Hot For Teacher - Temple Gets a Job

I have been out of work since I came back from South Carolina at the beginning of December. I can blame the economy. I can also blame my health, since I still suffered from DVT during this time.

Even though it was one of the toughest times economically for us ever, my latino machismo prevented me from asking my wives to look for work. Temple decided on her own to look for work. After applying at several locations, she was asked by the principal of the elementary school to apply for a teacher’s aide position.

First, a word about Temple – since her children have started school, she has been the epitome of a good mom. She helps the kids with their homework. She is very involved with the school. When the kids have issues, she is not afraid to go and talk to the teachers or principal. She is involved with the PTA. (I think there are only four, or so, members.) She will go to school board members to listen in and discuss issues that she feels strongly about.

And I think that she has made an impression on the principal and on the teachers. I believe that there is a stereotype about polygamous mothers – that they are weak, have no thoughts of their own, that they are controlled, suppressed, that they are afraid of government and schools, that they are incapable of handling problems on their own. Temple (and Martha for that matter) has shown that she is not afraid to get involved, and, more importantly, that she is not afraid to express her opinion.

So it came as no surprise that they offered her a job.

Next, a word about the school my kids attend – I have always said that we were blessed to have our kids go there. The whole region where we live is predominantly LDS – except Concho. It is an island of Gentiles in the sea of Mormondom. Our awkward transition from fundamentalist homeschoolers to public school would have been very difficult if we were dealing with a Mormon staff. At the school in Concho, everybody knows. We have kids from different mothers in the same class. Nobody says anything. We get compliments on our kids all the time. In other words, we have felt very welcome, in spite of our non-traditional lifestyle.

That’s not to say that there has not been some awkwardness. I have left Martha and Temple to deal with the school. Sometimes when I go to the school, I get strange looks from the teachers and the staff. I catch them staring at me from the corner of my eye. I know why they are staring at me. I almost feel like if my wives are the ones dealing with the school, they are considered to be more innocuous than me. Throw the husband into the mix, and they feel threatened. I am the dangerous one. I am the alpha male.

So as a result, I try to stay minimally involved when it comes to the school…

So the principal offered Temple a job as a teacher’s aide. This was the perfect job for her. In a situation where she was forced to get a job, there could be no better job than working closely with our children. She took the PARA Professional test, and – even though she was very nervous – she scored high.

She started a couple of weeks ago. Temple’s take-charge attitude and German efficiency has benefited her well. She takes no nonsense from the children and takes pride in what she does.

However, she noticed some peculiar behavior from some of the staff. We know enough to guess that this is because of the rumors of polygamy. But no one has mentioned anything to her, and by and large, everyone has treated her with dignity and respect.

Temple commented that there was one aide who seemed particularly bothered by Temple’s presence at the school. This aide worked in one of my son’s classes. Temple would catch this woman shooting daggers at her, and, on one occasion, Temple tried to strike up a conversation with this woman, and the woman not only refused to answer, but walked the other way. I told Temple to not let it bug her.

On Valentine’s Day, the 2nd Grade class had a party. Both Martha and Temple have children in the class, so both of them attended the party. As they were walking out the door, Martha asked her sisterwife, “Would you like me to take the kids home? Or would you?”

Temple answered, “I would like you to. I’m kind of burned out on the kids at the moment.”

Temple looked up to see that the aide had been party to this discussion. The lady wore such a look of revulsion and disgust. Usually, we don’t flaunt our lifestyle in front of other people. They didn’t say enough to cause a scene. It wasn’t something as obvious as, “Who is Moroni sleeping with tonight?” But it was enough that this lady showed – by nonverbal means – her feelings towards plural marriage, and to us.

Still, I don’t have a problem with that – as long as it remains nonverbal.

The other day, I went to pick up the kids from school, and the first thing that my daughter Sara did was announce that the teacher’s aide had confided in her that my son was misbehaving that day and had been punished for spitting on another student. Sara said that the aide also told her that if that behavior continued that my son would find himself kicked out of school.

