It’s the morning after Thanksgiving. Everything is in quiet repose. If we were bears, we’d all be preparing for winter’s hibernation after shamelessly gorging ourselves on heaps of sweet potato, mounds of stuffing, mountains of turkey, and piles of desert. I know I have a lot to be thankful for: a loving wife who is my best friend, two sons who are neat people, a daughter-in-law soon to be, close family, dear friends, good health, a rewarding passion for teaching, and a healthy outlook on life.

But, you know, as I looked out this quiet morning wishing I could walk the dark streets–my degenerating neck disks have been acting up for the last week or so and I have been placed under house arrest by my beautiful warden under threat of being shackled if I disobeyed–I got engulfed by an unexpected surge of thankfulness. Do you know what I really felt most thankful for at that moment? Never even thought about it before. Don’t ask me why it popped into my head. But, I am really thankful for having learned five years ago when I had my epiphany that it’s okay to make mistakes, that it’s really necessary to make mistakes, and now being able to make those mistakes.

But, until that fateful moment of self-revelation five years ago, MISTAKE was a devil who striped me of hope, faith, confidence, dreams, optimism and all those attitudes that power the bright light of creativity. I knew all too well how he and his cancerous minions can turn well-intentioned, capable, educated, talented, bright, alert people into frightened, paralyzed, submissisve servants, punching in and out, hiding behind closed doors and thick walls, nesting in safe little pigeon holes.

Now, remember I’m not taking about the students. We know about his work among them too well. But, from experience I am talking about how, like a deadly viper, hhis bite injects his paralyzing venom in the veins of too many of us educators.

Too many of us, though wont to admit it, have had the acquaintance of his insidious entourage whose number is larger than hell can hold. To paraphrase the Bard, too many oif us know all to well how in the darkness they create they can breed fearful imagination that can turn a bush into a raging bear.

Let me uncopver some Mistake’s loathesome horde whom I’ve had the displeasure of knowing. There is ugly “Imposter” who constantly goes around devilishly whispering in ears, “Go ahead and try it. But, remember, do you want them to think you’re not qualified to do that? Screw up and they’ll find out that you don’t have the expertise. You’ll lose your authority! They won’t admire and respect you. They won’t listen to you.”

His pimply comrade, “Accuser”, never ceases to impishly dance around, saying with a mocking smile, “Remember when you tried this before and you really messed it up? It’s not you. You don’t have it in you.”

Hunchedback “Humiliator” is ever perniciously snickering an eroding challenge, “Go ahead, but remember, they’re looking. Look like a fool. You only want to try this to look good.”

There’s creepy “Failure” constantly poking a spiny finger into ribs, “It’s not going to work anyway, so why try? Do you want them to see that you’re not up to it?”

Slimey “Perfectionist” is always singing taunts, “Why do it? It’s not worth much to think about in the first place. It’ll never be perfect. It’ll never meet your standards of excellence. Go ahead, put your reputation and values on the line. I dare you!”

And then there are Mistake’s two master henchmen, the dangerous, “Besides”, and “If Only.” They are the most conniving, deceptive of all these sons of darkeness. They disguise their bottled poisoning, paralyzing wares by romancing you with flattery, tempting you with escape, fooling you with the unrealistic, deluding you with false dreams. They cater to, patronize, pander: “Besides, why waste your time taking the risk when there are so many other things you can do with your time. If only your colleagues and students would understand. Besides, they won’t appreciate what you do. If only it was worth considering. Besides, if you don’t try it, you won’t fail, will you? If only there were more studies. Besides, there are still a bunch of options to consider before you… If only someone would notice. Besides, you don’t have to prove it to them. If only you had the time. Besides, whatever you is right! They’re all just jealous. If only you had the adequate resources. Besides, you’ll wear yourself out trying to do it ‘right.’ If only you could get enough support and encouragement to…. Besides, it’s too nice of a day to work. If only I could get the respect of…. Besides, it will never be totally effective anyway. Besides…. If only…. Besides…. If only…. Besides…. If only….

