All It Takes Is A Little Love

I have been retired from teaching in the public school system for eleven years now, but I have never quit teaching mathematics in one way or another. For a time I worked as a tutor and then I began educating Home School students. Somehow I have not been able to fully give up teaching, so my brain still works according to the school calendar and daily schedule. 

I sometimes allow myself to sleep in until about eight in the morning from June through July, but once the schools reopen for teacher inservice sessions, I find myself automatically waking up just before sunrise. It is as though somehow the routine is ingrained in my brain and I can’t and don’t want to make it go away. I begin gathering pencils and pens and folders and spiral notebooks at the store. I think of ways to make my lessons more interesting and understandable. I get planning books, even though I should probably prepare my lessons online. I purchase batches of copy paper and bundles of sticky notes. I am a creature of habit and these are my tools.

The start of a school year makes me think of new shoes and clothes that are brand new. I look at book bags and even purchased a new one for myself. It’s lavender and will hold my laptop nicel. when I travel from house to house to meet with my students. I also think of school pizza, the favorite lunch for virtually every student. 

Everyone wants to eat the cafeteria lunch on pizza day, even though the only topping on the educational variety is cheese. The kids don’t seem to mind at all that there is no pepperoni, or sausage, or hamburger on top. The kind they get at lunch has no olives or green pepper and certainly no anchovies or pineapple, which is probably a good thing for them. Nonetheless, they line up for the square slice of pizza that comes from a huge sheet pan and none of it ends up in the garbage like so much of the food. I think some of them would enjoy having pizza at least once every week and burgers as well. Everything else other than maybe burritos and the annual November turkey dinner tends to fill the trash cans at the end of each lunch session, which is a topic for another time.

I find myself craving pizza as we near the opening day, which for me will be August 17, this year. I still can’t believe that we all made it through the pandemic. I’ve been Zooming since the spring of 2020 and only returned to my students’ homes in the last few weeks of May, 2022. Someone among them was constantly getting sick and I knew that they needed for me to stay well, so I became a remote teacher for two years. I’ll be glad to be back in person but there was something nice about being able to teach in pajama pants and bare feet. Perhaps I will miss that. 

Some of my homeschool students have graduated to Junior or Community Colleges. It’s heartwarming to know that they are succeeding and that I did my job well for them, but for me teaching is actually so much more than just work. I often wonder when I will become too old or too tired to keep doing this. For now, I have found it to be a kind of lifesaver that keeps me feeling as though I still have a purpose in this world beyond my own family and household. I don’t know why, but that matters to me. It is a driving force that stimulates and motivates me. 

My curriculum runs the gamut from using pizzas as fractions for fourth graders to explaining the fundamentals of Algebra II that prepare students for Calculus. It’s fun to put together the building blocks and watch the construction of mathematical knowledge grow as I move the same students from one stage to another. It’s a delight that I never had when I was tied to one grade level or one specific type of mathematics. Now I see how the pieces fit together and it is instructive for me. I wish all teachers had such an opportunity because the progression is important to understand. I think knowing these things has made me a better and better teacher over time.

Soon the buses will be coming at six thirty in the morning. The children will be giggling on the corner as they line up to pile inside. I’m hoping that this will be a better year for teachers than the past few have been. I’m hearing that virtually every school has openings because many have chosen to leave the profession. It has become increasingly difficult to be a teacher in today’s environment. The pay is still low. The environment grows more and more demanding and toxic with way too many players making demands. It is truly a sad state of affairs and I feel lucky to be where I am right now.

I no longer need new shoes or clothes, but I think I’ll schedule a haircut since I will be going in person this year. Somehow the idea of having some pizza and a movie day before the vacation ends sound wonderful as well. I’m going for a whole lot of toppings, but I would not mind having one of those plain cheese squares.

One of my former bosses lost his son in a heinous drive by shooting a year ago. Since that time he has been unabashedly honest about his feelings and the intense pain that he has endured in the aftermath of his son’s death. There have been days when he has been angry, others when his sorrow spilled over. While it has been tempting to attempt to help him with age old platitudes he has told us not to make weak attempts to cheer him up, but rather to allow him to express what is unfolding in his mind without filters. He has let us know how important it is not to try to smooth things over by suggesting that  bad things happen for a reason. He suggests that instead we simply be present for him regardless of the mood that overtakes him on any given day. Love means hearing and understanding those who are hurting, not attempting to fix them.  

I suppose that it is in most of our natures to withdraw from uncomfortable situations. We all too often try to stop the tears of someone who is suffering rather than simply embracing them without comment other than to remind them that we love them. Our inclination is to help in some way that will stop their pain, but often all we are doing is forcing them to deny the very emotions that are so naturally spilling forth. They regain control of themselves for us, but deep down inside they are screaming for someone to just understand how difficult their state of mind actually is. We are not really helping if we do nothing more than stop the free flow of truthfulness that they need to convey. 

