Sunday, January 24, 2010

remembering hector

i often think about the serrano children. i often wonder how their parents could live with such a loss. but lately, i've been thinking about the serrano family more than usual. tomorrow, january 25th, marks the one year anniversary of the tragic loss of the serrano children.

one of the three children was hector; he was a student of mine during my student-teaching internship. he was a wonderful student. he had this laugh, and there was just something about it that made me want to laugh along with him. he told us silly jokes, and i'll admit, i use some of those jokes today. he was a pleasure to be around.

hector was pulled out to work with another teacher for math and reading. whenever he would come back to class for science or social studies, he would knock on the door to the rhythm of "shave and a haircut," and i would knock back in reply, "two bits." i would put my ear to the door, and i could just hear him laugh his heart out. there were times i didn't have to put my ear to the door to hear him laugh. and there were even times when the other students inside the classroom could hear him. his laugh was absolutely beautiful. he found joy in the simplest things.

i had hector for science and social studies. he was always amazed by the science experiments i came up with. he called them "crazy fun." i'll never forget the volcano experiment we did. i brought in all the materials for the students to build their own volcano. after the students were done making them, we went outside to pour the vinegar in their volcanoes. all the students were wearing their safety goggles like all great scientists do. hector was watching his classmate as he poured the vinegar into the volcano. "WHOA! oh my gosh! look at it!" was his reaction, followed by his contagious laughter. he seemed simply amazed.

although i didn't have hector for math, i knew he knew his multiplication tables. while we were on lock down during fcat time, we played educational games in the classroom. one of the games we played was "around the world." the objective of the game is to go around the classroom and answer any given multiplication fact. the same problem is given to two students, the first one to answer it correctly, moves to the next student. the student who goes around the whole classroom, answering all questions correctly against all the other students, wins. hector was always our champion. he never had to think about it; he would just answer milliseconds after the multiplication fact was given. the other students thought it was the coolest thing.

the students' field day was held after i had graduated, and i wasn't required to be there on that day. the students insisted i be there, but i played it off as if i wasn't going to be able to make it. i decided i would surprise them. one of the students spotted me, and a herd of students came stampeding my way. it was such a good feeling.

hector participated in the jump rope event, and i must say, he was jumping as if he did it professionally. he beat the other kids by about 120 jumps. it was pretty wild. as i was watching the other kids doing their events, hector came up to me to show off his first place ribbon. he was so proud. that was the last time i had seen hector.

hector was something that this world needed more of, but he was taken from us too soon. his life and death have both made a tremendous impact on my life. his life made me realize how beautiful some of the most simplistic things are; his death made me realize we have no control of God's timing.

before i graduated, the students made cards for me in their art class. this one was from hector:

the inside reads:
"dear ms. guinta. i'll miss you when i'm thirteen years old. i will put you in my head. if i'm 9 years old, i will remember you in 4 years. if your not here, i will never, never, ever forget you.

love: hector serrano"

i look at this card, and all i can do is smile and remember his silly sense of humor. i am so blessed to have known such a special person.



dear hector,

i will never, never, ever forget you.

love,
ms. guinta

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