Riding the Wave

            I made the most of my summer vacation!   I slept late nearly every day, lounged in the sun at the beach and by the pool, stayed up late watching television, and got an awesome tan.  I lost track of what day of the week it was and thought about no children other than my own. When I think about going back to school next week, I have a vision of myself standing on a beach with a mammoth wave swelling  behind me,  above my head, waiting to crash upon me on teacher orientation day. The last few days of summer vacation are truly the calm before the storm.  They provide the perfect time for reflection about the relaxing time that soon will be behind  me, and anticipation of the stressful days that lie ahead.    

            When you are a teacher, the beginning of the school year is a time to reinvent yourself.  You are a stranger to the students sitting in front of you.   They have never been in your classroom before and they do not know what to expect.  Everything from the daily routines to the tone of the environment has to be established by you.  If you were unhappy with what you did in the previous school year, you can change it now.   You have a clean slate and with that opportunity comes a feeling of power.  Remember how exciting it feels to open up a brand new notebook and see the first blank page?   Once you actually write on the paper you cannot return to the special time before you did so, when you were just planning and dreaming about how you wanted the page to look.   This is how we teachers feel at the beginning of the school year.  We have a the chance to make a fresh start.

            Each September gives you can create new goals to achieve without feeling the guilt of failing at those same goals in the past.  Although the last school year was less than three months ago, to a teacher it feels like a lifetime ago and can barely be remembered.    At the beginning of each school year I set the same goal: to keep the pressures of the job at bay and retain a lasting positive attitude.  I aspire to hold off the wave in my vision, the powerful influx of demands and tasks that have overtaken education and changed the fabric of my job to the point of making it unrecognizable. Wow-  I can feel my heart beating faster and my stress level rising even as I type these descriptive words.

            When I started teaching in 1993 my primary responsibility was to  teach.  My job required me to deliver information to the students in my content area of Social Studies.  Back then, most of the students knew how to read and write and completed their assignments.  Even if they did not like it, back then most students recognized the importance of education and the authority of the teacher.    There was respect for the professionalism and wisdom of teachers.  Parents and administrators were supportive.  Creativity was encouraged and learning could be fun and productive.  The daily schedule included small breaks, allowing students and teachers valuable time to breathe, to communicate, to make personal connections.  It was during one of these nonacademic moments, a former student told me, that I made a comment to her that literally changed her life's direction.

            But as the expression goes, "that was then and this is now."  Ask any educator or student, things are different today.  Schools are run like businesses and  the profit margins are high test scores.  The pace is exhausting and the demands are unreasonable for all involved.  Gone is the creative freedom that was my forte.  Gone are the moments to inspire lives.  Gone is the focus on growing the talents and strengths of each and every student.  We concentrate on numbers, cohorts, and spreadsheets now.  We have data meetings and spend hours and hours staring at numbers of all kinds.  This is the new wave in education, the wave that I am bracing for next week. 

            In many ways I am ready to return to work.  I find comfort in the organization of my family's fall routine.  My mind gets restless by the beginning of August and I crave the intellectual challenges inherent in teaching.  In my heart, I will always feel that teaching is the most noble profession and I am proud that I am an educator.  But as I prepare my classroom for a new group of students, I will also be preparing myself mentally for the pressure and stress that lie ahead.  I am once again setting my annual goal to remain positive as I go to work each day in an environment that no longer makes sense to me.  I am hoping that when the gigantic wave crashes down on my next week, I can ride it.

            

Saying a Final Goodbye

             Last June my aunt died of a sudden heart attack.  Three weeks later my mother succumbed to a year-long battle with colon cancer.   Enduring the trauma of these two losses reinforced my understanding of a grim reality of life.   It does not matter if the end of a loved one's life comes quickly or slowly, whether you know it is going to happen or are taken by surprise, whether you are blindsided or are prepared.  No matter what the circumstances may be, no one has the luxury of saying a final goodbye.

            My godmother and aunt Tessie was truly a second mother to me.  I spent a lot of time with her and my uncle when I was growing up and I have countless happy memories of our times together. As I grew older, got a job and had a family of my own, I had fewer opportunities to spend time with my aunt.   When she died, I had not spoken to her in a few months, but I believe that she knew how much I loved and adored her. 

            Our last conversation was a text message exchange on her birthday in March.  I have saved this message on my telephone and look at it from time to time.  I began by wishing her a happy birthday  and she thanked me, joking about how old she was.    I texted back, "You may be older but you are looking damn good!  I have a great day!  I love you!"     The last words I communicated to my aunt were the ones I would have spoken to her if I was there the night she unexpectedly passed away.  I loved her and I told her when I had the chance, and that brings me peace. 

