Here vs. There

This post has been 18 weeks in the making.

In part because it's taken me this long to wrap my mind around all most some of the differences between teaching here at SPH Kemang Village and what I grew up with in Alta Loma.

In part because there are SO many differences - some subtle, some not so much - that I've spent many a walk home debating which to highlight and which to dismiss as insignificant.

In part because I'm afraid that a side-by-side comparison will lend itself to a final judgement about which is right and which is wrong. Which is better or which I prefer. And I don't think that's fair. I won't do that.

SPH is definitely not the Alta Loma School District, but that's okay. I think there would be a huge problem if the whole of ALSD was uprooted and relocated to Jakarta. The needs of the students are different. The requirements of the school (legally speaking) are different. The diversity of the staff and the parental influence and the very location of the school are different. Dramatically different. And different needs require different approaches. As uncomfortable unfamiliar as they may seem at the outset.

It's just different. Not better. Not worse. Just different.

And I'm learning to be okay with it.

Because different isn't always wrong.

With that "rant" out of the way, here are my "top ten" differences:


(1) Hours: We are due on campus by 6:45, and our day isn't over until 3:30. Quick, count the hours...why yes! Those are nearly 9 hour days. I'd like to complain, but before I do . . . 

(2) Specials: Built into our schedules are hour-long blocks where students go to music, art, P.E., Bahasa Indonesia, Mandarin, computer, and library. Most of them twice a week, and taught by a credentialed teacher, which means  - drumroll please - eleven hours a week of prep time that's built into my week. So, while the days are extremely long, they are (relatively) self-contained, in that there isn't a lot of work to take home in the evenings or over the weekend.  Of course, if I haven't managed my time well, or planned too many assignments/tests due on the same day, I bring home a little work, but for the most part, work stays at work and I can be wife and mom at home. 

(3) Wednesdays: I have such a love-hate relationship with this day. Just like in California, students have early dismissal on Wednesdays. Add to that chapel after lunch and two blocks of specials, and that amounts to two hours that I see my students on hump-day. But that's not the best part. The best part is that every Wednesday - Every. Single. Wednesday - we have professional staff development. And I'm not talking a staff meeting that's piled high with announcements, reminders and retirement party committee sign-ups. I'm talking genuine, nose to the grindstone, lets hash this out and WORK kind of PD. On a Wednesday. Sigh. And then staff chapel starts at 3:00 and you won't leave school until 4:00 at the earliest. Love-hate, people. Love-hate.

(4) Extra Duties: They're required. And assigned (more or less). And there is no grace for new teachers (thank you, Mr. Chaix for giving me a free pass during my first year of teaching!). At the start of the year, we all submitted our preferences, but the less demanding jobs filled up quickly and someone, somewhere shuffled our names, dealt the cards, told us our assignments, and that was that. Thankfully, no one was fighting me for a spot with the cross-country team (5:30 runs anyone?), and I didn't mind being assigned to reading month or junior school student council.  It all worked out. God's good like that. 

(5) Workroom: Unlimited copies. 

I'm just going to let that soak in for a minute.

Unlimited.

As in, no limit. 

None.

No code on the copier. 

No sweet talking Jackie into run a few extra copies on one of her miscellaneous codes (shhhh!!!).

No one reminding you that color paper costs nearly twice what white paper does. 

Because colored paper is unlimited, too.

And you can laminate things yourself. Whenever you'd like.

Need color copies? As in colored ink, on white paper? It's not a myth. And you won't have to pay Kinko's to do it. Just email it to Ibu Sundari. 

Speaking of Ibu Sundari. She's amazing. As are the other FOUR people who work in the TU office, willing to help copy, staple, bind, laminate and cut whatever you need. They'll even run copies for you mid-day when you happen to run short of something, or just forget. Send it down with a note and consider it done. 

Merry Christmas to me.

(6) Secretaries: I mentioned Ibu Sundari and her posse. But they are not alone. No, the hallways are full of secretaries and secretaries for secretaries. And I think a few of them have their own secretaries, too.  Okay, so not really, but when coming from a school with TWO secretaries that somehow managed to run a school between themselves, the sheer number of non-teaching staff on our campus is impressive. Granted, the school is pre-kindy through grade 12 and has all of the departments usually reserved for a district office (finance, admissions, IT, etc.), but - case in point - Alta Loma had two technology guys running the entire district. Two of them for ten schools and the district office. Our school - our ONE school - has three ITC staff members, plus a lead teacher who oversees the department. Impressive. 

