All It Takes Is A Little Love

Once a teacher, always a teacher…

I laugh when I realize that the vast majority of my friends are either former colleagues at various schools or former students who are now adulting and living their lives into middle age. My personality has been honed and varnished by the duties that I performed in the classroom. Accordingly I am many things.

I was trained to first and foremost protect the young people placed in my care. That meant always making certain that they were safe. It also meant doing my very best to understand the individual needs of every person who trusted me to help them grow in wisdom and confidence. I had to be fully aware of who was soaring and who was struggling and then determine how I might best help them. 

While knowledge is of great importance for every teacher, it might be argued that forming an emotional connection is just as critical. I am not talking about getting personal or attempting to influence students either religiously or politically. Instead I am referring to making connections in understanding what barriers students are experiencing. It means showing compassion for those who are struggling for one reason or another. I means demonstrating to them that learning is a lifelong journey that requires a mindset of continual growth. 

We each learn in different ways and at different paces. Because someone can’t master the process of solving equations on the first try does not imply an intellectual deficit. Instead it simply shows that more time and perhaps a different kind of explanation is needed. Also, if students truly believe that a teacher is intent on helping them rather than hurting them, they are more likely to have a willingness to trust that the purpose of life and learning is beautiful and exciting. 

To accomplish my goals for my students I was sometimes a counselor, sometimes a disciplinarian, sometimes a nurse, sometimes an entertainer, sometimes a safe place to be. I had to know when to laugh, when to be serious, when to stop to take a breather. In my role I developed skills that would translate easily to many fields of endeavor. I was a manager, a communicator, an accountant, a writer, a general, a detective, a mathematician.  I had to learn how to change hats quickly according to whatever the occasion required. There was little time for rest from August to July. My days were filled with joy but also tragedies and sometimes even feelings of failure and defeat. Nonetheless I am filled with a kind of pride in what I accomplished during my working years. In many ways they define who I am and who I always wanted to be. 

At times people around me accuse me of always wanting to be in control of every situation and I have to plead guilty to that verdict. It is difficult not to notice what needs to be done in any environment. I can spot a dangerous situation when others are blind to it. I can feel sorrow and pain in people who are stoically suffering. I know when someone is struggling even when they are loathe to complain. I have a tendency to want to fix anything that seems to be broken even when I am pushed away. 

I have had to curb some of my tendencies and even admit that I am not as capable of solving problems as I once was. I have had to foster the same growth mindset that I have tried to teach others with a willingness to adapt to the changing world. I try to keep my mind open and willing to accept ideas that have evolved differently from my own. I do my best to practice what I once preached to my students.

Right now I find myself worrying most about my elderly father-in-law. He wants to have his independence but seems to know that he can no longer live alone so he stays with me and my husband. He appears sharp as a tack to anyone who only sees him now and again but because I am with him every single day I see the decline of his thinking and the ways that he attempts to hide it. I struggle with keeping him safe because he insists on doing some things that he should probably lay aside. I try to allow him to do as much as he can on his own because I know that he needs the dignity of feeling competent. Nonetheless I constantly watch and worry when I see him pushing the boundaries of his abilities. It is a challenge to know when to intercede and when to let things go, much like it would be with a student in a classroom. I have the knowledge and skills to work effectively with him but because he sees himself as my superior an added difficulty exists in our relationship. 

The greatest challenge in caring for someone who is aging is that the results are inverted from a teaching situation. The most likely outcome is going to be regression in abilities rather than forward progress. No doubt as he slowly loses his independence we will find ourselves engaged in uncomfortable battles for which I have much experience from my teaching days. I hope that I will be ready and able to do what must be done in the same spirit of love and kindness that I gave to my students. If all goes well I will know when and how to deal with whatever comes. 

I was born in a momentous era. World War II had ended and the world was picking up the pieces of destruction and tragedy in 1948. In spite of the horrors that humans had inflicted on each other there was a sense of hope that somehow we might work together to forge a kind of permanent peace. The United Nations was a fledgling group when I was born toward the end of 1948, but it’s existence was founded on the hope that somehow we humans would find ways to honor our common humanity peacefully rather than with anger and weapons. 

In that hour of vivid remembrance of man’s inhumanity to man Eleanor Roosevelt became the representative of the United States tasked with creating a document outlining the universal human rights of all people everywhere. It was a fitting assignment for a woman who had been an advocate for people for all of her life. In many ways she had been the conscience of our nation during her husband’s tenure as President of the United States. She had pushed him to invite Marian Anderson, a black woman, to the White House. She had in many ways become the mother of our country during the dark days of war. My own mother often related how hearing Mrs. Roosevelt’s voice on the radio had soothed her fears. She spoke of Eleanor with awe and tears forming in her eyes. 

