It’s 3:00 a.m. Can’t sleep. Lots on my heart. The warm milk at my side isn’t helping. So here I am thinking about my youngest son, Robby, whose marriage is falling apart, the personal tragedy of a dearest friend’s daughter, and a touching e-mail message from a first year student, Keysha, I received late yesterday afternoon.

Someone once said that if you have ever fallen in love, you know what it means to live in a world where all the lyrics are true; that if you have ever walked through the cummulous cloud of the perfume section of a department store, you know what it is to have a lovely fragrance stick to you. Keysha’s message is all of that.

We’ve had only five class hours together, all of them devoted to classroom community building stuff. I didn’t realize how much community we already have built until I received Keysha’s message.

The message needs some background. Yesterday morning, I awoke to find that, one of our closest friends, who lives in Macon, had left a message last night. Her voice was somber. It was 6:30 a.m. We called. Her daughter, age 29, who we helped “raise,” who was to be married in April, received the news that her fiancee, 32, without warning died of a heart attack. Needless to say, we were devastated. But, I always told everyone around me that the muscles around your mouth are the strongest in the body for they can lift the heaviest of heart and soul. Now, I had to put my money where my smile was. So, I went into class to continue our class community building stuff. The students in both classes, after less than two weeks, picked up on my pain. When they asked what was wrong, I told them what had happened and that I needed their help to keep me smiling.

This is the message from Keysha. I’ve shared it already with one or two friends. I’d like to share it with you because I firmly believe, as I once said, that we each live our stories and we learn most from the stories of others. When you feel alone, you can find community in stories; when you weaken, you can find strength; when you are disheartened, you can find resolve; when you are down, you can be lifted; when you feel pain, you can find comfort; when you question, you can find inspiration; when you tire, you can find new energy; when you wonder why, you can find inspiration.

Keysha’s letter tells me and hopefully others why I believe in each student, why I believe each student is a human treasure, why I believe in each student’s potential, why I believe in the nobility of teaching:

Dr. Schmier, I just want to say that I’m sorry for your tragic loss. I just got out of your 12pm History class. I wanted to give you a hug ’cause I know how it feels to lose someone and try your best to keep a “smile” on your face. I will be praying for you as well as my ‘friend’ (whom I talk about in my journal). His friend’s father past away this week and the funeral is this weekend. My ‘friend’ was close to his friend’s father. I told him that I’m willing to support him and to be his shoulder to cry on. I know this may not mean anything but you are the first TEACHER who has actually taught me to value myself before I can value others. Since I’ve been here at school, profs seem to just want you to listen to their boring lectures and take their confusing tests. You are an inspiration to me. All this year, I’ve been down because I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do with my life and career. After all this time, I finally figured out what I want to do–be a special education teacher. I thought about what you said about how educators need to take their time to know the students before the students know the work (rephrased in my own words). Dr. S, on every monday, wednesday, and friday I look forward to getting to your class. I race from the education center on those days so that I can get to your class on time and to get the quote of the day. Yesterday I had to go to go to the doctor and they asked me (while they were doing what they had to do) what’s my favorite subject. I told them history. They asked me what I learned in there so far. I told them I learned the history of MYSELF–something that has never been taught in my whole life. I just want to thank you for helping me realize that I must love MYSELF before I could love others. Now I realize that I know what I want to do and that I CAN began to love others and CAN NOT hate MYSELF again. Since I didn’t give you a hug today I just want to give you an email hug (*HUG*) and let you know that everything is going to be alright. Like you said today “we all must fall in order to succeed in our lives”. Thanks for being a TEACHER and not just another prof!

Sincerely
Keysha 🙂

What can I say other than I am truly touched. At the moment I read Keysha’s message, we were not student and professor. We were now just two compassionate human beings helping each other on life’s journey.

You know, I always start a semester without any warning of what to expect. If nothing else happens during the semester, I will end the semester both exhilarated and drained, knowing I had a life-changing experience. I told Keysha in a my response that I want to think that she was sent to me to remind me just how precious life is and what both an education and life is really all about. Because of her, I realize a bit more that neither academia nor life is about rewards, prizes and awards. Her kindness and sensitivity have reinforced my conclusion, as I once told my son, Michael, that I, like of most us, will not get academia’s big, inflating prizes: an endowed chair, a prominent grant, a titled fellowship, a visiting professorship to a flagship university, a best seller publication, a National Book Award, recognition, fame, a Pulitzer, a Book-of-the Month selection, an appointment of repute to this or to that, a high powered consultancy to them or those, a “kill for” invitation to here or there, a prominent keynote address, a high profile speaking engagement, even a campus teaching award.

