Middle Age 101

I have not been properly prepared. Despite 20 plus years of formal education, some classes were simply absent in the catalog. There are life subjects that they don't teach, discuss or offer a simple warning.

Growing up, school was designed to prepare us for the next stage. Kindergarten taught me to tie my shoes, the ABC's, and sharing which gave me a foundation in which to tackle my primary years. Elementary school established the importance of self-discipline, curiosity, and learning patterns that were imperative for my junior and senior high years. Cognitive learning, sexual and social dynamics and interest inventories in high school guided me toward choosing an institute of higher learning that would finally be the bridge from adolescence to adulthood. College awakened my sense of social justice while providing me an employable skill set.

In high school, I took home economics and typing as those were seen as essential life skills. In college, classes such as "Sex and Marriage" had a waiting list; and an accounting class was included in the university's core curriculum. Now, as I am on the backside of raising my children, three decades of teaching, and the glow of youth, I want to know....where was the class entitled, "Middle Age 101: The Paradigm of Shifting Women's Roles and Wrinkles."

Gender Roles. In my world, holidays don't happen unless mom made them happen. Once, I had a student email me two days after 1st semester finals informing me I was the only professor who had not yet posted grades. I looked at the student's class schedule and saw that I was the only female prof he had. The others were not juggling end of semester obligations with Christmas shopping, cooking and decorating. I am sure that those male professors were going to be just as surprised as my husband at the gifts our family received as they had not purchased nor wrapped one of them. Still I felt inept with a splash of shame as I had disappointed this totally entitled 19 year old. I claim to be a feminist, yet I still tolerated certain roles because I didn't know any differently.

When preparing for my academic sabbatical to work at a New York theatre and collect interviews as part of my book exploring a specific theatrical theory, my administration told me that they hoped that I would take this time to refresh physically. My superiors – in an academic setting - encouraged me to come back looking the "'girl' they hired ten years ago." I wonder if the male profs got this same pep talk? I didn't ask that question then. I should have.

The change. I have heard the whispers and jokes over the years, but what is happening to my body is not funny. Nobody warned me that I have declared war on my boobs. For the last five years, I have embraced the extra cups to the curves; however, they are now invading my back, and this is not OK. My knees have their own soundtrack separate from the party song in my head. Single gray hairs grow like anatomical dandelions. Sleep patterns are irregular, but my hot flashes are so regular that I carry a change of clothes to the grocery store. I'm not convinced trading my period for an internal exclamation point of holy hotness is a fair trade.

Parenting. I've done the best I can. When my son and daughter-in-law were expecting their first child, they demonstrated due diligence in preparing. I don't remembering having such an arsenal of literary support and certainly didn't have access to the 24 doula called Google. I was blessed to have my parents to guide us along the way. They didn't mess me up too bad, so I felt they were a trusted resource. I was ready for the basic illnesses, academic roller coasters, teenage snarkiness and the continual evolution of transportation needs. It was living the paradox of "this hurts me worse than it hurts you" that was more real and raw than expected. A friend once told me, "If you can throw money at it, it isn't really a problem," and that worked as a band-aid quite often. I discovered the capacity of which my heart can truly beat as it is my children who have stretched that muscle with true brokenness and unbridled joy. No one warned me that I could only be as happy as my most unhappy child. These truths are not sold on Amazon.

Friends. It never occurred to me when I made the decision to leave academia, that I would have to leave behind people I loved. As teachers, most of us live education; therefore, our community of friends are found there too. We share the same schedule, educational levels, a love of students, and an understanding of occupational frustrations. I would be amiss to not credit so many of my colleagues/friends over the years for loving me, inspiring me and molding me.

Finding a new group in your 50's is awkward. When I walked into my first classroom as a kindergartener, I was on equal footing. It was the beginning for all of us – we just had to sift through the personalities the old fashioned arenas of recess and sleep-overs. Over the years, this evolved to athletic teams, dormitories, teacher lounges and professional associations. When I finally walked out of a classroom 45 years later, I was surprise how quickly I was the odd kid out. Lunches and Happy Hours promised never made it to the calendar.

I have tried wiggling into a few new circles. Switching churches was even a tactic. However, in the past 4 years, I have only managed a couple friendships that seem to really be as interested in me as I am them. I wish I had a witty anecdote to add to this part of story, but - in truth - this has a dull ache to it that is hard to ignore. I am sure that this exists somewhere in the world, but an Platonic Pals Tinder-esque App would be worth a look. Want to go for a walk and talk politics? Swipe right.

Loss. In the span of two years, my best friend, Julia, moved away, I left my job, my sister, Jennie, moved back to Baltimore, the kids were out of the house and my father died. I was living on the corner of Loss and Lost. All of the places where I found my worth were no longer. Period. They didn’t shift; they were just gone. Yes, the decision to leave the safety of a tenured university position was my choice, but the others happened despite my prayers, pleas and tears.

Mid-life crises. When you hear your mother say to your dying father, “It’s all gone. Everything we planned. Gone,” it does something to your soul. My grandmother always said, “Preacher and Teachers need to move on.” I heard both of these women, loud and clear. It was time for this teacher to go.

It has been six years since I left my job. I am acutely aware of the talk. “How long can she not work?” “She didn’t retire, did she?” “How will she support herself in her old age?” “Service work is not a job.” I even had a lot of people ask me, “So, how are you enjoying retirement?” I worked 26 years in education in the state with the lowest teacher salaries in the nation. I worked the majority of those years in private education, which pays about 20% less that the public sector. Also, I was 49 when I left. The comments balanced between insulting and entertaining

I had given myself three years after leaving full-time employment to find the next chapter. The first year, I focused on reconnecting with people. I visited relatives and former students. I spent lots of time with my mother. I also slept a lot. The Year of Belize was the second year. Establishing more of a presence in the school and the neighborhoods of need was the goal. The third year was trying to find the delicate balance of melding these two worlds. Year four was realizing that year three went by, and that I'm still looking for my worth. I got unstuck in the sand of Belize seven years ago, but when I am “home” I find myself frozen in culture shock. I am ready for the Holy Spirit to guide me to my next “gig.” I was just reminded of that saying, “God doesn’t say ‘no;” instead he says, “not now” or “I have something better.”

Year five was the year of Brittany. Some people bring home shells and rum from Belize, I brought home a piece of my heart that I didn’t even realize was missing. Watching her navigate her new extended family, the literal geography of the city and state, and the dynamics of school have been a lessons in grace. So often, it would be totally understandable for her to just “lay low” or give into bouts of homesickness. Instead, Brittany continued to explore her options and push her boundaries of comfort. She is a daily reminder of how lucky I am to be born where I was and to whom I was. Without even knowing it, Brittany has been a master teacher for me in the lesson of not just living in the moment but appreciating that it is even happening! Every day, when I pick her up from school, we play the same schtick, “How was school today? Good?” “No,” she says deadpan. “I was great!” Every. Day. “It was great!” Frankly, most of her days were riddled with blatant racism and academic roadblocks, but she never lost sight of the opportunities beyond the bridge.

The number one class that I wish had been offered dealt with dealing with the death of a parent. No-one spoke about learning choreography to the song and dance entitled, “Becoming a Parent to Your Parent.” Maybe, it is because it is awkward and involves mostly side and backwards steps. As I attempted to navigate my father during his last years, the key was to let him lead and move at his pace. That was a specialty spin called dignity.

