Spring rainstorm last night
found me driving a friend
to the emergency room
of a major Chicago hospital.
Big city emergency room
predictably
enveloping us
into endless waiting.
I was not the main event last night.
I was a supporting character,
so I had the luxury of waiting as a spectator,
watching the waltz of life
that paraded in and out of
the dim, stale, oatmeal-tinted waiting area.
The only spots of color
were ER red neon
and slick educational posters about HIV.
I watched the waltz from my swaybacked plastic chair--
The wheezing elderly man with a grubby bandage covering half his face.
The scared and squabbling parents of a screaming toddler.
The worried Chinese grandparents who brought in their feverish grandchild, but who spoke
only Mandarin.
The exhausted-amused parents whose son had shoved a ball bearing up his left nostril.
A pre-teen boy with a broken foot.
A basketball player with a broken finger.
A young girl with strep.
Tiny feverish babies.
And us.
The partners in this dance were the staff members-
nurses, doctors, EMT's, firefighters-
who stepped into and out of each individual swirl
on the ER dance floor.
This dance was far more familiar to them, and each of them dealt
with the rise and fall of fear/pain/anger/sorrow
in his or her own way.
Ambivalence.
Empathy.
Brusque efficiency.
Humor.
Compassion.
It was a dance with no beginning and no end
as the dancers themselves appeared then departed
leaving to be eventually and inevitably blown
into the spring rainstorm
outside.
CHM 3/2016
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Thursday, March 24, 2016
A Theory of 30
Today's post will be vaguely mathematical.
Spring rain was drizzling down upon us yesterday, as it is today. I had been sitting at the table for awhile sending e-mails, writing down scraps of stories as they drifted into my head.
I decided I was thirsty and stood up to get some water. In standing up my temperamental knees gave me a sharp, decisive jolt. Probably to remind me who was boss.
My knees weren't always this uncooperative. 25 years ago they only hurt if I fell upon them in some violent fashion. But then I became a teacher of tiny humans which meant I spent a lot of time sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, this is a bad thing to do to grown-up knees. Sit cross-legged I mean.
Now I have knees that can sense a change in the weather and that complain at random times.
But here's the gist of this post: I don't feel inside like I should be at the point where I have temperamental knees.
Inside I don't feel like I am 49 years old. Inside where I really live I feel like I range in age from 15 to maybe 21. Inside I flutter from whiny negativity and self-doubt to blazing confidence and back again, neither extreme seeming particularly where I should be at the age of 49.
So this is how my brain arranged this realization:
49=15
Then I thought back a few years and tried to remember how my insides felt then.
My brain drew up a helpful table:
30 = 27
35 = 24
40 = 21
45 = 18
50 = 15
55 = 12
60+ = 9
This made sense to me. I think 30 is the turnaround year. A lot of people spend their 29th year trying to squeeze as much out of their waning 20's as possible while trying to push that 30 as far away as possible. But 365 days is still 365 days no matter how hard we might wish time would slow down or speed up. So we turn 30 and start making that slow mental u-turn.
I'm not saying we regress in any way as we make this u-turn. We don't lose anything--except maybe our inhibitions as the gap widens between our aging bodies and our rejuvenating inner eye. This is a u-turn of our inner relationship with the outer world. How we see ourselves and other people and events and places. How our insecurities and confidence in ourselves changes.
It's an imperceptible shift. I certainly didn't see it coming until I was already far into it.
And while I'm not in a big hurry to stand witness as my own gap between chronology and inner self widens, I think there are worse things than to eventually approach the world through the cosmic, questioning eyes of a 9 or 10 year old.
Even if it does mean that I have achy knees.
Spring rain was drizzling down upon us yesterday, as it is today. I had been sitting at the table for awhile sending e-mails, writing down scraps of stories as they drifted into my head.
I decided I was thirsty and stood up to get some water. In standing up my temperamental knees gave me a sharp, decisive jolt. Probably to remind me who was boss.
My knees weren't always this uncooperative. 25 years ago they only hurt if I fell upon them in some violent fashion. But then I became a teacher of tiny humans which meant I spent a lot of time sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, this is a bad thing to do to grown-up knees. Sit cross-legged I mean.
Now I have knees that can sense a change in the weather and that complain at random times.
But here's the gist of this post: I don't feel inside like I should be at the point where I have temperamental knees.
Inside I don't feel like I am 49 years old. Inside where I really live I feel like I range in age from 15 to maybe 21. Inside I flutter from whiny negativity and self-doubt to blazing confidence and back again, neither extreme seeming particularly where I should be at the age of 49.
