I am trying to purchase the last minute items for the trip. We are standing in an un-named department store and Mohamed is wheeling the cart up and down the aisle behind me. I'm contemplating flashlights and trying to keep an eye on him all the while feeling as if I just can't think, I can't make a decision. It's a flashlight. Apparently I can think because I am suddenly plagued with a storm of questions. I realize how much I don't really know.
I frame it in issues:
There is the budget issue, which narrows things...somewhat. There are quite a variety of flashlights available for under $20. There is an issue of space and weight. I'm looking for a compact light that will last (did I mention the issue that one of the boys might get a hold of it one day and wear it out entirely...) So I don't really want a battery operated one and the rechargeable is soo big. There's a shaker one that strikes me as completely unreliable. And I begin to ponder what, exactly do I need the flashlight for?
Will I be trying to read by flashlight? Dress by it? Will we be eating meals in the dark? I can depend on the power going out frequently but when does the sun go down? Surely, it is not like a northeast winter with our 4:00 nights. Being fairly close to the equator, can I expect 12-hour days? This is the kind of detail I want to know, sunrise and sunset, temperature highs and lows for each month, rainfall intensity (I guess we won't really be able to 'make a run for it' as we'll be walking to school everyday. I have got the impression it is a bit of a way. I can't even begin to contemplate the variables associated with umbrellas- size, sharpness of tip point, wind speed and durability, one for each or just one for all......?)
I'm used to thinking of a flashlight for outside, tromping through the grass and trees, maybe even for protection (big is good when camping outdoors.) But my whole idea is changing, my whole world and I suddenly feel completely unprepared.
In this new world, a flashlight is no longer a temporary device to walk me through a midnight trip to the bathroom or shed just enough light to gather children and blankets to settle in for a stormy night at home. Its become more of a necessary tool for everyday use, or, certainly, weekly. The problem is I'm just not sure what to expect and I want to know exactly. I lose a sense of adventure for a minute, there in the store with Mohamed wheeling away and other shoppers contemplating fishing poles. It is obvious they know what they're in for. The more I think about it, the more I wonder why no one bothered with the details on this one. Maybe it is included with the house (like the iron.)
I am flooded again. Should everyone have their own? Will I be able to charge it? Should I go for LED and batteries? Will there even be batteries? Too many questions, too few answers. I look longingly at the nine-hour camping candles.
I am rescued by my friend who spots an economical, electrically rechargable, lightweight illumination device. Saved.
Now that this crisis has been averted, I can go back to being adventurous and composed.
27.7.08
20.7.08
on a shoestring
It is definitely getting closer and I am definitely getting a little nervous. I've repacked each bag at least twice, trying to be more practical each time. It is my goal to stay within weight limits and have only one extra bag. I keep finding things I want to bring. So much for the hundred thing challenge. I have actually discarded a lot through my repacking rituals.
Right now I'm grappling with the bike issue. I really want to take Mohamed's bike. It is small enough to consider and reliable for hours of entertainment. He loves his bike. I do not want to be trying to purchase a bike in my first month there.
It shouldn't be an issue, except I'm trying to get to Congo on a shoestring. (After all, why should this part of my life be any different than the rest of it?) Somehow I missed the incredible visa fees and so am running very close to low right now. Maybe we'll make it. Getting reimbursed isn't much help if you haven't got it in the first place.
I've done this before, travel to Africa on a shoestring. I remember we went to a doundoumba, a large celebration with drumming and dancing. Kakilambe showed up, the traditional African bogeyman. Only when he shows up, it is on large, towering stilts. He is covered in long, flowing raffia and a dark mask. Somehow, he is able to dance and drum from up high on his perch and is truly a terrifying spectacle. He began to follow me around the crowd. I had a very distinct feeling of being in a spotlight. The field was too barren, he was too high and my skin was too white. Nowhere to go. He wanted money, a gift, a small sacrifice. Only I had nothing to give. For a moment I felt completely desperate; he was going to follow me around all night, demanding the riches he knew I must have. He did eventually move on to someone else, but for those moments, I felt completely exposed.
