Road Trip

I failed to mention that on our trip to Austin, Isabel threw up in the car. 

Not just a little bit.  Not like a hiccup.  Not spit up. THROW UP.  Which includes hurling.  Thus the phrase 'hurling' as a stand in synonym.  Not to be overly descriptive, but I want you to get the picture.  Rolling down 35 to Austin--Jack head-phoned, listening/watching a movie on the DVD player, laughing way too loud at the parts that were probably not really that funny, the guy gets his attention-hogging guffaw from his mother--to do our civic duty at the rally on the steps of the capitol in Austin when I hear this moist splat. 

I look back wildly at Isabel, who's flummoxed, not upset, not crying, just kind of "what is THIS?" silently poised on her not able to form words yet cupid's bow mouth.  "Isabel threw up!" I yell at my husband at if this is not readily apparent.  We screech over to the side of the highway.  As luck would have it, a female police officer is a little ways back tracking speeders, no doubt, and comes quickly to our aid.  (Why is it even when I rationally KNOW I've done nothing wrong, I am still as flop-sweaty by the sight of a police car and/or officer as I was back in college?).  This turns out to be a real blessing--this female cop and her speedy arrival--considering I don't even have a freaking tissue.  Yes, of course I have an ENORMOUS diaper bag littered with chew toys and stuffed animals and straw wrappers and diapers, but somehow I've managed to leave the house without even ONE wet wipe or anything resembling a towel. 

The wind is whipping crazy while cars zoom past and we disrobe my tiny daughter, more than a little annoyed at being stripped on the side of the highway.  I grab the extra outfit I did have the wherewithal to pack, praise God, and the cop comes back from her car with a roll of scratchy but useful paper towels.  We sop up what we can.  She even gets in her car, puts on the lights, and lets us follow her to the next rest top.  We wash a little, but the noon hour, rally start time, is fast approaching.  Not to be deterred, we climb into the KIA once more, looking exceedingly less adorable than when we left the house this morning.  Distinctive upchuck odor a potent reminder to speed, policewomen notwithstanding.  Somehow during this hullabaloo, Jack has continued enjoying his movie. 

When we finally make it to the rally, while Brad parks the car with the baby, I follow behind my 7-year-old boy, who seems utterly clear where he is going.  Careful to say excuse me, holding his "Save Texas Teachers" sign above his head, he marches up past crowds of kids and adults alike clutching similar paraphernalia.  He guides us from the back of the place to the front in about a minute flat until he can see the man who is talking behind the microphone.  Turning back to make sure I am still with him, he reaches his hand for me, pulling me up beside him.  His eyes are shining.

He is my reason for being here ostensibly, the reason this education crisis has a name and a face that has called me to action.  I'm not going to lie. But in another maybe more important way, I am here too for the children whose parents cannot be.  Whether they are working, struggling, maybe on their own taking care of multiple children, maybe survival is the most they can think about.  Maybe standing up for their own rights, rights supposedly awarded everyone in this country, are luxuries they have no time or money to afford.

A well-meaning friend said to me, "Why don't you just move him?"  She meant that there are private schools, maybe not the too expensive top-tier, that we could probably get Jack into.  Maybe, indeed, if these cuts actually make it to the final budget, if Jack is crammed in a classroom with thirty-five kids and one exhausted overwhelmed no matter how exceedingly qualified teacher, maybe we will.  But I want to be part of the public education solution, and that means putting time and faith into a public school.  

"It's complicated," I tell her.  And it is.  These choices are hard, there is not one right answer.  I might screw it up.  But I am afforded a choice.  I am aware this is a luxury.  Spanning the vast city of Dallas, flat wide plains of Texas, great expanse of our entire 'everyone is created equal' United States of America, the number of those who must take their lumps and eat it or starve is staggering.  Is growing. 

Parents and children who simply do not have a choice. 

My Open Letter to the Governor on D Magazine Blog, FrontBurner

http://frontburner.dmagazine.com/2011/03/30/disd-kids-plead-with-governor-not-to-axe-their-teachers/

Posted on March 30th, 2011 12:17pm by Tim Rogers

Filed under Education

A parent named Erin Ryan Burdette, whose child attends Hexter Elementary (”Home of the Rogers Situation”) has penned an open letter to Rick Perry and others, making the case that education spending should not be cut as the state seeks to balance its budget. The open letter is punctuated with remarks from kids who attend the school. After the jump, I present the letter in its entirety.