This despicable collection creates the foreboding sounds and sights of all the trouble that lies in risking a mistake. They tout all the difficulties that will be encountered, spotlight all the reasons for not striking out. They make every issue an insurmountable obstacle. Their insidious voices, selling fear, grab tight hold in constricting and restricting bear-hugs, half-nelsons, and hammer-locks: chests tighten, confidences drops, mouths dry, horizons lower, shoulders droop, paces slackened, guts rumbles, challenges are rejected, heads hurt, eyes look about, exhilaration dampens, feet go limp, the pot settles, stomachs sicken, waters are kept calm, and passion fades.

But I learned that the real mistake is in being afraid to make a mistake, not making one. We educators should not post “Mistake-free Zone. Violators will be prosecuted” signs around our institutions. We are in the mistake-making business. We are all in a profession and in disciplines the essence of which is probing, questioning, reaching out, stretching, searching, questioning, challenging without guaranteed results: trying a new dance step, scoring a new arrangement, developing a new story line, playing a role differently, writing a new computer program, testing a new treatment, introducing a new method. We shouldn’t be afraid of making mistakes. Mistakes takes are just opportunities for learning something new no less than are the successes. That’s what it should be all about, whether we talking about a choreography, a script, a score, a manuscript, a canvas, a test tube, a teaching technique; whether we’re in the studio, on stage, in the lab, in the classroom, out in the field, in the study, in the office. Even if the effort doesn’t work, it works; even if it goes no where, it’s arrived at somewhere. There is no failure in making mistakes. There is always value in making a mistake: the value of learning something new; the value of growing and developing something from it. And, that makes every experiment, every dare, every risk, every striking out, every investigation a success, a learning experience, and a teaching moment.

If we’re afraid of taking a turn at it for fear that it will not turn out, it will never be our turn. Never try to pull it off, and you’ll be pulled around. Be afraid of not looking good, and you won’t look good. Be hesitant of screwing up, and you’ve already screwed up your teaching. When you think it’s too far beyond you to try, it usually becomes so. When we start requiring guarantees, we’ve lost our faith. When we feed on safety, we’re dangerously starved. When we opt for security, when we’re afraid to be on the edge, we’ve lost our edge.

No, I learned that the second I think I can never make a mistake, I’ve made a doozie. The moment I show confidently I cannot err, I show my lack of confidence. The instant I am reluctant to admit that I am at a loss, I’m not worth much.

I came to see that if I am afraid of a “let’s see what happens”, I’ve cut off the fuel supply that keeps me burning. If I can’t risk an “oh, well. Back to the drawing boards” my life force is sucked out of me: how do I keep my balance on the forever shifting ground; how can I meet the constant differences and changes; how can I grow; how do I find my newness; how can I share; how can I be positive, patient, calm, passionate; how can I take a peek under or around or over; how can I be understanding of and forgiving of mistakes–including my own; how can I be humble, not take myself so seriously, and poke fun at myself; how can I know a lot about myself; how can I be real and reveal my fallabilites, show that I am human. I am after all; how can I have faith in myself, the students, and the greatness of teaching; how can I not be counted among the sheep.

I think it’s okay to be afraid and worried, but if I let Mistake and his dark minions rule me instead of converting my concerns into a creative energy, how can I learn, create, believe, dream, enjoy, wonder? And, when things cease to be mysterious to us, when we can no longer wonder aboout and marvel at, when we are unwilling to take a curious peek under the cover or look around the corner or peer over the wall, our minds have dulled, our eyes have dimmed, our ears have faded, our feelings have numbed, our step has halted, our muscles have loosened, our horizons have lowered, our creative energy has dissipated, our imaginative force has weakened, and we are as good as dead. We may be living, but we’re certainly not alive or enlivening.