My trip went something like that. I had used every penny I had just to get there, maybe I had some in reserve for bottled drinking water (ahh, Coyah.) But there is no way to convince people in such a country that you have come all the way from America and have nothing to spend. It is quite rude actually, not to give small sacrifices to those around you. I suppose it is a bit like tipping the service industry here. It becomes a small way to show you are pleased.
It was impossible to talk about how hard it was to find the money for such a long voyage across the ocean. Hard work? Difficult times? In America? Surely, you jest.
Which is how I ended up, days later, holding a tiny African queen. She was a little beauty whose young parents were encouraging me, yes, take her to America with you. I was quite shocked. I could only smile politely and decline. It is not so simple really.
In my youth, I became easily frustrated by this argument, remembering my two little ones and how much I struggled to provide something like a home and a life for them. Yet, here I was, halfway around the world by a stroke of luck. There was no way to explain the contradiction. People are starving everywhere.
It's been a long seven years since my last journey. I have definitely become something of a different person. But I'm still traveling to Africa on a shoestring. There are things to remember here.
Right now I'm grappling with the bike issue. I really want to take Mohamed's bike. It is small enough to consider and reliable for hours of entertainment. He loves his bike. I do not want to be trying to purchase a bike in my first month there.
It shouldn't be an issue, except I'm trying to get to Congo on a shoestring. (After all, why should this part of my life be any different than the rest of it?) Somehow I missed the incredible visa fees and so am running very close to low right now. Maybe we'll make it. Getting reimbursed isn't much help if you haven't got it in the first place.
I've done this before, travel to Africa on a shoestring. I remember we went to a doundoumba, a large celebration with drumming and dancing. Kakilambe showed up, the traditional African bogeyman. Only when he shows up, it is on large, towering stilts. He is covered in long, flowing raffia and a dark mask. Somehow, he is able to dance and drum from up high on his perch and is truly a terrifying spectacle. He began to follow me around the crowd. I had a very distinct feeling of being in a spotlight. The field was too barren, he was too high and my skin was too white. Nowhere to go. He wanted money, a gift, a small sacrifice. Only I had nothing to give. For a moment I felt completely desperate; he was going to follow me around all night, demanding the riches he knew I must have. He did eventually move on to someone else, but for those moments, I felt completely exposed.
My trip went something like that. I had used every penny I had just to get there, maybe I had some in reserve for bottled drinking water (ahh, Coyah.) But there is no way to convince people in such a country that you have come all the way from America and have nothing to spend. It is quite rude actually, not to give small sacrifices to those around you. I suppose it is a bit like tipping the service industry here. It becomes a small way to show you are pleased.
It was impossible to talk about how hard it was to find the money for such a long voyage across the ocean. Hard work? Difficult times? In America? Surely, you jest.
Which is how I ended up, days later, holding a tiny African queen. She was a little beauty whose young parents were encouraging me, yes, take her to America with you. I was quite shocked. I could only smile politely and decline. It is not so simple really.
In my youth, I became easily frustrated by this argument, remembering my two little ones and how much I struggled to provide something like a home and a life for them. Yet, here I was, halfway around the world by a stroke of luck. There was no way to explain the contradiction. People are starving everywhere.
It's been a long seven years since my last journey. I have definitely become something of a different person. But I'm still traveling to Africa on a shoestring. There are things to remember here.
11.7.08
Kindergarten Congo
When I was in college I used to pass the last weeks of the semester by counting only the days of class left. A class meeting on Tuesday and Thursday with 3 weeks left would really only have 6 days. Six days is a lot easier to manage mentally then 3 weeks. College flew by in this way.
It is exactly what I'm trying not to do now. Old habits surface easily however and I occasionally find myself in a Sunday dance class thinking: Only 3 more Sundays. I don't want to think this way, I don't want to rush the time by. As if we're ever really in control of such a thing. I think we must be though because time itself is so illusory. I can will the time to pass at a reasonable rate if I just remember to enjoy every minute and take my time.
I am actually enjoying my summer and, scientifically speaking, there are really too many variables to determine a true cause. I always vote for plenty of sunshine first. Vitamin D to the rescue. But I am not blind to the tremendous relief associated with not going to school everyday. I can see how great the negative energy was there and the real effect it had on my psyche, my ability to handle the everyday ups and downs of having 5 children. It is so much easier to manage now. Summer is a wonderful thing.
