The Best Teacher Gifts

Here is my latest story, "The Best Teacher Gifts" by Kathy Dillingham

Holidays or Teacher Appreciation week often result in little packages of various colors thrust into my hands and with an abundance of Scotch Tape. The students’ enthusiasm and cheery greetings of “Merry Christmas!” “Happy holidays!” or simply, “I brought you a present!” are surpassed only by their wide grins or twinkling eyes. The gifts over the years have been handed to me as the children have rushed into our room, shyly thrust in my direction, or placed discreetly on my desk while I was busy with others. Sometimes it would include sweet, scribbled thank you notes from the my students, or neatly penned manuscript from their parents. I have always been sensitive to the fact that some families do not celebrate the holidays or have the means to purchase a gift. As a result, I developed a policy over the years to not open the presents in public because of my concern; unless, of course, it was a group gift and every child and family was included, or I happened to have a private moment with just the one student.

I thought it might prove helpful to unwrap some of the best teacher gifts I’ve ever gotten in hopes that it might inspire others to recognize a good teaching gift when they receive it:

The first one was given to me by a professor in the teacher credentialing program as a young student teacher. She advised us to hang something in our rooms that was a piece of art, photos, an object, or something to look at that was inspirational or gave us strength. I remember buying a poster with lovely wildflowers on it from a national park. I laminated it (because as a new teacher, EVERYTHING gets laminated) and hung it on the wall behind my desk. I was in a room that was used on the weekends and I had to pack every movable object in the cupboards on Friday evening, only to unpack it again early Monday morning. I taught pre pubescent sixth graders; 25 girls and 3 boys. I went on ten field trips, our school was under the scrutiny of accreditation and I was, naturally at the age of 23, a perfectionist. I arrived very early in the morning, ate lunch with the kids, stayed after school, and then went home to work on lesson planning and grading late into the night and on weekends. I loved the kids, the parents, and coworkers. It was a tiny school, one teacher per grade level. But slowly I wasn’t sleeping well, I wasn’t eating enough, and I was working, working, working. Some lessons would bomb. And I was hard on myself. The poster was a reminder. A way to take a pause, in my very stress-filled, busy day, to know there was beauty even, despite myself. I realized my professor was correct. I gained strength, if only for moment, to carry on.

To this day I continue to hang art, photos or objects that make me feel grounded when I look at them. Photos of my family, former students masterpieces, inspirational sayings, theater programs from vacations, mementos from monumental moments in my life; including some physical, or spiritual, or academic ones. This gift has served me well.

The next gift I received was the gift of reaching out to others for help. I was in my second job placement, a public school located in a working class neighborhood, teaching second graders. I shared a position with another pregnant teacher. She taught the first week of school, we taught the second week together, and the third week I was on my own while she was out on maternity leave. I’d finish up in February and she would come back to complete the year. I had one parent volunteer who would bring her toddler and help with prep work in the back of the room. I would have loved to have more small group instruction but could not manage it without help. Some children had poor English skills, some were victims of abuse. We had a teddy bear that was sent home with a journal, we laughed and worked on basic reading, math skills, and more. One boy was angry about his homelife, soiling his pants in a solid protest, forcing a grandparent to come and bring a change of clothes so the stench would not follow him. Another girl, from Japan, was a new immigrant and would smile. She aced her spelling tests but acquiring language to use daily was slow to come. The girl she chose to try to befriend was a bit of an outcast, and I was suspect of her home life. This odd little pair made me realize that you only need one personal connection, to feel connected.

To help me with this sweet group of children, I enlisted 7th graders from across campus to come to my room on a regular basis. When they walked in the room, I would have a to-do list waiting for them. They would assist me by prepping items, they would run errands, going to the office for ice cream on days I had a celebration party, helping me scoop and serve, or I had them read to small groups. I learned it was mutually beneficial. They could see their efforts were very much needed by a room filled with second graders and were rewarded with hugs from the students and verbal praise from me. Still, I wanted more for my students.

I began to try and think of ways I could encourage these kids by bringing in a special guest. They were baseball enthusiasts! My brother and sister had a friend who was playing pro ball for our local hometown team. I had mentioned it at one point. One of my students, a shy, young boy named Daniel brought a baseball card to school the next day with the player’s photo and stats. I decided to make it my mission to get the pro ball player to come speak to the kids about studying hard, making the most of their time at school, and to aspire them to dream big. Lucky for me, before the Internet or social media I was able to track him down and asked him to come visit us. The kids were overjoyed.

Years later I was in a pediatrician’s office. The receptionist said, “I don’t know if you remember me. I was a volunteer mom for my son’s class when he was in second grade. His name was Daniel.”

I couldn’t believe it, as it was ten or more years later. She told me how her son still talked about when that player came to our classroom. I knew then, as I do now, enlisting help from parents, aides, local business volunteers or even older students is a win for everyone and a gift for all involved.

The next teaching position was a newly created program and it was here I received my third gift; which was to dive in, trying the unknown. My principal, said that we would be the blind, leading the blind, as this was new territory for both of us. She was near retirement and I was in my third year of teaching. We began to research other school districts that had similar positions and programs. We started out with four students. I worked from my car, carting supplies to families that were choosing to homeschool their children. From there I worked my way to a janitor’s closet where I kept supplies. I worked with four administrators in four years, two retired after one year, one was fired, and I only met her once. Eventually we grew and hired two more teachers and had over 40 students in grades K-12. I created a newspaper, we had park days and field trips and during that time I gave birth to two more children. I was challenged and stretched and learned so much from parents who were raising children and using excellent curriculum, and personal learning plans that were interest-based, while meeting the state standards. I made lifelong friends. This gift has served me well and even today, I enjoy trying something previously unknown and creating something new. Seven years later I resigned from that position and moved to the school district where my three children attended.

