A Fish Story

Albert Einstein once said, "Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."
Can’t you just see it?

“Now you stop whining and get up that tree! Everyone else in this school is climbing the tree. Some have already reached the top, but you haven’t even gotten off the ground!”

“No, I don’t care who your parents are or that you’ve never seen a tree before. Stop talking gibberish. Everyone else speaks ‘cat,’ so you should, too.”

“This new kid must be mentally challenged. He dresses strangely, can’t speak the language…even walks funny. If he won’t even try to do something as simple as climb the tree like everyone else, he’s going to be in real trouble when we hit the pool next week!”

…. I wonder if Einstein felt like a fish out of water when he was failing algebra…? Maybe “x” isn’t just an unknown number.

My teacher friends recognize this lesson, I’m sure. We don’t want to leave anyone behind.

Dancing On the Road Together

We mark our journey through life with milestones labeled “Joy” and “Sorrow.”  Our individual paths intersect with the trails of those we meet and become one road with those with whom we choose to share our lives.

People we love, our friends and families, are part of our climbs to the joyful heights.  We push and pull and prod one another to successes, and we celebrate the many wonders of life together—finding our way, discovering the one who shares our daily journey, marveling at our children.  Going this way together makes those peaks of Joy seem so much higher than if we go alone.  We invite others to our celebrations and swell with pride and cheer for those we love in their triumphs and times of Joy.  The road, however, is rarely smooth, nor is it a constant climb to those summits of happiness.

Although the descents into Sorrow are made less terrifying when we have a hand to hold, unlike the bliss of shared Joy, even in a crowd Sorrow is a lonely stop along the way.  Maybe it’s that we want to spare those we love from the pain and heartache, and so we put on a brave face and, whether we stride boldly or go with timorous steps into the darkness, we seem to prefer traveling this part of our path alone.

When enough time has passed that looking back reveals a long journey, it is a good thing to notice those many other roads that intersect with ours.  Sometimes it takes close scrutiny to know that the “one” path that is ours actually bears the footprints of so many who have chosen to go the same way.  Now and then a nearby trail will join ours for quite some time.  Surprisingly, often those intersections come at Sorrow and continue with us in the long climb back out of the depths.

I guess I’m feeling my age today.  The road behind me is now much longer than what lies ahead, I know.  But it’s good to look around and see all those who are accompanying me now.  Even more I am glad to travel for a while with those who are just beginning their journeys.  Hopefully I can help them along, celebrate with them, but most of all, hold them up when their path drops into the shadows of Sorrow.  Usually it is a darkness I recognize.  Maybe I can provide a bit of the light of experience and the strength of perseverance.  I know that when my way tends down, my steps are lighted up again by their hope.

One thing I know, no matter how often the markers of Sorrow have been left behind on my own road, with the help of my many friends and my family, I have always been climbing.

I like Garth Brooks’ song, “The Dance,” and the line, “I could have missed the pain but I'd have had to miss the dance.”  It’s a fun way to travel.

Valentine

Last week the sun struggled to raise the temperature above zero.  The earth slumbered, pulling the white comforter of almost a foot of snow over its head to drown out the howling of the wind.  We worried that Phil would stay in his burrow; refuse to even come out and look for his shadow.  Another Midwestern winter had us all in its grip, only this time it seemed like only Hawaii was avoiding the chill.  We set up a collective whine, pleading for the return of spring.

Today I’m sitting in a pool of sunlight and looking out my window at the front yard’s maple tree.  I can almost see the buds swelling in the warmth.  The forecast is for temperatures to reach almost sixty by mid-week.  Except for the shadowed places and the drifts or accumulated piles, the snow is gone.  Puddles are growing larger by the minute.

I love this annual ritual and can’t imagine living somewhere that the change of seasons isn’t this climatic and climactic shifting, the curtain rising and falling, one act to another, a frantic rearranging of the set.  The symbolism of it has been part of my consciousness as long as I can remember.