It took two years to agree to a massive document that would become the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. It was revealed and ratified on December 10, 1948. While it did not have the force of law, it did indeed create a plan for living together on this earth in peace and harmony. It declared that “[a]ll human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights…without distinction of any kind, such as race, colour, sex, language, religion, political or other opinion, national or social origin, property, birth or other status” and regardless “of the political, jurisdictional or international status of the country or territory to which a person belongs.”

It clearly outlined the freedoms that every person on the earth should be able to enjoy including the freedom to make choices about how to live. It noted that we humans are all alike, all equal and that we should treat each other with respect and honor the diversity of our humanity. It was perhaps an idealistic declaration, but so too was our own nation’s Declaration of Independence and Constitution. It is much like the Ten Commandments or the parables of Jesus. It is a guide for living with each other without judgement or rancor. It urges all people and all nations to see each other without prejudices. It is a remarkable commitment to doing our best to get along on a very human level. 

Of course as we have moved forward during the last seventy six years our human frailties have all too often prevented us from accepting and loving each other in the ways that would truly make us united in our respect for our differences. The goodness of our humanity outlined in the document is challenged again and again by our darkest tendencies. We continue to struggle with the very evils that have prompted wars between ourselves throughout history. We know how we should be, but our fears and jealousies so often lead us to the kind of unintelligent beliefs that somehow there are indeed good better and best versions of human beings that should dominate the weaker kind that we never quite understand. Greed and hate are as human as the kind of goodness that Eleanor Roosevelt and her committee hoped to entrench in the world. 

If we think about the people that we know from all over the world we find ourselves agreeing that over and over again humans have managed to fight our evil natures with scores of good people. We may have once allowed slavery but honorable folk fought to end such a dastardly practice. When a nation imprisoned and murdered innocents it was a united effort by mostly kind heroes who toppled the regime that did such things. Somehow we find ourselves fighting for what is right and just over and over again whether it be with passive resistance or on a battlefield. 

I grew up under the influence of my mother who was a woman who unconditionally loved people. She made Eleanor Roosevelt one of my role models. She spoke often of being generous and compassionate with my fellow humans. She chided me not to judge people by any superficial measures but by their hearts. She saw the person begging on a corner as equal to the wealthy man living in a mansion. She urged me not to be impressed by false signs of success. I suppose that she wrote her own version of a declaration of human rights for me to follow. Her hope for me set a high bar that I sometimes fail to meet much like the world at large.

We would all do well to read the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights and ask ourselves how we are doing in meeting its concepts. I suspect that we will each have to admit that we still have work to do with ourselves and our willingness to see the beauty of humanity in all of its many versions. Somehow I believe that we have the capacity to do better if only we try. Surely we know deep down inside that the world is a better place when we honor each other and focus on turning our backs on any efforts or persons that suggest that we should hurt anyone among us. In this Christmas season I can’t think of anything more wonderful to do with our lives.

The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why. —-Mark Twain

I believe that each of us have a purpose on this earth. There’s that kid who becomes a cardiologist who saves both famous and ordinary folks. There’s the child with a vivid imagination who writes a beloved book. There’s that little person who becomes a great leader who guides a nation through difficult times. 

Most of us lead much more ordinary lives, but what we do with our talents is just as important. The nice neighbor who looks out for the elderly couple and brings soup when someone is sick has found her purpose. She knows why she is here and what she has to do. She nurtures and  loves with every fiber of her being. She is a rock on which countless depend. 

We too often discount the gifts that people give the world. We laud those who have achieved what we deem to be greatness but neglect to notice the simple efforts of people who keep our world running effectively. We take so much for granted until we can’t. When a hurricane blew through our city we suddenly realized how essential the workers who repaired the power lines were to our well being. They worked for weeks in ninety degree weather in twelve hour shifts. We cheered them when they entered our neighborhoods. It felt as though they had been sent to us according to a vast eternal plan. 

Some people seem to always know what they were meant to be. My brother announced at the age of five that he wanted to be a mathematician who would help to send rockets into space. He never deviated from that goal. With multiple advanced degrees he used his brilliance to design the navigational system for the International Space Station. I on the other hand struggled to understand why I was born. I went back and forth deciding on a career and finally felt that I was settling on being a teacher. 