            I had plenty of opportunities to have a final goodbye conversation with my mother.  I was with her in the hospital room when the doctors delivered the news that she would not survive.  I was with her at home during the nine days she spent there before moving to a hospice center.  I was by her bedside when she lost consciousness and left only hours before she took her final breath.   But I never said  goodbye.  I could not say those words because I did not know exactly when she was going to die.  It never seemed like the right thing to do.  If I said those words, I was giving voice to the finality of her death, making it a reality.  I did not want her to die, so I did not say goodbye.

            But I didn't really have to because of a special moment my mother and I shared before she went to hospice.  She was sitting up in her bed when I came to see her.  At this stage in her illness she weighed less than ninety pounds and was extremely weak, barely able to move or speak audibly.  I emptied her drainage bags, cleaned her bedding, and helped her change into a clean nightgown.  I was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking into her eyes, speaking no words.  She was looked at me, raised her hand, and gently stroked my face.  She said, "I am proud of myself."  It seemed like such an odd comment  I questioned, "Why are you proud of yourself?"  Her eyes filled with tears and she said, "Because I raised you."  I had no words.  In this brief conversation my mother expressed her feelings toward me.  My constant presence by her side in her most difficult moments expressed mine.  The love we had for each other was evident.  There was need  to actually say "goodbye." 
               I do not choose to use the phrase "learning a life lesson" to describe my painful experiences last summer.  The word "learning" implies that you previously did not know something, but I already understood the importance of treasuring and appreciating my loved ones.   I already knew that  we need to tell our family members and friends how much we care for them while they are still here with us.  I already knew that our actions can show the depth of our affections more powerfully than words.  I already know how lucky I was to be loved by two of the most precious people who ever lived.   My losses showed me that circumstances can sometimes render words insufficient or impossible.   I was reminded that you cannot wait for the chance to express your feelings for someone you love in a tidy, final conversation. That chance might never come or may come in a form that you do not recognize or expect.   Sometimes, perhaps often, things don't end with a "goodbye."  They just end. 

Five Hundred Words

I usually do not participate in the many group challenges and activities on social media.    I do not play Farmville on Facebook and I get annoyed when someone gives me a life on Candy Crush.  I immediately delete any "chain letter" like requests for me to forward a message  to nine of my friends or like a post within thirty seconds of viewing it.  I have not filmed myself  dumping a bucket of ice water on my head for charity. But yesterday I made an exception to my self-imposed boycott.  I accepted an online challenge to write at least five hundred words a day for thirty one days. 

            I have always enjoyed writing and have dreamed of being an author since I was in middle school.  In high  school I recall sitting in English class when the teacher announced a writing contest on the topic of literacy.  I remember thinking, "I am going to write an essay and I am going to win."  Well, I did what I set out to do, I wrote the essay and I did win.  I received a certificate in a leather folder at the Biltmore Hotel.  I continued to find success throughout high school and college writing papers and earning high marks

            When I was in college at the University of Rhode Island I took a course about the Civil War.  My professor  was tough, announcing on the first day of class that, "I don't give A's."  Feeling confident to prove him wrong, I wrote an essay on the short novel A Man Without A Country.   On the day he returned the corrected essays to the students he asked to speak to me after class.  He was impressed with my writing and I felt successful.  I worked on a few projects for him during my college career, including one in which I researched and wrote a description of a historic department store in South Kingstown, Rhode Island.  I still have my manuscript, produced an a typewriter on onion skin paper with red margins. 

            My writing repertoire expanded as I took graduate courses.  I wrote papers for my own courses and a few for my friends and boyfriends as well!  While writing papers seemed difficult for others, it was easy for me and I enjoyed it.  When I got my job as a middle school  Social Studies teacher, my writing projects changed.  I no longer wrote research papers, of course, but I did re-write articles to make them easier for my students to understand.  Teaching the elements of writing became part of my job description.  I became skilled at writing recommendations for students, capturing their strengths in a way that produced compliments from my colleagues who read and signed the letter. 

            At the end of the last school year my grade leader announced that she was moving on to another position at another school.  She did not want to leave, but circumstances and contractual rules left her no choice.  All of the teachers in our grade were disappointed and wanted to do something to show our support.  Someone suggested that we write her a letter of recommendation, and I quickly volunteered.  When I was finished writing the document, I passed in along to all fifteen of my colleagues for their signatures.  As they read the letter they nodded with approval, commenting how my words expressed their feelings.

            It was after this experience that I decided to begin writing.  I have a talent and an ability that I need to explore, refine, and improve.  Writing is not easy.  It requires time, energy, and  concentration, all precious commodities of which I have little in the course of my busy life.  But I realize that if I am ever going to write that book that I have always dreamed of writing, I need to start.  I could not just  read about the five hundred word challenge online.  This time, I had to take it.

