All of Our Children Are Counting On Us

9a945d_4435eeaa3277414191c121355b206929I spent most of my life in a classroom either as a student or a teacher. I still go back to schools a couple of times each week but the long hours and hard work that I once knew is a thing of the past. These days I mostly enjoy retirement but I still recall what it was like to endure those weeks that fall between Thanksgiving and the Christmas holidays. To put it mildly, it was always quite difficult because the students were hyped up and wanted to be doing anything else but studying. Keeping them occupied took a slight of hand and those midyear exams almost always required a curve even for the most dedicated of pupils.

I once learned of a proposed plan for year round schooling that would have included a month long holiday that spanned the weeks from Thanksgiving all the way through New Years Day. Instead of having three months off in the summer, students and teachers would have long vacations spread throughout the year. It wasn’t actually a particularly bad idea but the logistics proved to be more than the powers that be were capable of handling. Parents who worked complained the most because they would have no means of caring for their children during the off times. One idea was to hold intersessions at the schools staffed by teachers and part time workers who wanted to make some extra cash. Most of the educators worried that they would be forced to accept such positions and end up without any vacation time at all. There was also concern that they would be unable to pursue advanced degrees since many of those offerings occur during the summertime. It proved to be an interesting idea that ultimately failed.

There are hundreds of critiques of education but few doable suggestions for improvement. We have a system that has been operating with little change for decades and we are somewhat unwilling to try new ideas. I have to admit that the most tantalizing possibility lies in creating smaller schools but the infrastructures required would be incredibly expensive. Still I have noticed that when I have been in less crowded situations everybody seems happier and more productive.

There is a great deal of talk about using vouchers that would allow students to attend schools of their own choosing. They might take the government money to a private school or perhaps a charter school. While this may appear to be a tantalizing fix I can foresee a number of problems with such plans.

The first lies in the erroneous assumption that private schools are considerably better than those in the public sector. The blue ribbon private schools are generally populated with students who have been carefully selected through admissions tests. Only those students who score the highest are even considered. There are often long waiting lists for the most distinguished campuses. It is highly unlikely that an average public school student would even make the cut for consideration. Even then the tuition is generally far more expensive than the government vouchers would cover.

The lower levels of private schools are sometimes inferior to a mid-range public school. They often hire inexperienced or untrained teachers. The curriculum is haphazard and students end up falling behind their peers. I have seen situations in which certain private schools are sadly lacking in up to date facilities, materials, and methodologies. It is a mistake to assume that being private makes a campus exceptional.

One of my most exciting teaching experiences occurred in the KIPP Charter schools. Unfortunately there are more stories of failure within charter programs than successes similar to what the KIPP model has achieved. Parents are constantly being enticed by educational charlatans who have only minimal knowledge of how to run a good program. I fear that initiating a government approved voucher system would only further encourage more educational malpractice rather than improvement.

What we really need is to focus on what has made some public schools more successful than others. Certainly the attitudes of the parents, students and teachers plays a huge role in determining the overall atmosphere of a particular campus. When everyone cares and works toward a common mission miracles really do happen. I have also noticed that creating enduring relationships between all three of the actors in education is critical. A common voice and a true sense of sharing the work moves mountains. Every person counts in the truly great schools.

Students need to believe that society cares about them. When a building is old and dirty a not so subtle message pervades everything. It’s difficult to believe that education is important if the roof leaks, the floors are dirty and the paint is peeling from the walls. I recall a teacher who made her classroom as inviting as a beautiful home. She spent weeks each summer painting and replacing worn out furniture with lovely pieces that she purchased with her own money. She hung art work on the walls and kept fresh flowers and green plants in the windows. The area was spotless and inviting and her students loved her. They often commented that she made them feel special by making her room a kind of refuge. She showed them with outwards signs that she thought them worthy of more than the institutional feel of the rest of the building.

