The Invisible Kids

This is my 37^th year in education, my 14^th year or so as a principal.  And tomorrow, on Saturday, 439 students will take part in commencement.

I know several principals . . . and teachers . . . who have been at this longer than I have. 

God Bless ‘Em!

Tomorrow, the kids will dress in their blue gowns, their blue “hats”.  Some will wear gold stoles with gold tassels, signifying they graduated with honors.  Some will wear medallions because they graduated with even higher honors.

Parents, Grandparents, Family Members, and Loved Ones will be in the stands cheering for them.  Lots of smiles.  Some tears. 

Some relief.

There will be some whose hand I will shake and wonder, “Really?” as I think about their missteps and mistakes that, well, we’ve all made.

You see, it seems I know both ends.  Those at the top with the best grade point averages . . . and those who struggled, because it didn’t come very easily for them.  But they made it just the same, and like the kids with the gold stoles and gold tassels, they’ll walk up the ramp, onto the stage, receive their diploma, and I’ll shake their hand.  They deserve it too.

I have a teacher, Kathy, who is retiring this year.  She’s been at it a long time.  She adopted a classroom of special needs kids and refers to them as “The Best Class”.  One of them, Trey, is graduating.  I wrote about him earlier this week and I’ve got to tell you, I’ll miss him.

But Kathy was also clued into the kids whom she called, The Invisible Kids.

The Invisible Kids probably won’t be dressed in a gold stole or have a gold tassel.  They might not have the greatest grade point average.  They got it done in the classroom, perhaps not as well as the kids at the top, certainly better than the kids at the bottom, but they got it done.  They didn’t get into trouble.  They didn’t have many missteps.  They walked the narrow silently, quietly, with little, if any, fanfare.

The Invisible Kids.

Kids content to stay out of the spotlight.  Kids who answered the right questions in class.  Kids who may or may not have volunteered for this or that answer, but perhaps were called upon instead.  Mostly got it right.  Mostly.

A mom came into my office a week ago and thanked me for the awards ceremony we had.  She explained, quite proudly . . . modestly, that her son wasn’t the best student.  He didn’t play on a team.  He wasn’t in a club.  He didn’t take part in an activity.  Yet, at this awards ceremony, her son was recognized by a teacher because he gave effort.  He tried and didn’t give up.  He was a good kid.  He didn’t make waves.

An Invisible Kid.

But not Invisible to the teacher who recognized him for an award.  Saw him as deserving.

It made that kid’s year.  It made that mom proud.  Thankful, because a teacher made sure he wasn’t Invisible.

So . . .

Tomorrow 439 kids will graduate and take part in commencement.  Some of them who are golden like their stoles and their tassels.  Some of them who struggled, but made it, and who will someday be golden in their own way too.  Someday.

And some who, whether they like it or not, will walk up on the stage and for a brief moment, have their name called, and approximately 5,000 people will cheer for them. 

They will receive recognition.  Be in the spotlight whether they want to be or not.

And, as it should be, they won’t be Invisible any longer.  At least for a brief moment on a Saturday morning in June.  Something to think about . . .

Oh, and I almost forgot . . .

I wrote in an earlier post that instead of giving a speech at commencement, I sing to my kids.  I pick a song that fits them, captures their personality.  This class liked to rush to the future.  Want to get into ‘life’ in a hurry. 

So, for those of you who wondered what song I’m singing tomorrow, I chose “Don’t Blink”.  I’m being accompanied by one of my seniors on an acoustic guitar.  I only hope I do justice to Kenny Chesney’s song.

 

What We Learn From Children

Casey was a tough ranch kid.  Little blond-haired kid who played basketball for me for three years.  Intense, great defense, pretty good passer, fair shot.  I noticed after each game, he’d grab two bags of ice and hold them against his knees.  After each game and generally for the next day, he’d hobble like he was an old man with a terrible case of arthritis.  

It wasn’t until after we had won the state tournament and after I had announced I was leaving to coach at the university level that I found out that Casey was born with split kneecaps.  They never healed or grew properly.  I’m not a doctor.  I don’t know much physiology if any.  I don’t even know how it’s possible to have split kneecaps.  But that’s what he told me.  I asked him how he was able to walk, much less play basketball.  He shrugged, smiled and said, “’Cause I like it.”