My fourth gift was that family comes first. I job shared for a number of years, with a number of teachers, and later, after my children were older, I worked full-time. I taught grades K, 2, 3, and 5. I learned the very best, from the very best. Our school was a family and my children were raised within a community of staff members who also had kids at that school. We were guided by 3 simple rules and one simple statement: Hurt no one on the inside or outside. Respect your school and all its property. Special places require special behavior. And lastly, we love Vista Grande.

 We had musicals and plays, field trips, together days, art classes and science labs and library media, living history, technology, reading, writing and math. We had planning days during the summer, we attended meetings after school, and planned during lunches. We worked hard. Really, really hard. The expectations were high, but we were also supported by amazing families and a principal who worked harder that we did. We laughed, we cried, we sometimes disagreed but together we achieved more.

But as much as we poured into our family at school, we were told, “Family comes first.” This has meant that whether someone was having a baby, a dying parent, a marriage, a divorce, or a spouse surviving the blasts at 9/11, we had a lot of latitude when it came to our families. When my child developed an autoimmune disease, I was given time to stay with her in the hospital. Later, after she was released, I took more time off, as family necessity days, for doctors appointments or much-needed time to regroup while my child was cared for by my coworkers. Our work is important. We get to have a positive impact and make a difference every single day. But our families are even more so. This gift is key.

I received my sixth gift, that is, to do what you know is best, even if it makes you uncomfortable. I was teaching fifth grade and the family I would be working with had always requested separate conferences for their child, due to a contentious divorce. With my administrator’s approval, I politely let the parents know I would only be holding one conference per child. They could choose to come together, in our student-led conference, or they could each choose one conference to attend, solo. At that point in my career we had a fall and a spring conference. They put their differences aside and attended together.

Still, it was not all smooth-sailing. When it came time to fill out the registration card for which school their child would be attending for middle school, it was returned blank. The countdown to the end of year had come, and still they had not made a decision. Mom wanted one school and dad another. I’d requested an additional conference, the day after school closed. I asked my principal to attend and both parents, without their child. Again, with my principal’s knowledge (communication is key), I gently explained what I had witnessed that year. I’d seen a child torn between two households. I gave concrete, specific examples I had observed and made sure it was not one-sided, favoring either parent. I then told them I was going to take off my teacher hat and talk to them parent-to-parent. I said that I could tell that they both loved their child, and that their child loved them. I explained that middle school and high school would present a new host of challenges and that their child would need both of them. That they needed to realize that the love they had for their child, far surpassed any ill-will toward one another and that communication with one another would be paramount for their child’s success. I pointed out that this had been going on since their child was a toddler. I suggested that they might want to consider a family counselor with the three of them and any other coparents.

I then said I understood. I explained my husband and I had separated that year and were getting a divorce. I told them I hoped that they could try asking their child where they wanted to attend, and support that decision together.

I felt hopeful when later, after our meeting, I had to go run an errand. I saw them standing at the end of the corridor in the quad, facing one another and chatting. No shouting, no anger. They were deep in conversation, I’d say sincere, and I would even add, loving.

I do not always have conversations like this, as it is not my business. But in this case, though I was uncomfortable, I felt being authentic and simply telling them what I had observed would help my student in the end. Sometimes doing what you know is best, and is uncomfortable, can lead to a great gift.

For my seventh gift, I learned to allow students the opportunity for personal growth if they wanted to put in the extra time and effort. At this point in my career I had moved to a brand new middle school and felt fortunate to be chosen by a kind, gentle principal who was a man of integrity. I was hired to teach reading, writing and history two sections of sixth graders. I was able to provide a place for new teachers to observe my lessons and became a mentor teacher and later a grade level leader. I feel my classroom management improved and tried to create a classroom that was inclusive and provided leadership roles.

My niece was attending college at the time, she was an A student but had a very rigorous English professor. Her professor would evaluate essays. If the students were willing to attend writing labs, proving that they were reworking their pieces, the professor would re-evaluate their essays, but she also required students to turn in all of their drafts, showing evidence.

I am firm not a believer in creating unnecessarily difficult lessons, and stressing out students. I’d like to think I modeled reading and writing lessons and had clear teaching points. Our school was a high performing one and many students maintained an A average, these were not inflated grades but well-earned. But I had a few students that wrote average essays, barely meeting the state standard. We used a rubric system and I wrote lots of notes for the students, and conferred with them trying to help them improve their writing. After some soul-searching, I decided to copy the college professor.

If my students were willing to rework their piece, I was willing to re-evaluate it, as many times as they turned it back into me for another evaluation and conference. I think I only had three students out of 60 or so that exercised that option. But work it they did! The students’ writing improved and I was rewarded and encouraged by their sweat-equity.