Now, as a parent, I believe in discipline. I grew up in the days when teachers would rap me on the head with a ruler when I misbehaved, and I think that it is a shame that this kind of discipline no longer exists in schools. When my kids misbehave, I am glad that they are disciplined and punished for their behavior.

What I did take an issue with is that the aide went to my daughter with a behavioral issue involving my son – and didn’t come to us.

The first thing I did was to reprimand Sara for being such a busybody. I told her that it was none of her business to check on the wellbeing of her brother.

Then in private, I told Temple that she ought to talk to the teacher quietly and let her know that we did not approve of the aide sharing the details with another sibling.

The next day, I got a text from Temple. She told me that she was so upset that we was shaking.

As I suggested, she went to talk to the teacher. The teacher assured her that she would look into it. As Temple was going into the bathroom, the aide in question rounded on Temple and proceeded to chew her out severely. The aide was livid that Temple went over her head to the teacher, and she essentially called Sara a liar.

At one point, the aide said, “I don’t want to get involved with your FAMILY ISSUES!”

Family issues??? What “family issues” could she be referring to? Oh, I guess that we are a plural family. Although she was careful not to say it, she told us that her problem with us is that we are a polygamous family.

Later on, I found out that this woman is LDS – which came as a surprise to me, because she has a latino last name. Generally, most latinos in our area are not Mormon. But I shouldn’t be surprised, because I am a latino AND LDS.

Temple later expressed regret for handling things the way she did, for getting the aide upset. I told her that she did the right thing.

You see, this aide thought that she wasn’t doing anything wrong, because rules of civility, niceness, good manners, etc., don’t apply to polygamists. You can treat them anyway that you want, and it’s okay, because they are despicable. Furthermore, plural wives are weak, submissive, cannot think for themselves, etc. I am sure that it came as quite a surprise to learn that Temple has teeth and is not afraid to bite.

She asked me if she should do anything else, like go to the principal. I told her no. Let it slide. Let them know that they can’t f*** with us and get away with it.

I posted a little bit about it on FaceBook, and my brother asked me, “Were you surprised?”

I responded that – yes! – I am surprised. Every time it happens. I cannot wrap my mind about why this woman would CARE that we are polygamists. It does not hurt her. It does not affect her. Why should she care that there are polygamist children in her school? Or that a plural wife works as an aide at the same school? I cannot comprehend why someone would go out of their way to be mean or nasty or even give us a second thought.

But the reality – there are some that do…

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Kalispell - Fun With DVT

The last week in Montana, we drove to Kalispell. What a beautiful drive it is - right up on the Canadian border, close to Glacier National Park. You have to drive around the enormous Flathead Lake to get there. Jagged peaks reflected in the glacial water - it is indeed what most people think of when they imagine Montana.

When we got there, we checked into a hotel. It was nice to sleep in a bed after a month of sleeping in a tent.

But my leg was really bothering me.

Back in Missoula, we had hiked to the "M". The hike had been strenuous for someone out of shape like me. When I got down, my legs were sore from the exertion for several days. After several days, the soreness went away in my right leg. It got progressively worse on my left leg.

The night we arrived in Kalispell, I went to Wal-Mart to get some quarters for laundry. As I stood in line at the customer service desk, my leg was causing me so much pain, I could hardly stand at all.

The next day, we set up our booth at the Northwest Montana Fair, which was a disorganized mess. To make matters worse, the parking was literally a mile away, and every day I limped a mile to the booth, and every night at midnight, I limped back to the car.

I was pleased to find the same Romani that had been our neighbors in Missoula to be our neighbors again in Kalispell. We made the an airbushed banner for their booth. They promised to pay us by feeding us everyday. This is the way they fed us:

"Here, I brought you some yogurts from the breakfast buffet at the hotel where we are staying. There is also some free popcorn in that building right there. Go, and get some!"

It's a good thing we weren't really depending on them.

