Educating Esmé by Esmé Raji Codell Page B

took all thirty-one kids outside, just around the square block, to see which trees were deciduous and which were coniferous. I told Ms. Coil that I was going, but she didn’t mention it to anyone. We left from the side door and tried to re-enter from the front door, but it was locked. Mr. Turner happened to be near the door. Wow! He spazzed that we were outside. The liability! etc. He comes goose-stepping over to the door. His face was all crumpled, his forehead in a pulled seam.
    â€œHere comes that faggot,” Vanessa remarked upon seeing his approach.
    â€œDon’t insult faggots,” I countered.
    I got reprimanded but played dumb. Ha-ha! Sky’s the limit, since I bet this will be my only year teaching.
    Today was especially cool. I got my Happy Box back, for one thing. Some kid said he found it in a public park, under a bush. I gave him the five dollar reward. The other teachers said I shouldn’t have given him squat, that he probably took it in the first place. Even if he did, I think he’s learned a valuable lesson about extortion, and that deserves to be rewarded.
    The other fab thing was that the Slick Boys rap group came and did a Just Say No assembly at our school today. They had huge amps and “hoochie girls” rubbing their crotches and oscillating. It was great, of course, but I couldn’t help thinking that school assemblies sure have changed since I was a kid. They did all their hip-hop dancing and blabbing incoherently into the microphones. Music was blaring at a deafening volume, but hey, rock and roll! They brought kids onstage to dance as they performed. I tried to get my kids into it. I was in the aisle, getting kids to clap along and root for them or whatever, when one of the rapper guys brought me by the hand onstage. Wow, the kids went bananas to see a teacher with the Slick Boys.A roar went up, so I totally kicked it and did my
Soul Train
thing like I do at home! My class was laughing so hard, to see me do the “Humpty Dumpty”! Zykrecia shouted, “Madame Esmé got the moves! She got it going on!” and hopped onstage with me. When they saw us enjoying ourselves, a lot of other kids followed. It was my dream come true, I was an R&B pedagogue. I was very happy. The other teachers were kind of shocked, but what the hell! You only live once—in Western culture anyway.
January 8
    I read in Melanie’s journal that her birthday came and went without a cake. She had to remind her mom that it was her birthday. So I got her a cupcake and a candle and gift-wrapped a little purse. I had her wait in the room after school, while I picked up her little sister outside. We had Melanie cover her eyes. When she uncovered them, the candle was lit. We sang “Happy Birthday” to her. She looked moved—kind of a weird thing to see in a ten-year-old—quiet, thoughtful, smiling. She said thank you very nicely,very sincerely. I was glad, because I think she understood that I did it because I care about her.
    The kids are studying about Anne Frank. They ask a lot of questions about the concentration camps, but I don’t tell them in any detail. They seemed to grasp the gravity of the history when I compared the Nazis to the Klan. In their private journals, there is a disproportionate number of references to the Klan, considering we live in the city. Zykrecia even wrote about a dream where the Klan was riding through the streets of her neighborhood on horses, clad in their white sheets. Maybe it’s because some of the kids spent time down South, I don’t know, but when I compared Nazis and white supremacists, an audible groan of recognition went up. I don’t tell them about the gas chambers or cremations. If they want to learn more on their own, they’re sure to unearth the terrible information, and I’ll tell them at the end. But what’s the point of desensitizing them or frightening them with depictions of bodies being