Being "For" Students...

Okay, so it’s exam time this spring, and I am faced with a dilemma.  Now, my husband says that this is no dilemma at all.  If you say what you mean and mean what you say, Donna, then, there’s no issue.  This is what it is to be grown-up…let the chips fall where they may…they made their bed, now they have to sleep in it…

What am I talking about?  Well, here’s the situation – after experiencing a rather high level of absenteeism last semester in my classes, I decided to try a different strategy with regard to the attendance policy in each of my classes.  Rather than have attendance count as part of the overall grade (like 15%, or 10%), I would not count it.  Instead, only assignments/exams would count for assessing their grade.  And attendance would only be taken to ensure students attended more than 25% of the class meetings.  If they missed more than 25%, they’d earned a F…they could not pass the course if they missed that much.  Now, the reality is that a student who misses that much generally achieves quite little on assignments, usually fails, in fact, because we all know that showing up is half the equation.  Study after study shows that students who go to class do significantly better (go figure, right?!).  So, that was the deal, in courses that met MWF, you could miss 10 classes for whatever reason – appointments, slept in, concert out of town, whatever…but if you missed more than 10, you’d earned the F.  And in classes that met T/Th, you could miss 7.  Now, the only, ONLY exceptions were the extreme case of prolonged illness/chronic situation that a student made known to me and if a death occurred in their family that resulted in an absence or two for services/traveling.  This struck me as a pretty reasonable, if not lenient, policy. 

Well, here I am, exam time, it’s time to count the absences, and I’ve a pretty good feeling that I have a number of students who are not going to be happy.  And so I’m torn – do I stick with the policy, do what I said, what the policy in each one of my syllabus clearly makes plain, and they face the music, as it were?  Or do I make exceptions, recognize that this is college, and that somehow means something else…

I’ll be honest, I can’t decide if I’m torn because I want them to like me, and if I follow through on this policy, they might not.  Or is it because I was a student once too (longer ago than I like to admit some days), and I know it’s easy to get distracted, have conflicting priorities…Whatever the reasons, I have been thinking about what to do.  But here’s the thing…I can’t help thinking that I should be guided by being “for” them.  And then, here’s the real question – what does that look like?

Is being “for” my students taking responsibility for them, when they should’ve taken it themselves?  Is being “for” them having a policy and then not following it, sending a myriad of messages that I probably don’t want to send?  Is being “for” them setting aside principle because of personalities?  Is being “for” them making excuses when that’s all they are, over and over and over?  No.  In fact, trying to argue there’s a “yes” answer to any of these questions has a name; it’s called enabling.  And that is not a place I want to go in any way, shape, or form.  Enabling irresponsible behavior and choices among my students, or anyone for that matter, has no place in my work and life. 

So, it’s pretty obvious, the resounding answer to every one of those questions I posed is No.  It really is a no-brainer.  And there’s more…I shared with a girlfriend of mine from college my policy and the reality of this situation I’m facing now, and she pointed out that a policy like this translated into the real world of the workforce would be like a person having 3 months paid vacation a year.  Who has a job like that?  Please share and sign me up!  She’s right.  The “situation” I’ve just said I’m in is one I’m making for myself, when the reality is that there is no situation.  My girlfriend and my husband are right.  The policy was and is clear.  And if I really want to be a person of integrity and principle, the best thing I can do, is stick to it. Besides indeed wanting to be a person who says what she means and means what she says, I also recognize the matter of fairness that is at stake here. 

See, I have plenty of students who have not missed more than the 10 or 7 absences as stipulated in the policy.  These students have shown-up.  They’ve made the effort, perhaps not always when they wanted to either, but they did.  Because they understood the consequences and responsibility required to avoid them.  It’s a matter of equity for them.  And as just about anyone who knows me can attest, if I’m about anything, it is fairness and what is right for all equally. 

So, I think I have my answer.  On the grounds not only of being the person I believe myself to be, but also the teacher I strive to be, along with fairness for all, holding students accountable to the policy is “for” them.  And here’s what else…

Being “for” them means having them learn the lesson now.  Because here, now, while it may mean they fall short on credit hours this semester, or they have to re-take the class, have to add a course in a semester they hadn’t planned on, have to re-think a schedule in the future, maybe even have to take a summer class to graduate, or add a little time to get the degree, all of those are a far cry from it meaning losing one’s job, getting passed over for promotion, failing to get insurance for one’s kids, or losing one’s house, to name but a few real “grown-up” consequences.  Part of being grown-up means taking responsibility.  This policy in my classes is an example, an opportunity, for doing just that.  Most have succeeded swimmingly.  But a few…well, a few, are about to see how that bed they made really feels.  I do hope its sting doesn’t linger, but lingers enough for the lesson to take.  This is one surely they only need learn once for it to sink it.  One can hope.

While reading over this post before finishing-up here, it’s not so inspiring, in the sense of uplifting, right?  The sobering reality of responsibility in adulthood doesn’t exactly sing like beautiful prose or poetry!  Yet still, I’m taking solace in the truth that being “for” students means maintaining principle and equity.  I can confidently say that is a truth worth upholding every time!

