Will She Remember?

"In the happiest of our childhood memories, our parents were happy, too." ~Robert Brault


Will Lydia remember
the summers of childhood
when she climbed her favorite tree,
waved to passing cars,
squished berries between her fingers,
and danced barefoot among the clover?

When she wore her raggedy Sketchers,
saving the new ones for "going out"
and old Scooby Doo shirt
while talking to imaginary friends in the tree.

When she tap danced on a stump in the yard-
Her rhythm following that of the birds and bees
that were so alive around her.
Pointing out Cardinals, her favorite red bird, to me
as I rocked on the porch
and her daddy sat lounging on the swing.

Will she remember the nest of tiny sparrows
on our comfortable front porch and the wet lick
of her favorite dog's kiss?

Will she remember painting and planting and plucking?
Garden vegetables that she grew and cooked and ate
that were so yummy.
Or her feet buried in the sand and grit of her own sandbox?
What about our "pic-a-nics" at noon under our shade tree?
Or shimmy to the top of the pole…
"Look at me Mommy and Daddy!"
We looked but flinched to see her so high.

Will she remember the "ooch-ouch" song we sang when crossing
hot gravel to the cool, soft grass, wet from hours
of sprinkler fun in the sun?
Backyard BBQs and kids running everywhere.
Laughter with friends and catching fireflies at dark.

Will she remember me poking holes in the jar and then laughing so hard
when her new friends made their escape into the house?
Or the bumble bee named Daisy that we fed fresh blooms of Rose-of-Sharon
and deciding to “let the bee go free” after one day.
Will she remember movie nights and popcorn,
camping in the living room, visits from Grandma and
storms that made the hanging plants swing on the front porch.

What about the day we checked the nest, only to find it empty?
The babies had flown away.
Will she remember climbing onto my lap and asking
"What'cha writing?"
When she is old enough to understand
the importance of these memories, she too will have flown away.

Will she remember splashing in the waves of the ocean with her daddy
while mama walked the beach for shells?
Late night rides on the golf cart to the strip and "slappin' hands"
or sitting on the covered deck painting our nails and singing
Taylor Swift songs while the smell of charcoal grills filled the air

Will she remember our daily detours to see
the progress of her new school
and the fading away of the old one.
Or riding by my school and saying
"You can't have my mama until August!"

Will she remember these summer days as they slip past
and bring us a season of new beginnings,
a new school year, and growth?
With her new dress, and prized pink shoes,
I watch her ponytails flip flap back and forth.
Her book bag could swallow her whole, but she carries it with such pride.
The car door closes and just like that, I realize our summer is gone...
But within us are the memories.

Love Always,
Mom

The Real "Face" of Facebook

“We are so presumptuous that we think we can separate our personal interest from that of humanity, and slander mankind without compromising ourselves” ~Marquis de Vauvenargues

For every bit of goodness we want to see and feel, there is an equal amount of anger and disdain in the world. Sometimes we put ourselves in situations that are just plain stupid and we reap the consequences of our thoughtless actions. But what about the times when the source of pain and anguish shows up at our doorstep, pounding on the door? Unwanted, unwelcome, and most importantly, uninvited, yet unwilling to leave.

There will always be people in the world who want to see others fail, and it’s hard when you know you are the subject of their taunting and wishful demise. I will never understand the hurtful and malicious ways of human nature. It’s been said that some people bring gladness wherever they go, and others, only when they leave. There are those people in all walks of life such as our occupations, churches, and yes, even our families who breed an air of negativity around them. They have a way of snuffing out joy, bringing gloom and just plain old hurtful negativity. My pastor once referred to these sorts of people as “prickly people” because of their ability to “get under the skin” and attempt to destroy anything good and decent. We all must develop some sort of sense that allows us to let the negativity roll off, to brush off our sleeves, to keep on keeping on. But I also know that there is an instinct that lies in each of us to protect what is closest and most dear to us.

