90 Minutes

 

Once upon a time, 

There was a woman named 90 Minutes. 

90 Minutes got her name by spending 90 minutes of a 405-minute class talking. 

She dominated conversation

With stories, interruptions, and certainties that contradicted even the professor. 

When others spoke,

She didn’t receive their words. 

And so they wrote. 

And thought. 

And breathed. 

And prayed. 

And remembered a wise sage’s words:

She can be your teacher. 

Pay attention to what you can learn. 

 

And so they learned, 

With 90 minutes as their guide. 

 

They learned to remember that there are people who are truly opposite from them. Some people really care about scholarly things like history and word origin and statistics and data. When you don’t, you still need to give a scholarly nod to those who do. 

 

They learned to remember that some people process out loud and/or struggle with boundaries and/or self-awareness.

 

They learned to remember that some people have deep wounds that come out in wonky ways.

 

They learned to recognize that stress levels increase in their bodies when they hear crinkling snack wrappers and crunching during the middle of class. 

 

They learned to recognize but not judge their pride. 

 

They learned to identify their judgmental limits.

 

And they learned that, in general, they really are gracious people who give others the benefit of the doubt. And when they can’t, they at least have the intention of grace. And that intention can go a long way. 

 

Yes, they learned. 

And 90 minutes was their guide. 

 

She taught them everything they were not expecting to learn. 

 

And more. 

 

The end. 

Show Up

 

I wrote Heidi the Librarian on Saturday and asked what she was doing.

She sent me a bunch of pictures and said, “My M.”

M is one of our students.

I said, “What is M doing?”

She sent another picture of M in a fancy dress.

I said, “I know it’s a pageant. For what?”

She said, “I’m not sure what the title would be.”

I laughed and said, “You’re at an unknown pageant?”

She said, “Yes. It’s just M’s pageant that she might not win.

She had steep competition in her division.”

I laughed again.

Heidi said, “It lasted two hours then there was a 30-minute intermission.

I saw M and hugged her and left.”

A few minutes later,

Heidi wrote me back with the name of the pageant.

“Enchanted Sweetheart Christmas,” she said.

“I asked 😊.”

 

In review:

Heidi spent two hours of her Thanksgiving break

Watching an unknown pageant

Because a student asked her to go,

And she did.

 

Friends:

There is a lot we cannot do in this world.

There is a lot we cannot afford to give.

But just as surely as the sun rises and sets each day,

We can show up for one another when someone asks,

Or show up for one another when need cannot be muttered.

In times of celebration,

In times of grief,

In times of goodness,

In times of sadness,

In times when words flow freely,

In times when words get stuck in throats,

In times when waiting is easy,

In times when waiting is hard.

We can show up.

And sit.

And endure a two-hour pageant

For a 10 second hug that was

Probably the highlight the entire day.

 

In this Advent Season,

May we be a people who show up,

Sometimes not even knowing what we’re getting into,

Simply because we can and

Because we love and

Because the Christ-child showed up for us.

 

Amen.

Freshwater in Parched

 

Each year around Thanksgiving, 

I give my students the opportunity to make a word cloud of things that they appreciate about their teachers.

It’s always interesting how some classes are so very descriptive 

While other classes barely have anything to say. 

It’s also interesting that the kindergarten students 

Cannot distinguish between things about their teacher and things about their day. 

Feeling safe and loved by having structure and routine, 

Going to lunch, encore, and recess,

All of the things that teachers must do,

Equate to appreciation for the younger kids. 

 

In addition to the normal

Helps us learn, nice, and pretty that I often hear, 

A couple of highlights of this year’s word cloud making were when 

One student said that he appreciated his teacher simply because she was alive. 

He appreciated her for being a person and all that that means. 

Another student said that he appreciated his teacher for always being there.

And another student said that he appreciated his teacher for giving so much to teaching.

I thought those students were pretty perceptive.

 

On the flipside, I was taken back when I came to a student who said, 

“I don’t have anything to say because she’s always rude to me.”

Another student in that same class echoed the sentiment by saying,

“She doesn’t like me. She hates me actually.”

And a third student said the same thing. 

What made these statements worse is that the other kids in the class agreed.

Not that the teacher hated everyone, but that she didn’t like those three students and treated them poorly. 

 

I found that sad.