I am starting to get just slightly nervous about traveling. Pele has begun to speak of Kindergarten Congo, though he remains several years away from school. He says quite firmly that he wants to go to "my Congo." Sure, I tell him, we're going to your Congo but not until August. He's very funny that way.
I can tell Mohamed is more like me and starting to get a bit anxious. What is it really going to be like? I have this sense that there will be no privacy and all of our meltdowns (Pele is getting really great at meltdowns) will be witnessed by all. Though it is a fact of childhood, I am mortified by this.
It all comes down to control. And that is why I reply that my stay in Congo is 10 months. It seems an easier time frame to manage. It will be difficult to be somewhere that I am unfamiliar with. I suppose that will take some time to develop. No more running off to the store if I need something, or even if I don't. A bit less autonomy I think and that is never good for an independent person like me. (Or maybe it is good for humility. Perhaps it will help me to understand what has been going on in my house this past year.)
Step by step we're on our way. And I can get excited about teaching again, even if I'm enjoying my time off.
It is exactly what I'm trying not to do now. Old habits surface easily however and I occasionally find myself in a Sunday dance class thinking: Only 3 more Sundays. I don't want to think this way, I don't want to rush the time by. As if we're ever really in control of such a thing. I think we must be though because time itself is so illusory. I can will the time to pass at a reasonable rate if I just remember to enjoy every minute and take my time.
I am actually enjoying my summer and, scientifically speaking, there are really too many variables to determine a true cause. I always vote for plenty of sunshine first. Vitamin D to the rescue. But I am not blind to the tremendous relief associated with not going to school everyday. I can see how great the negative energy was there and the real effect it had on my psyche, my ability to handle the everyday ups and downs of having 5 children. It is so much easier to manage now. Summer is a wonderful thing.
I am starting to get just slightly nervous about traveling. Pele has begun to speak of Kindergarten Congo, though he remains several years away from school. He says quite firmly that he wants to go to "my Congo." Sure, I tell him, we're going to your Congo but not until August. He's very funny that way.
I can tell Mohamed is more like me and starting to get a bit anxious. What is it really going to be like? I have this sense that there will be no privacy and all of our meltdowns (Pele is getting really great at meltdowns) will be witnessed by all. Though it is a fact of childhood, I am mortified by this.
It all comes down to control. And that is why I reply that my stay in Congo is 10 months. It seems an easier time frame to manage. It will be difficult to be somewhere that I am unfamiliar with. I suppose that will take some time to develop. No more running off to the store if I need something, or even if I don't. A bit less autonomy I think and that is never good for an independent person like me. (Or maybe it is good for humility. Perhaps it will help me to understand what has been going on in my house this past year.)
Step by step we're on our way. And I can get excited about teaching again, even if I'm enjoying my time off.
11.6.08
cLeaning for cOngo
I wanted to write about the lightness and liberty I feel cleaning out my things, but it seems someone has beat me to it- well, not someone, Time. Or, more precisely, Dave Bruno who has issued the 100 Thing Challenge, inviting all to reduce their possessions to 100 Thing(s) [Dave seems a bit opposed to the plural according to Time.] Having been beaten in this way, I'll humbly continue.
I was remembering my first apartment, at the oh-so-knowledgeable age of 16, and how I felt some satisfaction in being able to contain all of my items in 6 boxes. Easy to move and often. As my personal world expanded I began to allow boxes for each of the children and eventually stopped counting. We had overgrown ourselves. As Dave and others mention in the Time article, it has been a slow process for me , this cleansing. But I have stepped it up a bit to warp speed as of late and am considering JUST the things I really 'need.' It is liberating to find so many worthless things in my closet and set them free into their respective worlds, and out of mine.
I'm back down to about 6 boxes. I feel like someone claiming to be back to their college weight. I am definitely all the lighter for this. Unburdened. Unclaimed and unchained. Most of what remains in my 6 boxes has to do with sentimental things. There are photo albums and babybooks, children's drawings and writings, my journals from age 10 and a small collection of stories written by myself. A self that was apparently obsessed with the name Gwendolyn, outer space and witches. I have a few masks from my first trip to Africa and sculptures by Mason. That's really it. I plan to add one hand painted desk and a bike to my conservative storage space (aptly named space station, is there a theme here?) I feel good.