I try to avoid those “prickly people” and the negative situations that they bring with them. But there are times in our lives when we are confronted, at the least expected moment, and we have to make quick decisions about how to react. Those situations that are closest to the heart breed the quickest responses. Sometimes, that response is anger, and I will admit that actions and words spoken in anger never result in a positive outcome. But this is life. We take the good with the bad, we know it can’t all be good, but we still have a choice in how to respond. I believe it is in these emotional moments when we use the least amount of rational thinking, because instinct quickly takes over.

In my personal experience, I have been repeatedly hurt at various times in my life by people who were supposed to protect and love me. So much it seems that hurt is no longer the first emotion I feel when these situations arise. Anger is the emotion which manifests itself in these situations as a defense mechanism for my own heart. Past hurt does not excuse present anger, nor does anger lessen the hurt that is inevitably felt and sometimes complicated to a more extreme level once the anger subsides. One is simply a substitute for the other because it is easier to be angry than to admit hurting. I write this because each person experiences anger. Every person, no matter how virtuous and positive, no matter how much Christianity they practice or preach, experiences anger. We are human, people. And that makes us the same on at least one level. It’s what we do with that anger that separates us from others.

I have strong feelings within myself about the subjects where there are no “grey” areas. There is strictly right and wrong. Invading the peace and privacy of people’s lives, using children as exploits, and treating someone who is family with a downgrading air of superiority is a combination of wrongs that add up to a combustible situation.

Children playing in a sandbox may argue over a toy, each feeling the validity of his personal right to play with it. But when a child works hard to build a sandcastle, and the bully, seeing the vulnerability and opportunity for destruction, crushes the sandcastle with one mighty stomp of the foot, the child who worked hard to build it cries because the heart is broken. After one too many stomped sandcastles, the child learns to react in a different way. The focus is no longer on the toy, but on the effort and care put into building the castle, because each castle is a representation of the child himself. Eventually the bully must be faced head on. Sometimes, children just can’t play in the same sandbox. The world is a giant sandbox, and the same is true for adults.

Facebook is the tool in today’s society that connects the sandboxes of the world. We don’t have to answer the door; we simply have to log on to allow hurt and negativity into our homes. The company we keep in person should be no different than the company we keep on Facebook, but this is often not the case. We are quick to add friends, and equally quick to post hurtful and critical comments that are judgmental of others. We don’t have to type a person’s name for this to occur. We are just as quick to delete friends and bear our souls via profile and inbox. Digital judgments occur because our fingers move faster than our minds and hearts. Comments are often posted as a result of anger mode. Slander is written and read because there are no direct repercussions. In fact, Facebook takes the very aspect of real communication out of the picture: face to face encounters. In my opinion, Facebook is the most widely abused tool that causes heartache, pain, and encourages a strange animosity and acceptance for the way people feed off of one another’s misery.

I will admit that I too have been guilty of all of the above, unintentionally at first, but more recently when I felt personally attacked on Facebook. American author Jonathan Swift said, “A man should never be ashamed to own that he has been in the wrong, which is but saying that he is wiser today than yesterday.” I was wrong by allowing myself to become angered and feel pain by personal attacks from people who wish to hurt me and my closest family. Yet I am all the wiser now because of the experience, so in turn, I must say “thank you” to those who have helped open my eyes to the cruelness of the virtual world of Facebook. Not everyone is your friend, even if they are somehow kin to you. Not everything that occurs in one’s head should be posted to the world. I am beginning to think that really, it is the coward’s way out to post on a person’s profile the words which cannot be backed with guts to say to one’s face, or over the telephone even, when the voice can actually be heard. The reality is that the post to Facebook contains the most malice and achieves maximum results of injury because it is there for all to read what only few people need to know. The even stronger reality is that most of it could be avoided if people thought not only about the words coming out of the mouth, but the words being produced by the fingers and the consequences attached. Clicking the little X box and deleting a comment does not take it back. Once posted it remains forever; even if not on the screen but in the heart and head.

I first saw Facebook as a way to connect with old high school friends, then as a way to keep up and in touch with what’s going on. I was able to share photos and communicate with out of town family. It was also a way to spread the word about positive events and happenings in the community. I saw a way to provide a wider audience for my writing, and if you’re reading this via computer, chances are you clicked on the link to my blog from Facebook.