My eighth gift was realizing that the relationships we develop with kids, can change lives. I now teach at an alternative public school. I work with parents that homeschool their children, and students in middle and high school in an independent study program. Every day is different. Every kid is different. Some kids come to us loving school with interests and hobbies and dreams. Some kids come to us with physical or mental challenges or a dislike or distrust for school or the institution. But this is where the magic begins. We are able to find out what students like, build on that, and get them excited about learning again. Every day I learn something new from these students. We talk, we laugh, we encourage and sometimes, when needed, we prod. We are real. Students that embrace our school, albeit slowly at times, develop a personal responsibility for their learning, self-advocating for what they need. Over time, we witness growth and maturity. The gift of changed lives is nothing short of miraculous. That includes people like myself, their teachers. Their kindness, generosity, work ethic, and creativity, are inspirational. For some, they have some deficits in ability, or knowledge, or credits, and they struggle and claw their way out, creating a new life for themselves. The relationships developed while teaching is a great gift.

The ninth gift I’ve received is that mantras matter. I’ve written about this before: that is, that the message that kids tell themselves or that they have embraced from others for themselves can make them bitter, broken or better. I hope that by the time they leave school they embrace better. They believe better. They do better. It’s as simple as that. I’m not talking about giving everyone a trophy simply for showing up. I’m saying if they lose, or fail, or fall down that they can acknowledge and accept that fact, or themselves, without falling apart. That they can use that failure or adversity and develop a growth mindset, learning how to try again, and again and again, if needed.

No one is perfect. No one is happy all the time. What I can hope for my students is that they learn to be as kind to themselves as they are to others when they make these mistakes, and that life does get better. And then it gets hard again. But that these ebbs and flows are natural. They will move forward. They will live the very best versions of themselves.I know this to be sure, because I have seen it. I’ve seen kids learn to accept themselves, be kind to themselves, and while making mistakes. I’ve recognized the gift of mantras matter.

The tenth gift I’ve received is seeing miracles. I had a student I wrote about a number of years ago, I called him Marco* (not his real name). Marco came from a neighboring district and was smart, articulate, kind and generous. I saw him hop on a bus, a BART train, and another bus to come to school. He and his family did not have a lot of money.I know he took care of a grandfather, a toddler sibling, and worked jobs only to have his money stolen from him by his parents. He tried working for an uncle and didn’t get paid. He told me about his girlfriend’s rape. I saw him cry. I saw him give a dollar of his own money for our coin drive, despite his money troubles.

I worried when he quit showing up.

He didn’t graduate.

I cried. From disappointment, sadness and concern. I wondered what happened.

Years later and I learned he had been incarcerated for carrying a gun, having joined a gang. When he showed up to my school he explained that he looked at that time in jail as a wakeup call and used it to make changes. He told me how he was renting a room, and bought his first car so he had reliable transportation in order to be able to work. He now had a good job at Home Depot. He wanted to get his diploma and asked for my help.

Sadly and to my dismay, our school program had changed and I would not be able to provide a place for him. I pointed him in the right direction, telling him what to do in order to receive an adult education diploma from the county he lived.

More time passed. I wondered what happened to him. I heard about murders in towns nearby where former gang members were killed while trying to lead new lives. I worried.

But this last week, I phoned his old number.

No answer.

I phoned his mother.

A recording.

I phoned his father.

An answer.

I found out Marco received his diploma online. He got an even more lucrative job as a construction worker. He bought his first house.

I cried again. This time, from happiness.

You see? Sometimes even teachers receive miracles as gifts, these make the best teacher gifts.

Just 10 Days

In just ten days I was able to visit my first best friend, my sister in Wisconsin. I marvel at the beauty, I ride, I run and we boat across a lake, we build cozy fires, we drink Moscow Kicks, I take my midterm and pass, we laugh, we shop and we wonder at the beauty of our country; so diverse and varied. Every time they move I discover a new place to fall in love with, this time so much so that I even shop for homes and fantasize about being her neighbor.

In just ten days I read about the hurricane victims and wept as I discover a tweet that showed no compassion and found my friends and family united in our disappointment and sadness for so, so many victims.

In just ten days I texted my daughter's friend in Vegas just after she fled the concert and was waiting to see who was shooting, if they had stopped, and if she was safe. I marvel at her strength and am encouraged later when I find she is back with her students in the safety of her classroom and know that they will give her purpose and strength to carry on, to continue to move forward. I think of her often, daily.

In just ten days, I came to the comfort of my home and slept soundly and the winds picked up and awoke to inches of pine needles on my front lawn.

In just ten days I received numerous texts about our dear cousin Beth and her sweet family and have witnessed the fires through their eyes; evacuated and uncertain if their home stands. I've heard and seen, and realized, what is of most importance when devastation happens.  But I continue to watch and wait and to wonder about all of the thousands of others who have lost their homes or business or the hundreds missing or the 30 that did not escape and their families.

In just ten days, I had to have some very hard conversations with students I know, and had to decide how to help, how to support and always, how to listen as very real, very tough, very grown-up problems bleed into their childhood.

In just ten days, I get a photo from a child of mine via text that was of a leg, not broken but badly bruised, swollen and represented pain of a kind a mom simply can't protect.

In just ten days, I have two women take time from their very busy lives, drive through traffic, and to carve out time to share their life stories with a small handful of students at my school. They share their stories of struggle, of triumph, and about what matters most. They choose by their actions to show these student that they matter. To show them that they care. And they do, they care very much.

In just ten days I ride on BART and witness the very worst of humanity and the very best. First teens being teens, littering, horsing around only to have it escalate and have garbage thrown at me. Timidly I ask an Indian couple to escort me to the safety of the lobby near the police.

In just ten days I sit and listen to my child admit mistakes and witness growth and seeking understanding before my eyes and I am nearly breathless with the wonder.