We certainly have much work to do in education. We need to get parents more involved and have more power to remove teachers who only show up for paychecks. The good news is that my years in education have shown me that the vast majority of teachers are devoted to their professions. They do far more than most outside of their world will ever realize. We need to reward such professionals with our gratitude and maybe even some compensation now and again. The truth is that they are more often than not purchasing whatever their students need with their own funds when the money is not available from the schools. Their school year routine includes hours that far exceed a normal forty hour week as well. It’s time that we quit insinuating that they are somehow inferior. We would be wise to elevate our great teachers with tangible compliments and rewards.

I wish that education would become a national priority. There are good things happening all across America but we don’t often identify exactly what makes them work. We need more research and development and the realization that there never will be a one size fits all way of doing things. Choice sounds great on paper but I believe that in the real world we just need to work on improving all of the schools that we already have. That may mean making them smaller, finding more exceptional teachers, building more inviting structures, making education cool, and involving entire communities in the process. Simply moving money from one place to another just won’t cut it. It’s time for all of us to be more serious and creative. All of our children are depending on us.

Our Hearts Do Go On

heartOn Thanksgiving my nephew’s partner and I were discussing the differences between introverts and extroverts. Most people believe that one is quiet and shy while the other is outgoing. The truth is that the two concepts describe the ways in which individuals heal when they are experiencing difficult times. Ironically I had to embrace a big dose of my own introversion last week after my cousin’s funeral.

I had been in the midst of large gatherings from the time that I first heard of my beloved relative’s death. Even though my encounters with people were limited to family they all involved masses of people and I was rushing from one type of event to another. My introverted psyche was screaming for some quiet “me” time but I was unable to reach a point when I might soothe myself in the ways that always seem to work. I needed to be alone with my thoughts.

After ignoring the signs that I was careening toward a mental meltdown I posted my frustrations on Facebook. I revealed a tiny bit of my behavior to my friends. I noted that I had accidentally broken several items. They were of little consequence but I realized that I had shattered them because my mind was unfocused. I had even bumped the curb with my tires while running errands and while driving home from a tutoring session I just missed swerving in front of an oncoming car that had entered my blind spot. I knew that I wasn’t my usual self and it worried me.

I was suddenly unable to quickly remember small details like my phone number. I’m a visual learner and I literally had to clear my mind and write things on a slip of paper before I was able to accurately remember them. I might have worried that I was slowly devolving into dementia from old age had I not so fluidly worked with my students regarding mathematical concepts.

I continued to run from one appointment to another becoming more and more agitated until I found myself crying in the middle of a store as I purchased a gift for a young woman whom I was meeting for lunch. A kindly soul noticed my emotional outburst and began to comfort me while I told her of my cousin’s death and how it had impacted me. She proceeded to share her own story. On that very day nine years prior her husband had died. She admitted that she was still raw and exposed from losing him. She described her own journey back from grief and we both cried together. I felt that my encounter with her had not been accidental. Some heavenly force had sent her to me as an angel.

When I later posted what had happened to me I received an outpouring of love and wisdom from dear friends who span the decades of my life. I finally realized that the introvert in me was screaming for the kind of solitude that would allow me to meditate and begin to heal. That very night I stayed up long after my husband had gone to bed. The house was dark and quiet save for the lights of the Christmas tree that I was decorating and the soothing music that I had chosen to play in the background.

As I slowly placed each of the cherished ornaments on the branches I literally thought back over my entire life, sometimes crying and other moments laughing. My memories flowed through my brain bringing renewal to me in tiny but continuous doses. Once the tree was finished I sat in its glow just as I have done for all of my Christmases. As the saying goes, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. I felt better than I had since I first heard of my cousin’s passing. I said some prayers of gratitude and went to bed, falling into the deepest sleep that I had experienced in days.

I allowed myself the luxury of sleeping in the next morning. I moved slowly and at a pace that felt comfortable. I chose to do things that I wanted to do. I visited a Christmas bazaar at a local church and purchased items that made me smile including a table topper made by a group of delightful ladies who create prayer quilts for those who are suffering. My favorite find was a cute little gnome fashioned out of recycled materials by the husband of a friend whom I have known since second grade. The little creature seems almost magical with his friendly owl and crystal wand. I found myself smiling in earnest as I placed him on a shelf near my Christmas tree.