So this is how my brain arranged this realization:
49=15
Then I thought back a few years and tried to remember how my insides felt then.
My brain drew up a helpful table:
30 = 27
35 = 24
40 = 21
45 = 18
50 = 15
55 = 12
60+ = 9
This made sense to me. I think 30 is the turnaround year. A lot of people spend their 29th year trying to squeeze as much out of their waning 20's as possible while trying to push that 30 as far away as possible. But 365 days is still 365 days no matter how hard we might wish time would slow down or speed up. So we turn 30 and start making that slow mental u-turn.
I'm not saying we regress in any way as we make this u-turn. We don't lose anything--except maybe our inhibitions as the gap widens between our aging bodies and our rejuvenating inner eye. This is a u-turn of our inner relationship with the outer world. How we see ourselves and other people and events and places. How our insecurities and confidence in ourselves changes.
It's an imperceptible shift. I certainly didn't see it coming until I was already far into it.
And while I'm not in a big hurry to stand witness as my own gap between chronology and inner self widens, I think there are worse things than to eventually approach the world through the cosmic, questioning eyes of a 9 or 10 year old.
Even if it does mean that I have achy knees.
Thursday, March 10, 2016
2016--The Year of the R Rated Presidential Debate
I was driving to work this morning, listening to NPR on the radio-- jockeying for position, as usual, amid the early-morning semi trucks, speed demons and steering wheel multi-taskers (because everyone knows the safest way to drive is when you simultaneously talk on your phone, apply makeup/shave and drink a venti Starbucks latte).
A news segment began wherein teachers and students were being interviewed about the challenges of using this year's televised presidential debates for lessons.
It was heartbreaking and infuriating enough to listen to these poor teachers describe how they were trying to build real-life lessons and learning for their students, using the current presidential debates as a kickoff point. These teachers were trying to stay fair, using clips from both the democratic as well as republican side.
Visions slipped into my head of being one of these teachers, standing in front of 25 or 30 middle school students, the republican debates on the computer or tv screen, and suddenly finding myself scrabbling for the remote control to mute the innuendo and nastiness.
Most of the teachers said that they had to eventually resort to using only select clips of the republican debates, and then re-building their lessons to focus on how NOT to engage in presidential debate.
Anyone who knows me will understand that if I were in any of these teacher's shoes right now, I'd be doing the same thing--trying to give equal weight, equal consideration to both sides--republican and democrat. I'd wield my words carefully to avoid bias.
I don't need to tear down others just to support my own beliefs.
People do not need to tear down other people just to support their own beliefs.
This would seem to me to be a general rule of being a human being with a large brain and opposable thumbs.
The republican candidates evidently did not get this memo.
I'm not saying that all democrats are better and more ethical than all republicans--both of the democratic candidates have done their share of talking over each other and hollering as well. I'm not even saying that all the republican candidates are equally to blame for the disgraceful parody of presidential debate that they are currently performing. But the republican debates seem to have run right off the path as one of the republican candidates slipped into the proverbial gutter, and the other two followed along behind him. They might have followed slowly, but they still followed.
And so I will say this...
if a person aspiring to be the president of any country does not possess the self control, maturity and respect for the position to control himself/herself in a televised debate, they do not have the self control, maturity and respect for the position to succeed.
We expect a presidential debate to be respectfully adversarial to a certain point. We even expect the exchange of fairly intelligent, articulate jabs and maybe even some pithy teasing.
As the republican debates stand so far, they are not respectful, not intelligent and some times not even particularly articulate as they holler over each other. I won't even get into the whole "tiny hands" debacle.
In the NPR piece I heard this morning the students interviewed (roughly middle school age) all had similar reactions to these debates: the candidates were acting like children. One student had seen parts of the Donald Trump rallies (which, I acknowledge, are not equivalent to the presidential debates, but are indicative of the political climate at this time). He was clearly troubled, his voice serious and amazed as he described watching Mr. Trump say something insulting, only to have the audience cheer him on and echo it.
THIS is the example that our young people are seeing. THIS is what is being broadcast nation wide--adults cheering on hatred, violence, intolerance. And the image of this is what will stay with our young people. Teachers and parents can backtrack and discuss and teach our young people how to think critically about what they are seeing. We can try dipping into history and explore the Lincoln-Douglas debates, view presidential debates of the past in order to assure our young people that not all candidates-- not all people--are like this.