In just ten days I wait for my BART train ride home, the same day, the same station and see a man fall on the tracks. The train is to arrive in one minute. We all moan collectively and some of us act by flagging down the tunnel in hopes that the train will see us and will stop in time. The hero, a black youth, jumps on the train and lifts the man to safety and we gasp and moan again because he is still on the tracks and can't quite get up. Luckily, thankfully, mercifully, we see other men reach down and grab his hands and pull him up to safety just as the train stops outside the entrance to where we are standing.

In just ten days I go to have a mini-celebration of sorts for the family that has had their home saved only to learn the winds and the fires have turned and the threat is on, off, on again, even today.

In just ten days I wake up from smoke, nauseated. With the aid of asthma pills, inhalers, nasal sprays and rinses I head to the safety over the hill where the air is clear and I feel better. But I wonder about the firefighters, the first responders and their families. I think of them and am thankful.

In just ten days, I celebrate a birthday with my friend who is sixty and am touched with the love shown to her by her children and family and friends.

In just ten days, I celebrate the life of a mom who left too soon for a daughter, my friend, and am touched again with the love shown to her by her children and family and friends.

All of this has happened in just ten days.

Mantras Matter

Here was the prompt from The Nantucket Project:
"At TNP, we spend all year seeking the most energetic and curious people on earth. We then ask them the question: What matters? We have found this is an increasingly difficult question to answer in the noisy, messy world in which we live. How would you answer this? What matters to you? "

I grew up with two mantras growing up; one from each parent. As a youth I experienced annoyance or comfort when they were recited to me. As an adult when my youngest daughter was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease, the father of my children and I divorced or my teenaged children made poor choices involving both minor and major setbacks, I would recite: “Look for the good and you will find it” and “This too shall pass.” One mantra from dad, one from mom.

I clung to both, desperate to reframe my circumstances in a more positive light. I was able to get up out of bed, parent, and go to work. Some days I got up teary eyed and some days I got up smiling, forming what I like to call my Happy Wrinkled Self. The point is, I got up. I moved forward. Those mantras propelled me forward, with forward-thinking.

I have been a teacher forever. I have taught in elementary, middle and high schools. Today I teach in an alternative public school, grades K-12. Life has been kind to some of my students with mentors, cheerleaders and champions in their lives.  Others have been raped, beaten, bullied and kicked out of their homes. They’ve been happy, driven and self-motivated or they have been sad, anxious or depressed.

What I’ve noticed is this: kids need mantras.

The miraculous part about where I work is the relationship that is fostered with students. And when that relationship evolves, I have the privilege of getting to know what they like, dislike, how they spend their free time and what makes them sparkle. Sometimes I get to catch a glimpse of a smile forming around their mouths and sometimes I pass the tissue box, first grabbing one for my Happily Wrinkled Self as we shed tears together.

I’ve shared my parents’ mantras and I've shared my personal teaching mantra,  “You are safe with me.”

As I get to know each child, I get to see each one slowly form their own mantra or incorporate those of others that ring true for them:

“I am unique.”

“I am different.”

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.”

So many students. So many mantras. The important thing about mantras, is that kids need one.

If they have don't, I am concerned about their lack of coping skills for a quality life.

Kids need mantras.

Keeping The Faith

I have not lost faith in our American Democracy and I will tell you why.

I am sitting on an airplane reflecting on the past 12 days in Boston, Massachusetts. The first four of them were spent doing all the typical touristy things one does in the birthplace of our Democracy. I walked the Freedom Trail, I visited an art museum, a garden museum, sailed in a tall ship, rode in a trolley car, ate in an Italian restaurant, window-shopped in a glitzy area and enjoyed seeing the wares of street vendors. I toured Harvard and MIT, I ate a BLT, fries and a milkshake and experienced the most beautiful sunset walk of my life along the Charles Riverbank and across the Longfellow Bridge with the sun's reflection on the mirrored skyscrapers creating the illusion of fire. There were a lineup of mini white sailboats with a colored stripe on each one, varied in every primary hue. The sky was pink and gray, the waters calm and I was captivated by the beauty of it all. I walked through lovely public parks, stood in cemeteries of our famous ancestors, including those of color and whom built many of the most picturesque buildings with their backbreaking slave labor. I also stood in the center of the circular cobblestones where the famous shot heard round the world, the first American public school was located and in front of the hall where our constitution was written. I even went to Fenway Park to watch a baseball game and you can't get much more American than that; except perhaps later in the week watching fireworks on the bank of the Charles River. These experiences and places were wonderful but could not compare to what I shall describe next.

I had come to an assembly of educators from my union. There were also guests observing the entire week of caucuses, meetings, events and assembly meetings. Over 11,000 people; 7,000 union members and over 1,000 from the state of California. People came to the assembly from all over the country, and from all political leanings. Conservatives, Liberals, Independents; moderate and staunch in their beliefs. Every skin color, body shape and size and members of all ages. There was even a nursing infant with his mother in attendance. 

It was beautiful.

It was passionate and loud at times and raucous and respectful. It was riveting and if I'm being truthful, sometimes boring.

But oh it would make you proud!

There were Ammendments to be debated and voted. There were New Business Items (over 150!) to be discussed, debated as well, and ultimately adopted or rejected. A charter school statement was decided upon; no easy task for such a large body of members and so much more.