I remember planning for our first hurricane in Florida. I had some time to think about the items most important to me. What would I like to save? That was it, handmade bowls and a suitcase of photos. And I know deep down, even these souvenirs are not necessary. They are a privilege to have, a luxury to look back on and remember the times...
Even as I write this I can see tall, strong women walking down the road, carrying things on their heads. Their small bundles, grabbed in haste as they flee for their very lives. Which women? Which country? There are so many. Yes, 6 boxes is a luxury, but for now they are my six boxes.
And I still hold the hope of passing them on.
I was remembering my first apartment, at the oh-so-knowledgeable age of 16, and how I felt some satisfaction in being able to contain all of my items in 6 boxes. Easy to move and often. As my personal world expanded I began to allow boxes for each of the children and eventually stopped counting. We had overgrown ourselves. As Dave and others mention in the Time article, it has been a slow process for me , this cleansing. But I have stepped it up a bit to warp speed as of late and am considering JUST the things I really 'need.' It is liberating to find so many worthless things in my closet and set them free into their respective worlds, and out of mine.
I'm back down to about 6 boxes. I feel like someone claiming to be back to their college weight. I am definitely all the lighter for this. Unburdened. Unclaimed and unchained. Most of what remains in my 6 boxes has to do with sentimental things. There are photo albums and babybooks, children's drawings and writings, my journals from age 10 and a small collection of stories written by myself. A self that was apparently obsessed with the name Gwendolyn, outer space and witches. I have a few masks from my first trip to Africa and sculptures by Mason. That's really it. I plan to add one hand painted desk and a bike to my conservative storage space (aptly named space station, is there a theme here?) I feel good.
I remember planning for our first hurricane in Florida. I had some time to think about the items most important to me. What would I like to save? That was it, handmade bowls and a suitcase of photos. And I know deep down, even these souvenirs are not necessary. They are a privilege to have, a luxury to look back on and remember the times...
Even as I write this I can see tall, strong women walking down the road, carrying things on their heads. Their small bundles, grabbed in haste as they flee for their very lives. Which women? Which country? There are so many. Yes, 6 boxes is a luxury, but for now they are my six boxes.
And I still hold the hope of passing them on.
7.6.08
OUT
I've been slowly letting more people know that we're leaving for Africa. It's a strange process of coming out. The reactions have varied...and it might be important to keep in mind that my social circle is the diameter of a pea. Most of those I've recently told have many more than 6 degrees of separation.
Panic- 2 people seem to be in a state of panic, voicing such concerns as "You mean I'm never going to see you again?" (This does not seem to bother the speaker when I am right here in the same county. It is ironically only a trip across the ocean that inspires him to want to spend some time with me. If only I'd known this in my teenage years...) And another who continually questions, "But are you sure it's safe?" Of course I'm not sure. How could anyone be sure about anything that has to do with Africa? I'm sure that it's as safe as one could be, venturing into the heart of conflict and contrast, bribery and beauty. This speaker wishes I would just stay here, a strange affliction of wishing for someone whom you've given just a passing nod of greeting to over the past four years. I must note it seems to be a sincere wish for safety and surety and all things concrete. Perhaps she is more observant that I have allowed.
Devastation- 2 people fall into this category as well. One woman clearly looked as if she might be ill, the other started to cry. Cry? No one knows me that well. I'm not sure from where her tears stemmed, defeat by the greater powers, perhaps. Yes, the strong and mighty often prevail. The first case of shock was simply someone looking out for her child's interest. She was hoping to secure a good class next year, packed with boys and buddies (there seems to be a shortage of males born in the 2001-02 range.) Nothing personal, just a small example of how one life can touch another while the actual people really mean nothing at all.
Judgement- I'm most familiar with this type of reaction lately, as I've grappled with the subject on a very personal level. It still has the power to unsettle me. I am routinely shocked by how free others feel to impose their ideas and values as the one true way to live. It is small mindedness and ignorance at it's most dangerous. I've had someone offer to have my child live with her (no one mentioned homelessness or calamity, where is this coming from?!?! White righteousness?) I've had very personal questions posed without any thought that they might be off-limits or crossing some line (maybe I'm just not used to attention and this is how all Americans speak to each other?) To be fair, my answers vary, for no reason I can think of other than the moment I'm in. People want to know why half of the family is staying, how they will manage without me (far better than with is my current thinking,) what would possess me to do such a thing?
