Signing on from the Windy City

We're here. The flight was long, my feet swelled to the size of pumpkins, Reilly Kate puked upon our arrival, Roman was exhausted beyond reason, and Mike was his usual congenial traveller. Basically, it was fucking hell. Oh, and jet lag combined with pregnancy insomnia results in a sleepless week.

But we're here. And we're thankful that we don't have to make that flight again... for a year or so at least. Hopefully.

For those that have asked, we have known for about 5 months or so that we might be leaving Korea. We didn't know for certain that we would be leaving, or even where to, until the movers showed up at our door last Monday. Mike's in the midst of a career shift and exactly where our final destination will be is to be determined. It's a bit stressful, but exciting. I mean, really, homeless and pregnant with two kids... it can only go up from there.

So anyway, here we are amidst family on Thanksgiving. The bird's in the oven. My mom and I are sharing cooking duties, Lord help me. The pies are baked (she did them) and the dressing is about to be (I'm doing that) and football's on the telly (I believe Mike is in charge of watching that). It's an all around American thanksgiving. Of course, my kids want to eat mandoo and kalbi, but I'm sure they'll get used to the idea of turkey and cranberry. If not, perhaps we can order take out Korean.

Lastly, I'm going to post our biggest reason to be thankful this year. Okay. Besides the fact that nobody blew up our plane as we crossed the Pacific Ocean. Here she is. Our baby sister.

It's time to say Goodbye

Yes, Roman is prophetic. Or at least observant. We are all packed out, packed up, and over packed. And we're leaving. Leaving Korea "for good." We'll be back, we know. When, we're not sure. But our flight leaves in a few hours and we are about to embark on our final bus ride through Seoul. We've enjoyed our time here. But we're nomads and it is time for us to pick up our tent, herd our animals, and drift off to the next pasture.

So signing off from the land of the morning calm...

Please watch this

My kids are both in a Britax Regent (previously called the Husky). I've gotten plenty of shit from friends for having such beasts in my van and for spending such ridiculous amounts of money on the carseats (and really, is $250 that much money when it costs almost 100 bucks for a family to go see a movie these days?) I've even cursed myself for the carseats because my kids cannot get themselves in or out of them without assistance.

Now, I am so grateful that I have these.

I live in a country where kids bounce around freely in the back seat and the front seat. Carseats are damn near unheard of. Korea also has one of the highest rates of auto accidents in the world. Traffic accidents are one of the leading causes of death here.

We're lucky to have safe, reliable carseats available to us. Please, please consider putting her child in a 5 point restraint.

Teachin'

The conservative Christian turn that Reilly Kate's preschool took this year is not my only bitch. I'm none too thrilled with the teaching aspects of the school, either. While I personally haven't any problems with the academic nature of the classroom activities, I know several parents from last year aren't too happy. They feel the children are being pushed to do more book learning and less fun free time. As I said last post, Reilly Kate loves her teacher and the work they do in class so I have no problem there.

I do however have a few problems with the teaching policies.

For one, as I went over before, we have Head Start here on base for those with special needs, be they developmental, monetary, or linguistically. So why then does my daughter have several children in her class that speak no English and a teacher's assistant who primarily speaks in Korean to the Korean speaking children? I have no problems with my daughter being exposed to another language. In fact, I rather like it. But when the primary teacher is also speaking in heavily accented English (she's Filipina) and the teacher's assistant speaks very little broken English, I think this is a problem.

You can see there's a problem by just looking at the bulletin board in the hallway outside her classroom. "Blast off into THE space?" THE space? Misuse of articles is classic Konglish (a mix of Korean and English). As one who taught ESL here in Korea, I know Konglish when I see it and that, my friends, is Konglish.

And then there is that whole spelling thing. I'll give you, English spelling is difficult. But, um, we're talking teachers here. Teachers teaching Konglish and bad spelling. Vacuum. It's a bit of a tricky word. Hence the reason to have a dictionary close by... in a classroom.

And perhaps the most disturbing part of this is not that neither of her teachers are fluent enough in English to put together a correct bulletin board. No, the most disturbing part is that the director, a native English speaker, did not catch this. Hmmm... she's amiss in her duties. I know the director has a dictionary. She brought it out to show me. Granted it is a Bible reference dictionary featuring ancient Greek and Hebrew. But you'd think if she can clear up any confusion on Ephesians 5, she should be able to handle the word vacuum. Right? And the whole "Blast off into the space" thing is just plain incompetence.

Then there was the community helpers parade. For weeks this thing was touted to us parents. At drop off, at pick up. "Remember, next week Friday we're doing the community helpers parade! Please plan on attending." Last year they did several things that involved the parents and I just figured this was going to be similar. In my head, the kids would dress up, introduce what kind of a community helper they each were pretending to be, and then do a few nice Jesus songs. Several times I asked Reilly Kate about it, but she didn't have a clue which I thought was a little strange. Last year the kids practiced for weeks. Reilly Kate would come home singing the songs they'd practiced that day. She would sing them so often at home that by the time of the class performance, Roman would also know all the words. This time, the only song she sang from school was that horrible "Squishing up the baby bumble bee" song.