Near the closing of our week together one member was injured and our president had to ask for silence from all 11,000 in attendance and when the nurses in our union ran up to help all were hopeful. When we found out it was not life-threatening we simultaneously raised our hands and did the silent clap waving our hands and wriggling our fingers so the medical personnel could hear one another communicate via walkie talkies in this huge convention center filled with people. 

You see, we can come together. Not just in times of crisis, but with a common goal even with ideological differences that are extreme. We were pressed for time because bus drivers had to end their day; per their state laws and so we HAD to finish the VERY IMPORTANT BUSINESS OF EDUCATING ALL OF OUR KIDS. Now THAT is something we can ALL agree on, can't we? 

I'm telling you, you would be proud.

This morning I went to one more museum. While there a mature grandmother fell backwards, tripping on a carpet, causing a velvet rope and brass stand to fall against a marble table and just barely miss hitting her head on the corner of it, which I believe could have proven fatal. The docent in the room rushed over as did many of us. The grandma was fine, embarrassed and concerned about the marble table, the priceless woven wool carpet and other items. The docent, she uttered a beautiful sentence, "You need not be concerned with anything as you are more valuable than any object in this museum." 

I cried.

I patted the grandma on her back shoulder and said I was glad she was ok.

She scurried away.

Later, on my flight home I observed the seasoned gentleman next to me place the $5 airline blanket upon his wife and gently tuck her in. His simple gesture was sweet and loving and kind.
I was reminded again we have more goodness in us yet.

Today was the day I felt hopeful again, friends. We will be alright.

We have more good in common than bad.

We have people all over our nation who care for our children's education and for that I remain hopeful in our Democracy and future.

Note: I originally posted this on Facebook.

A Broken Shovel

Sometimes I want to write the truth but in doing so I might hurt other people. I've had a lot going on since last August and have had to self-censor my writing. I just couldn't write what was on my heart because it was either not my story to tell or because I was not allowed to write about it.  I'm going to try and tell my story without the details that might hurt others. Excuse the use of this swear word but really, it involves a lot of *shit.*

I recently got back from an adventure vacation with my oldest daughter and a dear friend. We visited some great spots in the Eastern Sierras and ate delicious meals. I should write a post about it because there were so many lovely places that you should go. But not today.

Today I'm going to talk about life. And how it is precious. I've been reminded several times in the past 6 months and today I had yet another *aha* moment while trying to reassemble a backpacking tool that I broke. I discovered it's kind of useless for backpacking but can be used when I go snow camping next season. In hard granite dirt it won't work. The tool is a small shovel for digging cat holes. For those not in the know, that is the polite way of saying a hole for poop. In the high sierras you have to frequently carry the poop out in a wag bag, which is not for dogs. It's for human excrement. If you are fortunate to be in an area to dig cat holes, count yourself lucky. My daughter had a heavy shovel and in a last minute decision I bought a lightweight one while we picked up our wilderness permit. But it broke within fix minutes of purchasing it and I knew when I got home I would try to fix it for next winter.

Anyhow, since my last posting on this ancient blog lots has occurred.

My job: it was my most difficult year ever. More difficult than my first year of teaching, which was my second most difficult year. My first year was tough because I have high standards, I was a perfectionist and never felt like I had "arrived" as a teacher (in time I learned one never arrives; if you feel that way you probably should move on to another job as you're either boring or not giving it your all and even when you are, it is a stressful being creative, balancing academic standards and doing what is developmentally appropriate for the age you are teaching, making it both challenging and fun, building relationships all while being current and fresh). This year was not awful with the kids or with parents (except maybe one who was challenging if I'm being honest). I can't tell you why it was awful but believe me IT WAS AWFUL. I worked during lunches, after school and on weekends to try and do what I felt was in the best interest of my students and help make the situation better. I lost sleep. I lost time. I lost workouts. I gained weight. IT WAS STRESSFUL. And I am trying very hard to hit the restart button for next year. I am taking a summer off, something I have rarely done. I know next year will be a key one for me and for our school. I know I need a more balanced life and I've started to brainstorm what that might look like as I begin again in August. I have ideas. I know it will be better.

My family: I love them. I have one member who celebrated one year being cancer-free only to have another member diagnosed weeks later. We were devastated and shocked. Both of them are role models to me for so many reasons. The one who is battling cancer now is someone I want to be more like in my life. She is humble, kind, generous, loving and a quiet leader.  She is spiritual but not preachy or religious and she has been my biggest cheerleader the past 12 years. I feel like time with her is HOLY. She is married to a man who is energetic and the two of them are constantly setting the bar of what I hope to achieve if I marry again. They put the other first, have great amounts of laughter and teamwork. They are not perfect but know how to say they are sorry. They love their families, live within their means and are making a difference in the world.

I think of her in my garden as we've spent time together working in it every year. I think of her when I'm in my little cottage because she has come over and we like being together here because it is almost like a doll house for us now that we are grown-ups.  And I think of how she is listening to her body and sleeping and being with a few select people only when she is able and I want to be like her. I want to make my home my safe haven and spend time here nesting and then going out in the wilderness for camping and hiking and biking and kayaking and then come home again. Home. I've learned I have a home that can be my respite.

My life: In one weekend in June another family member, my niece,  lost all of her belongings in a Chicago apartment fire. Everything. She and the others in the building were lucky to escape but I keep thinking about her and how that must feel. I think of her every day as I make various little decisions; which shoes or earrings or dress I want to wear. She does not have that choice or luxury of what stuff to wear or toss. It is all gone. We were all in a state of shock as we read texts about the fire in the early morning and then we flew down to my youngest child's graduation.

