Sad Souvenirs

During my 10-year-old class, one of the vocabulary words in the reader was "souvenir."

Who knows what a souvenir is? I asked. They shook their heads.

"It's a special gift that you get from some place that is not your home. So we cannot get souvenirs from Nankan because we live in Nankan, right?"

They nod.

"Has anyone ever gotten a souvenir?"

Two hands shoot up. I call on Judy first.

"Wii."

"A wii-

"Yes because my daddy work in Shanghai, and he bring it to me from China."

The boy to her left looks eager to share as well.

"John, what did you get?"

"PSP."

"But-

"My daddy work in China too. And he give to me."

For a second I thought about explaining a souvenir is usually unique to the place it comes from, but immediately panned the idea. Too complicated. Plus, John and Judy seemed awfully proud of their "souvenirs."

When I started working my boss mentioned they had problems keeping students: The economy isn't good, she said, and a lot of the fathers found work in China. Some moved their whole families, my boss feared more would follow.

I know kids everywhere have dads who are far away for work. But there was just something sad about these two kids sitting next to eachother in my class raving about their video game consoles sent home by fathers they only see occasionally.

I feel bad for Judy especially. A couple weeks ago I started asking her if she was excited for her dad to come home for Chinese New Year. Yes, she was, she said. She knew what date and time he would arrive. Then last week she told me her mommy said maybe her dad can't make it. Missing New Year is like missing Christmas in America. Now I feel bad for even asking. She was clearly upset with the news.

Neither of Judy's parents made it to our Christmas show, both were working. Awhile back I asked the kids what their favorite thing to do was. Watch TV, play computer games, play video games were the obvious answers. But Judy told me "wash the vegetables."

Your favorite thing is to wash vegetables, really? I asked.

Yes. Because when my mommy come home from work she is tired. And my brother and I have to help her wash.

Judy is lonely. I can tell. And I really wish I could take her to a movie, and paint her toe nails and be her big sister. But I can't.

That's the thing about being a teacher I'm learning: It's so gratifying to see a kid grasp a concept and build on their knowledge under my watch. But it's a little heartbreaking to know something isn't quite right and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't like that.