My husband and I later enjoyed a delicious lunch, sitting outside as clouds gathered and a chilling breeze wafted over us. It felt good to be under a true December sky that fit so well with my thoughts. The power of God was blowing all around me, buffeting the trees and soothing my soul. Because he knows me so well my dear spouse said little as we munched on our sandwiches. We simply became one with the moment.

Later we ran errands doing simple things that required little or no thought on my part. It felt good to accomplish something without having to expend much effort. I seemed to simply float through the day, making taco soup and spending more time going inside my body and soul.

In the evening we watched a special program on PBS with three young tenors who were performing in Florence, Italy just as the original Three Tenors did over twenty years ago. I was able to close my eyes and listen to their melodious sounds as rains drenched my thirsty plants outside and the temperature dropped even more. I donned my pajamas and made a fire in the hearth. When a robo-call was stopped cold by an application that my husband had placed on our phone I actually laughed. I felt my old self beginning to emerge. By allowing my introversion to envelop me for a time I was growing stronger.

Each of us deals with life’s challenges in differing ways. I have to take mental health holidays time and again to be able to resume my active life. Sometimes I simply have to crawl into a cocoon and stay there until I am feeling strong again. I know others who rely on the companionship of others for the healing that they need. A big party filled with people is their panacea. If we truly know ourselves we will take the time to be wherever we need to be. Luckily I have dear friends who reminded me of what I had to do.

Of course I am not completely fine. The death of loved ones always changes us just a bit and leaves hollow places in our hearts. We move on once we are able to grasp the reality of what has happened. It is a part of every life whether we want it to be or not. I have been smiling today as I think of the times that I had with my cousin and I recall special moments with other friends and family members who are now gone. I wouldn’t trade having them as a part of who I am. I am so fortunate that those who are still with me gave me the exact dose of advice and comfort that I needed. I plan to emerge again with my butterfly wings intact. It’s true that our hearts do go on just as long as we care for them in the ways that suit us best.

The Content of Our Hearts

tenn_fireWhen my daughters were still children our family traveled to Smoky Mountain National Park. I have to admit that we didn’t find it to be as breathtaking as the Rocky Mountains or other scenic destinations that we have visited and yet there was something almost primally inviting about the place. I found myself wondering if the wilderness that I saw on our hikes resembled the world of my grandfather. He had grown up in the shadow of the area before the dawn of the twentieth century, describing his boyhood home as being quite primitive but lovely beyond the limits of words. He spoke of seeing the mountains in the distance and longing to travel there. Eventually he made it like we did and he thought them to be as enchanting as he had imagined.

I’ve been quite sad to hear of the destruction in Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge, two towns that have struggled economically over the years but found a way to survive by catering to the tourists who have been flocking to the mountains for decades. Most of the businesses in those places are owned by local residents who operate candy stores, eateries and ice cream emporiums as a way of earning a living. There are hotels, mini golf courses and amusements for virtually every taste. I admittedly found the place to be a bit over the top and didn’t want to stay long but I know people who visit every single year and are absolutely convinced that it is a kind of heaven on earth. I tend to prefer natural beauty to manmade sights and sadly the raging wildfires are destroying both human structures and ancient forests.

The photos coming from that location are heartbreaking. Some of the townspeople are calling it Armageddon. Having a rather primitive fear of fire makes me especially sympathetic to those who have lost their homes, businesses and possessions, not to mention the unfortunate souls who have died. Today I looked at photos of exhausted firefighters literally collapsing onto the pavement after hours of fighting desperately to control the blaze. The look of defeat on their faces said more than any descriptions of what is happening there.

One of my aunts lost her home in a fire a few years back. She was happily decorating her yard for Christmas when she saw flames coming from her roof. She did her best to save a few treasures but the burning accelerated even before the firefighters arrived. Her house with everything in it burned to the ground, so many memories gone forever. She has never really moved on from the tragedy of losing so much of what she had accumulated over a lifetime. All of her home movies melted into celluloid balls. The family Bible that had been handed down for generations was a heap of ash. Nothing was spared but her life and that of her husband.