I Am Okay, Mom! I Am Okay!

               While there are no marathons in my future, I certainly do enjoy running and have made it a part of my weekly routine for the last seven years.    I love to run because I choose to do it by myself.  I am alone.  There is no one to talk to,  no questions to answer, no requests from my children, no demands from my co-workers or students.  It is just me, the pavement beneath my sneakers, and the inspirational tunes playing from my IPod.  There is nothing to do but run and think about, well,  anything that comes to my mind.

                 I run and plan what I am going to do later that day or the next.  I run and dream about what I want to achieve in life, about the type of person I aspire to become.  I  run and think about topics  both meaningful and trivial. I run and problem solve situations both real and anticipated.  I even count my footfalls per minute.  But my favorite mental activity to do when I run is to remember.  I outwardly smile as I think about funny things from my past.  Such memories are often triggered by the songs I listen to,  especially if I am listening to my eighties playlist.  It is relaxing and refreshing to lose yourself for a few moments and let your mind lead you to wherever it decides it wants to go.  All you have to do is follow its path. 

                Once a week I like to push my limits as a runner and run for an extended distance.  My usual route is about three and a half miles and my long route is about  five and a half miles.  I choose Sundays to make this long run because it takes me about fifty minutes to complete and I can find more time on Sundays to devote to myself and do something that I enjoy doing than any other day in the week.   I look forward to spending this time alone and enjoying the mental benefits I have come to treasure.  On my long run I always experience the same memory as I approach the same part of my route.  Although I have had this same memory every time I have run this route over the last year, it was not until today that I appreciated its meaning.

                I am running on the side of a well-traveled road that ends at an intersection with a stoplight to manage the traffic.  It is a hot summer day, the kind of day when people warn you to avoid exercise.  As I approach the intersection, I take a left onto another busy road.  I stay on the sidewalks and although there are a lot of cars traveling in both directions, I am safe.  Once at this spot, just after I had made my left hand turn, I saw my mother driving by.  She was traveling away from the directions in which I was running, in the opposite lane heading toward the traffic light.  She saw me and instinctively slowed down.  She rolled down her window , looked my way, and was trying to get my attention.  She was obviously looking to see if I was alright.   She was holding up traffic as she was calling out to me. I could sense the impatience of the annoyed drivers behind her.  I waved my arm over my head in a large motion directing her to pass by, calling out, "I am okay, Mom.  I am okay!"  She drove away when she heard me and, thankfully, there were no collisions. 

                I have this memory every time I pass this location on my long run.   At first after my mother passed away, it was a painful memory.  I ran by and choked back tears.  Nobody but your own mother would stop a car in the middle of traffic just to see if you were okay!  My mother was gone and so was that unique love.  I felt badly for myself.  But as time passed, and I kept running by this location,  the memory has lost its sadness and has taken on a different, peaceful feeling.  It  reminds me of how blessed I have been because when my mother was alive, she was always looking out for me.  She devoted her life and did everything she did so that I would be okay.  Being a mother myself I realize that our goal in life is to prepare our children to live without us.  My mother accomplished this goal with grace and beauty.  She was an amazing person and I was so lucky to have been loved by her.

                I deeply miss my mother, but when my mind's eye sees her slowing down traffic in her Toyota Camry, looking my way and calling out to me, I cannot help but smile.  I enjoy remembering that brief yet meaningful moment.  Today as I ran by the spot, I thankfully waved my  arm in the air and called out, "I am okay, Mom.  I am okay!"  Even though she was not there, I know she heard me.  

Accidental Advice: How Five Simple Phrases Have Changed My Life

Sometimes the most enduring pieces of advice can be delivered by the most unlikely of people at the most unexpected times.  There are days that I forget my most needed grocery item or why I walked into a particular room, but I easily remember a handful of treasured statements spoken to me over the years.  These phrases were delivered casually, mostly by people who did not intend to impart lasting wisdom.  But for some reason, these words resonated with me and have found a special place in my heart.  These phrases frequently pop into my head often as I experience the happenings of daily life, either to inspire me or to reinforce a simple truth. While I have gleaned different meanings and messages from these pieces of advice at different times in my life, the wisdom embedded in these phrases is truly timeless.

1. "It's not you I don't trust, it's the other guy."

Spoken by my anxious father when I was learning how to drive, this phrase always accompanied a denial to my request to borrow the family car.   As an innocent teenager, I could not relate to these seemingly unfounded concerns.  Nothing bad was going to happen to me so why were my parents always so worried? Now that I am a parent, I can answer this question easily!   Adults see the world very differently than children.  Growing up means that you know about the parts of life your parents shielded you from when you were younger.    Having a child makes you feel vulnerable.  These words make me appreciate how deeply my parents loved me.  My youngest son is turning twelve this year and wants to be more independent.  I will be thinking of this phrase often as he begins to ask me for more freedom. 

