No Comprendes: The Walk, the Gift, the Lesson

In my third year of teaching at Cuellar Elementary in Weslaco, Texas, I was given the task of teaching six periods of science to 5th graders. Having previously taught language arts, my principal convinced me that my skills were needed to support struggling English language learners in science. In return, I would have the top academic group as my homeroom, who needed a more rigorous academic program. Essentially, I was preparing three different tiers of learning based on my students' needs.

I was a bit nervous because my 5th period class had around 30 kids with limited English skills, so reading and oral language development in science became my priority. My 5th period group and I bonded immediately as they helped me with my Spanish while I struggled to find ways to plan an engaging first unit of the year - geology.

I remember trying to explain igneous rocks and how the cooling rate of lava or magma determined how the specific rock formed. Think  – pumice, obsidian, and granite.They weren’t getting it, so I had them gather around to make a batch of my grandma’s fudge using a hot plate, ingredients I could barely afford, and borrowed pans and utensils from the cafeteria. Once the fudge was made, we hurried to the cafeteria and put one batch in the freezer, another in a cooler, and one left on the counter to set up. The next day, we took all three pans and cut out pieces of fudge! Voila. The cooling rate and temperature had caused each pan to have a different texture – from grainy to silky. Ahh! Now we get igneous rocks! (Inner Voice: “What in the world am I going to use to teach about sedimentary rocks? Make lasagna?”)

(I am rambling, and some of you have already stopped reading this blog. It gets better. I promise.)

Another unit of study was The Circulatory System. I loved teaching this unit. For example, the kids would freak out when we’d put a water-soaked gauze around a goldfish and then look at the tail with a microscope to see the blood circulating in the system. They could barely contain their enthusiasm and love for learning. It was a joy to witness them as curious learners who were often viewed as ‘throw aways’ due to their limited English-speaking abilities.

One day, a shy kid named Jose approached me and said he was telling his family about our study of the heart, and his abuela (ah-BWAY-lah or grandmother) told him about her pacemaker. He had a lot of information he wanted to give me as I attempted to get the class started. I smiled, leaned in, and asked if he thought she might like to visit the class and talk about the procedure, what it was for, and how it was helping her live a normal life. I didn’t think he’d follow through with my idea.

Wrong. The next day, at the beginning of 5th period, the door opens and who strolls in - Jose’s mom with grandma following behind. Jose beamed and said she was here to talk to the class. His mom spoke to me in Spanish and said that Jose insisted that I needed his abuela to visit. I said, “Well, yes. I sort of did. And I really appreciate you joining us today!” Jose introduced his abuela to his classmates, and she stood and told them all about having a pacemaker – even showing them the scar. The kids asked great questions, “Will you die without it?” And there was cheering and applause when grandma finally left the stage (with a little encouragement from me as the period was almost over Where’s my cane with a hook?).

 I had a planning period following the class and told Jose to stay behind so I could write a note to his next teacher for his tardiness. I wanted him to see me fuss over his mom and grandma in gratitude. He was bursting with pride. What happened next was a shocker. Grandma said she had so much fun and would like to come back once a week to help in the classroom – if I had things she could do? She couldn’t speak English, and the kids helped me with my Spanish. I said, “Oh, that would be magnifico! Inner voice: “What in the world will I have her do?”

The next week, Jose’s mom dropped his abuela off as we had scheduled. I had some laminated materials that needed cutting and trimming. She was delighted to do the work, sat in the back of the room, and listened to the lesson as if her life depended on it.

 Several weeks later, when she arrived, she gave me a little brown bag and told me she had just made homemade pork tamales. Now, when I say homemade, I mean the corn for the tamale dough was ground in a molcajete (moh-kah-Hey-teh or stone bowl), and the hog had been butchered by the family. I apologized to the kids, opened the bag, took a tamale out of the foil wrap, and chomped down on it. It was absolutely some of the best food I had ever tasted. With grease dripping down my arm, I ate another and another. The kids laughed. Grandma beamed. I gave her a big hug, being careful not to get my hands on her dress. Grandma volunteered every single week that semester.

The last day of school before winter break - I had packed my Ford Pinto for the 24-hour drive to my family’s farm in Illinois. I was so excited to be going home, and my students were all wound up about the spirit of the season. We played games that day and ate our weight in sweet treats that many of the parents had dropped off at the classroom.

At the beginning of my 5th period, we were just getting ready to play a game when the door opened, and in walks Jose’s abuela. She is dressed like she is going to church, has high heels, and a brightly colored hat. His mom is not with her. She walks in, hands me a little cooler – similar to one that you would put a six-pack of soda in. She said, “Keep this closed until you get home to see your family. It has ice in it that should stay cool. I wanted to send your family some Christmas tamales.”

 I was speechless. I said, “Where is Jose’s mom? How did you get here? This is such a special gift.”

 She responded, “Jose’s mom is working today. I didn’t have a ride, so I walked.”

 I think I must have had a shocked expression on my face.

 “You, you, you walked? That’s several miles. Oh no! You shouldn’t have done that!”

 She smiled, grabbed my cheeks, and said, “Nino, no comprendes” (Boy, you don’t understand). The walk is part of the gift!”

I sat down in a chair and cried – and I mean a sloppy, messy cry. That level of love. It zapped me at my core. I gave grandma a hug and said that I wish I had a gift for her. She responded, “Oh! This weekly visit to Jose’s classroom has been a gift from God to me. I will never forget it.

That drive to Illinois gave me time to reflect on the semester and the deeper meaning behind Jose’s abuela’s gift. Her walk was more than a trip—it was part of an offering, a living symbol of love and gratitude. In teaching, moments like these remind me how acts of kindness and connection shape our lives and the lives of our students. The walk, the tamales, and the heartfelt exchange further taught me the value of empathy, patience, and the unexpected ways a community can show care and concern for one another These are the lessons I will always carry with me.

I have to admit, my journey home in the old Ford Pinto turned into a high-stakes game of self-control. There I was, eyeing the tamales like a contestant on a reality show—Would I cave to temptation or emerge victorious? My family, blissfully unaware, would never know if I snuck a taste, but my conscience was watching like a hawk. Against all odds (and hunger pains), the tamales made it intact. When the time came to share them, I added a dramatic retelling of Jose’s abuela’s epic walk. By the end of the story, everyone looked like they were auditioning for a soap opera—tearful faces all around, clutching their napkins and tamales like priceless treasures.