A pressing matter

Hey hey hey!  So this is post number 2, and I am going to dive into something heavy.  There has been an issue that has been in the back of my mind ever since I left island that I can't seem to get rid of.  So this past year, I got to experience many many new, different, and some of them exciting things.  For example, eating sea turtle, spear fishing, eating nothing but clear jello for a month, teaching first and second grade how to read, and the list goes on and on and on.  But I do have a very positive thing I would like to add to that list - and that was acquiring a rather large family.  My host family, who I love dearly, had 11 people.  The two parents (Mama and Baba) and here we go. (oldest to youngest) 1.  Shanna  2.  Martin  3.  Ellan  4.  Elisina  5.  Lorlain aka Brenita  6.  Emil  7.  Baslinda aka Bajin  8.  Combine  9.  Abraham.  Wow, and the ages range from 4 years old to 24 years old (yep, that's 20 solid years of straight baby making...)  But just to clarify, not everyone was in the house at once.  The two oldest were either in Majuro or in the States, and Ellan and Elsina were in high school on a different island.  So I only lived with them for about a month.  The normal number of children in the house were 5 with 3 other adults (me, Mama, and Baba). And then there were points when Baba was gone, then Mama and Brenita left, and Baba came back...  Now before I go on, I would like to say that I know that my host parents loved their children very much, and would probably do anything to get back at someone who try to harm them in any way.  But there was one thing Mama and I disagreed on a lot - hitting.  She (and everyone else on island) said that if children were "bad", it was absolutely okay to hit them, even if it was not your own child.  I have a huge problem with this.  I would like to believe I have loving hands and I only want to use my hands for good.  So Mama and I would argue a lot on this issue.  She would say that if her children were bad, it was absolutely fine to smack them with the broom.  I would argue back saying how is the child know you love him/her if the only form of affection you show is by a broom handle.  And as the year went on, I am HORRIFIED to say that I became comfortable with this.  I never stood up in between my abuser and my brothers and sisters.  I never had the courage to act upon what I said.  I would just turn my head aside, cry some silent, invisible tears, wait for the beating to be over, pick up Abraham or Combine (because they were little, for the older kids, I would rub their back) and take them outside to cry on my shoulder, and sing the only song I knew all the words to - Traveling Soldier (by the Dixie Chicks, I know, they re-did the song, but I don't remember who sang the original).  Recently, I was filling out a job application, and a question asked me give me a time when I had courage.  The only thing I could think of was my lack of courage - how I stood off to the side and did nothing.  I feel so ashamed of myself.  In my dreams and imaginations, I would put myself in the front, standing in between whats right and whats wrong, and being able to stop this from happening.  I had my dreams and self image torn apart to the very core, because I was unable to do anything.  I let it happen, and that cycle is going to keep happening.  I love my brothers and sisters so much, and I feel like I failed them.

Just read the title of the blog

Hey everyone, its the one and only Beth Kopay coming at your semi-live from a hostel in DC.  So before I begin, I guess I should introduce myself properly.  (Extend hand, but alas, you can't take it.  Stupid computer screens...)  My name is Beth Kopay and I'm a teacher.  And I love it.  But I'm not a typical teacher.  Now don't get my wrong, I have my official background training/degree in elementary education, but I have found a new path that will lead to happiness - ESL!  I fell in love with (like literally tripped, stumbled, and broke my leg on the way down into the ESL hole.) teaching English to non-native speakers.  I just sent a year teaching English to elementary school students (see Mom and Dad, still maintained some old educational ties - so my degree didn't go to waste) in the Marshall Islands with an organization know as WorldTeach (check it out - www.worldteach.org).  Now, if you are like any other person who is not Marshallese, the next question popping into your head is - What are the Marshall Islands?  (Am I right?  Of course I am.)  Maybe now you are about to Google it.  That's right, click on the Google Maps, and type in Marshall Islands.  Can you see it?  Its that super tiny green dot in the middle of the ocean.  Actually, when I'm looking at it, I don't even see the green dot.  I just see the letters - Marshall Islands.   Did you ever wonder how cool it would be the labels on maps actually existed in real life?  Think about it.  But I digress.  My atoll with Utrik.  Its one of the most northern atolls in the Marshall Islands, and received some nuclear fallout - but don't fear, I do not glow in the dark (but if you think about it, I would never be afraid of the dark because I would be my own nightlight.)  Side note on that story - during Orientation in Majuro, we had the lovely opportunity to eat pizza at the embassy and talk with the ambassador about her job and whatnot.  So the evening progresses and she is asking where our assignments were and I said mine.  Well... the reaction on her face may me feel very uneasy.  Gasp*  Utrik!  Geez, are there any people left on this island?  Have they all been transformed into large lizard like monsters with 20 eyes, a green tongue, and bright red eyes all because of radiation?!  Yep.  But not really, she just overreacted.  But it made me quite a worry wart after her reaction.  Well, that year was quite an adventure.  Actually a better phrase would be positive challenge.  Somethings I loved (my host family, the students (some of the time), and the sunsets), and some not so much (the abuse, the hitting, the rock throwing at children, situational starvation, receiving a penis made of muk-a-muk, watching the aftermath of the dude who made me the penis get beat up with a hammer by my host father, and watching my host father's demise into the unfriendly realm of becoming a drunk are some of the few).  So I hope you please stick around for some of the next blogs to come, for guaranteed it will be mind-blowing.  (Does it mean an emotion/feeling or actually having your head getting blown up?)