Melanie was a quiet young lady.  Honors student.  Top five in her class.  She seemed reserved, almost shy.  Her eyes were bright and she had a ready and willing smile.  As a senior, she had to write an essay for a scholarship about overcoming an obstacle.  She wrote about not knowing if there would be a meal to eat for herself or for her younger sister.  Her parents were out of work.  There were times that the only meal she and her sister ate was school breakfast and lunch.  Don’t know what she did over the holidays or over the summer for food to eat.  The electricity was turned off until the bill was paid, sometimes for long stretches.  She wrote about running home after school to take advantage of daylight to do her homework, often finishing by candlelight or by flashlight.  She wrote about having to wear long sleeves and pants to bed and having to put rubber bands on her cuffs and sleeves to keep cockroaches out of her clothes.

I gave a certificate of completion to one of our students yesterday in a simple ceremony with friends, relatives and staff members.  Trey is a special needs student who has been with us for five years, almost six.  He is gregarious.  Loves to laugh, loves to hug, and loves to tease.  We’ve become buddies these past five years.  He has difficulty in speaking, but will draw a picture to communicate with us.  He loves to see an A+ on his paper or a 100% on his projects and will declare, “I can do it better!”  And he does.  Always.  Never quitting until he succeeds in what he determines is his mission.

I’ve Learned From Children.  From Kids.

I’ve learned from them since I’ve been in education . . . or at least, since I’ve taken the time to notice. 

Their struggles.  Their accomplishments.  Their seeming failures, only to get up and try again.

Their innocence.  Their joy in discovery.  Their sense of wonder.

Casey taught me never to give up.  Never to settle for anything other than one’s best.  He taught me to never complain.  To smile myself through it.  As I write this, I find myself smiling even now.

Melanie taught me perseverance.  Never to make excuses.  To rise above with grace and dignity.  Taught me that when the pennies are few, there are those among us who have even less.

Trey taught me that one doesn’t have to be brilliant to be bright.  One doesn’t have to be gifted to be great.  Taught me that there can be pleasure in almost anything.

What We Learn From Children is that often, there is beauty in simplicity.  In wonder.  In perseverance.  In sucking it up and smiling through it.  We can Learn much From Children.  And, we can teach them too!  Something to think about . . .

Live Life, and Make A Difference!

The Gift Of Love

Love really is a gift.  It both brings a smile to one’s face and tears to one’s eyes.  A lump forms in one’s throat and no matter how much you try to swallow, it is difficult.  Yes, Love is a Gift.

Love is meant and intended to be shared.  Given away.  Freely with the expectation of receiving anything back.  A hard concept to understand because we live in a society of “giving to get”.  Love doesn’t operate that way though. 

When we give a gift, is there the expectation that we receive a gift back?

Not really. 

We give because we want to.  Giving a gift somehow makes us feel good, or perhaps even better, than when we receive a gift.  Love is magical in that respect.

Leo Buscaglia wrote, “Love is always open arms. If you close your arms about love you will find that you are left holding only yourself.”

But . . . in keeping one’s arms open increases our vulnerability, doesn’t it?  We become defenseless.  At the mercy of the person we reach out to.  They can reject us.  They can ignore us.  And if they do, it hurts.  Tremendously so.  In loving, we become vulnerable.

But it is in that sheer vulnerability that makes love the greatest of all gifts.  The greatest gift.

Buscaglia also wrote, “The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing.  He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn, feel, change, grow or love. Chained by his certitude, he is a slave; he has forfeited his freedom.  Only the person who risks is truly free.”

It comes down to a choice . . . either give The Gift Of Love without strings, without expectations knowing full well that we might not get it back, or withhold it and run the risk of never receiving love because it was never given.  The latter is really a terrible, empty option.  A non-option actually.  This option will only leave one empty, alone and lonely.

Lastly, Love is not like a cake.  Love isn’t cut into pieces to be shared on a first come, first serve basis. Unlike a cake, love doesn’t “run out”.  It is magical in that the more you give love, the more love you seem to have.  A never-ending supply.

To give The Gift Of Love . . . or, not. 

Is there even a choice?  Really?  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Change Direction

My brother, Jim, wasn’t sure what he wanted to do after high school.  He went to college for a year, didn’t like it.  Went to a specialty school to learn to be a Radio-Technician.  Didn’t like it.  Enlisted in the Air Force, serving two years in Vietnam.  Came back to the states.  When he got out of the service, went back to college, graduated with honors with a double major in Art and Architecture.  Owned his own business.  Designed and built houses.  Wasn’t satisfied.  Became a teacher and did that for most of his adult life.  Retired.  Now owns an RV park in a resort area of Wisconsin.  A park he and his wife designed.  Happy as can be.

