Hijacked

Stories from a Life I Didn't Plan

Page 7 of 8

Hands Free

What’s the Big Deal About Hands?

Who knew that hands free walking would become a hill to fight on.

I suppose when we all begin our chosen profession or vocation we anticipate an idealized version of our work. And if we do anticipate challenges, we know that we are prepared, passionate, and motivated enough to make a difference or to change the course of history by sheer will and determination.

However, as time marches on and the banality of fighting the good fight sets in, we are pestered by all manner of irritations, limitations, and prohibitions imposed by the powers that be, and we realize our efforts have little impact on the status quo. In the case of public schools, an archaic system that divides children into chronological age groups in order to prepare them for work in an industrialized society, shockingly little has changed over time.

In my conversations with a friend who teaches even younger children than I do, I have decided we are outliers. Our greatest frustrations come not from the little people in our classrooms, but by the shocking focus of big people on how classes of students walk across campus or other topics minimally related to student learning or well-being. On both of our campuses, even the youngest students are taught to march silently around the school with hands clasped behind their backs. Incredibly, these are not isolated incidents. Parents have advocated for and against this practice in various locations.

During a recent discussion about student walking without their hands free, I learned that at a school where the practice was enforced, a young student walking with hands behind the back had fallen, lost some teeth, and been badly hurt. In light of events, the parents threatened litigation and the school rethought its hand behind the back policy.

When my teacher friend, who is a trained dancer, explained how human arms are used for balance in dance, I quickly realized I was doing my young students a grave disservice. So, I headed back to school and talked to my students about how we were going to continue to walk safely, quietly, and without bothering anyone around us. We were going to walk hands free to catch us if we stumble.  Simply put, I wanted them to have their arms free to swing and to catch them in the event of a fall.

Freedom Walking Hands Free

One of the first times we made the jaunt across campus with this newfound freedom, hands free, I noticed one of my students moving freely, in a dancelike swagger. Such a little thing, but that option restored a modicum of individuality and freedom with noticeable results.

On any given day, you may now find my students and me flying across campus like airplanes or finding other interesting, yet safe means of moving from point a to point b. It has leant a lighthearted tenor to our cross campus movement that was absent. In an era when teachers compete with high tech graphics and audio, I would much rather my students fly across campus with energy and excitement than to form a silent chain gang drudging from one dull task to another.

Not everyone shares my appreciation of freely swinging appendages. At my friend’s school, a virtual firestorm has resulted from her decision to allow her students to move across campus hands free. The perception is that without hands firmly tucked behind the back, there is no order or safety. One day with hands raised in appreciation of birds flying toward them, my friend’s little students gleefully celebrated the act of flight and remembered an earlier discussion in class about birds. The unfortunate timing of a colleague walking a class across campus at that exact moment ensured that my friend was flown at by a staff member decrying the children’s raised hands instead of celebrating a real world experience practically conjured from a discussion that had taken place inside the four walls of the classroom.

You are asking yourself rightly why this would be worth blogging about. I agree wholeheartedly. This is a non-issue. Real issues would be how to advocate for much needed services and intervention to support these same students who are forced to walk around campus with their hands behind their backs or how we can encourage them to be excited about school, to be happy and successful, and to learn to dream about more than simply having their hands free to walk as they please.

Let’s Go Out to the Ball Game!

Misc Photos 021One of my early childhood memories is going to a Little League baseball game with my grown up first cousin once removed to watch my second cousins play ball. Since the memories of the very young seem to be more impression and sentiment than fact and precision, I do not remember the details of why I was the only out of my three sisters who went, but I have a vague impression of watching little people move around out on a diamond and enjoying a grape flavored lollipop. Somehow this mere impression of an experience left a tally mark on the positive side of life experiences. So, when a friend asked me, a person wholly indifferent to professional sports, to go to a local professional baseball game, I unhesitatingly agreed.

Out of all of the organized sports in the world, I probably understand baseball the best. It is not nearly as distracting as football or basketball. For me, there are four people at the most that you really have to pay attention to at one time, and that is only when the bases are loaded. Just narrowing the field helps me focus on where the action is going to be so I don’t miss out on the exciting stuff people are going to be reporting about on television afterward.

Without knowing much about what I was getting myself into, I checked the weather and made the appropriate preparations I thought would make my game viewing a comfortable experience. My general impression before arriving at our seats was that we had special, reserved seats and wouldn’t spend the evening fending off the crowd, the vendors, or team fanatics. To anyone with knowledge of sporting events, the term “club suite” will mean much more than it did to me until we arrived. Not only was the club suite located almost perfectly behind the catcher (which even I could figure out provided a wonderful view of the game), but it was also a very nice glassed in box with theater style seats, a mini sink, a hotel room-sized refrigerator stocked with soft drinks, and plentiful catered game appropriate foods.

