Happiness can come from no place else but inside. You choose it. You seek it.
You chase it. All roads lead to
Rome. It’s in there. Just like a great American novel or a
symphony, it is in there. All of it just
unsung notes waiting for your inner voice to take hold. And I don’t mean this in some white-washed
meme lament. Truth gets deeper the older
I get. It used to be about
everything. Now, it’s about a handful of
beliefs and passions. I can only assume
that on my way out, the list will no longer be.
Just an earnest bit of mantra will remain.
For me, this kind of learning, the kind that sticks to your
soul, has always come from kids. I guess
when you’ve only wandered the planet for a few years, you tend to be more
spirit and less form. More fluid with
less defined edges. From the mouth of
babes and all that resonates with me. As
a teacher, I have access to this sort of truth and wisdom all the time. And I rarely seek it out. It usually just finds me. Shows up right at my door. Again and again.
I’m at a school in a neighborhood that struggles a bit. Most of them know where their next meal is
coming from, but there is not much room for error. Many hover just over those bottom rungs. Disaster can be just a few missed days of
work away. And yet, whenever we attempt
to raise money for victims of a flood or a hurricane, we always raise an
impressive pool of money. Someone has
suggested to me that our successful fund drives only prove that the
neighborhood is crawling with welfare cheats, sitting on secret cash. The suggestion makes one thing crystal clear
to me. He is an asshole, and pretending
to like him over dinners only lessons my value as a person, so I stop soon
after.
The real answer as to why this happens is quite simple. Empathy.
So many of our kids are just one small personal hurricane or flood away
from their worlds taking a steep, steep slide.
This is not common only to us.
National statistics show that on average poorer people tend to donate a
much larger percentage of their money to others.
It’s my turn one afternoon to count up our relief fund
money. Flood in the Deep South, I think
it was. The school day ends and I head
to the lounge. I’m thinking it will take
about an hour maybe. Count it and write
up the class totals. Which class is
getting that pizza party will be the buzz in the morning. I’m getting reading to leave when a wiry
little guy comes screeching in, out of breath and breaking a sweat.
“Can I still put
in some money?” It’s pretty obvious that
he ran home to grab some cash. We share
a smile.
“There’s always
time to be kind, right?” I ask. He nods, then rustles around in his back pack
and pulls out an old soup can. He clunks
it down onto the table. At first, I’m
not sure what to make of it. Slowly, it
all comes into focus for me.
The can is now doubling as a Fort Knox kind of piggy
bank. The old can has a rusty slit on
the side. Money checks in, but it doesn’t
check out. You can’t pilfer from this
bank. Only some tools can reveal its
treasure. He beams with pride and nods
because he sees that I understand. And
while I contemplate the best way to open the can without needing a tetanus shot,
I ask him an obvious question.
“Are you sure? This feels like a lot of money in here. It’s heavy.”
Honestly, a big part of me doesn’t want to take it. “You saved this,” I say. “Maybe you should hang on to this.” I start to push it back towards him and he
stops me. He looks a bit insulted.
“I don’t always
know reading too good,” he says. He
pauses looking from some important words.
“But I know how to be poor,” he finally says. I nod.
There are layers to his words that language does not permit. But it is in there. I shake his hand and thank him for his
kindness. He beams, seeming relieved
that I have reconsidered and take the coins.
He is truly happy. This. This makes him happy. His choice.
His inner voice. His soul. His happiness.
He leaves, bounding out the door with a sense of
contentment. For the next twenty minutes
I sit alone and very carefully open the can with an old opener I find in a
drawer. And I am grateful. I am grateful for this simple old can and
truly happy to be part of all the joy it holds inside.
If you're enjoying the blog, here's a book I recommend. "Our Kids: Building Relationships in the Classroom," is available at Amazon.
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