Change Direction.

My wife, Kim, knew what she wanted to do since fourth or fifth grade.  Still a Physical Education and Health teacher to this day.  Added a certification to teach Driver Education.  Is a Department Chair.  Happy.  No need to Change Direction.

Change Direction.

There isn’t anything wrong with walking down a path, finding it’s not the one you want, not the one for you, stopping, turning around and walking down a different path.  Nothing wrong with that at all.  Why would you want to continue being unhappy?  Why would you want to continue being unsatisfied?

I’ve enjoyed life in several states.  I’ve taught and coached high school in Wyoming.  I’ve taught and coached at the collegiate level in Nebraska.  Taught and coached and counseled in Wisconsin.  Was a counselor and administrator in California.  Was an administrator in Wisconsin and now in Virginia.  Along the way, I’ve met wonderful people.  I’ve seen beautiful country.  Learned many, many things about life . . . myself . . . that I probably wouldn’t have learned had I stayed in one place all my life.

Change Direction.

There is a Chinese proverb that says: “Do not fear going forward slowly; fear only to stand still.”

Change Direction.

To not move is a choice.  It is also a direction. 

I’ve seen adults and kids so numb with fear, so numb with indecision that they cannot move.  Not forward.  Not backward.  Cannot move at all.

While trees grow roots and for the most part, stay in one spot, they can be transplanted and thrive.   We do that with plants.  They outgrow one pot, so we transplant them to another, a bigger pot.  Or put them into a garden bed.

We are not trees.  We are not plants.

So move.  Change Direction.  You might like the view.  You might like the life.  The experience.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

Never Quite Finished

Ever notice that some things just don’t seem to end?  That some things keep going and going

and . . .  Sort of like the Energizer Bunny!  Annoying at times.

Each Saturday morning, I begin the laundry.  I sort it and do one load at a time.  Depending upon the fabric, I either hang it on a rack or throw it in the dryer.  About five or six loads later, I declare myself done.  Yeah!

Oh, but wait . . .

Emily finishes with soccer practice or a game.  I now have another pile to do, perhaps two piles, since one jersey is black.  Heaven forbid if you wash black with white.  Worse if her red warm-up jersey is dirty.  Might take three loads. 

Oh, but wait . . .

I forgot- Hannah’s home from college.  Two or three more loads, maybe four.

Same thing with the dishes.  I wash and then dry.  Maybe I use the dishwasher.  Throw the dishes in, the soap, and turn it on.  Done!

Oh, but wait . . .

Someone decides to have a bowl of ice cream.  A glass of milk.  Popcorn.  Lemonade. More dishes!

It’s Never Quite Finished.  Such is life, really.

Last night, I finished the first edit on a book I wrote.  It is actually a sequel to the first.  When I got to the ending, I realized that it wasn’t quite done.  There was more to the story.  It has a satisfying ending, but it isn’t quite finished. Not yet. 

Life is Never Quite Finished.

I’m certainly on the backside of the mountain of life. I’m taking my time, choosing my steps on that path. I’d like to think that my wife and kids would miss me when I’m gone.  Hopefully, they’ll have good memories and those memories and stories will be passed on to their children.  But their lives will move on.  I expect that.  I want that.  I don’t need anyone mourning over me.  Think of me in the good times.  The things I did or said that made you laugh or might have caused you to pause and think.  I want life to move on.  It’s going to anyway.  Nothing I can do to prevent that.

Try this sometime:  Fill a bucket with water.  Stick your arm all the way in and then pull your arm out.  Is there still a hole where your arm was?  No.  The bucket and water doesn’t even miss you.  It’s like your arm was never there.  Or perhaps the next time you’re at the beach, stand close to the shore as a wave laps at your feet.  You feel yourself sink in the sand.  You step back and you see your footprint.  That is, until the next wave laps the shore and your footprint disappears.

So, too, is life.  It is Never Quite Finished.  It goes on.  Keeps going.  It needs to.  Past us, beyond us, despite of us.  I think that’s why they call it the circle of life.  Life is Never Quite Finished.  And, it shouldn’t be.  Something to think about . . .

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!