So I showed up at the school at the allotted time and looked around for Mike since he was supposed to leave work early to catch this big shindig. There were only a few of us standing in the hallway which surprised me. I figured a lot of parents must not be that interested in coming because as much as it was pumped into our head, the day and time, I doubt anyone forgot -- hell, I was even there. Early! I went outside to look for Mike, but he was no where around. I went back into the hallway and waited. Then I decided to take a peek in the classroom. There was Mike and the parents of three other kids. The "program" had already started... several minutes early. A lot of parents missed it. I missed it. I asked the director why they had started early and she looked at her watch and said, "Oh, it's just a minute early." I can tell you, I was standing out in that hallway for more than five minutes.

Then the "parade" began. The parade consisted of the kids walking around out in the parking lot, willy nilly, without any order, and us parents following behind. There wasn't any structure to this. It was literally just kids walking around in dress up clothes. The same dress up clothes that they play with every day during free play time. Some of the kids wandered away from the group, moms trailing behind. Most of us didn't know where they were going or if we should follow, so we kind of just huddled in the parking lot. Those that weren't trying to herd our kids, that is. Then the teachers assembled the class in the playground where they all posed for pictures.

Back in the classroom, the teachers had the kids redo the beginning of the program for those of us who were either standing out in the hallway or those who didn't come early. There the children performed that hateful song about killing and mutilating one of God's creatures... a baby no less. Yes, yes, people. The overly Christian preschool that has my daughter learning early that she is to submit to her husband, couldn't be bothered to teach my daughter a little "Kumbaya" or "This Little Light of Mine." No, they focused instead on "Smashing Up a Baby Bumble Bee" and sang it thrice. I guess that's the only song they practiced.

The best part of the program was when after the third rendition of Bumble Bee ended, Roman took it upon himself to begin singing, in a rather loud voice, "It's time to say goodbye. It's time to say goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goooooooooooodbyyyyyyyyyye!"

It's just bad teaching, poor planning, and stink ass organization. I'm so disappointed this year. Hell, the kids can't even celebrate or discuss Thanksgiving. It's not a biblical holiday. Bah. Roman's right. It's time to say goodbye.

I interrupt this rant...

...to bring you a small celebration on today's victory.

What? It's small! I'm no gloater.

Congratulations, America, on getting your heads out of your asses.

Preachin'

I'm none too thrilled with Reilly Kate's preschool this year. She attends a Christian preschool on base. Just in case you are a stark raving atheist, let me tell you it is not completely legal to have a Christian preschool on base. It basically runs just below the radar. It's funded like any other religious organization on an Army installation -- through the Chaplain's office. Just like the Protestant Women's Group or the Jewish Singles or any other "social" religious group, so is the preschool.

We didn't intentionally choose this school. Since Mike makes enough money to put us over the poverty level, we don't have the need required for Head Start. Since neither of us uses English as a second language, again, our children don't qualify for Head Start. Which is fine. I get this. I'm all for Head Start and truly believe that we as a family don't need it. But the only preschool that Reilly Kate is qualified for that was less than a grand a month in tuition was this, the Christian preschool on base. And, in fact, the tuition is down right cheap at $150 bucks a month. Cheap. Cheap.

You get what you pay for.

Keeping the fact that most of the other children in the school are also in the same boat as Reilly Kate, the school, while Christian, is pretty dang secular. Sure they pray before having their snacks and sing Jesus Loves Me and all that happy who-daddy, but I assure you, if we were Jewish or Pagan or Hindu, we'd probably have enrolled her there anyway. It's just not all that religious. Or at least it wasn't. Last year.

This year, I could just tell there was a new wind a'blowin'. As I walked down the hall, I noticed Bible passages were posted all over. And not just the feel good, nice ones. These were the Bible thumping, shove it down your throat, you're going to hell, you sinner, kind of passages. Praise Jesus. Within the first week of school, Reilly Kate was coming home asking me "How long did Jesus have to suffer on the cross before he died?" "Why did they put nails in his hands and feet?" "My teacher told me that they forced him to wear a crown of thorns. And that the thorns stuck in his head and hurt him. And caused him to bleed all over. Is that true? Did Jesus bleed all over?"

Yes, my four year old was now fully aware of the Passion. It didn't surprise me a bit to see her beloved teacher (and yes, Reilly Kate loves her teacher) sitting behind us at mass. Oh, that Catholic guilt starts early, huh?


