Kinda Like a Hippie

Just going on Faith

I was going to include this as part of another post, but then I decided I wanted to give it a little individual attention.

Once (or maybe more than once) many years ago, I was at a party (probably a backyard bar-b-que) and the conversation turned to my job. (Why does that happen a lot? Is it because everyone thinks they know at least something about the school system, since most of us at least went through it?) Someone asked if it was rewarding? How do we know we are doing any good? How do we know we've made an impact?

I remember saying that on a few occasions you will be able to tell. You might see a kid really grow in a certain area. You might see that proverbial lightbulb go on. More often, though, you will just have to go on faith. You will just have to keep doing what you do and have faith that somehow, somewhere down the road it will make a diference.

I have experienced a few of those times. I have had kids come back to see me years later, or write me a letter, or even just run into me and remember something about my class. I love those times.

What is really weird though is that often they come from the least expected places.

I had a student in my class last year (7th grade), that if you had asked me about on any given day, I would have said hated me. I'll call him Roger, because you know that is not his name. Roger is a pretty big kid with a sullen look on his face most of the time. Not that he is a tough kid, just sullen. We had a battle of the wills most days in my class.

Roger and I went round and round. I would ask him to do something and he would refuse. I would tell him he had to put something on paper and he would sit there and tell me couldn't. In the course of the year he told me he couldn't read, he couldn't write in complete, legible sentences, he couldn't listen to a story and answer questions, he couldn't read a book of his choice from the library and he couldn't write in cursive (using practice sheets I was giving him). He told me he couldn't do these things. I repeated that he could and he would. Well, I was partially right. He could have, but he didn't do enough to pass my class or a couple of others. He was sometimess rude and sometimes a class disruption, but mostly he was just there.

I made Roger cry on at least three occasions. Not my goal. Certainly not something I was trying to do, but to be honest, he was such a little shit sometimes that I didn't feel too bad. He made it very hard to try to like him. Roger, even though he is a big kid physically, is very immature and insecure. (We found out near the end of the year that he is also young for his grade - he has a late birthday.) Now, we had some decent days and a few good conversations, but I felt sure that Roger and I were both feeling relieved when he exited my door for the last time.

He ended up in summer school of course. during the summer I went up to tell my boss something one day and who should come running over, all smiles and waves? Roger! Who has stopped several times this new school year and said hi to me in a crowded hallway between classes with a giant smile on his face acting like he is my best friend? Roger! What's up here? Is he just mega glad to see me and realize he no longer has to sufffer through my class? Kind of my thought anyway. I am always cheerful and upbeat with him too. I mean no way am I going to say, "Hey Roger, thought I was rid of you and your whining forever." But it was mostly just casual greetings because we were passing. Well, not really. It was obvious he was trying to get my attention.

Last week he took it one step further. He came to my room and came all the way in to say hi. I asked him what he was doing and he said he just came to see me! So I asked how 8th grade was going and a couple of other questions. Then the evil teacher in me came out and I said, "You miss me don't you?" Then I kind of grinned. He ducked his head, looked at me and grinned and nodded his head.

Suddenly, I missed him too.

And it's not even Thanksgiving.

I have a friend, you may know her as BA. She writes a cool blog, which I like to read. Upon doing so the other day she set me to thinking, which she has done on more than one occasion.

Her post was about all the things she wanted as a kid and how even though her parents tried very hard to make her happy they always fell a little short, due to their financial situation. She laments that as a child she was not grateful for their efforts.

As I was reading I remembered my childhood. Really, I pretty much got everything I wanted. I can't sit here and think of anything I pined for and didn't get. Well, there were the white, patent leather go-go boots, but that's another story. So, mostly, I got what I wanted and certainly what I needed. Mine was not a deprived childhood. Mine was a pretty typical upper middle class upbringing in the 70's. But I was, by far, not one of the rich kids at my school. Those kids drove the new Monte Carlos and Cutlass Supremes. My parents gave me a 5 year old Toyota Celica for Christmas when I was a senior. (Albeit after enduring for several months a continual chorus of "You gave Bill a car when he was a senior, You gave Bill a car when he was a senior, Bill did drugs and you still gave him a car when he was a senior...") But, ya see, I was grateful. I loved that car. I never expected to get a new fancy "in" car. I thanked my parents profusely. I was perfectly happy with my cute little used Toyota.