Struggle…growth…change…solemnity…jubilation…despair…hopefulness…peace…chaos…rest…exuberance….

The earth continues to remind me that my life is a revolving, evolving change of seasons, but one that stays the same despite the storms, despite the drastic fluctuations, because some things remain constant—sun, rain, hope, love,

you.

American Phoenix

Twenty-five years ago today--January28, 1986--the nation suffered another in a long list of tragedies when the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded 73 seconds after liftoff.  This event was especially tragic in that school children around the nation were anxiously watching New Hampshire teacher Christa McAullife become the first "Teacher in Space."  She and her six crew members never made it.  The following, written that afternoon, is my tribute to them and the spirit of the nation.

"American Phoenix"

We stood and watched our brave young eagles dare
to see how high, how fast, how far they might
wing outward to the limits of the air
and then beyond, into the starry night.

With courage and with joy each one flew on,
a challenger of the unknown and all
of those who fear and cry that we have gone
too far and now, with wings aflame, must fall.

And with the triumphs that we all would share
will come the ashes of the times we fail.
But to succeed then we must greatly dare,
for in new victories our lossses pale.

This eagle, like the phoenix, folds its wings,
then from the fires bursts forth and soars and sings.

My Favorite Season of the Year

I’m sitting here looking out my windows at the sun shining off another five or six inches of new snow.  The neighbors are out, clearing it from walks and driveways, and the sound of snow blowers drowns out the nearby traffic noise.  If it were a school day instead of Sunday morning, we’d probably have another snow day.

I’ve always loved snow.  When I was a kid, of course, I liked snow because I liked to play in it and there’s really nothing better than waking up in the morning and hearing that school has been cancelled!  Come to think of it, these are still good reasons for me!  I like skiing, even if I don’t get to go very often—it’s been almost twenty years since I went last.  And snow days are probably more appreciated by teachers than by students.  We like to catch up on our sleep, too.

Students have asked me many times about my favorite season of the year.  That’s an easy one for me.  Winter is my favorite season because I love snow, my birthday is the first day of winter, and, of course, there isn’t a better holiday than Christmas.  And I like “winter” foods and clothes and activities.

The winter months seem to have more special days than other times of the year.  In my family there are several winter birthdays and Christmas is a big holiday for us, too.  My family gets together several times during the year, but Christmas is the best.  It’s more than exchanging gifts; we give one another support, good feelings, even suggestions when we’re complaining about work or kids or colleagues.  Of course, the food is wonderful.

Winter food is delicious.  And fattening.  From Halloween through Easter, especially if the winter is cold and snowy—everyone cooks the best food.  My wife, our sons’ families, in-laws and friends, and even I can get into the act when I’m on vacation . . . we all cook and bake: roasts, turkey, ham, cake, breads, pies, pastries, cookies, candy.  It’s an awful thing for someone trying to diet or keep his cholesterol down!  But it tastes so wonderful!

It’s a good thing winter clothes are usually baggy or there are several layers.  Something has to help hide the extra inches from all that good food.  But I like layering, especially wearing sweaters when it’s cold.  Wool and flannel are so comfortable, too.  Unlike many people, I don’t mind the hassle of coats and gloves and scarves and hats and boots.  I guess I like winter fashions.  My wife says she’s never known anyone who had so many coats and hats.

That’s me.  I’m a winter person.  When the first frost ices the grass and leaves, I break out my winter clothes and start asking about oatmeal cookies.  By the time the crocus pop out in the early spring, I’ve enjoyed myself thoroughly.  Then it’s time to clean my golf clubs and consider losing a few pounds.

In the Spirit

This time of year the sound of bells ringing seems to be carried on every breath of wind, like the heartbeat of the world clamoring to be heard. The Salvation Army “Santas” occupy seemingly every storefront, elevators ubiquitously pipe “Silver Bells” between floors, radio and television programs fill the background with seasonal jingles—of bells and advertisements. Now and then I stop and listen to the voices of those bells. It’s that time of year.


