Thanks

Her is another rerun from my Rwanda blog. After mass with Ganza I was so moved by the hopeful spirit and wonderful direction of Rwanda. It was amazing to me that they could even think beyond their grief. But there was hope - everywhere. Especially in the eyes of children.

I’ve never felt so blessed. I cried throughout most of the mass. Not out loud. For the people of this and all genocides. For the opportunity to travel here. For our lives on this lovely planet. Most of all my prayers of thanks were for you and everything in my life connected with you. My career, our family, our home. I know you probably couldn’t feel it, but in a very real way you were with me in that small, humid brick room where mass was held. You have been with me in my weariness and tears. When I see something beautiful I am reminded of your beauty. When I see children I know how much you would enjoy their smiles.

How can I ever thank you for sending me here?

From The Mouths of Babes 9/11/10

One of the most important times in our school day is when we share news and journals. I have stapled together large sheets of white paper to make big journals so that a few children can write and sketch in them at one time. We have one for Science, by far the most popular, one for Language, one for Math and one for Culture. The children and I write down observations, questions and comments about what we notice in the world around us.

These are often fascinating discussion starters and we can go on for long periods of time talking about really interesting and diverse ideas and observations. Yesterday someone brought in some rocks from Maine given to her by a relative. “Ohhh, look at the shiny sparkles in that one!” One little guy described a big lizard he saw that was brown and shiny and when the light was right you could see a rainbow on its skin. “Hey, I’ve seen one of those before.”

Recently kids have shared patterns for solving math problems, dead dragonflies, cicada shells and a butterfly wing that looked magical under the microscope. A couple of days ago, one child recorded a question in the language journal wondering who invented the alphabet. One of the best parts of this structure for me is that every year different questions surface. It helps to keep every year different and fresh. This time in our day truly belongs to the kids. Whoever writes something in a “Public Journal” gets to read and discuss it and if there are questions and follow-up questions, whoever posted it gets to call on the others.

I am the one so far who has shared news stories. I read letters to the editor, human interest stories, anything in the paper having to do with animals – our current passion. I also bring up politics when things are right in front of us. Most of my kids know who is running for governor in our state as well as who is the Republican candidate (Nikki Haley) and who is the Democratic candidate (Vincent Sheheen). They know who the president and vice president are. It is pretty surface level… so far.

The children have only brought in a few news items to share. The miners trapped in the Chilean gold mine came to our attention because one of our girls brought in an article from the paper. We went on the internet for some follow up. But up until now, most of the news has come from me. Sometimes I will share the news as well as the history behind it to give it context. One child brought up the fact that there is a lot of arguing about a building in New York City near, “’Round Zero’, whatever that is.” So, I described the situation. Most have heard of 9/11 but didn’t really understand it. I filled them in – in general terms. I told them that Muslims would like to build a community center in NYC few blocks from where the Twin Towers fell. I told them how angry some people are because the people involved in the Twin Towers attack were Muslim.

“What are Muslims?” asked on of the children.

“They are people – like you and your families - who have a different religion than most of us.”

“Are they Christians?”

“No.”

“Hey, my mom teaches as a Jewish school. That’s a different religion. The kids at my mom’s school are really cool!”

“Sure they are.”

“Are Muslims bad?”

“Of course not. The people who crashed the airplanes into the Twin towers were definitely bad. But every Muslim I have known has been a truly good person. They are people just like you and me. There were even Muslims killed in the Twin Towers.”

“There were? So why don’t they want them to build a building there?”

There is often a point in classroom conversations where things become dicey. While I tell about what is going on in terms as objective as I can manage, I try not to give myself away. The kids don’t know if I vote Republican or Democrat for example. It wouldn’t be good form for me to favor one candidate or a single side of a purely political issue. So this was one of those sensitive areas for me. I have some strong opinions but it wasn’t my place to share them.

“Well… there are those who think that Muslims are bad because of what happened at the Twin towers. They think the new building is too close to where the buildings went down.”

“But Muslims aren’t bad just because what some of them did!” said one bright-eyed little girl who I didn’t even think was listening.

There were murmurs of agreement. Young kids have a way of seeing through political smoke and rhetoric, which hide the truth. They don’t yet understand political correctness or even the fact that most adults, in polite company, steer clear of religion and politics. Kids don’t see the barriers that adults place between us. For the most part, they are able to celebrate our differences. Mostly, kids see the humanness, the decency in all of us, something adults overlook when we choose to focus on what divides us.

