My life is small now. I am no longer swallowing oceans and climbing up trees and in and out of planes. I walk through the cemetery. I put a pot of coffee on. I read.
I look into the eyes of students and talk to them about the Transatlantic Slave Trade. I talk to them about basketball and I talk to them about grammar. They look at me and write down things that I say. All of the sudden I can't spell to save my life. Spelling with fourteen pairs of eyes waiting for you to step aside so they can say, "What is THAT?!," is a whole new world.
One class at a time. One story at a time. One gerund, one French lord, one American gothic short story at a time. Can I help them to see? I know I can't make them see, but can I help? Them to see their place, their lives, their world? Could I help them to see the man outside asking for a dollar? Could I help them believe that it might be better sometimes just to give him a dollar or two rather than offering him advice, even if they money will just go to booze? I can't say it directly. I have to say it through SAT prep and vocabulary checks. I'll say it through loving them, by God's grace.
My life is small now... eyes and neighbors and bookshelves and homework to be graded. And students. Precious and young students, who might give themselves to something great.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
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1 comment:
I adore your writing. I am so glad you are teaching, my friend. I honestly wish I could have had you as my teacher back when I was a student. I would have actually been inspired by school. :)
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