The Yellow Raincoat

When I was a little girl growing up in Los Angeles, California, my family struggled financially.  We weren't what I thought of as poor, but we certainly were not rich either.  Being the youngest of five children, I often ended up wearing hand-me-downs to school.  For the most part, this wasn't the worst thing, as three of my older siblings were sisters, so it worked out relatively well.  However, the middle child was my brother Ed.  Today Ed stands six feet, six inches and he was tall when he was young too.  Special Ed, as his sisters affectionately call him, grew in leaps and bounds, so he had plenty of clothing that still had a lot of life left in it.  Someone had to wear it, and sadly, that someone often ended up being me.

I am sure that I wore plenty of boys jeans and plaid shirts, but the hand-me-down I most vividly remember was a yellow rain slicker.  It really wasn't of particular interest and looked like most other rain slickers.  It was made of an industrial grade cloth (I don't think you could legitimately call it fabric), with a hood and silver clasps instead of buttons. 

This particular day of school it was pouring outside and I had a mile to walk to John Dolland Elementary.  I did not, however, have a raincoat.  My mom didn't see this as a problem.  She simply walked to the front closet, pulled out Ed's raincoat, and told me to put it on.  Being the ripe old age of eight, I didn't have the good sense to even try to argue my cause.  I put on the raincoat and, even as a child, realized I was a sad, sad sight.   The length of it reached my ankles, and the arms were at least twice as long as they needed to be.  The body of the coat was so huge you could have wrapped it around me three times and snapped the silver clasps in the back like a straight jacket.  "That's perfect!" my mom declared.

And so, I began the journey to school.  It didn't take very long before I could hear the snickers from behind me.  I didn't dare turn around to look at the guilty culprits for fear I would fall over and rush away in the rain laden gutter--just a slick of yellow polyurethane drifting down the street.  It was a long walk to school, and then, a long walk home again.

I remember feeling terribly humiliated and embarrassed.  How could my mother possibly say she loved me and then do this to me?  By the time I got home, the tears were easily sliding down my cheek. 

I can't even begin to imagine how ridiculous I looked wearing that yellow rain slicker to school.  But sadly, I am sure there have been times in my life when I have looked even more ridiculous.  Most of them probably within the last year or two.  Here's the lesson to be learned by such a forlorn experience:  most often when we are humiliated or embarrassed or ashamed, we will survive it.  That's right, we will probably survive the most awkward and uncomfortable experiences of our lives.  It won't feel that way at the time and probably not for awhile after, but eventually we will look back on the experience and either smile at the image of our other self or shrug our shoulders in the reality that the shame didn't kill us.  That's a good thing.

We are, generally, pretty resilient creatures.  It's good to remind ourselves that we can adapt and change and endure.  There are times when I wish I still had that much hated yellow rain slicker.  If only to remind myself that even today I can overcome the shame life sometimes offers...

Senior Picture Day!

Today was senior picture day at school.  Just another reminder for students, parents, and teachers that the high school experience is about to end and kids will enter the proverbial “real world.”  Many kids came in dress shirts and ties and the girls had their hair teased (is this a throwback to the sixties?) and their eyeliner was perfect.  It created a little melancholy to see them all decked about, expectant about the future and excited to be headed on the mysterious path to adulthood.

One of the things that always strikes me about teaching high schoolers is that there is such a strong sense of beginning and ending in high school.  Every new school year is a beginning.  A chance to start anew and make new friends or reinvent yourself in some way.  And every spring is an ending.  A completion of another grade level with the anticipation of looking forward to a new year in a few short months.  Being a senior in high school is, perhaps, one of the most poignant endings. 

I often ask my seniors to think back to their first day of public school—kindergarten.  They were probably five or six at the time and most of them arrived to the very first day of school in new clothes and a tear in their eye.  I remember bringing my daughter Bri to kindergarten.  I still have a photo of her in a homemade jumper, her shoes shiny and new.  She has a smile on her face that suggests that she is not quite sure about this new adventure and I remember watching the Care Bears lunch box beat against her leg as she walked, alone, to her class for the first time.  It was difficult to see her go.  Difficult to realize that my full time presence in her life was over. 

