Seduction:
I sit comfortably right now looking east towards Spokane, the Waste to Energy Plant belching a thin white cloud to add to the thin whispy clouds hovering above the Spokane Valley. The light gives the ice on the tarmac outside of the window and icy sheen as the mountains on the horizon faintly glow blue with the new morning. I’m going to miss Eastern Washington mornings.
I described coming home as “weird and wonderful” to a friend of mine, and I think those two words are nice but not very descriptive. The real word I would use to describe my visit was seductive. Visiting home again was like visiting a near and very close friend and taking comfort in all of the things friends take comfort in. Also fighting the same fights that friends do even though it’s been months or years since they’ve seen each other last. I found this scenario played out everywhere I went, everyone I spoke with, and everything I did. Coming home for a short time was just the reality check I needed before I head back to the very different world of Southeastern Arkansas, and the prospect of leaving everything behind and staying home to rekindle old flames, check up on friends, find a more comfortable environment was a distant whisper in the back of my mind. I can now understand why a few of my peers in Teach for America quit after Thanksgiving Break. The cry of home is a real one, and after seven months I had forgotten how truly different my life is at the moment, the environment I’m in, and the people I now associate with back “home” in Arkansas.
Some distinct differences I’ve noticed is the willingness and the freedom for which we speak up here in the Northwest. It might just be my peers and present company, but I can talk about just about anything and everything with my friends and family. There is no subject too taboo, too rigid that I can’t bring up and not get a smile, a laugh, or a pat on the back from. My friends over here are timeless, they know my quirks and work with me on them. I do the same, with blunt honesty and good will. My friend Brian is a good example: here’s a guy who I’ll never know exactly what his future plans are, they change on a daily basis. I give him constant shit for it too. But even though I do that, he knows that I mean well and takes it with a grain of salt. I guess what I’m getting at (because I’m rambling at the moment) is that I realized the depth and importance of some friendships and loves that I’d taken for granted or thought that my experiences down South would be so profound and life-changing that I would arrive to Washington a stranger in a strange land, relearning how to think, act, and interact. The reverse was true, and I find myself truly blessed because of the ease I had talking to people and relating my experiences.
The interesting factor is how little we up here know about the world of the South and especially the Delta. Giving a background on the area and teaching always left me winded, because I’d go into an intimate history of most of my kids, tracing the roots of their poverty back to sharecropping (courtesy of Nick Lemann’s excellent book: “The Promised Land, The Great Black Migration and How it Changed America,” add that one to your reading lists) to the projects in the cities and then back to the Delta, or stayed in the Delta, caught under the heel of poverty. I related to my new fellow teachers and old-time mentors at Harrington High School the fun points about the people I work with and relate to on a daily basis, the fun in my students’ names, and the journey I’ve had as I mature from a rookie teacher to a rookie teacher with a little more common sense. Back in the Delta it’s pretty easy to relate to people: they know what you’re up against and talk to you accordingly. Back up here, the job almost seems small. Back in the Delta I feel like I’m given too much credit, up here, very little, and I like that.
I only have about two and a half months until I see the immediate family again: they’re coming down for a visit during Spring Break. Between now and then I have lots of work since I’ve effectively taken a break from my educational duties. I’m flying into Memphis and then driving Highway 61, the birthplace of the blues, down to Cleveland and then over on Highway 82, birthplace of…catfish (guess) to Lake Village Arkansas, my new home and community. I’ll be armed with bottles of Washington wine for friends, smoked salmon (also for friends) and Craven’s coffee for my connoisseur housemate. I’ll miss micro-brewed beer the most, particularly Windemere’s excellent Snow Plow seasonal ale which Mom and Dad will enjoy in the comforts of their home because I bought too much and was afraid it would break in the checked baggage.
About 20 minutes until boarding time now. For those of you whom I was able to see and catch up with these past two weeks: thank you. Thank you for listening to my stories, for partying with me during New Years, for letting me stay at your house, for the handshakes, the hugs, the kisses, for making my old home feel like home again. I’ll see you real soon.
Cheers,
-Nate
“So this is the New Year. I don’t feel any different.”-Death Cab for Cutie
“I want to be with you be with you night and day. Nothing changes, on New Years Day.”-U2
