My Parents

I was seven years old. We lived on a farm in southeast Kansas. I had two pairs of jeans, one pair of sneakers, and one pair of church shoes. We had chickens and hogs, so we ate eggs and pork. When the wind blew, the curtains flew in our house. The upstairs was sealed off in the winter; we bathed in sweat in the summer. Tin can lids sealed the holes the mice made by mice. At times, the plumbing broke down and we used the outhouse and outdoor cistern. We were poor, but I was unaware. I was a child, and I was adored.

There was never a girl luckier than I. Both my parents doted on my sister and I. Dinner was served every night at the table after we prayed. Mom and dad read to my sister and I, tucked us in, and said prayers every night. We played cards and games on Friday nights and went to church on Sunday mornings. When I did wrong, I was punished. When I did right, I was celebrated. I was loved.

It was an understatement to say money was tight. Money was nonexistent. At seven, I did not comprehend this. I had stars in my eyes and a burning desire. I wanted to play softball. I asked my parents if I could join the team. Neither of them either told me it was a sacrifice, but I know, now, that it had to be. Mom and dad made it happen. One day, dad came home from his day job (carpentry) to his night job (farming and raising hogs) with a ball glove. Not any glove, this was a beauty. Pure leather, cow smell, and mine . . . all mine. My toys fit in a Guys potato chip box. I could count my books on my fingers. Most of my clothes were made by mom. I can not express the shock and pleasure that came with this present. It wasn’t my birthday or Christmas, but here was a treasure for ME. I still feel a rush as I relish the memory.

This was just the beginning. My parents nurtured my love affair with softball until I was ready to let it go. Both mom and dad played catch with my sister and I evening after evening. Both worked, cared for animals, and farmed. All meals were cooked a home. Convenience foods were not a part of our lives. Clothes were sewn, the house was a constant battle . . . each day was work; but, they made time for us. My parents played with me. Taught me to catch, throw, and bat. Took me to games. Cheered me on.

Of course, they did this because I was talented and destined to receive awards and scholarships . . . WRONG!!!!!! I stunk. Few children had less athletic talent than I. I was disciplined, dedicated,and I loved the game; but, it was hard for me. Softball was a struggle. My time on the bench exceeded my time on the field by far. My parents’ devotion would have been justified if they were sitting in the stands watching a prodigy, but they weren’t. They cheered, supported, and celebrated just because they loved me. I can not express my love and gratitude. Everything good that I am, all I have or will accomplish, and any contribution I will make is a result of my parents.

Compassion

My youngest daughter is clever, kind, loving, brave, creative, hilarious; and, she has heart disease. Right or wrong, I would love to remove this burden for her; but, that’s not our reality. The reality is that while this disease has created it’s share of pain, it has provided many, many wonderful experiences for us as well.

Her most recent procedure was earlier this month. It was minor (not open-heart), but it was the first she has had in over a year. My dolly had forgotten many of the discomforts of surgery, and she was not prepared. The insertion of the IV, waking up sore and confused, and spending a day without being able to sit up were unusual experiences for a little girl. This could be devastating. Thanks to a wonderful hospital with amazing staff and incredible volunteers; they were not. She received exceptional care. Nurses soothed and smiled. A volunteer visited with a therapy dog. Care partners brought movies and activities. The doctors were honestshemy girl talked on and on about the toy room, the chocolate ice cream she was served, and how she wanted to be a doctor when she grew up. I am so grateful that she wants to emulate, not fear, doctors. How wonderful that she has fond memories of her hospital experience.

While the professionals cared for my girl, my parents took care of me. Multiple surgeries have been a part of our lives. Mom and dad have been present for every one. Because they are retired? Nope, both work full time. Because I asked them to? Not at all, I would not have burdened them. Because I am an only child? Hardly! There are seven of us. My parents make family THE priority. They are two of the least selfish people I have ever known. I am humbled by their selflessness.

There’s more. The calls and messages I received from family and friends are countless. Throughout our many hospital stays, we have been showered with love and support. Her friends have sent handmade artwork. My friends and students have called, prayed, messaged, sent gifts, mowed my lawn, cared for my children, completed my shopping, visited, donated, and loved us. We are never alone.

Pope John XXIII stated, “If God created shadows it was to better emphasize the light.” The light in my life outshines the shadows. I do not welcome life’s pain, but I embrace the love and support that comes as a result. I am overwhelmed with compassion and love . . . I am blessed.

Friends Who Make Us Better

Self-pity does not look good on me, but I indulge now and then. On one of these occasions, I called a friend to complain about my daughter’s cardiologist. I had found the doctor to be brash and condensing. I felt insulted; I had not received the appropriate respect. My friend could have indulged my weakness and joined in my chorus of ‘poor me;’ but, she cared about my daughter and I, and she decided to set me straight. In no uncertain terms, she explained that the cardiologist was there to care for my daughter. My sensibilities were not the priority. The objective was not to feed my ego; it was to make sure my daughter received the best care.

Like many antiseptics, her words stung when they hit my wounds; and, like antiseptic, it killed an infection. My friend had told me what I NEEDED to hear, rather than what I WANTED to hear. It was a lesson I needed to learn. This is what real friends do.