I guess, then, if we’re afraid of a goof, how do we instil or help our students–much less ourselves–be more than skilled drones; to find the knowledge, the confidence, the words, the passion, the humanity, the power, the independence, the honesty, the excitement, the flexibility, the belief, the wisdom, the questioning, the joy, the ideas, the respect of themselves and others, the curiosity, the humility, the values, the passion and compassion, the awareness, the love, the beauty, the reverence, the thinking,

No, don’t think a quiet, resigned, safe, boring picnic with “ho-hum” is the way to meaningful and effective teaching. I think the only way to strive for success and effectiveness, the only way to embrace a “Wow”, is to have the courage to hold hands with an “Ooops.”

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

With my students are out of class, scurrying around campus as they worked on their next class project, I decided to stay in and fight the dolrums of a low-level but pernicious cold that won’t loosen it’s clutches and has kept me off the pre-dawn streets for the past week, the foot-dragging of the insurance company, and the distruption in our household wrought by the still not totally repaired damage tropical storm Josephine caused. As fate would have it, as I lay listlessly on the couch, over the cable DMX floated the soft, healing sounds of Nat King Cole crooning, “Smile.” It caught my ear because I have been uncharacteristically less smiley than usual. And, I thought about a comment a student made only yesterday. “Doc,” he said, “how come you’re not smiling as bright as you normally do and bringing your ‘let’s go you can do it’ bounce as much into class?

Well, I suddenly realized the role a smile can play in the classroom. I bounced off the couch and here I am tapping on the keyboard.

I know history very well. I teach it very well. There was a time not to long ago that I thought that was all I needed to know and to do. Now I know differently, that I needed to know and do more. I now understand that students need more than just subject matter transmitted to them. Now I teach people, not history. And, I seem to understand more now why I can’t touch all students– but how to touch a vastly larger number of them than I once could–than when I tried only to be the professing, information-transmitting historian.

And so, now I realize how a silent, sincere smile–not a perfuctory one–is a powerful teaching tool. It’s low tech, but high yield. Doesn’t cost anything, but it’s invaluable. It’s portable. So, it’s not nailed down to any particular place, but no one can rip it off. It takes very little maintenance, but it maintains a great deal. It takes very little energy to generate–doesn’t even need batteries, but it generates lots of energy and can charge your batteries and those of people around you. To have it you don’t need much, but it so often fulfills much need. I give it without any guarantees, but it is so often returned. It’s infectious, but keeps the classroom a healthier, brighter, livelier, and more productive place.

A smile is magical. It’s embracing. It’s relaxing. It’s exciting. It’s inviting. It’s curative. It’s invigorating. It’s reassuring. It’s a rejuvenating, creative force. I find that a smile puts a radiating light on my face, a sparkle in my eyes, a spring in my body, a livliness in my spirit, an enjoyment in my heart, a sincere caring in my greetings, a warmth in my words. It sharpens my sight; it hones my hearing; it heightens my awareness.

I find that when my lips and cheeks and spirit are uplifted in a smile, it is almost impossible to be down or down on me or anyone else. A hugging, friendly, reassuring smile, more than words, I think brings people closer together to respect and appreciate and value and believe in themselves and each other. It works wonders to help solve so many problems in the classroom, most of which have little to do with the subject.

I think so simple a thing as a silent, reassuring smile–positive, encouraging, and supportive–speaks volumes. It says, “I notice you.” “I’m glad you’re here and welcome you.” “I like you.” “I want you here.” “I know you’re important and valuable.” “I know you belong here.” “I know you’re talented and capable.” “I have faith in you.” “I will do whatever it takes to help you achieve.”