But every time I log on, I also see the bullies of the sandbox. It’s sad that most of the people I’ve had to remove from my friend list have been family, and it started two years ago, not last week. I guess that’s why the geniuses of the program included apps like delete and block. If you’re reading this in print and don’t know what I mean by words like “app, block, delete, or blog” then count yourselves among the lucky, because you have not been engulfed in the age of social networking sites that is rapidly contributing to the destruction of our society. I agree to some extent with Andy Rooney, veteran CBS News correspondent who said, “Computers make it easier to do a lot of things, but most of the things they make it easier to do don’t need to be done.” Purposefully hurting and criticizing other people are things that don’t need to be done. From now on, if I can’t type something nice, then I plan not to type at all (even if someone else is not so nice). And in the same respect, if you don’t like what I type as a post or write on my blog, save us both some hassle and delete me. I am busy with many positive things that occupy my time and chances are, I will never even know I’m gone. Bullies, stay out of my sandbox.

Teaching Love

I Corinthians 13:13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Teenagers are strange creatures. When I was in college, people would look at me with raised eyebrows and gapping mouths when I spoke of my major and intentions to teach high school. “Why?” they would ask. I thought, why not?

Let me dispel myths that teaching any age compared to another is “easy.” I’ve worked with all ages of children, and teenagers just happen to be what I like the most. Teenagers have driven me to the point of wanting to pull my hair out, but one afternoon with my daughter’s Kindergarten class filled with waist-high people was all it took to reassure myself that teenagers aren’t so bad. The Kindergartener (like my daughter) who has to pee every thirty minutes is no more or less frustrating than the sophomore who asks to be excused every class period. A teacher of any age group must have the passion and heart to handle the group as a whole while simultaneously meeting the needs of the individual. It’s a huge task for teachers.

I think that most teachers, and parents, can empathize with what follows to some degree. Basic sociology teaches us that we all have many different roles and identities in life. Teachers are time keepers, organizers, planners, motivators, and encouragers. We are responsible for maintaining a controlled and safe environment for learning. We want to be a friend, a trusted person, in the lives of our students, but we must maintain discipline in the classroom. We have procedures to follow and procedures to enforce in order to have an environment that fosters learning.

As my first year of teaching comes to a close, I think about everything my students have taught me this year. They have helped teach me in ways that only another teacher can understand. Every lesson did not go exactly as I had planned. There were good days and hard days. There were days I knew my students listened, days when I wondered if they even heard a word I said, and days when it was my turn to listen.
In an English class, we have the opportunity to study literature and universal themes that apply to each of us in different ways. The perspectives that my students bring to the classroom are often very different from mine, because their lives and lived experiences are so different from me and each other. We read Nicholas Sparks’ novel A Walk to Remember. It’s a wonderful book about growing up, making choices, and losing a loved one. It lends itself to discussions about Christianity, God’s plan, facing one’s own mortality, and love. They groaned at first. The guys said it was a “chick book” and made fun of it. But by the end, I think we had all grown from our discussions.

Love is a universal theme that we can all relate to. It is something we crave, we must have it for survival; it’s something we truly need. If love is not found in the right places, it will be sought after from the wrong places. Boy or girl, tall or short, gay or straight, skinny or fat, believer, or non-believer, young or old…it doesn’t matter. Love transcends skin color and ethnicity and language. We all struggle to fit in, to find our place, and to be loved.

I am expected to teach many things like grammar and literacy skills and writing. I’ve been taught to encourage and embrace diversity. All of these have validity. I was told to love my students, and I do. I didn’t realize that it was necessary for me to teach love as well. For some people, love comes easier than others. Some have more exposure to it. Yet others have only the conflicting and misleading images of love from our society and culture where “anything goes” and some forms of diversity are embraced a little too much, in my opinion. We wrote about what love means to us as individuals. I was surprised at how quickly some students wanted to share and pumped that we had finally found something we could all relate to.

