On Public Transit

So riding Chicago's Blue Line down to the "Loop" this afternoon I was reminded I have this great love of public transportation. Truly. I can't sing its praises enough. It's cheap; it's easy enough to figure out; it's a wonderful way to see the city. It comes with timetables, more often than not, and maps. With colors.

Busses, trains, subways -- the phenomenon doesn't extend to aircraft, for some reason. Maybe because I hate airports and deplore their general inability to represent their city with more than a Chiles Restaurant and a Hudson News. (Try getting off a flight from Seattle to Atlanta and walking -- in Atlanta! -- right up to a "Seattle's Best Coffee" storefront.) I put up with aircraft for their ability to get me places fast. But if it runs on tracks, Oh my goodness...

The love affair is a collage of moments, from getting off a New York City subway and buying a skirt on the way to visit Fordham's Rose Hill campus, to reading The Brothers Karamazov by early morning light on the LINK intercity route between Wenatchee and Chelan, to eye contact with a stranger on the train out from Paris to Versailles, to a late evening run from Pike Place Public Market to the Sea-Tac airport, laden with used paperbacks from Lamplight Books.

So it was fun to run across this passage, recently, scrawled in my journal: "What I really need is to meet someone who (1) will get as excited at new cities as I do, and (2) will shyly suggest, almost right off, "Do you think...they have a train?"

Pentecost 23 A 2008

Go easy on me, I haven't done this in a while.

23rd Sunday after Pentecost: “A Pharisee and a Herodian Walk into a Bar”

Matthew 22:15-22

A Herodian, seated at a table, posture working through various levels of slouching
A Pharisee, standing, to work off nervous energy, frustration, etc.

Scene: A Pharisee and a Herodian, taking a load off after the intense encounter with Jesus recounted in the Gospel lesson. Neither are in any way drunk: the Herodian is tired, the Pharisee keyed up and frustrated. Table, two chairs, two empty fruit jars.

Lector: A reading from Matthew’s gospel: Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?” But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.” And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this, and whose title?” They answered, “The emperor’s.” Then he said to them, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away.

Herodian: And the question is, where did they go? After they were amazed, and they left him, and went away.

Pharisee: And the answer is --

Herodian: -- might be --

Pharisee: -- could certainly be --

Herodian: -- for our purposes tonight, will be --

Herodian & Pharisee (in unison): A Pharisee and a Herodian walk into a bar.

Herodian: And after a bit --

Beat.

Pharisee: What does that even mean, “the things that are the emperor’s”?

Herodian: Oh, we are not still talking about this…

Pharisee: Where did he -- how did he -- how in the world did he come up with “the things that are the emperor’s”?

Herodian: I’m sure his sole design was to upset you.

Pharisee: And what makes it the emperor’s? Just -- having his image on it? His title? Only we’ve got trunks more of the same coins with the same images stacked away in the Temple from all the money we’ve changed for travelers come to offer sacrifices -- are those the emperor’s too? What have we -- just -- been giving away doves, and pigeons, a-a-a-a-and…for coins that aren’t worth anything because they can’t belong to us? Never even belonged to the people paying us with them?

Beat. Pharisee might be hyperventilating.

Herodian: You need to loosen up.

Pharisee: When have you ever met a Pharisee remotely capable of loosening up?

Herodian: When have you ever met a Herodian remotely capable of giving advice besides, “Loosen up”?

Pharisee (sits): Point taken.

Pharisee and Herodian (together): Cheers.

Herodian: Here. (Fishes out a quarter.) If it makes you feel better, I’m going to take this coin, this “thing that is the emperor’s,” and I’m going to pay our tab with it.

Pharisee: That doesn’t make me feel better!

Herodian (inches an empty glass over to the Pharisee): This will…

Pharisee (up again): How could one simple question lead to such an absolute disaster --

Herodian: First of all, it wasn’t a simple question, it was a loaded question, and second: it was always supposed to engender absolute disaster, just for the Teacher instead of for you, which is how it ended up! (Herodian loses self a little bit in laughter)

Pharisee: Hey, don’t call him a Teacher.

Herodian: Why? You call him a Teacher.

Pharisee: When? When do I call him --

Herodian: You called him a Teacher today, when you asked him about paying taxes to the emperor.

Pharisee: I called him -- Look, whenever I call him a Teacher, I’m being facetious, okay?

Herodian: That’s horrible.

Pharisee: It’s not.

Herodian: It is -- Facetious. That’s awful form.

Pharisee: He’s not a Teacher.

Herodian: Well, for not a Teacher, he can sure make you look like you don’t know very much.

Pharisee (muses): The things that are the emperor’s.

Herodian: What did you expect him to say?

Pharisee (sits, and imparts in confidence): Honestly? I don’t think the man pays his own taxes. I’ve never seen him pay for anything! You see him, eating, all the time, whatever anybody’ll give him -- and often enough with tax collectors, too: they probably turn a blind eye…

Herodian: Give him a hand-out and then turn a blind eye to money he lawfully owes them and the emperor?