And I have discovered that as most students see the truth behind my smile, they feel better and happier and more confident. They begin to smile back at me and at themselves. I see not only that they are achieving more, but even more important I see them starting to believe in themselves more and like themselves more. Now, I can’t prove that methodically. I just know it.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

Had an interesting walk this morning. At least, I think I walked because it seemed to be over as soon as I left the house. I guess I was engrossed in toughts triggered by a touching telephone call I received yesterday afternoon from a new-found friend in Michigan, a kindred soul, a fellow traveler who told me how my sharing about John had helped her. We talked for a long while. She told a loving story of having buoyed up a student through her dark moments. It was inspiring. Then, one of us commented how those experiences like hers and mine are a heartwarming treasury of support, teaching, encouragement and teaching. And yet, they not only so often remain openly uncelebrated, but so many of us don’t allow ourselves to celebrate inside. That thought never left me and it surged within me this morning like a tidal wave. With each step a passionate message sent to me off-list in response to the experiences I shared about John flashed before me. I received that many. People shared their stories of those times they took that extra step and stepped outside themselves to help another human being. But, why do so many write in such a tone that I can almost see them hunched over, tense, eyes moving back and forth in their sockets, heads slightly sweeping in the same motion, hoping no one discovers them in their hiding place and threatens them with exposure. One friend, who told me excitedly how she encouraged an depressed ADHD afflicted student not to heed the naysayers but to chose his own attitude and decide his own way, ended her beautiful tale by saying repentantly, “I didn’t mean to go on so….I should pull in the reins of my excitement.” I ask myself, “Why? Why not go off at a full gallop and feel the wind of fulfillment blowing through your soul?” Another friend described working with a student and instiling the power of determination and optimism. He, too, ended his experience on a note of embarassment, “I feel self-conscious about tooting my own horn.” And, I ask myself, “Why? Why not go out into the streets and roust out all those out of their doldrums with the awakening notes of creation?” Still another wrote almost mournfully introduced her tale of love and connection, bwforw describing an experience about saving a student from comitting suicide that brought tears to my eyes, with “I shouldn’t be so boastful.” And I ask myself, “Why the hell not? Why should you feel damned because you gave a damn. You should you feel ‘touched in the head’ because you touched another person?” And a fourth e-mail friend, talking of an old student who ran up and gave her a hug and thanked her for inspiring him to become a life-long learner, ended her beautiful story by asking forgiveness, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to promote myself.” And I say, “You should! Go out and rent a billboard for all to see your excitement. Model what is possible, illuminate the path we all walk, to remind everyone that the important things in life–in the classroom–are hope and empowerment!”

Why should these people and so many others feel a need to hide their aliveness, to camouflage their greatness, to keep secret their caring, to cover hearts and spirits that are full of grace and are moved by love, to apologze for talking of their great accomplishments; why should they feel somewhat self-critical about having sworn themselves to touching other lives; why should they feel the need to tame their display of enthusiasm, have allowed the grinches to steal their Christmas, and the Scrooges to have cast a pall over their good cheer? Why have we all learned the lessons of self-consciousness so well, when we should be learning those of celebration?

So often, too often, far too often than not, we let people who say it shouldn’t be or cannot be done interrupt us who are doing it; we who reach out let others jump in and interfere with our peace; we let their icy winds of negativity blow through and chill down the warmth in our souls; we let their sucking leeches of pessism almost bleed us of our life-force; we let the stench of their harshness overcome the perfume of our compassion; we let the force of their doubting waters wear us down; we let their nightmarish sneers make us reluctant to live our dreams; we let their deadening bridles rein us in; we allow ourselves to be discounted when touching another human being counts so much; we hand over to them the authority to chain our boundless possibilities.

Why do so many of us hand over the keys to lock us away in solitary confinement; why do so many of us allow the spirited rock of our faith to be rocked by their spiritless faithlessness; why do we permit them to innoculate us with a creeping sickness of paralyzing self-consciousness; why do we surrender our voice to a shouting mob of finger-pointing naysayers, bah-humbugers, and pooh-hahers; why do we allow them to blot out the brightness of our sun with their overcast of cynical clouds; why do we allow their nit-picking to bug us; why do we so often permit them to inflict an amnesia that erases the reminders, however small, of WHY we are teachers; why do we offer them the power to almost take our lives right out of our hands and let us retain merely tattered remains?

