My Utterly, Quiet Truth

"Just when the caterpillar thought the world would end, it became a butterfly."

The teacher and the writer are at war. My heart hurts from that realization and as I draw it around me, allow it to settle, I pull all of you close, gathering your strength. You've waited for me for months. I have been silent at the keys of my laptop. But in my mind, there is always so much noise. And the crux of my problem is this...because of my teaching career, which I have returned to with gusto, there are many things I must sacrifice from my writing career. I have to frequently keep so many truths utterly quiet, and this fact strikes at the very heart of the writer soul. The why...is complicated.

Without going into a host of mind-numbing fact, or writing a dissertation, I'll try to explain how I have come to be where I am now. First, in my experience, public education in America is a ridiculous mess. At the top, where policy makers and politicians make sweeping decisions for education, frequently those decisions come colored with a slant towards political gain. This, often, is devoid of any true regard for what is best for our children. And I know for most of you reading this, it's not a stretch to imagine that those with real power rarely give thought to those without, instead working with the intention of either holding their own power, or gaining more, no matter the cost. Second, you have all of those in the middle (i.e. your school boards, Central Office personnel, administrators, etc.) who are trying to follow the mandates of those at the top, while also fielding the demands of parents, community, and whomever else shows any interest (or criticism) of the entire process, fondly known as "stakeholders". At the third level, you have educators, curriculum coordinators, teaching assistants, etc., catching and executing anything and everything thrown at them from above. And did I mention we haven't even gotten to the most difficult parts yet? 

Finally, we arrive at the children, themselves. And here, I must ask you dear reader, to go back. Let your mind wander back to a time when you were just starting to become old enough to ask yourself some pretty scary questions like, "Do I fit in?" "Will so-and-so's group accept me?" and lest we forget (insert shudder here) "Hey, what about that cute guy/girl?" "How can I get him/her to notice me, like me?" At this precipice of our lives, we're all pretty much in the same boat with that angsty preteen/teen phase. Now add on some very heady life-problems that their parents, siblings, grandparents, etc. are dealing with...problems that are horrifying to deal with when you're an adult, and almost unimaginable from a child's perspective. Then, try to focus and impress upon said child the importance of high...stakes...testing. And yet, we must. That is our reason for existence in their lives, right? To educate them (which in the political world means get them to perform appropriately on said high stakes testing). That way we, the adults, can all pat ourselves on the back. We did our jobs, see? Look at "these" results. They show a child "well-educated". Don't they? And now we have arrived at the lies. Instead of pontificating about them, here is where I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions about the "system", so to speak. Instead, this is what I see every moment of every day that I walk into a classroom...

I see little ones, or blossoming young humans all struggling to name, identify, and make sense of the very real grown-up world going on around them. I see numerous opportunities to help them fall in love with books that will not only teach them things, but take them away to a place that shuts out the uncertainties of this world for a little while and lets them imagine endless possibilities of what else "can be". I see a hundred ways, a thousand ways to plant nurturing seeds of curiosity, growth, exploration, and ideas for a better world and attempt, with love and support, to convince them that they have the power to make that vision of the world come true. It is one of the highest, purest forms of love I know how to give. And when it is done, when my time with them is complete, I feel hope. I feel hope that I have armed them with something useful well beyond myself and my tiny role in their lives. I hope that I have given them a kernel of beauty to hold on to long after the world has turned bleak again. When they go, they take away pieces of me. In this, I am not unique. Over the years, I have come to know many other educators, administrators, police officers (SRO's), curriculum coordinators, counselors, etc. that do the same, want the same. It is an exhausting process that frequently comes at a very high price (low pay, little respect, impossible expectations, etc.), but it is also one of the single, most beautiful endeavors my life is a part of. I believe it is the love of such important work that brings many to the education profession in the beginning. This is also used against them, where the ugly lies begin, perhaps the biggest being the excuse used to justify underpayment of those in the profession. "Teachers don't go into it for the money." Laughably true, and spoken to me verbatim from a politician in Arizona who was looking to cut funding to education, AGAIN, and had only that platitude to offer. "This mess in education isn't my fault," he said. A comfort, I'm sure, to all the thousands of children counting on him (and others) to have their best interest at heart. 

Now, the writer in me has more, much more blood to spill, frustrations to share...but the practical, self-preservation part of me must stop. The deeper truths must remain utterly quiet and pulling them back, swallowing them down is HaRD. It is enough, has to be enough, that I know them, that I can share them in the smallest of circles when they won't stay down another moment, lest they eat me alive like some black bile burning me from the inside. It is enough to know that those close enough to me to keep and protect my counsel will, with a complete lack of judgement. I couldn't function in the world "outside" without having Safe Harbour to come home to, there's just too much injustice about it that would make my head explode. I will learn how to get past the war happening inside of me right now, and when I do, I will come here with much more frequency. Until then, I am so grateful to all of you who keep coming back even in my long absences. I check. I feel you close. I have folded your support into the walls and roof of my Safe Harbour.

Here I remain,

Lovingly Yours...

​A.

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