My grandson’s second grade class came to America today. Virtual Ellis Island was set up in the school hallways and classrooms, volunteer adults were posted in various positions, and the students were prepared for their journey to their new land. The night before the voyage, each child was instructed to pack. They were allowed only one bag and it could not weigh over 15 lbs. They were given a sheet with suggestions….extra clothing, toiletries, books, snacks, and medicine were all on the list. The students were reminded that they were packing up, leaving a home that they would probably never see again.
This morning they each received a packet. Inside the packet was a passport which included information gathered in the days prior, a Ziploc bag with (play) money, and in some lucky packets, a ticket designating a first class passage. The school hall was sectioned off like a ship. In first class, there were comfortable chairs, a snack table, and trust me…they each carried a Ziploc bag full of extra money. Of the sixty students participating, only ten were granted first class. The rest of the students were crowded into a small area, shoulder to shoulder. There were no snacks offered and they were made to wait much longer to be processed into their new land. While they were waiting, the adult volunteers were instructed. In order for the students to truly understand, the experience needed to be “felt”. We must act as professionals and not behave as parents or grandparents. This particular lesson is best learned emotionally.
As they entered Ellis Island, they first passed (a faux) Statue of Liberty and were greeted by loud music blaring Neil Diamond’s “Coming to America”. The kids were so excited to arrive that even steerage momentarily forgot their discomfort. They were first directed to baggage where their bags were searched and they were questioned about what they chose to bring. Some children brought a change of clothing; others chose to travel with only the clothes on their backs. Some brought Bibles. Some brought perishable items or fruit. It was discarded. Some brought (nerf) guns and (fake) pocket knives. Those trying to enter carrying weapons were denied entrance. Some were questioned about their choice of reading material and expected to defend it.
The students moved swiftly through all of the stations. At medical, they were questioned about mosquito bites and checked for lice in their hair. Those who packed (fake) medicine were questioned about their ailment. To their shock, some of them were denied entrance based on their medical condition.
Eventually, all students who cleared the prior stations had to come to the station I was assigned….final interview. There were two of us “working” this office. The other worker was a pseudo television personality, a newscaster with a local television station. She came dressed for the part. She even brought a notebook. She interviewed three students and took notes. She asked them profound questions as to their reasons for arriving in America. She “passed” all three with a kiss on the cheek and a lollipop for their pocket. I interviewed 57 students. Having spent my entire adult life either as a mother, grandmother, or in management of some company, I am no stranger to hire/fire, timeout/setting free, admonishing/forgiveness. And I promise….I can be very professional.
The kids loved the way I always addressed them as “Mr.” or “Ms”. I kept my questions short and to the point. “May I see your passport, Sir?” What is your name, Mam?” “Where are you from?” “Why do you wish to leave?” “How do you plan to support yourself?” “Is anyone meeting you here today?” “Why do you wish to live in America?”
The children answered their questions with confidence and authority. They were delightful. Having shown them no slack, the kids whose passports were stamped to be entered, erupted in sincere joy. I sent several back to Passports for incomplete documentation, Medical for further clarification, and Baggage for a re-check. They took me seriously and I gave them the same respect.
Some of the questions and answers were truly food for thought. Some of the students claimed they were leaving their homeland because of war. I asked them if a war broke out in America, would they want to leave? Some said yes, they would not wish to live in a scary place and some said they would need to understand what the war was about. Some said they would fight for America, because it was their new home. Most said they were coming for a better life. I asked them what would be “a better life”. Some said jobs and religious freedom. Most just said because they knew America was a better place.
One child cried when I told her that her documentation was incomplete. She said that her name was “Rosenthal” and that the lady in Passports had changed her name to “Brown”. She didn’t like it, so she erased it. I sent her back to Passports. Rules are rules.
In the end, I only deported two students. One was a girl who lost her passport. I figured the country had enough people who didn’t understand how to care for things of importance. I also deported a little boy. He bravely told me that he would never accept his name change, would never learn a new language, loved his old country, and was only here because the rest of his family wanted to come. I regretted giving him the international boot. America could use some of that kind of allegiance.
Oh, by the way. The three students who were passed through with a kiss and a lollipop….I doubt that they ever survived the streets of New York.
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