(7) Proctors: Oh how I miss you. So, so, SO MUCH. To my dear teacher friends, go hug a proctor. Now. I didn't know how much those 15 minutes at recess meant. These days, I supervise my own students during morning break and have lunch duty on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I'd give my right arm for a proctor on Fridays. Fridays are the days that I don't have any specials until the end of the day, which means I have my students non-stop from 7:15 until 1:05 with only 22.5 minutes (first half of lunch) to myself. Pray for my students on Fridays. 

(8) High Rise Life: When your school is 11 floors tall, and that on top of a ten-floor parking structure, there are bound to be a few things to get used to. Gone are the days, Rebecca, of dismissing our students from our classroom and watching them take five steps from the door and onto the blacktop. No, to get to break time, we have to walk down the hall and down three flights of stairs. Talk about eating up time. It's a constant battle between honoring instructional minutes and honoring a third grade boy's need to RUN. 

Also inherent in a high-rise school is the complete lack of green space. As in my students don't play on grass. Some of them have never played in the dirt. True story: one of our reading passages had to do with a gardener digging in the dirt and they were asked to compare what the gardener found in the soil to what they've found when they've played in the dirt. I had six students write that they couldn't answer the question because they had never had that experience. I cried for them, as I thought fondly of cooking mud pies with my sister in Nanny's backyard.

(9) CPR: Class Parent Representative. A.k.a. room mom on steroids. Highly potent steroids. These ladies are unbelievable. Earlier this term, we wanted to take our students to the zoo for a field trip. Once we got approval from the leadership team, all I had to do was tell my CPR that I needed six moms for the day and she took care of the rest, including snacks for all of the students and special snacks for the moms and teachers. For Thanksgiving and Christmas, parties were planned and all I had to do was show up. And when I forgot to tell students about wearing fall colors to school (instead of uniforms) on the Friday after Thanksgiving, I just sent her a WhatsApp message and she broadcasted the message to all the other parents. Done and done. 

(10) Cleaners: You know the maids at hotels? The ones that somehow know when you are or aren't in your room and stealthily sneak in and out unnoticed? Well, noticed only by the perfection that they leave in their wake, that is. I've come to the conclusion that our cleaning staff were cut from the same cloth. My room is spotless every morning. And by spotless I mean that there isn't a pencil shaving on the floor, the trash can is vacant, and even the desks are void of any hint of dust. Confession: I did spot one of these unicorn-esque cleaners hard at work one afternoon, and I can confirm that they dust the students desks. And not just in the let's-dust-around-things-because-eight-year-olds-won't-notice-the-lint-between-their-pencil-and-eraser kind of dusting that I would do.  I'm talking, they move items left on the table top and carefully replace each one in the pursuit of excellence. 

And there you have it.  

It's different. No doubt about it.

Some for the better, some for the worse.

And I'll leave it to you do decide which is which. 

I Miss Spanish

So much.

So, so much. 

I miss the ñ. 

I miss the simple "hola, como estas?" exchange that worked no matter what time of day it was. 

I miss knowing how to conjugate regular verbs: -o for yo, -as for tu, -amos for nosotros, and -an for ustedes. 

I miss knowing that words that end in -ar, -er, and -ir are verbs; words that end in -o are masculine, -a indicates femininity.  

I miss all the cognates (because, let's be honest, you really CAN get pretty far if you just take an English word, add an o or a to the end, and say it with an accent). 

I miss looking at a menu and knowing what's in a particular dish based on the description. I had food vocabulary down. 

And this one isn't a language thing, but I miss greeting everyone with kisses on the cheeks. It made the language barrier seem less insurmountable. After all, we just kissed. We're friends now. 

And I know we lived in Paraguay for three years. Where we attended a Spanish speaking church and lived off-campus in a neighborhood with zero neighbors with any semblance of English fluency. We HAD to learn. And fast. 

And I'm one of those kids that actually remembered lessons from high school Spanish class. 

And thrice-annual trips to Ensenada, Mexico through college kept some words and phrases fresh.