But the IMAGE of this--the visual, visceral realization of how truly ugly adults can behave---this will stay with them, for better or worse. They may feel disgust or admiration but they--like many of us who are older--will never again be able to see a presidential race in quite the same way.
From NPR: "Explaining 'Small Hands,' Wet Pants to Your Kids This Presidential Campaign"
http://www.npr.org/2016/03/10/469897741/parents-teachers-shocked-by-language-content-in-gop-presidential-debate
A news segment began wherein teachers and students were being interviewed about the challenges of using this year's televised presidential debates for lessons.
It was heartbreaking and infuriating enough to listen to these poor teachers describe how they were trying to build real-life lessons and learning for their students, using the current presidential debates as a kickoff point. These teachers were trying to stay fair, using clips from both the democratic as well as republican side.
Visions slipped into my head of being one of these teachers, standing in front of 25 or 30 middle school students, the republican debates on the computer or tv screen, and suddenly finding myself scrabbling for the remote control to mute the innuendo and nastiness.
Most of the teachers said that they had to eventually resort to using only select clips of the republican debates, and then re-building their lessons to focus on how NOT to engage in presidential debate.
Anyone who knows me will understand that if I were in any of these teacher's shoes right now, I'd be doing the same thing--trying to give equal weight, equal consideration to both sides--republican and democrat. I'd wield my words carefully to avoid bias.
I don't need to tear down others just to support my own beliefs.
People do not need to tear down other people just to support their own beliefs.
This would seem to me to be a general rule of being a human being with a large brain and opposable thumbs.
The republican candidates evidently did not get this memo.
I'm not saying that all democrats are better and more ethical than all republicans--both of the democratic candidates have done their share of talking over each other and hollering as well. I'm not even saying that all the republican candidates are equally to blame for the disgraceful parody of presidential debate that they are currently performing. But the republican debates seem to have run right off the path as one of the republican candidates slipped into the proverbial gutter, and the other two followed along behind him. They might have followed slowly, but they still followed.
And so I will say this...
if a person aspiring to be the president of any country does not possess the self control, maturity and respect for the position to control himself/herself in a televised debate, they do not have the self control, maturity and respect for the position to succeed.
We expect a presidential debate to be respectfully adversarial to a certain point. We even expect the exchange of fairly intelligent, articulate jabs and maybe even some pithy teasing.
As the republican debates stand so far, they are not respectful, not intelligent and some times not even particularly articulate as they holler over each other. I won't even get into the whole "tiny hands" debacle.
In the NPR piece I heard this morning the students interviewed (roughly middle school age) all had similar reactions to these debates: the candidates were acting like children. One student had seen parts of the Donald Trump rallies (which, I acknowledge, are not equivalent to the presidential debates, but are indicative of the political climate at this time). He was clearly troubled, his voice serious and amazed as he described watching Mr. Trump say something insulting, only to have the audience cheer him on and echo it.
THIS is the example that our young people are seeing. THIS is what is being broadcast nation wide--adults cheering on hatred, violence, intolerance. And the image of this is what will stay with our young people. Teachers and parents can backtrack and discuss and teach our young people how to think critically about what they are seeing. We can try dipping into history and explore the Lincoln-Douglas debates, view presidential debates of the past in order to assure our young people that not all candidates-- not all people--are like this.
But the IMAGE of this--the visual, visceral realization of how truly ugly adults can behave---this will stay with them, for better or worse. They may feel disgust or admiration but they--like many of us who are older--will never again be able to see a presidential race in quite the same way.
From NPR: "Explaining 'Small Hands,' Wet Pants to Your Kids This Presidential Campaign"
http://www.npr.org/2016/03/10/469897741/parents-teachers-shocked-by-language-content-in-gop-presidential-debate
Monday, February 22, 2016
The Salty Winter of our Discontent
Salt.
It's the flavor on our french fries, the buoyancy in our oceans.
Salt's crystalline beauty is the stuff of which we are made, in our cells, in our tears, in our blood.
It is one of the first and oldest seasonings and has been used to preserve and enhance food through the ages.
And here in the vast middle of the United States, it is used in vast quantities to douse icy streets.
From these snow-slicked streets, the salt kicks up off our car tires leaving a ghostly white residue that, if left undisturbed, can result in another use for salt: rusting our cars into car oblivion.
I'm not originally from Illinois, or from any part of the world that features winters so cold that a 20 degree day seems balmy. So this salty winter wonderland is new to me.
And it leaves me with salty unsettled feelings.