. Then we came to the portion of the book that includes I Corinthians 13, you know, what’s often referred to as “The Love Chapter” in the Bible. We consulted and delved into the primary source, being the chapter in the Bible. We analyzed the text and processed it, compared and contrasted our lived experiences with those of the characters in the book. But most importantly, we all came to examine our lives and relationships. We learned that love is more than an emotion we are caught up in at the moment. Love is a commitment, whether it is husband/wife, boyfriend/girlfriend, parent/child, teacher/student, or friend /friend. We learned what love is and what love isn’t. My students helped me to take a long, hard look at my own life, relationships, and interactions with people.

In some places of the world, we couldn’t have those conversations. There may come a time when Sparks’ book is banned, and the opportunity to discuss I Corinthians openly in a classroom setting is not allowed. I may get a phone call from an angry parent when this hits the press, who knows! But for now, it isn’t banned, and our lessons were aligned with state standards. Not taking advantage of the opportunity to share and learn about love would have been tragic, and I must answer to standards higher than the state.

At one point, the room was silent, and I couldn’t buy a comment from my most talkative bunch. One student said, “Mrs. Rorrer, you really got me thinking!” I was joyous and sad all at the same time. Their silence was an indicator that their brains and hearts were working; their tough guard had been momentarily let down. I realized that for many, this was the first time they had really thought about the subject, and even sadder, some may have no real influence of love in their lives. It’s not possible for me to answer life’s hardest questions…the kind that aren’t found on any exam or EOG Test…the kind they struggle with deep inside and cover with a superficial smile. In other words, as their English teacher, I will never know the full extent of the influences they encounter beyond the parameters of my classroom. I don’t force my beliefs on them, but I do encourage them to share their beliefs through writing and discussion when applicable. These formats help them process and make sense of the complex world in which they live.

Love is our greatest challenge and largest responsibility as teachers and parents. Teenagers are tough. They have thick skin. But when you take away the i-pods, cell phones, hip clothes, and punk attitude, one thing is sure. Our children want to know what love is. More than that, they want to know that they are loved.

Letter to my First Year Students

June 1, 2011

Dear Students,

The end of the year is upon us. I know the past few weeks have been hard. The air outside is warmer and we all have summer vacation on our minds. Soon our time together will be over, but before you go, there are a few things I’d like to share.

I’d like to say thank you. Thank you for putting up with me. As students of a first year teacher, you have had much to endure. Not all the lessons have gone like I planned. Sometimes, I should have been better prepared. I haven’t handled every situation perfectly, but I tried to do the best I could at the time. Some things were easier than others and you know there were many times when you resisted along the way. Some times, it may have been hard...but other times it was way too easy. You’ve seen me happy, sad, frustrated, mad…and I remember seeing all of you the same way at some point or another. None of us are perfect. All we can do is try, and admit mistakes when we make them. We can learn from the mistakes and demand more and better of ourselves in the future. You have shaped the teacher I am, the teacher I want to become, and the teacher I will strive to be. Each individual, no matter how talkative or quite, young man or young woman, has had an impact on me. YOU are my first-year students. I know you will not be forgotten.

We survived research papers and vocabulary quizzes. I thought Senior Project would be the death of all of us, but we’re still kicking! We endured short stories and novels. You wrote in your Daybooks, even when I know you didn’t want to. I love literature and I love writing…but I also love young people, or else I wouldn’t and couldn’t be here. The things I will remember the most about this year together are the discussions we had, the times we laughed, and even the times you thought I was crazy and you laughed at me.

There are many of you whom I have known since the spring of 2010, when I stepped into the room as a student teacher. I have watched you grow and mature. You have done the same with me. When it seemed like I was pushing you too hard, just remember it was because I know how capable you really are. Gaining responsibility and learning are not things you do only in school. Soon, you all will leave this place and you will encounter more responsibility and learning than I could ever teach you in a classroom. In twenty years, it won’t matter who Thoreau was or what Gilgamesh encountered on his journey. What matters is your journey, the choices you make, the challenges you embrace, and the commitment you have to achieve your personal best for success. I don’t have all of the answers for you, but I hope to have taught you to ask the questions and seek the answers from your heart and mind.

