I Am My Father's Daughter

 Yesterday, I went to the doctor for a follow-up appointment and he said we needed to schedule a test to rule out the possibility of cancer. Cancer is never a word you want your doctor to say in relationship to yourself, but it is especially not a word you want to hear when it is nearing the one year anniversary of your father's death from the same cancer. I nodded to the doctor, scheduled the appointment, walked numbly from the building, climbed into the car where my best friend was waiting, and brushed away a tear as I told her. Then, I was angry. "No! This is not what I inherit from my father."

My parents divorced when I was two years old. They both remarried and had happy, stable marriages that have lasted over 40 years. They were too young, too different, too whatever. Their divorce was ugly and my mom is bitter about it to this day. I don't have memories from when they were married. I was a little kid, a toddler really. I have scattered childhood stories. He preferred my brothers. I can clearly remember him telling me girls did not matter as much since we didn't carry on the family name. When he said that my little spine grew a little straighter, I squared my shoulders, and set my mind to prove I was just as good as any male. Ah.. You see in that moment, I became a little feminist although I didn't know the name or the negative connotations that people associate with the term. I always thought that is what I inherited from my father.

I worked with my father at the textile plant when I first started college. If you wanted to go to college back in the day, your family either needed to have the money to pay for it, you earned the money, or you won a scholarship. I worked 46 hours a week to earn the money, plus I won a scholarship for employees of the plant. I watched my father work harder than everyone else. He arrived early. He stayed late. He joked with all the employees and he helped those in need when he thought no one could see. He stood up for gay rights way before that was popular by simply saying I don't care who the man kisses as long as he does his job. Other people followed his lead. I know he saw color but he never let it stand in his way of befriending people, treating them fairly, or working hard along side them. His actions said everyone is equal and special and unique. I want to think I inherited that from my father. 

My father loved history. He could recall the events of years ago and explain it in detail. He would spin tales and give details and connect today with yesterday. He was my first history teacher and to be honest, my best history teacher because he made it a relevant, interesting story. His biography is available in bookstores. It tells the story of his childhood as a sharecropper in the Keowee River Valley. The stories are heartbreaking at times and at other times, I can hear his laughter as he relates a story. When he died, my brother gave me a copy of the recordings Daddy made for the book. It's him at his storytelling best, explaining his personal place in history. I hope I have inherited the storytelling gene.

My father was a fantastic grandfather to my son. He took him hunting and fishing. He taught him how to set a trot line and how to keep bees. He taught him about treating people right and always being true to your word. I raised a fine man. I have always said I inherited that from my daddy.

Our relationship was difficult. There were long stretches when we did not speak. I was hurt about things. He was hurt about things. We are both incredibly stubborn people but whenever he called, it was like we had just spoken the day before. When I called, he always joked and greeted me warmly. If I could change anything, it would be to take back the times when we did not speak. Stubborn pride is not something I want to inherit.

At the end, my father began to suffer strokes. He went to the hospital time and time again until his cancer was discovered. At one point, Daddy was in the hospital and my mom was in another hospital across town with a broken hip. I emailed my principal and asked if I could leave during my planning period to go visit one so that I would have time to also go visit the other. Rather than send the response of yes that I was expecting, he showed up at my door during one of my classes with a sub. He told me to Go Home. "No", I responded. "I need to teach this class first and then, I will leave". He repeated that he wanted me to go ahead and leave. I shook my head and began to cry. I can still see myself  bend over and try to gain control of my emotions. Then, I straightened my spine and squared my shoulders. I told my boss that my father was going to die soon and I have not proven I am enough yet. He looked at me like I was crazy and said "Dear Lord, if YOU have not done enough, then no one can." This was probably one of the rawest exchanges I have ever had with my principal or anyone else. You aren't supposed to say the things you fear the most out loud. I would say it again on the beach to my best friends and to a therapist right before my father died. What do you need him to say? they all asked. Honestly, I don't know the answer. I felt small and inconsequential and needy. I wanted to feel like I was Daddy's little princess or his pride and joy or that he thought I was amazing. I still don't know what I needed him to say. On some level, I was all of those things. He told me he loved me multiple times in the days before he died. He told me he was so proud of me. He lauded my accomplishments. I know he meant what he was saying but at the same time, he knew death was near.  The little girl inside me squared her shoulders and straightened her back and vowed to be a little more. This fear of never being enough is what I am afraid I inherited from my father. 