The entire evening was a delight! The only negative thing I might say is that I picked the worst time to leave the game and missed the only ball knocked out of the park all night. Murphy’s Law. I console myself with the knowledge that the homer was for the visiting team, but admit I still would have liked to have seen a professional ball player knock it out of the park in person.

However, this small disappointment was insignificant in the overall excitement of the evening. Jumbo hotdogs with condiments galore; wonderfully well-mannered suitemates; and an exciting baseball match made for a happy memory of a lifetime.

I may not have left the game with the taste of grape lollipop in my mouth, but even though I am not a true sports enthusiast, I left with the happy memory of another well-enjoyed and sweet baseball game experience.

Misc Photos 025

Children Are Refreshingly Honest

Young children are refreshingly honest. In their innocence they ask all kinds of uncomfortable questions of the grow ups around them. Working with five and six year olds on a daily basis, I have come to find great amusement in their unvarnished honesty. As children are developing their language and interpersonal skills, they can ask inconvenient questions or make unflattering observations with hilarious results.

One honest young lady asked one day if I had been crying, which can be a disconcerting prospect for a six-year-old. The teacher is not supposed to cry at school. Well, sometimes that teacher can have a cry on a difficult day. And on this particular day, not only had a had a lunchtime weep fest, but I had also forgotten to put on mascara. In a somewhat mendacious ploy both to allay her fears and put her curiosity to rest, I did explain that I had forgotten to put on mascara that morning while gently avoiding further discussion of whether or not I had been crying.

At the end of one long, full day with these uncensored little ones, I found myself gazing absently into a mirrored window while making a call from my classroom telephone. As I gazed at my mirrored image wondering how long it had been since I combed my hair, I realized all of a sudden that I was wearing two completely mismatched earrings. They were not even close to the same design or color. Howling with laughter, I realized this dangly mismatch had escaped notice all day by old and young alike.

I certainly do hope that means I had provided everyone with much more engaging things to ponder, rather than how I made it out the door that morning in this mismatched state. While they may be unobservant at times, I can unequivocally affirm that children are refreshingly honest.

Rewriting a Jane Austen Classic

Sometimes I contemplate rewriting a Jane Austen Classic to make all the characters meet with the poetic justice their comportment demands. Many Jane Austen novels, both print and celluloid versions, are old friends. I find familiar comfort in the oft read characters and settings that transport me to simpler times. I applaud the tidy neatness of how Austen sets her vain, proud characters in their place, but elevates her humble egalitarians. A fan of happy endings, I enjoy Austen’s neat denouements with the inevitable banishment of sadness and grief, which may even have been brought into the lives of characters by their own poor or selfish choices. Love and goodness always triumph.Rewriting a Jane Austen Classic

However, there is one detail in a much loved story that leaves my simplistic nature dissatisfied: in Sense and Sensibility, Miss Lucy Steele’s conniving nature pays off. She ditches Edward Ferrars, her diffident, disowned fiancé for his proud younger brother, gains the esteem (and fortune) of her new mother-in-law, and lives comfortably in spite of her self-serving machinations. I find that aspect of the novel difficult to accept, but all too parallel to life. I would like for such intrigues to utterly fail and yield absolutely no net result.

But, life isn’t like that.  So I guess Austen was right to let Miss Lucy Steele gain greater status and remuneration from her wealthy mother-in-law than the pious Miss Elinor Dashwood.

Actually, I do not think that Elinor would have minded the turn of events at all. In my reading of the story, Elinor’s  principal enjoyment in life was entirely independent of her income or situation. She found practicality, duty, honor, and commitment to be far greater wealth than capricious favor bestowed or withheld based on one’s performance. While noble and admirable, Elinor’s attitude would not have put food on her table or a roof over her head, so I am profoundly grateful that Colonel Brandon gave Edward Ferrars the living at Delaford and that Mrs. Ferrars relented and gave Edward and Elinor a small annual income to help them along. It was just enough to be comfortable and independent without being ostentatious or proud.

So all things considered, I guess Elinor’s lot in life was far superior to Lucy’s.

But, if I were rewriting a Jane Austen classic or creating an “Austenesque” novel of my life, I wonder if I would  write myself in as Lucy or as Elinor.

What about you?

Crows Like Cookies

IMG_1525On a trip to the Central Coast region of California earlier this year, I found myself near Hearst’s famed Castle at San Simeon. Opting not to repeat the historical tour of Hearst Castle, I browsed through the visitor’s center, stopping to take full advantage of the observation areas. After a leisurely walkthrough, admiring the lovely grounds and galloping zebras, I drove down toward the Sebastian Store in San Simeon.

