It was the last day before Christmas\nBreak at Pacific High School in Garibaldi. Cassandra looked out the\nsecond floor window of her classroom, over the entire village of\n3500, and down to the port. All the crabbing boats were gone. The\nstate finally gave them the green light and thus launched the\ncrustacean gold rush, and with it, the welcome absence of Cassandra’s\nsemi-literate, semi-drunken boyfriend of the last several months. How\na smart and vivacious Yearbook, Journalism and Photography teacher\nhad ended up with a loser like him was inexplicable, even to herself.\nSuch pairings often occur on the Oregon Coast, especially in the\nrainy winter in the fishing villages. She’d already made a New Year’s\nResolution to dump him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sky was overcast and the\ntemperature flirted with freezing. Snow was in the forecast and all\nthe students knew it. So did the teachers. They all prayed for snow\nand an early release to get on with a vacation (reprieve) from the\nrote and dreary experience known as an American high school\neducation. It was an education that amounted to nothing more than\npreparation to become a more rabid consumer of useless crap, a more\nexpert worker at destroying the planet with a useless job, a more\ndisconnected useless human being from humanity, and a more practiced\nscreen time-zombie because most of the teachers at Pacific High\nSchool didn’t really teach. They supervised students in Personalized\nLearning Explorations (PLEs), the new revolutionary online (i.e.\nteacher proof<\/em>) curriculum the school district had spent millions\non, thereby enriching the Synergy Corporation (subsidiary of Amazon\nor Google or Standard Oil) in certitude that the curriculum written\nby non-teachers would raise test scores and graduation rates. Of\ncourse it would do nothing to enlarge the hearts or minds of\nstudents. Nobody gave a shit about that. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n But Cassandra taught, taught her ass\noff, and loved her gig at Pacific High with its underdog students.\nShe loved that the school’s mascot was a sea otter, loved seeing the\nbay and hearing the grunts of the sea lions. And she really loved the\ngig because she didn’t have to use PLEs in her teaching because she\ntaught only electives, and was in fact, the only teacher of electives\nin the entire school! She was also the varsity volleyball coach!<\/p>\n\n\n\n Goddammit<\/em>, thought Cassandra,\nsnow you mother\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n It was\nthe beginning of second period Journalism, a 90-minute block of 27\nstudents that produced the school newspaper that every person in\nGaribaldi read because it was the only newspaper in town. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra,\nwearing a red Christmas sweater emblazoned with demonic-looking\nangels, was running the class through her Holiday Fever Prompts, an\nannual lesson she taught the last day before break. It had always\nbeen a big hit with students and she invited them to share one of\ntheir responses aloud by the end of the period to receive a candy\ncane and 50 extra credit points. Extra credit!<\/em> Cassandra\nalways wrote with the students and always shared. The prompts were: \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n As Andy Williams’ Christmas album\ncrooned on the turntable, students cranked out sentences on the pages\nof their journal, in longhand, something Cassandra demanded. The\nso-called Cloud storing the aspirations and ideas of these teenagers\nwill have evaporated long before the pages of a paper journal\ndisintegrate. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra perused the prompts. Which\none?<\/em> She usually steered toward comedy in her responses, but\nwasn’t feeling it this season. In fact, she had been feeling rather\nblue of late. Sure, the loser boyfriend, and sure, she’d probably be\nalone at Christmas, but something much, much larger nagged at\nCassandra.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The job. Was it worth it anymore? She’d\ntallied seven years at Pacific High, her first teaching assignment,\nand every year the job seemed to deteriorate in value relative to the\nmental, physical and spiritual health of her students. Was she\ncomplicit in this deterioration? Was she really doing a damn thing\nworth doing? Was she a cog? Was she part of The Combine that threshed\nyoung people in the fields, readying them for baling and feeding to\nthe livestock of American living? \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra was about to write on # 6\nwhen she heard something outside. She checked the window and saw a\nlarge flatbed truck backing up into the parking lot of a church’s\nfood bank. It was loaded with boxes and boxes of non-perishable\ngoods. An elderly man got out of the truck. Two elderly women emerged\nfrom the food bank. Cassandra stared at the sky. It was darkening,\ngetting ready to do something. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n What\u2019s one simple action I can\ntake this holiday season to better my minuscule corner of the world?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cClass,\u201d\nCassandra announced. \u201cEveryone read #6 and then join me at the\nwindow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Within seconds, all 27 students stood\nat the window with their teacher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cClass,\u201d said Cassandra, \u201cWe\naren’t going to write on any of the prompts today. We’re going to\nlive number six. Right now. This period, together.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A murmur of excitement gurgled up in\nthe teenagers. They always loved when Cassandra riffed like this\nbecause they didn’t know what the hell was going to happen next,\nprecisely the opposite of almost every other period, every day, every\nweek, every month, at school. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat can we do as one class, as one\ngiant individual to better our minuscule Garibaldi?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra knew what she wanted them to\ndo, but she held back, waiting, waiting, waiting…until some boy\nsaid, \u201cWhy don’t we go help with unloading the boxes at the food\nbank.\u201d He pointed down to the church as he said this. