saving grace

No plateaus.  That's what Temple Grandin's parents accepted for her progress.  The severely autistic child grew into more than a functioning adult; she brought her uniquely uneven sensory experience of life to science and the animal world, and by doing so, she has improved the lives of animals in a vast variety of settings in countries far and wide.  Temple Grandin's parents, it seems, were less afraid of wild success for their daughter than many of us our for our own children or ourselves.  It causes me to wonder, as a parent and educator, when to stop pushing them.  Balance is important, but we suffer from such a lack of expectations, don't we?  When was the last time I felt really very excited about my own goals and expectations?  These things are not just for the very young, for milestones, for ceremonies.  Routine and fatigue dulls our intensity, but we ought to revisit the Grandin philosophy, not just for our children, but also for ourselves.  Let's not fester and mold on some flat, flaky surface, lulled by comparitive success or security.  Let us not go gently into that good night.

Let's make a difference.  If you are an educator, you've had  this feeling before.  Taylor Mali reminds you why chose this.  Remind yourself again and again.  Save this link for rough days, and if you are not a teacher, enjoy the performance while remembering someone who changed your life.  Check out Taylor Mali's reflections on more than just teaching at http://www.taylormali.com/.  I love his real world commitment to honesty at this page under the subheading "Who was Jim Flora?"  In fact, when I read it, I think I fell a little bit (more) in love with Mr. Mali.

Speaking of painful honesty, I reflect often on how much I am defined by my work and how much my work is me.  A friend reflected once on the influence of the work environment, proposing that we are molded by it, and our colleagues.  Is that why I know a teacher in a band called "Staff Infection"?  Does one grow in the direction of those we work with, so that if one works with a bunch of adolescents, eventually one is bound to act like a twelve year old girl?  I happen to think a twelve year old girl is a beautiful thing, but not in such a way that being one would indicate growth on my part.  I do see a lot of drama, not more in girls than boys necessarily, and not more in youth than adults either.  It is a different type of drama though, fair to say.  Do some teachers grow over time to act like they are back in high school?  I don't even want to touch that.   

I recently discussed this with my cousin, a prison guard.  I haven't spent much time with him since we were children.  He was one of my best friends and I remember him fondly as incredibly gentle and fun-loving.  In fact, I believe during the few years of our pre-adolescent lives we spent together, he imprinted into my mind as something of a symbol of everything that is home and good about family.  He was an island of warmth in a sea of confusion because he was funny, tranquil and always had a smile for me.  His eyes were brown pools of kindness that I swam around in. 

I was beyond perplexed when I received a message from him years later that said, "It just worked out for me to be a prison guard."  I tried to picture those eyes connected to a uniform and handcuffs.  Gee, I wondered, didn't Dad tell me that the prison guards often grow to act like the prisoners after a while, sort of brittle and controlling?  "Yeah, that happens," he responded. He told me about how he makes an effort to separate himself from the worst of it, taking shifts that have the least exposure to the most inmate activity, and volunteering to tutor them in off-hours so that he can build positive relationships with some of the men, the suggestion being that the benefits are as much or more for him than for them, although an observer might not realize it at first.  My cousin very much shapes his work, it becomes obvious, and in doing so, he positively shapes his work environment for others, in some small way.  Of course he hasn't changed the fact that it's a prison and it still maintains the nature of a prison.  But he has made his difference, for himself and for some other human beings.  I think that this is very Christ-like.  What he is doing is very intentional.  To shape our work and to be shaped by it in a way that is meaningful requires intention.  One must seek, reflect and direct one's energies with the utmost care.

This is easier said than done.  When it doesn't work out--when our best efforts become misdirected or fail--we've got to forgive ourselves.  I can't say it better than this brilliant art and essay that I discovered in the latest issue of "Good" Magazine:  Let's Make Better Mistakes Tomorrow .