My mom and I rented a car and on Highway 5 we were hit from behind by an 18 wheeler minutes later.  We spun around and around and around and across several lanes. As I was spinning, my first thought was to try to relax as much as I could while trying to regain control of the car. I had learned in bike clinics to do this when falling and thought in a fleeting moment this would be helpful.  I could see cars swerving to avoid us in my rear view mirror and knew we were headed in the direction of the median strip. The second thought was, "This is not how I thought I would die." I thought we might die. We had another impact on my side and my window broke with glass pieces imploding on the inside. We stopped somehow facing the correct direction. I grabbed my mom's hand with mine and gave it a strong, silent squeeze. And then I said, "THANK YOU JESUS. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU" (I was thinking of my niece and now us).

My eldest daughter summed it up by stating we were either the luckiest family or the unluckiest. My children's dad, a retired assistant chief for the fire department, shook his head in amazement and said how usually people do not walk away from being hit by 18 wheelers, they get run over. I had to recount what happened to yet another insurance adjuster two days ago and cried in the retelling of it. I guess I've learned to be grateful and realize it is not my time to go, my mom's or my niece's. Not yet. I must have really needed this drilled into my head and heart because a few weeks ago while driving a local freeway I was frightened by what sounded like a nearby gunshot. It was another 18 wheeler, the tire blew and flew on my windshield. Miraculously I remained in control and my window was not damaged and the truck swerved and avoided me. Okay, I get it. It really is not my time.

My children: My kids are okay. In fact they are more than okay. They have all graduated from college and two have launched into their careers. One has had a rough time this year. The saying that you are only as good as your unhappiest child is true in many regards. I think of my mom, my sisters and brother and friends who have had or have children struggling right now. As parents we want to fix it, and make everything better. But in short, we can't. It is up to our children. This is the hardest parenting lesson ever I think. We must let them go and find their inner strength.

I was recently up in Tahoe and one of my kids and I were having a miscommunication on the phone. It was upsetting. A few minutes later I looked out and there was a coyote who came right up to the window as I was thinking about our discussion. He was looking at us, eating a mouse or a scrap of food. This was not normal behavior, right up against the house's living room window. I had trouble sleeping and in the middle of the night I remembered a few years ago texting a friend who had found out his son had been killed in a drunk driving accident. Another child of mine was in a crisis mode and I was distraught, even more so for my friend. I was sitting in the exact same spot near the window where the coyote had visited and where I was sitting when the father and I were texting. At his son's funeral, the father had told all of us when we see a coyote we should say hi to his son. I believe that night the coyote visit was a pointed reminder of no matter how hard communication or the struggles are with my kids or how I am concerned for them, I need to be thankful that I have them and can witness their struggles. Our time in this life is limited.

My broken cat hole shovel:  I stood in my laundry room with my shovel and tried to reassemble it. It took time and a few innovations but after a great deal of persistence I fixed it. I remember a few years ago I had started to date a man and my bike tool kit fell apart. I jokingly said it was the key to my heart. He was patient and determined and fixed it. That man touched my heart, maybe even more so after we broke up because I recognized he was creating and living a new life after a nasty divorce. From what I can read and see he is in love and happy and evolving as a person.  It is a visual reminder that one can evolve as a person for the better, even at our age.

I thought of my life of late; my job struggles, cancer, accidents, struggles of my children and that the lesson I think I've needed to learn, I mean, REALLY LEARN is that I have the know-how that can fix a broken tool. I guess that means I have the key to my own heart. My time on Earth is limited. I will make the most of it.

Legacy of Love

My dad's "Heaven Day" anniversary is Aug 14th. He was not perfect. He was flawed. He made mistakes. But in the end, he lived a good life. I wrote him a letter six months before he died on Valentines Day. For his memorial service I read a short introduction and the letter to our family and friends. He would be 85 this year.

Here it is....

~Kathy~

Several years ago my dad turned seventy. We wanted to make that night a special one to honor him and we wanted to create a memory. Not only, I remember my sister Paula saying, for my dad and mom, or “us” (his kids), but for our children, HIS grandchildren. We set about preparing the evening in “Chuck Fehely”-style, which included the foot-long hot dogs and angel food cake. The stage had the perfect homey feel to it: a clothesline running the length of the exterior of our house, multiple strands of white lights and a backdrop of colorful quilts. We had our very first annual “Fehely Talent Show.” I use the word, “Talent” quite liberally for the majority of us: yes, we sang, we kazooed, we drummed and strummed, danced, recited and even performed fake raspberries to one of grandpa’s favorite tunes. It was, by all of our “Reflective Fehely” standards, a perfect night. To conclude the evening we gave dad letters where we wrote to him, telling how much we loved him, how proud we were to be his kids citing special gestures, expressions or stories about him that we enjoyed.

~I’m going to stop this description for a moment to say that birthday evening was not unlike what we’ve tried to create here today, a lovely memory for all of us, bragging about this amazing man, and I know he would have LOVED this…. because he loved all of YOU so much~

Well for some reason, I never gave my dad a letter that night. I had been a little busy, but the truth was, I just needed more time to marinate on how to put into words all of the feelings and expressions of love that I wanted to paint for my dad. This February, I finally gave him that letter and it is what I am going to read to you today. When I gave it to him, I gave it quietly with just he and my mom there. I then let him read it privately. I knew it meant something because my mom said he had tears streaming down his face (but a little known secret to outsiders is that my dad is a sentimental crybaby).  When I REALLY knew it meant something, was when we shared his scrapbook with me and I found the letter in it.

