“Excuse me…”

When last we visited, I was enjoying an off day that was long in coming. Not a spectacular day at all, say at the Dead Sea, or climbing on the pyramids in Cairo, just a day lounging around and grading and not expected to be in charge of anything all day. Not even expecting anything special of the day.

In the afternoon I called up Hamzeh and Elizabeth—and asked if they wanted a little Chili Ways snack in Madaba. Both of them agreed, so off we jumped into the little mediocre Opel I drive here, and headed for a little Coney action.

Elizabeth and Hamzeh are an interesting pair with whom to spend an afternoon. I mean, first of all, the brain cells alone between the two of them make them academic champions, but they represent something so important to me in my life story. Elizabeth was among the first students at Hackley with whom I connected, and while we only spent that first year of mine there working on plays (she was a senior and soon off to Harvard) together, we created three plays together, and the roles she essayed were as varied and complex as the chapters in her life. She came back to Hackley several years after college, and then has come to Jordan, so this bond forged 13 years ago continues to reward me. And Hamzeh has been one of the premier enjoyments of my time at KA. In our three years together it is simply one of the best relationships I have known in education.

All of that is just background and happy baggage as we careen into Madaba for a mundane Friday afternoon snack at Chili Ways. Two of my best experiences in education sitting around with me, laughing, gorging ourselves on the hotdogs with the chili and cheese—same as my comfort food in Cincinnati.

As we came to the end of our snack a very smiley young man came up to our table from across Chili Ways, and politely said, “Excuse me!” As we turned to him, he purposely said, “Excuse me. I heard you speaking English, and I like to speak English. May I speak English with you for a little while so I can improve my English?”

His mother—back at their table—said, “I hope you don’t mind, but he so enjoys meeting new people. He won’t take much of your time.”

We welcomed him to our table and we introduced ourselves. It turns out he lives in Madaba, a few blocks away, and he wanted to ask us questions. He apologized if his English was not very good. What was he thinking? He had great English skills, and even more, a charming smile and a charismatic personality.

After we exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes he went back and whispered something to his mother. She all of a sudden said, “Of course,” to him, and she shyly presented herself and asked if she could serve us tea in their home. “It is a very short walk, and we would be honored to have you in our home.”
Our new friend Jeris introduced us to his sister (much shyer than Jeris, but then so would most people in the world be a bit more shy than this personable young man) and told us that we could go home and see his house, and meet his dog, and speak English some more.

Elizabeth and Hamzeh and I followed them down a back road of Madaba, and Jeris continued chatting us up, asking questions, making sure he had good grammar, exact syntax, and used good vocabulary words.

We spent the next hour or so with Jeris and his lovely mother Neda, and it was one of those little moments of serendipity.

Jeris is in the 7th grade at the National Orthodox School in Madaba. He likes movies, playstation, and the piano. He loves writing stories. He wishes his dog Charcoal didn’t bark so loudly because he worries that Charcoal frightens away friends. He hopes to travel someday. He wants to meet many people. He is working on a British accent since people always like people with British accents. He doesn’t really like History class, but he thinks he would if he had me for a teacher. He thought I was nice. Jeris had no problem sustaining a conversation! He was a born schmoozer and lover of life!

As we talked with Jeris, or rather, we three took turns talking with Jeris so we could also talk with the mother, we asked her if she knew anything about KA. She had a vague idea about it but it seemed like a school out of their reach. We talked about the scholarships available for students at the school, and Hamzeh talked with them about how the school has been for him these three years.

We had tea—we might have stayed for dinner, but our little Chili Ways snack group had some other plans. Our joyous time at Jeris’ house reminded me of a book I had just read about in a magazine, a book with the quotidian title, How Coffee Saved My Life and Other Stories of Stumbling to Grace.

We had stumbled onto this joyous boy named Jeris, and delighted in an afternoon of chatting and hoping about his future. It coincided with the title of stumbling into grace.

Grace is one of those topics, you know, I don’t know how you figure it out, or explain it, or make sense of it even. It is like an epiphany—you don’t even see it coming sometimes, and wonder if you will experience it again after the rush of discovery. But grace may just be when I am offered love and joy in the time and place least expected. Grace interrupts and overwhelms with its irrationality and abundance.

It was just a brief respite of a snack, with two people who represent two of my most rewarding experiences, meeting a stranger who is only a stranger until you feel the warmth of that precocious smile and hearty laugh. As we stood to say good-bye to our new friends in Madaba, Neda, the mother, asked that we return. “We are the only yellow house on the block, and we have the loudest dog! Please come back again.”
Later in the week Elizabeth spoke with Neda about Jeris applying to KA for our summer program and about thinking about his enrollment in the future.

Directing Elizabeth all those years ago, as the tortured mother in Flowers for Algernon, then the elegant, but aging, sophisticate in I Hate Hamlet and finally the brutal racist Juror #10 in Twelve Angry Jurors was such a treat. And here we are all these years later, working together as class deans, striving to bring substance to the KA style, and bonding over the coneys in faraway-from-Manhattan Madaba.

Hamzeh is another generation of student, on another continent, but one more link in the chain of students who have blessed me. Besides his scholarly prowess, indeed, even more important than that, he is a young man with such honor and integrity that I think he is showing me the way. And he likes the cheese coneys at Chili Ways. Imagine when I get to introduce him to the coneys at Skyline Chili in Cincinnati!

And then there is this Jeris. Maybe he is the next generation of student for me. Or maybe just a charming afternoon helping him hone his English skills.

But certainly moments of grace. Yes, grace is when I am offered love and joy in the time and place least expected. Even Chili Ways! Grace interrupts and overwhelms with its irrationality and abundance.

Where do we go next?