Growing Pains

As Amelia grows up, she is more and more like me. Her red hair, brown eyes, lanky figure and dimple on her right cheek are just the beginning of our similarities. At four, her personality has begun to emerge. She is an observer, more comfortable to stand on the outside of the action until she gets a feel for it; she isn't one to jump right in to the fray. Though she sings and dances and laughs and makes jokes at home, she rarely does so in public. Her preschool enrichment teacher says that she rarely talks; it takes a long time for someone to work their way in to Amelia's circle of trust. She is incredibly sensitive and emotional. If she is defying me in some way, all I have to do is say that I am sad and she will almost always comply. She is also able to express the way she is feeling at a depth that is unusual for a child of her age.

It is a bittersweet thing to see myself reflected in Amelia. When I watch her draw for hours, making up stories about her characters, I celebrate her imagination. When the question, "why" follows every little thing I say, I celebrate her curiosity. When her brown eyes sparkle with laughter over a "joke" she made up, I celebrate her sense of humor. I love these things about her because she gets them from me. Then, there are other times. There are times when she lingers behind my legs, too shy to engage with other kids at a birthday party. I admit that I cringe a little bit when she refuses to go down the inflatable slide or jump in the bounce house because she is scared. And sometimes when her emotions swing dramatically hot and cold, I wish that she had inherited her father's temperament. I struggle with these things because she gets them from me, and throughout my life, these qualities were painful.

Amelia's bright little life will not be hindered by my emotional baggage. I made that decision a long time ago. However, I have dreams for Amelia. As parents, our dreams never involve our children experiencing pain, but I know that if I want her to excel in her gifts, I also must relinquish her to her flaws. I know that some of my flaws became scars in the wake of a very difficult adolescence; some of them, admittedly, by my own consequence. What this has taught me is that pain is inevitable; I can not and will not eliminate this reality for her. I also realize that what I may see as flaws in myself, depending on how they manifest themselves in her, may become a part of Amelia's beauty. That's why, I stand back, hold my tongue and focus on her gifts: her bountiful imagination, her curiosity about the world, her off-beat sense of humor. I will teach her to lead with these gifts and let the rest fall away.

Taxidermy and Collard Greens

A sample of what one might hear on a day in a rural Alabama middle school:

Chris: Mrs. Burgess, I can't ever do my homework.

Mrs. Burgess: Why can't you do homework, Chris?

Chris: Because I have a garden: 136 collard greens. No time for homework!

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Mrs. Burgess: Tyler, why aren't you doing your work?

Tyler: I'm going to juvi tomorrow and I ain't coming back, so why should I work?

Mrs. Burgess: juvi?

Tyler: I'm up for two felonies...

Mrs. Burgess: What did you do?

Tyler: Attempted murder and killing a cat. But Mrs. Burgess, I swear I didn't kill that cat!

Mrs. Burgess: Um, ok.

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*Cody (yelling from across the room): Mrs. Burgess!! When I get my deer head back from the taxidermist, can I bring it in to show you?

Mrs. Burgess: How about you bring a picture...

*Cody is also the student who, on the Monday after we read The Raven, brought me a REAL (and freshly dismembered) crow's foot. He says I'm his favorite teacher. Sweet, but can't I just get an apple?

Miles to Go Before I Sleep

I've been teaching for almost ten years. In those ten years, I've worked at many different schools, with a diverse cross-section of students. I've taught students who are filthy rich and dirt poor; students who have spent time in rehab, or had a parent pass away, or are themselves in remission from cancer. I've seen students come to terms with being gay and or their parents' divorce. And seven years ago, a bunch of ninth graders and I muddled our way through a tough day in September. Though my teacher shoes are fairly worn in, I find myself this week in the midst of another first: the death of a student.

Ryan had long hair that hung in front of his blue eyes- the kind of hairstyle popular with teenage boys in the South. He didn't talk much, though he had developed a deft note passing technique. I never wrote him up, never had to call his parents, and never really got to know him. He got a "B" on his poetry quiz on Friday. On Saturday morning, he got on a four wheeler with his cousin, drove it through a stop sign and into a speeding pick-up truck. On Sunday afternoon, he died.