And Brandon and I would watch Spanish soaps with Aunt Diana during our dating days.

And the curriculum in California always included a token "cultural" story with snippets of dialogue in Spanish to be decoded and translated for my 99% NOT Spanish speaking class. 

All of this should be my reality check.  

If I start counting from my high school days, I had 14-ish years of familiarity with Spanish including three years of full immersion while in Paraguay. 

I heard my first Bahasa word about 14 WEEKS ago. 

That should be comforting. A reminder that language acquisition will come. That it'll take time. That one day I'll recognize at least one word in a conversation that I overhear in an elevator.

But it doesn't.  

Every time I walk into the grocery store and still have to shop by sight (and sometimes smell) because I cannot decode the text on the boxes and shelves, I just miss Stock.

When I say good morning to a guard or worker, when the position of the sun clearly indicates that it's NOT morning, but I don't remember if it's time for the early afternoon greeting or the late afternoon one. I panic and use one of the few words I know. Pagi! (did I even spell that right?)

Ugh! Can I get an "hola," anyone?

Even when I see Bahasa Indonesia words in print and try to apply some hooked on phonics decoding skills, I fall short. Because each word is a million syllables long (okay, seven), and when it's pronounced, there are silent letters, skipped syllables, and sounds that are vocalized, but weren't on the paper.  Okay, probably not, but it just sounds like mush to my untrained ear. 

*sigh*

I mean no disrespect.

And I know that the above is a gross misrepresentation of Bahasa.

But this is where I am right now:

I know how to count to two, and the number five. Sometimes I can remember the number three IF I'm counting up from one. By itself? Never. And four? Don't even think about it. 

I can say left, right, straight, and here to a taxi driver. 

Thank you. 

You're welcome. 

Good morning and good evening. Maybe not at the right time of day, but I'm grasping at vocabulary straws here. 

I know the word for run starts with the letter "L". (And I'm proud of that?)

The rest? It all just seems like a mouthful of cotton when I attempt to go beyond my bakers-dozen of familiar words.  And it sound like chaos to my untrained ear whenever I hear conversations going on around me.  I don't even know where to begin to unravel that mess.

So, I'll continue to practice my Spanish in the silent recesses of my mind. Continue to listen to worship in Espanol and smile when Bailey shouts "la luna!" at the moon. 

I miss you, Spanish. 

So much it hurts sometimes. 

The Parent Side of Things

Over the years I have stood in front of parents as a teacher and coach and I have delivered the same message: Let me be the coach.  I need parents to be the child’s number one cheerleader and to support what I am doing as they encourage their kids.

Saturday I had the opportunity to practice what I have preached. 

Bailey (Boo) had her first swimming competition, and when we arrived at the school she was complaining of a stomachache.

She was stuck to my arm and had no intentions of letting go.  One of her coaches came up to get her from me, and Boo just looked up at me as if to say,  “No, Dad, I don’t want to swim.”

Now, deep down inside I believed that she was okay to swim. That she was just nervous and scared to swim in front of all of those people.  However, when the coach looked at me, the first thing that came out of my mouth was an excuse for my sweet little Boo: “Her stomach hurts. I don’t know if she will be able to swim.”

My message was received by a blank stare and then the coach grabbed Boo by the hand and they left to go warm up.  As Boo looked back, I summonsed all the courage I had and told her to “man up” (common phrase in our house) before walking away.

I headed to a parent viewing area and watched a coach talk and encourage Boo for about ten minutes.  I really don’t know what he was saying, but his body language was compassionate yet stern at the same time.  It was also obvious that she was going to get in that pool, one way or another. 

Standing there watching, there were many moments where I wanted to intervene. To tell Boo what to do, or maybe even tell the coach what to do.  It was at that moment I began to laugh at myself and say, “Okay player. Time to practice what you preach.  Let the coaches do what they do.” 

I stood there with my mouth shut, and forced myself not to try to “help” the coach, or save my little girl.  And soon after, Boo was in the pool, getting ready for her race.  Now, she was still nervous­ – and had no idea what was going on – but she accepted the fact that she was going to race. 

As Boo got ready for her event, I looked over at the coach and got ready to say thank you, but realized that he had already moved on to helping another kid prepare for their race.  He had done his job with Boo and was moving on to do work with someone else. The moment that was so impactful for Boo (and me) was just another coach-student encounter for him.

