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: Postscript Number One

I wrote a story a few months ago about a student of mine. His fictitious name is Marco. In it, I share his story. I tell about his background regarding his family, his girlfriend and his goals. I tell people about his big giving heart.

I tell how Marco wanted to graduate from high school despite all of the obstacles he faced. His girlfriend had been raped. He had barely enough money to commute to school. His family wanted him to work and drop out. 

He wanted a diploma

He didn't get one.

He was so close. He had all of his schoolwork materials and I am sure they were completed, or close to completion.

My principal and I had met with him more than once to encourage him. I stacked all of his books in a pile and pointed out he was about four inches from graduating. 

He called two weeks before school was out and said he would have to miss his appointment. However, he assured me he had nearly everything done. 

The entire staff was pulling for him. This included our office manager and her assistant, our principal, other teachers and people in the community who had read about him. We had a cap and gown ready. We held off printing the graduation program, hoping he would come in at the last minute and we could keep his name on it.

He did not show up for his last appointment.

Marco had a full plate, to be sure. He had pressure to contribute financially to his mother's household. He had someone give him a job which was physically very demanding. It required heaving lifting and long hours. His employer was taking advantage of him, worse still, he was related to his stepfather. He also babysat and cared for his grandfather. He wanted to contribute to his family financially but was torn.

He was experiencing life's "school of hard knocks" but remained determined to graduate. Hewanted to graduate. He wanted to walk across the stage and prove something to his family members. To himself. He told me this with conviction and tears.

But he didn't show.

I left messages on Marco's cell phone, his home phone, his mom's cell phone, and his dad's work. 

I have a mixture of emotions. I am disappointed. I am sad. I am angry. I am hopeful. 

I hope he calls me up in the fall and brings in all of his completed work. I hope I can see him walk across the stage next June.

I hope that I can write "Marco: Postscript Number Two."

I want to pen the words, "He graduated!"

The thing is, even if I don't ever get to write those words, I long for Marco to know he is special. He has value and worth and that he really can do anything he is determined to do. He does not need a diploma or to walk across a stage to know it. He doesn't have to show it to his family, his teacher or his friends. 

If witnessing his character in extreme circumstances is an indicator, I know he will be successful, with or without graduating. I hope he knows that too.