2. "Everything is two trips."

I think of this truth every time I get home from the store only to realize that I have to go back to fix a problem.  Maybe the cashier overcharged me for an item or I forgot to buy something I needed.  Perhaps I bought the wrong size or a piece of the product was missing from the box.  Whatever the reason, rarely can you succeed at an errand, or anything, in just one take.  This phrase, spoken by my beloved godmother and aunt Tessie, makes me chuckle at the never ending frustrations of life.  There will always be some wrench in the plans, some fly in the ointment, some complication with which to deal.  I smile broadly when I think of Auntie Tessie, her love, and her many words of wisdom.   Before spring break one college year, she wrote a list for my sister titled, "Tessie's Tips for Safe Trips."  Number one on the list was "Don't go."  

3.  "If it's not behind you, you won't hit it."

This statement seems obvious and kind of silly, I know, but for me it serves as a healthy reminder to relax.  Several years ago, I became friendly with a young woman who worked as a community support worker for my son.  We bonded instantly because we shared similar personality traits, including a tendency to over-think, over-analyze, and worry about a wide variety of situations, most of which had not and probably never would happen.  One day we were arriving home after an outing and we were pulling into my driveway. When she questioned my as to why I was not backing the car in, I told her that I was too nervous to do so. I admitted that I never learned to use the car mirrors to maneuver into parking spaces or to make judgments about what direction my car was turning.  I was afraid to hit something behind me.  So at the ripe old age of thirty-seven, she began to teach me how to back up my car using the mirrors, reassuring me by saying, "If's it's not behind you, you won't hit it."  I hear these words just about every time I shift my car in reverse, even though I now have a back-up camera to help me.  But over the years I have broadened the meaning of this phrase.  I now think of this advice when I need to be calm, when I need to stop worrying about something that does not exist.  

4.  "Your son is so teachable."

When my son Tommy started school, I completely overwhelmed by his diagnosis of autism.    He could not communicate with words, had frequent tantrums, was unable to focus his attention, and suffered physical discomfort from a sensory integration disorder.  I remember feeling a sense of horror when I put him on the school bus the day after his third birthday to attend a public preschool special education class.  What was going to happen to my son without my presence by his side?  What was he going to be able to learn, now, or ever?  Thank goodness he had an understanding teacher, who communicated with me via journal on a daily basis.  Sensing my worries, one day she shared with me the name and telephone number of a parent whose son was in  Tommy's class.  Her name was Roberta.   Her son was six and getting ready to move out of the preschool level.  I was reluctant to call and ask for help and advice, and stared at the number in the communication book for a few weeks.  I remember being teary-eyed when I finally reached out and made the call.  The woman on the other end was cheerful and positive, two qualities I didn't realize the mother of an autistic child could possess.  She told me she had been volunteering in the classroom and had observed Tommy.  Roberta told me, "your son is so teachable."  Teachable?  Teachable?  Hearing that word felt like being thrown a life jacket on the open ocean.  Hearing that word rescued me.  As Tommy's mother, I believe I knew it was true inside my heart, but I needed to hear it.  I needed to hear someone else, a stranger, a neutral party, tell me.  Hearing that world changed my world.  It helped me adopt a positive mindset in all aspects of Tommy's development, at home and at school.  Tommy will always need to learn, but he will.  Tommy is teachable.  Thanks Roberta!

5. "Worry about the things you cannot replace."

I felt like a queen living in a palace when I bought my house.  I remember standing in the kitchen, looking down the hallway, and marveling at its length.  Compared to my apartment, this two-bedroom ranch with a front and back yard was expansive!  My husband and I were focused on keeping the property looking great, and we took great care remodeling the inside and landscaping the outside. Although I had been a teacher for several years at this point in my life, I was not yet a mother.  After I arrived home from work I wanted peace and quiet.  So I would  quickly get annoyed when my neighbor's sons and their friends would run up and down the street, throwing balls, and making noise.  I particularly disliked the instances when these children ran through my front yard and threw balls that loudly struck the fence. One day I came home from work to find three kids standing in the middle of my lawn, hanging around my lamp post.  I went into full teacher-mode and sent them away with a stern lecture.  I am not sure how it happened, but later that evening my neighbor's from across the street were in my driveway talking to my husband and me.  I shared my story about the trespassing kids, their disrespectful and rude behavior, and how much it bothered me.   At some point in the conversation my neighbor Cynthia told me to, "worry about the things you cannot replace."  The comment meant nothing to me at the time.  Later I realized that when she spoke those words to me her mother had recently passed away.  I think of her words often, especially now that I have lost my own mother.    Her words remind me to focus on what is important in life- people.