There is no doubt that the ice and snow are beautiful, transforming bare trees into modern art sculptures, morphing ponds and lakes into ice paintings. The sprinkled salt from the roads rises to leave flat, amorphous residue sculptures on my car doors.
I have found that, given enough icy days in a row, you can taste the salt in the air, tossed into the wind by snow plows and cars.
And yet, I can't help but feel a bit wistful at salt's current fate. Salt was once the currency of life, of budding human societies. Once upon a time, to have salt was to have life, success and hope.
Our word "salary" in fact comes from the Latin word for salt--hearkening back to when salt was used as payment in lieu of coinage.
Salt has been the basis of barter, the cause of wars. It held pride of place in countless religions.
Salt was power.
Now? Salt plays an indirect role in modern life. We douse our foods liberally with salt, much to our detriment. We use it to de-ice roads and to make materials such as plastic, rubber and aluminum.
However when most of us hear the word "salt", our minds don't call up the noble history of this tiny, crystalline mineral. We don't remember the wars fought over salt, or relish our luck at having salt readily available in any quantity, anytime we need it.
Perhaps salt has lost its charisma and power because it is no longer a challenge to acquire.
It is available in almost obscene abundance.
And maybe therein lies the cliched lesson:
sometimes you CAN have too much of a good thing.
It's the flavor on our french fries, the buoyancy in our oceans.
Salt's crystalline beauty is the stuff of which we are made, in our cells, in our tears, in our blood.
It is one of the first and oldest seasonings and has been used to preserve and enhance food through the ages.
And here in the vast middle of the United States, it is used in vast quantities to douse icy streets.
From these snow-slicked streets, the salt kicks up off our car tires leaving a ghostly white residue that, if left undisturbed, can result in another use for salt: rusting our cars into car oblivion.
I'm not originally from Illinois, or from any part of the world that features winters so cold that a 20 degree day seems balmy. So this salty winter wonderland is new to me.
And it leaves me with salty unsettled feelings.
There is no doubt that the ice and snow are beautiful, transforming bare trees into modern art sculptures, morphing ponds and lakes into ice paintings. The sprinkled salt from the roads rises to leave flat, amorphous residue sculptures on my car doors.
I have found that, given enough icy days in a row, you can taste the salt in the air, tossed into the wind by snow plows and cars.
And yet, I can't help but feel a bit wistful at salt's current fate. Salt was once the currency of life, of budding human societies. Once upon a time, to have salt was to have life, success and hope.
Our word "salary" in fact comes from the Latin word for salt--hearkening back to when salt was used as payment in lieu of coinage.
Salt has been the basis of barter, the cause of wars. It held pride of place in countless religions.
Salt was power.
Now? Salt plays an indirect role in modern life. We douse our foods liberally with salt, much to our detriment. We use it to de-ice roads and to make materials such as plastic, rubber and aluminum.
However when most of us hear the word "salt", our minds don't call up the noble history of this tiny, crystalline mineral. We don't remember the wars fought over salt, or relish our luck at having salt readily available in any quantity, anytime we need it.
Perhaps salt has lost its charisma and power because it is no longer a challenge to acquire.
It is available in almost obscene abundance.
And maybe therein lies the cliched lesson:
sometimes you CAN have too much of a good thing.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Musings on Deadly Secrets
In the aftermath of the 2011 trio of Japanese disasters--earthquake, tsunami and Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant meltdown, the world watched from from outside the bubble of Japanese politics and power.
The world watched the disaster unfold on video and in news stories. People dug into their pockets and relief agencies rushed in and there was hope that this global generosity would help heal the shattered lives, places and memories.
Predictably, when the debris was cleared and the fishing boats were removed from the tops of buildings--when the dramatic gave way to the drudging process of real healing and growth and rebuilding--the world's focus shifted away.
We were living in Japan when the world's focus shifted away, so we were still very much aware of the misinformation being fed to the public by the politicians and power plant owners. We were very much aware of the people trapped in "temporary" housing because everything they owned in their lives had been swept away.
We were very much aware when the reports of improper disposal of radioactive water and waste started bubbling up on back pages of newspapers, sometimes surfacing in broader stories written by environmental groups both in and outside of Japan. The images of children being tested for thyroid cancer slipped past our eyelids, triggered some armchair sympathy, and then vanished.
But for the most part, the world's indignation ebbed, wooed away by a bigger, more interesting issues or disasters or problems. Or celebrity.
Isn't it odd how history repeats itself?
