Monday, October 12, 1998

Off to School

Edward wakes me up around 6: 15 am. We have to leave by 7: 15 am to walk to his school for my first day with students! He acts excited and nervous, and so am I. After all this time, all this preparation, the moment is finally upon me. What would I encounter? How would his principal, staff, and students accept me? I am soon to find out.

I take a cold shower, no time for heating water today. I gasp at how cold the water is! Edward takes pity on me, and brinks me a pail of hot water to rinse off. Now I am an icicle carefully trying to avoid getting burned.

I hurriedly dress, and join Edward and his mother for strong coffee, cabbage-meat rolls, and carrots and beets for breakfast. I think to myself, “Will I get used to eating what I consider ‘dinner fare’ for breakfast? ” My hope for eggs or cereal dies when Edward tells me later on that eggs are too expensive and cereal is virtually non-existent.

The American’s Here!

So we head to school. I decide not to take any of my gifts or lesson plan materials for this first day. As we walk in the early morning chill, it feels like more rain is coming. The pathway to the school is still all muddy and wet. We pass by everything we had seen the evening before, only in reverse. Soon we overtake students walking or standing in groups along the way. They all look at us and talk excitedly over their shoulders. I ask Edward what they are saying, and he replies, “The American is here! ” I tell them “good day” in Ukrainian, one of the few phrases I know.

As we approach the main three-story main building, literally every window is jammed with student and faculty faces mouthing, “The American’s here! ” We climb the front steps, enter the school lobby area, and go first to the teacher’s workroom and coat cupboards. We greet two teachers who are there. I quickly learn to also say “good morning” in Ukrainian, so it looks like my Ukrainian vocabulary lesson is on its way.

We proceed to Edward’s Room #49 on the second floor. The school looks and feels new, because it is. Some students are in the hallway by his door. They appear to me to be in fifth or sixth grade. One is brave and tells me, “Good morning! ” in English. Soon they ask me my name, I ask them theirs, and we all relax with each other. They are almost giddy with excitement. Then I notice I am also the center of attention above on the third floor. There is a large skylight above a plant-lined balcony atrium area three stories tall from the ground floor. Students are looking down through the plants from the floors below and above, giggling.

We go into the room. Edward has eight desks, two chairs per desk. A plastic American flag from a teacher pen pal in Florida is on his front black board. A small TV is in one corner, a sink is in another, and a bookcase in another. Two large windows look out on a wing of the school, and out to the townscape – a mixture of individual dacha-style homes, gardens, and apartment towers. Headphones for foreign language tapes (English and German) are on each table.

Eventually first period starts. His students wait in the hallway until Edward lets them in. They enter and remain standing until told to sit. They also stand if any other adult enters or leaves the room, just like in my boyhood parochial school years in Tucson, Arizona.

I sit in the corner while Edward conducts class. There are fifteen students, and Edward begins teaching them eighth grade English passive voice. I take a look at their grammar book. It is small with compact lessons. They turn in this book daily, and do their homework in a journal. Edward grades each assignment on a scale 0-10 points, or a number grade 1-5, with 5 best.

Impromptu Lesson

The last fifteen minutes of class, Edward provides for me to address the class. I ask for some paper, tear it into quarter sections, and write out this simple sentence: “I read the book” in active voice, each word on a separate paper, and another set of papers with these words: “was”, “by, ” and “me.”

I ask student volunteers to come and stand at the front of the room and hold the slips of papers and make an active voice sentence. They comply and do so successfully. Then I ask another student to rearrange the students and make a passive voice sentence. They are surprised that I ask them to come up front and do this exercise. One of them tells me as she leaves, that they rarely do such an interactive activity, and thought it was fun.

Ten minutes later, the next class arrives and Edward allows me time at the end of class for some Q/A. Most the student questions are about my city, family, and pets. They hear about Phoenix, Arizona, my wife Kathy, my four children, and my dog and fish.

Visit with Principal Kamila

Then there is a break. We go and meet Principal Kamila in her office. Edward acts as translator. I am still not used to thinking slowly and speaking in short sentences so Edward can translate in a reasonable manner. Kamila asks me about my impressions of her school, and about operations and procedures I have so far observed. She also wants to know about my school in Phoenix – size, classes, discipline, budget, etc.

Her comments make it very clear that she considers her school as a flagship school, and she takes great pride in is cleanliness, staff, programs, and academic standards. She is not happy with the current money economic crisis facing her country. Then only have twelve very old first -generation computers, and no Internet yet.

None of the teachers teaches all day long, and because they have no pool of substitute teachers, this allows them to cover for each other if illness strikes, or a personal day is needed. They also do not teach every day. They teach certain courses one, two, or three days a week, and thus offer a greater variety of electives and fine arts classes. For example, only advanced aptitude students take choreography, and many of them move into the professional-type dance group I observed at the concert. They are amazed I teach forty hours a week, five days a week. None of them even comes close to my schedule. Even Kamila and the four assistant principals teach classes; Kamila teaches French to the high school students. I think this is an idea I wish our administrators should mimic. I cannot help but think that the tight money supply is also a major reason they all teach less than I do – they teach less, get less salary, but get to keep their jobs.