They moved to a senior living facility where they have found a semblance of peace but there has been a sadness about her that was never before there. She was ninety years old when it happened, far too old to think of starting over again. She is, of course, happy to still be alive and she realizes better than anyone that everything that burned was nothing compared to a human life and yet in each of our homes there are priceless items that we enjoy and that seem to define us in some ways.

I recall learning in English class that we have the power to “love” people but we should only “like” things. It is an important distinction that we should all observe because in the long history of humanity there have been many instances in which people lost everything but the clothes on their backs. They had to begin anew, start fresh. I think of the victims of the Holocaust whose very humanity was threatened for a time. I consider the citizens of New Orleans whose homes were swept away by punishing waters. I wonder how it must have felt to watch the tsunami instantly destroying a modern city in Japan. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, wars have stolen the humble belongings of countless people and time and again they have risen like phoenixes. It is in our human DNA to pick ourselves up and try again.

Still such events leave a scar on those who must endure them. I know people from New Orleans who lost their homes to hurricane Katrina. They become fearful when heavy rains pour from the sky. My daughter won’t light a candle in her house because she was once the victim of a fire started by an unattended candle in the apartment building where she lived. Just as I shutter when I hear of car accidents because such an event caused my father’s death, so too do those who have had horrific experiences relive them in certain circumstances.

My heart is heavy for the people who have had to flee their homes in the Smokey Mountains. It will be decades before the lovely beauty that they have enjoyed returns. Nature will eventually come back to life and they may rebuild but the precious sense of security that they may have felt is gone for a time, if it ever even returns.

I look around the home that I so enjoy and think of how horrible it would be to suddenly lose it. I remember a time when a priest asked us to imagine how we might feel if every thing that we owned were taken away and we were left standing naked but with our family and friends intact. He urged us to look into our hearts and decide what is truly important, hinting that what we own is never where our focus should be.

In this season of Christmas we should think of the young couple who traveled to Bethlehem so long ago, staying in a cold manger on the night of their child’s birth. Their earthly possessions were few and yet they had brought a savior into the world whose influence would live right into our present century. He would teach us that there is nothing that we ever do that is as important as loving ourselves and our neighbors. It is a difficult command that we do not always follow as well as we might. We become distracted by the pursuit of wealth, power and things that in the end turn to dust. It is only in how we truly live according to God’s word that we find the peace and contentment that we seek.

We should all look within especially when we see the constant reminders of how fragile our lives are. As terrible as those fires are they should send the message that what truly matters is the content of our hearts.

The Tree of My Life

img_0670I set up my Christmas tree today and it is literally dripping with ornaments. I have to be honest that I had to purchase a second tree just to hold all of the lovely trinkets that I have collected over the years. My main tree is well over ten feet tall and the other one is smaller. Every single ornament has a story. In fact, I might fill a book if I were to write a paragraph detailing how and why I have each of them.

Many of my ornaments were gifts from friends, family members and students. One is especially beloved. It is a pink crocheted bell that a youngster gave me when I was completing my student teaching. She was a troubled child and I had been warned to watch her. Somehow I never thought to be wary of her. Instead the two of us bonded almost immediately. I found her to be enchanting and when she brought me that bell that she had crafted with her own hands I was touched to the very center of my heart. I often wonder where she is now. She would be in her forties. I hope things turned out well for her. I suspect that she would be surprised to know how much I treasure her thoughtful present.

My tree wouldn’t be complete without two decorations made from old Christmas cards and photographs. One was made by my friend, Linda, and it holds a picture of her two boys when they were tiny tots. The other came from my daughter, Catherine, when she was a little girl. It has an image of our first dog, Red, a beautiful and sweet golden retriever. They sit proudly amidst far more elegant ornaments but somehow they seem more important than even the annual Swarovski crystal snowflakes that I have been collecting since I visited the factory in Austria with friends, Monica and Franz, more than a decade ago.