Because now in Flint, Michigan--the subject of newspaper stories and documentaries in the late 1980's when the city was devastated by the closing of all the General Motor's factories--has slipped back into the news.
It would seem that the water supply for Flint, Michigan has been been contaminated with high levels of lead--for the past two years after the city switched it's water supply to a source that did not have lead-preventing agents added. No agents meant the lead from the old water pipes swarmed into the water and out the faucets of the 100,000 Flint residents.
And so, here we are again--people in Flint, Michigan being powerlessly poisoned much as the survivors of Japan's 2011 disasters are still being poisoned by radiation. And, like Fukushima, we have the heroes and the celebrities stepping in--sending water, telling the stories, spreading the word.
Meanwhile the people in power in both places fumble ineffectively.
While I wish it wasn't so, eventually the public eye will drift from Flint, Michigan, like it did from Fukushima. The people in both places will be left to either endure and suffer the symptoms and effects of their respective poisons, or to try to leave to start anew with no resources to help them on their way.
It is perhaps wired into our brains and into our natures to follow where our perceived leaders take us.
If our leaders behave in truthful, responsible, empathetic ways, then our better natures rise and we help each other--we rally and we fund raise and we welcome and we help.
However such leaders as these--of countries, of companies, of religions, of communities--are generally few and far between. More often than not it seems that the lure of power and the siren call of money dictates the will of our leaders--and offers us ineffective, ambivalent and dispassionate role models.
And so we follow.
And people in places like Fukushima and Flint are left on their own.
Let's hope we as a species can rewire our brains--quickly--so we can be agents of positive change regardless of where our leaders lead.
The world watched the disaster unfold on video and in news stories. People dug into their pockets and relief agencies rushed in and there was hope that this global generosity would help heal the shattered lives, places and memories.
Predictably, when the debris was cleared and the fishing boats were removed from the tops of buildings--when the dramatic gave way to the drudging process of real healing and growth and rebuilding--the world's focus shifted away.
We were living in Japan when the world's focus shifted away, so we were still very much aware of the misinformation being fed to the public by the politicians and power plant owners. We were very much aware of the people trapped in "temporary" housing because everything they owned in their lives had been swept away.
We were very much aware when the reports of improper disposal of radioactive water and waste started bubbling up on back pages of newspapers, sometimes surfacing in broader stories written by environmental groups both in and outside of Japan. The images of children being tested for thyroid cancer slipped past our eyelids, triggered some armchair sympathy, and then vanished.
But for the most part, the world's indignation ebbed, wooed away by a bigger, more interesting issues or disasters or problems. Or celebrity.
Isn't it odd how history repeats itself?
Because now in Flint, Michigan--the subject of newspaper stories and documentaries in the late 1980's when the city was devastated by the closing of all the General Motor's factories--has slipped back into the news.
It would seem that the water supply for Flint, Michigan has been been contaminated with high levels of lead--for the past two years after the city switched it's water supply to a source that did not have lead-preventing agents added. No agents meant the lead from the old water pipes swarmed into the water and out the faucets of the 100,000 Flint residents.
And so, here we are again--people in Flint, Michigan being powerlessly poisoned much as the survivors of Japan's 2011 disasters are still being poisoned by radiation. And, like Fukushima, we have the heroes and the celebrities stepping in--sending water, telling the stories, spreading the word.
Meanwhile the people in power in both places fumble ineffectively.
While I wish it wasn't so, eventually the public eye will drift from Flint, Michigan, like it did from Fukushima. The people in both places will be left to either endure and suffer the symptoms and effects of their respective poisons, or to try to leave to start anew with no resources to help them on their way.
It is perhaps wired into our brains and into our natures to follow where our perceived leaders take us.
If our leaders behave in truthful, responsible, empathetic ways, then our better natures rise and we help each other--we rally and we fund raise and we welcome and we help.
However such leaders as these--of countries, of companies, of religions, of communities--are generally few and far between. More often than not it seems that the lure of power and the siren call of money dictates the will of our leaders--and offers us ineffective, ambivalent and dispassionate role models.
And so we follow.
And people in places like Fukushima and Flint are left on their own.
Let's hope we as a species can rewire our brains--quickly--so we can be agents of positive change regardless of where our leaders lead.
Friday, January 8, 2016
Dear 2016
Hello 2016.
I am writing a message to you, as I did to your predecessor, 2015.
I have to admit that when I wrote to 2015, I was highly skeptical that it would manage to fix the looming messes in which it was instantly embroiled. However, I gave 2015 the benefit of the doubt and in some ways it did live up to its potential.
