RECIPE FOR SUCCESS

I’m always astounded to be wending my way to work just as the sun rises – my biorhythmic clock in full revolt. Driving south and east across the city into the heart of its underbelly, lulled by music or the stories of NPR, the chain link fence of the teacher parking lot looms up quickly, surprising me, a mirage in the morning mist. I’m here. I check the cars to see if I’m early enough to find a space in the perpetually overcrowded lot. If I have to park on the street, I risk a smashed fender, a parking ticket, or both. Good, my favorite space is empty – this one can’t be blocked in by late arrivals – which really pisses me off when I’m stuck there at the end of the day. I notice the homeless persons who live in the park on the other side of the fence are still tucked into their makeshift sleeping bags, causing me to think less-than-compassionate, not politically correct, thoughts.

The gate is open and as I head across the playground, I hear my name “Ms. G, Ms. G. You got our class today?” I’m hit and tackled by this wiggly group of youngsters, claiming their morning hugs. They run off and others join this joyous ritual. We’re all glad to be here. This early morning tableau – the purple-suited principal welcoming the students, almost all by name, and the assistant principal on the microphone composing order out of playground chaos. Also present and accounted for are the coaches (literary, math, and psychomotor), the No Child Left Behind and Bilingual administrators, as well as the Attendance and Truancy Director and the Resource teacher – all on duty on the yard, all dispensing the caring embrace that guarantees a smooth segue into the instructional day.