I could outline all the lessons, stories, heartbreaks, fights and humor that happen when you walk with a parent toward Heaven. However, they are mine. My father trusted me with his moments of physical brokenness. He shared uncensored stories. He cried unapologetically. He asked me questions in the middle of the night and fell asleep thinking about my responses. We laughed at the dumbest things. We sat in a lot of silence. We were partners.

This is a lesson as unique as each being. It is unteachable.

Brittany Cornejo – A Love Story

In 2011, I first went to Belize as I felt “stuck” personally, spiritually and professionally. My father was dying, my best friend moved across the country, and I was considering leaving an ever stressful job. A friend, who owned property in Belize, suggested that I go and spend some well deserved “down-time” on the white beaches of Central America.

By the second day, I was playing with children on the beach. They would find me during their lunch hour and after school. After a few days of this, a local man stopped me and said, “I have been watching you. Kids love you.” I thanked him for the compliment and admitted that I was a teacher. He continued, “Do yourself a favor, have those kids take you home.” So, after school that day, I asked them if I could visit their houses. I cannot properly explain the difference between the tourist side of the island of Ambergris Caye and the reality of some of the locals’ living conditions. No electricity nor plumbing is not uncommon. A 14’ x 14’ structure, with only a mattress, is home for too many families. Clapboard houses are built upon garbage dumps. When Trip Advisor named this island the #1 in the world in 2014, they obviously had not taken the short walk across the bridge.

I returned to Belize six weeks later with at team of 19 amazing students from the University of Sioux Falls. Our goal was to build a playground at the school located in this impoverished area. For 10 days, we created an infrastructure in the lagoon behind the school and then hauled sand to be the base for the industrial swing set that we erected. We brought 500 1bs of books and sporting equipment; we tutored, assisted a visiting dentist and simply loved on the children.

During this trip, I acquired a shadow named Brittany. She would not only follow me home every day, there were mornings that she would be sleeping outside my door when I awoke.

Very early, one Sunday morning, I opened my door, and there she was. I was heading to the beach to be greet the day and read. I always have children’s books with me, so I grabbed “Alice in Wonderland” for her. We read in silence for a long time. Then I asked her, “How is that reading level for you?” Frankly, “Alice in Wonderland” is more literally dense than most people remember. Her response and explanation is what first made me fall in love with her. She said, “Oh, Miss Kim, I am a good reader. I have to be if I want to get the job I want someday.”

Considering I am aware of the lack of professional opportunities for locals on the island, I held my breath and asked, “What do you want to be?”

She enthusiastically explained, “I don’t know if you have this television show in the States, but there is a show on our TV, where an old man goes around the world and saves the babies. I want to do this with him.” What this sweet 12 year old girl was describing was the Christian Children’s Fund infomercial. The brutal irony is that she had no idea that she was one of those children. It was then that I told her that if she never missed school and got good grades, someday I would try to bring her to the States for a year.

Brittany did everything in her power to make my promise her reality. Three years later, not only had she excelled in school, she figured out how to apply for a passport and a FI Student Exchange Visa. That May, when I arrived on the island, she was waiting to show me that she had held up her part and was ready to go. Brittany attended school in Sioux Falls during the 2014-15 school year.

Her return to Belize was brutal for all of us. Despite the fact that I would see her on a regular basis during my trips, not having her in my daily life was a heartbreaking. I actually went back to Belize with her as I, with the financial help of former students and family, sponsor numerous children and work at two schools on the island. June is a month where I need to be there in order to organize care-taking (food, supervision, etc for all my “street kids”) once school is out for summer. When Brittany and I went to the high school to register her for fall, they informed us that she would have to retake her junior year. This was a total “bait and switch” on the school’s part. Frankly, she was being punished for her good fortune. No negotiation was entertained.

Upon her return, Brittany was ostracized by classmates. At home, things were also hard.

By Christmas of 2015, I sensed something was wrong as Brittany was not answering texts or emails. When I arrived on the island in February, I discovered that she had not been in school for weeks. She was home helping with her mother’s new cooking business – they were serving lunch out of their house now. I have a good relationship with Britt’s whole family, including her mother, so there were a lot of conversations about the situation. According to her mom, Brittany was not the same when she came back from the states. She never slept and she got extreme headaches. Her mom had taken her to the doctor a couple of times, and they gave her a prescription. It never got filled because her mother had no money to pay for it. There is no mental health counseling on the island. All of the flags pointed to a severe depression.

While I was there in February and March, I got Brittany back into school, and she lived with me. When I left and she went back to her house, it all fell apart - again. She did not finish the year. In June, when I returned, she stayed with me.

When she is with me, Brittany is a girl I in which I fell in love. She is that open, highly communicative, smiling, lovely kid that I met five years ago and they young woman who lived with me in Sioux Falls. At her house, I see her physically shrink.

One morning, at breakfast, I asked her, “Brittany, what happened? How can you go from having so much going for you and attending O’Gorman High School to making chicken, beans and rice everyday?” She did not answer right away. She sat there for a long time as she chose her words.
“I don’t really know how to explain it. I would go to school, and I could hear the teacher talking, but I just got smaller and smaller. Pretty soon, I didn’t even feel myself in the room. I disappeared.” This is when I knew that I had to bring her “home.” It was also one of the most articulate description of depression I have ever heard.

Getting Britt back to Sioux Falls has included more and higher roadblocks than I have ever encountered. Brittany can only come into the States on an I20 status as she is not coming through an agency. There are no agencies in place in Belize, or most Third World Countries. The only schools that have this status near us are Sioux Falls Christian and Freeman Academy. Freeman Academy would have great because of its small size and rural community. Brittany would have bloomed there; however, the tuition and insurance is a total of $17,500. Therefore, Sioux Falls Christian is the more logical choice as she gets to stay home with our family, and is within walking distance to my mother’s.

Throughout this entire journey, SFC – and specifically, Peggy Wahl – have been warm, welcoming and excited about Brittany being a part of their community. Peggy even showed up at the airport at 10:30 pm on Friday with a “Welcome to Sioux Falls Christian” placard! During our initial school tour, everything about it just seemed like the right place for our new family.

Again, since I left my job to follow a life of service, I simply cannot afford the tuition currently due. Because school has already started, no tuition assistance is availble; we will be able to apply for that next year. I am also being deliberate in picking up work to afford her daily needs.

While I was in Belize, I resolved myself to focusing on getting her out of the country, which was ‘gut-wrenching.” There is a lot of Visa, guardianship, legal red tape, and Belizean/American politics, that I am skipping over, but rest assured, that it took a global village to get her back where she belongs.

The money raised will be used specifically for her tuition this school year 2016-17. Sioux Falls’ Christian’s tuition is $10,500. Also, there is a $250 application fee. They require the rental of a Chromebook. Furthermore, all students must have $500 in a food plan and $500 in a discretionary fund. Again, to be clear, our Gofundme campgain is to cover this year’s tuition. We will have a year to budget, save, earn and apply for assistance for next year.

Of course, people have questioned the sensibility of it all, as the finances seem substantial. Truly, I pray for clarity on this issue. Could that money better be spent on numerous children instead of just one child? However, the Holy Spirit keeps whispering to me and pushing me to continue to advocate for Brittany. This one child can – and will – make a difference for her own community someday. She may change the people who take a chance on her. I know she has changed me.


I thank anyone who is taking the time to read our love story. She is my Belizean daughter, and I need to set my pride aside and ask for help. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for any ideas or suggestions you may have. Thank you for considering to be a part of our extended family. I first went to Belize to get “unstuck in the sand.” I never dreamed it would be the children and, especially, Brittany, who would grab my hand and gently guide me to my current life, which is rich with faith and love. 