That’s the news around the School Yard…here’s to hoping for some sunnier words next time!   

Terminally Unique

In the previous post, I spoke about how important it is for us to embrace life…live out loud, I said (in the spirit of Emile Zola).  Recognize you matter.  Love yourself, and make every moment count.  And I stand by that.  But there is something more to say, too.  Or something that goes along with it…and I eluded to it, as well…namely, that we shouldn’t take ourselves and our life so seriously that we decide being so concerned with oneself comes before everything else.  Why?  Because that is narcissism.  And that is never (yes, I said never!) good.  Never.

Here’s what I mean…self-centered living, deciding that “I” is more important than anything else, that oneself is, in fact, THE center of the universe, is to be confused.  I’m the first to say that there are many things I don’t understand or know about.  In fact, the older I get, the less I’m beginning to think I know.  But this one thing, I think I’ve come to understand and believe…I am not the center of the universe.  None of us is.  And I do not matter more than anyone else.  I do matter, yes.  I am valuable and important and significant and loved and love and esteemed and should and ought and deserve respect.  Yes. Yes.  And YES.  But more than others…No.  And should I expect to be more than others.  No.  Do I sometimes go through things that others don’t.  Sure.  Do sometimes things happen that others may not get or go through.  Sure.  But does that mean someone elsewhere in the universe hasn’t.  No.  Does that mean I’m the only person ever in the history of the world to go through this and so am the only one that can possibly understand it?  No.  In fact, hell no.  And to think so, is to be confused. 

A number of years ago I heard this phrase somewhere.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t make it up.  At least I don’t think I did.  It would be cool if I did.  In fact, it would be super duper cool. But alas, I don’t think so.  It’s this:

Terminally Unique.

This is what I call people who think that they have a problem or are going through something or have some experience that no one else in the world has ever or will ever or could ever go through. Ever.  Terminally Unique.  That’s what they think they are.  But here’s what I think of that…

Poppy cock.  Baloney.  Hogwash.  As they say across the pond, Rubbish!  Or more colorfully and vulgarly (is that possibly a word?!)…My A--.  Bull S*#@!  If you know what I’m sayin’!!

It’s just not true.  It may be that whatever you are going through is horrible, awful, terrible, difficult, really rare, surprising, different, not-very-oft-experienced, hard to describe, unlike most of what your friends and family members and co-workers are going through, but it is not unique.  It just isn’t.  Someone somewhere has experienced it or is experiencing it.  They are.  They have.  That is just the nature of life.

Maya Angelou beautifully and eloquently said this:

Someone was hurt before you;
wronged before you;
beaten before you;
humiliated before you;
raped before you;
yet, someone SURVIVED.

I don’t believe Ms. Angelou is trying to dismiss anyone and her or his experience.  Nor is she devaluing anyone, or suggesting whatever anyone is going through does not count or matter or anything like that.  Nor am I.  That’s not what I would ever seek to do.  And certainly no one as wise or experienced or noble and amazing as Ms. Angelou would either.  The point is that no one is that special.  No one.  No one is truly terminally unique.  Now, they may tell themselves they are; that happens A LOT.  But they aren’t.  They’ve just convinced themselves of it, run down that rabbit hole, if you will, bought the illusion, and well, it’s just not so.  See, someone else has the same story.  Someone else.  And here’s the really cool thing…that is good news.  What do I mean?  Well, the best example I know is this:

12 Step Programs.  When I first started going to those rooms because I was the loved one of an alcoholic, I heard this several times:  “Sit down.  Tell us your name.  Then, shut up and listen.  We already know who you are.”  Now, I should say, “shut up” was considered a “bad word” in my house growing up.  Worse than some of the others, the more vulgar ones, really, because of how rude it is.  It’s a terrible, ugly thing to tell someone to shut up.  Or so my mama and daddy taught us.  So, when the welcome I got in the rooms was “Sit down.  Tell us your name.  Then, shut up and listen.  We already know who you are.” it was a bit jolting to me.  But quickly I came to understand.  See, what those people in the rooms were saying was that they didn’t need to hear all the details of what had brought me in there.  I mean, they weren’t opposed to hearing them.  Really, they weren’t. In fact, they were patient and kind and loving.  They listened rather attentively once I and anyone else felt compelled and ready to share whatever they needed to share.  But the reason they said that to newcomers was to let us know that they were willing to share their story, their “experience, strength, and hope” (as they often say in the rooms), so that we could hear about some hope (that there is some, which when people first go in is a very nice thing to hear; newcomers really need to hear that, in fact!!).  More than that, it’s good to learn that there are people who have and are experiencing the very things we are.  Which is the point I’m trying to make. 