I knew Monday would be emotionally exhausting. Dealing with death is something that most adults are unable to gracefully navigate. Thirteen-year-olds can't navigate their way to the restroom, let alone deal with the death of a classmate. I thought long and hard about the best way to go forward. In the end, I decided to acknowledge to my students that it was a hard day, but that we needed to proceed normally. We learned how to diagram the rhyme scheme of a Robert Frost poem, and they quietly and obediently took it in. They didn't argue. They didn't yell at each other from across the room. Some kids put their heads on the desk, and I didn't bother them. Throughout the day, several girls broke in to sobs, and I sent them to the counselors who had gathered in the library. One student (even as Ryan's empty desk sat across the room from him), made a perverse comment about what the scene of the accident might have looked like. He laughed about it as his classmates around him cried. I sent him to the principal's office. He was the only one.

Overall, we fought our grief by walking through our day as we usually do. I think that my students found comfort in routine; I know I did. Beyond that, I was proud of the way that they handled themselves, and the way they treated each other. For whatever reason (this is a whole other post), I have struggled immensely with this particular group of students. But I have hope. Ryan's death forced us to be human. It forced me to stop focussing (for a moment) on whether or not they're able to make their subjects and verbs agree, and it forced them to stop focussing on themselves.

Tag

So, I was tagged by Jen a while back and forgot. Now, I have insomnia and I'm doing something about it. Without further ado:

1. I have insomnia BAD. A few times a month (like tonight, most likely), I'm up close to all night long. I've had this problem since high school. I have memories of baking cookies and cleaning my room in the middle of the night, and then going straight to school without having slept at all. During my most recent bouts of insomnia, the only thing I have the energy to do is surf the net and watch backlogged episodes of House Hunters on DVR.

2. I love rhubarb. I'll buy it pretty much any time I see it at the grocery store, and go straight home and make a pie out of it...and then pretty much eat it all myself since my husband is too disciplined to eat pie. If you've never seen rhubarb, it looks like red celery:)

3. When I'm nervous or deep in thought, I rub my eyebrows. I just love the way they feel.

4. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I put my foot in my mouth a lot. I have little tolerance for social norms and hierarchies. I am not a fan of status quo. As a pastor's wife, this sometimes works for me, and is sometimes to my detriment. But I think there is little chance that I am going to change any time soon, so I work on not insulting people, and then I just roll with the rest...

5. I love completely useless television. I am currently a fan of "Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders: Making the Team, Season 3" on CMT. I LOVE it. I really don't know why. I also enjoy "The Hills," and "The Real Housewives of Orange County." Please don't judge me.

6. I hate small talk and I'm terrible at it. I recently left a party in tears because Dave was absorbed by the masses, and I was left alone to make chit-chat with people I hardly knew. It felt like a junior high school dance all over again. For this same reason, I also despise talking on the telephone.

7. I try to keep a bag of tootsie rolls in my freezer at all times. They're better frozen because they take longer to eat...though I usually can't stop with just one handful:)

According to the rules, I am supposed to "tag" seven other people. Quite honestly, I don't even know seven other people who blog. I don't even know if seven people read THIS blog. Sorry, no tags tonight.

Flower Power

For the past several months, I have found an outlet of sorts with a group of girls in Eufaula. All of us have three year olds and way too much laundry, so we can relate. Last week, the four of us took a floral arranging class where we made these amazing cornucopia centerpieces. Times when I get to be creative make me realize how much of my time is spent maintaining: putting things away, cleaning up, organizing, making meals, washing little faces, brushing teeth and wiping bottoms. I really don't mind doing these things. In fact, I love taking care of my family, but I get so wrapped up in day-to-day stuff that I can easily forget how much more there is to life. Every once in a while, spending an hour playing with flowers is heaven.