After my father died my mother would sometimes begin crying and talking about him without warning. Most people had no idea how to react. They sometimes suggested that she get hold of herself, or ask God to help her move forward. Other times they nervously left the scene and then rarely returned again to talk with her. My mama often wondered why everyone was so afraid of speaking about my father with her. She saw her tears as something quite natural and healthy and did not think that she should have to deny them. Like my former boss, she needed to converse with someone who had known my father and loved and understood him as well as she did. Sadly such an open way of speaking of him seemed to be almost taboo. 

My friend, Sharon, who recently died had a natural talent for being with souls who were in a state of stress. What everyone loved about her is that she allowed them to be themselves, to express their deepest feelings without needing to hide even their ugliest thoughts. Her eyes sent the message that she was a safe harbor. She listened intently and only spoke after great consideration of what she had heard. There was never judgement or an attempt to force the person to recant or change their mental perceptions. She simply acknowledged the reality of the suffering and pain. She was fully present to hear and love the person before her and to provide them with a safe space. 

My mother died the day before a planned retirement celebration for me at my daughter’s home. We scurried to tell everyone that the party was cancelled. At the pre-appointed time I went to my daughter’s home just in case any of those who had been invited had not received the message. My friend, Sharon, arrived at the time when the party would have otherwise taken place. When I told her how sorry I was that she had not heard that the party was cancelled she lovingly admitted that she had indeed received word that there would be no party. She said that she came anyone because she thought that I might need her. She sat on the couch just holding my hand and allowing me to drive the conversation. It was a beautiful and loving thing that she did that I have never forgotten. 

I have witnessed other people properly extending their good wishes to people in a state of sadness. Sometimes they send a card or letter with acknowledgement of the person’s difficult situation. Other times they call and simply say that they were thinking of the individual and then let them say whatever they need to say. They ask what they might do to help. People send plants or food or books to demonstrate that they care. Such gestures are lovely and really do send the message that someone cares. What does not work is suggesting trite fixes to quell the tears or deny the feelings. As well meaning as such things are, they sometimes do more damage to the psyche of those who are struggling with the reality of tragedy than not saying anything at all.

We each deal with losses differently. Some take heart in believing that a loved one is in a better place. Others are still too angry and hurt to find solace in such ideas. Some feel that they are learning from tragedy while others find such hard lessons to be unbearable. We need to meet people where they are and we can only do that by listening and observing them. If we follow their lead we will help more than by forcing our own ways on them. In most cases they like to talk about their departed loved ones, so engage with them when they do. Just sitting next to someone and holding his/her hand conveys the most important message that you are present for them and always will be. 

I think of myself as someone who moves forward and enjoys progress, but I also believe in the importance of learning from the past. I have continually evolved over time, but in a pace that is far from being radical. I am not the person that I once was, but I like to think that I have kept the best features of my past life and used them to become a better version of myself. I am a mix of past, present and future. 

Both the joys and the disappointments in my past have made me strong. My father left my life when I was only eight years old. I would forever miss him but his influence on me was already strong. He instilled a love of music, reading and learning in me that has guided me for my entire life. I have tried to give this same gift to my children, grandchildren and students as well. I still miss my father and often wonder what it might have been like to know him as an adult, but I do not dwell on the “might have beens” for long. There is no reason to do so.

My mother had a profound influence on me as well. She was a strong woman until she was not. She held herself together long enough to get me and my brothers to a point in our lives when we were capable of fending for ourselves, then her bipolar disorder took hold and she was never again quite the same. It was her optimism even in the face of tragedies that most formed me. She was a warrior who fought back against her difficulties and kept looking to a bright future even when it seemed impossible to do so. Never once did she allow her many setbacks to steal her joy. 

My mother often advised me to look forward, not back. She believed that there was a season for everyone. She urged me to know when it was time to hand over the reins of leadership to the younger generation even as she sometimes fought me when I attempted to care for her when she was sick. She possessed a kind of wisdom learned from the toughness of her life that saved me more than once. She helped me to understand my students who were mostly immigrants like her whose families struggled financially. She made me a better teacher and person than I might otherwise have been with her sage advice. 

I have often spoken of my grandfather who understood perhaps better than anyone that there is no turning back to the past and who believed that we would not want to do so even if we had the opportunity. He reveled in the modern world and waited expectantly for the marvels of the future. He boasted about the first time he saw a city lit up with electricity, the moment he witnessed a plane flying in the sky, and the exhilaration of seeing a man walking on the moon. He encouraged me to be open to change, to appreciate the past but to embrace the future. 

