Let the reminiscing begin

It's time for a lot of retroactive blogging. Because as of eleven-thirty last night, I'm back in boring old Los Altos, California. But the memories of the past month and a half -- and of this entire strange and wonderful year, really -- are still very much with me, and I'm going to do my best to recap it all. For my own sake, if nothing else.

My last days of school in Martinique, back in April, were emotional. Walking unsuspecting into the stuffy salle à côté to thunderous applause from my students and colleagues; being bombarded by over-energetic CE2s, my littlest ones, who literally piled on top of me in the biggest group hug I've ever been a part of; being showered with hand-drawn cards and heart-melting messages, in French and misspelled English, and lovely presents -- Martiniquan cane sugar and chocolate and spices, incense, a Martinique charm bracelet and matching necklace, a bamboo cylinder for storing pens and pencils. It was all too much. As I left my class of CM1s and CE2s for the last time, they sang to me, "Adieu, foulard, adieu, madras." It's a traditional song sung for people who leave their homes in Martinique to go work in the métropole. Farewell, scarf. Farewell, madras. Farewell, farewell, farewell, the song goes.

I can’t remember the last time anything literally moved me to tears. I didn’t let myself go until I was in private, but I’m not sure I’ve ever cried like that before, simply from emotion. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t even nostalgic or regretful. I certainly didn’t not want to leave. God knows how much I was itching to get to France. I was just extremely, extremely moved. How could little kids be so innocent, so sweet? How is it possible?

I was thinking about this today, about all the children I met in Martinique. I suppose I’ve grown attached to American kids before, too, but never quite like this. Last summer, when I taught gymnastics at Golden Bear, I was working with six- and seven-year-olds – girls even younger than the ones I taught in Martinique – and all I can remember was a tall blonde girl who thought she was fat, and also the drama that ensued when one girl didn’t call another girl her “best friend.” I remember being struck by how young they were to be starting that kind of thing. That was the last impression I had of children before I left for Martinique. So I guess I’d assumed that kids are growing up so fast these days, I’d practically be working with little adults.

But it didn’t quite turn out that way. Though God knows I’ve complained enough about how undisciplined they were and how hard it was to control them, somehow I can’t imagine having the same experience, having the kids be as enthusiastic and as sweet to me as they were, in an American school, or maybe even a French one.

The simpler, almost old-fashioned mode de vie in Martinique lends itself to that kind of attitude from a young age, I think. What’s important there is family, nature, food, relaxing. People aren’t so pressé – what is there to stress out about? – and they also aren’t under so much pressure, the way Americans are, to be exceptional. In looks, brains, whatever. In Martinique it’s okay to be curvy, it’s okay to have poufy hair (and body hair, too, and body odor, for that matter), it’s okay not to wear name-brand clothing and tons of makeup (it would just sweat off anyway). So perhaps it's no wonder the kids were so refreshingly innocent, so energetic and opening and charming. They certainly didn't make it easy to leave my job.

Anyway. My Internet in Los Altos is actually even slower than my Internet in Martinique, so I can't include pictures here just yet. But more tales to come! Including ADVENTURES WITH ALICE WANG!