Pharisee (emphatically): Yes.

Herodian (sharply): Why do you hate him so much?

Beat.

Herodian: I just said we all lawfully owe and pay taxes to the emperor, and you’re not giving me a hard time.

Pharisee: Well I expect you to say we all lawfully pay taxes, you’re a --

Herodian: I’m a what? Go on, what do you say that I am?

Pharisee: You’re in Herod’s court every day.

Herodian: King Herod.

Pharisee: A puppet king! From a puppet dynasty, by no right of succession, with no right of claim to Judah’s throne -- as foreign and humiliating an imposition from Rome as their taxes to their emperor.

Herodian: Is that what you think? That taxes are a foreign and humiliating imposition? That’s sedition and I should have you arrested for it, right now. I’d have had your Teacher arrested for it, if that’s what he’d said.

Pharisee (slowly): Well, could you not? In front of everybody, I mean…?

Herodian: Oh, but I’m not going to have you arrested -- Why? (Disgusted.) Because you’re my friend.

Pharisee (relieved): I -- well, yeah… (Then, uncomfortably) You need to loosen up.

Herodian: You need to take responsibility for the things that you say, and the awful mess of contradictions that you’ve turned into. Did you even listen to the rest of what he had to say? Your teacher?

Pharisee (confused): Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s.

Herodian (demands): And?

Pharisee (confused): And…

Herodian: And to God the things that are God’s.

Beat.

Pharisee: Well?

Herodian (holding the coin between them): What’s stamped with the image of God? What’s stamped with the image of God?

Pharisee does not reply.

Herodian: Whose image is this, and whose title? Lot of good it does him. You know, you’re exactly what that Teacher said you are, a Hypocrite. Two faces. An actor with a mask. You might have been stamped with the image of God once, but somewhere along the line you grew up. You picked your favorites among the children of men and stuck with them. And I did the same thing, and look at us. A Teacher comes along to remind us we were meant to be more than we turned into -- that we’re created in God’s image, for goodness’ sake, and the first thing we do is try to get him killed. (Beat. Herodian gets up.) Stamped with God’s image. Lot of good it does us.

Herodian flips coin onto the table. Exits.

Pharisee waits; picks up the coin. Puts it back. Exits.

Katie leads physical education. Disaster ensues.

High School students are mostly astute enough that their teacher and I can't get away with communicating over their heads via the spelling out of longer words. So this morning, instead, he scribbled on a post-it note, circled it, followed it up with a question mark, and shoved it into my view: "P.E.?"

My response: a measured, verbal "Sure..."

Within the hour I had secured disks from the Hike Haus and was leading the kids to the tailings for an impromptu go at Holden's Frisbee Golf Course, which is internationally certified, whatever that means. We were crossing the foot bridge over Lower Railroad Creek, and one girl suddenly commented that we should have fencing for phys ed, then promptly screamed.

Apparently, she had gone for a particular stance to illustrate her fencing comment, and instead kicked her Birkenstock right off the bridge.

I peered over the side, and there went the Birkenstock, floating down the river.

Now everybody was screaming, and why shouldn't they be? Two girls tore down to the creekside, including one that was missing a shoe; I tore after them, the others followed... There ensued this properly manic scene where I got as far as I could on a dry patch of river rocks while the shoe floated by just out of reach in the creek's center and I nearly fell in...

Two boys from the class suddenly appeared thirty feet down stream, having gone around and taken the road. Seven girls, including myself, shrieked simultaneously to alert them of their proximity to the shoe. A bit of a search, and much pantomimed shrugging, and we gave all up for lost.

We processed back to the footbridge, the girls and I arriving first. I called a vote, absenting myself and awarding the girl who had lost the shoe a value of three votes, as to whether we would press on to Frisbee Golf or spend our phys ed period hiking down Rail Road Creek, in the direction of the school, to see what we could see. Overwhelmingly they voted to pursue the shoe.

We sought the boys to tell them our decision, and having gained the road, spied them emerging at last and with some measure of struggle from the bushes. One had soaked his trousers up to the knees and slowly held aloft... A dripping wet Birkenstock.

It dissolved into one of those cuddly class-bonding moments that make actual accomplishment of any sort of goal impossible: I looked at my watch, sent them all for hot chocolate, and called it a day.

How the first day of school actually went.

It always happens that you glance over your shoulder once the story ends, and find your memory has been busy -- that the things you hardly noticed the first time through have, while you weren't looking, grown heavy and ponderous with new importance.

I don't know where to begin, except by relating that at one point in the early afternoon, I left the high school class room in silence only to hear nine teenagers burst out laughing as soon as I'd closed the door. Not the best feeling in the world; notice it managed to get left out of the first attempt to plot out the events of the day. Or maybe I should actually introduce the misadventure by revealing that the entire high school at Holden Village rose up and decided to play a prank on me my first day as their Teacher's Aide. But, like so many good pranks, it retained the potential to go horribly awry, and -- as things often play out -- go awry it did.