See. the amazing thing about what the founders of AA found out was that sharing their common struggle with alcohol helped them get better.  Crazy, right?  Their names were Dr. Bob and Bill W., and they found out that talking about having trouble with drinking helped them stop.  (No, I’m not making this up.)  Amazing in its simplicity really.  And that’s how AA and eventually all 12 Step Programs were born.  Telling the common stories helped.  That’s the power of story.  And that’s the point—everyone already knows each other because they are there for the same reason.  So people who are loved ones of those addicted to alcohol or drugs have that in common; though the details of our enabling and co-dependence may be different specifically, the disease, the day-to-day struggles are the same.  And that’s why they could say to me, “Hi Donna., Now, listen, and maybe we can find hope together.”  It worked.  Miraculous.  I wasn’t terminally unique - alone, frightened, and scared all by myself anymore.  I had all these amazing people to lean on and cry with and laugh with and carry me when needed and yell to and work things out and it was remarkable…I was surrounded by all the other people with the same story.  See, I learned that instead of staying in the comfort and security of my own home all by my lonesome with the disease (she writes dripping with sarcasm!!), I could get out of there, get out of being by myself in it, and go be with others who got it, who got me, and by doing so again and again and again, I was able to find solutions and answers that before doing that, I couldn’t see, couldn’t begin to see.  It was remarkable and beautiful and…wow…amazing.  Thanks be to God!

And someone might say, well, that’s just for Alcoholics.  Nope…that’s why there are so many versions of 12 Step Programs now…telling stories.  Sharing the stories…it’s what works for people in their vulnerabilities.  And it’s why small groups in churches that provide support for persons to share their lives and struggles work, too.  I imagine there are such groups in mosques and synagogues and YMCAs and therapists' room and playgrounds and "mommy and me" spaces and all kinds of places, too.  It’s about sharing stories together.  No one is alone.  No one is truly terminally unique…those who think they are, well, this may sound harsh, but they are confused about the world.  They have sold themselves the notion that they are the center of the universe, living in a serious state of self-centeredness, where what is happening with them is solely and only about them individually.  But here’s the truth, that’s not how we’re created or built in this world.  We’re social creatures, made in relation to others.  That’s why we have families…maybe not always the ones we want, but we’ve got them.  And we can make decisions to have ones by choice, too.  That’s why we have friends.  I’ve known folks with friends, brothers/sisters by choice who are loyal beyond any kind of ties…those who would and do do anything for another, have one another’s backs in situations some would never believe.  Because that’s truly how we’re made.  This idea that we are “islands unto ourselves”…again, baloney.  It’s an illusion of the worst kind.  Martin Buber, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, John Lennon and Paul McCartney, to name but a few, certainly got this! 

What’s interesting, of course, is that especially here in North America, as a society we promote self-centeredness.  Books fly off the shelves in bookstores and from Amazon, about how to raise your child to think of themselves first, promoting esteem and self-interest, and loving themselves above all else, giving all your attention to your child in every way, smothering them with love and tender care, picking them up at every cry (battles rage over this right – it’s no wonder some folks grow up thinking they are the center of the universe! – this is a topic for another post, I’d say.)  I say this just to point out sometimes we have to adjust our parenting from having made our children the center of our universe to show them the world is larger, and help them find their place in it as healthy citizens with a perspective beyond ourselves.  Interesting.  But I digress.

The point is…we are not terminally unique.  We are not the center of the universe.  Yes, we matter.  Yes, embrace life.  Live it out loud.  Embrace it and go forward.  Seek to live with joy and abandon.  Surround yourself with those who make you laugh.  But please, always (yes, I said always!) remember that you are not alone.  That your story is shared.  So share it.  And don’t take life so seriously.  Because when we do, when we do take it so seriously and think everything that’s going on with us is of dire consequence and importance, we miss the little pleasures and simple fun of it.  We fail to remember that others have been through it too.  Or worse, perhaps.  We lose perspective.  We forget that laughing at ourselves is good for the soul, too.  A friend of mine used to say, “a little levity goes a long way.”  Indeed.  So…remember that. 

You know, one of my most favorite songs is an old one by the Indigo Girls.  It's called Closer to Fine.  Now I’ll admit, I’m a sucker for those harmonious girl bands…ones with solid musicians who can sing and keep a pretty good beat.  Even better are those who have done some thinking about the world and their place in it.  Obviously, the Indigo Girls qualify.  And it certainly doesn’t hurt that Emily Sailers’ dad was a theology professor at Candler Theological Seminary at Emory University.  I mean she’s got some chops musically and theologically indeed.  Well, if you really listen to the lyrics of that song, it’s pretty good stuff, and it’s got a decent beat to sing along to, as well.  Our kids have loved it for years already, and they’re not even 10 years old, any of ‘em.  Anyhow, it starts out right up front…

I'm trying to tell you something about my life,
Maybe give me insight between black and white.
The best thing you've ever done for me
Is to help me take my life less seriously, it's only life after all.