A Day in My Belizean Life....

It is the Little Things....

 Donut Date With My Girls

 Nardo gets his first school uniform!

 When you are the middle of 9 children, there are days when a little frozen yogurt in necessary!

Your Own Quilt Makes Everything Better

The Mystery of Life and Death According to Me

I try to wear as many hats that fit and live up to any title that may be given to me when I am in Belize - including the less flattering ones. "Persistant mujer gringa" even has a hint of positivity and possibility. However, it is the title of "child whisperer" that tickles me most.

Yesterday, as I walked through town, I was reminded of how much I love this place. I sometimes think that when I am back in South Dakota, I may romanticize my feelings for the island and its people. Nope.  It's real. I am most alive here. The abundance of blue - skies to sea - make me want to physically be better. I eat smartly with an abundance of fruits and fish. I love the sweat that I get exercising in the Caribbean heat. And, as Audrey Hepburn said, "Happy girls are prettiest."  May I dare to say that I feel pretty here.

It is the refection of the people, especially, the children that make me happy. It took me 5 hours to walk 4 miles - it was a little like HyVee before a snowstorm. Administering hugs, admiring growth spurts, and exchanging news takes time. My favorite is when a students says, "Miss Kim!  When did you get home?"

As I walked by the high school, I saw many of my students, who are now freshmen, leaving for the day.  One of my girls was sitting on a dock holding hands with a boy. She saw me and went to wave. Quickly, she decided to turn away knowing that explaining him was not how she wanted to begin her weekend. Braces, inches and a sense of cool had all found their way to my first Holy Cross graduate class.

I do not take for granted the respect and love these kids give me.  It didn't come overnight either. I had to earn the right to be part of their lives.  There is a lot to be said for showing up on a regular basis. I am reminded of an experience that happened to me last May.

Because I always have children with me - holding my hand, asking to carry my bag, on the back or basket of my bike - many adults think I am either a child psychologist or some type of social worker. Belize has its issues like any other country or community. A feeling of abandonment is palpable with some children. A lack of respectable father figures combined with less than superior health care creates some of the void, Also, it is not uncommon for a parent - mother or father - to leave a child behind in order to make a living elsewhere.  Then, there are senseless acts.

Tristen is a the 5 year old son of a friend of mine on the island. He comes from a wonderful and loving family of present men and strong women.  In May, his uncle and Godfather was shot and killed by a random thug in the middle of town. As with any family, it tore them to pieces.  This family reminds me a lot of my own.  We don't miss each other's events. Weekend get togethers are probable.  In short, this entire extended family is tight.

Tristen's mother asked me to talk to him. He had been unconsolable since the shooting, and she thinks it would help if I spend some time with him.

Ummm....what? She knows that I am just a teacher - 26 years of high schoolers and university students doesn't amount to any sort of degree in analysis. This is the second time she has done this.  The first was when she plopped a 9 year old on me whose father had died the night before (she did not know that my own father had died just one month earlier). Ethan, that boy, taught me more about grace than any words I could think of to console his heart. Knowing that I probably had something to learn here again, I reluctantly agreed.

Tristen was angry. Some of it - I am sure - was mirroring the mourning of his relatives. They were vocal in asking for justice and calling out those who witnessed the act and didn't react. It turned out, that a lot off Tristen's anger was pure fear of the unknown.

I had his mother and him meet me at the beach. She said, "Spend time with Miss Kim today.  She is a nice lady with boys too," before jumping in her cart and burning sand.

First of all, I hate the word "nice." Nice is not going to answer this boy's questions or reason him into happiness. Secondly, I may have raised boys, but that, by no means, makes me any sort of expert.  Ask my sons, they will tell you that growing up with me was a daily lesson in foibles and faith.

Tristen and I splashed around a bit until I finally said, "I am sorry about your uncle." He responded stoically, "They killed him."  Yeah. Sigh. Where do you go from there?  I decided to forgo the obvious and just dive right in to one the most difficult of subject for any human.

I asked, "Where is Jeffery now?" He looked at me like I was the dumbest American he had ever met. "He was dead in the street and now he is in the ground." Fair enough.

At that moment, I realized that I had a few Magic Sponge Capsules rolling around in the bottom of my backpack. I bring a lot of these little toys as they are super small and easy to tote, and the kids seem to dig them. This toy looks like a large pill. When you place it in the water, the hard plastic shell dissolves and a small sponge character emerges - they are anything from safari animals to dinosaurs. You never know what you are going to get.

I took one out and explained that Jeffery is like the Magic Capsule.  Our bodies - head, torso, hands, and skin - are just the shell of the person, and yes, in the ground we don't see that anymore. However, there is a surprise - his spirit - that is stronger than the shell, and it will emerge. The spirit is so big and mysterious that it and can stay with us in our hearts and go to heaven. I had no idea where I was going with this. I just trusted that the Holy Spirit had a plan.

I said, "Let's see if it works!" We took the toy and buried it in the sand close enough to the water so that the tide was hitting is softly.  We found a stick and marked it just like a tombstone.  Then we just sat there on the beach watching the stick. I was mentally preparing for having to perform my best Mary Magdalene impersonation when we go to find the little creature later and discover that an under tide had moved it. I certainly was not holding my breath waiting for any angel to show up and give me hand.

As we sat there on the dock, watching, with our feet in the water, I should expected his next question. "What is a spirit?"

Oh, Norman Greenbaum, where art thou? Google it.

I continued blindly, "Tristen, what is your very favorite fish in the ocean?"

"The shark," he stated as confidently as if I had asked him his name. He went on to tell me everything - and I mean everything - he knew about sharks. The kid was a Belizean encyclopedia. I, personally, am a stingray girl, but I respect a 5 year old's right to chose.

What came out of my mouth next, would make any theologian cringe, "Only part of your heart stops working when you die. That part that moves your blood around so you can be alive with your family.  The other part of your heart lives forever in Heaven with God.  So, all the love that Jeffery has for you and his family, all the funny stories he told you, and even all the things you did with him stay alive in his heart."

That sounded pretty good, but could I leave it at that?  Oh, no.  I just kept talking, "and every time you see a shark, they are there to remind you of all those things.  Jeffery is like the biggest shark you have ever seen. He gets to float with the beauty of God, like a shark floats in the beautiful sea. He never has to worry, or feel sad, or get angry or be frightened because he is a shark."

Yep. That is the mystery of life and death according to Kim Bartling. You are welcome, and I am sorry.

I knew I was out of material so suggested we check on the "spirit capsule."  The toy had shifted, just like my shaky spiritual explanation.

As always, the Holy Spirit did have my back.  True to its promise on the back of the Magic Sponge Capsule package the shell had disappeared. What was let loose was a bright yellow sponge shark.

Europeans Coming - Belizeans Going

It's Not What You Know; It's Who You Know.

(This is dedicated to every student I have ever taught.  If nothing, I hope I introduced you to the importance of networking, being kind, taking risks and a lifetime love of learning).

Name dropping. It has always been a delicate balance between wanting to share what you know and where you have been and the Midwest sensibility of no one really cares.

A year before I quit my life where I worked under others, one of my superiors called me to his office. He wanted me to know that "many" of my colleagues were tired of hearing about my friendships with political individuals such as the mayor and governor. I have to say that I did appreciate his choice of the simple adjective pronoun "many" during this occasion.  In the past, when he found something on which to reprimand me, he was typically fond of using the phrase, "a parade of people have voiced a concern," when - in fact - it was a disgruntled freshmen girl who - for someone reason - he gave audience.