The terms of the prank were simple. After lunch, the students returned to the room early, checked their e-mail at the computer bank, played some music before it was time to buckle down for a US History lecture -- all normal activities as I understand it now. Only that day, someone had a CD of Sesame Street Songs, and they set it to a track where Cookie Monster sings about leaving his cookie at the disco or some God-awful thing like that, and they set it to Repeat. And waited. What will she do?

So. The things that went wrong.

They hit play too soon, for one. They had to listen to the song six times before I even got there, and couldn't do anything about it because they were so keen on looking nonchalant they didn't want to be anywhere near the CD player once I got to the school. For another, they counted too heavily on the notion that I would need to hear a Sesame Street song more than once to get annoyed. Ah, wrong. So I walk in, note the choice of music, briefly debate about being the "heavy" that takes away their one opportunity to express their individualism, and proceed to tune out the damn cookie song. Effectively.

For half an hour.

The kids don't want to say anything; they're still waiting for their big reaction. Finally I get up to visit the copy room, and on my way out the door, pause, and cast a side long glance at the menacing little boom box still shouting Sesame Street music -- which side long glance I'll have you know they got to doing impressions of later -- and leave the room collapsing in on itself in laughter while someone finally pounces on the CD player and puts them all out of their misery.

Scenes from the First Day of School

Charged with introducing myself to the elementary students, I just told them my name and that I was from Florida. Those are all the facts they need: not where I went to university or what I studied or anything like that. Just Florida. The details spin out from there, how we grew in our back yard orange trees, grapefruit trees, a pineapple plant, bamboo and sabal palms. How it doesn't snow there, not ever, maybe once in fifty or a hundred years, and the Gulf never ices over.

Once they were allowed to talk back, it got interesting.

Small Child Called Ellie (to me): I like your shoes.
Actual Teacher called Steve: You've never told me you liked my shoes.
Ellie: You're not wearing Converse.
(Fact: Steve was wearing sandals with socks. Fact: half the kids were wearing crocs, so if my dress-evaluation had gone for the worse, I was prepared to fire back.)

Another small child called Jordyn announced she was going to seminary. She also asked me about my glasses and why I wore them. Later she put on glasses for math.

The high school teacher stood me outside a room where five of his students were finishing a geography test. One of those good old map tests where you draw in the capitals and everything. He handed me their geography survey book.

Dave: What do you know about Mexico?
Katie: ... A bit.
Dave: Okay. Go on in; when they finish their test, collect it, tell them what you know about Mexico, read these pages together (he showed me) and get them started on the worksheet. Off you go, then.

...Tell them what I know about Mexico?

Recess with the younger kids. Half of them were pirates, half unsuspecting citizens. I was the pet giant that belonged to the unsuspecting citizens. You know the kids are playing because they put on cockney accents -- all of them, down to the pre-schooler who just hangs out with us to learn numbers 0-20 and the sounds letters make.

The next morning I was up at four, reading about Mexico and checking the Pre-Algebra homework and touring the library for resources on the Supreme Court and reminding myself of APA formatting. It's what my high school chemistry teacher used to say about Statistics, that last one: every time I learn it, I think it's about the easiest thing in the world. Every...time.

My first two weeks are going to be a mess. I like it so far.

One Last Shift in the Kitchen

At the end of a long trek back from Milwaukee, I took the slow boat and wearily watched my phone signal die on the way to Field's Point. Safely back in the Village, I wiled away the afternoon working a half shift in the kitchen, as a way to say good-bye. I came here to volunteer for a year, and I lasted a month. Tomorrow I start my new work for the local school district.

They needed a teacher's aide to do Math and Science for Holden Village at the high school level (yes, we've got a school). More than one parent-set of village students approached me making sure I knew about the opening and hoping I would apply, but I didn't need much encouraging. There's a deep-seated masochism to me that sounded its alarm in response to the job posting: "Ooh, haven't used those parts of me in a while. Sounds like fun."

I still have no idea how I got the job. Really. They tell me the interview went well. Couldn't have. I was a complete asshole. Literally. The principal looked at me and asked why I thought I was qualified for the position and I told her I was a genius.

Actually, I used the word polymath.

Here a week later I stood re-baiting the mouse traps in one of our dry storage lockers when one of the high school students stuck his head in to say hello. I couldn't handle saying hello back without snapping my finger in the trap I was handling. Some genius. I swore, and apologized (although, for snapping my finger in a mouse trap, really, worse words could have come out of my mouth). "I won't say things like that when I'm your teacher," I assured him lamely. "Yeah," he said, wandering off, "'cause it's not like Dave ever says anything like that."

He calls his teacher Dave.

I'm still trying to figure out what I've got myself into.