Overworked and Underpaid?

 A couple of months ago,

I received a bulk e-mail asking for participants in a research-study

That focused on teaching Native American music and culture.

I accepted the invitation.

Long story short,

Out of the hundreds of music teachers who received the e-mail,

Only four responded that we would participate.

Most didn’t respond at all.

But quite a few responded that they didn’t teach Native American music.

The researcher reported that people are afraid to teach it.

They don’t want to teach it wrong.

They don’t want to perpetuate stereotypes.

They don’t know where to begin.

They don’t know where to end.

So they just don’t do it at all.

Both me and the researcher found this sad.

Here we are, living on land stolen from thriving Native American tribes--

Here we are, surviving because of the contributions of Native American tribes--

Completely ignoring their history and culture because we don’t know where to begin.

 

I didn’t know where to begin either.

So I started where I was—

With a music textbook that included a song by the Haliwa-Saponi tribe in northern NC.

I learned everything I could about the tribe and introduced myself to members of the tribe at the NC State Fair.

From there, my research expanded to other tribes and continues to expand each year.

There are a lot of nuances between tribes.

A lot that I still don’t know—

A lot that I will never know because there is so much.

But I’m trying.

And I will continue to try.

Because it is worth it to me to dispel cultural myths and to

Shed light on a culture that holds so much beauty.

 

I find it sad that it’s not worth it to more people

To do the research that it takes to teach Native American music.

Yes. Research takes time, effort, and, in some cases, money.

Yes. Teachers are overworked and underpaid.

But is that really an excuse to overlook a people group who has been

Overlooked and marginalized for far too long?

 

…

 

I recently attended my first pow wow.

I danced in the circle dance,

Holding hands with strangers as we danced in a circle of unity and love.

 

May there be more circle dances,

More unity,

More love,

More connections to the earth and the Great Spirit that created her.

 

And may we be a people not afraid of beginning…

 

Amen. 

Of Course

 Last Friday, as I was making last minute preparations for the 4^th and 5^th grade program,

A parent wrote me to ask a question.

She wanted to know if her son was going to be involved in the program that night.

She had assumed that he wasn’t going to be

Because he is an EC (Exceptional Children) student,

But after school that day he told her that he had practiced that afternoon and had to go back that night.

Of course he is, I told her.

He is more than welcome to come.

So he did.

And he performed with his neuro-typical, able-bodied peers,

And we had a great performance.

 

After ten weeks of work,

Rehearsing with soloists,

Singing meaningful songs hundreds of time,

And sending out multiple parent messages,

What sticks with me the most about last Friday night’s performance

Is that parent’s message.

She was so excited when I told her that her son was invited to perform.

It’s as if it were an abnormal occurrence for her son to be treated like his peers.

And that made me sad.

It still makes me sad.

 

While we have come a long way in our EC services in the past few decades,

We still have a long way to go.

It’s hard, knowing how to embrace persons who are differently abled,

But it’s a necessity that we learn and that we stop shutting them and their families in the closet.

Taking care of a special needs child is exhausting.

Many EC parents and caregivers love their children unconditionally but find themselves with the life-long commitment of taking care of children who cannot take care of themselves.

In general, we do a terrible job supporting the families and parents of special needs children.

It takes time, intentionality, and effort…

And yet…

We are called to love one another.

 

May we strive to live in a world where parents don’t have to write to see if their child is included.

And may we work to make the playing field equitable for everyone involved.

 

Amen. 

Neither Either Nor Or

I got so excited when I realized that I’d earned $30 in cash-back rewards by paying my tuition bill with my credit card that I decided to see how much I was earning from my other purchases. When I realized that I earned a few dollars and/or cents with literally every purchase I made with my credit card, I decided that it would be stupid NOT to use my credit card for ALL of my purchases. I haven’t had cash in my wallet since.

My plan worked fine until today.

Today I noticed that my back driver’s side tire was low. In an attempt to get air for said tire, I stopped at six different gas stations. I was denied every time. I kept hoping that I’d find a machine that took nickels and dimes…because I had no quarters or dollars…because I haven’t been using cash. [It didn’t occur to me until this very moment that I could have quartered my nickels and dimes inside the gas stations.]

So as I drove my hobbly car to class tonight, I was reminded of something very important:

It’s not either-or, it’s both-and.

It’s not cash or credit (that’s paid off every month, by the way).
It’s not black or white.
It’s not male or female.
It’s not rich or poor.
It’s not gay or straight.
It’s not band or sports.
It’s not smart or dumb.
It’s not right or wrong.
It’s not good or bad.
It’s not Christian or atheist.
It’s not hate or love.
It’s not math or science.
It’s not social studies or English.
It’s not Democrat or Republican.
It’s not jazz or classical.
It’s not State or Carolina.
It’s not hot or cold.
It’s not saint or sinner.

It’s both and.
It’s all of this and everything in between.
In a society full of opposites and extremes, I think we’d all do well to remember that life and humanity are both and.
Life and humanity—and most of us—are all of this and everything in between.

A Trip To The Walmart

I skipped my Thursday post again last week. I was out for a night on the town with my friend Stacey.

Stacey is blind. She was my guest speaker in my special needs class that night. After class, as we were heading home, Stacey and I decided that neither of us wanted to cook when we got home. First Friday was last Friday. Stacey and I were both supposed to take desserts or sweets. After working all day and sitting in class that night, we didn’t have baking in us. So we went to the Walmart.

Going to the Walmart with someone who is blind is interesting. As I searched the clearance aisle for good finds, I found myself saying, “Look at this!” Then I remembered that Stacey couldn’t see with her eyes, so I put the item in Stacey’s hands so that she could see with her hands. The most interesting of these finds was a huge mouse trap. I triple checked to make sure the trap wasn’t going to go off when I gave it to Stacey to see. It didn’t. And she agreed that it was a huge mouse trap! Don’t worry. I didn’t buy it.

After we’d walked the aisles of the Walmart—that Stacey had memorized—and found everything we needed to provide proper desserts and sweets for Friday—including a fruit cake—we went to the checkout line. I wish I could have recorded the people behind me as they watched Stacey in the checkout line. True to form, she did everything herself—unloaded her cart—stacked it on the conveyor belt—separated her stuff from mine—and paid with her card. The paying part was what got the onlookers. Without seeing a thing with her eyes, Stacey got out her card, put the chip into the reader, and completed her transaction. The people behind me just watched. She didn’t have to sign her name on Thursday night. I asked what she’d have done had she had to sign her name. She said that she’d have just tried to get an S on the screen and then scribble everything else. I told her that I basically did the same thing—just put a D and scribbled the rest of my name on a screen.

“Miss D, we need to do this more often,” announced Stacey as we made the final leg of our journey. I agreed. And the next time we hang out, I’ll feel more comfortable leading Stacey to the passenger side of my car and I’ll remember to describe the weird things I’m seeing as I drive instead of saying, “What is that?!”

There are people in this world who inspire us simply by being themselves. Stacey is one of those people to me.