Finally, the gun went off for Boo’s race.

And she stood there.

Honestly. She just stood there as the other kids flew into the water. 

About two seconds later she (finally) dove in and began to swim. 

And when she came up for a breath, I saw a smile on her face.  A smile that screamed:  “I’m doing it!”  When the race ended, her smile got even bigger, and all she wanted to know when her next race was.

Now she didn’t win (I think she was 4/8), but she did the most important thing, in my opinion: 

She didn’t quit. 

She persevered through a difficult situation; she took a step toward developing grit. 

All joking aside, I don’t think that sports are the most important thing in life.  However, there are many life lessons that can be taught through sports.  I don’t remember the names of all of my teachers or coaches, but the ones that I do remember are the ones that pushed me.  The ones that forced me to work harder, to become more humble, to play the role that I was asked to play even when it wasn’t the one I wanted to play.  The ones that taught me about life, and how to deal with life.  I remember names like Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Callahan, Coach Erik, Coach Suds, Coach York and Flaschberger. 

(I must also point out that I might not have had the opportunity to be impacted by these people if my parents would have tried to save me or make excuses for me.)

As a teacher and a coach I have been blessed enough to have kids come back to me and thank me for the impact I have had in their lives. To thank me for pushing them.  I sit here and smile to think of people like Red, Ruby, Deon, Alex, Joaquin, Angie, Allen, and others.  As thankful as they might be for me, I am equally thankful for their parents.  Without their parents’ willingness to trust me, I don’t think that I would have had the same impact on them.  I guarantee that those young people did not like me all of the time.  In fact many of them cried at least once, and their parents could have stepped in and said, “No more!” 

But they didn’t. 

They let me do my job and in the process we – as a team – impacted a young life in a positive way.

So, was it hard to sit back and watch my baby girl cry and not save her?

Yes.

But was the reward was amazing?

Yes.

Man, raising kids is the hardest thing I have ever done.  But I am looking forward to letting the teachers and coaches in my kids’ lives help my wife and me raise our girls.

It takes a village!

Ibu Minah

This is in part a follow up to my last post. 

Because an excess of family time doesn't just happen. Not with nine hour school days, nightly homework, and consistent workouts.

It happens because of our live-in helper, Minah. 

She's amazing.

Backing up to the end of July, though, you'd find us wringing our hands at the prospect of having a live-in helper. We like our space. Brandon hates wearing clothes (just throwing it out there). I'm a little bit OCD and like to be in control of household things (to put it mildly).  Rumor has it I actually scolded my father in law for helping fold laundry because he wasn't doing it "right". No comment.

So the idea of having another adult in the house, lurking around all day, watching over our every move, judging our parenting and eating and . . . We just didn't know if we were ready for it.

But then reality hit.

School starts at 6:45 for Brandon, Bailey, and me. Boston needs someone at the house early to watch her until her class starts at 10. Minah lives over an hour away. On a good day. By bus. An unreliable bus.

If we needed her here early, we needed her to live here.

Okay. 

Let's try.

She won me over by the end of the week and hasn't ceased to impress me.

Granted, she folds our laundry differently, washes dishes differently, and cleans house differently. But she does it. Which means I don't.



I have only washed the girls sheets once. The day we got them. But they've been washed every Friday.

I haven't washed the girls' uniforms. Ever.

I don't press my uniform.

I don't order water or gas.

I've never scrubbed a toilet, wiped a bathroom counter, or washed a shower wall on this side of the world.

I only wash dishes on the weekend, and do a few loads of laundry on Sundays for the sole reason that I don't want to completely lose my "mom card."

Two weeks ago on a Friday, she refused to leave the apartment to go home for the weekend before she finished washing the dishes dirtied during dinner prep. And even then, it took a lot of convincing that we'd survive if she didn't mop the kitchen (again) after dinner.

Last night a friend of hers who works for another family in the building was celebrating her birthday.  Minah didn't leave until dishes were washed, lunches packed, dishes dried, table wiped, and floors swept and mopped. Even with all of her friends waiting and my insisting that I could take care of things.

"No, Miss, I finish work then go"

Thank you, Minah. Not just for all that you do for our family, but because of all that we can do as a family because of you.

Family Time

We can't get enough of it these days. 

