Maria’s lost weekend
Maria was in my third grade classroom at Belvedere
Elementary, a local public school on the eastside of Los Angeles. She was small for her age, one of the
smallest in the class but what she lacked in height she more than made up for it
with spun,k her positive work ethic and
maturity beyond her years. She enjoyed
school and was working towards a perfect attendance certificate given at the
end of the year.
So I was surprised
one Friday morning when I went out to the yard where the students were waiting
in their assigned places and saw that Maria was missing from her place in
line. It wasn’t like her to miss a
Friday for that was the day we had art, PE and music, things the kids really
enjoyed.
I asked the students, “Where is Maria?. Why isn’t she here? One student spoke up.
“Maria and her family were taken by La Migra last night.
What? La Migra was the street name for ICE – Immigration and Custom Enforcement or as the kids and everyone else in that
community called them –La Migra, had been making their presence felt in East
Los Angeles for the past few weeks.
Could it really be that Maria and her family were raided and deported?
That day Maria
was on my mind. I called Maria’s home twice that day. The phone rang and rang but there was no
answer. I took the number home with me
that weekend to try during the weekend but didn’t get an answer to my phone
calls.
On Monday morning I rode my motorcycle to school. It was
already fall but the cold days had not yet begun. When the bell rang to signal the commencement
of school I walked out to the yard to where my students were waiting for me.
Lo and behold there was Maria at her place in line. I motioned for her to approach me out of
earshot of the other students.
“Maria, what happened to you last Friday? Why weren’t you in school, I asked her?
Sheepishly she put
her head down.
“Aw teach”, she said, “Ay maestro, me pesco la Migra / I got
nabbed by La Migra”.
“Don’t worry about it, I consoled her, you are safe
here. We glumly walked into the school
building to begin our day.
These events took place in 1984 around my 3rd
year as a classroom teacher. I ended up being a iclassroom teacher for 28 years until a debilitating stroke forced me to retire early. But I never forgot Maria and her lost weekend.
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