Dear Danny…

 Dear Danny,

The day you passed away I pulled out my vinyl record of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers Damn the Torpedoes. In 1983, when I was first getting to know you, this music was a connecting piece. I still recall our conversation, mostly because it was the first time I really had an opportunity to get to know you.

Over the years there have been many happy and sad times. Although we haven't seen you in many years, our conversations over the past decade or so have been focused on health and housing issues you've faced. But there were light moments and connecting moments that mattered.

I heard many conversations your dad had with you, so I know that he was doing his best to point you in the right directions, as good dads do. I know your brothers talked straight to you as well. It has always been distressing to us that you couldn't help yourself, or let others help you.

Water under the bridge now.

***

You visited us a couple times in Florida, and I recall fondly how you and your dad spent most days hanging out by the lake fishing. We always laughed a lot during your visits because, face it, you were always doing something crazy to make us laugh. Dan the Man could be Dan the Clown.

The last time I spoke with you was after you recovered from another serious situation. We had received a call with the expectation you would not live. Yet, a few weeks later we were on the phone with you, laughing about your nine lives. It was good to be joyful with you that day, and I'm glad we had that conversation, even if it was a harbinger that the number nine was on the horizon.

The day after you passed, I pulled out my vinyl On the Border by the Eagles. I see a note I put on the record that I received in on my birthday, August 6, 1975. That was the year my brother had died in April, and I was still in the midst of grief.

There is a song on this album that always meant a lot to me: "My Man" by Bernie Leadon. The song was written for Gram Parsons, a forward-thinking musician who died of an overdose at 27-years-old. The words to the song often made me cry, thinking of my brother Richie, and the impact death has on the living. On this day it was not lost to me that my tears were for you this time: you, coincidentally born the same year as my brother (1965); you who struggled with addiction like Gram Parsons; you who liked to be "Dan the Man." The words that get me, and I will leave you with, are from the chorus.

Now my man's got it made

He's gone far beyond the pain

And we who must remain

Go on living just the same

We who must remain

Go on laughing just the same

Fearful Heart, Silent Voice

 #DearParker

Response to "The Student from Hell"

Quotes from the text:

The way we diagnose our student's condition will determine the kind of remedy we offer. (42)

Our assumption that students are brain-dead leads to pedagogies that deaden their brain. (42)

The silent and seemingly sullen students in our classrooms are not brain-dead: they are full of fear. (45)

Their silence is born not of stupidity or banality but of a desire to protect themselves and survive. (46)

I try to teach their fearful hearts, and when I am able to do so, their minds come along as well. (47)

Behind their fearful silence, our students want to find their voices, speak their voices, have their voices heard. (47)

A good teacher is one who can listen to those voices even before they are spoken...making space...being aware...paying attention...honoring...not rushing...no coercion...empathy. (47)

Dear Parker,

Here is an aspect that is so real to me, yet has often escaped me in the wake of competing demands.  I'm getting this message from more than one direction -- the idea of the fear a student carries into the classroom experience being paramount in their minds, and how it colors all their actions. My mode of operation has often been to placate the fear -- not necessarily focus on moving them beyond it. If they say they don't want to talk or read out loud,  I say okay. Yet, at the end of last year I started to think I'm not serving them, and began to gently push in some areas. Since then I've found a few ways we can consistently do things to move this process along. Now that I'm embracing the idea of their fear informing everything, this has surged to the forefront of importance. 

 I know fear isn't limited to them. I have my own series of fears that show up. I'll be addressing that as well!

I spent a good part of last year afraid of some of my students and because of that, I was unable to reach the rest. It was painfully awful. I first saw their attitudes as armor, as Brene Brown says, and that was true. But it wasn't easy to figure out how to get past the armor.

Thinking of it as FEAR -- False Evidence Appearing Real--I believe I can get beyond it. It makes it more a common, singular emotion, rather than several different. Young people come in not knowing if they can be successful, if they will have a voice, if they are good enough. They carry with them any failures from the past that brought them down. They internalize the negatives. My job is to gently move them forward, chipping away at fear through the right combination of activities and time. The most productive direction from the Day One. Building a classroom community to support them wherever they are, one of mutual dependence -- the balance of everyone doing their part. I can honestly say, it hasn't been like that the past couple of years.

Time will tell. But in the meantime, I am going to keep this in the upper part of my mind as I enter the next school year.

hms

 

"Dear Parker" Project Introduction

This past spring and early summer, I was rereading a book by Parker J. Palmer called On the Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity, and Getting Old. This book contains a series of essays based on letters Parker wrote to friends of his. He gathered the ideas together into a book that is a wonderful manual for growing older...how to act, how to think about things, how to reflect. It's the second time I read it in less than three years, and couldn't believe how much more meaningful it was to me at 66, compared to 64.

 

I decided at that time to read Parker Palmer's seminal work: The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life. I had read sections of it many years ago, before I actually started teaching. I figured there would be valuable information for me, and decided that I would use that book as a springboard to a series of Dear Parker letters.

 

 

Every day I read a section, and then write a Dear Palmer letter in my journal. I came into the project knowing I'd write a letter every day, applying the information to my teaching life. But I quickly realized I didn't need to post every single thought here -- just ones that stood out to me as being most important in revelation or in future remembrance and application.

This past Sunday I came across such material, and wrote a letter I felt fitting to officially begin the project on this blog. Today I share that in my first Dear Parker letter on the next entry in this stream.

 

#DearParker

Something About This Morning

It is evening, and I’m moving toward getting dinner going and settling in with some television, which is our nightly routine. It has been another wonderful summer day of balancing reading and art and taking care of some things around here. 

I began the day by finally getting out for a walk at Bunche Beach, something I’ve wanted to do for a while, but was just too lazy to make happen. Plus the weather has been ungodly hot and humid, even in the wee hours, keeping me in the AC.

But today, miraculously, it was a little cooler. I arrived at the beach at 7:15 a.m., and there were only two other cars. That never happens! I practically had the place to myself. 

What was different about today was the affect it has had on me. I took my usual cache of photos, but there is something about this group that feels different to me. The color of the sky. The sunrise on the clouds over Sanibel.  The pelican lolling in the outgoing surf. The osprey feather I found. 

I posted a few pics on Facebook, and all day as people commented on them, they popped up again in my feed. And each time I was delighted all over. Each time I was so glad I had made the time to go and be with nature. 

So I decided to document this morning of joy for what it was—a bit of midsummer magic.

 

My arrival

 

PELICAN SEQUENCE

My walking path

First time I've ever scored an osprey feather

When I got back in the car, a meaningful song came on: "If Tomorrow Never Comes."  I felt blessed to know that if tomorrow doesn't come for me, at least I spent the last day doing what really matters.