“Here’s what I think,” said one of the boys who had not said very much until now. “I think someone, somewhere should build a great big building that has a Muslims’ church and a Christians’ church and a Jewish church all in one place. That way they could all learn to get along together.”

Again there were murmurs of agreement. “Wow,” I said quietly, writing down what he said on my notes of the discussion.

“Hey,” said one of his second grade peers, “You should write a letter to the editor!”

Free Speech

You’ve got to love how free our society is. Compared to many other countries, our freedom of speech is incredible. When I try to explain how our constitution works to my little second and third graders I say that if I wanted to go out on the street corner and yell as loud as I can that our president is a knucklehead – I could.

In many countries you would be MIA for a while for doing just that. Maybe even missing forever. Not in our country. We have a freedom of speech that allows us to rant, or lie, or tell the truth as we see fit. And, unless we slander no one can stop us. Hey, what’s not to love about that, right?

Then you hear of this guy Terry Jones of Dove World Outreach Center of Gainseville, FL. He’s going to build a bonfire and burn a whole bunch of Korans, the Muslim Holy Book. I heard him rant nonsensically on the radio yesterday. What it all comes down to is his need to inflame and incite. What it comes down to is his need for attention. He is going to commemorate a hate-filled act (the bombing of the Twin Towers and the Pentagon) with a hate-filled act of his own.

(Youtube link to an interview of Jones by Anderson Cooper)

A deposition obtained by CBS News from a court case last month raises question about how much Pastor Jones even knows about his controversial cause. According to the deposition, Jones and his wife learned much of what they know about Sharia Law - the sacred law of the Muslim religion - by watching videos on YouTube.

"Do you know where Sharia law came from?" Jones is asked.

"Not really, no," he replies, "I think there's experts that say it came from the old Mosaic law. But no."

Attorneys also asked Jones how many Muslims he knows personally.

"I don't think I know any personally," he says, "I haven't interviewed any." Jones also says he has not attended any interfaith discussions and that he believes that such discussions are part of "our problem."

Gen. David Petraeus warned Tuesday in an e-mail to The Associated Press that "images of the burning of a Quran would undoubtedly be used by extremists in Afghanistan — and around the world — to inflame public opinion and incite violence." It was a rare example of a military commander taking a position on a domestic political matter.

Jones responded that he is also concerned but is "wondering, 'When do we stop?'" He refused to cancel the protest set for Saturday at his Dove World Outreach Center, a church that espouses an anti-Islam philosophy (Yahoo News)

So Jones plans to desecrate the Koran and acts like he does not understand the insult and the violence and hatred that may follow. I am grateful to live in a country where these actions are covered by our constitution and our right to free speech. But we can't yell, "FIRE!" in a crowded building, right? Isn't creating a violent situation for innocent people just about the same thing, only worse?

My question is, where does his right to free speech end? Doesn’t my right to live in a peaceful, tolerant, accepting society offset his right to free speech? Even a little? Will innocent people

die at the hands of radical Muslims because of Jones’ attention-seeking, self-important foolishness? Won’t the action of burning another religion’s sacred holy book fan the flames of hatred on both sides? Isn’t this something that will play right into the hands of the radical Muslims trying to paint a world in which Christians and Jews and Muslims cannot coexist?

Is Terry Jones really a Christian if he pretends that this hateful act is his right – his responsibility? Who did Jesus hate? At the end of his life, when he knew that he would soon be tortured to death, Jesus said to his disciples, Let me give you a new command: Love one another. In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples – when they see the love you have for each other. (From John Chapter 13 in Eugene Peterson’s The Message)

This is the red-letter stuff. As close as we can tell these were Jesus’ words – translated of course. There were no exceptions, as in love one another except for those with different color skin, or those who talk funny, or those from a country far away. There is no exception in that new command that says, except those who believe differently than you do.

Love one another.

Love one another.

There is not much room for wiggle room in that statement. Is there any doubt what that new command means?

Love one another.

This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples – when they see the love you have for each other.

I am not trying to “out-Christian” Terry Jones. The guy is a minister. But the State Department and General Petraeus have asked him not to burn the Koran. Members of his tiny flock have quit over this. Churches from all over the country, indeed, all over the world have asked him not to do this hateful act. He does not speak for all Christians. Not by a long shot.