Here is what happened. I had been asked by The Good Shepherd Center of Sioux Falls to give the address for their spring luncheon. As a non-profit that focuses on the homeless community, they wanted me to share my story of Valerie, the "baglady" I befriended in NYC and relocated to South Dakota.  It was to be a brief 20 minute presentation and - I thought - in a private environment with their board of directors. When I arrived, I discovered that is was a much larger event. All three television stations were there, the audience included over 150 people and the Governor of South Dakota was going to introduce me. As a professional public speaker today, I learned my lesson on not doing better research on my engagements.

I excused myself, stepped out, made some quick edits and prayed for support. Here's the revised opening, "Greetings and thank you for having me here today.  I must confess that I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. Last Friday, I was honored to have written and co-hosted the Sioux Falls Night of the Arts program with our fine mayor. Today, the governor is my warm-up man.  I am totally expecting to return to my office and have a voice message from President Obama asking what my calendar looks like next Friday."  It got a laugh.

That afternoon, at rehearsal, I shared my miscalculation and response to my small cast.  Again, it got a laugh. I never repeated it. On Monday, I was called into the office; "many" had complained about my bragging of knowing the mayor and the governor. I was assured that nobody cares who I know. Evidently, one of my students thought my story was funny enough to share. Another professor overheard it and beelined to administration. She became "many."

Over the years and as a theatre director and woman on faith, I have traveled to many places to learn and grow as an academic. Upon returning from a university sabbatical, I begged to present a colloquium on my discoveries while working in the New York theatre scene. It never happened.  When the mission group of 19 university students - that I led - returned from Belize, we asked to present on how God moved our feet, hands and hearts. It never happened.

The calendar was never open to this storyteller. Some may say that I talk too much and giving me a platform to do so, just encourages my enthusiasm and makes others uncomfortable. I hope that this oppressive attitude made me a better teacher and advisor. When students would return from a semester abroad or from studying at the film institute or from their concert trip to Italy, etc, I invited them to present to their peers. Their travels and tales inspired us all and fanned the flame of wanting to see more, do more, know more.

My father never wanted to hear about my trips or work in places like New York or Belize either. I believe it was because if he affirmed the stories, it made those places real. If they were real, I may move there. This was his unspoken fear.  He just wanted me near. This I understood. However, why others chose to rain on the parade of one's adventures instead celebrating their experiences is something I will never understand.

My first teaching job was in Arlington, South Dakota - population under 1,000. I taught sophomore - senior English and speech.  I was the oral interp coach, the one act play and musical director and the cheerleading coach. I applied for the job hoping to be the basketball, cross-country, or track coach, but upon learning I had seen a play, they changed my obligations.  Lowell Gilbertson, the principal, was tough. He was hard on this me and the entire young faculty that he assembled in the late 80's.

My second year, I was frustrated with my lack of experience with play direction, so I applied for a couple of days off to attend a one-act play festival at a nearby college. He denied the request. I was quite upset. I said,"You just want to keep me stupid so I stay here forever!" I felt terrible afterwards as I loved teaching in that little town; I didn't mean to show disrespect to the community, students or him. In fact, I still believe all teachers should begin in a small school because you must learn how to do it all!  That rural school taught me what teaching should look like.

Years later at a college basketball game, I ran into Lowell, Principal Gilbertson, at the "confession stand" as my children always called it. I could not hug him hard enough. His initial tough love lessons could be found in every one of my classrooms since leaving his small school. He reminded me of the day I was so angry and (as he remembered it) stormed his office. Through our laughter, I apologized. He responded, "There is no need.  You were absolutely right. You were hungry for knowledge, and I knew we were going to lose you. I have watched you all these years, and that hunger has served you and your students well. It has been a joy to watch your journey."  At his memorial - for a death that came way too early - I reminded us all that he had a great gift to create educational leaders. Of that young faculty in the late 1980's of approximately 15 people, many of us went on to be college professors and educational administrators. We have Lowell Gilbertson to thank.

Today, as I am on another trip with my sister, I am reminded about how much I love to learn. Specifically, as I write this, I am am on the corner of Chartes and Toulouse in New Orleans' French Quarter enjoying a cup of corn and crab chowder watching the world go by from a upstairs veranda. Just down Toulouse is Hotel Maison de Ville, where Tennessee William's finished "A Streetcar Named Desire" in his favorite Room #9.

My dad always said that I would be happiest if I could figure out a way to have someone pay me to go to school the rest of my life.  Simply, I am most productive as a teacher and artist when I am learning. In history, a patron of the arts was one paid by royalty for their creation of art. A poet, playwright, or musician could "do their thing" all day being subsidized by the court as long as the art itself was dedicated to the royal individual. Let's bring that relationship back. Hey Sanford Health Systems, Citibank or Vern Eide Motors, looking for an artist in residence?  I know a girl.....

So, here I am in New Orleans soaking in the sounds of blues and jazz and the spirits of historical ghosts, and feeling the need to finally purge my stories of elbow rubbing, amazing teachers/mentors, lovefests, and totally true tales. The following names won't be recognizable to everyone; but whether you are a television junkie, movie buff, music enthusiast, theatre geek, sports fan or book lover, there will be at least one name you recognize.  Some of my stories are brief encounters and others are friendships that last to this day; most are pretty funny.  All of them have had a hand in molding all of the "me's" but especially me as a teacher.

However, remember, these are my truths. After reading one of my stories about growing up in his house, my father made a grunt and said, "Well, if that is the way you remember it...." before he walked away. This is the way I remember it.

Michele Pawk
Neil LaBute
Raul Esparza
Mel Brooks
Tom Stoppard
John Stewart
Edward Albee
Idina Menzel
Kevin Spacey
Slava Dolgatchev
Mario Fratti
Rachel Maddow
Steve Buschemi
John Malkavich
Branford Marsallius
Alan Cumming
Robert Cohen
Arthur Miller
Gabby Sibode
Liza Minnelli
Mike Nichols
Julie Taymour
Woody Harrelson
Kathleen Chalfant
Anne Bogart
Sutton Foster
James Earl Jones
Phillips Seymour Hoffman
Joan Jett
Dick Cavett
Tony Danza
Tom Brokow
Sam Rockwell
Douglas Hughes
Lou Diamond Phillips
Jane Fonda
Eve Ensler
Roger Ebert
Aidan Quinn
Cherry Jones
Seann William Scott
Chris Noth
Laura Linney
Emily Mann
Paula Vogel
Romulus Linney
Terrence McNalley
Alphonso Soriano
Joe Torre
Tracy Scott Wilson
Tracey Letts
Lee Blessing
Deborah Copaken Kogan
Amy Bloom
Ed Helms
Christopher Durang
Joyce Carol Oats
Gabriel Barre
Paulie Shore
Michael McGowan
Jarrod Emick
The women of "The View."
Many who are regulars on Law and Order including Bruce McVittie, Lucy Martin and JoAnn Merlin

I am currently proud to be watching a couple from the cast of Wapato - the show I assistant directed in New York that are shining on Orange is the New Black - Kaipo Swabb and Dale Soules

If you are reading this and remember one that this middle aged brain has forgotten, please remind me. I am also hopeful that the list will grow as I will never be done traveling and learning.

