In America...?

 In America...? 


Let's back it up.


I was a college student in the world of Education in 2004, and I have been a professional in the world of education since 2007. I LOVE THIS FIELD! Even if the professionals in this field are not held in anywhere near the esteem they deserve. Phew. I know so many of us know the value of educators; yet, the way educators have been undervalued and under attack, and the way so many armchair critics have decided they know better than professional educators.... PHEW! 


It's like we are trying to single-handedly undermine the lowest paying field that requires the greatest amount of higher ed commitment. 


In case you haven't noticed, the education field is DYING. 


College students see the writing on the wall. It's nearly impossible to make a living wage in the education field. And it has become thankless... Joe Schmo at the school board meeting is convinced indoctrination is happening and shows up with his pitchfork fully committed to condemning teachers. 


TEACHERS! 


Teachers. Who love kids through thick and thin and want the very best for them.... and who WILL NEVER make enough money for their time, effort, and expertise. They do it because they love it. They do it because they love kids. They do it because they believe in the possibilities of society because of what an educated populace can bring to society. But folks who have zero experience in the classroom are DRIVING teachers away from the classroom and prospective teachers away from the field. Cool.


THE THING I LOVE MOST ABOUT THE FIELD OF EDUCATION.... is what I learn from my colleagues and students.


I was teaching in Los Angeles in 2017 when I chaperoned a field trip to the Holocaust Museum. There was a spiral walkway in the museum that had portraits of Holocaust survivors. I was not prepared for the number of my students who would say, "That's my great uncle." "That's my great aunt." "That's my grandfather. " I had to work to keep my composure. My 8th graders were pointing out their personal connections to this devastating, dark, horrific time in humanity's collective past.


And then.... We had a guest speaker come and speak to our 8th graders.


One of my students had a great uncle who survived the Holocaust. His great uncle came to our school. He shared his story. This afternoon in 2017 is embedded in my mind and heart.


Just as much as his survival of the Holocaust, his insight into current events was so impactful. He talked about receiving in the mail the Time Magazine issue that declared Donald Trump the 2016 Person of the Year. He said that he sent the magazine back to Time, but before doing so, he wrote something on the cover:


In America?


This man who survived the Holocaust. This man who was keenly aware of the signs of fascism. This man who came to America after the ATROCITIES of a fascist regime. He knew. He loved America. And this America that he loved. This America he came to for refuge. This America I LOVE... was somehow on such an unexpected, yet familiar, track.


In America?



This question lives with me. It haunts me. It drives me. 


In America?


The events that have unfolded in Minnesota. Where families are being ripped apart. Where Americans are being murdered by the government in the streets. WHO ARE WE?! What is happening?


In America?


A few years ago, the school where I work came under an orchestrated political attack with CRT as the scapegoat. It was wild. It was also the 2020-2021 School Year. The school where I work had been open. We welcomed our students and our families in-person (and made arrangements for remote learning for students/families who weren't comfortable with in-person learning). We did the thing! We taught in masks. We social distanced. We changed so many of our procedures to do the best we could to keep our community together during a cluster of a time. 


And a few families with political agendas rallied early in the spring semester of 2021. Nothing original. Everything was from a political playbook one could easily find with a Google search. And it snowballed. A few families turned into a few dozen families. And before we knew it, they were personally attacking professional members of our community - teachers and administrators. 


Before I knew it...


I was also being attacked. Parents were trolling my social media accounts. A student written article about my efforts to build community was the front page of a "packet" that this group was leaving on donor doorsteps. 


Literally my face...


Was the Face...


Of what these families were railing against. We were a school. A school of educators. A school of educators who love children. A school of educators who love children that had kept its doors open during a global pandemic. And this was the reaction of 30+ families. 


We had bent over backwards to maintain a sense of structure and normalcy. And this was the response of 30+ families. Right here. At our School.


In the middle of America. 


We just kept loving their kids. Our kids. We just kept doing our jobs. But, if I'm being super honest, despite our best professional face forward, we have not forgotten who those families were. 


We will never not love their children. That's impossible. But we will never forget the parents who lost their minds in the form of political propaganda that convinced them we were trying to indoctrinate their children. They thought WE were guilty of indoctrination? 


LoL. 


I wish I could have been those parents' teacher. Critical thinking skills are so important. They missed that lesson somewhere.


In America. They missed those lessons in America.


The competing realities in America right now [and for the last decade] are wild! Like how is it possible that we are looking at the exact same thing and perceiving such different realities?! I'm about to sound ancient of days, but I think social media is actually the bane of our collective existence. I post things on social media, but I don't spend a lot of time consuming the opinions of others on social media.


Why?


I just don't think it's the right platform. I have seen the videos of the deaths of Renee Good and Alex Pretti. I actually don't care much what anyone else has to say about the videos. With my own two eyes, from all the angles, I can confidently say I believe they were both murdered at the hands of a federal agency. I don't need to see or hear anyone else's analysis for my own two eyes and brain to know that they were killed by the government of the United States. And I think it is WRONG. And yet. It is happening here.