I hope to God that he sees reason and gets his attention fix by changing his mind instead of following through with his evil plan.

Love one another. Why is that so hard?

The Paddle

Years ago, when Heidi was getting her doctorate, I was a second grade teacher in a fairly traditional school on the south side of Indianapolis, Indiana. Now, I must admit, here in South Carolina we have our public relations problems. There is our Governor and the Appalacian Trail, our former segregationist senior senator and his illegitimate biracial child. Of course there is Alvin Greene who is running a strong race against Jim DeMint for the US senate.

We have our list of PR problems all right, but Indiana has had some issues of its own. In 1986, the last year I taught in Decatur Township, Indiana, the Ku Klux Klan burned a cross on the high school lawn. Acquaintances of mine (not friends) used the n-word regularly and in the name of racial harmony, African American school children from Kindergarten-age on were bussed one hour each way to and from the north side of Indianapolis to our little district. There were plenty schools in need of integration much closer. Sadly, important decisions about education often fell on the shoulders of people far removed from classrooms and the daily life of students. I guess that still is true.

A strong woman principal hired me at Lynwood Elementary School. She had wonderful educational background and was a graduate student herself at IU. I had heard wonderful things about her and was anxious to begin working at her school.

She and I had issues from the start. For one thing, we carpooled together which led to lots of problems. She shared information about other teachers with me that made me uncomfortable. It made me wonder what kinds of details she shared about me to others. For another thing, she was a heavy smoker. This was back in the early to mid 80’s and smoking was pretty much accepted everywhere. There weren’t any NO SMOKING sections in restaurants and there were no smoking bans in public buildings. People routinely smoked in each other’s houses and cars. Few people ever even thought to ask permission. Since she was my principal, and therefore my boss, I didn’t feel like I had much choice in the matter. I certainly wouldn’t ask her to not smoke in her car and I didn’t feel brave enough for the first year we travelled together to ask her not to smoke in mine.

It became clear the more we got to know each other that we were VERY far apart on important educational issues. While she was well read and had some of my favorite professors on her doctoral committee, it was clear from the start that our ideas about what was in the best interest of children were very different. During that first year, she became very concerned about our test scores. So concerned that she was putting programs before children. She humiliated teachers in public and was seen by many of the teachers as a tyrant. She did have one quality that appealed to many teachers – she paddled. Pretty liberally too. I’m not sure if she saw it as a way to win back some of her dwindling support from the staff, or if she honestly thought that a good swift paddling made a positive impact (pardon the pun) on the lives of students, but she was quick and fierce with a paddle.

While I would not say that parents should never paddle their children (we have managed to never spank our children – and frankly – it is too late now since they could easier paddle us) I feel strongly that paddling should not be a tool in public schools. That should be left up to parents. The more we got to know each other, the more my principal and I disagreed. We rode together for almost an hour about four times each week so we had a lot of time to talk about education and children. And, by the second year that we worked together her smoking in my car was driving me nuts. Every time she lit up in my car I rolled down my window. She never seemed to notice. It may have been immaturity on my part, but I became less and less tolerant of her smoking in my little subcompact car (I rocked a Chevette for many years).

Finally about half way through my second year teaching with her I asked, as politely as I could, if she would stop smoking in my car. I tried to be diplomatic, but to a person who smokes a pack or two each day, an hour, twice a day, is a long time to go without a smoke. If she were going to ride in my car, which she did two or three times every week, she would have to refrain from smoking for those two hours each day.

You can imagine how hard that became. She began criticizing my lesson plans, made more unannounced visits to the classroom and called me out more often in faculty meetings. And the rides in my car… She hated the music I put in the tape player, the radio stations I chose were too mainstream, my car was too small. Looking back, it probably was a dirty trick to ask her to quit smoking in my car. It wasn’t like I was allergic and it was before we knew the dangers of second hand smoke. It was a petty thing on my part but once I asked her to stop I couldn’t bring myself to allow it again. She started driving herself more and more often. Fine by me.

Toward the end of my second year there I had some issues that caught her attention. I had never sent a child to the principal’s office for any reason. If there was a possibility that I could solve discipline or homework issues with the student or with the parents, I did. I never saw a need to get the principal involved. In some ways sending a child to the principal’s office would be giving away my authority, perhaps sending a signal to the child that I wasn’t capable of handling a situation. It was just my style to deal with things on my own.