Three Generations of Mother's Having Their Day

Home Sweet Home

After the heartbreak of discovering that the family had been deceived so horribly, I woke up Sunday and decided God and I needed to regroup. I attend Sagebrush Church on the island and so many of my dear friends and female prayer warriors are at the core of this parish. Kara, Lydia, Elvi, Merla, and Sabrina (and their families) are my confidants, my cheerleaders,  my supporters and my inspiration. Not only were these women vigilant in reassuring me that they were ready to actively support me, the service's message was amazing. It was exactly the words I needed to hear.

The rest of the day I spent in and on the water. I was baptized Presbyterian. I have been an active congregant of the Lutheran denomination since I was 10. Twenty-two of my 26  years of teaching were in Christian education (love those Catholics and Baptists).  I have used the phrase, "It's a God thing" most of my life to define the people, situations and even art that I have been blessed to be in the cross hairs. However, it has always been on, in, under and around water where I feel God the most. From my childhood summers on Ottertail Lake, to my friend Janell's Lake Herman Cabin to the Caribbean Sea, my Christian spirit has always been strongest and happiest with water. Sunday I  - literally - needed the hope of baptism in that beautiful, blue ocean.

Snorkeling is my quiet time with God. For over 3 hours, I heard only my deliberate breath, rhythmically move me from one God thing (an eagle ray) to another (an almost transparent jelly fish). A nurse shark developed a curiosity (or as I would like to think - a crush) and followed me most of the afternoon. A trigger fish, an angel fish over a foot high and an entire school of squid were just three of my new discoveries on this dive. However, it was the light of the Belizean afternoon that really spoke to me. There was the strong western light that permeated the turquoise, and - inexplicably - another strong eastern light piercing the water.  I was being told to "just keep swimming" through this crucifix of light.  Like a water kaleidoscope or a maritime stained glass window, this light was a crucible of prayer and the silent power of God.

I have always known that I need water to be healthy, happy and creative. Now I know I need it to breathe life.

When I woke up on Monday morning, I warned the Devil that he should be thinking, "Crap, she is up." I was a blonde with a mission and a plan.

For the next part, I am going to make the long story as short as possible. I rode my bike all over the DFC neighborhood (the area close to the kid's school). I found a few - very small spaces - that would be a healthier option to my family's current situation.

Just to make it clear, my family of 6 was living in a 14 x 8 feet room built on garbage and feces. They have lived there for 8 years. There is no bathroom but instead a bucket. They share an outdoor shower with all the others on the "compound." There is a lot more detail of these women, their families, their plight and their environment.  If you ever want the whole picture, please ask me. They have been cared for by an old Belizean fisherman, who is the patriarch of one of the oldestand wonderful families on the island.  He truly cares for these women and their children. Unfortunately, the area also draws deviation on every level,

Back in DFC, I found a couple of options. From there, my superhero friend Cara loaned me her cart. Esperanza (the mom) and I picked up another friend of mine Merla and headed to down. Merla was a great addition. Not only could she translate, but she could address Esperanza as another Belizian mom.  I had given her prompts about our roles as mothers - we do what we must do to make sure our children are healthy, happy and safe.  However, after living in the same place so for many years and not having to worry about paying for housing and food because of her physical commitment, Esperanza was scared.

She decided on a rat trap. I negotiated the price based on the fact that 30 hours from that moment, the space would be totally cleaned and refurbished, and I would pay cash for the first 2 months.

The next morning, Esperanza went to court to confirm the restraining order against the father of her youngest child (we started that process the week before), and I went to work. I showed up at the house with a gallon of paint, a bucket, a hammer,  Ajax and the will to work. Around 9 am, a local man showed up at the house on his motorcycle. Kyle and Cara had sent him (and another employee) to help me for the day - their wages had been paid. It's was a God thing.

In 50 years of life, I have never worked physically harder. While the guys built a new porch, I rid "the yard" of years of garbage. Old, soiled diapers, bags full of food, and broken bottles were just some of the the things I could identify.  We could hear the rats and patched over 50 holes in the walls. The dirt/spider webs hung from the ceiling like Tim Burton movie vines. The bathroom required an acid wash in which I had to wear goggles and a breathing apparatus.

Then, we painted.  After Esperanza bravely attended court to activate the restraining order, she came to her new home.  She was a trooper. We painted and painted and painted.

Around 8 pm, their items from the compound showed up in a truck. My sweet, 14 year old Erick directed the entire move from the other end.  I don't know what you were all doing at 14, but I was not even curling my own hair in the morning. They didn't have much other than some clothes, a small stove, a dorm fridge and a some bike parts.

Around 10 pm, we began laying the new floor.  The children were exhausted. One by one, they took a shower in their first ever bathroom. In the chaos of luggage, they found pjs. For the second time that day, I fought back tears.

The first? When the kids got out of school, they were instructed by Principal Migel to go to their "new house."  I would lie if I said the children coming home was helpful.  They just wanted to explore and play.

I was taking a break and sitting on a log in the yard, drinking another liter of water. Eight year old Moises had just scouted out the work on the house. Without a word, he plopped down next to me on the log. There we sat, looking at the garbage free yard and new porch.  The smell of paint, bleach and acid oozed from the front door. He then stood up, looked at me and kissed me on the cheek. He sat back down  - a little closer - and put his hand on my leg. We just sat there holding hands silently for a long, lovely time. I don't know who loves who more. His ability to say thank you - without one word - was truer than I have ever experienced.

Other amazing moments - Principal Migel stopped by the house on his way home from school to congratulate the family on their beautiful new home (that is a great educator). Some of my friends on the island sent a table, rugs, bed sheets, curtains and even art to make the house a home.  The laughter Esperanza and I shared throughout the day as we cleaned and painted - she with no English and me with no Spanish - was rich. Miss Elvi stopped by to welcome this new family to her neighborhood - meeting an treating Esperanza like any other working mother of the 21st Century; it was a lesson in grace.

When I left around 11:30 pm, this family had a home. I rode my bike slowly back to town with my hammer and bucket. A shower had never felt better. The prayers on my pillow morphed from "Help Me" to "Thank You."  I will never clean the blue paint off my flip flops, as it is the color of new beginnings.

My flight the next morning was a 9 am. I rode my bike back down to their new home around 7:30. I do have this on video and hope to share it soon, but when the door opened, Nardo jumped on me yelling, "Miss Kim!" like he had not seen me in years. Moises said simply, "It's so pretty." They were dressed in their school uniforms and ready to walk the 3 blocks to school. All were well rested and safe.

There is a God, a Father and a Holy Spirit. Frankly, they all exhaust me, but in the most amazing way.  If you have not had a conversation with one of them lately, you just need to listen.  I promise, they have something to say to you that will change your life.

If you would like to know what you can do to help this family or any of the other children that I work with in Belize, I am not shy to tell you how. My cell is 376-8440 and my email is Kim.creativeconsulting@gmail.com.

Too Many Streets Smarts is Not a Good Thing

I have seen Christian selling jewelry on the beach the last 3 years. He is the man of a family and primary money maker as he is the "face" of their jewelry selling business. I have observed his grandma, mom and aunt wait for him at his school at noon in order to make him work the beach during his lunch hour.  Since arriving on the island, he has a new "pitch." He has memorized, "Hey, sexy lady would you like to buy some jewelry? A beach sandal will make your foot look sexy." It is by rote, and more than disturbing coming out of a 7 year old's mouth.