So here I am finding myself applauding the young people of the world who are courageous enough to share their dreams for society. While I might see a few problems with their thinking, I also understand that we never have made progress without being brave enough to try things that have never before been done. Without innovative thought the world would be stagnant. We would still be living in unhealthy conditions and most of us would be untutored and ignorant. The marvels of our world today once sounded outrageous but now we take them for granted. 

I may not agree with everything that Alexandria Ocasio Cortez says, but I admire the fact that she is attempting to bring about a better world for others. I like her spunkiness and honesty. I imagine that she might have been a voice like James Monroe or Alexander Hamilton at the beginning of our nation. Monroe was only eighteen when he signed the Declaration of Independence. Hamilton was only twenty one. We often forget how young the revolutionaries who gave birth to our country actually were. We admit that their’s was not a perfect union, but it was nonetheless a good start, a grand experiment that the people were willing to try.

I’m an old dog but I am still learning new tricks all of the time. I want to know how to use the latest technology. I dream of owning an electric car and having solar panels on my roof. I would love to see a working mass transit system thriving in my city that is clogged with traffic and pollution. I am willing to adjust the way I have been living to accommodate the realities of our ever changing world. The pioneers of old were forward thinking people. They were risk takers just like the ones we have today. There have always been individuals willing to lead the way to a better tomorrow. I am fascinated by those who have the kind of minds that envision the future. 

It should be apparent to everyone that we are at a watershed moment in history all over the world. If our future is to be bright we have to change the ways we have become accustomed to doing things. It may require the kind of sacrifices that my grandparents from Czechoslovakia made when they took a leap of faith in crossing the ocean to begin a new life with little knowledge of were that might lead them. That is how I want to be. 

I look to the future just as those who came before me did. I feel optimistic and adventurous just as my mother always was. I see good in those who are innovative and young like my children and grandchildren. I see a bright future for those willing to look forward rather than trying to recreate the past. There is much that we can do to save ourselves, our nation and our planet. Today is a good day to start. 

It’s hotter than the world has seen in decades, maybe even since we began measuring such things. Nonetheless if it’s July I’m already beginning to think about Christmas. I have so much to do between now and December 25, that I like to start my planning early. I suppose this came about because of my work as a teacher. Once the school year started in August I was knee deep in projects that kept me busy from six in the morning until ten or eleven at night. Even weekends were often jammed with paper grading and lesson planning. If I did not start preparing for Christmas early I would be caught short when the holiday vacation finally came in late December. So I always used my month off in July to get ahead of the game. 

During 2020 when Covid was at its peak I made all of my purchases online. This year I’m looking forward to actually visiting stores in person. It will be a treat that I have missed in the couple of seasons and one of my first stops will be at a Hallmark store to check out their annual ornament array. I have quite a collection that has amused me and my grandchildren for years. The first ones always appear in July with more coming over the next few months. The one that started my accumulation was Steamboat Willie, a Mickey Mouse character that whistled a little song while steering a boat. Sadly he no longer makes music because he has to be attached to a light bulb socket that nobody makes anymore. He’s still very cute and brings back lots of fond memories for me. I purchased him in Chicago shortly after my twin grandchildren Ian and Abby were born so he always reminds me of how happy I was when they came into my life. 

I still send out old fashioned Christmas cards. Fewer and fewer people do that these days but I am a diehard. I start looking for good ones in the summer and even begin filling them out a few here and a few there. I don’t attach stamps until the last minute because sadly someone has died before December came along almost ever year of late. 

I suppose that I am like Mitt Romney with his notebooks I might seem a bit behind the times with the paper calendars that I purchase each year, but I am a visual person and I need something that allows me to quickly glance at the date. I have two traditions now with calendars, one always displays photos of London and the other is a cutesy calendar with birds or flowers or schoolhouses. I pick up my calendars when I find them and store them away until the new year. They often begin to show up in stores and online in July.

I also begin purchasing gifts for family and friends. I’m on the lookout wherever I go. My closets become crammed with things that I have stored away, so around November I begin wrapping items to clear a pathway. July is always the launch of my gift burying season starting with the birthday of my eldest daughter which coincides with the launch of my Christmas planning.

My youngest daughter was born on December 20, as was my youngest grandson. When my she was a young girl she hated her birth date because she felt that she got lost in the rush of the season. Everyone was too busy to even remember her special day. Getting birthday and Christmas gifts all within five days made the rest of the year seem long and without much cheer. She envied her sister who got to have a party in July, so one year she asked if we would experiment a bit and have a celebration for her in June instead. 

We thought that was a grand idea and we went all out for her with a party and gifts and even a special trip since school was out. Sadly it just did not feel right to any of us and she reluctantly agreed that it was best to go back to her December date. Now she is content with quietly enjoying a night at the movies and a special dinner with her son. 