I have had the privilege of spending the last two school years with a remarkable young man. His talent and potential for leadership are infinite. He is kind, compassionate, and tough all at the same time. During our time together, I have witnessed a metamorphosis. This young man was lost and angry twelve months ago. He struggled with school, the law, and himself. He was in pain, and it pained me to watch him. Then, he did something courageous; he chose to change.

It has been said that it is hard to feel sorry for yourself if your focus is on serving others. This student embraced this philosophy. He has not only turned his attitude and school performance around; he has transformed others. His influence has led many of his friends to improve their school performance and reflect upon what they need to do to maximize learning. He challenges their ideas and helps them monitor their behavior. He is creating the school community he wants. He is the change. He IS a true friend.

The more time I spend in my ‘lab’ at school; the more I witness this. Students are taking the time and making the effort to push one another. They are using their strengths to help one another. They are making the effort to reach out. Out of their cliques, out of their comfort zones, out of their insecurities. The children I love are becoming the adults I hope for. I am honored to watch them grow.

Things to Look Forward To:

• Sun
• Seeing my girls dressed up for prom
• Reading Junie B. Jones with my Monster Queen
• Watching her writing mature
• Witnessing kindness
• Summer Tomatoes
• When he grows into those hands
• Realizing their potential
• Seeing the women they will become
• High school graduation
• College graduation
• When they see their beauty
• Simple potato salad
• Girls Weekend!!!!!!

My Hero Is Slow

I sat beside a survivor this morning. The waves came, “lazy . . . half-assed . . . unacceptable . . . disorganized . . . off-task . . . stop cracking your knuckles . . . start doing your homework . . . listen to the teacher . . . don’t listen to that video. . . stay away from him . . . pay attention to her . . . “ On and on, but he stood. He didn’t run, he didn’t fight; he was slow.

Slow to anger

Slow to defend

Slow with excuses

Slow to criticize

Slow to complain

He was slow.

Maybe, we should all be slow.

Blessed To Be Inferior

I COULD sew on my own buttons, but Jasmine does such a fine job.

I WOULD make my own potato salad, but Keylin’s is better.

I INTENDED to carry it myself, but Cody was right there.

I THOUGHT about about creating a window, but Tyler was willing.

I WANTED to find the house myself, but I needed Saidee’s help.

I was ABLE to write the piece myself, but Kylee’s editing made it better.

I USED to teach by myself, but with Jo I am better.

I ONCE kept notes, but Marcia remembers for me.

There IS a manual, but I would rather have Michael fix it.

I HAVE sat at the hospital alone, but it is comforting to have my mom with me.

I DID have more free time, but my life is richer with kids.

Dependence

The first time I truly digested the reality of my place in the universe, I was crushed. The metaphor that drove this home compared a human being to a single grain of sand. Each person was a unit, and the units were endless. This, I hated. The determination to unhinge this theory consumed me. I would change the spin of the globe, be remembered, become outstanding. I would be significant.

Thank God, I am over that!

If this Marlise could visit with that Marlise, I would reassure her with a new metaphor. A puzzle. (Yes, I did pay my dues in kindergarten.) As long as I (emphasis on “I”) am choosing the metaphor, let’s make it a three-dimensional puzzle.

A puzzle? Each piece is different; each is essential. Each has a unique shape and pattern. Each has purpose. We support one another; we hold each other up. We are intertwined. We touch. We are all needed to make the whole, and when any piece is missing, we are all incomplete. Sometimes there is joy, sometimes pain; but, always we are together. This comforts me.

The burden of ‘outstanding’ has been lifted. I do not have to be the fastest, prettiest, smartest, strongest, boldest, wealthiest . . . I simply have to be kind and allow others to share these.

This is what I would tell that Marlise . . . but . . . she would not be ready to listen.

Mamma's Hope

Chubby fingers and a dirty nose

Cries for milk and help with clothes

Worn out jeans and big eyes blue

Needs a haircut and to tie his shoe

Velvet skin and sucks his thumb

Wants tummy full and a freshened bum

Long, gold hair and clothes just so

Yearns to text and go, go, go

Comb that hair; change those clothes

Take your pills; stop picking your nose

Eat your veggies; do your chores

Brush your teeth and don’t slam doors

Spit up dinner; pants on tight

Please, oh please, sleep through the night

Wash the dishes; do not talk trash

Put down the phone and leave my cash

Fill my arms; ease my fears

Justify my work and tears

Soak up life; stop to pray

Ask for help along the way

Be good, be strong, be brave and kind

Never leave your soul behind

Hold my hand and learn to dance

Give my life significance

Today, I will

Today, while some build houses and assemble cars; I will build tomorrow.

While some heal bodies and mend limbs, I will heal hearts.

While some drive highways and crunch numbers, I will crush ignorance.

While some are locked in prison and others fight crime, I will fight hatred.

While some sign paychecks and give tickets, I will listen.

While some preach ideals and legislate morals, I will live them.

Today, I will teach.

Kindness

Today, a student remembered that I had had a special weekend with my family and was thoughtful enough to ask how it went.

When discussing blogs with students, I mentioned I maintain a professional blog; but, I do not have any followers. Two of my students chose to follow me even though the subject matter would be of little interest to them.

I heard a girl compliment a boy who is routinely ridiculed.

A young lady brought a homemade casserole to school for me to sample.

I was complimented by someone on my ability to help with biology.

A child told me I am loved.