The 3rd time he approached me and recited his spiel, I was done. I made him sit down and told him that the tourists do not want to hear "Sexy Lady."  Instead, I told him that if he just said, "Hi, my name is Christian, and I am 7 would you like to buy some of my jewelry?" people would be more apt to buy his wares. I know I cannot stop his families' exploitation, but I will do my best to stop the tourists'.  Next, I had his mother and grandmother sit with me, and I tried to explain the same thing to them. They assured me that most women found it "cute." My last tactic was to threaten contacting the authorities   if it continued. It was said more to scare Christian as the women in his life are beyond teaching ethical practices.

Please keep little Christian in your thoughts and prayers. He is a sweet, little boy. All children should be allowed to be just that - children.

Red, Yellow, Black and White; They are Precious in His Sight

"Jesus loves the little children, all the little children of the world. Red, yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world."

The Seventh Day Adventist 11 am service was just beginning, and these were the words spilling out their open doors onto the beach. I have now been singing it for an hour as I stroll the white sand and take in the sun that has been missing all week on the island.

Earlier this morning, I had to grab a taxi to help haul my laundry into town.  I enjoy my time with the local taxi drivers. Each ride provides a story. Historical Belizean facts, political tirades, and radio sing-a-longs have been at the most informative and at the least entertaining. However, it doesn't seem to matter if I am going 5 or 15 minutes, I always get their story. Many times, their wives are riding along, but rarely do they offer extra commentary.

In the last 24 hours. I have had to take a taxi 3 times. I learned the history of the student $1 cab fair. The taxi drivers are all committed to picking students up who are walking far north and south of San Pedro town to their perspective schools and cannot ask for any more than $1 (.50 us). I won't offer all the details, but this particular driver was very proud of his involvement in making this service a reality for "all the little children of world."

Driver Horatio and his wife were quite curious about me. It seems they have seen me numerous times with a variety of children "red, yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight." When I asked them if they had children, Horatio responded, "No, but we would love one. Do want to give us one of your's?"  He was teasing, but the sadness in his voice real. He then reached over and touched his wife's hand. This couple was beyond its years in the hope for children. The fact that some have more than they can care for and other's ask for so little is an universal unfairness. I assured him that the children that they see with me are claimed and loved locally, but that my 23 year old son in the States was up for grabs. They smiled politely at this old joke.

Dionicio is a taxi driver who has been working on the island for 14  years. He has three children (the oldest is a freshman in high school) who all live on the mainland with his mother. He told me that they had spent their Christmas vacation on Ambergris Caye, and it was difficult to send them back. However, it is too expensive to live and go to school here. Then, with a little chuckle added, "I need to find them a new mom, before I could move them here."

I asked where their mother was. She left years ago and has a new life in the north corner of the country. We drove about a minute before the feminist in me went out the van window. I confessed, "I don't know - as a mother - how I could just leave 3 of my children to begin a whole new life." Dionisio just said, "I don't ever say anything bad about her. It is difficult enough for them to not have her in their lives. I does no good if I say vexed things about her." He went on to say, that as parents we have the responsibility to look at all the good so to teach our children to do the same. Also, we must do whatever possible to provide God, love and security in their lives. "Jesus loves the little children of the world."

Ode to Eva

Eva Mary Bartling entered the world at 1:30 am on 1/4/14 at Avera McKennan Hospital. She was 5 lbs 14 oz. I missed it.

The night was a telephone blur. My sister. My son. Tears. My Mom. Tears. My Sister again. I started packing. Tears. Mary Bunkers. Dick. Tears. The baby is born. Tyler can only say, "She is so cute and so small" over and over. Katie. She is the first to call me, "Grandma." I say, "Kate, you promised me that you wouldn't have her early."  Tears. 

Five days later, I am resolved to stay in Belize until my 23rd departure date.  I have been told again and again, "Those babies there need you too. Eva will be waiting to be loved on upon your return." This is true but hard. I rarely miss major family events. I have never not been on the sideline of my son's milestones. I missed this. 

My sister appealed to my Schetnan sensibilities. "This will be a great story to tell her, and we Schetnan's love a good story." This is true. Her birth will always be told with a level of urgency and fear - love and relief....and Grandma Bartling was in Belize.

The reality is that Eva will always know - from day one - a true fact. Grandma Kim is rarely home.  Great Grandpa Syl would have been so proud of Eva's birth and so mad at Grandma Kim. "Raised 2 daughters with wheels on their feet and wings on their asses. This time it cost her."  I can hear his voice in my ear. 

It is true.  I will never be able to tell Eva what she looked like at an hour, a day, or a week. I ache knowing I lost two weeks of rocking her in NICU.  I could be sending my own pics to family and friends instead of relying of pics being sent to me via texts and FB. I long to hear her noises and smell her scalp.

Instead, I hear the changed voice of my son. On Sunday he said, "Mom, I don't know how to explain it, but I am different."  He didn't need to tell  me that. I could hear it. The rate and pitch of his voice was familiar but new. He spoke to me not as my son, but as Eva's father. "I know I am partial, but she is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen." I have spoken to him daily and our conversations have never been richer - full of real words and articulated emotions.

Since Eva's birth, I have hugged more children then I can count. I've taught spelling and reading. I've checked homework.  Uniform shopping has been done. A couple of kids have hopped on my bike and rode to school with me.  I've cuddled, taught dance, learned a new "knock knock" joke and ran interference between angry parents and their spirited child. I am just honing my grandma skills as these are all things I expect to do with Eva. 

I hope she will always have a heart of grace for her grandma who is always late.  I promise to eventually show up, twirling a baton and singing the newest Top 40 song.  I promise to take her to get her first passport. I promise to love her unconditionally as I show her the real conditions in the rest of the world. I promise to be her confidant, her librarian, her stylist and her devil's advocate.

Like my children in Belize, I know that she will change me more that I could ever offer her. I am - humbly - Eva Mary's grandma. 

Miss Kim

"Miss Kim" could be two of my favorite words strung together. Since arriving on the island, it has been the melody to which I have walked and biked. Since the kids are on holiday break, they are around every corner and upon getting a glimpse of me, shout, "Miss Kim!"

The first of "my kids" I eye-spy was Ivo. He was across town from his home in a kiosk buying a piece of candy. Before he owned his embarrassment, he hugged me. We fall into our normal pattern as we walk San Pedro Town to home. No one at his house knew where he had been. This barefoot and filthy 9 year old boy, is the epitome of "street kid."

On New Year's, it was a chorus of "Miss Kim's" as my Holy Cross students see me across Central Park. The girls look so grown up in their celebration clothes.  The boys are awkward with their pimped-up bicycles and pimples. I don't want to wish the years away, but I wonder what it will look like ten years from now, when they have their own families and - hopefully - careers.

Unfortunately, there are those moments where being "Miss Kim" is just...hard. Today, on the second day of school, I again saw Ivo in the street. Yesterday, I made him walk me back to his home when I found him running the streets and not in school.  He told me - and his father confirmed - that he did not attend the first day as his uniform was not clean. I don't like being "Miss Kim" the teacher/disciplinarian/truant officer to parents. Today, I made the difficult decision to no longer finance Ivo's education. I have never given up on a student - child, and I will continue to be a friend to the Gotoy Family, but it is clear that education is not a priority.