I will remember talking with you, as individuals and as a class. I will always remember laughing with you, too. Sometimes we laughed because things were really funny. Sometimes we laughed because the only other thing to do was cry. And sometimes, we did cry, and that’s OK too. When you leave this class, there will be new challenges ahead. I hope your time at Morehead is enjoyable and memorable in positive ways. It has been an odd feeling for me to walk the halls and teach in the same room I once sat in as a student. You have made me recall and consider those experiences, not all of which were positive. But, I can assure you, you can make it out of here and far in life if you commit to try. You will blink, and high school will be over. Make the most of it by making wise choices, planning for the steps ahead, and choosing your friends wisely.

In retrospect, I hope you will look at your high school experience and consider the life skills you are learning and have learned. Life is our greatest teacher and the world is our greatest classroom. The real questions have nothing to do with MLA guidelines, formatting your outline, or grammar rules and work sheets. A few of the real questions are: Can you finish something you start? Can you meet deadlines and plan your work? (Whatever the “work” might be.) Can you communicate your thoughts and opinions in such a way as to give yourself a voice, but have the wisdom to know when that voice should be a subtle whisper or a strong sound against injustice? Can you defend your position without causing undue harm or offending when it’s not really worth it? Are you willing to risk being offended when there is no one to defend you, when the cause is worthy of sacrifice on your part? You don’t have to be able to answer these questions all at once. They will present themselves at various times throughout your life, and in many levels of relationships. Just never forget to slow down, take a minute, and ask these questions of yourselves.

I wanted to give you some quote or passage to pass on to you for encouragement down the road. Here is a copy of something my daddy shared with me when I was in high school. I hadn’t remembered it in years, until I came across it during the middle of our semester, and the words really seemed to speak to my heart.

Remember This:
To solve each problem one at a time.
Take each day as it comes.
Stick to your goals—no matter what happens.
Press toward your dreams.
Keep your attention focused on the future as you consider the solutions at hand.
Look for the bright side—even though it may be temporarily covered by a cloud.
Smile often—even when a frown feels more natural.
Think of those you love and know that they love you, too.
No matter how difficult it may seem, you have within you the power,the ability,and the knowledge to make things better.
And always remember that I am proud of you and I love you.

Do not be strangers once our time is over. I look forward to your smiles, your laughter, and your hugs that mean more to me than you can possibly imagine. Room 84 will always be open to you.

With Love,
Mrs. Amanda Rorrer

Letter to my Daddy

"I am beginning to learn that it is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all."
-- Laura Ingalls Wilder

Dear Daddy,

You really gave me a scare last week, and everyone else that loves you, too. I had planned a birthday surprise for you, but it was nothing major, just cake and ice cream and our family get-together. I didn’t get you a present to open. As I thought about things and the events that unfolded over the next few days, I regretted that I didn’t have a gift for you.

As I was wondering the gift shop at the hospital, I really felt out of sorts. I had stepped away from the room to make some phone calls, clear my head, and just make sense of all that had happened. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but really, God showed me what it was.

I’ll never forget the look you gave me as you lowered your glasses and saw the price tag when I brought back the coffee mug. (Sorry, I forgot to take it off.) You asked me if I really paid $14 for a coffee mug. The answer is no—I paid $28 for two. I know you have a gazillion mugs, but you didn’t have one like this, and neither did I. And no, it wasn’t the mug that God was showing me, but the message behind it.

The inscription on the mug says: Appreciate the little things, because one day you’ll back and realize they were the big things. My eyes welled up with tears when I read the words. As I turned the mug in my hand, I saw the figure watering the small bush and the larger tree next to it. My tears were no longer contained in my eyes; they were streaming down my face. I know it’s not even scripture, but I think that is one of the neat things about it. God reveals Himself to us in ways that surround us all the time. Sometimes I let myself become consumed with things that I make out to be big things, when really, they are small potatoes in the grand scheme of life. That’s part of being human, and sometimes God likes to slow us down and make us reconsider our perspective.