It may seem strange to think about Christmas in July but around the middle of the month I begin plotting and planning every single year. It cheers me up to think of the fun times that lay ahead and I laugh at feeling a bit like one of Santa’s elves. I’m a creature of habit and I get through the long hot July days by thinking of the cool weather and the lights and good cheer of Christmas. 

I suppose that I am my mother’s daughter in so many ways. When she died we found a closet full of gifts both at my house and in the  home where she had not lived for almost three years. All were labeled with the names of recipients, thoughtfully purchased wherever she went. Somehow those items became so special to each of us who received them posthumously. They demonstrated so poignantly that she was always thinking of us even as she grew more ill. 

Christmas will be here before we know it. It’s fun to have hopes and dreams even when the world seems to be on fire. Somehow together we always seem to find our way to celebrations of life with family and friends. I like getting ready for that in small ways so that when December comes I am able to sit back and totally enjoy the season with love and joy. 

I am incredibly professional when I am teaching or working with others. I measure my words and do my best not to say anything that might be disturbing to the people around me. I learned long ago that there are different levels of speaking. The formal level is the only one that is totally appropriate for a work environment. It is a way of talking that ensures that nobody will be offended by whatever is said. I was very good at leaving opinions, curse words, and insults out of my teaching vocabulary. My words would have passed muster in church and in front of my mother. 

Each of us also has both an informal and an intimate manner of speaking. Informal conversations are more relaxed with less concern about using certain words or phrases that may be a bit brash. If we are wise we generally reserve such language for gatherings with acquaintances We feel freer to punctuate our comments with vernacular and jokes that might be misunderstood in a more formal setting. We use our most intimate language with those whom we most trust to understand our meanings and love us even when we sometimes say something that should have been left unsaid. In other words, if we are wise we will think about how to speak and what to say before we just blurt things out. 

Social media has provided people with a forum for voicing their views with a certain level of anonymity. Sometimes in the heat of a moment we type our reactive thoughts and press return before we have even given ourselves time to think about what we have said. Opinionated battles ensue and sometimes friendships end on the battlefield of Facebook or Twitter. In retrospect we may regret that we were so hasty to voice our views, to argue with someone even knowing that we were never going to change their minds. We castigate ourselves for being so hasty but our words are already out there and we can’t take them back. 

During the height of the Covid pandemic most of us were somewhat isolated. Families were homebound with parents and children using the Internet to work and attend classes. We learned to order things online and pickup groceries from our cars. It was a rather lonely time when nobody was having parties or meeting for lunch or dinner. We “met” each other on FaceTime or Zoom. We kept track of everyone’s status by phone, text, Facebook or Instagram. To say that society was a bit beside itself would be an understatement. We were literally fighting among ourselves over how best to react the the virus. 

Sometimes the conversations became heated with emotions. I tried to calm myself whenever anyone became especially anxious and cantankerous. I knew that we were all suffering from the incredible stress that Covid had imposed on the entire world. With a presidential election added to the mix, tempers flared. Discussions sometimes devolved into name calling. Friends were unfriending friends. Too much that should not have been said or should have been said in a kinder way was being voiced or typed without thinking. 

Along the way I lost a few people who were only casual friends but sadly I also lost someone whom I love deeply and have known since I was six years old. She was like the sister that I never had. We grew up together, raised our children together, celebrated and grieved together, took trips together. Through it all our bond only seems to grow but in one fell swoop I damaged the relationship with words that I used without a thought about how they might sound. I had misjudged how safe it was to be my anxious self, but I realized immediately that my words had done irreparable damage. There was no acceptable explanation or penance capable of healing the fracture. 

I have gone back to that moment thousands of times. I have berated myself for being so hasty because I am a student of words and ways of expressing myself. I should have known better. I have grieved over the loss of someone who had been so special to me for most of my life. I have had to move on and simply accept the loss knowing that it did not have to happen if I had simply taken a deep breath and measured my words more carefully.

I wonder how many marriages have ended because of words. What we say is powerful and it sticks with people even if we do not mean what we have said. I had learned in my education classes that we all know the triggers that hurt people with whom we are very close. It is our responsibility not to use those comments to hurt them. I had been an almost religious follower of that concept but I spoke before considering my words on that day that I lost my friend. I have seen firsthand how hurtful that can be for the person on the receiving end of an ill measured comment. 

I suppose that if we all took a deep breath before saying or writing something we might eliminate a great deal of sorrow in this world. The old saw that sticks and stone can break bones but words can never hurt is patently untrue. Sometimes what we say wounds more deeply than a slap in the face. We teach ourselves to never physically assault someone. We have to be as careful with our words as we are with our hands.