 Legacy of Love~

Today I am writing a letter to you, my dad, otherwise known as Charles Frank Fehely. “Charlie” or “Chuck” to some, but dad or grandpa to the rest of us…

There is a moment when those of us who are teachers, well, where we would use the term “teachable moment” -the kind of moment when it feels almost supernatural or “spiritual” in the classroom. It could be some kind of conflict on the playground, national or world events, it could simply be a story you’ve just read to your students or the way a class conversation has headed in a new direction…as a teacher you know this is “it,” a teachable moment. Dad, as I think of your life, and your current battle with cancer, and how as your daughter I have witnessed who you are, I realize I am here…I am currently living the reality of a “teachable moment.” I can use this moment to write about you, let you know how much I love you and let you know how you are a teacher to everyone who surrounds you.

Dad you are leaving all of us a “Legacy of Love” that spans across all ages, races and religions. The “Legacy” you have left me is an example of how I want to live my own life. It begins with mom:

You and mom have a love that is tangible, real. If you look at the DVD we made, I want you to notice and pay close attention to you and mom: the looks you give one another, the chemistry you have and the love you so obviously feel for one another. For all of your children, grandchildren, friends & family you’ve left a “Legacy of Love” for one’s spouse. Growing up we all felt it, we were lucky to have been raised by parents that loved one another…who weathered some storms but who mainly lived with sunnier times. Even now, your love for one another can only be summed up as miraculous and a testimony to each of us, your children. You are both my heroes by the love you have for one another.

Dad you’ve also left a “Legacy of Love” for each of us: Mike, Paula, Laura, and myself. Growing up we all felt your love and pride. You were at all of our events, and as we became adults that circle grew: football, synchronized swimming, baseball, plays, musicals, church events, school and more. As we married, and yes, even divorced & dated, your legacy spread to a preschool teacher, a plumber, a man in retail, a firefighter and currently, a man in investment. Your love expanded to each of us as we “grew up” over the years. And to know you, is to know your pride for all of us, even today.

The “Legacy of Love,” of course, includes your nine grandchildren: Ryan, Jill, Morgan, Evan, Brad, Tommy, Troy, Shelby and Mary. Your love includes all of their collective interests, hobbies, sports, and more: football, swimming, soccer, lacrosse, 4-H, music, dancing, vintner studies, construction management, plumbing, the discussion of sports pages, religious beliefs and more. We recently celebrated your birthday. While doing so, we all created the gift for you that listed all of the reasons we loved you so much. In it, each of your nine grandchildren expressed how they felt special, unique and loved just for being themselves. On a side note: your legacy rubbed off on your wife because when we made her a similar gift your grandchildren felt the same way about their grandma. They all felt, and feel, loved by both you and mom.

Your “Legacy of Love” also includes a circle of people that aren’t quite blood-related but that the term “friends” doesn’t quite cover, it is simply too broad. Specifically your “Legacy of Love” included young lives. Judy Rodriquez, whom you walked down the aisle for her wedding, would fit this circle. John Berry, who moved into our house when he was a senior at CV High and we, the “Fehely” kids were still quite little. This circle included all of your players that you took to college games to expand their dreams. It included the united work of mom baking her Jet Pride cookies for the players of the week. The meager earnings you made while coaching or teaching were spent building dreams for these kids, blending your belief in the saving grace of sports and most importantly, your faith in young people.

You had two careers in my lifetime and your love included all your co-workers from both. You remained friends with the men and women you worked with as a probation officer, and the friends you later made while coaching and teaching, being an athletic director. Your friendships were an example of love: you still remain friends with boys from grammar school, junior and senior high school, your days in the Army, semi-pro football, and, as mentioned, through the Alameda County Probation Department and the halls of Encinal, Menlo Atherton and Castro Valley High. It includes friends with conservative beliefs in Contra Costa County and liberal ones from Alameda. It includes men, and women, of every race and every economic class: both rich and poor. An early memory I have of you is calling friends up to arrange time together: Saturday football, drafts, tennis matches, basketball games, lunch, dinner, golf, vacations and more. When I was in high school or college trying to decide what to do on a rare free Saturday night, I would think of your ability to create times together with all of your many friendships. I would then pick up the phone myself to plan some grand adventure of my own, mimicking your actions. Your “Legacy of Love” includes your friends and how you see them as an extension of our family.

As stated earlier, your “Legacy of Love” includes your spouse, my mom, your children and grandchildren, friends & co-workers. However, your “Legacy” also involves your Faith. You were quiet about it, but it is real. If I remember correctly, you grew up with a father who was an atheist and a mother who you used to say was a “good Christian woman” and whom you sweetly regarded as a saint. It wasn’t until you attended St. Mary’s College that I think you really found God. You became a Catholic…but really, for you, it was about getting a relationship with God at that point, a conscious decision. There were times in your life when you have been upset with decisions the Church has made and you would not attend for a while. In more recent times you’ve begun attending services again. The thing is, each of us, your children, have been allowed and encouraged to develop our own faith in God. Anyone who has been in attendance at our family events: birthdays, holidays and gatherings, they would know we have a tradition where we stand in a giant circle holding hands. You lead us in a prayer…I use that term loosely because really, your eyes are open and sometimes it’s more like you are preaching to us or sharing some of life’s lessons. Sometimes there are tears, usually there is laughter, but always there is love. You shared a story with us at Christmas that involved your Faith. You talked about your love for all of us:  mom, each of your children, grandkids and then you talked about how you get through your radiation treatments. You shared how when you are lying there; wearing your mask like a Phantom of the Opera character partaking in an act you really didn’t like and how the claustrophobic feelings could potentially take over. You talked about how you would then think about (or imagine) each of us: wife, children & spouses, and grandchildren surrounding you in prayer. Your faith is what seems to get you through the awful parts of your cancer treatments.

