Take the Ones on Top

Dear Friends,

So, there I was dancing with my students to "I'm Too Sexy" in front of the packed audience in the school gymnasium...

I've always dreamt of opening a letter with that line!

Now that I have your attention, let me fill in the gaps for you. Don't worry, I haven't crossed any professional lines... I've only mangled a few dance steps.

In Latvia, it's traditional for tenth-graders to introduce themselves to each other and to the rest of the school. I should note that, theoretically, tenth grade in Latvia is equivalent to the American concept of "freshmen" since ninth grade is still considered to be a part of the pre-intermediate schooling. For a school housing so many erudite and ambitious young scholars, I was expecting an evening of speeches and dais formalities. As I was leaving school Thursday afternoon, however, and passed one of my most enthusiastic 10th formers wearing a horse-head mask, I deduced the flavor of the evening's introductions would be a little less formal and a little more colorful.

I walked with Student Horse Head down the hall where we arrived at a small corridor in which his classmates (fifteen or so, in all) were practicing their introduction -- a dance to the illustrious nineties composition, "I'm Too Sexy." (Two side notes: apparently the song's artist, Right Said Fred, has been no stranger to performing in Riga over the last few years. Also, you'll recall the line "I'm too sexy for my cat...", yes? I still have yet to understand why my pupil was masquerading as a horse. Perhaps feline facades are in short supply in Riga.) When the cluster of students -- each from the highly competitive International Baccalaureate (IB) class -- saw me, one of them had the bright idea to ask me to join their introductory dance. The group energetically concurred and when I announced I'd join them, they released a whooping cheer.

"You'll be the jewel of our performance, Tim!" Horsehead whinnied.

At 5:30 p.m. I arrived back at school wearing my overcoat and tie in lieu of a scarf as instructed, for -- surprise! -- both items were to be shed during the song. (It's not dance these days, you know, it's choreography!) The air in the gym was vibrant as each 10th grade class introduced themselves through dance and outlandish costumes looking something like the sartorial crosses between Dennis Rodman and The Cisco Kid.

While Americans may think of a "10th grade class" as the entire class of 10th graders, here "10th grade class" means a portion... think of it as a homeroomesque group of thirty or so whose members share a similar schedule all three years of intermediate high school. While some of the students have attended Riga State No. 1 for years now, other students have only just transferred from other schools. It's vital, therefore, that the respective groups of students gel, and this introductory activity is a great way to do so.

Personally, my feelings about my involvement in the the evening were mixed. Teachers, you'll know what I mean... I was honored to be invited to partake in the festivities by my students (even if the invitation came straight from the horse's mouth) but on the other hand, I could just envision the headlines in the Fulbright Monthly Gazette: American Teacher Sent Home After Dancing in School. (The negotiable quality of my moves would only be a minor detail, mentioned in fine print.) Being an educator who firmly believes good education springs from the root of meaningful, supportive human connection, I laced up my shoes, buttoned my coat and stepped onto the dance floor.

The end result? Well, the students and other teachers in the gym seemed to love it. My tenth-graders were thrilled and began to chant "IB! IB!" as we exited the makeshift stage. My colleague and great friend, Marta, unbeknownst to me, captured the performance on her camera. (Don't bother checking YouTube; it won't be there... I hope.) It was great to see all of my students, though, in action -- some of them doing J-ette caliber routines -- and get this: girls and guys! Forgive the generality, but a lot of guys here seem to be into dance and not once have I heard young men snicker or make fun of dance or those who dance. Think Triopia High School in the Bradbury days. Refreshingly, there are no school sports at Riga State No. 1, but if there were, you'd no doubt find the quarterbacks dancing and singing (and doing so intentionally). If nothing else, they'd be sitting supportively and appreciatively in the audience. This is one of those little things I really appreciate about Latvian culture: the art of dance has not been over-sexed. Its soul has not been sold to MTV and in no way has dancing been deemed "girly."

Following the performances, the 10th grade classes were led around school on a wild goose chase scavenger hunt by members of the 12th grade classes. And, so you can see how the cycle continues and will continue; in two years it will be these 10th graders literally showing the incoming 10th graders the way around school.

*****

Friday, my day without classes, was Inter-

national Teachers Day -- another cause for celebration. You can see the sign that was suspended in the entry hall of the school. The last class period of the day was used as a time for students to thank their teachers with song and speech. Every teacher was given a box of candies and a hand-painted card. I missed this small festivity, though, because I decided to take up an offer to visit Ventspils on Latvia's western coast with Kathi, a German student-teacher who just finished her stint at Riga State No. 1. (While I hated to miss the Teachers' Day ceremony, I was advised by other colleagues not to miss the chance to see Ventspils in the autumn.) I am pleased with my decision. We traversed the three hour trip to Ventspills on a bus (tickets were approximately $7 one way). The city, much smaller than Riga, is a popular destination for Latvians. It's an old port city and oil refineries still line the waterways. The city is also chock full of historical connections thanks to the port. I was delighted to see for myself the place where Latvian conquerors under the direction of Duke Jakob Kettler set out to establish colonies in The Gambia and Tobago islands some 300 years ago.

I want to note here that some members of my church recently retraced Duke Jakob's steps and in one eventful swoop, visited The Gambia, Tobago Islands and New York City before returning to Latvia. The troupe captured their experience on film which I saw in its premiere a month ago. Unlike many other European conquerors of the time, it is interesting to note that Duke Jakob and his men established contracts between themselves and the native peoples in each land. The gentle spirit of Latvian people that I notice today is seemingly deeply embedded and historically rooted.

In Ventspils, then, Kathi and I took in a wonderfully modern historical museum constructed out of and on top of the ancient Ventspils castle. My favorite part of the journey was walking along the Baltic Sea -- warmer now in October than it was in August -- with my fellow day tripper.

When we visited the diminutive orthodox cathedral, the woman at the door, her white hair contrasting starkly with her traditional black dresses, offered Kathi and me an over-stuffed plastic bag of apples from the trees growing in the yard. We obliged gratefully.

*****

This morning during worship at St. Saviour I thought of this generous woman and the apples she gave us when Pastor Calitis, preaching on Luke 17:5-10 ("mustard seed faith," etc.) said that we should not expect thanks and praise for our good works. Doing good work is right because it's right and good -- and that is reward in and of itself. But, he said with a grin, God knows our desires and gives us "apples and treats" along the way, at just the right times. What a handsome image: God as gardener at a roadside stand -- or old Orthodox woman -- handing out apples along the way.

*****

I've previously noted that after 11:00 p.m. (or 23:00... I'm still trying to accustom myself to military time), more programs in English come on the television. Weeks ago, I was up late and came across the 1965 film, A Patch of Blue, in which Sidney Poitier befriends the blind and hapless Shelley Winters. In one scene, he takes her grocery shopping in an attempt to acclimate her to the common experiences of everyday life. When he sends her off to pick out some pieces of fruit -- were they apples or oranges? -- not able to see, she takes the pieces from the bottom of the slanted pile thus causing a mini-volcanic spill as the ones on top topple downward. Poitier is swift to come to her rescue and offers this profound advice: Next time, take the ones on top.

The longer I'm here the more and more apples in the forms of opportunities, invitations, and introductions fall into my lap. These are treats indeed, and I'm finding the need to prioritize the ones even on top.

You know, you've come a long way with me. Not only in my heart, but in making it to this point in my rather long and disjointed scrawling.

Paldies! ("Thank you!")

This week, no matter what decisions you face, I hope you'll choose the ones on top. Watch our for falling apples. And talking horses.

Yours,

Tim