She repeats how very proud she is of her new and clean school, with no dirty bathrooms, no marks on desks, and no graffiti anywhere. She wants to know my impression of their curricula which includes choreography, Ukrainian heritage crafts, and special classes called “circles” held after school.

Our overall conversation is a good exchange. I can tell she runs a tight ship. A lot is at stake here. This school gets a lot of foreign visitors like me, mostly because it is the new school with a good reputation, not like the older Soviet-era schools in town.

Tour of School

She then proceeds to take me on a personal tour of all the rooms and special curricula areas. I see two gyms (I tell her my school has none, and she is very surprised!), dance classes, Ukrainian wood crafts, Ukrainian embroidery class, art class, sewing class, various English level classes, a biology lab, a room with old computers without Internet, and the library with no books for check out (only used for text book storage). I vow to myself that when I get back home maybe I can figure out a way to send them some library books.

I notice on my tour that there seems to be a gender difference according to certain subjects and classroom participation. NO girls are in wood shop, NO boys are in embroidery or sewing, but BOTH boys and girls are in choreography. And in almost every class I visit, girls remain mostly silent.

I take note that the girls are more style conscious than the boys. As bad as the economy is, many of the girls still have makeup and platform shoes. Most are well dressed even by US standards.

It is evident that they are strong in academics, but short in supplies and technology. Text books are wafer thin, there is very little paper, and I see no overhead projectors. They are amazed that most of my school rooms have TVs and phones, and that my principal uses the TV each day to speak to the student body. She is also amazed that we have the national anthem and say the pledge daily. She takes notes on everything I say.

Lunch with Lyudmila

Eventually it is time for lunch, and I am escorted to the cafeteria dining hall where I dine along with Lyudmila, one of the assistant principals in charge of concerns. We have no common language, so lunch today and other days becomes a game of pointing to different foods, eating utensils, etc. and naming them in Ukrainian and English. I make a list which I add to each time Lyudmila and I eat together. Today, we have borscht, bread, noodles and beef, coleslaw, tea, and a sweet roll. The meal is HUGE! I can barely finish it all, and I know I am going to be in trouble with Valentina’s dinner later on. Lyudmila is most pleasant and fun company.

After lunch, I visit Edward’s Advanced eighth grade English class. They ask good questions, and I cover the board with information.

Then school ends at 2: 30 pm, and I get to spend some time with Lyudmila in her office looking at scrapbooks from the 1994 grand opening of the school. She shows me First Bell, dancing, First Leaves (first graduation class), class photos, etc. Dignitaries came from all over the oblast, including representatives from Germany and Bulgaria.

Then I get one more grand tour of the school and the after- school circle classes. Parents pay for these special classes. I also watch a basketball contest before Edward tells me it is time to say farewell to Kamila for the day and head back home. I am exhausted! I think I even closed my eyes once during the scrapbook time. Galina, an English teacher and Edward’s closest colleague, was present at the time and noticed how tired I was.

Walk Home after School

We walk back to the flat with a woman math teacher and a friend of Edward. She and Edward went to the same grade school together, School #7. Edward says he plans for me to visit his old school later in my visit (this does not happen, however.) The math teacher knew no English, so I let them visit without interruption from me. I figure Edward is tired from translating anyway. It must be exhausting for him.

I am too absorbed in my own thoughts about the day too. I observe the black birds again as they fly home with approach of sunset. I notice the numerous chickens, roosters, dogs, cats, dairy cows, and goats that are browsing on rain-stimulated grasses. I notice many uniformed military men walking about – some old, some middle-aged, some very young. Almost everyone I pass is smoking. Edward does too, but only on his walks. I observe horse drawn carts and wagons with old car tires. I see babushkas pulling dollies or pulling small wagons. I see just a few bicyclists. Even bikes must be expensive or scarce here – none are new. It seems like 98% of the people in this town walk or ride the buses. They are jammed standing-room-only. They are smaller than city buses in the United States. They are short squat-shaped vehicles, painted in striking peach, pink, and orange colors. The asphalt streets are in disrepair, and are full of water-filled potholes. Shortcut paths cross fields or street intersections and are a string of muddy puddles.

I still have not seen the disk of the sun since I left Kyiv Saturday. It has been overcast and drizzly, so nothing has dried out. At midday today we had a light rain and a cold wind as Galina walked me around the school neighborhood and explained the military situation, socio-economic factors, and showed me the kindergarten complex. She had explained that kindergarten costs like day care, and is for age six. First grade in Ukraine does not start until age seven. I notice as we walk in the cold weather that my right ear is starting to itch and the right side of my throat is feeling soar. I hope my allergies are not already acting up.