Let me tell you a quick story. Unexpectedly, on the last day of one summer quarter class, when we were having closure, the students in one of my classes broadsided me. They presented me with a t-shirt. Everyone–well, almost–had signed it. On the shirt was printed the image of the Eveready pink bunny and the saying, “Because of you the fun of saving of our souls goes on and on and on.” I was surprised. I was touched. I was speechless because of the lump in my throat. You better believe more than one tear dripped down my cheeks. It’s now hanging on my office wall among the sacred objects of my teaching. One of the students who started all that wrote this evaluation of the me and the class. It’s taped to the wall in the spare room that double as my study. I’m looking at it right now. I’d like to share it with you:

History has always been a subject that I hated dearly. But, I want you to know that you and your class changed my whole outlook on it–and about myself. Almost all of us went on a voyage that we will never forget. True enough the class was a whole lot of fun, but there was a lot that was expected of us. It was hard-earned fun. I learned to love you because you really loved us. There was times I thought you were my worst enemy, but that was because you really loved us and wouldn’t let us get down on ourselves. You never let up on your belief that we all, no matter who we are or where we came from or what we have are valuable human beings who have a place and purpose. Your little pep talks helped me to make some important decisions in my life. I’ll never, never, never forget Popeye saying you get out what you put in or the coffee shop saying about keeping your eye on the doughnut instead of the hole, and that a grade doesn’t make anyone better or worst a person than anyone else. But the one that hit me the most was when you wrote on the board (it’s printed all over my dorm room) “If you WANT to do it, you can do it. And, if you can do it, what’s stoppin’ ya? It’s you! Do whatever it takes to do it!” But, you didn’t just write these homilies on the board, or give us these inspiration talks, you lived them, you modelled them with an arcing Tootsie Pop here, a soft word there, a hard face-to-face-you-shouldn’t-take- that-disrespecting-shit-from yourself, tough-love talking to. You taught me never to settle for anytyhing less than my best for today. And that my best can always be better tomorrow and the day after because as far as you are concerned each of us has the world going for them and the only person that can ruin it is each of us. I learned and will remember all the history in this class because we were involved with it and it became real and something because of the skits, games, fictional stories we had to write, abstract drawings, tidbits discussions, and of course the scavenger hunts. I’ll also have always your words of support and encouragement, the times you told others to bury their “can’ts” and wean their “cans”, the times you wouldn’t let me fall and not get up and urged me to say a “yes” to myself and to my dreams. I was always amazed and still am how in a class of sixty you could see and listen to each one of us. I guess that’s because you wanted to and gave a damn. Know this, because of you I am regaining sight of my myself and my dreams, I do now and will believe in myself, enjoy life more, and I will achieve my dreams. Trust me. Your (sic) taught me a lot, a lot of history. You taught a lot about life. And you taught me a lot about myself. I have discovered the ingredients of your secret recipe. And it so simple, but profound. You love what you’re doing, and you love each of us. Neat. Unexpected. Exciting. Scary. See you in the fall for a Tootsie Pop. Have an orange one on me.

And, you know, lots of people will flame and castigate me for “bragging” and promoting myself; they’ll lash out at me for “tooting” my own horn; they will dismiss me for being so naive; they will discount this Random Thought as meaningless dribble, uneducational prattle, unimportant chit-chat, mushy drivel, emotional foolishness, touchy-feely bullshit; or, they’ll just hit the delete key as soon as they see my message appear in their mailbox. Well, I’m sorry about that. But, I am a teacher, and I believe there is nothing on the earth like being a teacher. We teachers are in the magnificant and exciting business of life and of life’s yesses and cans. We’re in, as a fellow-traveler so beautifully put it to me, “the mustard seed business.” Our mission is to point to that seed believing and getting all to believe that there are great things inside. There are occasions when I think the time spent teaching should not be counted against our alotted moments spent on Earth.