In my preparation for my brief getaway, I had read about the Sebastian Store that offers sandwiches made with Hearst Beef. I decided it was definitely a site worth savoring. So, after standing in line and getting my Classic Beef sandwich, I headed down to the Hearst State Beach to sit at a picnic table and admire the view of the crashing surf while enjoying the local fare. As I soaked up sun, was lulled by the waves, and savored my classic sandwich, I took care to spook off the numerous birds attracted by my tasty lunch.

Not long after I began enjoying my lunch, I noticed the vehicle that had parked in front of my car at Sebastian’s had also pulled into the beach parking area. The driver hopped out and placed his to go box from Sebastian’s on the table before returning to the vehicle to retrieve something.

Intrigued by the box, a couple of crows took control of the table top in the diner’s absence. Watching from a safe distance, I assumed the driver would return before the crows could figure out how to open the box. Little did I know that there was a cookie in a white paper bag right next to the box! Much to my surprise, before I could startle the crows away one of them had grabbed the bag with its beak and carried it several feet before dropping it over a fence that separated the picnic area from the dangerous cliff above the ocean. Safely over the fence, the crow and its fellows could eat the cookie in apparent safety.

Chuckling at the ingenuity of the crows I reported the cookie’s loss to my fellow diner, who had returned with a second box of takeout food. Although one cookie down, my fellow diner seemed unconcerned and still seemed to have plenty to eat.

Who would have thought that crows like cookies!

Expectations

This morning as I drove to work, excitement flowed through my veins. Sounds like I had a new workout routine, but actually it was the relief that today I didn’t have to look for street parking. At my school, we have a nearly non-existent parking lot. So, most of the employees scour the streets looking for available curb space between resident vehicles and trash receptacles.

Not being a morning person, I do not arrive an hour and a half before the 8:00 bell to begin my day. So, for this sluggish morning person, I was heady with expectation, knowing that for once I didn’t have to worry about parking because I was awarded the favor of parking in the special, reserved spot this week. Because of the Labor Day holiday on Monday, my days in the parking lot were already one shorter than the average work week, but I just reminded myself that I wouldn’t need a place to park on Monday anyway and tried to look on the bright side.

So, as I gleefully pulled into the parking lot, the warm expectation pulsing through my veins turned to ice water in a split second when I noticed that it looked like someone was parking in the reserved spot. Incredulous that this could actually be happening, I pulled through the lot to confirm that someone else had indeed parked in the spot that was supposed to have been reserved for me. Crushed expectations can really impact a day or a year or a decade or two.

Needless to say, it took a little while to readjust. Not only were my regular curbside spots taken, but the streets were already so crowded that I had to park on a neighboring street. Frustration and utter disappointment cannot begin to express how I felt.

I work with a wonderful group of people and I know the person who parked in my spot did not do it maliciously. In fact, there is not a person on my staff that I believe would deprive another of the special spot on purpose. Someone just didn’t get the memo. It wasn’t personal on either side, but I it still meant unmet expectation and disappointment.

Sure. Just get over it. Easy. But, wow. Not so fast! Wouldn’t that have been nice if it had ended there.

The person who parked in my spot was quickly cannibalized by other staff members for parking in the reserved spot, so the car was soon moved. During my lunch, I noticed the spot was vacant. Thinking there was no time like the present, I decided to drive my car around the block and into my spot-for-the-not-quite-a-week. Only, and you know what is coming, it was taken again. However, the (new) person who had parked in the spot was still at the car and graciously moved the vehicle so I could pull in.

And I was grateful.

Tomorrow when I  drive to school, I will do so with adjusted expectations.  I have much bigger expectations for myself, my friends, my family, my students and my colleagues than I focused on today. And if I keep my big expectations clearly in mind, then where I park cannot again make or break my day.

Family

Family

When spoken, this word evokes feelings as diverse as each family. In some people, they feel a sense of belonging and community. For others, something entirely different and not at all pleasant.

Along my journey in life, that word family has engendered different feelings in me, too. When I was around 13, embarrassment was probably the keenest sentiment I experienced. But today, I would have to say pride and joy in belonging ring most true.

My parents both retired early. And, although stories abound recounting the boredom of retirement, I have been amazed at how my parents have found new interests and have pursued them with passion and commitment. To my astonishment, their new pursuits have forced them to learn how to use newer technologies, including how to Skype, text on a cell phone and research safely using the internet. Their continued adventures into new and complicated fields inspires and reminds me once again how much I want to be exactly like them when I grow up.

In fact, today, my mom is one of my greatest heroes. When what we had hoped for turned hopeless recently and I was losing sleep, she said, “I just can’t give up.” So with the fearless tenacity I have seen in her countless times over the course of my life, my mother perseveres in the face of hopelessness with indomitable heart.