I, like all of us, however, am eligible to receive what we erroneously call “little and hidden pleasures.” Her letter is such a pleasure. You know, if we have an unswerving belief, a good nose, unremitting hope, a keen ear, an ever-ready smile, sharp eye, a deep understanding, a special touch, a reaching hand, a caring heart, endless hope, and unbounded love we will discover that those pleasures aren’t very little. You won’t find them on resumes or framed on the walls, but, they are in fact far bigger, far more resounding and resonating, far more important, far more valuable, and far more lasting than anything academia can bestow.

No, teaching it’s not about things. We just celebrated a season of miracles and giving. The season is about a sharing what we have of ourselves with others no matter who they are and where they come from. That’s what’s being a teacher is all about. As the spirit of this past and future holiday seasons should be, without restraints of a calendar date and which should extend beyond a single date of celebration. the spirit of her letter has entered my heart and I will insure that it will not leave. The moments of reading her letter is an instance in which I could forever live in which everything was focused. Because of you, I will see to it that I will look a little farther beyond each face and peer deeper into each soul; I will see a bit more pass the disruption and apathy, and recognize a bit more the hurt and pain; I will without embarrassment be awed a bit more, swell up a bit more, wonder a bit more, tear a bit more, hope a bit more, breakdown a bit more, love a bit more, cry a bit more.

So as this semester begins its journey, I think, encouraged by your letter, I will just enjoy and reap the classroom’s abundant and magnificent gifts of life’s “little and hidden pleasures.” There more than enough to go around, and in the long run they mean a hell of lot more. And, I will download her message, and place it among my sacred objects of teaching.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

Brrrrrrrrrr! I was cold out there today!!! I could hang meat from the trees without worrying about ruin. Swooning “Summertime” as I staggered through the glacial air didn’t help. What’s with all this global warming stuff. Thermals, sweats, gloves, hats, all were just about useless. My nose was running faster than the faucets I kept open to keep the pipes from bursting. I even went out late, thinking it would warm up as the sun came up. It had, to 18 degrees !!!! It was one of those few times I couldn’t help but have a cold shoulder and icy stare. I came into the house after four miles knowing exactly what a frozen mackerel feels like. I stood in front of my opened refrigerator to warm up!! Right now as I struggle to thaw out, teeth still chattering, body still shivering, stiff fingers barely able to bend, I’m all for global warming. About the only good thing with this deep chill is that the mosquitos were grounded by the weight of ear muffs, gloves, scarfs.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about a message I had received from a graduate student about to go out into the cold world. She asked me for advise about how to be a good teacher. I was gratified that she should ask me, but I never really give advise because, to put it quickly, what works for me is because I’ve worked on me. But, I can tell her what I feel, think, and do. Then, she can take it from there. Thought I’d share my answer to her with ya’ll. So, here goes.

You know if I have learned anything about teaching and learning in the course of my inner journey and my transformation from a pontificating professor of history to an involved teacher of students since I had my epiphany that fateful October in 1991 at Hyde School, it is four things. First, I think teaching, life in general, demands that I never lose the slow magic of having a romance with students–if romance that is the right word–and replace it with rushed technique. Every time I find myself doing that, however slightly, I feel a little dazed and empty, as if I had forgotten to eat. Second, at the beginning of my transformation, there were the forays into uncharter territory, exploration, adventure, serendipity. expectation, anticipation, There still are, and that’s the real secret for me! I make sure the renaissance goes on forever, that the giddiness and fumbling of innocence and naivete remain as I am forever trying new steps to improve the old dance, of forever learning new dances, forever inventing, forever creating and enjoying and experimenting, forever going to the edge, forever jumping off the edge learning to soar even higher and farther and more graceful. The third lesson I have learned is that the ultimately goal is not to master what you already know so that you can do it blindfolded in your sleep with one hand tied behind your back. The ultimate goal is to continue discovering that you never will master it totally however much you try.

