Lately I've been thinking

I spend the majority of my Wednesday nights during the school year as a teacher’s assistant for an Introduction to English class for beginners. I sit and watch as they apply themselves with determination- learning numbers, letters, and phrases like “where are you from?” and “how many languages do you speak?” They sit in class trying to master a second language while their home countries are being torn apart by greed and war. I wonder about their stories and their families, but we stick to the platitudes they already know. “What is your name?” “Where are you from?” We spend time going over the difference between pronouncing the “D” sound (put your tongue to the roof of your mouth) and the “B” sound (press your lips together). We laugh together when one student says “chicken” when she means “kitchen.”

Earlier this year my husband busted one of his students for using AI to help with an assignment. I think that maybe those high school students should spend an evening in class with my refugee students.

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Through a series of conversations, it becomes clear that my daughter has been spinning tall tales on the playground. Age appropriate, probably. Some would say it’s harmless - she’s lying about drinking coffee for breakfast every morning and starring in a local production of the Nutcracker (she doesn’t and she’s not)- but we treat it seriously nonetheless.

I listen to the lies the President touts at the most recent press briefing and I think that maybe the playground is where it all begins. I imagine a young boy who convinces himself that no one got hurt, that it’s helping his image. He does this for so long until one day when he’s grown he finds himself woven in a web of lies so complex there’s no escape. A pipeline from playground gossip to national scandal. Where was his mother?

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Every morning my two year old daughter comes into our room while I am still in bed and gives me a hug. And by hug, I mean that she literally climbs in bed and lays on top of my stomach squeezing me like a baby koala. I’ll gladly take all the sleepy snuggles I can get.

In my office, a young girl sculpts a baby turtle riding it’s mamas back. She has recently faced unimaginable loss. I think that maybe she’s just searching for something to grab onto to stay afloat.

I think that maybe we’re all just searching for something, or someone, to grab hold of.