And a Lightbulb Extinguished in the Night

I came upon this poem by e.e. cummings

let it go - the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise - let it go it
was sworn to
go

let them go - the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers - you must let them go they
were born
to go

let all go - the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things - let all go
dear

so comes love

And it reminded me of what I must become better at doing.
Of what I have never been good at doing.

When I was a junior in my Catholic high school, I went on retreat. There was praying, but more than that, during retreat, you got to interact with people you didn't know very well.

They broke us into small groups where we shared who and what we were with one another. Where we rehearsed our stories of suffering. For some reason, the magic of sharing made people show one another empathy and for a time after retreat, people would be kinder to one another. This would fade over time, and retreats did not cure the incurable drama of high school, but your feelings about the people in your small group were changed drastically for that time and the time immediately following.

Bob Buckler was in my small group. We never really liked one another. I mean, I don't think we ever had strong feelings about one another. Well, other than mild irritation sparked by random comments - irritation that, while frequent, would fade as quickly as it struck, leaving no mark.

Bob was assigned to be my small group partner on the last day, the day of acknowledgements. I have to be honest, I was bummed. Despite the magic of retreat empathy, Bob was still not all that impressed with my stories of suffering and hardship. He was just one of those guys. So, I was dreading what he'd say when we gathered in a circle to give the other person a handmade gift that represented their journey this retreat.

When it came time for Bob's turn, I steeled my face against showing emotion. He awkwardly held out a lightbulb cut out of white construction paper and drawn on with black magic marker. It had a green piece of yarn hanging from where it was glued to the side. Written on the lightbulb in utilitarian printing were the words:

Turn
it
Off

Bob's explanation for his gift went something along these lines:

You take everything too seriously, you think about things too much. Sometimes, you need to give yourself a break. Turn it off... you know?

I didn't know. ...but I was 16, so I acted like I did.
His words and explanation rolled around in my brain for a long time after that.
Sometimes, I felt it was advice offered with good intent.
Sometimes, I felt offended.

I kept that lightbulb above my dresser at my parents' house for several years, not because it meant so much to me, but because I never really understood it.

I haven't thought about that lightbulb in the last decade. Until now, as I read the words of e.e. cummings.

e.e. cummings said it better than Bob.
But, Bob said it with brevity.

Yeah, Bob. I do know, now.

July to October

Since returning to Louisville from Colorado, life has been a whirlwind.

Truth be told, the only reason I'm writing right now is that I am procrastinating. I need to plan the rest of my week with my students, I'm woefully behind in my coursework at U of L and Charlotte needs to be packed up for her journey tomorrow to Virginia.

Funny, too, how so much has changed and evolved and been grappled with in that time. Why is it so hard to write when stuff is actually HAPPENING?

It's taken me a while to adjust emotionally to my new internet habits, which means me+teaching=no internet all day long. Not even personal email. Which is a huge change from being involved full-time in website creation and surfing all day every day. Weird.

So, how's the teaching? Well... what was the general mood of the 120 12 year olds that walked through my classroom with their raging hormones and simultaneous desires to rebel and please? The answer to that question holds the quality of my day in its hot little hands. I take it class by class with varying degrees of success. I'm an okay teacher. Not great. And, I'm horrifically bad at all the tracking and analyzing. But, I have a feeling I'll get better at it.

Here are the things I love about teaching:
- The days when things just chink along and the kids understand what the heck you're talking about and they participate and you reach a couple of kids you haven't been able to... like today, this one student unlocked the key to coming up with things to freewrite about - and he's so proud of himself. You can just SEE it in his eyes and his demeanor. I'm proud of him.

- The way they want to tell you about all the minutae of their lives and really believe that it's probably the most interesting thing you've heard all day. I find their innocent self-centeredness just so sweet. It's not the same brand as 16 or 18 year old self-regard, it's this mixture of approval seeking and trying out their identities that is just phenomenal to watch and nurture.

- There are some of them that get so excited about things they write or think that they burst out of their chairs to get your attention. I have to get them to sit back down so everybody doesn't bum rush me, but I'm always happy to see it happening. Same with "blurting" when kids don't raise their hands. I have to make sure that I keep it to a reasonable level, but I love it when they have a thought and they just have to share it.


There are things that drive me insane, but I'm not going to blog about those. At least, not today.

And, there are a lot of things that have changed in the way the pirate tribe functions that I'd like to address, but not today. For now, let me say that this is the most changeable job I've ever had. The kids are like a moving target. And, I struggle to keep up. But, I think I might love it.

....yeah. I might.