It must be difficult for the parents of my high school kids to see the children prepare to go as well.  When our children go to kindergarten, we have some comfort in knowing what lies in store for them.  Not so when they graduate from high school.  It’s a big world out there and there is a part of our hearts that always realizes that we have very little control over what happens to our children once they leave our homes.

We cannot control what happens to them in college, the choices they make, who they fall in love with, whether this new love affair will last if it morphs into a marriage, or what kind of passion and satisfaction they will get from the career they choose.  There is so much that is outside our realm of control that it is tempting to want to clutch these gangly semi-adults to our breasts and beg them to (in the words of Jackson Browne), “Stay… just a little bit longer.”

It should give us comfort that if we raised our children well they will make good choices and find joy in their lives.  And it does to some extent.  But there is also an overwhelming sadness in knowing our job is coming to a close and that the small children who we encouraged on their first day of kindergarten will soon be completely functioning adults. 

I watched as the seniors got their pictures taken.   When the photographer told them to sit up straight, tilt their head and smile, they did.  And I felt a little bit sad at the realization that this snapshot will forever chronicle the end of an era for these children.  I am hopeful the world will invite them to live in joy and to be courageous in finding the life they dream of today.

Look right here and smile…

Trick or Treat: A Night for Caring

Trick or treat, smell my feet,  give me something good to eat!  Tomorrow is the Friday before Halloween and I just finished making 120 goodie bags of candy for my students.  And yes, it cost a pretty penny.   I tried to make them good goodie bags and filled them with Rice Krispie bars, Gardettos, candy bars, Fun Dips—you name it, if it’s not good for you, it’s probably in the bag.  I had a colleague tell me I was silly to spend that kind of money on my students, but I have to disagree.  Not because they need the sugar.  No one needs that amount of sugar!The reason it is important to do this for kids is because one of the most important lesson any teacher teaches is that it is critical that we care about one another whenever given the opportunity.

 I recently read the story of Kitty Genovese with my AP juniors.  Kitty Genovese was murdered outside of her apartment building over a twenty minute period while thirty-eight of her neighbors listened to her screams for help.  No one called the police until she was dead.  She had been attacked three separate times over that twenty minute time period.  Then we discussed last year’s rape at a Richmond, California, high school where purported twenty different kids stood around and watched as a young girl was gang raped.  Some even took pictures and video with their cell phones. 

My kids were incredulous at these stories.  They couldn’t believe people could be so uncaring.  I could.  The world is full of callousness and unkindness.  We hear about it every day.  Kids, even high school kids, want to believe that isn’t true.  They want to believe that the world cares about them.  And some folks in the world do care.  But a lot don’t.

So as I teacher, not only do I teach reading and writing and the joys of poetry, I also try to teach kids that when we get the chance, it’s good to send a little love out into the world.  Maybe this means opening the door for someone whose arms are loaded down with books.  Maybe it means not cussing in front of your grandma.  Maybe it means helping a younger sibling with their homework.  And maybe it means bringing in a small sack of goodies on Halloween just so the person who receives it knows you care.

It’s a small gesture for the kids in my class, but I hope it speaks volumes.  I hope that they think about how many people are willing to work to give them the opportunity at a better life.  I hope they think about the fact that even if they go hungry tonight, someone cares about bringing a smile to their face. I hope that they consider that love doesn’t always come from our family, but it comes in some way if we open our hearts to it.

You may say I am idealistic, and I would say, “Thanks.” I have a belief, though-- a belief that you can’t work with kids without caring deeply about them.  So tomorrow, as they leave my room, I will hand my students their sugar laden bags and smile, hoping it sends a special message to each of them on this night  of ghouls and goblins.

A Senior Farewell

It's early in the year to think about saying goodbye, but it is what I do.  I am blessed to teach high school seniors, and with the end of every day, I think, "Well, that's one last day with this good group of folk."  I often think about what I would tell them if I could tell them the most important things I know about life.  Would I have some great words of wisdom?  Probably not because I have come to realize that the older I get, the more things puzzle me and the less I am sure of.  I would, however, give them a few words of advice.  Any teacher worth their salt would have to, wouldn't they? 