Nothing- considerably rarer but worth mentioning- in at least one case there was absolutely no comment. Perhaps she was the most conservative, respecting social boundaries, perhaps it was just not a good time to get into specifics. Or maybe people jet off to Congo everyday in her world. I guess one can never really be too sure of her neighbors. Clearly.
Curious congratulations- this, to me, would seem to be the most natural of responses, if there is such a thing. The best one came from my ophthalmologist. He's known me since I was 11, as much as a doctor can really know you, and I enjoy going there much as one might the spa. (I leave there having been well attended to and with, literally, a new outlook on the world.) He offered congrats and some fatherly precautions as well as the insight that this would be an incredible opportunity. He seemed to see each aspect, comment briefly and respectably kept his distance from probing questions.
All the while, other secrets have been tumbling out.
Panic- 2 people seem to be in a state of panic, voicing such concerns as "You mean I'm never going to see you again?" (This does not seem to bother the speaker when I am right here in the same county. It is ironically only a trip across the ocean that inspires him to want to spend some time with me. If only I'd known this in my teenage years...) And another who continually questions, "But are you sure it's safe?" Of course I'm not sure. How could anyone be sure about anything that has to do with Africa? I'm sure that it's as safe as one could be, venturing into the heart of conflict and contrast, bribery and beauty. This speaker wishes I would just stay here, a strange affliction of wishing for someone whom you've given just a passing nod of greeting to over the past four years. I must note it seems to be a sincere wish for safety and surety and all things concrete. Perhaps she is more observant that I have allowed.
Devastation- 2 people fall into this category as well. One woman clearly looked as if she might be ill, the other started to cry. Cry? No one knows me that well. I'm not sure from where her tears stemmed, defeat by the greater powers, perhaps. Yes, the strong and mighty often prevail. The first case of shock was simply someone looking out for her child's interest. She was hoping to secure a good class next year, packed with boys and buddies (there seems to be a shortage of males born in the 2001-02 range.) Nothing personal, just a small example of how one life can touch another while the actual people really mean nothing at all.
Judgement- I'm most familiar with this type of reaction lately, as I've grappled with the subject on a very personal level. It still has the power to unsettle me. I am routinely shocked by how free others feel to impose their ideas and values as the one true way to live. It is small mindedness and ignorance at it's most dangerous. I've had someone offer to have my child live with her (no one mentioned homelessness or calamity, where is this coming from?!?! White righteousness?) I've had very personal questions posed without any thought that they might be off-limits or crossing some line (maybe I'm just not used to attention and this is how all Americans speak to each other?) To be fair, my answers vary, for no reason I can think of other than the moment I'm in. People want to know why half of the family is staying, how they will manage without me (far better than with is my current thinking,) what would possess me to do such a thing?
Nothing- considerably rarer but worth mentioning- in at least one case there was absolutely no comment. Perhaps she was the most conservative, respecting social boundaries, perhaps it was just not a good time to get into specifics. Or maybe people jet off to Congo everyday in her world. I guess one can never really be too sure of her neighbors. Clearly.
Curious congratulations- this, to me, would seem to be the most natural of responses, if there is such a thing. The best one came from my ophthalmologist. He's known me since I was 11, as much as a doctor can really know you, and I enjoy going there much as one might the spa. (I leave there having been well attended to and with, literally, a new outlook on the world.) He offered congrats and some fatherly precautions as well as the insight that this would be an incredible opportunity. He seemed to see each aspect, comment briefly and respectably kept his distance from probing questions.
All the while, other secrets have been tumbling out.
2.6.08
The List
"You can have this one if you want, it's pretty big." She slides a black bag over to my feet and I regard it silently. I have been scouring the web and sending emails requesting advice on what exactly to bring to Africa. I'm looking for the essential list. Although I've been before, there are striking differences here. I'm traveling with 2 children, we're going to be staying for what seems like a long time (although, as with most school years, it's certain to fly by once it gets going) and I'll be working.