Also, today, Miss Kim served as representation for 12 year old Jose, who was arrested this weekend. I have watched Jose work his way out of 2 schools in the last 2 years. I have heard the whisperings of certain episodes of which he has been linked. Despite all of this, I have never experienced anything but respect from this child.  Today, while waiting for the magistrate, I took him outside and reminded him that he should be scared beyond words. I told him that there is a not a thief, crook and/or drug dealer in his heart and soul, but a man of God waiting to grow. Out of nowhere, I began to cry. Jose just hugged me and hugged me and hugged me. This is a little boy. This is a little boy who has not been hugged or has heard a kind word in years. Yet, he did not hesitate to show love and appreciation to the one person who showed up in his tough world today. Because of this, I am taking him to another school tomorrow. He is worth the "3rd time is the charm" risk. Pray for Jose.

Miss Kim's day ended exactly the way it should. I headed down to a school to check in on the 3 siblings that I introduced to the world of education last April. They are doing great! I met with the principal, vice-principal, and all three teachers. These children are loved and celebrated.

While I waited for upper classrooms to dismiss, a small group of 6 year old boys were sitting at a palapa table. I asked if they would like me to read them a book as they waited for their older siblings.  I had "A Cat in the Hat" in my bag. I started with an audience of 4, I ended with 12. Also, they made me promise that I would come back with another story by the end of the week. Miss Kim is big with 6 year old boys.

The day ended in the 8' x 16' home of Erick, Nayeli and Moises.  I brought them a huge bag of clothes and a small toy for each too - a late Christmas. We worked on spelling, reading, math, and geography. This small room is home to 5 children, their mother and the latest man. In one corner was a 2 burner stove with dinner cooking. The bucket in the middle of the room is the toilet. There is one bed, one fridge, two languages and oodles of laughter and love. The words, "Miss Kim" are interrupted with "Miss Kim" as each child wants me to check their work or show me a trick. Miss Kim is exhausted but blessed.

Faces in Which to Fall in Love!

Check out Nardo's Central Baptist t-shirt! The children in the first photo are some of Holy Cross finest - I love the look on Denzel's face who is front and center! 

Unstuck Belize - The Beginning

Mired down by personal, spiritual and professional issues, Kim Bartling headed for a sandy beach in January and unstuck herself. Now she hopes  16 University of Sioux Falls students will have equally life-changeing experiences. Seven weeks after Barling returned from the Central American country of Belize, the theatre professor and the students will create a playground for the schoolchildren; in addition, she would like to teach them drama and athletics.

The kids at Holy Cross Anglican School on Ambergris Caye won't be the only ones to benefit.
"I fully expect our students will be the people who are changed forever and will want to continue to do this type of traveling," Bartling says. "I'm fully expecting our students will walk away so much richer than any type of monetary things we can bring down and truly wanting to live the mission of the university, serving the world and God."

Belize, once known as British Honduras, is 25 miles long and 1 mile wide. It has three streets. Front Street offers white sand beaches and lavish hotels. Middle Street offers cafes and shops. But Back Street's dwellings are where it is revealed how desperately poor most Belizeans really are.  Despite that, Bartling awoke every morning to the sound of laughter - children, often riding three on a bicycle, elatedly heading off to school.

When Bartling returned to USF, she attended a Tuesday morning chapel service and asked to speak. Normally reserved about her faith, she found herself wanting to share her experience. And she proposed returning during the college's spring break in mid-March.  "I'm so proud of the University of Sioux Falls for saying, yes, we'll support you in doing this," Bartling says. "Our mission is like Gandhi's, to be the change you want to see in the world."

Bartling put out the call for students to go with her and ended up with 18 volunteers, not just from her department but from across the campus.  Anne Wentworth, a 21-year-old junior from Stickney, expected to spend spring break traveling with the USF choir on a concert tour to Chicago, Iowa and Wisconsin. But the communications and theater major woke up about a week ago, knowing her spring break travels would take her even farther.  "I woke up, and I'm like 'I'm going to go to Belize because I feel called,' " Wentworth says.  Wentworth, who has taken on roles as varied as Cinderella and a 60-year-old woman, had to tell her choir director, David DeHoogh-Kliewiter, about her change in plans.

He was disappointed but supportive, she says. "He said, 'OK, we pray blessings on your mission trip' and released me to go," Wentworth says.

Colin Koth, also a 21-year-old junior, had traveled to Guatemala on a mission trip with Linwood Wesleyan Church while in high school.  Earlier this month he was in Geneva, Ohio, participating in the NAIA indoor track and field meet. He won the men's 400 there. But a small corner of his mind was mulling over the possibility of going to Belize, and he spoke with Bartling by phone several times.  When he returned, he knew he was going to Belize.  "The thing is, you go down there expecting to make a difference for those people," Koth says. "I found this out in Guatemala. You learn a lot from them. You learn how they love life, each moment of every day."

The USF students will play sports with the kids, most of whom can't afford things such as soccer balls and softballs. They also will perform this year's USF children's play, "Page to Stage," which adapted kids' books such as "The Stinky Cheese Man" and "Olivia Forms a Band."  "We want to show them you can make a play out of anything," Wentworth says. "You don't need expensive things or a stage or curtains or a script. You just need ideas."

The USF students fly out on March 18 and 19. The days until then will be spent raising necessary funds. It will cost about $3,000 to put together the playground, Bartling says. Students are responsible for raising the $950 each plane ticket will cost.  USF's campus ministries has agreed to pay for the cost of extra luggage, which will be filled with the items donated for the Belizean children.  "It sounds cliched to say we're going to grow," Koth says, "but we will."

-  Jill Callison's columns   Argus Leader, Sioux Falls, SD     3/10/211

Ivo: 1st Mtg to 1st Day of School

Ivo

I first met Ivo in January of 2012.  He is a street kid, and upon our finding each other, it has been a lovefest. He has an infectious smile and a heart looking tos share its love. When my sister met him this past December, she agreed that if this kid was in the states, he would grow to be a rock star!
 He lives with his father, his father’s girlfriend, his sister Valerie, new baby brother Victor, and the girlfriend's mother in a small shed behind the house I was renting. 

Ivo’s mother took Ivo and his sisters to her native Honduras, to escape her domestic situtation. During this time, she had an opportunity to return to the states (she has a complicated life story which includes a reversed adoption as a child).  While here, Ivo's father went to Honduras and took the children out of her mother's home and took them back to Belize. 

I believe Ivo's father is - at the core - a good man.  However, with the delivery of a baby over Christmas, his focus is his new family.  He has never made his children accountable to school, and like many parents, use "lashing" as their only form of discipline. He has 2 other daughters too.  One of them is 14 and just had a baby.  She is currently in a girl's home in Belize City.

After a year of work, I finally found a school on the island that would enroll Ivo. Because he has never gone to school, he was too old - at the ripe old age of 9 - to be accepted into most of the schools. Until January 7th, 2013,  Ivo spent his days and nights  in the street.

He is doing well considering he is in an 8-3 structured environment for the first time.  He is currently learning his alphabet and seems to find math  his most natural subject.  Our biggest concern has been his lack of discipline in the classroom.  In addition to an entire lack of education, he has limited language. Also, physicality is his only language for frustration.  God Bless the teacher who is not only teaching her regular class, but is now also having to start at the beginning with Ivo.

I am proud to say, that my former O'Gorman student Jacob Barclay -  now a teacher himself -  is graciously paying for Ivo's education, as there is no public education in Belize.

Ivo runs away a lot. I am not sure if it is because of a lack of food (as he always claims he is hungry) or emotional negligence..However, in is not uncommon for him to knock on doors of some of my friends and an elderly relative on his mother's side.