So, if you see me panicked about messing up or loading way too many things onto my plate or crying when I cannot do everything always, just know I am trying to live up to man who did it all with ease. Colon cancer cannot be what I inherited from my father. There are way too many other things that are amazing about his life for me to inherit that one.

Hug your family tight. Eat the turkey. Tell the stories. Show the kids you love them. Make them want to be just like you. I inherited that from my Daddy.

Finding the Good

 Last week was full of wonderful things. I read a great book. I worked the election with great friends and sang off-key karaoke in a Waffle House afterward out of exhaustion. I had a wonderful manicure, I ate good food, and I played cards with friends and laughed a lot. I rounded out the week by helping with a Christmas project to benefit deployed military. It was truly a great week. Finding the positive was really easy last week.

Then, late Sunday night, my son called. He was obviously upset and my mom heart dropped. His brother had been killed in a senseless act of violence. My son and Hunter shared a dad. Taylor was 7 years old when Hunter was born and though they lived in separate houses, they grew up together. They shared stories, memories, and when you saw them standing together, it was obvious they were brothers. Although it was late, Taylor started the 6 hour drive home to be with his dad and extended family. My heart broke for Hunter's mom, dad, brothers, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and friends. This was going to be a truly horrible week.

The week got worse. My mom called Tuesday morning, sobbing and yelling into the phone. She had fallen in the yard and could not get up. I hustled my students to a nearby teacher's classroom and rushed to her house. Her hip was broken and an ambulance rushed her to the ER.

A hospital stay and surgery during the time of Covid. A funeral for a 20 year old with a big smile. How can there be anything positive in this horrible week of pain? There was. There always is.

Like most 20 year olds, Hunter did not have life insurance. However, in less than a week, friends, family, and complete strangers donated over $11,000 to pay for his funeral expenses. That is a huge blessing to this family. There is enough pain without having the added stress of trying to figure out how they will cover funeral expenses. If you gave, THANK YOU! If you didn't, it's okay. Please pray for the family. The funeral was not the end of their pain. The donations are a huge positive.

Yesterday, despite Covid, the church was packed. Mourners sat every other row. Many wore blue flannel to honor Hunter. The salvation message was preached and many present raised their hands when the preacher asked for those who had prayed the sinner's prayer of salvation to raise their hands. HUGE positive!

Hunter's mom sobbed through the service. My hearts broke for her and still does. During the service, his dad got up and walked across the sanctuary to where she sat to comfort her. Theirs was not a gentle parting of ways. Both are angry. Both are hurt. When he walked to her, he was showing that love overcomes all the hate. He was comforting the mother of his children. I was proud of him. Positive!

Will has had challenges over the last few years. I have avoided him. It is hard to see the man you loved not be who he should be. But this week, I saw the guy I knew long ago. He was there standing strong, mourning but standing strong. Positive!

I sat with a pew of Marines during the funeral. All decked out in their dress blues. They were there to show Taylor support. One and his wife had cooked Taylor dinner the night before. Two had spent hours in the garage letting Taylor vent and cry and vent some more late into the night. They exemplified that the military is a brotherhood. They have each other's backs always. Positive!

When I called my principal to tell him that my mom had fallen and that I needed to get to my mom. He didn't scold me for not putting students first or tell me I needed to complete paperwork. He asked what the address was. He was heading to help me help my mom. I LOVE that! I don't think I will ever be able to explain what that meant in that moment, but I was overwhelmed. His first thought was to come help. POSITIVE!

My mom's hip replacement surgery went well.  She was surrounded by prayers. Co-workers and friends reached out daily to ask what they could do to help us. Positive.