I've got the medical items down and the personal items but what will the boys do to entertain themselves? We've never had a huge supply of toys but playing outside is really big. Do we try to bring basketballs, bikes...? There will be virtually no mail service (so I'm told) which makes me feel even more cut off...no surprise packages, no Internet mail orders, no Hey-I-forgot-to-pack-the-____ -Could-you-send-it-out?
Then there are teaching supplies. What exactly do I need? want? What will be available? I like to pride myself on traveling light yet always being prepared. It is becoming a bit difficult to do both simultaneously. I'm looking for the secret list that will tell me, if you just be sure to pack these things, you'll have everything you need.
I have actually found quite a few lists. But they seem to be lacking in some fundamental way. They don't get to the heart of who you really are...as a traveller, as a person, as an artist. Then there's the person you want to be; this is the trap of bringing things because, while you haven't actually painted in more than 5 years, you want to and being in Africa, you just might find the time to. I'm trying to avoid this trap. I know the thing I will miss most is the kitchen drawer, the one that holds all the odds and ends, the possibilities for projects, the inspiration for creativity, the answers to those late night puzzles.
I eye the bag on the floor, the one she has slid across to me, with rollers on the bottom- a good feature for someone whose hands are perpetually full, juggling children and keys, bags and coffee.
"You can have this one if you want." I'm struck by the enormity of my task, the impossibility. I'm bound to miss some things. "It's pretty big." Not if you're trying to fit your whole life in there, I think.
I've got the medical items down and the personal items but what will the boys do to entertain themselves? We've never had a huge supply of toys but playing outside is really big. Do we try to bring basketballs, bikes...? There will be virtually no mail service (so I'm told) which makes me feel even more cut off...no surprise packages, no Internet mail orders, no Hey-I-forgot-to-pack-the-____ -Could-you-send-it-out?
Then there are teaching supplies. What exactly do I need? want? What will be available? I like to pride myself on traveling light yet always being prepared. It is becoming a bit difficult to do both simultaneously. I'm looking for the secret list that will tell me, if you just be sure to pack these things, you'll have everything you need.
I have actually found quite a few lists. But they seem to be lacking in some fundamental way. They don't get to the heart of who you really are...as a traveller, as a person, as an artist. Then there's the person you want to be; this is the trap of bringing things because, while you haven't actually painted in more than 5 years, you want to and being in Africa, you just might find the time to. I'm trying to avoid this trap. I know the thing I will miss most is the kitchen drawer, the one that holds all the odds and ends, the possibilities for projects, the inspiration for creativity, the answers to those late night puzzles.
I eye the bag on the floor, the one she has slid across to me, with rollers on the bottom- a good feature for someone whose hands are perpetually full, juggling children and keys, bags and coffee.
"You can have this one if you want." I'm struck by the enormity of my task, the impossibility. I'm bound to miss some things. "It's pretty big." Not if you're trying to fit your whole life in there, I think.
10.5.08
one dead body
I have officially resigned and while it has brought a sense of liberty, I realize there is a residue of bitterness. I'm trying to remember that I'm off to a whole new world that I've been dreaming of for a lifetime. But sometimes I am caught up in the negativity that surrounds me in that school and I want to speak the truth. Because what happened there is wrong.
So often in these last few months I have been reminded of my fight for my children. I have been grappling with the contrasting notions of fighting and surviving. To do one is not always to do the other. I did fight for my children, and at one point I even believed that I would prevail. I believed in truth and justice and the integrity of the courts to do what is right. Slowly I began to open my eyes to the world of money, connections and power. I realized that one single mother with no money and no support could never really win. And so I survived. I am a different person now. It's impossible not to be. The focus of my world has shifted. I've gone through mourning and every so often I take a deep breathe and feel incredible sadness and injustice touch every part of me. My heart stops. Of course it resumes momentarily but for just that one minute, I lose another part of me.
In this fight, not necessarily for my job, but for my dignity and professionalism, I've experienced a similar path. I began fighting. (Although I must admit, as soon as I sensed the similarities to the fight for my children, I began to pull back.) I worked closely with a strong and supportive union representative who reminded me of the lawyer I wished I'd had during the family court saga. Every written response I submitted she praised for its insight and professionalism. I could almost believe her. And I did admire her unwavering desire to fight and her faith that this could actually make a difference.