I immediately thought of you and of those I love the most in this life. I thought of your love of flowers and the outdoors, and how you instilled in me that same love. I realized that my happiest childhood memories are of us working together in the yard. My happiest memories as an adult are times I have spent working in the flower and vegetable gardens with Robert and Lydia. I remembered Nannie and how much she loved flowers. I remembered how you taught me the names of them and how Nannie sang to them to “get them to grow.” I’ve tried to pass this love on to Lydia. We’ve had her in the dirt since before she could walk and I’ve taught her the names as well. Robert works with her patiently in the vegetable garden, just as his grandpa did with him.

You see, I can’t put a price on those memories. I don’t need a mug to remind me to remember, but I thought you could think of me and I of you when we can’t be near and know how much we love each other. God reminded me that the little things in life should be the things we cherish the most. He did this in a way that was much more personal than any cheesy “priceless” MasterCard commercial. I answered by saying, “Ok God, you’ve got my attention. Thanks for saving my Daddy. I promise to pay more attention to the little things that I am so blessed to have. I’m trying to do the right thing in so many different directions of my life, I still make mistakes, and I need you to show me what the right things are.”

There in the hospital, you told me that everything happens for a reason, and God never puts more on us than we can handle. Even in the midst of things, you were comforting and parenting me. The thought of not have you as a presence in my life was very bleak and scary, but I know it is a part of growing up, growing older, and living life. There is no possession that could compare or replace those who I love the most. I spent years searching to fill a void because I didn’t have the capability at the time to realize the love surrounding me or the importance of the little things. I went to Texas and back, came home with an empty heart, and only then did I begin to treasure the little things that family provides. Over time, and with maturity, God has granted me a wonderful husband and beautiful daughter that have shown me more love than I thought I was even worth at times. They have helped me prioritize what is important and view life with a larger perspective. Our love is not found in grand things, but in small things we often take for granted. I think it all comes down to what a person’s view of big and small really is proportionately, in one’s heart and head.

I am thankful that I have a house, which is a necessity in life. It may not be the biggest or most fancy house, but it is ours and we have made a home. There is always a stack of bills that must be paid, but our table is blessed and our bellies are full. For us, these are the big things. We work for them and we have pride in what we do, but at the end of the day, it’s the little things that provide us with joy. Little things include: sitting in the front porch swing and planning our future, snuggling and laughing during Scooby Doo cartoons, reading bedtime stories, a refrigerator covered with memories and artwork, a note on the counter that says “I love you,” tomato sandwiches for breakfast, a dog at my feet after a hard day’s work, talking to you on the phone for an hour and not even realizing that an hour has passed, a kiss on the cheek for no reason at all, the sound and feeling of laughter with family, and evening walks.

We were more than lucky on April 10th, 2011, and that’s no little thing. I love you very much and I appreciate all that you are to me.

Love,
Amanda

Rainy Days

"Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands." ~Anne Frank

My daughter loves the Disney Princesses. Her favorite one has always been Ariel, the Little Mermaid. For her third birthday, I bought her an Ariel umbrella. It was a just a cheap child’s umbrella, but she loved it a lot. She loved it so much that it seems I have been buying an Ariel umbrella every six months for the past two years. I’ve figured out that the average life-expectancy of a cheap umbrella in the hands of my daughter is about six months. Each time one breaks, we have to get a new one, and no other Princess will do. She has carried Ariel proudly on every rainy day since Preschool, and now, well into Kindergarten. Last week, it was pouring down rain and she opened the umbrella to find it broken. “Great. Way to go,” I thought. But when I saw the look on her face, I knew that her heart was in worse shape than the umbrella.

