It's hard to describe precisely the confluence of emotions I felt stepping into the classroom. A girl had just thrown a fit just outside the door, throwing expletives like darts at two female security guards. I'm guessing they're ladies because touching can't be interpreted. The girl storms away and I'm beckoned to enter.
I walked past old circus performers, night walkers and junkies to get here. At 10 a.m. Fully freakish in front of Uptown Baptist. I remarked at the crater in the street that would soon swallow my ankle and leave me limping for days.
Maybe I should have stopped there.
It's a sea of obstinance in the art room. Palpable anger and apathy. Seniors are sprinkled among juniors, visiting eighth-graders and a row of kids with CP in wheelchairs. I'm there to talk about how to get a job, and how my agency can help you. No one cares, but more than that, there are whispers of violence. Yard sticks are swung and scissors are sharpened. Defiance is omnipresent. And the teacher? Sitting atop his desk, sullen, sulking even. . . alone and content to watch it unfold.
I got scared. Then I got angry. Then I became complacent and shrugged. I couldn't do much with this group. It wasn't my classroom. But what if it was? How would I handle it? Send RaShawn to the principal's office. An empty threat, only effective if the call to a parent goes answered, assuming there are parents in his life.
My message was one of hope. One that would lay a brick toward self-sufficiency, but their ears were clogged with incidents and obstacles far more prescient, more violent. I can't blame them. I can't blame anyone.
I just want to help fix it. I just want to feel like I can. I want to shake loose whatever semblance of motivation might still be chirping inside, bleak and near ash but still aglow. Seeing this sea of apathy and dismay, different than what one might expect from teens so close to graduation. . . I had to pause and think about the truth. They have a lot to be angry about. Now what?
I love the boxing gloves. Lately, I have thought a lot about being in a spiritual battle. I am tired. There are moments when I feel defeated and there seems to be a great many obstacles and enemies. A few decades back in a Pogo daily comic strip Pogo remarks, “We have met the enemy, and he is us.” This reminds me of a scene in the Empire Strikes Back. Luke battles with who he thinks is Vader, but after slaying his enemy the mask is now partially removed. Luke sees an apparition of himself lying dead in the Vader mask. Luke sees that he might become what he fights against.
ReplyDeleteSometimes, I am my own enemy, creating obstacles and excuses so I don’t have to battle. My willingness is sometimes fatigued when I can’t see or remember the battles I have won. I recently got a Dove “Promise” that said, “Build a bridge and get over it.” HA! Okay. I am willing to try.
My title says Teacher, but it should say Healer behind that. I establish conditions for healing. I provide experiences where those who are willing can come and find strength in creating intellectual property. I say intellectual property because I believe we feel more empowered when we CREATE something unique and original.
Writing, visual, dramatic, or musical arts all give man power. Many believe this is humanities divine right as God created us in his image-making us creators. But what are we creating?
I never doubt your ability to inspire (do you see how you inspire me?) I just want you to know the questions going through my mind. (FYI feel free to delete this lengthy response.) Do your charges need more voice to vent, or time to reflect on their accomplishments? Do they need to see the battle they are in and define their enemies? Are they willing to go to war for a cause that seems impossible to win? Is it time to watch Avatar? Do they know that they are their own Pandora and that there is a battle for their minds (Flobots)?