Don't get me wrong. It's been a horrible, terrible, gut wrenching week.  However, I just wanted to say that in all the pain and stress of everything, positive things happened. I believe life is normally like that. There are pockets of joy and love and hope mixed in with the bad. We just have to take a moment to appreciate that they are there. Those pockets are what makes it possible to survive all the rest.

Please overlook the rambling and lack of wit in this post. It's been a week. Thanks for being part of the good in my life and the world.

Is It Time to Travel Yet?

I went to deliver my Mother's Day gift to my mom yesterday since we cannot sit in church together or go out to eat to celebrate. When I started to leave, she asked if I wanted to take some ice cream with me. You need to know that my mom rarely send anyone away from her house empty-handed. She always gives you something she has bought especially for you or she finds something she thinks you may like. My niece, Cricket drew a picture of her once for a school project with the little word bubble saying "here take this and go home", Anyway, the offering of the night was ice cream. She had purchased it at Publix and according to the hype, it is supposed to be the best ice cream anywhere. My mom shrugged and said she had never heard of the company but they make cheese too. I laughed. Tillamook? It's in Oregon. I have been there on a random excursion during a trip with students. I started to explain how you could tour the factory and sample all the different types of cheese they make. My mom just waved me away. Do you want the ice cream? No, Mom. I was just going to tell you about Oregon and how beautiful it is. The trees are so green and the air is amazing. You have an entire yard of huge trees behind your house, she said. Conversation over. My mom loves to be at home. She cleans house like there is a prize attached. Me? I want adventure. I want to see the things I have read about. I want to explore new places. I want to have stories to tell, even if it is about a random tour of a dairy factory. Oh my goodness, I love to travel.

I have had the good fortune to visit 45 states and the District of Columbia during my lifetime. I have visited historic landmarks, Presidential libraries, and completely random places. I have laughed so hard I could not breathe crossing the Mississippi River and sobbed big tears looking at the destruction of a daycare center in OKC. I have sang random songs and laughed as a friend made up new lyrics to Disney Classics. I have  traveled for work, for conferences, for mission trips, and to celebrate special occasions. I have traveled solo, with a friend, and with groups of friends or colleagues. Oh my goodness, I love to travel.

People like to ask where my favorite place to visit has been and I honestly never know how to answer that question. I flew to NYC with Taylor when he was 5 years old to visit the "real Santa" at Macy's. We ice skated in Rockefeller Center and at that moment, I thought it was the absolute best thing I had ever done. However, standing with Taylor at the site of the gunfight at the OK Corral in Tombstone, AZ when he was an adult was also pretty amazing. He had goosebumps and it was obvious that he could see the details of the shootout. He was reliving history. I also thought that was the best thing I had ever done. Standing on the edge looking at the majesty of the Grand Canyon and thinking how it doesn't even look real... Yep... This is the best thing I have ever done. Driving through Montana and just being mesmerized at how absolutely beautiful it is. Same thought. Snorkeling in Hawaii at a Bay I wont even attempt to spell. Best thing I have ever done. I could literally keep going because the coast of Maine is breathtaking, the houses in Newport, RI are surreal, Texas... all of Texas... is amazing, Seeing Mount Rushmore appear from a fog bank and later seeing the fog roll in (FTR, fog rolls in.. like it literally rolls in)... Oh my goodness, I LOVE to travel.

Random adventures are my favorite memories though. Some friends and I explored Santa Claus, IN and wrote letters to Santa. He wrote back with personalized messages. G and I added twine to the world's largest Ball of Twine in Cawker City, KS and then, laughed for hours as we drove through the Kansas plains trying to get back to civilization. (FTR, you have to email to be able to add twine - make arrangements). Another group of friends and I watched the bats emerge at twilight in Austin, TX. (This is actually much cooler than it sounds). Taylor and I met Aaron Kaufman when we stopped to visit Gas Monkey Garage in Dallas. He was getting coffee and told Taylor a story about how his dog had just gotten sprayed by a skunk. Tracee and I watched fortune cookies being made in San Francisco and had the coolest Uber drivers around. Brandi and I attempted to paint a house in Louisiana in 100+ weather where the paint dried as fast as we could do a swipe. We laughed as we tried to convince ourselves that it was not as hot as it felt. Oh my goodness, I love to travel.

