Dublin- Model United Nations Trip

April 6, 2009

I am with fifteen, fifteen year olds in Dublin and the sea beckons me, as it always does. What a melancholy tune it sings! Perhaps that is why I so love the northern seas. The boys are dressed in suits and ties, that are not borrowed and actually fit their small frames. The girls struggle in heels, trying to conceal their hesitation as if their teetering is the only thing that shows their true age, for they all look 25. They are ready and prepped, buying newspapers to check current events and soon the General Assembly of 600 student representatives will begin.




The luggage is piled around me, as we wait for our rooms to be ready, when two 75 year old women come up to me, with kind eyes and warm accents asking me what on Earth was happening, for it seemed as if the hotel had been invaded by an army of very well-dressed teenagers.

“We are here for a Model United Nations Conference.” I answered, thinking these poor woman have paid A LOT of money to stay at this hotel that will now be squirming in adolescence for a week.

“Oh how nice,” they slowly answered, “Where are you from?” curiously.

“The American School of Milan in Italy.” I said louder and slower than I probably should have.

“Oh, Milan, they are from Milan.” One woman said to her friend. I couldn’t help but chuckle, wondering if this was the exact picture of where I would be 40 years from now.

“Did you hear about the earthquake near Rome? Really awful, I don’t think it affected Milan, but you should check.” The women asked sincerely.

We had been traveling all day, so we had missed the news, but as I shook my head no, I saw behind the little old ladies, images flashing on the large flat screen tv in the hotel’s bar. Rubble, more tragedy, over a hundred killed. I thought of my students wondering if any had family in the area, trying to remember if anyone was from the South.

In a week, I have gotten word from home that there was a shooting in the American Civic Center in Binghamton, New York. Thirteen dead. Even our own small community was not spared, someone’s wife, someone’s mother, killed.





April 7-10, 2009

Perhaps it is the sea, with the wind whipping and the clouds stoically sitting and the cold rain that feels like tiny needles pricking at my skin that makes me love this place. I wander and find a seat in the large sitting room that looks out at the sea. After I have listened to committee discussions and general assemblies run completely by privileged and intelligent teenagers. I can’t help but be completely impressed with their abilities and skills and can’t help but have hope for the future of our world and our nations. I revel in the awe of the fact that I get to stay at this hotel on a school trip, yet, then believe all kids should have this opportunity. I instantly miss Greene and wish I could bring my kids here, (yes, I still think of them as mine) because they would do so well. I think of Pat, Brian, Zachariah, Rebecca, Ethan, Jenny Rose, Alexandra, even Jacob who would infuriate and thrive here. Or how about the spunky Karrie, who has a baby that now must be two? They are seniors, and I secretly wonder, if after they graduate this June, if I will stop missing that place. Those halls, room 210? After June, I won’t have anymore kids, they won’t be mine. Instead, they will be Rebecca Philippone’s, Jim DeHaan’s, Kyle’s, Jess’, Wendy’s, Beth’s. I think I will always miss Greene. It’s in my soul. I wonder if that is what my ancestors felt about Ireland and America? Missing, yet intrigued by the opportunity the new place provided?

The fireplace warms my face and I see the large chandeliers hanging as I g-chat with Justin, who is an ocean and city away working in D.C. and I feel content. I talk to him about falling in the Irish Sea because I had to just FEEL it in my hand, and he laughs at the thought of me grappling on the slippery moss covered stone, trying to stand, as my pants became completely drenched with greenish sludge.




My pants dried as I walked wishing Amy was there to laugh with me hysterically, watching the towers of the Royal Marine Hotel and picturing Robert’s "kids" debating world issues and I smile at the thought of Vito and his analogies and realize ASM is in my soul too. The sea seems to jump out of its ‘container’ in the Bay of Dun Laoghaire and the sailboats bob and I am reminded of a certain sailor and I can’t help but smile.



"See that man there on the boat? He is smiling!"

I catch the name of one boat, The Aurora and watch it, as a rope connected to its mast floats like a ribbon in the wind. In less than a month, I will be in Aurora, New York for my sister’s wedding.

“How can that be possible?” I can’t help but think, it feels like yesterday that we were drinking gin and tonics at a booth at Nathaniel Greene's Tavern, as we shared a brownie sundae and cried as the waitress looked on pathetically. Of course, realizing it is more than possible that love can happen instantly without reserve or care. I know this. Is it my own heart and its non-readiness to love that is causing my doubt? I can hardly wait to be there in upstate New York with my whole family to watch a happy event.

I decide to stop thinking about love and remember that we will be heading to Dublin’s City center tonight, with 15 kids. Ahhhh, Ireland.