I don’t think there is any reason for false modesty about commemorating each student’s sacredness, for being reserved about talking of our efforts to celebrate teaching, for being hesitant to proclaim for all to hear a faith in students, for being reticent of our willingness to go to further than most want us to. I see no reason for not keeping my joy and aliveness and caring and love “out there” instead of keeping it under my shirt. I see no reason to feel self-conscious about sharing what I believe and what I do, to be mousey about sharing a set of values, a sense of mission, a vision, and some experiences in hope of inspiring and being inspired, encouraging and supporting, being encouraged and supported. We should publicly share both our vision and efforts teaching as a mission to serve a purpose higher than taking role, maintaining classroom discipline, making up lectures or daily assignment sheets, passing on information, offering a test, and assigning a grade. We should bear witness wonderful experience of being present at and a part of a student’s first and continued tottering steps of self-wonderment. We should proclaim that education has goals that go beyond the confines of both the subject and classroom, and accepting–no, loving–each student as sacred, valuable, and unique human being.

There’s no reason to hide in the shadows because you believe every student has the right to shine, to feel you’re up against a wall because you went to the wall for a student, to secret a smile or gesture or glance because you smile at students, to feel damned for giving a damn, to feel unloved for loving students, to feel you have to brace yourself up for having embraced students, to creep when you have the impulse to soar, to feel bad about having brought good feelings into the classroom, to suffer heartburn because you speak to the students’ hearts from your heart, to feel isolated for being in community with students, to think you’re a traitor for being loyal to each student, to be the problem for helping students deal with their problems, to act like an untouchable for having touched a student, to feel disconnected for having connected with the students, to feel like an arsonist because you lit the fire in a student’s spirit.

We shouldn’t–mustn’t–let those who are in a rut, who feel threatened, who don’t like what they’re doing or disagree with what we’re doing pull us down from our high with their grappling hooks! We shouldn’t let the frightened, frustrated, numbed, calloused, disillusioned gag us into silence! We can’t let the resigned, disappointed, surrendered, cynical pull down our up-lifted hands with weights! We mustn’t let the burnt-out, controlling, cold, distant, authoritarian restrict our movements with their chains! We mustn’t let those others–who can’t keep up with a quick dance step to class, who are blinded by the bright light of creativity, can’t breath the atmosphere at the high peaks of a high, can’t carry a note of imagination’s song, can’t swim a stroke in creativity’s bubbling waters, can’t hold the brush of artistry, are deafened by the decibel level of vibrancy, don’t have the vision to see far beyond the cell-like classroom walls–slow us down, fade our dreams, darken the light of our vision, dash our hopes, lower the heights of our high, soften our voice, shake our faith, weaken our strength, sap our endurance and perseverence, diminish our presence, censor our art, restrict our movement, damper our excitement, empty our fulfillment, and mute our ecstasy.

No, I say, if we can unabashedly and madly acclaim our virtues in the streets afterd we have won on the battlefield, surely we can rejoice when we have rekindled a spirit. If we can hold parades for athletes who won championships, we can shoot off the firecrackers for everyone to see, parade before the public, beat the drums and flourish the trumpets and sound the fanfare for all to hear when we have opened a heart. If we can worship those who entertain us, we can openly celebrate, sing, dance, applaud, toast, make merry over, cheer, and revel in those who nurtured a soul. No, when we help a student to realize the unique marvel that he or she is, when we help a student to see how worthy he or she is, when we help to make the world more worthy for the student, we can raise the colors, light the bonfires, shout from the rooftops, and send runners throughout the land.

