Faulty Realigns
One
of my earliest memories I just recently found out is wrong. We all have faulty
memories we all change upsetting or painful ones to deal with them head-on.
This memory, of just another day in the life of me, was fabricated into a lie,
a lie I told myself. But in fact, it really happened. Bits and pieces have
emerged but being so young at the time, I know the event will never fully
resurface and I guess I will have to be alright with this fact.
When
I was five years old, in kindergarten we lived in Pomona California. We had a
house on Alameda Street, I remember the basic layout- my sister and I shared a
room that faced the pool in the background. The only pool we ever had. We had
three dogs, Evette, Cuddles and O’Shaughnessy – two poodles and a scotty dog. I
grew up with dogs, its funny how now I am more of a cat person. But as a child,
dogs were always found in our house, they even moved to Hawaii with us and had
to spend six months in quarantine- we had lots of visits to the kennel. This I
remember vividly, aged seven, but this day in the summer of 1974, when I was just
five is just fragments and misconceptions.
The
temperature I remember, it was hot. I was in the front yard playing with my
friend from down the street. Not a friend necessarily, more accurately another
bored child who lived in the neighborhood. I don’t remember her name or her
face, but I remember her blonde hair. It was long and, in a ponytail. I don’t
remember what we were playing but most-likely dolls, as that is what I was
usually playing, all the way up to middle-school and I must admit, into it as
well. When I was a child in middle school, it was the early 80s and we didn’t
have cell phones or computers so board games, dolls and playing outside were my
form of entertainment. Sometimes Atari or Intelevision, but not for long, the
noises and fast pace generally exhausted my Dyslexic brain quickly. My
imagination tended to be my guide. I got very creative and learned to play by
myself for hours at a time. Outside playing was a normal activity, having a
friend to play with was not.
On
this day we were playing outside under the hot desert California sun; my mom
was cooking dinner and had an eye on us from our kitchen window. I do remember
looking at her a lot to make sure she had us in her sights- I tended to lose
friends quickly, I was odd, and was waiting for my playmate to decide to ditch
me. We were sitting on the sidewalk, the path from our house to the street, I
remembered this fact after I concentrated on the event for a while. Bits and
pieces emerge every time I focus on it. We were getting along, laughing. I
remember it was a good day, she was being nice.
Then
this car, blue clunker, I have been told, screeched up and a man got out and
approached us. I couldn’t tell you what he looked like either, tall I think,
but I was five and everyone was tall to me. He grabbed me by the arm and began
dragging me towards his car, my knees were getting scratched on the pavement, I
screamed, kicked him hard in the shin- I mean hard. He let go and pushed me to
the ground. Then he grabbed my playmate, she screamed and tried to break free-
he had her almost to the car when a man from across the street yelled “Let
those girls alone, I know your plate number.” The man, spooked by the voice of
another adult, pushed her to the ground too and then the car sped off.
Both
of us sat where we were and cried. The man from across the street sprinted over,
he had a small dog on a leash, I remember it was a poodle, like ours. This made
me feel safe somehow. My mom ran outside, grabbed me in her arms. I have no
other memory. We were safe. In my mind this replay is in slow-motion, it seems
like it took place over ten minutes. But it was about a minute and a half from
beginning to end. For my entire life, I believed this to be an event the two of
us made up. We created for attention. The girl was a sassy, snotty girl and she
was mean to me, other times she had me pretend to disappear from my mother’s
view and we hid at the side of our house. This got me into trouble to say the
least. But I was desperate for friends and thus, that memory replaced the real
event in my head for all these years.
I
didn’t even remember the man from across the street, until during my mother’s
account of that day a few years back. I was floored to find out this event took
place. The whole thing, one that I firmly believe was like every other time she
got me to hide from my mother, was real. It is like a shattered mirror on the
ground, each piece a glimpse but there is no way to put it back together, nor
do I need to. It was an event that thankfully ended well for us, but sometimes
I let it creep in, what if?
Insight Solidified
I
grew up in my early years in four states: California, Hawaii, Utah and
Colorado. By the time I entered 8th grade, my family resettled in southern
California- where I graduated high school and then attended UCLA. This nomadic
lifestyle made it difficult for me to make friends, add in my Dyslexia and
shyness, well let's just say my childhood school pilgrimage wasn't always easy.
I seemed to have this stink on me that no matter what school I attended, seemed
to make people run the other way. Looking back on it now, I still can't figure
out why. But it shaped me, the trials and tribulations of moving frequently and
having the scent of doubt and suspicion, made me very aware of the
relationships and interactions of students. They haven't changed much over the
decades and as a teacher, this hyper-awareness picks up on a lot. Much to the
chagrin of my students. I have a no tolerance bullying policy and I reinforce
it with a keen understanding of adolescent dynamics.
It
is strange to me that ever since I can remember I have heard, “Kids are mean”
and to me they generally were. But adults are mean too, just in different ways.
This notion of mean haunts me, I see and feel the cruelty. But my experiences
have made me who I am. Intuitive, empathetic and patient. I think therefore
education chose me for this reason. The money did not lure me, the misjudgment
and criticism didn’t lure me, this I have learned to let wash off me, it was
the idea that we all must enter our path knowing we might not fit in, we may
struggle and run in to people who do not understand us or even try to- but if
we light our way with optimism, we can learn when to reroute and detour,
because we will see the divots in the road. I knew my path was to keep the passageways
of my students well-lit and paved, to help them choose the highway best for
them.
“Don’t
Stop Believing- “by Journey is my theme song. In fact, I sing it to myself every
day. A song from my childhood that was played on 8-track on family car rides.
It inspired me then, during my tumultuous years. It was the song playing during
my first school dance, dance. It is the song my family sings on our road trips-
it is not just kitschy and fun- it is meaningful because it is my mantra. Never
let the past shut you down. It is what we do with our memories that matters-
overcome and keep moving forward.
Don’t Stop Believing
Childhood
ghosts are not a myth. We all have them. Sometimes when I am driving in my car,
I will see something or hear a song and it will trigger a memory so vivid, I must
pull over and listen to it. I firmly believe in the meaning of things, the
purpose of the past. The man from across the street, his face I finally remembered.
An elderly man, long gone from this Earth now I am sure, but his essence still
swirls around me. A protector, a hero, who I never got to thank. These heroes
are everywhere. We often pass by them never knowing their role in our lives.
Yet, their actions change ours. I think as educators we are heroes. Not
necessarily an Avenger or X-Men but a classroom champion, pedagogy paladin, wisdom
warrior. Yet, these titles are rarely bestowed upon us, nor do we need them to
be. Because we are not in it for accolades, even though when we are recognized
we accept humbly. We are educators because like the man across the street, we
see, we prevent harm, we intervene- yet at the end of the day, we go home, we
do not expect recognition, we are just human after all.
Don’t
stop believing in heroes like the man across the street that so valiantly saved
our lives, oh so long ago. There are more of them than we think. We are living
in a time where “Adult’s are Mean” and kids are modelling their behavior. It
has become alright to be a bully, and while many are- we need to remain
steadfast on our quest to not be. We need to sometimes quietly from across the
street observe, intervene and speak words of mindfulness. Other times we need
to be boisterous and realign our faulty society into one of positivity and
grace. This grace is why we entered education; I know it is why I did.
When our
students see us acting like a pedagogy paladin, like a classroom champion- they
will too. For some it may take more patience and more guidance but if we stay
true to who we are, we can get them to see the benefits of kindness.
“Always
be you” a hero? A champion? Not a silent passerby, but a man across the street
who stopped in his tracks, crossed the street and on just another day, saved
two girls lives.
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