I AM MY FAITH

A disclaimer to start.  I tell this story because it has a moment of true beauty to it.  I’m just trying to do it some justice.  To get to that moment though, faith and culture may get caught in the crossfire.  This story is in no way a jab against any culture or creed.  The flip side is true as well.  I don’t write it as an endorsement of a particular faith or culture, either.  It’s just a moment laced with some beauty and I hope it is taken that way.  So, here we go.

     If Spanish is your first language, we’ve got you covered here.  It’s Southern California and we know our audience.  We’ve got instructional assistants, teachers, and other staff members that speak Spanish well.  Our English Language Development is primed for the native Spanish speaker.  Our number of families that check Latino on school forms hovers around 80%.  It just makes sense.

     If Egyptian is your native tongue, then we are a bit limited.  No one here speaks Egyptian, well or otherwise.  Of course kids are truly resilient, particularly when it comes to acquiring language.  I have seen kids with no knowledge of English pick up an amazing amount in a matter of months.  It’s a joy to watch when you get a chance.  Progress in over-drive.

     The new boy speaks only Egyptian.  And he is brand new to the country.  No language references.  No culture connections, either.  An island, of sorts.  But, his teacher is in luck.  There is a little girl in the room who speaks Egyptian and English.  She is second generation and the perfect liaison to help navigate the new student back and forth between both languages and some of the nuances that go with each.

     When asked to translate and answer questions for the boy, the young girl is only too eager to help.  She nods emphatically, and moves her seat next to him.  She is excited for the chance to illuminate a brand new world for somebody.

     First few days, the teacher notices nothing.  The boy never asks any questions of the girl.  When she attempts to translate, the boy works to ensure no eye contact is made.  Occasionally, he leans to the girl and whispers a few, short phrases.  Something is up.  At the end of the day, the teacher pulls the young girl aside.

     “I notice he doesn’t seem to ask anything.  Ever.  Is he understanding at all?”

     The girl nods.  “Some.”  He is very strong in math and understands during math.

     “What about the rest?

     “I’m not really sure,” she says, looking a little uncomfortable.

     “What’s the matter?”

     “He refuses to accept my help because I am a girl.”

     “Oh, I am so sorry that I put you in that situation.  I didn’t realize.”

     “It’s okay,” she says calmly.

     “But, I did notice him talking to you very briefly from time to time.”  The young girl nods.

     “Yes.  He is forbidden to talk to me.  His parents won’t allow it because I am a Christian.”

     The teacher seems confused by this.  “Then, what was he saying to you?”

     “He was cursing me because of my faith.”  By now, the teacher feels awful.

     “Again, I am truly sorry.  It was insensitive of me.  I deeply apologize for all of this.”  The girl just smiles.

     “No, no.  Don’t be sorry.  I want to thank you, really.”

     “Thank me?”

     “Yes.  I thank you for the opportunity.  My mother was so proud of me, because I used my faith.”  She smiles, ponders her sentence, and then corrects herself.  “I am my faith,” she says proudly.

     I have heard it explained that if you discard or ignore your values when they are tested, then you don’t really have any values.  You have something more akin to hobbies.  No hobbies here.  Just faith.

     I thought about ending with the lines about children inheriting the kingdom of God.  Good Bible reference.  But, I think the words from her own pure heart work best.  “I am my faith.”

 

New Release from Chris Bowen 

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A PAT ON THE BACK

                                       New Release from Chris Bowen, The Bell Maker

     He needed it.  He really did.  Everybody rides him.  Sadly, it is as it should be.  See, it’s middle school.  Sometimes it feels like a modern day version of forty days in the desert.  The place to go to become young men and women.  The handholding is coming to an end.  And the world is waiting.  By the time they reemerge from our hallways and classrooms and quads, they must be responsible for themselves.  Their assignments.  Their work.  Their time.  Their management.  Sure, it needs to be age-appropriate.  But, they can’t come out the other end still thinking the world revolves around them.  They must leave with grander ideas and broader understandings.   And, in a bigger sense?  They must own their own hopes.  They must own their own dreams.  We can no longer dream their dreams for them.  So?  We ride them a bit.  Lean on them.  Sink or swim sometimes, and sometimes we let them sink before we pull them back up to the surface and try again.