So, if asked to tell my seniors all that I know, this is what it would look like: 

Dear Seniors,

As you prepare to depart the humble halls of high school, may I challenge you to reflect on what you may have learned during your years here that will serve you well as you go out to discover what it is life has in store for you?  I am sure that as you have traversed these sacred halls for the past four years you have had the opportunity to learn many astounding lessons and as you go on in your life you will find, often to your amazement, that there are, indeed, new lessons to be learned every day.  Sometimes lessons are learned through story.   Here’s a story that taught me in the most unexpected way:  

This is a story of romance.  Well, actually it is more a story of candles, cats, and people with children.  This is how the story goes:

Once upon a time, on a night when the moon was full and whispered of romance, there lived a couple who were very much in love.  They were also the parents of two small children, which meant that quiet moments of passion had pretty much disappeared from their lives.  Determined to keep the fires of love burning they devised a plan that they felt sure would provide them with a romantic evening.

It began with a valiant, and after some time, successful attempt to put the children to bed early.  After numerous trips to the potty, drinks of water, and reassuring bedtime stories, the children finally slept.  The husband then opened a bottle of cheap wine for the couple was exceedingly poor and could not afford the more expensive brand. This young husband placed the wine along with two plastic wine glasses on the table near the couch.  The wife took two candles and placed them next to the wine.  These she lit while the husband coaxed beautiful, soul moving music from the Sony stereo.  Finally the couple settled on the couch, arms entwined, reminiscing about the years long past when there were more moments such as these.

As they toasted one another, clinking their plastic cups in celebration of love, sipped their cheap wine and gazed into each other’s eyes, the husband whispered, “These candles are too bright—they don’t create a very romantic mood!”

            “You’re right,” conferred the wife, “Why don’t you put them in the kitchen and the light will then be softer in here.”

The husband nodded, dashing with candles in hand into the kitchen where he carefully placed them on the counter.  Rushing back into the arms of his loving wife, he graced her with a lingering kiss.

As they enjoyed this most quiet and beautiful moment they noticed, simultaneously, a burst of light flooding the kitchen accompanied by both a horrific smell and a blood-curdling wail.  Releasing themselves from one another they rushed into the kitchen to see what was what.

What they discovered, to their dismay, was their cat of four years who had grown fat and languid, with belly hanging into the candle flame and fur afire.  The husband mumbled, “Burning cat sure smells bad.”  The wife agreed.  After dousing the cat with water and brushing the singed hair from the kitchen counter, the husband turned to the wife and asked, “Interested in watching a movie?”  And so it was for this couple who tried to stir the embers of love.

You might wonder why I would share such a story.  Well, as with all fables, there is much to be learned from such a story.  First, expect the unexpected.  As you embark on this great adventured called “The Future” embrace those things that catch you by surprise.  Sometimes what we don’t expect is much more fulfilling than those things we do expect.

Secondly, find humor in the every day events of life.  It’s difficult to be serious all the time and the good Lord did the right thing when he gave us the great gift of being able to laugh at ourselves.  Laughter makes our lives a little lighter and a whole lot more enjoyable—so laugh whenever you can. 

Also, challenge yourself to be flexible.  Plans may have to be changed, roads diverted, goals rearranged.  But have faith that what is meant to be most certainly will be.

And finally, remember that life is a journey that is meant to be enjoyed.  The story I just related is not really a fable, it’s something that my husband and I experienced early in our marriage.  And while at the time it seemed an overwhelming and somewhat sad event (the cat carried the burn scars on her belly for the rest of her life), it has proven to be a story that we can often reminisce about and it reminds us of the joy that is life. 

May each and every one of you find great joy in your lives, may you truly know what it is to love and to be loved, and may you remember that those of us who remain behind are cheering for you all the way!

With love,

Your Senior English Teacher

The Perpetual High Schooler

I’ve heard it said that people become high school teachers for two reasons: one, they had so much fun in high school, they couldn’t resist re-living it over and over; or two, high school was so abhorrent that they thought they might do better if given another chance.  If I had to choose, I would be more like the second ideal.  My father died the summer before I started high school.   My mother had, at times, an extraordinarily difficult time dealing with his death and the occasional “crazy spell” resorted in things like being called a “whore” in the middle of a darkened night when I had yet to even be kissed by a boy.  So, as you might guess, high school was not the best time of my life.