No matter what has happened, what is happening right now, or what might happen in the future, I know my mom loves me, my sisters, and her grandchildren with relentless, fearless love.

So for me, probably the most precious word I know is family.

Best of Friends Forever

Best of Friends Forever

Over the course of a lifetime various people pass into our lives and right back out, while others come in and go on to other place without leaving us. These become our best of friends forever; the people you can pick up the phone to talk to or meet face to face after years of not even being in the same time zone and they are still that same friend as though you spoke just minutes before. They may have a few more wrinkles or pounds, children or grandchildren, but they are the same precious, unwavering friend you remember.

Gratefully, I have numerous such people in my life. No two are exactly the same, which gives life flavor and richness. But, all are precious and add something different to my life.

Upon recently receiving potentially devastating news, I called a friend of mine who cried with me as I cried. After my tears dried, and I began to move forward, I paused and stood next to another friend simply to absorb strength and a sense of calm. Another friend texted me to check in, gave me a kind, listening ear and some straightforward, but encouraging advice. Each friend is unique and succeeds in mending a different place in my wounded heart.

So, although parts of my heart are crushed and feel like they may never be whole again, there are these other places where my precious family and friends dwell. By their very presence deep in my heart, they bring joy, laughter, and hope for better times ahead making me infinitely grateful for my best of friends forever.

Let Them Be

One evening after a musical presentation near the end of a recent school year, I was chatting with parents of my young students. In conversation with one mom who works in a very impressive, high power field, she mentioned how happy she was that her extremely bright son was integrated with the rest of the class, instead of segregated as he had been the year before. Not understanding exactly what she meant, I was slightly confused when she stated, “You seem to let them be who they are.”

With her and her husband looking on, I burst out laughing. “Who else would I expect them to be? The world only needs one of me.” However, I suspected I knew what they meant. In a time when data is more important than individuality, creativity or innovation, there is an expectation that students produce the same final product. In fact, I am supposed to provide a model for them to pattern after. However, my developmental-social cognitive philosophy prevents me from rigidly adhering to such a strictly behaviorist approach to learning and more than once accepted an alternate assignment from this parent’s intelligent young son.

I am not so arrogant to think my students cannot come up with a more interesting story or captivating idea than I can. In reality, one of the things I love about teaching is that I get to read ideas from many different people who haven’t yet learned to believe that their ideas will never work. Their imagination is not yet jaded and the confidence in doing the impossible is not yet pricked.

So yes, I try to let them be who they are and they in turn, let me be who I am—and that is a pretty fabulous arrangement.

Joy in the Journey

Up until recently my commute, although not nearly as stressful as others in the San Francisco Bay Area, could sometimes be frustrating after a long, stressful day at work. I find myself impatient and irritable by the various impediments or slowdowns, whether they come in the form of inopportune pedestrians or slowly driving cars. Occasionally, however, vignettes of life penetrate my perturbation and remind me of the joy in living.

Once after an irritating day with too many tasks to complete in too little time and too little appreciation received when completed exceptionally, I found my irritation rising when forced to stop mid-street for an elderly pedestrian accompanying a small child on a tiny bicycle with training wheels. Although initially piqued by this time-stopping delay, as I watched their measured progress across the wide street, I suddenly found myself thinking fondly of years before when I learned to ride a bicycle. In that moment, a lengthy delay morphed into a moment of wonder as I shared the history-making experience of a youngster learning the delight of self-propelled wheeled motion. Transformed by serendipity.

The next day, I left work a little earlier than customary and after stopping by my favorite eating place—a place where, Nick, the young man who makes my coffee and toasts my bread, knows my name, and the fare is organic and fresh—I found myself in the thick of commute traffic that was nearly stock still. To avoid the overwhelming stress of brake and accelerate traffic, I opted for a circuitous route that took me twice as long as the normal course would have, but with far fewer vehicles to compete.

As I found myself at an extremely long red light waiting to turn left on a major street, the melody of a popular song booming from the car next door penetrated my simmering irritability at the tedious length of the light. Turning to look at the vehicle, I was surprised and utterly amused to find a 40-, or perhaps early 50-, something singing and grooving along with the music. I struggled to maintain my deadpan gaze and to not gawk at the free entertainment, but could scarcely keep from rubbernecking all the same. To my chagrin, my fellow commuter’s green light came first. Though I lost my entertaining spectacle, I gained freedom to enjoy my ill-concealed mirth.

For that brief moment, it was almost as though I were looking into a mirror. Considering how many times I have boosted the sound on the radio, allowing a favorite or apropos tune to drown out clamoring thoughts from the day that were loath to be otherwise silenced, I realized that though I might be alone in my car, I was not alone in the effort to leave drudgery behind by choosing to revel in a spontaneous celebration of the miracle of being alive.

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2024 Hijacked

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