It wasn't until Reilly Kate missed a day of school to go down to Cheju-do that I realized the full extent of this religious transformation of the educational environment to which I send my daughter. Her teacher sent home some make up work for us to do. No problem for us since I am homeschooling Reilly Kate in Kindergarten. I looked over the sheets just as I was about to instruct Reilly Kate on what to do with them. And upon reading them, I tore them in half.

The hand outs were on family structure and roles. Things like, "Daddy works in an office. He makes the money for our family. He is the head of the household." "Mommy cooks for us and keeps the house clean." "Sister cleans the house." "Brother plays with the pets."

Now, folks, I too went to a Christian school. I went to a pretty conservative Christian school in the '70s. My mom wasn't even allowed to sit on the church board, for Peet's sake, because she was a woman. And still I have NEVER seen hand outs like this. Never. Ever.

I was stunned.

And I immediately regretted having torn them up in front of Reilly Kate. Being the child that she is, she wanted to know why I tore them up and what was I upset about. I was stuck having to go over them and then we discussed sexism and the feminist movement. We talked about women's suffrage and the continuing struggle for equality. I just really wasn't ready to have to tell her that the world isn't as fair and nice as we had led her to believe.

Then I got angry.

I taped the shreds of paper back together and took them into the new preschool director's office. Last year, the door to the director's office was always open with moms sitting on the couch nursing babies and chatting. It was a gathering place, a place for moms to connect. The office was responsible for my making the few friends I had last year. Not so much this year, though. The new director is hardly ever in her office and when she is the door is shut. Knock on it and be made to feel like you are putting out someone very important. I knocked and was told to come back later. Lunch trumps concerned parent in this regime.

I came back at the time requested and explained my concerns, showing the director the homework sheets. She listened attentively, nodded, apologized and said she would speak with the teacher. And then, with a rather smug grin drawn across her face, she leaned in and said, "But... I'd be amiss in my duties if I didn't inform you that the husband IS the head of the household according to the Bible."

Amiss in her duties? I sat and pondered for a few seconds, watching her smile broaden. She looked as if she was about to explain to a small child that one mustn't eat Starbursts for breakfast in lieu of real fruit. She had that look of amusement mixed with self satisfaction. I felt the heat of my own self righteous indignation prick my cheeks. I painted a snarky smirk on my lips and said, "Well, really that is a matter of theological debate."

It might have been the word "theological" that smeared her happy face. I'm not sure. But when my eyes met hers as the words were escaping my mouth, I saw a noticeable depression. Her smile was now tight, forced, fake.

"Theological debate? This is a Christian school," she said, grabbing the Bible on her desk.

"Sure it is. But someone who attends the United Church of Christ is going to have a different view than someone who is Southern Baptist."

Her smile now was noticeably fading and her eyes were clouding up with confusion.

"What denomination are you?" I asked her.

"I'm a Christian. This is a Christian school," was her reply.

"Yes, I understand that. I too am a Christian. But I'm wondering what denomination you are."

Shaking her head as if to clear the fog, she asked, "What do you mean? What's a denomination?"


It was at this point my dear readers that I distinctly heard "Sha na na na... Sha na na na... Hey hey hey... Goodbye," singing in my head. I would even swear to hearing the sound of the cracking of a bat when hit with a homerun ball. I felt like Babe Ruth, calling the shot, knowing full well that not only was I going to hit it out of the park, but I knew exactly where that damn ball was going to land. In a moment's hesitation, I contemplated whether this was just too easy. Could it be a trap? But when I scanned the director's face and saw nothing but the haze that had drifted across her countenance, I knew it was just one of those things I had to take advantage of.

I then launched into an almost two hour discussion on varying theological controversies and basic religious debates. She actually asked me to stay and continue the discussion well past our allotted time. She sat astounded and kept repeating, "I had no idea." "I didn't know that."

I think I actually saw smoke come out of her ears when I taught her about transubstantiation ("You what? You believe you are eating the actual body of our Lord?"). And she was none too thrilled to find out that there are other books of the Bible that were not included in the King James version. She did try to come back. Once, when I was telling her about Torah, she said, "Ah! But I'm not Jewish!"

"No, of course not. But Jesus is."

She's been understandably distant to me ever since. Not that she's that friendly to anyone really. But particularly distant to me. She's nice, though. Very nice. Overly so, perhaps. I figure that is on account of her finding out that the man who signs her checks and keeps the school's accounting books is none other than my very own brother. Yes, one of my brothers works out of the Chaplain's office here and is responsible for all the school's fiscal concerns. When she found that out, she made sure to take me to every single one of the teachers and clarify exactly who I was and who my brother was.

Unfortunately, she still hasn't figured out my last name. She asks me at least once a week what my name is... again. I guess it throws her off that I haven't adopted the moniker of the head of my household. I wonder if that too is biblically mandated. Perhaps I should let her thump me with her King James to find out.