You are my dad, the teacher, and you have left me a “Legacy of Love” in nearly all areas of life: your love for my mom, kids, grandkids, friends, family, work and faith. Your latest teaching lesson, the “teachable moment” I am writing about today is this: that although you won’t always be physically present, your love, your “Legacy of Love,” will always be right here, in my heart. My memories of growing up with you and your “Legacy” will serve as an example to me for years to come. Your “Legacy of Love,” really is just that, a legacy for all of us in the “Fehely Family” to be inspired and to try and our lives in the same fashion. 

Love to you, Kathy

Transitions: A Perfect Night

Transitions are not always easy.Take childbirth, for example. For me, the transition was the worst part. Not back labor. Not pushing. Not even record-breaking head sizes or shoulders. With the birth of each of my three children, the transitions were the most unpleasant part. I mean literally and figuratively.

Most people that know me, and know that I'm a teacher, would be surprised to learn that I said I never wanted children while growing up. That is not cool to admit when you're a mom, but there you have it. I think it is because I was the fourth of four kids. I could see it was work.

I didn't want to get a Mrs. degree either. At least until I was old, like, you know, in my forties. 

I grew up in a very typical town at that time. Most of my peers married young. In my journey I found God and my faith and then wound up in love and married by the age of 22. I had become a teacher. I loved children. My husband I both came from big families and wanted one too, so by the age of 30 we had three kids. 

Now I'm in transition. 

My youngest daughter turned 21 yesterday. The weather was mild and lovely. There was a birthday tiara made of succulents, flowers and feathers and a "Birthday Girl" sash worn while we celebrated. We had brunch with her sister in San Francisco. We shared a beer with their childhood friend. There was a birthday cupcake for photos mixed with a little moodiness when one of us got tired or hungry. We were joined by her brother and the four of us went to a concert in Berkeley. It was a perfect day.

While the band was performing, I laid down on the grass and closed my eyes. My kids thought I was falling asleep and took turns putting their hands over my face. I was remembering a time in our past. It was almost as if we were lying back under the Magnolia tree, a pile of four bodies and quilts, pillows, stuffed animals, flashlights and picture books. And a small dog, he was there too. I could remember for a moment, what the chill in the air felt like if a foot poked out of the edge of the blanket, the kids nudging and bickering. The stars dotting the sky. It was a perfect day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As far as my parenting goes when my kids were very small, I don't have many regrets.  

I can say my kids went to bed at a too-early-for-them-but-kept-mom-sane hour. They had three meals a day with a protein, a vegetable and a starch. We did not always eat dessert but they would get woken up on occasion for their birthday and get to eat the corner piece of the birthday cake, a cookie or a slice of apple or pumpkin pie. They were always well-dressed and did some kind of exercise every day. As babies they were carried or biked or pushed in a stroller to concerts, museums, parks, sporting venues and shopping. This was replaced by family biking, swimming, walks and even dancing in the park for summer concerts. They talked about their highs and their lows of the day at the dinner table. They were read bedtime stories every night and said their prayers cuddled in bed. They played dress-up, make-believe, baked elaborate sugar cookies for every holiday and had tea parties, with real food. There were dolls and superheroes and fairytales. There was a co-op preschool with a mom and a dad who volunteered, as well as field trips with both. There were cousins, lots of them. And with the cousins came holidays, birthdays, many days in the park, playing at one another's houses and vacations mostly in Tahoe or Yosemite. They camped in tents and trailers and even in the backyard on a blue tarp with the stars overhead canopied by an old magnolia tree. There were special late nights to go to the midnight book sale parties for the latest Harry Potter edition. And there were more late nights involving movie releases as the clock struck 12 on several Thursdays. They had Survivor dinners of pineapple, rice and other island foods and there were forts in the family room left up overnight. As they grew older and expressed an interest they played soccer, basketball, lacrosse, baseball, competed in Irish dancing, bowling, scouting and 4-H. They debated. They sewed. There were crafts and kites and fishing. There were boo-boos and kisses and hugs and love.

I'd like to think it was a mostly-good childhood for all three kids, despite my shortcomings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As we were leaving the concert and headed to our car late last night we were reflecting on the evening.  "I know you thought I was falling asleep on the grass but I wasn't. I was pretending I was camping in the backyard with the three of you under the Mag-no-li-a," my voice stammered. "Under the Magnolia tree," I finished saying, while choking up.

My kids looked at me, concern on their faces. 

I smiled at them, wiping my tears. 

They started groaning and laughing. They weren't being mean. They were rolling their eyes and exchanging the oh-my-God-would-you-look-at-our-dorky-sappy-mom-but-we-love-her looks with one another.

I started laughing through my tears and we all kept walking.

I think the Head And The Heart song called "Let's Be Still" has one stanza that perfectly states how I felt while lying down at that concert:

The world's just spinning

A little too fast

If things don't slow down soon we might not last

So just for the moment, let's be still

I think, for me, transitions will continue to be one of my least favorite things. But I view last night's as a gift. It was a perfect night.