TO: GOVERNOR PERRY, LT. GOVERNOR DEWHURST, SUPERINTENDENT HINOJOSA, DISD BOARD MEMBERS, EDUCATION SUBCOMMITTEE AND/OR ANY OTHER LEADER IN TEXAS WHO WILL LISTEN.

By Erin Ryan Burdette

Dear Mr. Perry,
Teachers are like family to me. I don’t want them to get fired. Please help the schools in Texas. Don’t you want Texas to have the smartest kids in the USA? –Bryce Wolff, Hexter Elementary

When do citizens become involved at the local level? For this recently rehabilitated clueless Dallasite, it starts right about when the government decides to mess with your children. Then, Mr. Perry, Mr. Hinojosa, district representatives, Senate Education committee, you have an enormous sticky problem, like gum in your hair, and it is just as hard to get rid of. You have unleashed the mother lode, the father lode, in Texas. We are disgusted, disheartened, sickened by the budget you propose to slash funds to our already broken public school system. It doesn’t even matter if we have kids or whether they go to a school that is public or private. We have watched for years the disparity between the haves and the have nots grow, and now you brought kids into it directly, flagrantly. The future of us all.

Dear Mr. Perry,
I’ve heard one thing a lot: we are the future. I don’t understand how you can say that when we might lose our teachers. Without our teachers, we can’t learn. That means there won’t be a future, at least not a very good one. It’s not just for us, or our country, it’s for the future of our world. –David Healey, Travis Elementary, 5th grade

So now we are standing up and doing something about it. Watch while we rise and organize events at our schools, call the news, write our paper, phone senators and legislators, wear purple to support the portion of the pie chart representing teachers, travel to rally in Austin on the steps of the state Capitol building. The message is simple. These are our children. This is their education. We’re not going anywhere.

Dear Rick Perry,
Please stop the cuts. We all need our teachers. What if this happened to you? Take a picture of this happening at our school, hundreds of people here to protest. What does it tell you? You want to be re-elected? Listen to us. –Zoe Wittrock, Hexter Elementary

Hexter Elementary is a DISD neighborhood school, one of those gems within DISD. Not a magnet, just a solid neighborhood school with a dedicated principal and actively involved parents. A couple of weeks ago, our PTA hosted a letter-writing event. We set up tables and chairs with paper and crayons, added anxious kids and parents, and wrote letters to our representatives and legislators demanding a stop to the proposed budget cuts that would decimate education across Texas. The scene spoke volumes. Kids and parents—spanning age, gender, race, creed, socioeconomic status, and party affiliation—banded together by what matters more than the sum of these labels which seemingly divide us.

Dear Sir or Madam,
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if, at this crucial moment in our state’s history, you and your colleagues stood together in support of the state’s teachers by investigating all sources of funding, and stated, by words and especially actions, that you value the education of your youngest citizens? The children of Texas are listening to dinner conversations, newscasts, and discussions in class, and they know that you are basically deciding their future right now. Please vote with your heart to fully fund your public schools. –Chris Reeves, Hexter Elementary parent

Some of us were asleep before—we’re not proud of it—but the spell has been broken and we’re awake now. It’s not so complicated: There are more of us than there are of you. When we band together, we are unstoppable. Look to history. Heck, look to FaceBook. Watch as we connect, person by person, school by school, committee by committee, district by district, rally by rally, demanding justice for our children. We may have never before voted in a school board election, attended a school board meeting, phoned a legislator, put together a letter-writing campaign at our child’s school, but you can bet on it. Now we will. When you attack us where we live—on the backs of our children and the teachers they love to the detriment of everyone’s future—our memories are long. We vote accordingly. Watch us.

THE ACCIDENTAL ACTIVIST

Here we are in Austin, Texas, at our first ever family rally. This is what proposed budget cuts can do to you: suddenly someone who's never cared about anything politics is hurling her children and spouse into the car and speeding to the steps of the capitol building to annoy Rick Perry. I gotta warn you, governor, there are more of us out here. We can all vote.