Just a Typical Day

My first year at Bancroft School was full of learning. One student in particular taught me a lot, we'll call him D. When this positive, caring and eager teacher had used every tool in her belt by the end of September, I knew we were in for an interesting ride. After time I discovered that reading was a great way for D to manage being in the classroom, but not just any ol' book. With luck though, he enjoyed The Series of Unfortunate Events. Of which there are many. (Thirteen now, I think just ten at the time) When D came back from Christmas break he was so excited to tell me that he got the entire series for Christmas and had read EVERY one of them. Somehow we made it through his eighth grade year and even managed to build the foundation of a positive relationship.

D moved onto High School growing into an outstanding young man with his sights set on college. Now, going to college is scary for those of us with supportive parents who have gone before and can lead the way. I stood and watched this young man navigate his way through the hoops of being admitted to college, and as he explained to the financial aid lady that the reason he does not have his mother's tax return is because she did not file taxes. The reason she did not file taxes is because she was in jail. Like a punch in the gut. Well, I am so proud to announce that after all the hoop jumping and perseverance, D is now enrolled in College. As I handed D a celebratory coffee he said, "I'm a college student drinking Starbucks. How typical am I?" To the young man who spent most of his K-12 education in special programs-Here's to being typical. Go get 'em!

Reflecting...

Have you ever had an experience that changes you? Just a small moment in your life that leaves you different than you were before? There have been a few in my life, but one that sticks in the front of my mind.

I forget a lot of things, but not this. I remember the weather-a warm August day in New York. It was the evening of our second day in the city. We were out looking for a park with swings for my niece. She loves to swing. My dad, brothers, sister-in-law and I walked along the waterfront where people were playing and just chillin’ on blankets. My dad said. “It’s just down the street a bit.” I knew what he was talking about and my stomach began to swirl. I hadn’t decided if I even wanted to see it-the hole, but off we went and it was out of my hands. My muscles tensed up as soon as we got closer. There is a walkway that goes right over the edge of the hole. I’m pretty sure there was a truck in the bottom, but I couldn't stop. I tried. I no longer had control of my tears and they flooded my eyes. My family stopped, but I had to keep moving-it was hard to breathe. We continued around the “building” to the front. People were gathered looking at some pictures and writing. It was a timeline. Honestly, I’m not sure what it consists of because it would have taken strength beyond what I possessed to read through it. I wish I could explain to you why I had this strong of a reaction to being at Ground Zero, but I don’t understand it myself. I stood there, in front of what used to be a building taller than I can imagine, at the place where so many human lives were lost, at the place where people, heroes in my mind, sacrificed themselves to rescue others, I stood there and cried. My body couldn’t do anything else.

For the remainder of my time in New York I was eerily aware of the massive pit just blocks away. It was always in the back of my mind. Whenever I saw a fire truck drive by with an American flag waving from the back, I had the urge to hug the fireman for what they must have seen and done. New York is a wonderful city with great shopping, parks, restaurants and of course, baseball team, but to me it is also a place full of resilient people who suffered a massive tragedy.

This is something I wrote a while ago for a writing lesson I taught. However, I'm thankful that I captured my thinking. As I walked through the seventh year since 9/11 I was struck by my own hard heart. In the past it was difficult for me to watch anything on the news, see images from that day or speak about it. I was always keenly aware of it's approach and went through the routines of that day with a heavy heart full of emotion. Today was different. Today felt like any other day with just a matter-of-fact reminder of the lives lost, and that feels almost as tragic as watching the towers crumble and trying to explain to junior high students that they are safe, when I truly did not know what to think about this horrific attack on my home soil. It is my personal hope that I will always feel for the senseless loss of lives of the day, appreciate the strength of the heroes and remember how for a moment, because of tragedy, people were pulled together rather than apart.

Introducing...

Meet Lucy. Yep, this is the wild one who attacks sprinklers, and yes she is wearing a shirt. What you can't see is that her shirt says "Dog Park Security". The best part is that it now has very dirty sleeve and a hole in the side. How it happened I'll never know. She takes the job very serious.

My dog has a very distinct personality. If she were a literary character, she would be Scout Finch. Lucy would do her best to avoid wearing dresses, preferring her overalls to anything else. Curiousity and honesty would lead to mishaps and trouble, but her pure heart and honesty would endear even the most prickly person.

Enough about my dog-I have been feeling guilty about not blogging. Nothing has been going on, but I always push students to write even when they can't come up with a topic so I decided to put my money where my mouth is and write anyway.