I lose faith so easily. I think I'm something of a cynic. I don't believe some people can ever really see beyond themselves and their own power. And I'm not really sure how one can be convinced that one dead body can make a difference.
I've recently read "Four Spirits" and been confronted with news stories of current fights for human rights and liberties. I am stunned by the convictions that allow one person to know that their sacrifice will be worth something. Because it's not just one dead body that gets attention; we all know there must be many. It requires a certain confidence that others will come behind you and pick up the fight. And in myself I see someone who quickly feels alone and isolated. I don't have much confidence in anyone coming along to pick up the fight.
In many ways, this is just a small fight about one person and her merit as a professional. But there is another layer. And that involves the lives of children and families that are not receiving the caliber of education they deserve. Sometimes this other layer can stir my passion; these are fragile children that need more than they are being given. Not only are they losing valuable educational time and being allowed to stagnate emotionally, but they are infringing on others educational and emotional growth.
I'm not convinced one dead body can change things here. And the world is vast. I have a family to consider and there are many choices to move on to. I have heard there were others. Teachers sacrificed because providing the right services would just cost too much. Teachers who understand the unique needs of the emotionally distraught, but cannot provide it without a supportive district-wide philosophy designed to address these children.Time and regime change is one true path to reform.
I don't want to be just one dead body. But I do want to find the thing that inspires such passion and conviction that I am tempted to stay and fight rather than merely survive. And I want to feel with certainty that someone else is going to come along and pick up the fight.
So often in these last few months I have been reminded of my fight for my children. I have been grappling with the contrasting notions of fighting and surviving. To do one is not always to do the other. I did fight for my children, and at one point I even believed that I would prevail. I believed in truth and justice and the integrity of the courts to do what is right. Slowly I began to open my eyes to the world of money, connections and power. I realized that one single mother with no money and no support could never really win. And so I survived. I am a different person now. It's impossible not to be. The focus of my world has shifted. I've gone through mourning and every so often I take a deep breathe and feel incredible sadness and injustice touch every part of me. My heart stops. Of course it resumes momentarily but for just that one minute, I lose another part of me.
In this fight, not necessarily for my job, but for my dignity and professionalism, I've experienced a similar path. I began fighting. (Although I must admit, as soon as I sensed the similarities to the fight for my children, I began to pull back.) I worked closely with a strong and supportive union representative who reminded me of the lawyer I wished I'd had during the family court saga. Every written response I submitted she praised for its insight and professionalism. I could almost believe her. And I did admire her unwavering desire to fight and her faith that this could actually make a difference.
I lose faith so easily. I think I'm something of a cynic. I don't believe some people can ever really see beyond themselves and their own power. And I'm not really sure how one can be convinced that one dead body can make a difference.
I've recently read "Four Spirits" and been confronted with news stories of current fights for human rights and liberties. I am stunned by the convictions that allow one person to know that their sacrifice will be worth something. Because it's not just one dead body that gets attention; we all know there must be many. It requires a certain confidence that others will come behind you and pick up the fight. And in myself I see someone who quickly feels alone and isolated. I don't have much confidence in anyone coming along to pick up the fight.
In many ways, this is just a small fight about one person and her merit as a professional. But there is another layer. And that involves the lives of children and families that are not receiving the caliber of education they deserve. Sometimes this other layer can stir my passion; these are fragile children that need more than they are being given. Not only are they losing valuable educational time and being allowed to stagnate emotionally, but they are infringing on others educational and emotional growth.
I'm not convinced one dead body can change things here. And the world is vast. I have a family to consider and there are many choices to move on to. I have heard there were others. Teachers sacrificed because providing the right services would just cost too much. Teachers who understand the unique needs of the emotionally distraught, but cannot provide it without a supportive district-wide philosophy designed to address these children.Time and regime change is one true path to reform.
I don't want to be just one dead body. But I do want to find the thing that inspires such passion and conviction that I am tempted to stay and fight rather than merely survive. And I want to feel with certainty that someone else is going to come along and pick up the fight.
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