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRight on!\u201d said a girl, then\nanother girl. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet’s roll sea otters!\u201d shouted\nCassandra. \u201cGet your coats!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bedlam erupted. A mad scramble ensued\nand everyone was flying down the stairs, out the back door, and\nwalking briskly toward the food bank. Cassandra found herself running\nand screaming, \u201cRun you devils! Run!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They ran. Cassandra looked up and\nthought she saw something floating down from the sky. A single white\nsomething. The students were too giddy to notice. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Goddammit<\/em>, thought Cassandra,\nsnow you mother\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Technically, since the class had left\ncampus, this impromptu field trip required a battery of permission\nforms, a safety plan, a first Aid kit, and a pouch containing all the\nvarious medications that students needed in emergencies if they went\non a field trip, medications generally prescribed to profit\npharmaceutical conglomerates, and keep students dulled to the savage\ninequalities and emotionally bankrupt nature of American life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The principal had busted Cassandra on\nthis issue before when she took the photography class outside to\ndocument the incoming crab boats. You couldn’t plan for that\narrival!<\/em> So they bolted to the docks, took incredible photographs\nand videos, and staged a show at gallery. Most of the fishermen came,\nsome even sober. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Screw the forms<\/em>, thought\nCassandra. Fire me! We’re moving! <\/em>She was doing it almost more\nfor herself than her students. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fifteen minutes later the class had\nunloaded the boxes from the truck and put the stock out on the\nshelves as they inhaled three dozen day-old doughnuts. The elderly\nwomen called the students their \u201cprecious Christmas elves.\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Right before departing, Cassandra\ngathered the students together in a far corner of the room and said,\n\u201cStart asking questions of this place right now.\u201d It was a common\nbrainstorming exercise she employed with her journalism students and\nit always produced something wholly unexpected and wondrous. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n The questions came as if shot out of a\ncannon:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Why is this place so crowded?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Why is there no staff to help out\nthe old ladies?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Who are these hungry people?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Why are people so hungry?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n What kind of food do they need the\nmost?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Cassandra asked her students:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Why haven’t we been here before?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n How many of you know someone who\nuses this pantry?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n How many of you are in families that\nuse food stamps?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n How many of you are on free or\nreduced lunch?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n How many of you are too embarrassed\nto admit it or don’t even use it?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n How many of you are hungry during\nthe day or night?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Hungry right now?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n A silence hung over the group.\nCassandra had ripped out the questions so fast that no had to time\nanswer. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n But they were thinking about them. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOkay,\u201d said Cassandra, \u201cI want\neveryone to get their phones out, and take a photograph of the food\nbank or a product or staff member or a customer, write a brief\nstatement about what this place needs for Christmas donations and\npost it to social media. You have five minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The class looked ready to explode when\nCassandra added, \u201cGet permission from the people you photograph and\nask if you can use their names.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCassandra,\u201d said a student, the\neditor of the newspaper, \u201cIs this going to be graded?\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Damn the grades!<\/em> thought\nCassandra. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure,\u201d she said, lying. \u201cShow me\nyour post as we head to the next stop and I’ll give you 25 points.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Five minutes later, Cassandra, standing\noutside the food bank, yelled, \u201cWe’re rolling Garibaldi, we’re\nrolling you sea otters!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra didn’t know where they were\nrolling. She was teaching on the fly, improvising, intuiting, but it\nwasn’t disorganized. It was life ready to unfold. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the distance, Cassandra heard what\nsounded like live rock and roll being played outdoors. What?<\/em>\nIn Garibaldi?<\/em> She followed the sound with her class spread out\nacross the street behind her, in a sort of a battle formation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The students heard the rock and roll\nand caught Cassandra’s drift. Soon, they were all jogging. Someone\nbroke into \u201cDeck the Halls,\u201d and everyone joined in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Three blocks later, the class, winded,\nstood in front of Garibaldi’s only Christmas tree lot, a cherished\ntradition run by the same family for 75 years. The lot was lit up,\nserving hot chocolate, and three old brown labs were decked out out\nas reindeer, patrolling the area, making everyone smile. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Behind the tree lot was an abandoned\nparking lot strewn with derelict cars and boats. A lone scrawny shore\npine had somehow rooted itself in the broken concrete and was the\nonly living thing around. This space had been a city eyesore for\nyears, and recently became home to a dozen or so homeless people in a\nmakeshift tent\/RV encampment. The police had no idea what to do about\nit and several neighbors had called in complaints about litter, noise\nand the general presence of homeless people. Out of sight, out of\nmind is the general thinking on the issue in America. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n But it wasn’t the tree lot or the\nhomeless camp that arrested the students’ attention. It was three\nwhite dreadlocked young men playing and singing rock and roll\nChristmas songs on a cello, snare drum, and acoustic guitar. The trio\nwas rocking the holy hell out of \u201cWalkin’ in a Winter Wonderland\u201d\nand a small crowd of people, including a few from the homeless camp,\nhad gathered to listen and sing along.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra whipped out her wallet and\ndropped a $5 in the trio’s pot. A couple students dropped in some\nchange. The song ended and Cassandra asked the band if they took\nrequests. She had a $20 ready if they could play her favorite\nChristmas song, \u201cFather Christmas\u201d by the Kinks. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n The band knew the song and fired into\nit. Within seconds, they were belting out the chorus with Cassandra\njoining in:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Father\nChristmas, give us some money \u201cDance you devils!\u201d Cassandra\nroared to her students, as she danced. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her students danced. She then gazed\nover to the parking lot and homeless camp. The shore pine caught her\neye. She bellowed, \u201cWe’re rolling Garibaldi! Let’s go sea otters!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A minute later, Cassandra and her\nstudents stood in front of the shore pine in the homeless camp. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI want this tree decorated STAT!\u201d\nshe said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWith what?\u201d said one of the\nteenagers. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWith whatever you have or whatever\nyou find. Now decorate you crafting devils!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Half the students wore some kind\nChristmas decoration on their person, a Santa hat, scarves, bells,\nribbons, boas of garland, ornament and candy cane earrings. Off it\nall came and students shouted out a strategy for decoration. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n A man emerged from a tent. Then a few\nmore men, two women, and a couple of dogs. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat’s going on?\u201d said one of the\nmen. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe want to decorate your tree,\u201d\nsaid Cassandra. \u201cI’m a teacher from the high school, Cassandra, and\nthese are my students. You want to help us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nobody said anything. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra looked up to inspect the sky.\nGoddammit<\/em>, let it<\/em> snow you mother\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure, that would be great,\u201d said a\nwoman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEveryone introduce themselves,\u201d\nsaid Cassandra. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n They did. They shook hand and slapped\nbacks and went to work on the tree. The homeless men and women and\nstudents conversed as they decorated. Simple conversations. Opinions\nabout placement of certain decorations. A few questions from both\nsides. Observation. Reflection. Listen. Digest. Consider. Reconsider.\nFace to face. It was all sort of journalism without the formality of\njournalism, but the outcome was the same: information about something\nyou didn’t know before. You learned something new because you were\ncurious\u2014or made to be curious. You probably had your conventional\nwisdom blown to smithereens. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n As the decorating was underway,\nCassandra pulled out her phone and punched up the pizza joint on an\napp. She ordered three large cheese and three pepperoni pizzas,\nwings, sodas, and directed delivery to the homeless camp behind the\ntree lot. She included a hefty tip. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCassandra,\u201d said one of the\nstudents, \u201cTake a look at the tree.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She wheeled around and beheld the\nfunkiest Christmas tree in Oregon. The empty beer cans were a special\ngritty touch, as was the fishing line. At the top of the tree rested\na red trucker hat. Students were taking photographs of it, as were a\ncouple of the homeless, and sending it out to the digital realm. It\nmight do a little good there. It was worth a try. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra addressed a group of the\nhomeless. More had emerged from the tents and RVs. Her students\nwatched. \u201cI just ordered pizzas for you. They’re going to be\ndelivered in 15 minutes. We can’t stay, though. Gotta roll. Merry\nChristmas from Pacific High School.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It felt like the best \u201cMerry\nChristmas\u201d Cassandra had ever said to anyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When’s the last time you said \u201cMerry\nChristmas\u201d and meant it? When you do, it feels awesome. <\/em>\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThank you,\u201d said one of the men. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet’s roll sea otters!\u201d barked\nCassandra. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n And away they dashed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Last stop: the animal shelter and the\nadjacent thrift store that supported the shelter. At some point in\nthe field trip, Casssandra knew the class would end up there but she\nfretted the shelter and thrift store might be closed at this hour due\nto staffing and budget issues. If they were open, then what?