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.

Marco*

Marco*

By Kathy Dillingham

Sometimes when you are a teacher, you become the student. Today, Marco was mine.

Marco is a young man who attends the school where I teach. Venture School is an alternative high school for students in grades kindergarten through Adult Education. They can enroll in either our Home Study Program or like the majority, our Independent Study Program. The students come each week and meet with their teacher for approximately one hour. They are expected to have completed about 20 hours of work at home. They correct their homework, take tests, watch related movies at their weekly appointments and can come attend additional math or writing labs for extra support or take small group classes for painting, ceramics and more. Frequently students find that they come in to meet with their teacher on one day and to take tests on another. Sometimes getting to school is the biggest obstacle students face. Marco was no exception.

Marco is a twin. His brother attends a charter school in another county. His brother lives with his father who can really only financially support one of the twin boys. His mother, now remarried, is working full time and supporting Marco, his younger siblings, her diabetic husband and I believe, at least one grandmother.  Money is in short supply.

Marco chose to switch schools in his senior year so he could help support his mother’s household. He began with a seemingly manageable course load with hopes to graduate this spring. After we had our initial meeting where curriculum was chosen, Marco was enthusiastic in his gentle and mild-mannered way.

For our first follow-up meeting I noticed Marco’s penmanship was precise. He wrote in nearly all capital letters and his work was neat and thorough. He did well on the tests and he looked confident. Soon however, his attendance became spotty, at best.

Upon investigation, Marco reluctantly shared that the cost of the travel expenses to and from Venture were considered very prohibitive for he and his family. Through a little creative thought and legwork, I was able to find a generous individual who was willing to donate “transportation scholarship money” (i.e., “bus and BART fair”) on a weekly basis, totaling nearly $15 roundtrip. The caveat was that Marco had to attend school each week in order to receive the next week’s bus and BART fair. To insure Marco’s integrity, I had him do an Internet search and write an email proposal with the exact costs involved. But first we had to set up an email account for him. He had to learn how to log on, create an account and write an email in “business letter” format to outline the needed funds.

To keep both individuals anonymous, I had them email me. I then would delete names, email addresses and any personal information.

            And so we began. Marco wrote Mr. “X.”

Mr. “X” wrote Marco back. He explained that he understood the obstacles that Marco faced, as his father was a steel mill worker. He explained that through hard work and dedication the American dream of education is still alive and well. As Marco walked into my workstation for our scheduled appointment, I was excited to have him read the email. That is, until I looked at Marco.

“Marco, you look so sad. Are you okay?”

He began to cry softly as he entered. He sat down in the chair and composed himself. He had just walked in from an uncharacteristically cold winter commute. He had on a thin black coat and jeans that was topped off with a black knit hat. As he continued to cry, he pulled the bill of the hat down to the tip of his nose and he slumped down into his chair.

“I’m not going to lie. I did not get my work done this week,” he softly stated, followed by silent tears.

                       

“Forget about the work right now. What happened Marco?”

            “My girlfriend was raped on Monday.”

            When you go through graduate coursework to become a teacher, you discuss many situations that can occur with students throughout your career. Suspected abuse, neglect, hunger, and more. When I had my training over 20 years ago they did not discuss cutting, anorexia, and bulimia, Oxycontin addictions, Lime disease, Celiac Disease and other conditions that teachers face today. They also did not discuss what to do when a boy’s girlfriend has been raped.

            As the morning progressed I listened to Marco. As he told his brief version, he cried a little more. I realized I had no tissue as I wiped my eyes and nose too. Together we met with one of our school’s counselors. We were able to give him phone numbers for the Rape Crisis Hotline, Suicide Prevention and scheduled an appointment for a follow-up appointment the next week. He had not slept all week due to the stress of being his girlfriend’s only confidant.

            We do not have a nurse’s office at my campus. There is no place for students to lie down and sleep. We brainstormed what he could do, including sleeping on BART, if needed. Soon we decided the best course was to continue the day by working a little bit, to get his mind off of the stress.

            He took tests. He watched a few short clips and had a few moments of welcomed normalcy.

            I remembered the email and asked Marco if he had checked his account. He explained that due to the stress of his week he had been unable to do so. Marco then pulled out his folder and read his notes recalling how to open his newly created email account. As he read the email from his “transportation scholarship” mentor, his eyes welled up again.

            Mine did too.

            “This man sounds real intelligent.”

            “He is. And he believes in you. He wants to see you graduate from high school this June. So do I.”

            “What happens now?”

            We discussed how the system would work, that each week that Marco came to school, he’d get the next week’s transportation monies. With a subtle suggestion from me, he slowly and carefully crafted a thank you email. He asked what he should say. I told him to just be honest.

He wrote, “Thank you so much for this opportunity to further my education. I'm sorry it sounds blunt and so shallow but this week has been very rough for me. I still sincerely mean my gratitude.”

I said, “You came today so I have the money to give you.”

            “No, I don’t need it. I saw someone who can give me a ride home today.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yes. What’s this?” he asked while looking at the Pennies for Patients jelly jar on my desk.

            I explained about the Leukemia Lymphoma Society donation that our school was collecting. He asked what Lymphoma was, which I explained further, sharing how that was what my father died from two years ago.                       

            Marco reached into his pocket with his hand. He slowly pulled it out and held his fist over the glass jar. He released the small bits of change into the glass container.

            I had to look away as he gathered his book, binder and papers to put in his backpack. My eyes were welling up and I had a lump in my throat. I did not want him to see me cry, again, for the third time today.

            Today, I witnessed greatness. Marco was my teacher.

*Marco is not his “real” name.