I have a plastic angel with faded silver paint that came from my grandmother’s tree. Most people would think it quite ugly but it always reminds me of the fun times we had every Christmas Eve at her house with all of my cousins. I also have the glass globes that were on the first tree that Mike and I ever had. They too are a bit the worse for wear but I haven’t had the heart to part with them.

I have a large number of Hallmark ornaments. I tend to go back for more Mickey Mouse and Snoopy creations than any other. I also love the ones that replicate the toys that my girls had when they were small. My favorite among those collectables is Steamboat Willie. He whistles away as he steers his little ship. It always takes me back to the old black and white cartoons that sometimes played on television when I was a child.

When the Harry Potter books came out I became an instant fan and I have purchased themed decorations depicting many of the characters in the stories. My mother noted my enthusiasm and found a number of them for me. Harry is great but I am madly in love with the one that resembles Hagrid.

My friend, Pat, was a true lover of Christmas and gave me dozens of the decorations that don the branches of my fake fir. Over the years she gave me Snow Babies, Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, silver bells, gingerbread men, redbirds, snowmen, and some of my most adorable and beloved adornments. Other friends like Cappy and Marita filled the my tree with trimmings from all over the world. There are straw bells and baskets from Mexico, blue and white globes from Denmark, ships in bottles from Italy and Santa figures from here and there.

I tend to purchase a new ornament any time that I take a trip. When I place those trinkets on the tree each year I instantly recall the fun that I had. I bought tin toys from the FAO Schwartz store that used to be in Chicago, a replica of Cafe du Monde in New Orleans, a double decker bus from Canada. There is a brown bear from Yellowstone and workers sitting on a steel beam from New York City. I have Revolutionary War soldiers and ballerinas. Nutcrackers and humming birds. I particularly enjoy an Elvis from Memphis and a duck from the same city.

My Christmas tree is really a tree of my life. Christmas after Christmas it records my travels, my friendships and the people and things that I most love. It tells as much about who I am as anything. I doubt I would be able to describe myself better than that tree does. It has bells and whistles and lots of sounds and is actually quite fun. I love nothing more than sitting in its light with the rest of the house in darkness and just enjoying each of the many decorations and the memories that go with them. They speak of the blessings that have followed me and the people who have always meant so much to me.

My tree has no coherent color scheme or theme. It appears to be a hodgepodge but I think of it as one of the loveliest things on earth. I used to prefer live trees but when I realized that my children were sick every year because of they were allergic to the sap I learned to love my artificial ones. I’ve had to replace those a few times but I carefully pack away the same ornaments year after year. I’ve had to make repairs and once in a great while I’ve had an accident and broken one which is momentarily heartbreaking but the memory that is associated with it never goes away.

My grandchildren especially love my tree. They press the buttons that make the decorations whir and spin and light up. They search for new ones each year and attempt to find the pickle that I purchased in Indiana way back when my eldest grandson was born. They like to hear to stories associated with each of them as much as I enjoy telling them. Somehow they never tire of laughing at their silly grandmother and like me and their mothers they would never change a thing about my crazy way of decking the boughs of my holiday fir.

It takes me hours to fit all of the ornaments on my tree. I worry that I will one day be too frail and weary to enjoy it as much as I do now. Both my mother and mother-in-law eventually eschewed their big trees in favor of small tabletop bushes. I truly hope that I never have to do that. I’d like to think that my children and grandchildren will help to bring my tree to life because they delight in it as much as I do. It is truly a tree of my life, a special view into who I am.

Goodness

aaeaaqaaaaaaaaitaaaajdzjzdrkywrilwjlngqtngrmoc1hyzrmlwi4ndk0mjzjymjmzqHe always seemed to have a smile on his face, an impish grin. He was a perpetual teller of jokes that made us laugh. He even filled our email accounts with hilarity that made even the most difficult day seem brighter. He rarely missed a special event and went out of his way to let us know that he cared. We all enjoyed his company and knew that he loved us and we loved him. What we did not know was how complex he actually was. We had little idea of the depth of his influence on the lives of people all across the city. We did not truly understand how genuine his faith actually was. He was exceedingly humble and rarely spoke of his good deeds or his beliefs. He was not just the same person as his words, but more.