School is winding down. Summer is almost here. My summer travels are looking iffy. My trip to Tampa for the AP Reading is cancelled. I will sit at my computer screen instead. My planned trip to NYC is doubtful. NYC is locked down tightly and even though I am adventurous, I am not sure about wandering around the epicenter of the pandemic. Other trips have been suggested and then, there's the pandemic. Can we travel? Will the country open? Is it safe? Is adventure worth our health? I have smiled at this entire blog post until the last part... I hate the unknowing of all of this. I am like the rest of the nation in this, I know. I want the pandemic behind us. I want life back to normal. And what I really want is an answer to my question... Is it time to travel yet????

Shadows and Shade

A friend of mine and I were having a discussion the other night on Instagram Live. (Oh, the things we do now that we are in quarantine...). He had taken part in a webinar where they had discussed the shadows of Leadership. In our Instagram discussion, this quickly diverged into a discussion of Peter Pan trying to put his shadow back on with soap in the Disney classic. Why soap? Our friends who had tuned in gave several theories - the Lost Boys did not have moms so they had never been required to bathe so they didn't know what soap was, the Lost Boys were actually dead thus, they did not have shadows, and the scientific makeup of soap back in the day made it sticky so it could replace glue... Who Knew?  However, it has been two days and I am still thinking about the shadows of leaders.  

If leaders stand in front of the light, they can cast a shadow keeping the ones serving under them in relative darkness OR they can stand in front of the light and create shade for their people. Do your people need the heat from the sun or protection from the heat is an important question to ask in these situations? Is a shadow different from shade OR is it all a matter of perspective?

A shadow is defined as a dark area or shape produced by a body coming between rays of light and a surface.  We think our shadow is the reflection of who we are but it really depends on the rays of light. I have stopped several times in the writing of that sentence to just ponder on the words. Our shadow is a reflection of who we are.  We think that. My shadow  is showing you ME, but not really. It is showing you who I am when I am shined upon. The closer I am to the Light, the longer my shadow. Stopped again... Man, read that statement. The closer I am to the Light, the longer my shadow. Wow... This is not the blog I sat down to write, but if we want to reach people, if we want to change lives, we need to get closer to the Light, closer to the Son. Wow.. wow... wow.

Going to pray now and spend some time in the Son... I will write about leadership later. 

Life Lessons from Uber

I attended the National Council for the Social Studies Annual Conference last week in San Francisco. The city is a vibrant mixture of ethnicities. It is the Melting Pot come to life. The best way to see this is to talk to natives. I did just that as I travelled around the city in my down time from conference meetings and sessions. I took Uber eleven times over the course of four days. (What can I say? That city is filled with roller coaster-esque hills). My Uber drivers taught me things about life while getting to my destinations. Thanks Uber!

Each driver came from a different background, had a different story, and a different answer as to what we should see in our short time in San Francisco. Robert was a young African American man with long dreadlocks who was driving that day because it had rained earlier and he typically works construction. He said tourist educate him as to what he should see in his hometown. He had never heard of the Golden Gate Park and its hiking trails before someone asked him to take them there. How often do we ignore those every day things around us? Be a tourist in your own town! Thank you Robert for the reminder. Mohammad was our next driver. He was an older, Middle Eastern gentleman. He asked if we had seen the crooked Lombard Street yet and when we replied no, he changed course slightly, stopped at the bottom and allowed us to take photos before continuing on our way. He didn’t get paid any additional amount from Uber for going out of his way. (Yes. I tipped him for his kindness though). Mohammad didn’t want us to miss an opportunity.  Go out of your way for people! Gassan was Pakistani. He offered a multitude of restaurant suggestions and told us to try the Cow Brains at a particular Pakistani restaurant. (Um… No). His lesson to me was small gestures matter when people are in need. When he picked us up, I laughed and said I was glad he arrived before my phone completely died since my battery was at 1%. He unplugged his phone from the charger and plugged mine in. Small gesture? Absolutely. Did it make me feel better? Absolutely! He also stopped and pointed out that cars disappeared as soon as they turned down the street across from us. Once we had watched a few cars immediately disappear, taillights and all, we crossed the intersection and entered what seemed like a 90 degree hill straight down. He took the time to point out that we were about to experience something amazing so we didn’t miss a moment of it. Take time to let others enjoy the wonder of life. Maximino, James, Hameed, Raed, Saghar, and Alex took us around town too as pool drivers. Each was incredibly friendly, shared their time and vehicles with us, and made me appreciate life in small town South Carolina. Raed was amazed that we owned houses. He drives Uber to help pay his insane rent for a room in San Francisco. What he pays for one room is more than double what I pay for a house. He seemed awe struck when he asked how much our rent was and we replied that we paid much less for a mortgage. Be thankful for what you have. James was a financial advisor. Alex works in software. Saghar drives only on the weekends to help make ends meet, not for extras but to make ends meet. We are blessed and we don’t even realize it.