In other ways, of course, it fell flat on its face in horrifyingly spectacular ways that hinted sharply of some sort of human armageddon.
I have known you, 2016, for about a week now, and I'm afraid that you are starting off at even more of a disadvantage than 2015.
Yet it would seem that you are at a crossroads 2016. You have in front of you 2 choices--care or apathy.
Care about the condition of this planet, or go along with the status quo and keep on truckin' until we all live (and die) in a poisoned morass of filth and illness.
Care about equality and respect between peoples or stand by and watch as we slowly whittle ourselves into extinction.
Care about making the right choices--the choices on the sides of peace and communication and joy and enlightened thought and learning, or lay back and let the ignorance roll on in.
It is up to you. Sadly, your path to making a final choice may be ultimately in your hands. I am sorry that we have dropped this monumental responsibility into your lap.
It would seem that much of humanity can't be trusted to have nice things. Yet.
I'm going to keep that "yet" right there.
After all, 2016, I'm an idealist at heart. And I'm not quite ready to give up on us.
I wish you the best of luck.
Christina
I am writing a message to you, as I did to your predecessor, 2015.
I have to admit that when I wrote to 2015, I was highly skeptical that it would manage to fix the looming messes in which it was instantly embroiled. However, I gave 2015 the benefit of the doubt and in some ways it did live up to its potential.
In other ways, of course, it fell flat on its face in horrifyingly spectacular ways that hinted sharply of some sort of human armageddon.
I have known you, 2016, for about a week now, and I'm afraid that you are starting off at even more of a disadvantage than 2015.
Yet it would seem that you are at a crossroads 2016. You have in front of you 2 choices--care or apathy.
Care about the condition of this planet, or go along with the status quo and keep on truckin' until we all live (and die) in a poisoned morass of filth and illness.
Care about equality and respect between peoples or stand by and watch as we slowly whittle ourselves into extinction.
Care about making the right choices--the choices on the sides of peace and communication and joy and enlightened thought and learning, or lay back and let the ignorance roll on in.
It is up to you. Sadly, your path to making a final choice may be ultimately in your hands. I am sorry that we have dropped this monumental responsibility into your lap.
It would seem that much of humanity can't be trusted to have nice things. Yet.
I'm going to keep that "yet" right there.
After all, 2016, I'm an idealist at heart. And I'm not quite ready to give up on us.
I wish you the best of luck.
Christina
Monday, December 7, 2015
Teachers aren't fooled
Let me paint you a picture.
A teacher with 20 or more years of experience enters a classroom. It could be a classroom of any age really, but let's just say it is a 2nd grade classroom.
The teacher places fingers to door handle and can feel the vibrations of the chaos within.
(S)he opens the classroom door to
mayhem.
Cross-classroom games of catch are being played with stray or snatched hats and shoes. A number of students are huddled against one wall playing a loud game of Pokemon cards. More than a few have pulled out hand held gaming devices, ipads, ipods or iphones. In far corners are the escapees--the thinkers, the readers, artists, writers, dreamers, unperturbed by the squalor. Several varieties of roughhousing are going on. Chairs lay on their sides. Food wrappers and crumbs litter the floor.
In the center of this is the defeated teacher, undoubtedly trying not to cry as (s)he helplessly tries to restore order.
Teachers will recognize this scene. Experienced teachers will recognize walking into a classroom like this, and feeling the blinding empathy for the desperate colleague in the center. And all teachers will recognize the sensation of losing control of a class, even for a moment--most likely from their first few years of teaching, although in truth, it can happen any time, and with incredible speed.
I have been back in the United States for almost 6 months now. When I left for Japan in 2011, the United States was a troubled place, but there was hope. Now it is 2015 and I have returned to the national equivalent of the classroom I just described above.
Other countries are the experienced teachers, standing at the door, empathizing with us but hesitating to do more than watch because they know that the idea of needing to be saved only works in tired fairy tales....and it would most likely damage our delicate American pride.
So they watch from afar as we shoot each other and slowly drown in our own fear and contradictions and confusion. And the noise that can be heard from outside the door? That's the tumult of our ignorance and hate--for ignorance and hate are always louder than reason and peace.
Yet the reason and peace ARE here. There are peaceful, logical, thoughtful people everywhere being drowned out by the loudest, the most poisonous, the wealthiest, the most ignorant and most powerful.
Perhaps it is time for those of us in the corners--the thinkers, the readers, the artists, the writers, the dreamers--to make a little noise of our own.
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