Playing Favorites

Anyone who has had training as a teacher knows how strongly it's discouraged to play favorites. It's best for everybody involved if we can steer clear of having a favorite in a class at all, and if we can't help give in, it's encouraged to hide any semblance of preference. I think in an American classroom I was pretty good at that. I felt pretty well connected to all the students I spent any fair amount of time working with, and that was enough to make them all pretty special to me. There wasn't a kid in any classroom I spent much time in that I didn't become totally attached to. They were all my students, so they were all my favorites.

I think I even tend at times to shy away from finding favorites elsewhere. I make exceptions from time to time, though. I've got a few very close friends and special people who I adore. The main exceptions, of course, though, are my family. That's reasonable, right? Everyone loves their family (and the people who feel as close as family) best.

I'm finding a funny thing happening here in Moldova. A lot of people are starting to feel quite a bit like family. It's pretty cool actually, but to be honest, it's surprising.

I arrived feeling pretty alien. I didn't know the language, but I could count on that changing. I wasn't familiar with what are seen as the "right" behaviors, but I expected to catch up eventually in that arena, too. What I figured would impede my fitting in is the fact that I can't ever expect to blend in here. I look different. I dress differently. I carry myself differently. At school I conduct myself like a different sort of teacher, and at home I'm a different sort of member of the family. I, like most volunteers, I imagine, am just a little peculiar here. I knew I could handle that, because I've always been a little odd.

What I didn't know is that people would eventually stop noticing it and start noticing me. How cool is that?? It's like magic or something. I think it's part of what Peace Corps calls "integration," but that's way too stuffy a name for something so awesome.

I feel like I've integrated (or perhaps wriggled my way into) a few kinds of families here. There's the host family I stayed with during my summer training. We weren't at all close over the summer when I was little more than a stressful summer chore for the youngest daughter, struggled to understand them or to be understood by them, and really only bonded with the 7-year-old niece. Now, though, we Skype, I visit, we enjoy one another's company. They're fascinated by my decision to be here. I'm fascinated by all the things they've seen and done in their lives, coming from other places, seeing people struggle, work hard, get ahead only very slowly. They're stronger people than I think I've met anywhere else. Most importantly, I think they care for me, and that's mutual. We're already scheming my next visit over spring break, and they've already planned out the menu of homecooked goodies I'll be fed in mass quantities and promised to set up a day that Daniela, the seven-year-old, and I can hang out.

I've also got the people at my school. Not all of them, because I've really had a tough time communicating with most of the other teachers. Most of them scarcely speak Romanian, and fewer still (obviously) know English. Since I can't get far past "hello," "how are you?," and "fine, thanks" in Russian, I'd call those first two the only languages I speak. Still though, a few have taken me under their wings or taken an interest in making conversation in the teachers' room with the unusual American who decided to leave home for years to come to Moldova, of all places, and teach English. They ask about my family, and my friends, and what I like to do. They ask what I think of life here and of winter here, and inevitably about what I think of the food here. I inevitably exaggerate my adoration of pretty much everything I eat here, because some little white lies are worth making others so darn happy for.

Then I've got two honest-to-goodness families here in Edineț, the one Peace Corps chose for me and the one that chose me. The one that chose me is my partner teacher's, and I'll definitely have to devote a post to her, her two darling daughters, and her incredibly friendly and welcoming parents some time. For now, though, I want to tell you about the one that, to tell the truth, surprises me most.

When I found out Peace Corps Volunteers in Moldova typically live with host families, I thought, "Well, it says some don't-- I bet I can find a way to avoid it."It's nothing personal, I hadn't even made it to the country yet, but I don't typically cohabitate well. I stress over having guests for a weekend more often than not (though ultimately love having them). I butt heads with my mother when we're under one roof for more than a weekend. Even when I visit others I eventually gravitate toward hermit mode or a dire need to take long walks alone. I like to think it's not that I'm totally socially inept but that I just really need my me time. I feel like that's less bizarre.

When I came here to visit my family, I thought, "They seem really nice-- I bet I could stay with them with no trouble at all for that required first three months, until I find a place of my own." I heard that a [place of my own would be difficult to find here and thought "Well, I'll try anyhow." Now, here I am, not trying to leave almost nine months in, not expecting to try leaving until I'm again America-bound. They drive me nuts at times, I drive them nuts at times. My host mother, especially. I think that's a requirement of being part of a family though. I actually think I've come to treasure even that.



