Roll Over, Gaylord!

Etelka asked me several weeks ago to work with the 12th graders on two specific topics, environmentalism and computer technology, to better prepare them for their end-of-year examinations. It seems that recent tests have leaned heavily on those two subjects and, luckily enough, the school landed an expert in both when they drafted me.

After pampering 12B with state highway maps and pictures of my travels out west last week, I felt like I had primed them to appreciate natural beauty. Seeing pictures of the Grand Tetons, of the Grand Canyon, of me standing on Longs Peak with one fist raised above my head in a triumph, how could they feel anything other than a deep appreciation for the grandeur of the world around us? Apparently I was wrong.

Apparently I am a dirty-hippy of an American.

Apparently they are Hungarians.

Apparently those things are different.

I walked into second hour with a smile. Today would be the day that I tried something big, something grand, something epic. It's a class that likes me, we know each other a bit. In my back pocket, I had a stash of 20 trash bags. I wasn't going to stand in front of them and lecture them for 45 minutes about how environmentalism is important in America. I wasn't going to preach the gospel of the way I think before a congregation of the un-converted.

Nope, I had more experiential plans.

The class was smaller than usual, some kids were gone. Perfect, I thought, this will work even better. Monika and Erika, two girls who sit in the front and spend most of the class period flirtatiously proving their English knowledge to me, were two of the missing. I think they're the opinion leaders of the class.

With a flourish, I drew the planet earth on the board. They successfully identified it as 'earth,' but hadn't heard the word 'planet.' I smiled and caressed my beautiful drawing gently. I love the earth, I said, probably purring. In English, in America, we call it 'mother earth.' Apparently the phrase didn't cross the language border well.

I looked out the window, the kids had no idea what was going on now. So I said, "Hungary makes me sad sometimes, it is dirty. I want it to be beautiful." I handed each of them a bag.

"Put on your coats, kids, we're going outside!" I shouted in a feigned burst of immaculate conception of an idea of the grandest nature. They weren't impressed. No one moved.

"Hol van coat?" I asked playfully, as I tugged at coats hanging in the back of the room. Maybe if I was silly enough they'd latch onto this ridiculous idea concocted by a foreigner. Again no one moved.

For a minute I danced around, until desperation set in. I knew that either they all would follow me out the door in a moment of to-be-told-later-in-story-form brilliance, or not a single student would stand up. One or the other.

So I laid my book bag on the table, and held my blue trash bag high above my head, in a bit of dramatics. A bit Braveheart-ian, I dare to say. I didn't quite roar, but proclaimed to the befuddled class:

"Well, folks, I'm gonna go pick up garbage on the street for the next 30 minutes. If you'd like, you can join me." And then I walked out the door.

The only thing following me out of the door was the long string of blue bags hanging out my back pocket. The halls were silent except for the click of my Euro shoes.

I took the long way out to Armos Street, blatantly walking past the 12B classroom's windows. I didn't look up. I was feeling a little martyr-esque. I wasn't wearing a coat; Hungarians as a breed are always cold. I was being a blatant un-Hungarian, and hoping, just maybe, to teaching them something about anything in the process.

It's not the first time I've ever walked down a street, even a street that wasn't my own, picking up garbage. Doing a little good deed. In fact, it's rather common. I'm usually thinking when I'm doing it. There's a good story of the same from Pecos, New Mexico buried somewhere.

I stooped for a cigarette, I bemoaned Hungarians. I swung low for a soda can, I cursed apathy. I dove for a wrapper, I disdained selfishness. But mostly, rather than angry, I was proud of myself, with the contentment that comes from doing good in spite of the laziness of others. The sun was shining, and I was doing something tangible to make the world -- if only a short stretch of my walk to and from school -- a better place.

After half an hour, and two bags of trash and one of recycling, I walked back to school. I walked straight up to the second floor and into 12B. The kids were still there, they looked at me as if I had come back from the dead. I set all three bags on the table. (I had doubled bagged them, so as not to make a mess.)

Without saying a word, I picked up the chalk. I went to the board and scrawled:

Because of me, the world is a little bit better of a place.
Are you able to say the same?
Make sure the answer is yes.
Become.

I underlined the word become, as I've taken a liking to the verb. Especially as a charge to young people. Underneath I wrote, "P.S. Please make sure the glass is recycled."

I set the chalk down, turned around, picked up my book bag, and walked out of the room. I was smiling, but I don't know if they were able to see it. I didn't answer the kids as they called in wonder, "Aren't you forgetting this garbage?"

I'll let them learn some of the answers themselves.