Daniel, I Am thinking of the Class of 2003, the Stars, All My Years of Teaching, and All the Advice About the Profession

Yesterday was rough, but I've had rough before. 9/11 occurred in school, live, as the nation began to process the complications of an interwoven world. We were awestruck as educators, but we focused on the kids..what they would need...how they would process. The same was true at times where we lost members of the classroom community: parents, brothers, and even those we taught. I was thinking about Daniel last night, a young man who had an allergic reaction to penicillin and lost his life at age 16. He was just a junior and his early departure devastated his classmates. As a reader of his writing, it also crushed me, especially because like any 16-year old human, he was working through transitioning to adulthood, cultural expectations, his religion, and not being able to live the life he felt deeply inside - his church would ostracize him. Before he could was ready to share his story with his family, he wrote it to me. I had the letter in my to-be-graded pile the same day he passed. I'm not sure his classmates ever got back into their groove, but they got together and bought a star. They named it Daniel and every time I hear Elton John's song, I think of that time. I think about the heaviness every classroom teacher experiences simply because they chose a profession of nurturing the next generation. Counselors, too. We feel the world as we teach it with words, numbers, art, and projects.

Many kids emailed they didn't have them to attend class. They're empathetic humans who work with immigrants, refugees, the LGBTQ2SR+ community, and love families that are interracial and beautiful. I'm at a faith-based institution and their understanding of God, prayer, being good, and doing right by others wasn't making sense as they began to recognize that history is ongoing, and the ugly side of yesterday isn't only in textbooks, but a foundation for who and what we are today.

But I had to teach. I had to model and act on what I feel a good teacher should be. Mostly, I was present, offered room for conversation and folded in philosophical foundations as I had prepared from the readings. 

Last weekend, too, in preparation of an ever-changing world, I went through their educational autobiographies and typed my favorite lines into a presentation, so we could do a choral reading were all voices were heard, recognized, and celebrated as part of the community (a lesson I picked up from my Annenberg days from the Critical Friends training I attended with fellow teachers and Ron, my principal). The choral sharing builds community and the blending of their voices applauds democracy. 

As we read citations from writers on education philosophies, they began to see that the battle for school spaces and what an education is and should be has been part of the war of the United States from the beginning. Teaching truth and history and knowledge and critical thinking and possible ways to make sense of it for a career in the future is enormous...there needs to be balance between what is written and what they're living and experience. There needs to be space to process.

I'm remembering a professor at the University of Louisville once said to our class that a school doesn't stop for the kids. They need that space because it is part of who they are. They see our actions and, if we're lucky they learn from them.

I did a lesson on the layering of thick skin that evolves from protecting the heart from the time we're born - one from Cindy Debotis's 12th Grade Tools for Change class. I draw on those lessons often as they impacted me intensely at the time and have proven to work as times have evolved. Kids need to realize that just because we're older, doesn't mean we have answers...we may only have perspectives for understanding what is going on and tools for rebuilding for a better day.

Last night, I took two colleagues out to dinner to celebrate their birthdays. We're all in the sandwich years with aging parents and ever-evolving kids, and the evening turned into a release of a whole lot of heavy, especially for one who has been doing all she can to be a superwomen for her family, parents, and students. I wouldn't say she broke down, but I would say she trusted us to let go with the bottled emotions she's kept inside...an overdue release of pent up emotion from living live in her last year of the 40s. 

It's something. The stars are still shining at night...I see you, Daniel...and the perennials are still blooming in November. I've been paying attention to the bees that are feeding with gluttony and glee for two months of extra juju. To me, they represent life...just doing what they do, in the same way I hope I was able to model with my students. Reading everything they can is one solution. Participating and not giving up is the other. And keeping our eyes to the sky will always be a reminder.