You know, these two rockin’ women seem to be saying to someone in their lives “thank you” for being one who gave them perspective, one who helped them remember in the scheme of the universe all that happens is just that – part of the wider journey of life.  And while certainly stuff can be big and important and eventful and life changing, it doesn’t mean you are alone it, the only one to experience it and know how it feels.  Terminally unique…no way – not a chance that someone else, somewhere else hasn’t a shared story through which one can learn, heal, be buoyed and loved and supported now and into whatever future life brings…true for me, true for you, true for us all.  It may be that’s easy to lose sight of sometimes, but that’s all it is. These words from the Girls’ snappy tune and the eloquence of Ms. Angelou and all kinds of others, too, for that matter help remind me.  May that be so for you, too.

Blessings to you and yours today, tomorrow, and for always.

 

Life Is Fragile

Recently a few things have happened that lead me to write this piece.  The most recent was something that occurred while I was headed to a meeting in Lexington on Saturday.  But I’ll get to that in a sec.  The others…first, a family I know managed to dodge a tragic bullet, if you will, when their two small boys (under 6 years old) both survived a dangerous accident on an ATV.  Thankfully, short of some scrapes, bruises, and mild concussions, everyone was okay within 24 hours and life resumed as usual.

Second, our third grade son’s teacher had her last day teaching for the year last Friday because unfortunately, she’s been diagnosed with cancer and has to have surgery and immediate treatment.  We are hopeful that they’ve caught it early in her case, and we wish her all the best as she goes forward now, but it really brought home to me how one day life is just rollin’ along, you have a routine doctor’s appointment, and boom, your world is turned upside down.  One month later, many appointments and consultations and new information to process and think about and decisions later, you’re not teaching anymore.  Your life has a new rhythm and routine and plan.  At least for the immediate future.

And then this past Saturday…so, I was on my way to Lexington for a meeting of a task force that I’ve been serving on and to get there one drives the Mountain Parkway to the North and West.  Now, this Parkway is the road that goes straight through the little town of Salyersville.  This is the town that made national news…you know, CNN, I’m talking, when the tornadoes hit some 6 weeks ago…you know, the group that practically destroyed the town of West Liberty here in KY, ruined the town in Indiana further West, destroyed areas of NC, wiped out more than 100 homes less than 10 miles North of our little town (and interestingly that’s received nearly no press), and included more than 100 recorded tornadoes in that set of storms…well, this was my first time seeing the damage.  I hadn’t been up through here until this past Saturday.  So, I’m driving through, and to give you an idea, Salyersville is a small town.  Small, as in this road is the main and only thoroughfare, on the left and right of which are about 4 gas stations, a Dairy Queen, an Arbys (I think), a McDonalds, a Chinese and a Mexican place, a private small motel and market, a bank or two, a few other businesses, a number of homes, some trailers, some pre-fabs, some older and more established, a few garages, perhaps storage buildings, too, and then a bit further down, the local elementary and middle schools.  It’s a really small community.  And remember, this is the heart of Appalachia, the “Mountain Parkway,” where the road turns and twists according to the curvature of the mountains, as a little narrow strip running down the middle of the narrow flat land with the mountains rising up on both the right and left, covered with towering trees.  In light of such terrain, tornadoes are rather rare, in fact, because the mountains make it tough for the swirling cyclone of wind to have enough room to maintain its power and strength.  But not on the occasion of these storms unfortunately.  In fact, I think I heard that Magoffin County had never had a recorded tornado until this time.  Never.  Oy! 

So, here I am, weeks later, driving through the town.  And I have to say, ironically, as I made my way through, I felt like the wind was knocked out of me.  Even this many weeks later.  It was a little eerie really.  There are 2 gas stations left open.  Three of the restaurants, at least, all closed for repairs.  The motel and market destroyed. Other businesses closed, possibly never to open again.  The Dairy Queen hopping with business because it was seemingly untouched.  Multiple houses and living quarters in various stages of repair and rebuilding so far.  Others haven’t been touched yet.  And the schools…re-opened weeks later but in much needed stages of repair, as well.  And that’s just the buildings.  I think what struck me the most was the state of the mountains.  All those towering trees, literally blown to the ground.  Laying this way and that, like bowling pins knocked down by the best bowlers rolling strike after strike after strike in the tournament of their life.  As if the wind of the tornado uprooted those trees at its merry whim in its powerful sound and fury, paying no heed to the cost it was leveling upon this place and the people of Salyersville.  It was pretty awful.  Again, I felt like the wind was knocked out of me…a bit sick to my stomach.  And yes, I nearly cried.  (Not so surprising since I cry at commercials, but still…)  All of this is to say, this event, combined with the others earlier in the week, made me start thinking about life and how incredibly fragile it is.