The Family Garden

We arrive at the flat around 5: 30 pm. I journal while Edward eats some soup. I tell him I am not hungry due to my large lunch. Around 6: 15 pm he comes and asks me if I want to hike to the garden he and his mother tend. I give an enthusiastic yes.

We leave as twilight approaches, travel beyond the apartment complex about 300 yards, and enter a wooded meadow area. Edward tells me that it was here as a boy he played “cowboys and Indians” from watching US reruns on German stations, and snuck smokes.

We arrive at the garden plot beyond the woods. It is very muddy, but the soil is excellent black loam, with a sandy like texture. This must be the famous soil that makes Ukraine Europe’s Bread Basket!

Edward is justly very proud of their garden plot. They got it for free when the Russian owners left Ukraine to return to Russia after Ukraine independence. He states they got the plot for helping them pack. He goes on to say that many Russian families (in Soviet days three schools out of the ten in the district were Russian only) decided to return to Russia and abandon their property, or let it go cheaply.

Edward points out the row mound planted in beets earlier that day by his mom. The beet seed will germinate next spring. All the other vegetable rows (cabbage, potato, sorrel, carrots, flowers too) are dormant. Huge red flower onion stalks like cattails hang drooping to the ground, having surrendered to the end of their life span and the coming cold weather.

A History Lesson

Because Russia as a topic is now open, Edward mentions a little bit about his life during the Soviet era. He states he went to Russia school, was in the Young Oktoberists, Young Pioneers, and in the Komsomol. He also tells me he served two years of his required Soviet military service in the early 1980s and was stationed near Moscow. He states he did not care much for that city. He tells me that he speaks five languages – Polish from his mother, Russian from the Soviet era, Ukrainian, and the English and German that he teaches. For myself, I am speechless!

He also speaks about the underlying tension that exists in this part of Ukraine – strong sectarianism and nationalism have always been part of Ukraine history, he says. There is Ukrainian vs. Russian, Ukrainian Catholic vs. Polish Catholic, Orthodox vs. Catholic, Czarist pogroms vs. Jews, Ukrainians welcoming Nazis during World War II, democracy vs. communism, among others. Edward tells me the older generation still resents the name change by the Soviets to Novograd-Volynsky. He says that a local brewery still has a beer with the old city name. There is still resentment that Stalin blew up both main churches. There remains fierce knowledge and pride that this AD 700s outpost on a bend in the River Sluch predates Moscow by 700 years!

We leave the garden plot, and head down to the river. It is roaring past, with many waterfalls and rapids. The trees along the banks are almost without their fall foliage. Only the faintest hint of orange graces their boughs. Edward points out the old Soviet hydroelectric plant across from us. It is no longer used.

We follow the meander bend on grass-carpeted slopes, which remind me of the best golf greens in the US. We climb higher on the cliff side until we are about two hundred feet above the river, looking at both sides of the bend. To my left is the path we have traveled. To my right about a half mile, and surprisingly tall, is the bridge we crossed for church Sunday.

Then Edward shows me another of his childhood adventure places – an artillery bunker built as part of the Soviet defense line to protect the bridge from Nazis invasion in the 1940s. It is an angry looking collapsed cave of reinforced concrete and twisted metal shafts. It failed to protect the bridge, and later after taking Kyiv, the Nazis bombed the beautiful Dormition Church.

We pass an orchard at the top of cliff, standing on an old cemetery he remembers as a boy. We swing around behind his apartment building, and he points out my window. I’m finally starting to put my mental map together of the part of town that Edward most frequents.

Big Day Tomorrow!

Once inside we have dinner. It consists of hot tea, cabbage salad, fruit salad, sliced apples, fried squash pancakes, and garbanzo bean-carrot salad. We share more vodka toasts. Then, as always, we finish with wonderful Ukrainian chocolate. After visiting the garden, I am beginning to appreciate just how wonderfully nutritious these meals are. I don’t think I have had any processed food since my arrival.

After dinner I decide to show them my family album so they get some sense of who I am. They point and ask many questions. I decide to let them select a few of the single photos to keep. Edward and his mom pick two each of my four children, twin boys Tim and Matt, Kyle, Claire, and my wife Kathy.

By now it is nearly 8: 00 pm. Edward needs to grade some papers and I need to organize all my gifts into piles to make decisions for tomorrow. This is because Edward has told me that I will be meeting the ENTIRE faculty in the library at 2: 30 pm! So I figure this will be a good time to give his principal something special, and the staff some Arizona postcards, bookmarks, pencils, and a large bag of Halloween candy. And this meeting will be after a day long city auto excursion arranged by Edward. Wow! What a day this is going to be!

I journal until 10: 30 pm and go to bed. So far, I am sleeping through the night. Without heat, the house cools off to maybe 50-55F. I cuddle deep under my comforter, warm up, and fall fast asleep thinking about all the new things I learned today.