Abdi was nervous. His thoughts drifted from how the class would treat him to if he would embarrass himself in front of the teacher. His mother had assured him it would be a world apart from the experience he had known. Indeed, American public school would be a far cry from the one classroom school Abdi had attended back home. Be open to changes and life will be open to you. His mother’s words bounced around his head as he waited at the intersection.
The bus wouldn’t come. The letter that Abdi’s mother had posted on the refrigerator said so too. Lincoln Elementary School, it was signed. 7:45 it said. He wished his parents were here instead of at work. He was scared the police would pick him up for skipping class.
It came. Abdi got his first lesson in Americana when he got onto the bus and sat down in the last open seat.
“Lucky you,” blurted the boy sitting next to him, slurring the words together so that Abdi had to pause to figure out what he had said.
“Why am I lucky?” retorted Abdi, slightly bewildered at the assumption.
“You’ve got the last stop; I’ve been sitting on this bus for an hour. Nobody will sit with me but you, so you have to because you’re on the last stop. But you’re lucky because we’ll be at school in a few minutes, and nobody likes riding the bus.”
“I like riding the bus,” said Abdi, remembering his fruitless attempts at hitchhiking the two-mile ride to school. “I like sitting by you, too. You are kind.” Under this façade, Abdi wondered why the boy was so embarrassed at what was considered in his eyes to be a normal experience.
Abdi’s seatmate reddened and looked out the window. They were close to the school anyway.
The first stop was the principal’s office. Dr. McClelland said she could take Abdi to his class. He was happy because he liked Dr. McClelland. He was scared because he didn’t know what was in store for him in class. Be open. The phrase pinballed off the walls of his skull a couple more times before his lead feet found themselves following the nice woman.
They reached Mr. Nilsson’s first grade class. Math was the first period, which was lucky for Abdi because his mom had taught him to count to 10 in English. A brief introduction later, the class absorbed Abdi.
“Alright, folks, listen up.” Everyone listened when Mr. Nilsson talked. “Today we’re going to be reviewing what we’ve been working on for the last few weeks with a game. Why don’t we start with Abdi and Marissa?” Abdi straightened in his chair and turned to face Mr. Nilsson in a manner that invoked amusement in the veteran teacher. Through his chuckles, he managed to communicate that Abdi was up first. “Son, can you tell me what three plus six is?”
Unfortunately for all parties involved, Abdi had no idea what plus meant. Even through Mr. Nilsson’s reassurances, he ran off to the bathroom, utterly disappointed in his inability to adapt to his new country.
The rest of the day was spent in isolation, broken only by a quick pat on the back and cheering up by his bus buddy, who Abdi now realized was the only nice person he had met. Despite this, Abdi wouldn’t look at the other students, but he knew that they were laughing.
During lunch, Mr. Nilsson pulled Abdi aside. “Don’t worry about the other kids and what happened earlier, okay? We all start our journey of learning at different places,” came the consolation from Mr. Nilsson. “Let me just see what you already know.”
He handed Abdi a flashcard, prompting him to read aloud, “find the following sum: 5 and 6. After a period of brief thought, he continued, “5 and 6 makes 11!” The epiphany lit up the little boy’s face.
Correct, and you read so well too!” remarked Mr. Nilsson. “Don’t worry, Abdi; you’ll fit right in.”
