the rockstar

I brought Teoman to school the other day - to present him to everybody and for my parents to see the school.

Everybody was in class, but my progression through the school was slow because teachers saw me through windows and came out to greet us with hugs, kisses, oohs and ahhs.  I made it to the end of the corridor and met the new assistant principle disciplining one of my difficult students.  She stopped to say "hi" - I'm sure she needed the momentary distraction.

In my department's room my cheeks hurt from grinning so big.  I couldn't help it.  I've seen the look on new parents before.  Pride, awe, weariness, happiness radiating off their presence.  My colleagues swarmed and tut-tutted.  Oohing and awing "çok tatli" "çok sukur", fixing his sweater, patting the spit off his mouth, kissing his hands and feet, offering to hold him or keep him for me for a while.  Word spread around the school that I had arrived with Teoman, English teachers, Turkish teachers, the secretary and students trekked in and out of the room to see him.

"He's so sweet!" they'd say.
"I know!" I'd respond.

A colleague laughed and told me I'm suppose to say thank you . . . but how can I say thank you for something that just is?  There's nothing he or I did to make him who he is - he's a gift, a miracle - and I guess the only appropriate response is thanks to God.

My parents had been pushed to the background during the whole affair.  The Americans in the room kind of stayed in the background as well - working hard.  The American that replaced me only said "hi" in order to ask me a question about the lesson plans I had left her with.  At one point, my mom said, "We better go and let everyone get back to work."  But here in lies the cultural difference: the Turks are working - socializing, stopping to fawn over a child - these are all actions that are part of a work day.  The Americans (including myself) tend to isolate themselves and focus on projects for long periods of time, not stopping for tea, or cigarettes, or lunch.  But this of course, is why we never adjust culturally - its hard to loosen your grip on that Protestant work ethic.

My parents ate lunch at the school.  My mom loved it.  I've also noticed that my mom has turned into somewhat of a glutton.  She fills her plate then adds all sauces available along with pepper and salt and mixes it all together.  She eats carefully and slowly, but the sauce still collects at the corner or her mouth along with her lipstick.  She kept saying how wonderful the food was - but I think a week later, she may say otherwise as the food turns quite the trick on the stomach until you acclimate to all the oils here.

When we finally prepared to leave, it was a slow parade to the door.  I had intended to come and go while students were in classes, but I was kind of dazed by the whole affair.  We were leaving after lunch while the students were going to their classes.  They surrounded us and we moved as one mob towards the door in their excitement over the baby - babies are loved here unconditionally and with great expression