This School Year . . . Choose Respect, Be Different

(This was a short speech that I gave this morning to our area teachers.)

Whether you are a teacher, administrator, or staff member, you and I have much in common . . . we have both chosen to work in a field that is celebrated for its high ideals and noble endeavors. No matter your role, you and I are educators, and since Plato first laid down what would become the principles of Western educational philosophy in his book The Republic, we have been honored among mankind’s professions as the world’s “philosopher kings and queens.” . . . However, we also work in a field that’s sometimes vilified, fingered as the cause of society’s every ill, asked to be parent, priest, and police officer, and then asked to do it all without clear direction nor sufficient resources and under the most stringent of accountability measures. Given such a dichotomy of feelings, it is – at this time of the year especially – sometimes difficult to rise to meet the demands of our high calling. Yet we do it year after year and, in general, we do it with excellence and professionalism.

But it’s becoming more difficult, isn’t it? There are a lot of reasons, but I’m convinced that educators today must deal with the results of two key societal attitudes of the modern era: indifference and disrespect. I think you will agree that we increasingly see the combined effects of these symbiotic attitudes among our students, their parents and families, in community groups, and, yes, even in our co-workers and ourselves.

Among students, the voices of indifference and disrespect combine to ask questions like, “Why will I ever have to know or use this crap?” “Will this be on the test” or, my favorite (and be sure to listen for the whine . . .) “Is this really due today?” Among all of us, indifference expects everything its own way and offers up nothing in return. It expects and even demands the greatest of rewards for mediocrity, self-importance, and fitting into the latest fashionable mold of the day. As for disrespect, it taints the importance and meaning of everything we say and do in our classrooms and in the actions displayed in our board rooms, offices, hallways, playgrounds and gym floors. We, as educators, can have absolutely no positive influence when disrespect rules . . . either when it’s held by others about us, when we hold it about ourselves or our colleagues, or . . . and I want you to hear this clearly . . . when we hold it about our students.

Here are two brief anecdotes, concerning this last point: The first comes from my wife, Rita, who after college, worked as a speech pathologist at Alton (Mo.) Elementary School. As she got to know her students, she became acquainted with a kindergarten boy named Nathaniel who, she learned, had the nick-name Nate-Nate. One day, Nathaniel approached Rita and another teacher in the hallway. When Nathaniel came near to them, Rita asked him, “Nathaniel, tell Mrs. Johnson what they call you at home.” Without skipping a beat, the little boy looked up and said, “You mean ASS HOLE?”

For me, that is one of the funniest AND one of the saddest stories I’ve ever heard. I can only hope that Nathaniel knows today that he’s much more valuable than what someone led him to believe he was back in kindergarten.

My second anecdote comes from a personal experience with one of my honors students at Missouri State, a young lady I’ll call Amy. Like many honors students who come my way, Amy was bright, smiling, and a voracious learner. Socially, she was reserved and said little to her classmates. She was also attractive, of poorer means, and, as she told me, a “nobody half-breed,” part Cherokee part something else. Through our time together, I learned Amy just turned 20 years old, had a five-year-old daughter, and was living with her fourth male partner.

After completing the first semester of the honors program, Amy didn’t return. For probably two years, I heard nothing from her, nor of her . . . that is until she dropped by my office one day holding a bouquet of flowers, a Diet Dr. Pepper, a bag of my favorite peanut M&Ms, and a well used copy of what I learned was Amy’s favorite movie, A Year of Living Dangerously. As she was laying these items on my desk and with tears streaming down her face, she simply said, “I just had to thank you for helping me love myself again.” I stammered something out of my surprise, and then she, turning toward the door, said . . . “I also want you to know that I’m going to be a teacher someday. I will . . . no matter what anyone says.” And then she left.

First of all, I tell you both of these stories to remind you that these students are the students we both will soon stand before and work beside during this coming year. Nathaniel and Amy are NOT exceptional examples anymore.

Secondly, know that the attitudes of indifference and disrespect that surrounded Nathaniel and Amy were very real and very influential. But also know – and I challenge you to come to realize this on your on – that those very real influences can be offset by two powerful opposing attitudes and actions on your part. If the world is indifferent, you – as Plato’s ideal educator – must be different in that world and choose to make a difference. If the world is disrespectful, you must courageously face that disrespect and be genuinely and constructively respectful. In other words, fight indifference with difference; face disrespect with respect.