And as for those disbelieving, grouchy, frowning, disbelieving grouches and grinches who want to put a damper of the festivities by pointing fingers, flaming, branding and accusing the revelers’ cheers as vainty, immodest, preaching, bragging, boasting, swaggering, blustering, bravado, I suppose it would be easy to sweep them aside with a “that’s their problem. If they want to follow that’s their choice.” It would be easy to say revengefully, “Let them stew. It’s their turn to feel uncomfortable, mumble, cringe, and slink.” It would be easy to leave them behind to feel disconnected as we connect with the students and each other. It would be easy to let them go hungry as we nurture and are nurtured. It would be easy to cast them out as they cast us out with a “Join the grump patrol.” “Go break bread with the grinch.”

But, the easy way is never the right way. We would be saying to them what we would never say to students, and if we are truly teachers, we are teachers for all. If we truly believe in the sancity, dignity, potential and integrity of the individual, we cannot ignore our colleagues any more than we would the student, however more difficult the task. So, I think we should beckon them with open arms to join in the festivities. We have a responsibility not just to disallow them to turn our ecstasy into an agony, but to turn their agony into an ecsasty. We have a duty to use our deep respect and passion for each person in the classroom as an acetylene torch not just free us to from those restricting chains, but to see if we can help others cut through THEIR own chains to free themselves; to make the effort to help them adjust to the fantastic sights and sounds and feelings of comittment, passion, anticipation, exhilaration, inspiration, imagination, artistry, creativity and expectancy. We should use our enthusiasm not just as sharp knives to cut the ropes of their grappling hooks’ ropes, but we should try to help them climb out of their own valley. We should use our passion not just to cast off their dragging weights, but to help them lift up their voices and raise their hands.

“What’s the use. Why try . They won’t listen,” you say? Would you say that about your students? No one knows what can be attained until he or she tries. And, it’s well worth the effort. So, who knows. I always say if you touch one student you’ve changed the world. Well, just think of it. If you touch one, just one, of those naysayers, you’ve….. Maybe, just maybe, if we to model our good feelings, our strength and courage, our perseverence and commitment and dedication, our sense of fulfillment and accomplishment, and our joy and wonderment the same thing will happen to these naysayers–or, at least, some of them; or, at least to one of them–that the grinch ultimately experienced. A “bah” might slowly start transforming into a “wow”, a sneer metamorphosing into a smile, a cold glare evolving into a glow, a stare brightening into a gleam, a blinding and deafening “no” changing into an seeing and listening “yeah”, and the dawning of a new day.

So, I am issuing you a challenge. Publicly share with us a moment of gift giving and receiving. Encourage us, inspire us, support us, help us, show us–now! Come out of the closet. Put your heart out there. Don’t hesitate. Express your joy. Carpe Diem! I assure you that you are not alone. Tell us how you inspired a student and altered a life’s course, how you touched a student and changed the world, when you made a difference, when you left behind tracks on some student’s soul.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

I just wrote this piece for an electronic journal column. Though you might be interested:

Wow, was there more than a chill in the air this pre-dawn, south Georgia morning, and I was in my grubby shorts! Tis two months before Christmas and the thuds I heard along my route was the sound of the dropping temperature, not the beat of my footsteps. It was a hot 78 yesterday morning! Anyway, as my breath smoked, goose bumps erupted all over my body, my fingers lost their feeling, and my bare skin took on a bluish tint, I started thinking cool thoughts of the coming winter and mischievously began singing the Christmas jingle, “Santa Claus is Coming To Town.”

Half mumbling the lyrics and half struggling to survive this pre-dawn icebox, I imagined someone wagging a finger at a child with a not-so-veiled warning that, “you better not cry, you better not shout,” threatening that this roundish, bearded, brightly dressed, know-it-all, stick-his-beard-in-your-business Santa, will punish misbehavior and/or disobedience with an empty stocking and barrenness under the tree. So, as the song goes, the child is urged to “be good for goodness sake.”