From the moment that first red kettle is set up to begin this carol of the bells, I hear one word more than any other: “Give.” I suppose that’s natural. It is “The Season of Giving.” Merchants, of course, are encouraging us to give to them, buy their products so they can make their living and spread that to their employees and their communities. The nation’s economy is more in need of our “giving” now than it has been for some time. It’s the other gifting idea, though, that is more prevalent. This is the time we all seem to want and even need to give to others, to those who are less fortunate, even at a time when we all seem to think we’re less fortunate.

I don’t think any other country gives as much or as unselfishly than does ours. As individuals we plan annually to do what we can, no matter how small, to lend a hand. As a country, we seem to be the world’s “Santa” year-round.

I wonder why there is such a need in our country, though. Thousands go to sleep homeless every night. People of all ages lack proper food and clothing in the wealthiest nation on earth. And we give. Little children donate the contents of their piggy banks to rebuild fire stations or buy teddy bears for the children of deployed military personnel. Little old ladies living on meager pensions drop their last pennies into the collection plate. Corporations contribute millions (makes a good tax break and public relations).

Everyone wants to help, and there is no shortage of avenues to do so. The bells remind us at this time of year, but they need to ring daily, every day of the year. Find a way to do your part. Hear the bells pleading for those less fortunate than you. Some day you may discover the wisdom that you should “not ask for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”

The Party's Over

(A new iteration of comments originally written in 2002)

It’s the last day of American Education Week.  Time to bring the celebration to an end and get back to work!  Put away the balloons and treats and party hats.  Tell the well-wishers from the community that we have jobs to do.  Can you believe the lines?—the employers bringing gifts because they so appreciate the skilled workers they’ve hired from among our graduates, the parents with their thank you notes and flowers because we’ve been the only ones who could reach their teenage sons and daughters to teach them the social skills and responsibilities they’ll need, the college recruiters looking for their own students and athletes and artists . . . .

Hey, I know what you’ve been doing when you should have been planning lessons and grading papers.  I’ve seen you at 6:45 AM or 9:00 PM—marching, running, dancing; tutoring, guiding, prepping; phoning, writing, worrying.  I’ve overheard you between classes and over lunch, advising the gifted artist about how her talents can provide her with a career and where to go to make the most of it.  Or the frustrated young man who needed help because he just couldn’t make it through the day without a drink or a toke and didn’t know where to turn to save himself.  And the girl with the haunted eyes who, when in your concern you touched her shoulder, flinched because of the terrible bruises left the last time her boyfriend beat her up.  You saw to it that she got help when you really should have been teaching about World War II again.  And what’s with all the time you’ve spent with just that one student—the kid in your class of 30 who goes to the Resource Room once in a while but really wants to figure it out himself if you’ll explain it one more time.  Or the one who challenges you every day to find some way to teach her more than the other kids because she already knows all of that . . . and you are sure that someday you’re going to feel so proud when you’re reading her best-selling novel or she calls to tell you about the terrific research grant she’s received or stops by to show off her beautiful new baby or suddenly she’s the teacher in the room next door.

On top of all that, I’ve peeked in your classroom doors and seen that you’ve spent ninety minutes three times a day making sure that the 25-30 or more students you have each block, every one of them, gets the best you have to offer.  You’ve arrived at school every day and stopped thinking about making a living, and seeing that your own kids have more than you did, and paying the bills that seem to be larger each month—including the school loans you accumulated eight or nine years ago—and all the other personal interruptions, so that you can focus on the students who are depending on you to get them ready for life.

If you want to know why we’ve been celebrating this week, don’t read the newspaper.  Read the daily events of your life as a teacher.  Give the noisemaker one last toot.  Then get back to work.  The week’s over.

And thanks for being my friends and colleagues.  I’ve never been more proud to be a teacher than I am to be an American teacher and share the work with you.