This is true when working with others, too, but it’s especially true when working with students – students who are my primary focus and concern no matter whether I’m wearing my teacher hat, my administrator hat, or my staff member hat. When I act and think with the intent to make a difference with my students, they sense it immediately and, in the base nature of the learner, they begin to mimic my actions, attitudes and thoughts. And when I show them respect, then they begin to respect me. When I respect my academic discipline, then they, in turn, move toward a deeper appreciation of those things I want them to know.

I realize this may sound very simplistic, and I may be just too naïve and too idealistic to know any better. But I know this works . . . It works with almost every one of my students – from the Nathaniels to the Amys. BUT you know, this works for me, too. For as an educator today, IF I give credence to all of the voices of indifference and disrespect out there, then I, too, can feel like an asshole and a half-breed prostituted for others’ desires.

And you know, that’s not what I am. For out of my many passions, I choose – like in the words of the Apostle Paul – to be a peculiar person – in this sense, an educator – that’s focused on every one of those individually unique minds, hearts, and souls that float through my part of the universe. I’m proud of my choice. . . and I hope you are, too.

So, today, with all due respect and with the encouragement to choose to be different in an indifferent world, I wish for each of you “a year of living dangerously”. . . I hope that this school year will truly be the best of your career so far!

On the Leaving of Sons

For Kent

On a hot, muggy July morning, God gave us our first child, a son. Seth’s coming was easy for me; not so much for Rita, but I can only assume given some particular indications of her experience. (Ignorance in the uninitiated father is truly bliss; my only pain was from a well-squeezed hand.) With this new, long-awaited being finally in our lives, joy filled the room, our hearts, and our lives; so much that even eternity could not seemingly lessen its breadth nor depth. He was us; we were he.

So 20 years later when his leaving day came -- that day for which I, from the day of his birth, ignorantly and ironically set out to prepare him -- I realized I had failed to prepare myself. I had known it was coming from the time the doctor let me cut his umbilical cord. Now another cord lay ready.

We -- the Family . . . Rita, Seth’s two sisters, his little brother, and I -- moved the trappings of his fledgling life into his dorm room. We went out to eat, prolonging the inevitable with a burrito special and sweet tea. And then we said, “we’ll see you later,” “call us when you get a chance,” “have fun,” "I love you" . . . “bye.” At that moment, a hole the size and shape of the universe opened in my heart, and we left him there, a pilgrim in an alien land called Oklahoma.

Since then, the hole isn’t as big and it's changed in shape, like any earthen hole will change with the passing of time. The strange thing, however, is that this hole, where I once thought nothing else could grow, will hold a large number of new plantings: a confident, maturing son; a loving, supporting daughter-in-law and her family; and, yes, all of their untold friends who are now, our friends, too.

My father told me this would be one of the hardest things I’d ever have to go through in my life . . . He was right. But, for Seth . . . and all too soon for Leslie and Kori and then Nicholas . . . it can’t happen any other way. So, my friend, when that hole opens in your heart this fall, remember that it’s just part of being a great dad.

Oh, and you know that Cat’s in the Cradle song by Harry Chapin? . . . I hate it.

A Garden Play: An Essay in Four Acts

Act I: The Tilling

For four years, I’ve known this woodland garden that now lies before me. I say ‘known’ when I should really say ‘observed,’ as no human can truly know a garden, large or small. So complex and unfathomable is life for any one to pretend he can know such a thing, even if given four hundred years to do so.

A spectator from my favorite porch swing, I mostly just watch over my garden — an inherited stage, I admit, and not of my own creation; at other times, I either negotiate conflicts over light and shade between garden members or, out of arrogance and ignorance, I pillage as some invader come to rape a foreign land of its treasures. I am at my most frustrated, however, when, like a last-minute understudy, I know not the role I am to play on this stage and, if I did, I would most assuredly stutter the lines.

I desire to increase the drama of my garden, but all efforts fall short of my ideal. I have too little time, too little energy, and definitely too many distractions to achieve the magazine image in my head. Oh, I have minor successes from time to time that please me, but an audience of one is often much biased.