Well, there I was all to myself on the dark streets looking at darken windows, I started wondering just how many bratty kids really didn’t find colorful presents for them tucked under their trees or nestled comfortably in their stockings. Not many I bet. Their behavior probably didn’t have a thing to do with whether or not they received the traditional bounty of this time of year. Seeing visions of those glorious volunteers who will soon be swinging bells as they stumped their feet to keep warm at entrance doors to malls and large department stores, dozens of articles about toy and food drives, I decided that what more than likely determined whether joy or disappointment appeared on the cherub faces of children was whether, by a chance throw of the dice, they were fortunate to be members of “good” families, the “haves”, rather than be members of impoverished families, families who had suffered misfortune–if they had any family in the first place. What made their heart sing with salve of being included or throb with the sting of being left out in the midst of abundance and joy was not a matter of whether they were “naughty or nice” but more likely whether they were among the cared for and accepted and remembered rather than among the rejected and neglected and forgotten.

Suddenly, I found myself taking a leap into the classroom listening to a parent and/or teacher admonishing students to be “good” so their their academic stockings can be filled and the bottom of their professional trees piled high with neatly wrapped awards and fat salary checks. What’s so wrong, you ask, with the rewards of achievement being heaped on the “good” students, with them receiving a bounty of grades, awards, recognition, achnowledgement while the “bad” students are pelted with clumps of slag? A lot.

Understand, I believe in effort and achievement. But, let’s be straight. Being bright or dumb doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with being a “good” or “bad” student. The “good” are lucky to have been born to “haves”: loving and supportive and encouraging parents, educated parents, parents of strong fiber, parents sufficiently well off to have provided for good educational needs, parents who were able to buy the books and computers, parents who had the time and took the time to read the books and do things with them. The “good” students are lucky to have gone to a good educational public school or private school, to have had an encouraging and supportive educational environment, to have had contact with caring teachers who touched them, to have been taught the needed skillls, and to be relatively free of any physical or emotional or social disability.

At the same time, there are students who are academically naughty and not so nice, but they are still treated as “good” students. They’re selfish, put on a good show, have taken crib classes to raise their GPAs, don’t care about getting an education. They are street-wise, academic brats, who cut-corners, play the game, rummish the fraternity/sorority files, play up to, cheat, never get caught, could care less about learning, just want the grade and degree by whatever means, cram merely to pass the test or write the paper. Yet, they get the grades. So, they, too, as “good” students, receive the bounty.

And then, there are the “bad” students who are unlucky enough to be debilitated by unsupportive and/or ecomonically impoverished, culturally deprived families, who are restrained because they are the first to reach out for an education, who had little if any encouragement or support, who attended second-rate schools, who didn’t have spare money to enrolled in SAT preparation courses, who had to deal with imposing or over-bearing parents, who are encumbered by the dicates of demanding parent programs rather following than their own dreams, who are chained by memories and attitudes and actions of social inequity, economic injustice, racial prejudice, gender bias, physical abuse, and disability. There were no _Newsweek_ or _National Geographics_ laying around on cocktail tables; there was no computer with which to surf the world; there was no one who could afford _Dr. Seuss_ to read to them–if there was anyone who could read. They have the additional burdens and demands on their time and attention to care for families, to hold jobs, to work their way through school. The path to achieving their potential is cluttered, their ecsacy is tempered, their confidences are sedated. They’re often placed among the despised, rejected, homeless, neglected, invisible, and forgotten “don’t belongs.”

Now, I know that many people say that there’s nothing wrong with that. “That’s life,” they explain. “It’s a throw of the dice.” And, as they rationalize, “Life ain’t fair”, “It’s a dog eat dog world out there.” “That’s not my concern.”

Yet, to me it seems somehow immoral giving out academic attention, toys, and candies only to the supposed “bright” and giving little or nothing to supposedly mediocre or dumb.

Life may not be fair, but it’s far more complicated than that, and it’s an awful big burden to put soley on any student with hope in his/her heart.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–