In America.


In early 2017, when the Holocaust survivor came to to visit the students at the school where I worked, he was still asking... How is this happening...?


In America?


It's not a question in 2026. This is happening. Right here. Right now. 


In America.


OUR AMERICA! 


The magical thing about humanity and history is that we all have just a few short decades in the grand scheme of things to be alive


To speak up. 


To make a world we want to live in and leave for future generations. In addition to thinking "In America?" When something happens, I am now thinking "Is this OUR America?" 


Is this the America we want?


Is this the World we want?


I used to feel anchored in a particular denomination in the wider religion of Christianity. In my adult life, I have found singular ideas of God/religion too limiting, but I do hold tightly to a foundational Christian ideal. It's found in the Gospels of the Bible. Here is it from Matthew 22:


34 But when the Pharisees heard that He had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together. 35 Then one of them, a lawyer, asked Him a question, testing Him, and saying, 36 “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the law?”
37 Jesus said to him, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ 38 This is the first and great commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ 40 On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.”

Love is the answer, and I will never not be convinced of that.

Love, in America? Not right now, but it's possible. If we make it so.

Love. 

In America?

Yes.

It's up to us. 

WE are America.

Let it be so.


Part of the Legacy of Joan

One of my wildest dreams came true today! Jake and I were in the basement watching a movie when we saw a flash of white go past our basement windows toward our garage. When the flash of white moved back down our driveway, Jake went upstairs to see what was going on. The flash of white belonged to the habit of Maria, a granddaughter of the original owners of Joan. Her grandparents lived here for 41 years, from 1938-1979. Her grandfather, Henry Faulkner, worked for General Mills, and her grandmother played organ and piano for silent films. They had three children, Joanne, Jack, and William. They moved here when Joanne (Jan) was 16 and William was 11. William is Maria's father.
Maria's family moved to Minnesota and would come and visit grandparents every summer - their country grandparents in Norman, and their city grandparents right here. When Maria was 4.5, she fell down the stairs and chipped her front tooth. We have only lived here for three years, but I have thought numerous times about all of the lives that happened here before we arrived. This happens most often when I am helping Magnolia in the bath. I wonder how many children have left rings around the tub in the last 82 years. It was wonderful to put a face with the wondering.

Maria spoke highly of her aunt Joanne, that she could do anything, and even regularly swam in the Pacific Ocean in her 90s. I love that Joan's name came to me when I was walking down her stairs one one morning and that it shares similarities with someone who lived here first. Maria's grandmother had a sister named Magnolia, "Aunt Maggie."

Maria and her friend, Teresa, both live in south OKC. I feel like I just met two old friends. Teresa has already invited us over for pho, as well as told me she would teach me all the ways of Vietnamese cuisine. Looking forward to the time we can make it happen.

I am just so thrilled about all of it. (Minus the fact that I was still in my pajamas. Yes, I am wearing one of Magnolia shirts.)



An Open Letter to My Daughters About Hope

Dear Cora and Magnolia,

I want to talk to you a bit about Hope. As we enter into this Easter, the Easter of 2020, I want you to know the profound power of Hope. Barack Obama once wrote a book titled The Audacity of Hope. I listened to it on audiobook when Cora was a baby. I remember one afternoon listening to it, crying, while scrubbing the floors in our home on Hudson while Cora was sleeping. I remember nothing of the book in this moment, and all politics aside, I want you to think about audacity and hope and what it means to combine those things.
Audacity: a willingness to take bold risks
Hope: grounds for believing something good may happen; a person or thing that may help or save someone. 
I want you to always have a sense of audacity. And I want you to always have hope.

Easter, to me, is the ultimate symbol of hope. Humankind might die and, in doing so, rise to defeat Death. Is that not our ultimate Hope? That through living Life to the end, we might overcome it?

You are tenth generation members of the Mormon Church. Let me say that again, "You, My Dears, are tenth generation benefactors of a restoration legacy that is the Mormon faith." A faith sown in personal relationship with the Savior - with the teachings of Jesus Christ. A faith built upon the belief that you can be personally connected with God, and that God will lead and guide you as you lean into a meaningful relationship with Him[Her]. A faith that Jesus Christ came to teach an example of Love so selfless that He would give His own life for us. And after being rejected to the cross, dying, being placed in a tomb, He would, on the third day, rise again, come forth to find the ones He loved, and share with them that he had overcome Death to be with them again. Death: that great mystery.

This is Hope.

And just like I have Hope, though no Knowledge, that a physical resurrection might be so, I have hope that this great faith lineage of which you are a part of might be the inclusive faith of my dreams. The faith I know it can be. There are so many layers to hope. If not a physical resurrection, a way for our spirits to live on.

But this is my ultimate Hope, the thing I know: my ultimate Hope is Love. I have Hope that Loving the least of these is the right way to live life. I have Hope that caring for and lifting one another and creating connection and building relationships is the way we make a better world. I have Hope that Seeing people is loving them.
When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.  
Sit with people; be with people; get to know people. Love people.