The final but most important lesson I started to learn is that it’s simply a matter of my attitude. Not that simple? Well, it is. If I want to be deliriously happy about and damn good at teaching, I need the right attitude edge. If I wanted to be good at teaching, I had to believe I could; and if I believed I could, I just needed, and continue to need, to do whatever it took to reach that goal. To fight against burnt out, to make sure I don’t think in dulling terms “endless hours” and “endless days,” to guard against getting the routine down and getting bored and getting into a by-the-book rut and getting into a reputation funk, I need to constantly lube my attitude with some tune ups just as I need to do to keep my precious 1983, 280Z running smoothly on all cylinders. I had to, and still have to, break through or drive around mental roadblocks that I don’t even know are there, roadblocks that keep me from reaching my ultimate destination: happiness, personal growth, professional success. Now I’m not talking about major stuff like kicking little dogs. I talking about those times when my spirit sputters or stalls, when I may mull things over too much, when I’ve been hitching a ride on routine, when I am caressing a line in my resume.

Yet, I have discovered that the comforting confines of experience and reputation can inspire a certain confidence, boldness, youthfulness and fun. My intensity and interest is limited only by my imagination, creativity, and stamina. My enthusiasm, my imagination, my creativity, as Einstein often said, is far more important than my expertise however important my knowledge may be. Teaching is the journey, not just a destination. It has to be absorbed in the intimacy and spirituality of the journey, be absorbed in the experience.

To unduly focus on technique only heightens vulnerability and anxiety. I learned to bag up the “Now, that’s how it must always be done.” I’ve packed away the “These are the absolute rule about how it HAS to be.” I find that when I think teaching must include this or that, must involve doing this or that, I lose out on other sources of accomplishment; I miss a lot of reasons to be inspired; I ignore a lot to stimuli to aspire. So, I’ve stopped teaching by the numbers. I don’t predict more disasters than Nostradamus. I don’t make more guarantees than an infomercial. Sure, the unknown is scary. Too many people safeguard themselves by try to guess what will happen or want guaranteed results; too many people jump to a lot of negative conclusions. Been there; done that. I was an expert player at the comforting “it’s not going to work” and safe “how do I know it will work” game. It was a way of having my worst fears confirmed which was a lot less devastating that having my highest hopes dashed to smithereens on the rocks. The truth is that when you take a stab in the dark, you rarely hit the mark. So, trying to predict the future is just a way of wasting a lot of time in the present and watching the quality of your teaching nosedive or stagnate. But, I learned that if I can’t finesse what’s going to be, at least I can control the way I think about it, and that changed my fortune teller tune. Now, I look, one day at a time, at each day of my teaching as a set of separate moments, and deal with each isolated bite-size, digestible-size moment as it comes up.

I have gone from a safe “why the hell?” to a exciting “what the hell!” From a rationalizing “why” to an adventurous “why not.” From a secure “show me” to an risky “let’s see.” I’ve learned to go with each moment without obsessing over the previous or next, or resting on laurels.

Ah, resting on laurels is dangerous. Let me talk about that. I fight not to lounge on my laurels, to prance around my reputation as I did up to less than a decade ago. You can’t garner a good reputation and coast the rest of the way on credit cruise control. You don’t stop to pat yourself on the back for making a good play because the game is going on around you. I suppose that it’s okay to milk all the mileage out of a the rep that you can. But, when what you do isn’t keeping pace with your image, there comes a point when you face the tough truth that doing a bang-up job is a lot tougher than being known for doing a bang-up job. The best way to avoid this disparity is to treat each day of each class of each semester as something new. I say to myself, “I’ve never been here before. I don’t know any of these people.” Why? At least for me, it’s because I try harder when I am in unfamiliar situations. When I feel that my bark is louder than my bite, I close the door, lean back, unwrap a Tootsie Pop, suck on it and ask myself, “Louis, how would you act if I had to make a first impression. What would you do differently.” Then, I muster up the courage and enthusiasm to show myself and them what I’m made of and what I am still made of.

