her classmates are seated and working and I turn to Andrea. I’m not impatient, not quite yet, but I can feel irritation creeping up on me. What I want to say is, “Holy cow! What is so important that you cannot sit down and do your multiplication drill while waiting for me?” Instead, I paste a smile on my face and lean down toward the tiny girl. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

I remember that “What’s up?” might not be in her vernacular, so I try again. “Did you need something?”

Shyly, she opens her hand. In her palm is a rock. She has colored it and written my name on it with a permanent marker. It’s a good-sized rock, the kind I’d take away from a student on the yard before it could be used to open an eyebrow or shatter a window. Other than heft, there’s nothing special about it, and I wonder briefly what about the gray stone caught Andrea’s attention. It’s clear that she has put some time into decorating it for me though.

“Thank you so much!” I exclaim. “This is beautiful!” Andrea’s not much of a hugger, so I give her a tiny side-hug and then a high-five.

I expect her to return to her seat. The pace of multiplication problems awaiting her nags at me like an itch. “Andrea,” I start to say, and then I see her outstretched hand again.
This time she is holding a plastic grocery bag, knotted tightly at the top. “My abuelita sent you tamales,” she says timidly.

Now it’s my turn to feel shy. Andrea’s family has so little. Throughout the school year, they’ve bounced from motel room to motel room, unable to rent a permanent home. As Andrea adjusts to a new language and a new school system, her parents cope with a troubled older daughter and a chronically ill toddler. Andrea comes to school neat and clean, although not as consistently as I’d like. Her homework is generally done, and it’s clear that someone at home is helping her learn English. The little I’ve seen of her family leads me to believe they are doing their best under very challenging circumstances.

She stands before me, hands outstretched, waiting for me to accept the tamales. I hesitate, not because I don’t want them – I love tamales – but because I feel guilty. This is a time when “You really shouldn’t have” seems to fit. But her eyes shine so brightly in front of me that I can do nothing but reach down and take the bag, thanking her profusely.

The other students have finished their math page, and I place my hand on Andrea’s shoulder, gently guiding her toward her seat. In the ensuing bustle of taking attendance and collecting homework, I don’t have an opportunity to interact with Andrea much for the rest of the morning.

Every time her eyes meet mine, however, she smiles broadly and so do I. It’s hard to have a bad day when it begins with three tamales and a rock.