Let Love be your legacy. Regardless of what is known or can never be known in this life, know that your Love will leave a lasting impact. Just as the love of Jesus, in his daily life, and in his final act, transformed the thought of what we could be to one another, know that your Love is transformative and powerful. Your Love is the ultimate example.

Be audacious. Be hopeful.

You are so loved, and I know that you are so full of love. Give it freely. Love is never wasted. Love is the one thing I know will out live you. The Love you give in this life will transcend this life. Your ultimate power will be the way you love others.

Live, Love, and Hope audaciously.

Let it be so. For you, for me, and for everyone.

With all of my heart,
Mama

Something New About Somewhere Old - Northwest Classen High School

Tonight Cora and I ran to the grocery store for a few things. When we got back to the car, Cora turned on the Into the Woods soundtrack. It happened to start at the very beginning. And to get in good listening time, we took the long way home. 

After weaving through neighborhoods and going a few miles around, we ended up at Northwest Classen High School. I have done this before with my girls, but as I took Cora around to the east side of the building to show her where my first classroom was, she asked me if she was born before or after I worked there. I told her she was born while I was working there. And then it occurred to me that I had never shared a very important part of the story with her....
This is actually where I went into labor with you!

(The arrow is pointing to the location of my classroom. NWC is HUGE.)

It's true. So I drove her around so we could look through the doors into the hallway where I realized something wasn't quite right on the morning I went into labor. School started before my doctor's office was open, and I was teaching a first period class, so I taught for 20 minutes, then went to call my doctor at 8. The nurse told me to go to Labor and Delivery to get checked out. I was only 32 weeks along. I went back to class, finished teaching, and then went down to the office. I needed a ride to the hospital, and Jake was in Norman at OU. My car had been hit on MLK Day 2008 while parked in the street in front of our house and was at the repair shop. Jake had dropped me off at work on this day, of all days, that it would have been helpful to have my own transportation.
(The stairway is lit up. My classroom is the two long sets of windows on the second floor just to the right of the stairway in the photo.)

I was quietly explaining what was going on to someone, and before I knew it, a message had been put out on the walkie-talkie that I needed a ride to the hospital. Soon several people were around me, including our principal who walked up asking if we needed to call an ambulance. No amblulance required. :) One of the assistant principals gave me a ride to Saint Anthony, walked me in, and made sure I got settled. Her act of love and concern still means so much to me. When I was hooked up to the monitors and checked by a nurse, I was dilated to a two and having contractions every two minutes. It was an Aha Moment - A contraction! That's what that sensation has been! On the second check, my cervix started gushing blood; I thought that sensation was my water breaking. I was immediately taken in for an ultrasound to make sure my placenta was attached and where it should be. It was. The rest of my hospital stay and three weeks of labor is a story I will save for another time.

Northwest Classen is where I became a teacher, and it also held many people who I love dearly and who were around me as I stepped into motherhood. I was walking down the hall when Joe Quigley said, "I hear you're in the family way." I didn't know what that meant; I had never heard it before. So, that is also where he explained to me what it meant to be in the family way. And I was glad he asked because I never quite knew how to break the news to anyone.
(The entry is lit up. Joe Quigley's old classroom is on the first floor just the the left of the entry and is where I did my first round of student teaching before moving to Northeast Academy for student teaching round two.) 

It was also where I whispered to Mickey Winn that I had started spotting when I was 10 weeks along with Cora. She grabbed my arm, gave me a hug, and covered my class when I went to the doctor to have my bloodwork done. My first pregnancy had ended in miscarriage at 12 weeks. I was actually miscarrying during my first week of student teaching with Joe Quigley at Northwest during my senior year of college. I was terrified that I was going to lose my pregnancy with Cora as well. After I left my doctor, I sat in my car and wept, pleading with God to let me keep this one. She stayed.

Becky Feldman and Mickey, both English teachers, were the perfect women to have around. They had both experienced such joy in motherhood. They had both been involved with La Leche League and were so wonderfully supportive and helpful with my breastfeeding journey, which had a few hurdles with Cora being born prematurely at 35 weeks. They visited me during the previously mentioned hospital stay. They visited me at home when I had a newborn. They organized a baby shower at work after Cora was born because I had been in the hospital in preterm labor when mine was supposed to be. They were always there when I needed them.
(Our neighborhood is at the very top of this photo, just east of (above) where Shepherd Lake used to be.)

Cora's face lit up when I told her I went into labor with her at Northwest. I retired from teaching after my first year there. I ended up staying home with my children for 7.5 years before returning to work. We haven't been inside Northwest Classen since Cora was a baby. I would love take my girls in and show them around. In addition to holding a tender place in my heart, Northwest is also a Midcentury dreamboat. So many reasons to schedule a visit. So many reasons I will always be grateful for this place. It's highly unlikely that I'm the only woman who ever went into labor there in its nearly 70 years of existence, but it was fun to tell that little part of our collective story tonight to an almost 12 year old who had quite the fanbase at Northwest ready and waiting to welcome her into the world.

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