I go into each class, each day, with a naive eye, with something of an innocence, a nervousness, like I am doing it for the first time. In reality, I am doing it for the first time because I concentrate on the “whos,” the different people who are different each day in those academic cells we call classrooms, so that I can struggle to tailor to them the “whats” and “whys.” So, I wake up my senses when I teach. I pay attention to every sound and movement and sight ready to make an adjustment, to dump, to introduce, to completely alter, to keep. I enjoy each moment for what it is, not for what I hope–or dread–it will lead to. You see, I’ve learned that it’s the angels who are in the details, not the devil.

I refuse to believe that whatever experience I might have acquired after 34 years in the classroom, or whatever imagination and creativity I might possess, or however much confidence I might have in myself, that my teaching is yet as great as it can be. I won’t let myself have any outlook that gets so low or so high that I don’t realize that there are unlimited possibilities. I won’t settle on a pedagogical comfort zone that’s a little too comfy for my own good and the good of the students. I am constantly different, from semester to semester, class to class, day to day, if for no other reason than I don’t have to waste time and energy busting a rut. The unexpected sparks my inspiration and excitement. I understand that not every day will be sunny, not every technique will work. But, I walk the tight rope betweening demanding the impossible and settling for so-so teaching either. Of course, I never know what is impossible since I believe impossible things are being done every day. But, I do know, my conscience let’s me know, what “so-so” is. I don’t pin my expectations on a specific action or destination to achieve satisfaction. If I did, all I would need is to have is a small change in the specifics to create disappointment. If I did, my expectations would become so low, I’d be destined for nothing but loser teaching. So, I want to be, and work hard at being, more happening than habit, staying out of the restricting confines of a comfort zone, risking to fall flat on my face or on my butt. If what I have to do veers too far from the familiar route, so be it. I don’t write it off without a fighting chance. For me, static attitudes make me feel as if I am idling at a green light while traffic passes me by. I know that it is tough to take an unfamiliar route. That is what my inner journey is all about these past eight years. But, the truth is that playing it safe would give me only a false sense of security. When I am open to new ideas, new ways, I create the different options; I gain more control over the direction of my life and how my life develops. I find that if I look at my life as an entire learning experience, I’ll be a lot more willing to go out on a limb and let students climb out there, and a lot more forgiving of myself and any of them for falling off the limb.

So, if I have to give advice to this aspiring a new teacher, this is what is would be: Have a healthy love of life. It makes teaching fill the desire to make it last to the fullest: on the first day; on the last day; on all the days in between. It helps to insure that the “whews” and “yuks” will be few while the “goshes” and “wows” will be overwhelmingly rampant. Be in the moment at the moment every moment, making the most of yourself, being authentic. Have fun each day whether you’re doing something old hat or soemthing experimental, something traditional or something off the wall. Believe that any student would kill to be in your class, that you would kill to be in your class. Do all that, and your classroom will rock for both you and the students.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

Good morning, and a happy new year to you. It’s 5:30 a.m. here in chilly south Georgia. Asking what am I do up at such an ungodly early hour on new year’s day. Well, Susan and I don’t really do it up on new year’s eve. We have a quiet dinner with close friends, sit around and talk friend talk, barely make it to the dropping of the ball. No hats, no horns, no confetti, no screaming, no bacchanalia. Just a series of loving hugs and quiet kisses, and then it’s home. So, I was up and out early on the street in the near freezing, frosty air before the first sunrise of the new year. There was a strange vacancy in this morning, a dark quiet and stillness. It’s the first day after the six celebrating weeks before. The lit candles have consumed the wax, the Yule log is ashes, the menorahs are on the shelves, the trees are browning and shedding their needles, the floors once strewn with the refuse of presents are clean, many of the holiday decorations are boxed, the clanging bells and charity pots are stored, the champagne bottles are empty, the latkes have been eaten (those are Jewish edible mortar that doubles as potato pancakes), horns are tooted out, confetti and silly hats are piled knee deep, class are about to resume. For a moment, on this first day of 1999, the year next to last year of the millennium (2001 really begins the new millennium) seems to hesitate to catch its breath before moving on after its first exhaustive sprinting minutes

There is something invariably touching about a six week feast of bountiful thanks and abundant giving at which we all find our own reasons to be thankful and give. Ever think about the fact that at the moment the year is almost over, the days are shortest, and the light is weakest comes the time of this miraculous time of bursting joy and glorious wonder and bountiful sharing. People say that by the end of the twelfth month, the year is ancient enough to have shown us its wisdom. We know what to be grateful for by now.