Time and experience has a magical way of revealing our true destiny. After a few years of struggling a bit, I found myself enchanted with teaching mathematics to mostly underserved students. While I felt as though I had stumbled into my situation, I soon realized that I had actually found the reason why I was born. I still get goosebumps thinking of the moment when I just knew that I was supposed to be exactly where I was. From that moment forward, even in difficult times, my life as a teacher felt like a perfect fit for who I am. 

Sadly I have known many men and women who never quite discovered that wonderful day when of finding out why they were born. I suspect that the evidence was there but they did not see it. Sometimes the reason for existence may seem insignificant when in fact it is powerfully impactful in someone’s life. 

When my mother first showed frightening signs of her bipolar disorder I was twenty years old and unfamiliar with such things. I reached out to many adults for help but most of them were as confused about what to do as I was. Eventually our family doctor recommended a psychiatrist who in turn told me how to get my mother admitted to a hospital for care. The trick was getting her to agree to go there. That’s when a kind woman who was my mother’s best friend courageously helped me even thought she understood that it might undermine her friendship with my mom. 

Together we successfully got my mother the medical care that she needed but it did indeed fracture the once beautiful relationship that the two women had enjoyed. The love and sacrifice that my mother’s friend demonstrated was surely at least part of the reason why she was born. Without her Mama would have deteriorated to a point of hopelessness. Instead she became well again. I know for a fact that I would not have been able to get the job done by myself. I will forever have a special place in my heart for this lovely woman’s unselfish act of true compassion and love. 

I do believe that there is indeed a reason why each of us is born. Each and every person is special and has a gift to give the world. It is a wonderous feeling when you discover what that is for you.

My mother was a saintly woman. She had a belief in God that was unswerving. She was baptized and educated in Catholic school until she was a teenager. She and most of her siblings faithfully attended mass on Sundays for the entirety of their lives and brought up me and my cousins in the Catholic faith. My mother was a deeply religious woman for whom God was a constant companion and guide for living. She read the Bible daily and prayed with confidence that her Lord was watching over her and me and my brothers. She followed the rules of the church but also believed that God was present in many different forms and cultural revelations. She often remarked that each person should be allowed to worship in his or her own fashion. While she loved the teachings of Jesus and thought that his admonition to love one another was the most important commandment, she also respected other faiths and often remarked that each of the spiritual ways that humans unravel the mysteries of life are beautiful. 

I suppose that my mother influenced my thinking as much as the nuns and priests who taught me for twelve years. I began to parse the human remarks of deacons and priests that I heard on Sundays when I attended mass. I realized that while we had the basics of the teachings of Jesus down pat, how we interpreted the ways to follow them tended to vary. Thus I became what some of my friends call a “cafeteria Catholic.” I chose to follow the simplest rendering of the examples and teachings of Jesus rather than becoming entangled in rules that seemed to me to be mostly created by human interpretations. 

I have found myself attempting to follow in my mother’s inclusive path of loving every person she encountered even when they did not love her. Somehow her nonjudgemental way of living impacted me and made me a better person altogether. I watched her as she was sometimes spurned by others because of her moments of mental illness. I saw her love them in spite of their lack of compassion for her. She walked through life welcoming every person who came her way, generously giving of herself and her limited treasures. 

I try to make my mother’s faith my own faith but I am not as saintly as she was. I get angry too easily when I see inhumanity unfolding before me. I have had to work hard to keep my judgements of others from blinding me to the beauty of each soul on this earth. I become surly when I see people hurting each other, raging wars, turning their backs on those who are different. Lately I have been wishing that my mother were still around to sweetly caution me to be more understanding and forgiving. Instead I found an article about Pop Francis that reminded me of my mother’s voice once again. 

The story was in a respected newspaper. It was about a woman who had once lived in Argentina just like Pope Francis. Her life was derailed early. She was poor and hungry and was trafficked sexually. Eventually she ended up in Italy where she plied the trade that had become the only profession that she knew. When Pope Francis lovingly reached out to the community to which this woman belonged she was fascinated that he was inviting her and others who are transgender, lesbians and gays to a public meeting with him. She was stunned by his open compassion as he embraced her and prayed for her. 

Since that time the woman regularly visits the Vatican. She brings empanadas that she has baked for Pope Frances. She looks forward to talking with him about life in Argentina. She loves that he calls her by name and always wants to know how she is doing. Mostly she knows that he loves her as one of God’s children. He does not judge her but he prays for her and in the process her faith has been restored. Goodness and acceptance was the key to helping her realize the kind of love that Jesus told us all to have. 