He had been suffering for years but did not complain about his pain. His only goal was always to make each of us feel happy and loved. We did not know that he had been given a deadly prognosis many months ago. When his time here on the earth was drawing to an end he spent most of his last moments attempting to make us feel better about losing him. Then he was gone and we all felt adrift. We spent Monday and Tuesday laying him to rest but mostly learning how truly awesome he had actually been.  It seems that he had busied himself for decades making life just a bit more pleasant for virtually every person that he met.

He was enchanted by the Christmas season, his favorite time of year. Each December he donned a red suit and invoked the persona of Santa Claus for the children at his church. He took his role quite seriously, becoming the incarnation of the jolly old soul. His smile and his generosity was magical. It was as if Father Christmas had come down from the North Pole to visit with the kids but it was his giving spirit that lit up the room and it did not ever end there.

He was always only a phone call away from anyone who needed help. He responded to an SOS regardless of the time of day or the difficulty of the task. He made things happen with a determination that was unfailing. There were many souls who felt a debt of gratitude to him but he never asked for anything in return for his favors. He preferred the cloak of anonymity to glory.

He loved his family and His God above all things. He worked hard at his job bringing the same enthusiasm to his work that he gave to each minute of his day. His routine never failed to include prayers and devotions. He had a second sense about who might need the comfort of his unending belief in the Lord. Just the right words for an occasion would pop up on a Facebook wall or an email post. His sensitivity matched his sense of fun. He loved every breath of his life and inhaled his blessings with gusto while giving back even to those who did not return his favors.

When he knew that he was dying he did not falter. He believed that the very best was yet to come, the paradise of eternity. He smiled at the thought of the reward that surely awaited him. He was unafraid and even inspired the priest who anointed him for the last time. He was surrounded by family and friends to whom he had meant so much. He knew without hesitation that God was waiting for him.

The church was packed for his funeral. Those who had known him from childhood and those who had only recently had the honor of calling him friend spoke of his optimism and goodness. They remembered laughing with him and were able to recall times when he went out of his way to help them. The outpouring of love and appreciation for who he had been was remarkable. It almost seemed as if a king or potentate were being honored, or perhaps a saint.

We left his body under the shade of a tree not far from where my own parents’ remains now rest. We all believed that his beautiful soul was already luxuriating in heaven, a place for which he had longed. We were sad, not because we did not appreciate the reality that he was no longer suffering, but because we knew how much we would miss him. We had learned just how real he truly was. We worried a bit that our lives would never be quite the same without having him around to enchant us. We suspect that our gatherings will be just a bit bleaker and yet even in death he has somehow made us feel good. He taught us how to truly live and we are certain that he wants each of us to take a chance on opening our hearts to everyone that we meet.

We all know of individuals who appear to be good Samaritans but are actually hypocrites. They put on a face of virtue but their character is only skin deep. Finding someone who never wavers from the path of righteousness is not an easy task and yet in this man we found someone who was the genuine article. For that we will always be grateful even as our hearts ache just a bit today. I know that I am the better for knowing him. I suspect that he wants me to remember his family for they are surely hurting. It will be difficult for them in the coming days, weeks, months. There will be moments when they think of him and long for him. They will need our support and sometimes just a friendly ear.

They say a good man is hard to find and yet so many of us realize that we knew one in knowing him. I suspect that he will continue to watch over us just as he did while he was still on this earth. He will be a heavenly guardian angel now instead of an earthly one. One day perhaps the heavy feelings that now envelop us will be gone. I can only pray that we will never forget his example and the message of hope that he gave us.

This man taught us that a good life has little to do with possessions. Those things are fleeting and of little worth. All we need embrace are the people that we encounter as we go about the living of each day. If we truly and faithfully trust in God just as he did we will receive the best possible rewards and our impact will have been immeasurable.