We ventured out on that rainy Sunday to find a new one. I was secretly hoping that we could find one with Ariel, but trying to prepare her for the possibility that it might be time to let Ariel go. I was worried that our lucky streak was going to run out and she would have to settle for another character. Sure enough, there were no Ariel umbrellas, but I did find one with Hannah Montana on it. “Oh, Look! Hannah will do,” I told her, thinking it would be an easy sell for a five-year-old. And it was, until she saw a pink and black one with Sleeping Beauty on it. “Oh no, you don’t want that one. It’s way too big,” I told her. But she was certain that she had grown enough for “a big-girl umbrella just like Mommy.” I opened it in the store to prove my point to her, that she really couldn’t handle an umbrella that size, yet she was confident she could, so I let her try. I realized that with a little help and practice, she really could open and close it, and away we went with the big umbrella.

We practiced opening and closing it at home. Her little arms could barely stretch to open it all the way, but she managed. She pinched a finger when trying to close it, and she cried. She tried again and again. All afternoon she practiced with that thing. At that point, I hoped it was going to last six hours, never mind six months. She learned to adjust her grasp to push it open and use the release button to close it without pinching herself. For the next three days, she asked, “Do I get to use my new umbrella today? I really want it to rain!” Her big “rainy day” finally came and she couldn’t wait to take her umbrella to school and show her friends. She was so excited when she jumped out of the car at school that I didn’t even get my usual good-bye kiss.

She sprung from the car and rushed right up to two friends on the sidewalk. I watched through the window as she talked a mile a minute, and although I couldn’t hear the conversation, I had a pretty good idea of how it was going. I could see the excitement on her face, but she was having trouble getting it to stay open. As I peered through the window, a huge piece of my heart was aching while I watched my baby standing in the rain, desperately trying to open her new treasure. “Come on. Hold it like you practiced. Lord, please help her get that thing open,” I said out loud. By then, she had quite a gathering of friends with their own umbrellas who had stopped to see hers, but she still couldn’t get it completely open. The car line was moving and I had to go, but I watched impatiently in the mirror for as long as I could.

As a parent, even something this simple was hard for me. If I had been standing next to her, I could have helped her, or at least coached her through it. My first instinct would have been to just open it for her, so that she could show her friends. At that moment, it hit me: I can’t always be there for her to open the umbrella, to shield her from the rain, and see that she is successful in her endeavors. At little points that come all too quickly in life, I have to step back and let her have a go at things on her own.
Although I drove her to school that day, I had taken a “back seat” before her feet ever hit the sidewalk. She didn’t turn around to wave goodbye like usual, and she had no idea I continued to watch and secretly cheer her on. The older I get, the more I recognize the wisdom my daddy dispensed during my childhood and my turbulent teenage years. It must have been difficult for him to watch me make my own choices and inevitably, some mistakes. Some choices weren’t always the best ones, but in retrospect, I know that he was always watching and praying for me. Sometimes the greatest help a parent can give a child is not a “handout” or “help up.” The greatest help is to be a strong example. Thanks Dad, you’ve always been that for me.


There will always be rainy days and times when even an umbrella (or a parent) can’t protect us from the storms of life. Sometimes the situations and plans we imagine don’t turn out the way hope or anticipate. No amount of preparation, planning, and rehearsing can insure that life’s situations will always work in our favor. But chances are, if the parents have laid the groundwork for a strong foundation, a child will be able to stand on his own. As a parent, I try to give her all the necessary tools for success and the wisdom to know how to use them. But ultimately, it will be up to her to define what her success and future will be. She will make the choice to use the wisdom or “learn the hard way.” I’m not a perfect parent, but I know that my daughter was the brightest and most beautiful thing I saw on that rainy day. I wasn’t able to see if she got the umbrella open before I drove away, but I wondered all day, because I knew how important it was to her. When I got home that afternoon, she had a story to tell that shined with accomplishment.

MAMA'S GIRL

Rerunning

“The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg—not by smashing it.” ~Ellen Glasgow

It’s been a while since I wrote anything related to running. There was a good reason for that: I hadn’t been running. One year ago, I was always training for some race, while working towards several goals simultaneously. Running helped keep my mind focused. My goals were clear and defined. I was filled with purpose and completely sure of myself, my abilities, and the path that God was leading me down. I juggled school and family responsibilities. I was successful at preparing to be successful.

