Mrs. Padrón had no lesson plan for Tuesday evening's adult ESL class,
since the former instructor quit abruptly, and she was only called in to sub
a few hours before. So she stitched together a last-minute lesson
about Thanksgiving. She read from a children's book
telling the Pilgrim & Indian story, quite possibly the half-ancestors
of some of the Mexicali students, made up from indigenous blood
twisted with conquistador. The story predictably sits in the English corner,
skirts the parts about disease, lays no blame
on the invasive culture. Mrs. Padrón explains to the class
that the Pilgrims wanted to worship their own god, in their own way,
then asks each student to explain why he or she came
to our Great Nation. Juan Carlos, Peter and Jose all crossed
for better wages, can't wait to find a way back
to their families. Maliya and Prama followed their husbands,
who study medicine at Loma Linda; they miss their homes.
Angel came to take care of his son's new baby, lights up
when he learns the English word "Grandson." Bernice was a bartender
in Rosarito ("Have you been?," she winks, we laugh),
where a coed from Redlands fell hard and fast. He drove down every weekend,
she says, for six years. She finally agreed to marry him, and when
she got pregnant with their son, she came to the States.

Then Mrs. Padrón asks the class what they are thankful for. Students say
everything, every single day. They say family, shelter, sustenance.
"The sun rises every morning," Bernice waves her hands, "and I
have two eyes to see it." The beam
that sweetens each face, takes the edge
from the Pilgrimage--perhaps reminds
the night class
why they try.