Life is fragile.  One minute things are going along, we feel like we know what’s up, a routine seems established, we’re seemingly “in control” and boom – we’re not.  The reality that life is fragile and things can suddenly occur that upset our balance, that make us think about how uncertain and unpredictable and how we just simply cannot know and do not know how things are going to be or turn out is before us.  And that got me thinking  about how we ought to be living.  Because life is fragile, here are some things that we probably ought to do:

• Hug the ones you love.  Your children, your partner in this life, your parents, your friends…hug them. 
• Say “I love you.” 
• Say “I’m sorry.” 
• Talk about that thing that’s eating you up inside.  Because if you don’t, if you let it make you resentful and crazy and upset and eat at you and make you madder and madder and madder, and then something happens…you may never have the chance.
• Do something you’re afraid of, or that you’re uncertain about, or that you’ve always wanted to and have held back on.  Do it.  Because you may not have another chance.  You know, carpe something.  I say it that way following Glennon Melton….Do you know her?  She’s the author of that blog, “Momastery” that went viral in January when her piece, “Carpe 15 Minutes” (I think it was called) was featured on Huffington Post.  She wrote about how being a parent of small children she can barely carpe 15 minutes, let alone “diem” and that we shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves to seize the day…and I think she’s right, of course.  As a working Mom outside the house, and three young children, and a husband and dog, etc etc, I get it.  But I still think we have to seize hold of a few minutes, or try to each week…it doesn’t have to be big like flying to Hawaii, or Vegas, or solving the world’s hunger problem, or running ½ a marathon (good Lord, whose got the money, time, resources, ambition, or enough energy for any of those in a week?!!), but choose to do small things that make your soul soar.  I think if we do that, then we’re feeding ourselves, we’re remembering that life is fragile, and that will fuel us and serve us in the most positive of ways. 

I’m sure there are many other things, too.  Basically, it comes down to this.  Recognize that this life, this earthly existence we have, it’s the only one we get.  Whatever you believe or don’t about what comes next, what comes after we die and are no longer on the earth in this way that we are bodily, this is the only one we get this way.  Another way I’ve heard it put – life is not a dress rehearsal.  This is our opportunity.  It doesn’t mean we can’t re-invent ourselves, change, do things one way for a while, then shift and change, and transcend, and transform…of course we can and do.  If we don’t, then we aren’t really living, because life is not static and two-dimensional, certainly.  Change is indeed the one constant in life (somebody famous has surely said that, maybe many somebodies!).  But the thing is that whatever those changes and transformations, they all occur in this one single life on earth.  It’s our time.  So, live it.  Emile Zola said, “If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.” I love that.  Many of you can attest that I literally embrace such a mantra – “I came to live out loud.”  Literally.  That’s what we need to do.  Live out loud.  Which means recognize your value.  You matter.  Love yourself.  Know that.  Know it and live accordingly.  If you, we all, do that, then I think we in fact remember that life is fragile and we take it seriously enough to enjoy and embrace it.  We are empowered to live accordingly. 

Now, I should say, that having just written we should take it seriously, we should be careful to maintain a balance about that…don’t want to be so serious, in particular about ourselves, that we devolve into self-absorption and self-centered living that is narcissism.  Why not?  Because narcissism in any form is bad!  This is a topic for the next post, I believe! 

So, for now, inspired by some recent events, I’m inclined to share the reflection that life is fragile. That we cannot know what might happen next, and because we can’t, embrace all that life is and might be and what is important about it – our most beloved relationships, the things that make us soar and sing and make us joyful beyond measure!  That is the word for this day.  For indeed, life is NOT a dress rehearsal.

I’m goin’ go hug my loves.  May you and yours be blessed today, tomorrow, and for always!

Chalk Talks...

So, I decided to change the title and url address of my blog.  Yes, I owe this one to my husband.  He said within minutes of uploading my first post that the title was too wordy.  Not unlike me, most of the time.  (Yes, that is the sound of your chuckles I hear through the distance of cyberspace!)  And after a few weeks, I came to believe him.  And besides being wordy, long, the title was uninteresting, too.  I mean I am for simple and ‘to the point’ which “reflections/confessions of this teaching life” sought to be…it was general enough hopefully to encompass whatever I wrote about (which I really didn’t have a clue would be – still don’t most of the time), and it was accurate in the sense that I figured it would be my thoughts as a teacher, one who feels called to such a vocation.  And so it was.  But again, there was the problem – wordy.

LOONNNNGGGG.

So, I was thinking about it.  And somehow, found myself writing,

“Donna’s Chalk Talks.”

Now, first, let me say, “Chalk Talks” is not an original idea.  In fact, Father Martin, of “Chalk Talk on Alcohol” fame – I believe has the corner on that one.  And he’s a legend in 12-step circles and Alcoholism recovery.  Those videos of his are ones thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, for all I know, kids in middle schools and high schools, in this country have seen.  He has dedicated his life and ministry to helping people seek and find recovery from alcoholism.  The phrase is catchy – that’s why I thought of it, I’m sure.  So, thank you Father Martin.  But its catchiness isn’t why I picked it.  

It’s appropriate, really, because see, I am a teacher (most of you, if not all, know that already), but I’m also, kind of, “old school”…see I use a real chalkboard.  A lot.  Yes, I do use a computer.  I do PowerPoint, and website resourcing.  I like bullet-points, and slick videos, as much as the next person.  And yes, I (try to) use our institution’s “education management system” – Joule.  The system is on-line, accessible always, and has the capacity and capability to do more things than I’ll do in my lifetime. Those of you outside education, such systems are supposed to substantially aid and enhance the teaching and learning experience for teachers and students alike. In theory. In my reality, on a particularly bad day it can make me question my vocation, and probably most often, it offers the best that a love-hate relationship one could ever hope to have. But I digress.  The point is that I do use all that fancy stuff. But what I really, really like and use is chalk and a chalkboard.  I find a plain ol’ piece of white chalk and a chalkboard, usually green in my classrooms, but any color will do, rather refreshing and functional. 