Despite the long school days for Brandon and me.

Despite nightly homework for Bailey-Boo.

Despite swim practice, gymnastics, basketball coaching, cross-country runs, half-marathon training, and weekly futsol games.

Our evenings are not hurried. We aren't running ragged as we scamper from event to event. 

And most weekends we float from one activity to the next with little in the way of an agenda. 

Last Thursday (a national holiday and non-school day), we literally stayed at the pool for six hours. You read that right, six hours. We arrived at ten, lunches and snacks in tow, and the girls swam their little hearts out as Brandon and I tag-teamed supervision. Other families came and went (and then came back), but we stayed the course. 

On Saturday afternoon, we were at the mall, waiting for lunch with friends, and we just sat. While the girls climbed all over two little-tikes type slides on the third floor, Brandon and I simply sat. 

Sitting. 

Talking. 

Enjoying each other's company. 

We watched and laughed and mused over the girls and their make-believe play. 

While I miss Target, Stater Bros., and Victoria Gardens (never thought I'd say that!), there's something to be said for not knowing where things are. There's no pressure to go anywhere. No sale to get to. No "need" to run a quick errand that ends up taking up the whole afternoon. We have what we (really) need, and if we don't, we're not sure how to get it, so we'll improvise. 

And we'll go on enjoying the time we have together for as long as this carefree schedule can withstand.

And I'll start praying that I didn't just jinx things by hitting the "publish" button... 

The Map That Made Me Cry

It was a simple map. A basic, chicken-scratch, mess of a sketch that had me on the verge of tears.

It made no sense!

All the lines swirling about, intersecting at various points and trailing off the edges of the board. It might as well have been a treasure map drawn by Bailey. Maybe then my mind could have made something of it. I've gotten pretty good at decoding her silliness. 

But no. This was a map of Jakarta. My home. 

This was my home and it didn't compute. 

Our lecturer was trying to make a point about how "we" use landmarks in Jakarta to navigate the roads because one can't depend on street signs or mapquest or gps. So he drew these swirly lines (supposedly the toll roads around town) and all around the room, people started calling out items to add to the map.

"Lippo campus is there!" 

"Right over there is the statue of such-and-such."

"And don't forget the big power lines!"

The what? Who? What's going on? 

All of a sudden I was overwhelmed with a feeling of lost-ness that sucked the air out of my lungs. I couldn't have spoken, even if I dared.

What's going on?

Where am I?

I've been in this country nearly two months and these landmarks that are supposed to orient me to this city are as nonsensical as the Mandarin work that Boston brought home a few weeks back. 

What does it mean when the very things that everyone uses to guide themselves from point A to point B mean nothing to you? How do I make sense of this? Where do I go, when I literally don't know anything that's not along the path from apartment, to school, to church?

And still...

Be still.

Be still and know.

Know that He is God.

And this is where He wants us. 

Because that feeling of being lost was a fleeting, momentary - even if overwhelming - flash that was immediately replaced by Him.

By His peace. 

His comfort. 

His sufficiency. 

And I will cling to Him when the swirly lines and nonsensical landmarks threaten to take His peace. 

When the taxi takes a different way home and I'm suddenly lost in my own neighborhood.

When I can't find my way to anywhere that isn't somewhere along the path between home and work.

He is good. He is God. And I am His. 

I'm Back

I think.

I'm hesitant to start this post, because I feel that by writing it, I'm committing to years of posts. And to be honest, this is the first time in the past seven weeks that I've felt like I have enough time to sit down at our home computer and write. 

Don't get me wrong, I've been mentally composing and editing and deleting and revising blog posts about our time here in Jakarta since we left for LAX back in July. But then, that only compounds the problem because there's no way I can go back and do justice to our experiences these past almost-two-months. So do I throw in the towel and give up documenting the rest of our time in Jakarta simply because I'll have to do a weak-sauce summary post of the whirlwind that our time has been so far? Or do I tentatively start what might end up a train-wreck of a blog; one that started with great expectations and intentions, but quickly unravelled into an abyss of nothingness after a few hastily posted ramblings? 

What to do.

Well, there's a three year-old begging to have "dance class" with me, and a five-year old asking to go to the pool. I suppose I have a few more hours to decide. 

Then again, I just finished my first post, didn't I. ;)