Then came graduation, turning thirty, worrying about job prospects, getting a job, and diving head first into teaching. Admittedly, the final transition from the student’s world of the classroom to the professional side, as the teacher of a classroom filled with 3o plus students, was eye-opening. Add extra family obligations, sickness, the death of my grandpa, injuries which led to a forced lay off from running, and I quickly began to feel like I was a mess of mass confusion! I no longer had those clearly defined goals; nothing was giving me that extra drive. I was no longer pushing….I felt like I was being pulled and dragged. The good habits I had worked so hard to make routine quickly began to fade as time passed. In just a few months, my life felt rearranged, like someone else was behind the wheel and refusing to show me the map! It was a struggle just to keep up, so I could forget about getting ahead. I was in survival mode, but I sure didn’t want to stay there. I was definitely in a slump, and as Dr. Seuss puts it, “Unslumping yourself is not easily done.”

Some days, I didn’t know if I was coming or going. The work never seemed finished at the end of the day and my “to-do” list was never-ending and ever-growing. Henry David Thoreau said, “Methinks my thoughts begin to flow when my legs begin to move.” I wanted to move again because I knew my mind would function better and I could deal with things easier if I carved out the time for exercise and returned to making it a priority. For me, as many others, there’s a correlation between mental and physical well-being. They go hand-in-hand, and when one is neglected, the other quickly follows suit. So I’ve been starting over, from ground zero for exercise. Run/walk intervals aren’t very fun for someone who once trained for half marathons. And hearing the words, “Your long-run days are over” has been hard to accept. Two years ago, a long run would have been 13-15 miles. Four years ago, I would have laughed if someone suggested running. Eight years ago, I was having surgeries on my left leg and was told at one point, “You’ll probably always have a slight limp.” So when I look at it that way, I’m more grateful for the ability to run at all. And then I wonder why I expected teaching to be any different. Just like the run/walk intervals are slow and painful in the beginning, so is teaching. It’s not a job that comes with instant results or rewards. It took me 30 years to get here. It may take 30 more to feel only slightly accomplished.

It has taken me over a month to build back up to a fraction of the distance I used to run in a day. It took the entire first semester of teaching to feel like I could breathe. But I have realized that for me, running is not about time, speed, or distance. It’s about a commitment and dedication to move, to be active, to feel alive. It’s about a determination to resist quitting, even when that would be the easiest thing to do. Whereas teaching, on the other hand, is about time, speed, and distance. It takes time to gain experience. Sometimes I have to slow down and really listen to what my students are saying. And, I have to be willing to go the extra distance for them. As a runner, I won’t quit on myself. As a teacher, I won’t quit on my students. I realized the drive I needed to give that extra push is right in front of me: it’s my students. Entering the professional world of teaching doesn’t mean that I am automatically accomplished. I have to move one step, one day, one class at a time to become more proficient. But I am applying that same level of determination and commitment to the classroom as I do to pounding the pavement. Neither one is easy, nor is the work ever done.

While running through a portion of the neighborhood I grew up in, I pushed pause on my i-pod. Only then could I hear the laughter of some boys playing football, the sounds of banging coming from a garage, the sirens of an approaching fire truck, and the crunch of the empty Newport box I crushed on the sidewalk. I realized that even if I were walking, or rolling in a wheel chair (which could have easily been my fate after that car crash), I would still be moving. And isn’t that the point of life? To always be moving? It’s time to rethink some goals, redefine my purpose, and move forward. It’s not about changing careers or locations. I am right where God has placed me for a reason. Moving forward means improving what it is that I already do. It means continuing to learn and gaining experience. Moving forward means resisting the temptation to become complacent and indifferent. (Or worse than that, content with mediocre or cynical). Maya Angelou says that if you can’t change the way something is, change the way you look at that thing. The answer is often inside of you, not in front of you. I was waiting for answers to drop out of the sky, when really, they were there the entire time. I just needed to be patient with myself and remember why I started running and teaching in the first place.


The qoute at the bottom of this poster reads:"Determination is the often the first chapter in the book of excellece." This poster is now hanging in my classroom.