However, I don’t know if I was truly attempting to re-imagine high school when I decided to become a teacher.  I was somewhat of a late bloomer and after marrying a National Park Ranger and finding that I was going to spend my life living in national parks, teaching seemed like a good fit for me. Even when you are out in the middle of nowhere, there are children that need to be taught.

I had always loved literature and young adults, so teaching was a profession I entered into with great enthusiasm.  I am now approaching the twenty year mark, something that seemed impossible the year I did my student teaching.  The first day of that student teaching extravaganza I called my husband in a panic and told him, “I think I made a drastic mistake!”  His advice, “Act like a grown up and get back in there and give ‘em hell!”  I did, and now years later I can’t imagine a profession that would have been more fulfilling, although admittedly, at times it has been challenging.

And here’s what I have come to know after my years in a high school classroom: there is much to be learned in high school, much more than you and I learned the first time around.  Of course, teenagers have much to teach us, as does the structure and ceremony of high school.  The open criticism of public schools as part of the current trend also has some important lessons for us.  And things like football games, Homecoming, choir recitals, band concerts, and detention also have much in the way of lessons. 

If given a choice, most of us would not willingly go back to the days of pimples, lonely Friday nights, and crowded hallways.  However, have you ever really thought about what high school did to prepare you for life?  The lessons it instilled?  The morals and values?  How much you enjoyed the trouble you got into and how much you now miss seeing, every day, those old high school friends?  It doesn’t matter if you were the popular cheerleader or the proverbial band geek, high school should have provided you with all the lessons needed to survive adulthood.  That is if you were paying attention.

The Blessing that is Teaching

I have always believed that teaching is a calling much like a pastor or a priest must feel.  It is in one’s blood to teach.  Not a choice as much as a destiny.  Silly, you may say, but when good teachers engage in good teaching, it really is nothing less than blessed.  And like pastoring a church, teaching requires a multitude of skills.  Teachers must be counselors, parents, friends, advisers, listeners, encouragers, supporters, and advocates.  We must care deeply without getting “too” involved in our students’ lives.  We must advocate for them always, remembering that we only are given so much emotional capital, so we must spend it wisely.  And so it goes.

When individuals listen to the “call” and become teachers, their lives will forever be changed.  Nothing will ever be the same.  They will experience the most comprehensive joy, as well as the most comprehensive sorrow.  They will be asked to share secrets that no one else will ever hear.  They will be asked to share in choir concerts , football game,  volleyball games, and drama presentations.  They will be allowed to read the most intimate of writings, and they will wipe away the tears late at night because the reality of being impotent to truly change another’s life is overwhelming sad.  And they will know joy unlike any other.  They will giggle over malapropisms uttered by their students, and they will laugh at the outrageous antics enjoyed at the annual homecoming pep rally.  And sometimes, they will have experiences that stop them in their tracks.

I teach senior English is a small rural town in Northern Arizona.  Eighty percent of my students are Native American and most of my students come from depressed economic backgrounds.  During this particular year, I had a student who had watched as his mother had been shot and killed by his father, and then his father turned the gun on himself.  Seth and his brother watched this occur as they shielded their baby sister’s eyes from the tragedy unfolding in their living room.  All three children went to live with their grandmother after the incident and things were tough for each of them.  It is difficult to focus on school when your world has literally fallen apart.

Seth was a good student and he dreamed of joining the military as soon as he graduated.  He always had a sadness about him and I tried to build a relationship with him, but he always proved to be a bit more reticent than my other students.  One day we were doing group work and I was working my way through my classroom checking the work of my students.  From across the room, Seth raised his hand and called, “Hey, Mom, can you come and help me?”  I immediately looked at Seth.  As our eyes met, I could see that his were filled with tears.  Mine did the same.  I paused for a moment as we looked at each other.  He managed a weak smile and as I walked over to his desk, he hung his head and shielded his face.  I knelt beside him and whispered, “I am here.”  After a moment, a simple, “Thanks.”  Our relationship began to blossom after that day.

Yes, teaching is a calling because teachers are entrusted with the greatest asset our country has: our children.  Along with their parents, we will nurture and love them, and always, hope that life is kind to them.  And when life chooses not to be, we will encourage and prod and cajole.  Because what this child has to offer you and me is boundless and mysterious and perfect.  The time we spend with them is priceless and this thing called “teaching” is indeed a blessing.  A blessing of the most profound kind.