\nCassandra didn’t have a clue and she realized that time was running\nout on the period. Can’t be tardy back to school when you’re not even\nsupposed to be missing! \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hark the herald angels sing!<\/em>\nBoth were open. Cassandra told the class to wait outside while she\nraced inside the shelter to confer with its management. She had an\nidea to pitch. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n A minute later she had the students in\na tight circle, much like a football huddle. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra called out the play: \u201cOkay,\nhere’s the plan. We’re going into the shelter and help get these\nanimals adopted. It’s called Operation Pet Rescue. Teams of two. Half\nof you will work with dogs, half with cats. It doesn’t matter which\none. Don’t complain. Use some of the Christmas decorations and dress\nup the animals. Take some great shots, closeups, find out their\nnames, write an appeal to be adopted in the first person. Become the\npet! Blast this out over social media. No typos! No extra credit for\nthis. It’s a full hundred point test. If the animal gets adopted\nbefore Christmas, A. If it doesn’t, F, a big fat F. Now get your\nhands in here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She reached out her right hand into the\ncircle. All the students did the same. They all came together as one\nhand. They were powerful. They were an army. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOn three,\u201d Cassandra yelled,\n\u201cLet’s go sea otters!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She counted down and the cheer went up.\nIt resounded through town. It spooked the sea lions. The students\nbroke the huddle and sprinted into the shelter. The mission was on. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fifteen minutes later, every team had\ncompleted the assignment and all the students were now standing\ninside the thrift store. Two elderly men and one elderly woman were\non duty at the counter, wearing hideous Christmas sweaters, watching\nCassandra. She hadn’t cleared anything with them. They weren’t used\nto 30 teenagers standing in front of them with Christmas music\nplaying. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cClass,\u201d she said. \u201cYou have\nexactly seven minutes to buy anything you want as long as the total\ndoesn’t exceed three dollars. My treat, your Christmas gift for a job\nwell done today. All Christmas cards don’t count against the total.\nGet your mom a card!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A gentle chaos erupted as the students\nfanned out into the thrift store to shop. Cassandra shopped, too, and\nwas delighted to discover a yellow macrame top from circa 1975. She’s\nbeen collecting these vintage garments for years, but never actually\nworn one anywhere except around her house. She wondered what teaching\nin macrame might feel like it. It was high time she found out!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n A couple of the girls came up to\nCassandra and asked for her opinion on some clothes they were\nconsidering buying. She gave it. She offered some recommendations of\nclassic novels to a few bookworms perusing the musty shelves. They\ntook them. Cassandra noticed a boy trying on a wool overcoat that was\nthree sizes too big for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou gonna wear that?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. I thought someone at the camp\ncould use it. It’s more than three dollars though. But I’ll cover the\ndifference.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra thought she might start\ncrying. But she kept it together, \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n The students lined up and placed their\nitems on the counter. They cleaned out the Christmas cards and animal\nfigurines. Cassandra was last and paid the bill. They exited the\nthrift store with all their loot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It started snowing<\/em>. Hell yes\nmother\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n The students started skipping, doing\njigs and jumps, karate kicks. \u201cDance you snow devils!\u201d shouted\nCassandra. \u201cDance!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They danced down the street. They\nblocked traffic and a few horns honked, but they weren’t honking in\nanger. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n As they approached the campus, the\ntardy bell rang. They were late!<\/em> That would earn Cassandra the\ntop spot on the principal’s Christmas Shit List and she’d have to\nchaperone all the dances for the rest of the year!<\/p>\n\n\n\n There he was, on the front steps,\nwaiting, pissed off, arms crossed, snowflakes collecting on his tan\nwindbreaker. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cassandra laughed. \u201cWe’re busted!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The students clapped and cheered. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then the snow really began to fall.\n \n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It was the last day before Christmas Break at Pacific High School in Garibaldi. Cassandra looked out the second floor window of her classroom, over the entire village of 3500, and down to the port. All the crabbing boats were gone. The state finally gave them the green light and thus launched the crustacean gold […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5693,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[43,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5692","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-meditations","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5692","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5692"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5692\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5695,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5692\/revisions\/5695"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5693"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5692"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5692"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5692"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
We’ll\nbeat you up if you make us annoyed
Father\nChristmas, give us some money
Don’t\nmess around with those silly toys <\/em>\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n