I don't think you could say I was spoiled. I just never hurt for anything. I had more than some kids, but a lot less than some too. I suppose I took it for granted sometimes. And I guess I always figured I would get what I wanted in the end, because I was not given my desires immediately. I usually had to wait for  them. Sometimes just until the next gift giving occasion, but sometimes for years. Generally my requests were not too out of line.. a stereo (being one of the last in high school to get one), a portable 8 track player, a cool new purse, a horse, a diamond ring.. okay those last two are a little much. I did eventually get the horse and the diamond ring. The horse I had to prove I wanted by getting up early every morning in 8th grade to feed the horses I had use of and the ring I got for an 18th birthday present (Cheryl Gorman got hers way before that.)

I think I can still maintain that I was not spoiled because I was always thankful, always appreciative, always excited. I never tore anything up and truly cherished and took care of my gifts. I didn't ask for totally outrageous things (except maybe the diamond ring- which I should mention was made from some diamonds my mom took from an old ring of hers and had reset).

I was pretty grateful really-- for all the material things.

But, I missed some things then that I would be grateful for later. Gifts my parents gave me far greater than any of the material belongings, swimming pools, country club memberships or vacations.

I realized later, after living more places and meeting more people, that there were things my parents gave me that I did not even realize I should be grateful for.

I am so grateful now.

I am grateful that I saw in my parents a sense of pride and a strong work ethic, but one that also valued free time and fun.

I am grateful that my Dad never said a bad word about anyone. When Mom or I would be complaining the most you would get from him was, "That's just the way they are."

My parents had friends from all races and walks of life. For that I am very grateful. I am grateful that I never heard a racial slur or derogatory comment in my home and none would have ever been tolerated. (This in a family with one true southerner and one "damn yankee" as the parents.)

I am grateful that although we had a maid, (of a different race) we were friends with her and her kids as well. (I love ya Mama Jewell. And sister Deb.) I watched my mom work along with her and saw them go to the store together many times.

I am grateful that my parents taught me manners. I know which fork to use and how many glasses there should be.  I found out this was important when I got to college and was one of the few who knew.

I am grateful that my parents expected me to go to college. Another option never crossed my mind.

I am grateful that my parents exposed us to a wide variety of activities and ideas. We went camping as well as to nice restaurants. We went to tractor pulls, fairs and drag races, RV shows and antique shows, museums and hockey games. We even went to at least one gun and knife show and a rock show. We saw live theater and music, the ice capades and the symphony (at least once), and more movies and road trips than I can mention.

I am supremely grateful for all the mealtime conversations, the ones I was forced to participate in and the ones I was expected to sit through. I learned more about my parents, myself and the world there than anywhere else.

I may not have realized it at the time, but I am grateful.

Gratitude is a wonderful thing. When you realize how grateful you are you can appreciate how much you have been given.

I am very grateful.

On Being Just Exactly What I Never Wanted to Be

Or, The Post Epitomizing the Phrase Read 'Em and Weep.

I'm having a week here.

I just can't find it in me to write about anything that might be fun. And, strangely, I have had fun, and laughed and joked even.  People who did not know me 9 years ago might not have a clue that I am something I don't appear to be. Those who did know will hate to remember.

Certain dates are just hard to bear, even when you know you can. Keeping all this emotion at bay takes a lot more energy than you realize. Amazingly I have been really functional and more productive than in years past. Still, I am not able to do some things, but I suppose that really only matters to me.

10 years ago tomorrow, September 15th, was the best day of my life. One of those days that you recognize as the best day right when it was happening. And every day for the next 11 and a half months I gave thanks for the wonderful son I had given birth to. 9 years and two weeks ago was the worst day of my life-- well really just the first day of a long series of worst days, that seemed to grow in intensity while caving in on themselves. And somehow I lived through it. 'Cause ya know, "Life goes on.. long after the thrill of livin' is gone"

So here I am being that thing I didn't want to be: "That woman whose baby died."

Please Wake Me up When September Ends.