Simple and ‘to the point’ remember.  That’s chalk and a chalkboard.  And I make use of them pretty much all the time.  Sometimes I think I drive my students crazy because I can get carried away, writing all over, scratching out, writing over, circling some important word or phrase so much, they can’t read it anymore, or writing a sentence and abbreviating every other word to the point, they can’t remember what I said.  Chalk and a chalkboard.  Simple and ‘to the point’…it works.  And so it seems appropriate for this blog, my little posting site of thoughts, reflections, sometimes confessions, musings, maybe wonderings, ideas, and questions about this teacher’s life – Donna’s teaching life.  To call it “Donna’s Chalk Talks” made sense, for in a sense, that’s what it is…my chalk talking – sharing with friends and beyond, words that hopefully might have meaning or make meaning or make one think.  Maybe even upset one’s balance (though not too much, I hope), but whatever they do, know that I appreciate ever and always that you bothered to read for a minute or minutes and might have found in so reading, a chance to laugh, to grin, to nod, or perhaps to pause.  Whatever your response, thanks. And until I take up the chalk again, blessings to you and yours…today, tomorrow, and for always.

A Week In This Life...

"Gravy on my Mashed Potatoes Life"

So, finally a post that pertains to the title I gave this blog.  What I really do, in the routine, regular everyday life of serving as a teacher in higher-education.  You know, who coined that phrase?  (No, I don’t think I’ll take the time to google it.)  “Higher-education”…as if it’s loftier or more important…really, maybe the proverbial they decided on “higher” because saying thirteenth grade and fourteenth grade, etc. began to sound a bit silly.  And it covers it, too.  “Higher” can mean one year of college, four years, graduate school, post-graduate, etc.  “Higher” – covered.  The funny, not “ha ha” funny, but paradoxical funny, reality of it is that many of the things we absolutely need (ought!) to know we really learn all the way back in the very earliest years of our education.  Robert Fulghum indeed got that right, I think…I was just saying that to one of my classes the other day:  those rules, like
·        Put things back after you use them.  And only take as much as you need.
·        Share.
·        Rest some. Play some. Think some. Work some.  Repeat.

Or things similar, anyway, are pretty good rules. Kind of like the Ten Commandments.  Regardless of your belief system, worldview, or the like, you’re hard-pressed to argue with the wisdom of those.  And if you attend any Kindergarten worth its salt, or something like it, you learn those.  They’re needed for the classroom not to spin out of control into utter mayhem and chaos.  No teacher likes utter chaos.  Maybe a little chaos (I’ve done small groups with college students in a class of 50 people, in fact!), but not utter.

Anyhow, recognizing that much of what we need to learn should happen when we’re quite young, choosing to further that education in our “higher” years is important these days, and I’m blessed to participate in that process from the teaching side of the equation.  And so, this is much of what that life looks like for me on a regular basis.  Here is a sample of what happens in a given week (these things, in fact, happened within a 7-day period recently):

·        I gave 3 exams to 110+ students.
·        That resulted in 110+ exams to grade.  Still need to grade.
·        Due to a newly scheduled softball game on the day of my exam, I had to prepare the exam early to accommodate my students, who were seeking to be responsible and take the exam before they left campus for said game.  And they were.  They all took the exam in my office – one even sitting on the floor, diligently and respectfully fulfilling their academic responsibilities before meeting their athletic ones, which for some provide the means (scholarship!) to the academic ends.  Impressive!
·        I received exactly 4 emails from students with exactly 4 different reasons for why they could not take the exams as scheduled, after the fact.  Meaning no discussion with me prior that they had some problem preventing them from taking the exams.  Have to deal with them later!
·        Attended 2 committee meetings.
·        Held 10 classes – prepared for, led/facilitated, including hand-outs, lecture, powerpoint, and web-video material said classes.
·        Had the audio/video technology fail on two occasions in two different classrooms for said classes.

Those aren’t all the things that happened that week.  Just a sample of the kinds of things that go on. 

If you’re still reading (and I can see how some may not be), you can see it’s not particularly scintillating when you read a summary of such activity on paper (or in this case, virtual paper).  It’s not particularly eye-opening.  It’s not glamorous or sexy.  Certainly not revolutionary.  But here’s the thing…it’s what I feel called to do.

And that my friends, makes it priceless.  I get to spend my days doing something I absolutely feel I am meant to do, placed here in this moment of space and time to do with and for and in relation to others, here in the heart of Appalachia, no less.  I spent years and lots of money and energy and some sacrifice sure, to arrive here, but it was and has been all worth it, for I am a teacher.  Yes, it requires the tedium of paperwork and assessment and evaluation of others and putting up with politics and excuses (! Good golly, excuses, the likes of which…well, I must just be old!), and a complex, at times confounding, “new” generation, and digital everything and all that that means, but at the end of the day, it also means I get to share with my students about subjects that matter.  The institution sees value in them, society sees value in them, and if, by chance, at least a few students do, well, then, I have done my job.  And not just done it; I have done it well.  And that is joyful.  It is no small thing to feel blessed. And as a teacher, I am.