While, as a teacher, I know that there are certain students that we struggle with,

I also know that most of us don’t truly hate our students. 

They are kids. 

They are products of their parents and a very broken societal system. 

We don’t hate the kids. 

We hate the circumstances that make them act out. 

We hate that our hands are tied in discipline. 

We hate that we work so hard for so little respect. 

We hate that we give so much and get so little in return. 

Teachers carry a lot. 

And so sometimes, 

I fear, 

Kids misread our body language, tone of voice, and actions. 

At least that’s what I hope. 

 

I’m happy to report that each of those students did find something good to say about their teacher

Upon further reflection.

And I’m also happy to say that that teacher was just as happy reading her word art as everyone else.

It was neat, seeing teachers immediately read what their students said about them.

It was as if they were parched in a dry land, 

Needing freshwater to drink.

 

May we, as individuals, offer that freshwater freely,

And may we, as teachers,

Know our worth and value. 

May knowing our worth and value help us rise above 

All that we hate, 

And may our students know that they are loved for just being alive. 

Amen. 

School Gift--Bats

I’m not exactly sure where they came from,

But Barb the Great gave me in a tin full of purple bats.  

I can’t imagine the original intent of said purple bats,

But I decided they’d be perfect for a little school-gift,

Especially around this time of year.

 

Yesterday morning, I set out to write the bat’s message.

But, boy did I struggle!

 

Educators don’t really want to read anything placed in their boxes.

Reading takes time.

And time is a hot commodity.

So, school-gifts must be short, lest they immediately go in the trash.

School-gifts must also be straightforward, uplifting, and/or challenging

Because teachers often don’t have the brain space to think of anything

Other than what they’re teaching.

 

And so…

I started writing.

It went dark quickly because bats are traumatic for me.

While it’s important to know about trauma—

Especially in children—

A school-gift isn’t the time to learn.

 

And so…

I edited.

I know that bats are good for the environment and that they’re actually kind of cute.

While it’s important for us to realize that bats are endangered and that they are needed—

Especially to combat mosquitoes—

A school-gift isn’t the time to ponder the merits of bats.

 

And so…

I edited.

I’ve worked on overcoming my fear of bats in therapy.

While it’s important to know the benefits of therapy and of

Doing the hard work of overcoming fear for yourself—

Especially for those in the helping professions—

A school-gift isn’t the time to consider therapy.

 

And so…

I edited.

I’ve let go of some of my bat fear,

But I think part of it will probably always remain.

While it’s important to recognize that fears don’t always go away—

Especially fears that are tied to trauma—

A school-gift isn’t the time to embrace that reality.

 

And so…

I edited.

And finally, I came up with this:

 

A bat flew at my head once. It was inside my house. It scared me. A lot.

Rationally, I know that bats are good. Irrationally, because of that moment, I have a deep fear of bats.

Fear is a powerful thing. It can both motivate and debilitate us. It can both push us to try new things and stop us in our tracks. We all have fears. We all have things both tangible and intangible that scare us.

But do not fret, friends. Fear is not the final word. The opposite of fear is hope, courage, determination, resilience, and strength. The opposite of fear is love. And love is the final word.

Hold to that truth today and in the days to come…especially as you face your fears.

 

May this latest school-gift be also a blessing to you.

And may you truly hold to one reality that is the final word:

Love,

For God IS love.

Even if God created bats.

 

Anger Issues

 

I have a student who is a very good musician. 

He is super sweet when he’s in a good mood,

But he has major anger issues when he’s not. 

He’s been doing well in my class this year,

Sitting at my desk and drawing to keep himself focused and calm,

But last week, he wandered away from my desk and started bothering some classmates.

When I told him to come back over to my desk—

Not because he was in trouble but because he does better at my desk—

He got mad.

He started mumbling.

“Man, I hate school.

I’d rather be doing ANYTHING but school.

I hate school.

I hate everything about it.

I’d give anything to not be here—

I’d go anywhere else.”

And he kept on going.

Then a classmate joined in,

“It’s okay.

This torture will be over soon

And then we can go to lunch.”

“I hate lunch.

Lunch isn’t even fun anymore.”

And they just commiserated with one another

About how horrible everything was.

All the while,

I was listening and trying not to take it personally.

Especially the part about
“This torture will be over soon.”