So, for what am I grateful. Yeah, for the usual stuff about health, happiness, family, friends. There was so much swirling around in my head as I trudge along in my Carolina blue grubbies, nose pale red, eyes tearing, nose leaking. But, for some unknown strange reason I kept thinking of a special student, now a sophomore, named Jill. Don’t know why Jill in particular. Maybe it’s because of Jill’s influence that I’m becoming a volunteer book recorder in the university’sspecial services office and a volunteer reader to fourth graders in a local school system’s “get them to read” program. I don’t ask about these things.

So, with the first aromas of freshly brewed cup of 1999 thawing coffee at my side, let me tell you about Jill and why I think my resolution thoughts are centering around her. Jill is what the PC jargon calls a “special needs” student although she is by no means a special needs person. I’ve known Jill since she first arrived at the University a little over a year ago. Members of the local Jewish community have taken her under their wing and have been taken by her. Every time I see her on campus, she gives me a pack of gum and a small capsule of miniature M & Ms. I trade them for a Tootsie Pop. We have been together in a couple of classes. She has a significant learning disability with which the kind and warm special services people have helped me. She has difficulty reading. We have to record her assigned reading material. And after untold laborious hours of stop and go listening, after she learns whatever it is she is supposed to learn, she has great difficulty expressing and communicating her knowledge either orally or on paper. It is almsot impossible for her to keep up with a class lecture. She needs copies of someone’s notes.

She is not a beauty queen, but she has an inner beauty that is royal. She is intelligent, diligent, alert, caring, always smiling in spite of the fact that the world has not often smiled back and is for her often a dim play of shadows and murmurs. She doesn’t have many friends among the students, and not much of a social life. She has a car and lives off campus with two other students. At times when we are sitting in the hall sucking on Tootsie Pops, she wonders about her future. She wonders what her lot in life will be and if she will ever have a family. Yet, there is a refreshing and appealing aura of authenticity and innocence about her. I have never seen her without a smile on her face or in her soul. I have never heard her say, “I am ashamed of being….” or “I am embarassed of being….” She just says, “I was born this way. ” She wants so much to help other people help themselves.

Some professors act as barriers to that goal. They want to treat her matter-of-factly as they do other students: nameless and faceless. Some teachers are especially frustrated, at times antagonized and threatened by Jill’s presence. They really do not want to take extra time, inconvenience themselves, alter the comfort of their routine. I have had a professor cruelly say to me that Jill will never be a “productive member of society” and shouldn’t be on campus taking classes. Another told her that it wasn’t his job to help her in class, but go to special services. He told her that it wasn’t her fault for not being able to do the work, it was society’s fault for all the trouble she has to go to for letting her think she belongs on campus. Educating Jill, the professor implied was socially irresponsible because it took resources away from other, more promising and profitable uses. Most of the professors think that Jill’s limited prospects don’t make her worthy enough to be worth the work and anguish and expense. Thankfully they are partiall balanced off by some professors who compassionately put things aside and give of their time to work with her, support her, and encourage her. And, of course, there are those neat, caring special services people.

I suppose people could conjure up a host of rationalizing academic, financial, and social philosophies, arguments: we don’t have the time to devote to one student; we can’t water down our curriculum; we don’t have the money to serve their needs and make the campus accessible. We find funds for all sorts of things, but always seem to have difficulty to find the monies for people. We find monies to beautify the campus and negotiate to buy a football stadium, and somehow can’t scratch enough together to beautify lives and help people negotiate through life. We are ready to do what we have to do, are required to do, are told to do, but we don’t really deserve the bestowal of a congressional medal of honor. And, on it goes.