 
Here’s another way to put it:  You know my husband jokes that I’m a mashed potato girl.  And it’s true…given the choice I’d pick seconds and thirds of mashed potatoes over ice cream or any other dessert, pretty much. And see I have a family beyond words – one of love and light and laughter and beauty and wonder.  My family is the mashed potatoes of my life. How lucky am I! (And how ‘bout that sentence?!)  Well, here’s the thing, to find such things in work, too, well, that’s just gravy.  Can’t get any better than that!  I wish for those of you reading that your life might too know such blessings.

Comes The Dawn

I’ll preface this post by saying – I’m not really sure what inspired me to write about this.  Perhaps that sometime last week, I remembered this is the month of my ex’s birthday, or that my Mom mentioned Aunt Dona to me the other day.  Whatever, here it is…

When I was in high school, my close pal (who remains so to this day) and I often found ourselves engaging in conversations borne out of typical teenage angst and likely boredom.  You know we’d toss around those big questions – are you happy?  What is it to be happy?  How can anyone possibly be so, when the facts are indisputable: whatever this life holds, you live it and then you die.  How heavy is that stuff?!  Isn’t that typical teenage angst?  At least for North American, middle-class teenagers (really more privileged than that, especially compared to so much of the world).  I don’t know for sure, but perhaps the good news is that we survived it.  And the truth is that we both were quite lucky – we had stable homes (as much as any home can be, but I’d say that ours were especially so…both of us have parents married now more than 40 years, give or take!), both of us the youngest of two, generally well-adjusted, except for this malaise that seemed to be a phase that we both shared.  Anyhow…

I open with this as background to what follows… See one day Sara (my pal) found in a Funky Winkerbean comic strip (anyone remember that?) this poem in the first frame of the strip:

Life Goes On…

And you cry, because things get so strange so fast.

And you cry, because nothing good ever lasts.

 We liked it so much in the midst of our angst, we had notepads with “Life goes on…” printed on them and passed notes in school on said notes.  (Perhaps we were a bit geeky, too! Sorry Sara.)  And then, one day I found this poem entitled “Comes the Dawn” by an unknown author.  I made a copy for Sara; it was all about learning when you’ve experienced saying “goodbye” to someone you love. Anyhow, I’d forgotten about that, as we moved from high school through college and into early adulthood.  And eventually I found myself re-introduced to the poem.  Here’s what happened…

In the summer of ’98, I found myself in a less-then-enviable position.  Not even 30, I was divorcing.  And my parents and I were together to gather my belongings, load ‘em on a truck, and get myself permanently moved away from that place, that relationship, that life.  It wasn’t fun, and to this day, I remember it being hot and humid (mid-July in VA!), and I remember it feeling stifling and humiliating and scary and sad, so very sad, all at the same time.  But we did it.  We sort of trudged along until it was done.  But before it was, at a point when we took a break on the front stoop of that little rented house, my Mom went to their car and brought back an envelope for me.  It was from my Aunt Dona.  Now, Aunt Dona was my Mom’s closest pal since they were 12.  I grew up knowing her, calling her “aunt” and being closely connected with events in her life.  In particular what happened when I was about 10 or so.  She’d been married 20+ years, her kids a little bit older than my sister and I, and she got divorced.  It was difficult and messy; my parents were a great sense of support to her (I think I can safely say), and while it was tough, Aunt Dona proved gracious and courageous and strong.  She made it through all of that, and I can happily say she found a new chapter that’s lasted 20+ better years!  Well, this envelope had a card from her to me with a copy of this poem, “Comes the Dawn.”  The card basically said she was thinking of me, but also that she wanted to share this poem with me, as someone had shared it with her long ago.  That poem…well, I remember fighting back tears that afternoon, but from the very first read, it struck a chord.  I put it in my pocket and went on about our business.  But later, in the quiet of my room before going to sleep, I took it out and recited it. And that became my routine.  Every night before trying to sleep (I didn’t sleep much then), I recited it.  After about 2 or 3 weeks, I had it memorized.  And for the next full year, every single night, it was part of my routine.

There were many things that got me through that period in my life (family. friends. Al-anon!)  And that poem.  I did not ever speak to my Aunt Dona about it.  Not once.  But I know that it was a big part of helping me heal.  And you know, I think she knew, too.  Someone had given it to her in her dark days, and so she passed it on to me because she knew what only members of this club can know.  The participants of this club (I call it “the E-club” and that’s not “e” for exclusive or elite, though “exclusive” is true in the sense that you only get to belong if you go through the big D…no, this is “e” for ex) are aware that going through this particular thing called “divorce” is utterly painful and lonely and sad, so very sad.  No one wants to be in the club, no one.  It’s my experience that no one gets married to end-up divorced (except maybe Kim Kardashian…I couldn’t help myself!).  So, when it happens, when folks end-up at this option, having something, anything to serve as a buoy through the sadness and pain, is a really good thing.  And this poem proved so for me.