Thanks Uber and my wonderful drivers for reminding me of the important things in life!

God Still Holds Back the Water

      In the movie Prince of Egypt, there is an awesome scene where the Red Sea parts for the Israelites to cross safely as they fled from Egypt. The massive walls of water are clearly depicted with sharks and fish swimming high above the people as they walk quickly to safely. I love that image because it shows exactly how powerful and amazing our God is. He can hold back the Sea so His people can cross over on dry land. He didn't let them suddenly discover boats. He didn't throw up a barrier to stop their pursuers. He didn't allow them to swim across. God parted the waters and they crossed on dry land.  What's my point? Simple. God is Powerful Enough. Whatever it is that you are struggling with, God is powerful enough to handle it.


     About a dozen years ago, I worked in Human Resources. I liked my job. I worked hard. There was a variety in what I did. I travelled for work. I earned a nice salary. Nothing I did was dishonorable to God; nothing I did showed His awesomeness either though. My job went to the West Coast. I stayed here. I really prayed about what I was supposed to do next. God called me to teach and so I became a teacher. I tell this story a lot. It's all true. However, it leaves out the part where God held back the water for me to cross on dry land.


     In a Hallmark movie, I would have received a full scholarship or won the lottery or met a wonderful benefactor that paid for me to go to school to become certified. Nope. In real life, I lost my house, moved in with my grandmother, and slept on the floor of her small home for the first six months of my teaching career. When I was finally able to pay for Taylor and I a home of our own, we went without cable television, internet, and even heat for one winter. Life was hard. I never once doubted that teaching is what I was supposed to do though and we survived. How is this God holding back the water? I went to school for 15 months with absolutely no income. I did not have a penny at times. Church members would hand me gas money as we were leaving church. My grandmother housed us and fed us. I had a jug of loose change that I carried around in the car to pay for gas and it never ran out of money. God didn't give me an easy route, but He did allow me to cross over. Taylor and my grandmother became extremely close. He wouldn't have had that relationship otherwise. I devoted myself fully to my career because I knew this was my calling from God.  I love teaching because I am called to teach. God held back the water so I could do it.

     Today, the sermon centered on Joshua 3:1-5. Joshua says three things that I think we need to remember. First, Joshua tells the people to wait until they see the ark of the covenant to leave their homes and follow it. He said to WAIT. I have student loan debt from my Masters and my Doctorate. It worries me because it is a second mortgage every month. I wanted to be a better teacher, but I also wanted to be a better paid teacher. That's hard to say. It's true though. God has not miraculously erased my debt. Today, sitting in the pew, I realized that I had not waited until I saw God's plan. I made my own plan. I am bobbing in the sea of debt because I did not WAIT. The second thing, Joshua says is to put some distance between yourself and the ark so you can see which way to go. The ark is Holy. If I am so close that I cannot see the signs of which way I am to go, I will miss the direction I am supposed to travel. I like to think I know what is best.  I sit on this board and that committee. I apply for this class and that class. God didn't call me to be all those things. He called me to teach. God knows what His plan for my life is. I need to trust Him. I need to stop trying to catch up with the ark and show it where to go. God needs to lead me. Otherwise, I am looking for the life raft when God's plan is to part the water. I need to hand it all over to Him.


