That’s an Eskimo Kiss!

Day 4:
    So, spending the majority of the preceding evening trying to decipher proxy server issues is not a thrilling way to waste one’s time. Neither is fighting a KML coding program to make a google map appear on your blog. This, alas, is how I spent the evening. Between bites of energy bars, swigs of grape kool-aid and the occasional muttered words incanting the degree of my frustration, the hours of five till one a.m. Passed quicker than anticipated. Yesterday night left me drained of my energy and I awoke a shabby husk with all the vigor of a toxified slug.

    This however is the lowest point of my day - the rest was all up hill (in the good way). Breakfast consisted of twenty cups of Folgers coffee. OK, more like five, but the intent was there. I wandered into the special education class and planned out my day. I would be teaching the kids how to cook Chicken Parmesan. The chicken that was pulled last night was still iced over and the bread I had baked in the oven remained in large chunks that required a rolling pin to turn into crumbs. I placed the chicken breasts into a large bowl and poured cold water over them. I let them sit for the next two hours in order that they may thaw.

    I made my way to the front of the school to sit and talk with the secretary and watch the kids come in. She say’s she sits there every day and waits and watches as her nieces and nephews come to school. Today, she is waiting for the baby. After a few minutes discussing the school, village life and the up-coming potluck; a small child bundled in a blue snowsuit, several sizes to large, waddles in the front door. The secretary gets up to greet him and the kindergarten teacher sweeps out of her room glowing with an impish smile.

    “I’m gun’a kiss you! I’m gun’a get’ch you!” Smirks the woman.

    The child turned to face his assailant, and at that moment she swoops in lovingly with both hands and plants several large, loud and wet kisses on the child’s cheeks. The little one recoils with an expression that is common between all cultures that have small children and loving mother figures. She looks up at me as I smile quizzically,

    “That’s what we call Eskimo Kisses!” She grins as a mischievous smile stretches ear to ear.

The White Beast (the truck not me).

    From here I gathered my things and readied myself for a quick trip into town to pick up mail and post flyers around for the school potluck on Monday. Three of us loaded into a small white Isuzu flat-bed. The kind that is basically a hopped up go-cart with a long bed and a fish bowl for a cabin. The small little truck (if you can call it that) sat two in the front and my companion sat on the back. We bounded down the bumpy road for about five miles to town.

  
     Our first stop with city hall. A small clap-board house that was washed gray by howling winds, frost and years of use. The stairs creaked like the bones of the long dead and more four-wheelers made use of the parking area than cars. A tattered flag flew faded and worn from exposure. The edges of the roof were peeled back to reveal the raven plundered insulation. The stop here was not long. Looking around one could see a good deal of the town. Sprawled out into a three road by three road grid. Most everyone had several snow machines parked in the front of their houses. More still were  four-wheelers.

    The village was littered with discarded pop cans and iced over vehicles that died somewhere back in the Eocene. With the drifting snow and the wind picking up pieces of loose detritus it was like walking into an old west town depicted in a spaghetti western. The town was not filthy, it was well worn. The sort of thing that one would expect to be found tucked away behind a mountain many miles from civilization. Old women and their daughters rode the backs of dusty ATVs to the post office and the shiniest part of the village were easily the snow-machines.

Going to the post-office Manokotak style.

    These beasts were of the highest order, gleaming in the morning sun like freshly procured brand name sneakers from Foot-locker. The snow-goes stood in stark contrast to the meager surroundings. A sledneck’s heaven. Every house had them and all appeared to be of the highest operating standard. Our next stop was the local store. A small building that offered pop at expense and housed copious amounts of canned spam, beans and beef-hash.

Price List

    This store too, was exactly what one expected to see in the wilds. Housing a vast array of amenities that were essential for survival but last on the shopping lists of the so called, upper-crust city-dwellers. No cushy tourist destination was this, with hyped up single serving organic toothpastes or turtle caviar. This, this was Alaska and I loved every minute of it.

     Next on our destination was the bus barn and then the post office. We collected packages for the school and made our way home, jostling down the weathered road. Arriving back at the school I had approximately thirty-minutes before I was slated to teach cooking. I head back to the special education room (not all in this class had difficulties) and readied my things. When the kids where ready, I set them to work rolling the bread into crumbs and showed them how to clean up a fatty chicken breast. I walked them through the steps, butterflying the chicken, making the egg wash and then coating it with bread crumbs. I showed them how to fry it and finger test it for doneness, make spaghetti and prepare the broiling pan for finishing. I then showed them how to set plates and garnish the dish so it looked as good as it would taste.

    I don’t think the kids had seen anything like this. They sat in wrapped attention and several of them kept commenting on how good it all looked. When It came time to eat it everyone was satisfied. One student in particular kept going on and on about how delicious the food was. At one point, he even broke out singing a small song about Chicken Parmesan. As it turned out many had never had, “Italian food” before. This has been one of my favorite moments as a teacher, as I never thought I’d get to go to the bush and cook. After that class I was surprised at how many students in the halls asked me if I would cook for them too. Apparently, word of mouth out here travels at ultra-sonic speeds.

Reading with the kids: John-Peter, Jaslin and Shelby

    The last part of the day I read stories to the kindergartners of the same lady who showed me what an Eskimo kisses was. These children melted my heart. The four of them sat on chairs next to me and asked me all kinds of questions. Where was I from? Did I know their last name? Did I know their native name? Did I have a native name? Why not? Was I to old to get one? Was I going to stay? Was I going to be their teacher some day? Where is Fairbanks? What is it like? Did I want to see their muscles? And plenty more questions that I can barely remember.

