We seem to be living in an ever increasingly angry and violent world. Many people are looking for big answers to big, complex problems. I recognize that those types of solutions are above my pay grade. As a result, I will continue to do my part, one child at a time, one parent at a time, one day at a time. It's all I can do to help a seemingly lost world.
Monday through Friday, my day starts at 4:45 AM. I leave my house by 6:15 AM, most days before my children's feet have even hit the first floor of our home. With construction in all directions, my daily commute has stretched to a lovely hour one way in a little Hyundai Sonata. It gives me lots of time to think, and plan, and analyze. Sometimes too much time.
I think about my children. How much I love them. How proud I am of the strong, healthy, happy, young men that they seem to be becoming. How I need to help them continue to grow and develop. How I need to push them to do better, be better, aim higher.
I think about my other children. The children in my classroom. Who is too quiet? Who isn't quiet enough? Who needs extra hugs? Who always seems to want a hug? Who needs to be more active? Who needs to be less active? Are my methods helping? Are my methods hurting? Am I pushing them too hard? Am I pushing them enough? What can I do to push them to do better, be better, aim higher?
I think about my parents. The parents of the children in my classroom. Who do I know by name? Who don't I know at all? Who seems to want help? Who seems to want me to leave them alone? How can I support them more? How can I communicate more effectively? Do they have any idea how much I absolutely love their child just the way he or she is? Do they know the child that I know in my classroom? Do they share their days with each other? Do they share how they feel about this crazy world they are living in? Am I doing enough?
I'm often tired from not enough sleep and from trying to fit it all in but I love this job. I truly love it. I'm good at it and it makes me feel good about my place in this world. After twenty-one years, I can usually identify if a kiddo has trouble learning because he is tired, or has sensory issues, or has developmental issues, or is simply sad. It's one of my strengths. There are so many things that impact learning. It is so much more than giving someone a book or technology or even knowledge. Is the child hot or cold? Is the child sad or mad? Is he hungry or full? Is she sick or lonely? Did mom and dad have a fight? Did someone get sick? Is she sick? Did someone die? Did someone change the routine at home? All of it impacts learning.
At the end of the day, I climb back in my little car and drive back home, this time in heavier more congested traffic. As I pull into my driveway, I say a prayer that my oldest son cared enough to bring home schoolwork to work on after working all night. I say a prayer that I remember to ask him and to remind him to care enough to dig it out and work on it. It's so easy to let him coast. School is easy for him. He asks for so little help. I still need to put in the effort. It matters. He matters.
I say a prayer that my youngest son had a good day. That he remembered all his materials. That he wrote in his agenda. That the teachers posted information on their websites or the school messaging system. I pray that people were kind to him. That his schedule didn't get changed or altered causing him to become angry or tearful or to completely come unglued. I pray that I walk into a happy, calm, welcoming home and not a frustrated battlefield of anxiety fed distress. I pray for the strength to help him through the things I prayed would not happen because more often than not, they did, and they will. I pray for patience. I pray for understanding. It matters. He matters.
I pray that I can help my sons become their best selves while fitting in the time to help my families at school become their best selves. Putting off schoolwork until his work is completed and he is settled in for the evening. Working until eight or nine most nights. It matters. They matter.
When the nights come and things are everything I prayed they wouldn't be, I try to remind myself that he has teachers who possess unique strengths and weaknesses and individual worries and concerns that I know nothing about. I do not know their circumstances. I do not know their secret, behind the scenes efforts. I do not have their experiences and they do not have mine. They may not have been trained for eighteen years in a corrections setting by students that no one else wanted to teach. Students that were tossed aside and who challenge you to care about them even as they made it harder to do so. They may not have been trained by a son that can't regulate or organize or focus. A son who challenges you to care if he succeeds or fails, even as he makes it harder to do so. On those nights, I remind myself that I need to reach out. I need to communicate with them. I need to educate them about my son and about what works for him/with him. I need to help them help me make my son successful. I need to put forth the extra effort. I also need to be willing to listen and to learn. It matters.
Sometimes I'm tired. Giving 100% in a world that seems so angry and violent is exhausting. It doesn't seem like it's enough but it's all I can do. It's all I have to give. I pray it is enough for my sons. For my students. For my families. Because they matter. And maybe if they matter enough, even just to me, it will be enough. At least for them. Maybe in turn they will go out and give 100%. Because it matters. We all matter.
I pray for us all.