So many people condemn and imprison people like Jill to live in a living death of solitude and living a divided life separated from our lives. Oh, they don’t do it with any formal or structural institutionalization; they use more subtle and emotionally self-serving means. They use a word, a gesture, a tone, a gaze here and there that makes her so different in their eyes from them that they don’t think much of dumping her into a deep, dark pit of irrelevance or placing her on the waiting list of the forgotten and neglected by categorizing her as a “Oh, you’re only a ……”

Yet, we are a fickled specie. We want the faith to rise about ourselves and yet find it easier to remain in a medieval funk that pulls us below ourselves. Jill is a reflection of that glaring contradiction between our most deeply felt moral and social conviction, and our most widespread social and educational policy. On one hand, we affirm the essential dignity of each person. On the other had, we demand that each person must achieve, that is, has to “earn” his or her dignity. Our most cherished symbols, our most beloved stories, our current best sellers, our most revered words, and our heroes urge us to love ourselves, our neighbor and our enemies; we are told all people are created equal, that we are born with inalienable rights, that we have equal opportunity to life and happiness, that we are all children of God, that we all have a unique potential, that each of us is sacred, holy, precious. We pronounce these profound convictions in our homes, from our pulpits,, in our political wells, on the streets, and in our halls of ivy. They are essential articles of our social, political, cultural, educational, and theological faith, at least in words.

Yet, while we yearn for beatitudes, we board beasts who we let roam freely in this “dog eat dog world.” While we say, “I am proud of what I say,” we so easily explain and rationalize away what we do with a, “in the real world.” Jill, and others like her–my son, Robby, who many of you know has ADHD–is asked to say “I’m not O.K.” until or unless she proves that she has a demonstrated talent that is valued by others, that she can make what others judge to be a valuable contribution to society, that she has reached a bar of achievement set by others. Personal dignity and respectability is not inherent or inalienable; it’s a conditional iffy. And, our schools, where we level, track, isolate, tag, label, separate are the front line–or at least a solid reflection– of our culture. We use dignity as a reward, respectability as an incentive, value as an award. We place conditions on justice for all: do your work hard; pull yourself up by your own bootstraps; assume the sole responsibility for your learning. Honors, awards, scholarships are prerequisites for recognition. Acceptance and affection are conditioned upon achievement and certain “socially appropriate and acceptable” actions of respect, obedience, propriety, normality, and docility.

We tend to applaud and glow when we hear of those teachers who are flexible and “progressive” and will broaden the area of achievement: “I know such and such has a unique potential. It doesn’t have to be in astrophysics or medicine or history; it could be in art, sports or in any one of his intelligence, and I’m going to continue to look for whatever it is so and so can excel at.” But, it still reveals a sentiment that highlights our obsession with achievement and success, since it says, ” we don’t care what so and so does as long as he does something well.” It is an ethic of conditional love: “we’ll love you if you make it. Even if we have lengthened the list of making it, you still must make it.” But, we are quick to condemn as meaningless “touchy-feely” b.s. those teachers’ dedication and commitment and willingness to help a student find fulfillment and a sense of well- being and self-esteem. Worth too often, it seems, is not inherent, but bestowed as a medal pinned to the chest subject to trial, examination, assessment.

I have to admit that I have found myself falling into that trap and doing that all too often. And, maybe it was a simple few seconds message we found on the answering machine from Robby joyfully wishing us a happy new year that is prodding my soul this morning. Maybe I am talking about Jill, but remembering Robby’s near devastating trials and tribulations that left callouses on his spirit and soul by so many calloused teachers. If that be true, I make no apologies for it. Regrettably you have to experience the biting chill of a harsh winter to appreciate the luxury of a warm coat and house.

To be sure, our need to believe in the nobility of each person is the engine that pulls us out of darkness, most educational training and programs for special people have a good and noble purpose that has, quite literally, opened doors and let fresh air in for many who in past days have been hidden in dark staleness behind closed doors. Whatever good it may bring, however, an overly focusing on this utilitarian approach could be fatally flawed if crudely applied. It would tolerate, perhaps even condone, the dismissal of people like Jill into the shadows of the unnoticed and unwanted.