    We read Madeline, Starfish, I can’t take you anywhere, Were the Wild things Are, and at least three other books I don’t recall. It was a blast. The kids sat practically in my lap. Which to me was funny - personal space is a commodity that has no demand out here. Little kids are such a great refresher from the jaded middle and high school kids I sometimes see. They glow with energy and remind me why I got into this profession. Before school got out, I went to the gym to sit in on third grade free time. The kids flew around the gymnasium flinging balls, screaming, laughing and shooting baskets. There was enough loose energy in this room to power the school if one could prove ingenious enough to harness it.

    I played ball with the kids and one latched on to my arm as I went to shoot. He grinned an a roguish set of missing teeth at me. And I turned sharply to the left. He still refused to let go, so I spun a little and before I knew it the child was elevated from the ground while I pivoted. He held on, and on, and finally let go when I came to a stop, dizzy and highly amused. Then I realize I was surrounded. They sprung at my arms latching and squealing, “Spin me! Spin me!” It was here, that a game was invented and I spent the rest of the gym period spinning third-graders, two at a time, like a helicopter blade.

The Tipping Point

Day 3:

    Today was a little less confusing, in that, I was able to figure out exactly what it was that I needed to be doing. Further, the addition of actual breakfast this morning was nice indeed. It is so much easier to think straight when there is food in your gut. I went to school a little earlier than usual in order that I may speak with the different teachers and set up an exact time for me to do my observations. I found that yesterday was difficult as I wandered around the school like a stray dog. Today, I had a very interesting conversation with one of the middle school teachers concerning testing. Most of this week has been dedicated to preparations for the tests coming next week. He points out that test review is incredibly important out here as one student and one extra point can be the difference between the school making AYP or not.

    It makes sense, with a smaller student body every point counts all the more. I spent the first period in an seventh/eighth grade class preparing to give a media lesson. One that I had on hand for the concept of beauty. I use the Youtube video: Dove Evolution and discuss what it means to be “beautiful.” I wasn’t sure what to expect. As the class period approached, I got all the ends tied up. I decided to do away with the written portion for the ads after the short video in favor of an open air discussion. I started the class with the prompt, “What does it mean to be beautiful.” I was received with blank stares and a single comment. “It means to be pretty.”

    Right away I could tell I was wrangling a completely different animal. As I sat trying to decide the best way to approach it, the classroom teacher butted in. As I would find out, this would become a running trend through the rest of the lesson. I wasn’t concerned about the kids getting it, nor was I uncomfortable, I was trying to make use of wait time. Yet, I found that it continually got filled by the other teacher, often to the distraction of the students. I managed to get the lesson of the ground and got them to start putting concepts together. Then I showed them the video clip.

    They were shocked. I don’t think that any of them had seen anything like it. We again returned to the discussion about beauty. This time I could see that many of them were engaged, even if they were saying little. We started talking about what it means to manipulate an image or an idea. We talked about selling products and I asked them if they had ever had an experience where they bought something and it failed to live up to expectation. There were numerous responses.

    Interestingly, I found that many of my common analogies did not compute. “Does beautiful mean to be like Brad Pit?” was met with confusion and, “Who is Brad Pit?” Talking about makeup and clothing was a little bit different, so I quickly changed gear and began talking about hunting and fishing gear instead. Talking about tackle and the like, this seemed to get me a little further with the class. After I felt as though they had the idea, we returned to the video and began counting/listing the things that were modified on the model. From lights, to make up, to photoshop. They were very surprised and I asked them if any one could be beautiful with this in mind. They got it, "No!" was the resounding answer.

    I changed over to the print ads and began talking about them in turn, it was clear that one of the ad’s promises to turn, “frizzy hair into foxy momma hair” had no connection to the culture or the class. This was a bit awkward to explain. The Marlboro Man ad was a lot easier for them to dig into. As we came to the end of our ads and the place that I would have my other classes write responses, It became clear that I would not get that kind of involvement. So, I simply asked if we should continue, or if they were board. They wanted me to continue.

    So we used google to look up spoof ads for the remaining ten minutes and talk about those. I was happy to see how on task the class was and considerably more animated than when I had began. I concluded the class and thanked the instructor. After this I made my way down to a different class that caters to the special needs kids, which seems a bit of a misnomer out here. Everyone is intensive aid. Everyone needs a differentiated approach. These kids where in the middle of cooking class, and as it turns out, in need of some assistance with fried rice. Being that I have been a chef for a greater part of my life, I fit right in and the teacher capitalized on my experience. I have to admit this was the best lesson I have ever taught. I love cooking and I love teaching could it get any better? The answer is yes - I could be paid.

    I was invited back tomorrow to show the kids another dish. Looking through the meager food stores, I discovered that I could easily short hand - Chicken Parmesan. I'll write about that in tomorrows entry. I spent the rest of the day helping out around the school. Everything from moving boxes to rehanging doors that did not sit plumb. I spent the rest of the day observing the special education class along with stopping in to play with the little kids in fourth and fifth. I also played a few rounds of basketball against gangs of fourth graders - man I suck at that sport.

    The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful. I went for a walk after school out on to the tundra and circled back to the road, I then returned home and made dinner. After this I slunk back to the school to work on odds and ends until around 12:00 am. I managed to find some time to run around the gym and play basket ball during this time as well. Despite the rocky start, this trip is turing into be quite an experience.