One morning, Rose, one of the gypsy psychics brought me a gift - a stone egg with remnants of the tag still attached to it.

"I had a vision last night to give this to you. It will bring you good luck and good health. Keep it with you always. I want you to have this."

The following is the story of what happened the day I got the egg that was supposed to bring me good luck:

The pain got so bad that I couldn't stand it. Over the past few days, I had noticed vericose veins popping out on a leg that had never had them before. This same morning, I noticed swelling in my leg, and I could barely walk. Something was wrong. It was more than just soreness from the hike. Something was really wrong, and I knew it.

I talked to my brother in law. He thought I should tough it out. Soreness was good for you. I was sore, because I was out of shape. Soreness meant that I needed to hike more often.

I called my wives. They wanted me to go the ER. I limped to the EMT tent. They told me to go to the ER. I hesitated. Going to the ER, I would abandon my brother in law to the busy crowds by himself.

The fair got out at midnight. I limped back to the truck, exhausted. My wives called me and asked if I was going to the ER. I told her I would go in the morning. All I wanted was a good night's rest. Martha started to chew me out, saying that I needed to go to the ER. So I conceeded.

The doctor ordered a ultrasound. I had deep vein thrombosis (DVT) - a blood clot - in my left calf, and a smaller one in my thigh. They put me on blood thinners right away and told me to see my doctor as soon as I got back to Arizona.

The problem was - there were two more grueling days of the fair. I worked 13 hour days, and hoped that the 6 hours of sleep I was getting would be enough. At night, I would lay in bed, wondering if I would die in the night. After all, that is how my dad died - pulmonary embolism brought on by DVT.

When we finally packed up and left Kalispell, I was filled with a sense of relief. As I felt the warm sunshine on my face and imbibed the tranquil beauty of Flathead Lake one last time, I was happy to be going home. It had been six weeks since I had seen my family, and I felt that I had been through an ordeal. I felt like I could fight this from home.

We stopped in Salt Lake City to stay the night at my sister's house. I was alarmed to see that my foot and leg had swollen to twice its normal size. It looked like I had a Flintstone foot. But I had to keep going, I had to get home. The drive was uncomfortable. I could barely bend my leg as swollen as it was. My toes were tingling, and I kept a pillow propped under my leg.

The problem with getting treatment - I don't have insurance. I haven't had insurance for years. I called my doctor. I had a leftover bill from my hospital visit from last year. I called and tried to schedule an appointment. The receptionist pointed out I still had a bill. I told her that I was aware of this. I was willing to pay half of my bill the next day. She went and talked to the doctor and this was his answer:

"I talked to the doctor, and he is willing to treat you one last time. Then he wants you to get a new doctor. We are dropping you as a patient."

"Even if I pay my billl?" I demaned.

"The doctor feels that it has gone beyond that," she answered. "Do you want to shcedule an appointment?"

"Why?" I responded bitterly. "I need ongoing care. Why would I see him only once. I'll find a new doctor."

The truth is - I know why the doctor dropped me, and so does he. When I was in the hospital last year, we had a little conversation. Don't ask me why I did it. He asked me how many kids I have. I told him, and then I told him how many wives I have. The doctor is LDS, and I literally saw the hate in his eyes after that. He finished treating me, but even as he discharged me, he looked at me with hatred. This was not a case of my delinquent bill, as the receptionist lef me to believe. It was plain discrimination. I know it. And the doctor knows it.

I had my wife call the kids' pediatrician - an old Mormon, cowboy doctor. He agreed to see me.

After two days of traveling, I pulled into my house. It had been raining, as Arizona was in the middle of its monsoon season. So the ground was muddy. This didn't stop my kids from running out to see me. I limped inside, and let the girls put me in bed with pillows propped under my leg. My leg was huge.

I didn't know what was going to happen, but I was happy. If I was going to die, it would be at home and not in Montana.

Tomorrow, I will fill you in with the rest of my little tale...