© 2024 Hector Viveros Lee |
Happy Pride
While my folks were visiting, I took them to see an exhibition in the Oakland Museum of California by Malaquías Montoya, a Chicano artist whose legacy in the social justice and political empowerment movements beginning in the 1960s provided teh graphic prints for the activism and hope of a people. While born in New Mexico, he moved to Fowler when he was very young and had the influence of his artistic mother who improvised with available materials to make art in her home. He attended Reedley College and later moved to the Bay Area. He has a collaborative artistic process, focused on community and engages across generations, as his elders were mentors to him.
"We never question the plan. We never punish the plant for not growing. We always change the conditions in which it is growing. if we want to address violence in our community we have to look to the social conditions that our young people are growing in and change them."
Other artists in the exhibit.
"Water Sports" by Israel Campos |
Julio Salgado |
Julio Salgado |
Juli0 Salgado |
"RIP--In loving Memory" by Manuel Paul |
the floor of studio--June 3, 2024 |
Despite my retirement invitation request for no gifts, people brought gifts and cards to my gathering. Betty brought it to me directly at the party: “I know you asked us not to bring gifts but I am gifts, but I brought you a gift,” as she handed to me. “You’re not the boss of me,” she smiled “If I want to bring you a gift, I am going to bring you a gift.” Drew says it the prerogative of giving lies entirely with the giver. It is rude for the receiver to determine what if any gift is given. So I ended up with gifts and cards.
The floor of my studio held the cards for several days, as I had neither the energy or the time to open cards and unwrap gifts–little did I know that I had contracted Covid during this time. I kept telling folks that I was wrung out keeping up with the parties as I was still working but the reality is that I was exhausted due to Covid.
Truth be told, the ritual of going through the cards and gifts was emotionally overwhelming and part of me was not ready to face it. Earlier this week I reached out to Albert about getting the cell phone and keys from him to give to the new assistant principal. The new principal also asked for mine. I did have to close out the installation of the projectors and the pending budget issues but I realized that giving over the keys I would no longer have free access to Longfellow and giving over the phone I would no longer have access to Duo Two Factor Authentication to access my email. I was having a hard time letting go.
On Thursday, June 13 as I logged on to my SFUSD account I got a message that my email had been disabled. The decision of letting go was decided by SFUSD. After 34 years, I was no longer an employee of SFUSD. Sometimes you jump into the cold pool. Sometime you are pushed into the cold pool.
I didn’t know Holly Giles. But in the summer of 2021, after one of the most difficult years in my career in education due to the impacts of Covid, I learned of her
Holly was an Assistant Principal at Lowell High in San Francisco. And a couple of days before the end of school in June 2021, she was traveling along I-80. An SUV on the opposite side of the freeway blew a tire, which shot over the central divide hitting many cars and causing accidents. It unfortunately hit Holly’s car windshield and roof. She was taken to a nearby hospital.
The community at Lowell didn’t know of the accident, so when she failed to show for graduation, people wondered where she was. No one knew she had been in an accident and in a hospital on life support. After a week on life-support, Holly’s family decided to allow her to die. She was set to retire a few days after graduation.
When I heard this story, my heart sank for her and her family. I imagined that as the year was closing, she could almost taste retirement. I imagined all the things she would do, the rest and sleep she would take. And BAM—just like that, it was taken away. It put into perspective the brevity of like and how all of us—ALL of US-- can go at any time.
To assuage my grief, I imagined that she loved what she was doing. And if she didn’t always love it she felt she was where she was supposed to be serving students, families, and staff. She had an abiding sense of purpose and meaning in being at Lowell. Earlier this year, by my friend Kristen disavowed me of this belief by letting me know that she was miserable—largely due to the institutional resistance to addressing the systemic racism and inequities at the premier public high school in San Francisco.
Holly has been my guiding saint these past few years—a reminder to keep my job in perspective and to hold ever conscious my deliberate choices to be wherever I was—as an assistant principal or as a Principal. She has lit the way as I have approached retirement—something she was not able to enjoy or experience. And with two days away from my official last day, I raise a glass to her honor and life. To you Holly Giles, my you rest in peace and in power.
Jerry & Patrick |
Jhulsany & Lindsay |
Ailed, Anihan, Judah & Zack |
Gary & David |
Edit |
Michelle |
Edward & Perry |
Lizzy, Christina, Betty |
Victor & Rosina |
Sara |
Francis, Oskar, Kirstin |
Susan & Matt |
Ted, Brian, Raúl |
Karla & Dina |
Shawn, Viggo, Kristen |
Ella & Paris |
Gretchen, Chris, Seaton |
Connie |
Family |
Armando |
Paloma & Robert |
Anna |
Longfellow |
Lindsay |
Connie & Sonya |
Ramaud, Sonya, Connie |
Joanna, Sylvia, Michelle, Edeline |
Alejandro & Leni |