One day a child in my room, Brandon, came back from related arts and told me that he was paddled for what he had done in PE. He said that it was for laughing and talking out of turn. I was frustrated and sorry for him. I asked if they had called his mom from the office and told her. She was a single parent. He said that she had not been called. So I wrote a brief note home, letting her know what had happened.

The next day my principal came to me in the morning fuming. She had gotten a call from Brandon’s mom about the paddling and was angry with me that I had not checked with her first. As it turned out, Brandon had not been paddled. For some reason, probably just to get attention, he had simply made that story up. She was furious that I had not checked with the office to corroborate his story. I was on her bad list now more than ever! In an effort to make sure that a parent was notified of her child being paddled, a policy I openly disagreed with, I had messed up by not checking to see if that little rascal was lying to me.

I knew I was going to have to pay the price with her. I figured that she would “write me up” and put a letter in my file about insubordination or something. She would probably make me the subject of a faculty meeting. I was worried most about the tongue lashings I would get during the times we would carpool together while she was going through nicotine withdrawal. It wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You know he’ll have to be paddled for this, don’t you?” she said to me with a gleam in her eye. I didn’t follow her reasoning. “We are just going to have to teach him how wrong it is to lie.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I argued. “You are angry because he said he was paddled and he wasn’t? Now you want to paddle him?”

“Not at all,” she said simply, “I am angry because a little second grader pulled the strings of so many adults. He lied to you, he made his mother angry with Craig (the PE teacher) and he made me looked bad. A second grader shouldn’t be able to do that. He needs to be taught a lesson!”

“I am the one you are angry with. It was my mistake for not checking with you," I said in utter disbelief. "I refuse to paddle a second grader just for being dishonest. It isn’t serious enough to justify that kind of punishment!”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She said it with the kind of sympathetic patience that one shows to someone who is slow or very young. “I’m going to do the paddling. And you will be the witness. Two whacks should do it.”

I knew what she was doing. It was her way of punishing me for what I had done. I disagreed with her openly about a lot of things. I didn’t teach to the high stakes test, I played with my students at recess and came in all sweaty; I didn’t let her smoke in my car. And, while she was my principal, I never gave her the feeling that she was the boss of me. Now she was getting even. And it was my fault. Brandon was at fault too, he did lie for whatever bizarre reason, but there was no mistake, it was me my principal was really angry with. Brandon was collateral damage.

There is no happy ending to this story. Brandon was just a little boy. He was the smallest child in my class. Brandon got two licks. They were brutal too. She used a hard wooden paddle made for this specific purpose. I signed the witness form and had to watch as she made him bend over and grab the arm of her chair. The first whack was extremely hard. I was shocked. Brandon screamed. I think even my principal was surprised at her own strength with that first lick. He put his hands over his sore butt and cried until he was hoarse, his eyes filled with tears and fear. “Don’t you think that’s enough?” I pleaded softly.

“I said two and it’s going to be two,” she said without emotion. Brandon would not cooperate. “If you don’t move your hands and bend over by the time I count to three it will be two more licks,” she warned him. “You’d better not think I’m kidding.” Terrified, Brandon did bend over and grab the arm of her chair before she counted three. She landed another blow on his bottom – not quite as hard as the first. She looked at me with grim satisfaction as I took Brandon by the hand and we headed back to class. Brandon and I were broken as we walked slowly down the linoleum-tiled hallway. Our heads were down and both of us were crying.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You did lie, but I got you into this mess.”

“That’s OK, Mr. O,” he said. His voice was still hitching from crying. “It’s not your fault.” He didn’t really understand just how much it was my fault.

During the last year we worked in the same school, my principal and I didn’t ride together very much. She had too many after school duties she said. That was just fine. Heidi and I were broke with her in grad school and me working so far away from where we lived. But I didn’t care about the extra gas. My principal and I never had much to say to each other after that. We had lost each other’s respect and I was counting down the days in that last year until we moved to South Carolina.

When I write memoir I am usually left thinking about the lives of the people in my little stories. This story is no exception. I think of little Brandon from time to time and wonder if he remembers that day which was so traumatic for both of us. I have totally lost track of that principal. I wonder how many children she paddled over the years. I wonder if she thinks that paddling made a positive difference in the lives of those children.