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the remarker | Friday FEB. 8, 2013
17
12-year-old Juan: sparkling dreams
vishal
Gokani
T
he day I met Juan, he was sitting at a wooden table at the Jubilee Center, balancing a soccer ball on his foot. It was my freshman year, my first day at Jubilee. Every Saturday, Marksmen visit the low-income neighborhood to tutor kids. I just wanted to get my community service hours out of the way. Juan was way ahead of his classmates. The 12-year-old blazed through algebra problems while his friends were still working on basic arithmetic. “One day, I’m gonna be a sports car designer,” Juan said as he worked. “I’m gonna make a ton of money.” “What’ll you do with all that money?” I asked as Juan scribbled down numbers. “Give it to my family,” Juan said. “We’re gonna move out.” “Where do you want to move?” I asked. Juan looked up from his worksheet and said, “St. Mark’s.” I looked out the window at the small houses in the East Dallas neighborhood, where many residents speak Spanish and only 59 percent of adults graduate from high school. Then I straightened up in my chair and leaned forward. “Do you want to go to school there?” I asked. “Yeah.” Juan put his pencil down and started flipping through a biology magazine. He came to a picture of a lion. “I wanna be in the band. I’m gonna play trumpet.”
“Where do you want to move?” I asked. Juan looked up from his worksheet and said, “St. Mark’s.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said, pointing at the lion. “That’s our mascot.” “I know,” he said. “I wanna play on the soccer team, too. I’m gonna score a hat trick every game. I’m gonna have to get in first, though.” That’s when I realized Juan was dead serious about the whole thing. “You mean you’re planning to take the tests and everything?” I asked. He nodded. “Yeah. I’m good at math and science.” “I think you have a shot,” I said. “I can get your parents in contact with the school.” “Okay.” Juan smiled. Then his face fell. “I’m not so good at reading, though.” “Well, that’s what we should work on,” I said, grabbing a book from a nearby shelf. “You ready?”
He closed the magazine and dropped the soccer ball. “Ready.” •••
The day Juan came on campus to apply, the rain was pounding the ground. Next to Nearburg, Sr. Correa and I waited for Juan’s family to pull up. For a year and a half, I’d worked with Juan every free Saturday to improve his reading level. We started with short stories for kids, then moved to novels. I didn’t even realize how many community service hours I was racking up. But Juan still struggled with Middle School books. His parents only spoke Spanish, so Juan didn’t get many chances to practice English. I was worried his reading ability would hurt him in the admission process. The admission team started testing in Nearburg, but Juan still hadn’t shown up. I started to get worried. Correa called the family and talked with Juan’s parents in rapid-fire Spanish. He took care of communication between the family and the school. Señor hung up and said, “They’re in the Lower School Circle.” I dashed into the rain, splashing through the puddles. The family was waiting by their rusty car. I shook hands with Juan’s parents and introduced myself in broken Spanish. Juan was ready. He was wearing new dress shoes, a dress shirt and slacks. He’d also
gotten a haircut. Juan and I started jogging to Nearburg. “This place is so big,” Juan kept telling me. “It’s like a college. What’s that stage for?” I turned. Juan was looking into Decherd. “That’s where we have concerts,” I said. “I’m gonna play trumpet there,” Juan said. We approached Nearburg. “That building with all those pots is a museum. Look at that glass. It’s sparkling.” I’d never noticed Nearburg’s glass glistening in the rain. “That’s where we’re headed,” I told him. Panting, I left Juan in the lobby, where the admissions team took over. I caught my breath. Now there was nothing I could do but wait. •••
Juan didn’t make it. He just wasn’t ready. He didn’t even have time to finish the admission tests. “But it’s okay,” I told Juan during my next visit to Jubilee. He was sitting at a wooden table, balancing a soccer ball on his foot just like when I met him. “I didn’t get in the first time, either. I had to repeat first grade.” Juan watched the ball as it wobbled. “I’m gonna apply next year,” he said. “Good,” I told him. “Keep trying.” “I still wanna be a car designer,” he said, looking out the window at the small houses. “We’re gonna move out. I’m gonna make a car that’s like that museum. It’s gonna have lots of glass, and it’s gonna sparkle when it rains.”
Chilly logic | Dylan Kirksey
r
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