Talking Story

I hated having to go to a new school, and the change between Kahului Elementary on Maui and Kamiloiki Elementary on Oahu couldn’t have been more dramatic. At Kahului the kids were only one or two generations from the sugar cane plantation and lived in multi-generational homes. The teachers taught in pidgin, and everyone had one pair of slippahs, period.

At Kamiloki the kids were Japanese or haole from upper-middle class families and never wore the same clothes twice. Most kids were simply marking time in a public elementary on their way to a private intermediate school and had extra tutoring classes on weekends and afternoons to give them an extra edge. No one spoke pidgin, not even the kids, something I didn’t realize until the first parent-teacher conferences when Mrs. Goo, nose in the air, sniffed that I needed to learn standard English; my pidgin was deplorable.

“Excuse me?” said Mom. Since I only spoke standard English to my mother, a haole from the mainland, she was understandably confused.

“I said Lehua does not speak English well. Her constant use of pidgin disrupts the class and the teaching I am doing. We speak English in this school, and Lehua does not.” She sniffed again. She was lucky it wasn’t raining.

“Lehua, would you come here a moment?” she called.

I popped my head into the doorway. “Yes, Mom?” I said.

“Mrs. Goo says you need to speak standard English in class, not pidgin. She seems to think you can’t.”

“Oh. I thought pidgin was for school and English was for home,” I said in perfect non-pidgin accented English. I glanced at Mrs. Goo. She was catching flies, her mouth was so open.

“You need to speak as you are spoken to,” Mom clarified.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing. I think in both, so it’s hard sometimes to remember which I’m speaking. I’ll pay more attention.” I gave Mrs. Goo side eye. Wow, I thought, she going for one fly catching record!

“Thank you. Now wait for me outside,” said Mom. “We’ll discuss this more at home.”

Oh, great, I thought, more drilling with tree/three, sshtreet/street, libarry/library. Shoulda sparked out da rules befoa time. At least I no going get lickins tonight. I hope.

Unfortunately, things haven’t changed all that much since I was in Elementary school. Every school has its own rules and customs and heaven help the kid who can’t figure out which teacher is mean, which likes to joke, and when you can and can’t ask to go to the bathroom.

My kids, Aaron and Cheryl, are both going to new schools this year, moving from a private school to public schools. While I knew there would be differences, I never expected some of the things we’ve discovered.

New School Rules

Cheryl
“My teacher isn’t assigning us cubbies, so every day you use a different one.”
“Why?”
“’Cause there are 30 cubbies and 31 students, so someone isn’t going to get one.”
“So what happens if you don’t get one? Where do you put your stuff?”
“I dunno; I’ve gotten one every day!”

Aaron
“Only 6th grade boys get the swings. You’re supposed to do a cool trick off the swing. If you land it, you get more street cred with the boys. If you biff it, all the girls come fluttering to see if you’re okay. It’s a win-win.”

Cheryl
“My teacher has a thing about walking in the halls. He keeps yelling “space and pace” and “quiet!” We’re supposed to march single file, with our arms folded, hugging the wall and the blue line. It’s like an Olympic sport with him. He wants us to beat the other classes, whatever that means.”

Aaron
“The idea of hot school lunches is more exciting than the real thing.”
“Why’s that?”
“Let’s just say they rank below the Train and Wendy’s, around McDonald’s level. That’s pretty bad.”
“You’re saying you want me to buy more ham and turkey?”
“Please!”

Cheryl
“There’s this kid on the bus who wants to sit by me every day.”
“Oh?”
“She’s only in 1st grade, though.”
“Maybe she wants to sit by you so she can feel like one of the big girls.”
“Uh, I don’t think so. She keeps talking about how it’s a good thing I’m not a stranger. Otherwise, she’d kill me.”
“Find somewhere else to sit.”
“Tell me about it.”

Aaron
“I finally have a locker.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. Only it’s as far away from my class and the band room as possible.”
“Run fast.”
“I can’t. If the security cameras catch me at my locker after school starts or running in the halls, I lose a whole citizenship grade for the semester. Citizenship is 50% of your overall grade in each class.”
“What? What’re you supposed to do with your trumpet if they won’t let you use your locker during the day and you can’t have it in your regular classes?”
“I have no idea. Quit band?”
“Nice try.”

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