Since my return to the states, I have found and am in communications with Ivo's mother.  She is living in the US and wants nothing more than for Ivo and his sister Valerie (age 13) to join her.  However, this is a tricky immigration case. 

Please pray for safety and compassion for Ivo and his entire family.  Please pray for patience and guidance for his teachers and the Isla Bonita school. As I continue to work with lawyers to assist in Ivo's and Valerie's most to the states, I ask for your prayers. 

My Newest Extended Family

Erick, Moises and Family

On my last trip to Belize, I found yet more children of which I fell in love. Locals are now tracking me down to look in on families that they feel deserve "a chance." Please understand that when I describe living conditions and individuals, I do it with the highest of respect.

Esperanza is native of Honduras. I am still confused by how many children she has. There may be two older daughters (17 and 19), as they were described as part of the family when I first arrived. They were there doing wash every day, but because of their age, they did not live in the “house.” The children I came to meet were Erick (12), Nayeli (11), Moises (7), Nardo (4) and new baby Janell.

One would think that the presence of an Amazonian blonde just showing up asking a lot of questions about family and education would intimidate some. Not here. I have yet, had anything but a gracious welcome in any Belizean home. I explained that I was a teacher and interested in the children. I asked about their scholastic history. Only Nayeli was currently in school. Unfortunately, it was St. Peter’s, which is a half day program, questionable reputation. In fact, the education consulate just shut it down at the end of the school year. Erick had attended school in Belize City, but had not been re-enrolled since moving to Ambergris Caye 3 years ago. Therefore, he had – maybe 2 years of education.  I asked their mom…who am I kidding…my Spanish sucks, Erick asked his mom, if he could accompany me to the beach so I could “see what he knew.”  When it comes to this family, it is a package deal, so off to the beach we went – the three boys and I.  

While Nardo and Moises swam, Erick and I went through his letters (check), did some math (quite good), and tried reading (he takes cues from the pics, but no real phonic skills). Mostly, we just talked. This kid and his brothers, snagged my heart immediately that Sunday on the dock - no pole – no net. Erick didn’t want to stop doing schoolwork. This is a very good sign.

The next day, Monday, I started my routine. Since there is no “true” public education, the first issue is tuition. Schools like Holy Cross and the Roman Catholic school are certainly more affordable at under $100 a year, but they are busting at the seams. Even if the principals could take them, putting a 12 year old in a 1^st or 2^nd year classroom is not fair to Erick or the other students, especially if it a classroom of over 30. Therefore, I need to find a smaller classroom; this means higher tuition.

I decided to try New Horizons, the 7^th Day Adventist School, located over a mile south of San Pedro town.  Principal Miguel was impressive. Frankly, all the principals that I have met are extraordinary people. I gave him my Erick pitch.  Principal Miguel wanted to meet him personally. Back on my bike to Erick’s home I go.

I explained to Erick that he needed to be interviewed. That meant clean shorts and shirt. We went to the store (all the clothing stores for locals – me included – are 2^nd hand/thrift). It was like preparing Tyler for his first day at O’Gorman. Collared shirt, khaki shorts, socks, and a clean face. What else could a girl ask for?  As we were leaving his house, Moises who is painfully shy said, “Miss, when can I go to school?”

Back to the store.  Their neighbor, a taxi driver, became intrigued as to what I was doing. Erick enthusiastically explained. Ruben said he would give me a good rate so that we would not all be sweaty when we got there. Done.

The boys did great. Principal Miguel agreed to their enrollment. They were begin the next day.  However, he wanted to meet their mother - another round trip. You can’t just call a babysitter in Belize. So, I packed the whole crew up -Esperanza and all 5 kids. Thank God Principal Miguel speaks Spanish. My speaking of it is terrible, but my understanding of it is quite good.  He made it VERY clear that what I was doing, was a chance of a lifetime for her and her children. He told he that he would make sure that must keep up her end as their mother; get them up, make sure they are clean, oversee homework (I am not holding my breath on the last one).  There were a lot of “Si’s.”

The rest of the day revolved around getting ready for their first day of school.  Each school has specific uniforms; so, first on the agenda, was to find a seamstress, buy fabric, and get both measured. In the meantime, we had to go back to the store to find collared shirts and shorts in the same color palette to get by.  Backpacks, shoes and school supplies were purchased. Finally, I needed to find a wood worker. Each student must supply his own desk. Is it any wonder why so many children are not in school? The financial total on this day alone was close to $500.

They were dressed and ready to go, when I got to their home at 7 am the next morning. I don’t know who was more excited and proud, the kids, their mother or me. We took a cab the first day (which was another hurdle I was going to have to cross). By the time I got done paying the lunch lady, Erick was already thick into a game of soccer. As the boys are rarely out of each other’s periphery, Moises was off to the side, watching their new packs. 

Back to the lunch lady… Lunch ladies are universal. Lunches in Belize are not provided by the school, so a grandmother-mother-daughter combo set up their “kitchen camp” in one of the small buildings. A meal is $2.50 a day. However, like all lunch ladies, they also scoop out equal parts of motherly discipline and hugs. 

Moises’ second day of school began at 4 am with his class trip.  This kid only has one day of classroom under his belt, and he hasn’t been off the island since he arrived 3 years ago. Furthermore, he has never spent a night away from his family. Now, here I was, picking him up and heading to the water taxi with the rest of his class for an overnight trip to the mainland.  Bonus - Moises has extreme motion sickness. This trip includes boats and buses. I dubbed it the “Vomit Vacation.” 

After a day of the Belize Zoo, A National Park and cave exploration, we head to St. Ignacio where we were all responsible for our own hotel rooms and dinner. Moises and I were bushed. We decided on pizza and ice cream – what else do you feed a kid who has been tossing his cookies all day?  I am going to be an awesome grandma someday.

The next day, we went to a butterfly farm and one of the Mayan ruins. One day we are holding on to ropes being lower to the depth of hell in a Cave. The next we are overlooking the country of Belize from the top of ruins – no ropes and no fences.  This would never happen in The States.  The fact that I am the guardian of a 7 year old that I just 3 days ago, is just a taste of the trust of the Belizeans.  I learned oodles on this trip about the country, its history and its culture. I also fell in love with a little boy.  Moises is so quiet, but his heart and smile is loud and clear.

The boys would come to my house every morning at 7 am for tutoring. I would check their homework, and many times, ride with them to school.  Oh yeah, I bought them bikes – easy answer to the taxi issue. Moises still doesn’t know how to ride his, despite our nightly tries on the beach.  It will happen, but in the meantime, he rides on Erick’s handle bars.

Today, July 9^th, I got the boys’ grades. Both of them are going to have to repeat, which we all knew since they didn’t begin until May.  However, their scores were in the 60-80 percentile. I will take that as a victory; thank you.

Post note…

I need to describe their family dynamic and living conditions. This family lives above a barrack like structure (long building with small rooms with outside doors) built on a combo of sand and pounded garbage.  The women living in this housing unit have some obvious addiction issues, and well, based on the structure description, you can guess their source of income. I need to be clear, that they are lovely to me. They offer me food, invite me to sit and visit on their beds, and give me many, many, many smiles and hugs. I accept each invitation. They are doing the best they can.  Esperanza and her five younger children, share a room of approximately that is “maybe” 12’ long and 8’ wide. She and the man of the baby sleep in a bed with Nardo and the baby. Erick and Moises share a hammock hung above.  Nayeli sleeps on a folded futon mattress. This is their home. It includes a burner, a small dorm fridge, and all their belongings.