They're good people, and they look out for me. They like having me around, and I enjoy my time spent with them. I never thought I'd say it, but they've come to feel an awful lot like family. It's pretty great.

The thing I treasure most, though, is that as long as I'm here, I've got a friend. No, I don't mean the cat (though he and I are super close, I think he's more drawn to me by the fact that I'm warm and always let him snuggle up and sleep on my lap than by my personality). I mean my host brother. He doesn't care if my Romanian's mediocre... at best... for a toddler. He doesn't tattle if I don't know how to work something and heed his help outsmarting it, so he never makes me look dumber than I typically do already. He goes to any length he can to entertain me, give me something to smile at no matter how crummy my day's been, and to return the cat to my lap after he's done playing with him. (Okay, I only appreciate that part about half the time-- usually the cat's pretty ready to fight by the time they're done wrestling.)

My host mom fell today on some of this wicked Moldovan ice, and she hurt her knee. I feel terrible for her, because I can tell it's got her in a lot of pain, and because she hates not being able to do all those important Moldovan mom jobs she normally does. I figured keeping Costel entertained for the evening was beneficial for everybody, because I totally enjoy his company and because this let her relax and my host dad help her out with other household stuff. (He made some pretty tasty scrambled eggs and hot dogs for dinner-- I'm thinking I'll volunteer for dinner duty this weekend. No offense to tonight's dinner, I just know it's one of very few items in his repertoire, and we may not want to eat it for days.)

I fixed tea for Costel and I both, one teabag for two cups, since neither of us like it very strong. It's ideal, really. He played me his whole collection of music on his cell phone, which I listen to an awful lot, since it's his favorite pass time lately. Then he started playing air guitar to it and I began telling him I was trying to learn to play real guitar before I came to Moldova. I told him that I have a guitar of my own at home and that I miss it, and he told me he has one and I could try it. He brought it out of his and his parents' room, and showed it to me. It's yellow and plastic, and even when they're tightened as far as they'll go, the plastic pegs don't draw the strings nearly tight enough to sing out the right tune. Regardless, though, we spent half an hour sitting and messing around with it. After a while I plopped it down on my lap and started just picking and strumming at it that way, and I managed to get some kind of fun sounds to come out of it, so Costel started dancing and clapping to my music.

It made me think of August Rush, so I went upstairs and called him after me to see if I could find it and show him some of my favorite parts of the music. It took a while to figure out where I'd saved it, but it turned up on my external hard drive and I clicked around, showing him one bit after another of the cool music, then, eventually, when it started to get more into dialogues, I translated a bit. The next time I tried skipping on to more music, he told me to leave it, so we ended up watching about the second half of the movie, me listening to the movie and translating, him listening to me and watching, and both of us just sitting back to enjoy the music when it played, because we all know music speaks every language.

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sN0c_egqXAM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe> (We started with this bit, and he was hooked. I love it.)

This is a kid, mind you, who tends to gravitate more toward movies that revolve around gunfights or fast cars, but some things are just cool enough for anybody to enjoy, I guess. I don't know how I knew he'd like this so much, but I did.

By the end of it, we were both on the edge of our seats (well, figuratively, since we were sitting in the middle of my bed) despite the facts that he'd only seen half and only heard about the three quarters that I could (roughly) translate for him of the dialogue, plus a little added explanation, and that I've seen it a good dozen times. Host mom called up to ask what we were doing around 10:30 and he called back that I was showing him a movie about music and it'd be over soon, and she asked me to remind him to get ready for bed as soon as it ended. It ended, he pajama'd up and said good night, and I got ready to settle in, smiling from ear to ear. The evenings I spent hanging around with the family, especially with the little brother I never knew I wished I had. I've been pretty lucky here, and that's all there is to it.

Be impressed Peace Corps, even the most socially awkward among your volunteers can get pretty good at this whole "integration" deal with a little practiced. I'm as surprised as you are, but I'm totally pleased.

Cassie's next goal: figure out how to get a hold of Romanian subtitles for this and some other favorite movies so I can share them with the host family. The translation deal may be great for my language skills and add some degree of bonding, but I think the movies will still be better if they we can all understand them simultaneously, and I think that way Costel will like this one even better still.

(By the way-- if anybody happens to know the key to tracking down these subtitles, I'd much appreciate advice-- so far, I'm not quite turning up what I hoped for. Thanks a bunch)