I think that all too often we humans equate religion with rules and judgements and punishments for those who do not conform to our own beliefs. We think that it is up to us to set people straight about God. We speak of having national religions to which everyone must adhere. We condemn those who are different, sometimes calling them sinners, perverts or worse. Somehow such ways of proselytizing are foreign to me. I think of my mother loving everyone just as they were. I think of Pope Francis insisting that it is not up to him to judge individuals. I think of Jesus purposely reaching out to people who were spurned in his day. I wonder how we got so far off the path of simply loving one another. 

I cannot possibly know what leads someone to become the person that he/she is. While certain lifestyles would be uncomfortable to me, how can I ever know how it feels for those who live them? I try to be like my mother and the Pope in embracing each person without trying to change them. I don’t classify people by stereotypes because I have learned that it is often the person most defamed by society who stops to minister to an injured person by the side of the road. It may be the agnostic or atheist who is the most caring person in the room. My mother and Pope Frances show me how to live and love in the best possible way. I am not nearly as wonderful as they are, but I will try my best to follow their saintly lead. They are the examples that I try to follow.

Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; the third is to be kind. —-Henry James (With thanks to RJ Palacio, 365 Days of Wonder: Mr. Browne’s Book of Precepts

As parents we teach our children to be kind. We correct them when we witness them being mean to others. We tell them stories about heroic behavior and do our best to be examples for them. The most difficult aspect of parenting occurs when our little ones encounter a bully or someone who makes fun of them. Even worse is when they become adults and are hurt by another person that they trusted. 

I have found that the vast majority of people on this planet are good, but it only takes one encounter with a vile person to shatter our outlook on life. Even the strongest among us can be hurt by words, actions, betrayals. Just as kindness is the norm, so is it probable that we each know of times when someone broke us for a moment. We may move on from the ugliness but we never really forget it. We may attempt to understand why anyone would be so hurtful but mostly there is no good way to explain it. Sadly, our society seems more and more willing to accept horrific behavior as a sign of strength or even a joke rather than seeing it as the horror that it is. 

I am a forgiving person but I also know that sometimes people go too far. They break all the bonds of decency and trust. it’s one thing to be treated badly by someone who is in pain themselves, but quite another to keep taking it on the chin from an abuser who seems to get joy out of being disgusting. Such a person may be deeply sick, but we should not put up with the hurt that they inflict on us or others. 

When we are teaching our children to be kind there are other lessons that they must also learn. We have to help them to be confident enough in themselves to be able to walk away from anyone who attempts to harm them. I have generally found that bullies stop immediately when they get no reaction to their actions. They are looking for weakness, someone who can be crushed. They are quite good at ferreting out people who will fall prey to their cruelty. 

I know how difficult it is to be bold enough to stand up to unkind people. Even as a teacher I had taunts hurled at me. As a child I was timid and unsure of myself, so if someone made fun of me it was difficult not to react, but my mother often reminded me of how great I was and told me stories of being harrassed herself. She assured me that if I held my head up high my tormentor would go away. I never once encountered an incident when that was not true. 

I am not so certain that it is as easy to avoid the barbs of unkind people in today’s environment. We have people who hope to lead us making fun of disabled people and cracking so called jokes that are filled with misogynistic content. I have come to believe that just  holding up my head and walking away from such people may not be enough to to stop the viral spread of bullying behaviors. We have to call such actions out for the horror that they are. We have to hold people accountable for being abusive. Our children are watching and if we show them that we do not care when someone is horrible, they will begin to believe that kindness a sign of weakness. They will begin to solve problems with anger and violence.

I has been proven again and again that the children of abusive parents often become abusive as well. I once had a friend who was dating a young man who confided to her that his father beat his mother frequently. On several occasions he even left his home and stayed with her because he wanted to get away from what was happening in his family. Sadly nobody ever did anything to stop the cycle of violence. The incidents happened again and again. Then one day the young man snapped when he was with my friend and began to slap her around. When she immediately broke off the relationship he realized that he was mirroring his father and was stunned into seeking help both for himself and his family. He rescued his mother and then worked on his own anger control. I often wonder if this turnaround would have happened if my friend had not condemned his treatment of her immediately.

We can’t just look away when we see and hear unkindness. We have to begin addressing it in our homes, our schools and in the public domain. If we are honest we know that allowing bullies to have power over us is the fastest way to lose our freedoms our identities. We should show our children the importance of kindness in everything we do. Sometimes that also means noticing who is being hurt, helping them feel worthwhile and holding their oppressors accountable. It also means demanding kindness from those who would be our leaders and turning away from those willing to debase someone and call it a joke.