I cried on the way to work today.

My commute is about 35 miles in the barren prairie of northwestern Minnesota. I’m lucky if I pass five cars some days. It makes for lots of pondering time or just singing along to the radio.

This particular morning, the radio station DJ’s were collecting donations for the Children’s Miracle Network. For one hour only, our local grocery stores would MATCH our donation!

I kept driving, eyes on the road.

Then, a mother came on and told the story of her twin daughters who were born way too early and the heart wrenching journey of one of the twin’s struggle for life. The Children’s Miracle Network had paid for the machines that kept this baby alive.

One expects these stories to end happily. This one did not and her precious baby died in her arms. This brave mother believed her purpose in life was now to help the remaining twin to know of the strength and love her dying sister brought to all of them.

Sobbing, I had to pull over on the road and dig for a Kleenex.

While sitting there, stopped on a path that resembled what Antarctica must look like, I broke down. I have never known the kind of pain a parent goes through at the loss of a child, or the worry of a childhood illness that could take their life. My own four children are grown and healthy, never even a broken bone.

Such a pillowed life I’ve led.

I reached for my phone to call in my donation. They even said my name on the radio.

My issues did not seem so big today: a laptop that quit working (I got a loaner) , my pants seem to be getting smaller (put on a dress instead), and our dog ran away just before we had to leave for work (found her at the neighbors looking in their patio door).

Some days we need a story to wake us up to what really matters.

Shari 🙂

I’m participating in twowritingteachers March Challenge of posting a blog post every day for the month of March.  To check out other writers, visit here.

There is not entree today, so I leave you with a few appetizers to nibble on.

NWEA Testing

My third graders took the NWEA Math test today. We talked about how a test is something you work hard on because it shows how much you have learned, blah, blah, blah.  My kids worked hard and I was so proud of them.  Many of them grew since they took this test last fall; some a lot, some a little.  A few of them stayed the same and one went down point.

While you tell those that grew they should be proud of themselves and they worked hard, it’s difficult to find the right words to console students who do not show growth on this test.  I know they have learned a lot in math this year.  But, this test did not show it.

How do you convince a 9 year old of that?

“Can we find out which ones we got wrong?” a boy asks.

“No,” I tell him, “We only get the score.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” he says.

“Yup,” I reply.

Feeling Slackerish

On Tuesday nights right after school, I travel an hour away to my graduate classes. (I’m almost on year 3 of my Ph. D. in Teaching and Learning.) Today, the wind blew a steady 20-30 mph. all day with gusts up to 45 mph. It was insane. I am a chicken to drive on windy days as just a dusting of snow causes white outs on prairie roads.  So, I hemmed and hawed about whether I should go or not. And then . . . my tire was flat in the parking lot at the end of my school day.  How is that for the universe speaking to you?

No, HE said.

Stay home.

So, I did.

Face-timing classes is okay – but it’s not the same. 😦

Have We Changed Much?

In our Historical Foundations of Education class tonight, we watched the movie In The White Man’s Image.  So many questions sit uneasily with me after reflecting on the history of our country and how white man has treated those who are not the “Ideal American”.

Native Americans, African Americans, Irish Catholics, Asians, Mexicans, Muslims ~

What really is the “Ideal American”?

What would our country be like today if we’d have treated every human being with respect and attempted to accept and understand their culture?

Just because the first “settlers” that came over to America from Europe were white, what caused them to believe that everyone should be like them?  Where were their hearts?

In all these years, I’d love to believe we’ve progressed.

But, with angst in my heart, I’m afraid we just keep repeating history.

Shari

I’m participating in twowritingteachers March Challenge of posting a blog post every day for the month of March.  To check out other writers, visit here.

As we walked out to the bus today, I walked alongside two of my third grade boys who were having a conversation.  I don’t think either one realized I was listening.

“My bus driver smokes. When she talks on the loud speaker, her voice is as raspy as a train. It’s like the bus shakes.”

“Really?” said the other boy.  They chuckle.

“Yeah. And she’s so crabby. She’s always crabby. We call her Debbie Downer.” He laughs. “The funny thing is. . . her name really is Debbie! It’s like she was born to be a Debbie Downer!”

I finally acknowledge that I am listening.

“Maybe what you need to do is say something nice to her. That might make her happy,” I suggest.

“Nah. She can’t hear. She’s like 900 years old.”

Nine year olds. What a clear description of the bus driver.

I think I’ll tuck it away for a story one day.

Shari

I’m participating in twowritingteachers March Challenge of posting a blog post every day for the month of March.  To check out other writers, visit here.