Jill is as good as any one else and yet she is asked to demonstrate that fact. We demand that she has to prove she is deserving of our attention, energy, time, and money. For her to have dignity, she has to pursue it; she has to achieve. So, if she gets an A, she has a lot of respectability; if she gets a D, she has less. The higher grade in our eyes, determines her greater worth. “Get the grade or you don’t make the grade.” “Get the test score or we get testy.” It is so routine, so pervasive, it is hardly noticed and barely questioned. Like academic cheerleaders waving pom-poms, we sing out from the sidelines: “Excellence, excellence, is our cry! Q..U..A..L..I..T..Y! Yeeeeaaaah, ‘A’! Yeeeeaaaah, ‘A’!”. All of that still rests on the unshakable conviction that dignity and worth must be earned. And with that conviction we unintentionally and inadvertently hurt, suppress, oppress, diminish, denigrate, segregate, stratify . So maybe we ought to ask ourselves, “Are ‘normal’ people more deserving than ‘special’ people?” “Are ‘smart’ people a higher order of specie than ‘dumb’ people?” ” Are A students more entitled than the ‘average’ C student?” ” Are honor students honorable and those who graduate without honors without honor?” On our answers rest what happens to our immense and overwhelming yearning for unconditional love that we all have, for “love me for who I am and can be” rather than “love me for what I do or what I have.”

We’ll use emotionally self-satisfying and vindicating buzz words and phrases to answer those and other questions. But, this is not a matter of human nature; nor is it an issue of an impersonal fact of life; nor is it tied up in the knots of complexity and complication; nor is it a matter of unfairness; nor is it something to do with “the world” or “the system.” or “reality.” It is simply and truthfully a matter of personal choice and accountability. The problem is not whether something external called “life” is fair; it’s a question of whether each of us is fair.

At this time of giving, I realize that Jill’s real present is her presence. Unwrap her gift and you will see that it is not about productivity, not about achievement, not about contribution. It is about humanity. To those naysayers who preach that Jills presence is a sign of impending academic Armageddon, I say–I scream out–Jill is worth it. She has a worth. The extent we see her value, is a reflection of our values. Her value, if it need be argued and proven that she has a value, comes precisely from the challenge she poses to the usual definitions of “value.” She is a living reminder that the range of human experience is broader than the narrow confines imposed by budgets, programs, GPAs, jobs; that faith and hope creates optimism, compassion, fairness which enables us to rise about ourselves. She has expanded the world of her fellow students, and the world of those who care about her. They aren’t as afraid of “difference” or “strangeness” as they were before they met and worked with her. The people in the triads haven’t just come to accept her. She has become their friend. They don’t shy away from her. No, they have a snack together, go to a movie together, work together. They didn’t feel they were propping her up. A couple members of her triads wrote throughout their journals that Jill was helping them to see that for people like Jill being treated with dignity and worth is something that they have to fight every day. Sometimes it is a battle that almost sucks her dry; sometimes it creates an anxiety that almost suffocates her spirit; sometimes it lets a depression creep in that nearly imposes a surrender of that which is so angelic of her. One student said it help her see her own daily struggle with personal hurt and pain and fear and depreciation that she had rationalize as “that’s just me” and explained away with “I have always been ….” They also said at various times in their journals that they saw parallels in attitudes of African-Americans, women, homosexuals; people in wheel chairs, with crutches or canes or dogs; towards people who walk and talk differently; towards people of other nationalities and cultures and religion; and interestingly, they saw parallels in attitudes of students in general in response to depreciating attitudes of faculty.

We need the Jills among us everywhere all the time to touch up our flawed portrait of ourselves and each other. Her most profound effect is to shake us out of our complacency, smugness, and hardness, to bring us in from the biting cold of the distancing and objective and harsh outside to be warmed at the hearth of compassion inside. She invites us to think philosophically, educationally, practically, socially, culturally, metaphorically, theologically, and above all, honestly about ourselves. Without a word, she poses the deepest questions. What is a life? What is human? What makes any human life worth it? What are life’s limits? What it is about life that is life-giving? Are the answers something about holiness or sacredness or love or grace, something about a deep and hidden community that stand in contrast to emphasized surface differences, something well beyond the material concerns of everyday life? What are each of our responsibilities to become engaged and involved? Until we seek the answers, we each are morally and spiritually, as well as socially, unfulfilled; we are not as good teachers as we are capable of being.

I don’t have the answers, but I do have the questions. And I guess my resolution for the coming year, if I must make a resolution, is to let Jill’s presence nudge me to keep looking for the most important, transcendent answers.

May you have a happy turn of the calendar. Bless, and . . . .

Make it a good day.

–Louis–
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