 

There’s a lot I could say about this situation,

But I think what strikes me most is

The little sting that stung when I heard my class called torture.

I know, these two children have no idea what true torture is.

But in their 4^th grade brains,

Sitting through music class while learning a Preamble Rap

Was torture.

What a dramatically strong word for something so minor as

Being redirected and then not liking a song!

And what a powerfully stupid word to hurt me.

 

But it did.

A little.

Because words are so very powerful--

Even words from children who have no idea what they’re saying.

 

So may we choose our words wisely,

What we say and what we write,

And may we model healthy emotional expression to the children

Who are hurting,

And my goodness are they hurting.  

 

Amen.

Little Pumpkin

 

Each year during fall,

I buy little pumpkins and gourds for my classroom.

They serve not only as decorations but also as

Visual examples for lessons with Kindergarten and 1^st grade.

 

Last week, I unpacked my pumpkins during my exceptional children’s (EC) class.

One of the students immediately became fascinated by the pumpkins

And started playing with them.

He even drew faces on them.

I later found out that he was mimicking a shape activity that they had done

On the smartboard in their classroom!

 

As the class left, I gave one of the pumpkins to the EC teacher.

Two days later, she wanted to use the pumpkin in a teaching activity

But the pumpkin was gone.

When she asked the fascinated student where the pumpkin was,

He said, “Home.”

She said, “L! That pumpkin wasn’t yours!”

He said, “Ms. Deaton. Musica.”

She said, “Ms. Deaton gave it to me!”

 

As the teacher was telling me this story, laughing,

I got choked up.

“He knows my name?” is all I could think and say.

He’s autistic.

He doesn’t talk much.

When he does, it’s usually gibberish Spanish because he’s either happy or mad.

He comes to music with his EC class and with his mainstreamed class,

But he doesn’t usually directly participate in the lesson, and

He’s never said my name.

Not to me.

But he said it to his teacher.

“Ms. Deaton. Musica.”

And it made me cry!

 

I make it a point to say my student’s names every time they come to class.

I try to say their names when I see them in the mornings, in the afternoons, and in the hallways.

I know that names are important.

But I didn’t know that MY name was so important until

I heard that teacher say it as L said it.

“Ms. Deaton. Musica.”

 

I AM

Ms. Deaton,

Musica.

And inasmuch as the title sometimes drives me crazy,

It is a privilege

To be a pumpkin bearer

And a joy sharer

To the least of these,

Our children.

 

Amen.

Heart-Flipping Moment

 

I had a brief moment with Kindergarten today

When my heart flipped.

I was doing some hand-eye coordination activities with sticks

When one of my students,

Whose name I often say

Because he needs a lot of redirecting,

Became fully engaged.

 

I looked down and he was standing right under me.

He had chosen two sticks to match my sticks

And he was following my motions exactly.

In one heart-flipping moment,

We locked eyes,

His little dimple pronounced in concentration,

Smiled,

And nodded at each other in solidarity,

As if all in the world was right,

Because in that moment everything was.

 

In a world where it seems that more goes wrong than right,

May we hold to the heart flipping moments

When all is at peace and

All is well and

Even the most untamed of the

Kindergarten space cadet cats

Is focused

And trying

And succeeding.

 

Amen.

Chocolate Pudding

I saw something on car rider duty yesterday that I can’t unsee.

A 4th grade boy,

Constantly dirty,

Excitedly went up to his 2nd grade brother,

Also always dirty,

And exclaimed with wonder,

“Look what I got in my bag!”

He was holding up a chocolate pudding cup.

He was talking about the bag of food that he gets each week from backpack buddies.

He was so happy.

A few moments later,

The 2nd grader asked Heidi The Librarian if she liked popcorn.

She said yes.

He then pulled out a bag of microwave popcorn from HIS bag of food.

He tried to give her his precious food.

And food to these boys is precious.

I know that sometimes they go without.

He explained that they didn’t have a microwave.

So Heidi took the popcorn with the plan to pop it for him and give it to him tomorrow for snack.

He was thrilled.

There’s a 3rd brother, too.

Older.

All three boys are being raised by a single dad who is doing his best

To raise them right

While working his blue collar job.

They may be dirty.

But they never stink.

They may be hungry.

But they are not neglected.

They are good, respectful boys.

And if I could,

I would give them

All the chocolate pudding in the world.