And before I share it, I’d like to add that I did get through that period.  Into a life fuller and more joyous and precious than I could’ve ever known.  I don’t wish what happened for me on anyone. But I do believe learning lessons from it has made me what I am and helped me find where I find myself today.  I recognize that’s not so comforting when you’re in it…when you’re in the loneliness and sadness and uncertainty, but it seems the way past pain is through it. I definitely learned that in the rooms—you can try to avoid, deny, rationalize, defend, explain, or ignore the truth and all of its painful stuff all you want; ultimately, the way past is through.  I think Winston Churchill said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Perhaps he was onto something there.  Anyhow, I did make it through.  Sometimes one step forward, ten or twelve back, but through nonetheless.  And the riches on this side…well, who woulda thought?! 

So, today, I’m grateful.  And that poem, Comes the Dawn, played no small part. I wish I could give the credit to the person who wrote it.  But it’s debated.  If you did a google search, you’d see.  This one woman was given credit, but then others have said that’s not right.  As a person who cares about plagiarism (I’m a teacher, what can I say!), I wish I could give the nod accurately. But alas, it’ll have to remain unknown for now.  I rest easy in hoping that whoever did pen it might know how helpful it has been, at least in this one life.  I’m guessing lots of others, too.  And now, maybe yours.  Enjoy!  And if it’s not so much for you, well, something else I learned in the rooms, take what you like, and leave the rest.  But I do believe, whatever you’ve been through or may be going through, truly,

Comes the Dawn.

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn...
With every goodbye you learn.

Don't Say Always or Never...

It’s an unwritten rule in our house that we don’t say always or never.  By unwritten, I mean, it’s a rule that I say to the children whenever I hear them say these words, but beyond that, it isn’t actually written down anywhere, we haven’t tried drilling it into them (unlike, the rule, “no biting!” – that one is definitely a REAL rule), and I’m pretty sure my husband isn’t fully on-board with the notion, mostly because we’ve never (!) had a conversation about it directly.  Nonetheless, it’s a rule I proclaim, and I’m sticking to it.  Now, before going further, I should say, as with all rules, there are exceptions (much like English grammar, in fact):

·         I never want to eat liver and onions.  Never.

·         I never want to watch boxing matches, except for in the Rocky movies (NOT past Rocky III) and Raging Bull (see, there’s even exceptions to the exception).

·         I never want to iron.  (And I don’t!)

·         I never want to drive in Los Angeles, California.                             

If I thought really, really hard about it, there might be a few more, but that’s the gist of it for me.  My nevers. 

                        And…
 

·         I always want to stay up later than I should.

·         I always want to remember to be grateful for the amazing family and friends in my life.  I am blessed beyond measure, and I always want to be thankful. (I’m not claiming that I succeed at this, but I’d like to.)

·         I always want to spend at least a week at a beach every year.

·         I always want to accomplish more than I do in a day (but I’m working on just letting that go…wabisabi, right!  See my first blogpost for clarification.)

·         I always want to feel the joy of seeing my children’s wonder…assures me like nothing else that God is.

Okay, so I fudge on the rule myself.  Even so, I feel pretty strongly that teaching my children that they shouldn’t say always or never is going to serve them in life.  At least that’s what I’m telling myself.  Why?  Because the fact is that almost nothing is always or never anything.  It goes to the reality of things being understood in relation to other things, circumstances, people, events, and experiences.  Context matters.  Cultural assumptions and societal norms sometimes (often!) play a part.  While there might be some truth to a statement like “he’s always saying it’s my fault,” the truth lays somewhere between his saying that and the amount of time that approaches always…that is, the truth is more like, “he says it’s my fault a lot of the time,” or even “it feels like he says it’s my fault a lot of the time.”  Thus are the kinds of things I often hear from one of my three children.  They don’t really mean that another one of them always says this or that…which brings us to why I respond to such declarations with “We don’t say always or never.”  Because truth-telling is especially important. 

If my husband and I do nothing right as parents, let us at least get this right – instilling in our kids the idea that the truth trumps everything else.  Regardless of how bad something is, how uncertain you are about something, how awful you think you’ve screwed up, whatever it might be – that thing you just absolutely think must stay secret, perhaps especially that! – telling the truth is ALWAYS better than not telling it.  (There’s the exception again.  Perhaps the very one that proves the rule!).  We have a dear friend who says, Nothing bad comes from telling the truth.  She’s right. Wouldn’t it be nice if the politicians in our country agreed?  That’s a subject for a different post, though.  

So… because I believe this to be so, when I hear declarations with always or never, I’m going to keep on proclaiming to the children – We don’t say always or never.  Recognizing, of course, there are always (!) a few exceptions.  By the way, what’s on your lists of always and nevers?