     That’s Steven.  He can’t sit still.  Backpack is a disaster.  It’s the place important papers go to die.  The mouth is always moving.  So?  We need to ride him.  Remember, it’s just a few years stay, and then the world is waiting.  Practically everybody graduates from middle school.  Everybody moves on.  You do your time and you come out the other end either way.  But, that’s the last time that will ever happen.  You hear so much about standardized tests and results.  But, really, all of this is of equal value.  No.  Greater value.  There isn’t a multiple-choice answer to pulling your own weight or making your own way.  We will prepare them and test them.  But please be mindful of all of this “other” we know we must make happen.  And, in the middle of pushing on them, when the opportunity arises, you’ve got to build them back up.  And the obvious way to build them up?  Jousting.

     Of course, it’s jousting.  All educators know that challenging a child to a joust is the best and most recommended way to give a kid a boost.  It’s the big testing assembly.  We pull out all the stops.  A rock band made up of teachers has reworked the words to Queen’s, “We Will Rock You,” so it talks about how well our school will do on state testing.  Teachers throw fistfuls of prizes into the crowd.  To an outsider, it may seem a bit over the top, but if the kids know we think it’s important, many of them will think it’s important, too. 

     After the first round of prizes has been tossed and the band has finished its set, it’s time for the jousting.  The jousting arena comes from a company that rents this kind of stuff out for parties and smaller carnivals and fairs.  It looks like the floor to a huge bounce house.  Two, small circle podiums stand in the middle.  The jousters stand on the wobbly podiums.  They strap on their helmets and pick up the big foam jousting sticks.  First person to knock the other guy onto the treacherous bounce house flooring can claim victory.

     We have some good matches lined up that day.  Grudge matches between staff members from last year’s antics.  Counselor pitted against counselor.  The one that causes the crowd to stir is our vice principal verse our principal.  The clash of the disciplinarians.  Our VP proves victorious.  As the true face of discipline, there is a slight wave of disappointment with his victory.  But it’s not over.  Our vice principal still has one challenge left.  Steven.

     Steven has been chosen, allegedly at random, to battle our VP.  Now, our VP is well over six foot.  If you didn’t know he was such a nice guy, he might seem pretty menacing.  And then there’s Steven.  Steven very well may be the smallest guy in our school.  It’s like that in middle school.  Guys hovering just over four feet thrown in with guys well over six.

     Like I said, we lean on Steven.  Ride him.  And our VP no doubt has assigned him detentions, maybe Saturday school a few times.  He’s tiny and likes to talk.  And he doesn’t always have much of a filter.  So, plenty of kids are riding him too, and not for the right reasons.  It’s got to be a lot of long days for Steven.  He is shocked to hear his name.

     So are the kids.  Instantly, he is seen as lucky.  One out of fifteen hundred.  The kids start chanting his name.  After some shock wears off, he starts to beam.  It’s already the best day of school he has ever known and he hasn’t quite made his way to the jousting area yet.  Classmates high five him and slap him on the back as he bumps his little body through the crowd.  Kids seem to have instantly forgotten he was their favorite target just hours ago.  With kids this age, the tide can change in a flash.

     The helmet comes down over his eyes.  Steven has to stretch, practically crawl, to get up onto the podium.  Once he does, he stands in our VP’s shadow.  The countdown begins.  The kids chime along.  I can see that his little arms are struggling just to hold onto the jousting stick.

     “Steve!  Steve!  Steve!”  The kids chant.  When the buzzer goes off, you can see his strain to hoist the stick up past his waist.  He swings it, almost falling off from the weight of the foam.

     He does connect.  The pole brushes against our Vice Principal.  That’s enough, though.  Our Goliath does a fine acting job, flying his body into the air and onto the inflatable floor.  It’s obviously fake, but no one seems to mind, least of all Steve.

     He can’t pull his helmet off fast enough so he can take in the crowd.  For one glorious moment, he is in.  He’s accepted.  The kids accept him.  The teachers and the administrators and the counselors that are constantly pushing and pulling on him to walk the line, smile and cheer. 

     Our Vice Principal raises Steven’s hand in victory, graceful in defeat.  The kids love it.  It’s a good day to be Steven.  After about 150 days into middle school, it is finally a good day to be Steven.

     It’s true.  They are in middle school for such a short amount of time, going through the metamorphosis.  And it’s true that we must make them far more responsible.  As I watch Steven make his way back through the crowd, basking in a moment of fame that may not last until the day’s final bell, I know we can’t hold their hands anymore.  It has to be that way.  But sometimes, when they really need it, we can still let them know that they are loved.  We can still give them a pat on the back.

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Good Morning,

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If you're enjoying the blog, here's a book I recommend. "Our Kids: Building Relationships in the Classroom," is available at Amazon. Now available for the Kindle.