     Finally, (and I LOVE this), verse 5 says "And Joshua said unto the people, Sanctify yourselves; for tomorrow the Lord will do wonders among you." Sanctify yourself. We all want the waters to part. We all want to be part of something amazing. Joshua clearly states that we have to do our part first. We need to spend time in prayer, in reflection, in God's Holy Word. We need to take ourselves out of the picture and put the focus firmly on God. I am called to teach. My classroom is my mission field. I need to stop worrying about what my test scores are going to be. I need to stop worrying about accolades that never come my way. I need to stop seeking the approval of others. I need to sanctify myself so that God can be seen in me. God didn't call me to teach to raise standardized test scores. I am to do so much more. I need to sanctify myself and watch God do wonders among me. He will part the waters if I do my part. I cannot wait.
    

Why I Don't Want to Teach US History Anymore...Even Though I LOVE It...

When I was about seven years old, I fell in love with history. I wouldn't become a history teacher for another 25 years, but I fell in love young with the stories of this great country of ours. Specifically, I discovered Abigail Adams that summer. I read every book our library had on her. There was no internet then, so I read and read and read. Here was this spunky, intelligent woman who spoke her mind, loved her husband dearly, defended her child against bear attacks while sewing her own clothes. I wanted to BE HER! The fascination continues. My first Kindle purchase was a compilation of letters between Abigail and her beloved John. I love that she is his equal. She reminds him to "remember the ladies" while he is drafting the foundation of our great country. He responds by calling her "saucy". They are still the couple I want to be.
     Of course, if you know me, you know that I also fell in love with Theodore Roosevelt long before he was the president Robin Williams brought to life in movies. He also loved deeply. The cowboy image he is known for came about only after his wife died in childbirth. He fled to the west to become a rancher. He needed that much space to mourn. He was awful at farming. People mocked him. He became an icon. Teddy Roosevelt took every single life experience he had and used it in the next chapter to make the world a better place. Plus, he rode a moose...I Want to BE HIM too...
     I understand that history is a story and that it happens every single day. I want to be a part of the stories past too. I look at the famous photograph by Dorthea Lange of the Migrant Mother desperate in the migrant camp surrounded by her young children and I want to help her. I want to sit down with her, rock the baby in her arms, and tell her it gets better. I want to work beside Rosie the Riveter making planes during WWII. I would love to be a flapper hanging out in a speakeasy scandalize nag the world by showing a little ankle. Let's go save the Lindbergh baby and Sacco & Vanzetti while we're at it! I want to broker peace between Hamilton and Burr before Hamilton dies in that fateful duel. I even want to go tell Monica Lewinski that it's a bad idea to date her married boss and while we are at it, let's tell Gary Hart to not go for a ride on the Monkey Business. History is real to me! I LOVE IT!
     However, I don't want to teach my beloved subject anymore. Yes, I read books about it for fun. Yes, I love the stories behind those dusty old documents. I get why the History Channel is a success and why every single miniseries they offer is a blockbuster... I even know where the term blockbuster comes from... I don't want to teach this subject anymore though. You see, US History in my state has a end-of-course exam that counts 20% of the student's final average for the year. The state failure rate hovers around 50% for the 8th year. Teachers have complained and the prevailing thought is that the teachers haven't figured out how to teach it yet. Try something different and you will get a different result. Don't complain unless you are doing different things. I have taught it slowly and in depth. Students fail. I have taught it quickly and with tons of review. Students fail. I hVe given notes, done graphic organizers, shown video clips, had students research, done sketching activities, had them dress up as historical figures... Students fail. Teachers become frustrated and hand it over to new teachers hoping there is some new method that will unlock this test. I simply cannot continue to pour my heart into teaching this subject year after year only to have students perform poorly without feeling that I have failed them. I don't want to do this anymore.  I LOVE HISTORY..... I LOVE MY STUDENTS MORE....