When truly objective, however, my observations tell me that I have little control over what goes on here, as the garden spectacle unfolds no matter what I do and never all at once so not one but many may take of it in their own season, not just mine. The orchestration of action and dialogue is intricate, with never a cue missed. The design never fails, for just when I think an early frost or a pesty intruder has brought irreparable damage, the play continues without intermission, surprising me in its miraculous power to create from once withered limbs and diseased organs something wondrous and beautiful – a perfect tulip in late May, a juicy jonathan in cold November . . . .

“So why, Lord, do I hesitate to accept your script for my life? I am an iris, an aster, an actor of your Garden, resisting your directions. Why can’t I accept what you offer? What more must I have?”

‘What is twisted cannot be straightened; what is lacking cannot be counted.’ (Ecclesiastes 1:15)

“But, Lord, I want to do something special; I want my life and my work to have meaning.”

‘As a man comes, so he departs, and what does he gain, since he toils for the wind? All his days he eats in darkness, with great frustration, affliction and anger.’ (Ecclesiastes 5:16b-17))

“How, then, shall I live? What is my purpose?”

‘Not only was the Teacher wise, but also he imparted knowledge to the people. He pondered and searched out and set in order many proverbs. The Teacher searched to find just the right words, and what he wrote was upright and true.’ (Ecclesiastes 12:9-10)



Act II: The Sowing

The thought of what I must look like brought a quick smile. Academic regalia are only so fashionable, and mine, complete with the traditional mortarboard that makes me look even more hairless, were no better than any other I saw. My students — the nine honors students who had survived to graduate today — laughed good-heartedly. Of course, they looked just as ridiculous.

“I bet Socrates never wore one of these,” I quipped.

Despite being uncomfortable with the costumes, we were glad to see each other wearing them. Symbolism is a powerful thing, and having the black velvet tam o’shanters on each of their heads — our college’s symbol that denotes completion of the honors program —meant far more to each of these men and women at that moment than maintaining “their image.”

It meant much to me, as well, for this was the season for a teacher’s harvest.

We had come a long way together, these nine and I. Starting in their freshman year, I had been among the first to greet them, to ease their anxieties, and to cause their first pain of academic discipline. They were among thirty who had enrolled in the program’s entry course. Not a great retention rate, but these young scholars were something special. I always told them they were the reason I came to work, and I meant it more than they knew.

There’s Amanda, the perfect one. Always ready, always organized. She’ll probably be president some day. Morgan, the over-achiever who doesn’t know which ten things she will achieve first. Andy, the challenger of the universe who absorbs everything his mind touches. Justin, the theologian; lover of words and the concepts they form. Jeremy, the polite, articulate servant. Cary, the Jesus wannabe. Gentle. Loving. Wears sandals wherever he goes. Matt, the work horse; Lacy, the silent one. And, finally, Rogers, the wanderer of mind and soul, who seems to have been the most dramatically affected by his experience here.

We gather for a group photo that somebody’s mom wants. I’m in the middle, smiling, arms around Morgan, Patrick and Cary. We awkwardly anticipate the flash with a waning, pasted smile then it’s off to our respective lines. Faculty on this side; graduates over there. The familiar march begins, and I enter stage right . . . .

Two years go by so quickly. I hope . . . I pray . . . they received something of worth while they were here. Did I really do anything for them? Did I make a difference?

Those first few days together were interesting. As I recall it now, this group really struggled with Plato. But I laid it on thick. “You’ve got to know this!” They got it, too, as everything else they would study in this and the following class would mean far less if they didn’t. “Plato says we’re like prisoners chained to a cave. Our eyes are fixed to look only at the back wall of the cave, and that’s where we see the shadows. Nothing else; only shadow. The problem is we don’t know they’re shadows. We think these images are reality because that’s all we know, that’s all we’ve ever known. In other words, we not only believe them we also believe in them. So, as Plato says, unless we break free from our chains and escape the cave, we are destined to live lives based on distortion and, yes, even illusion and lies.”

That got them started. First, they had to understand the story, then its implications, and then test its application to others things we would read.

“We’re just like Hamlet, trying to figure out if what we see and hear is actually there or not.”

“Could you say Jesus and Hamlet were following the same ghost?”

“What? Jefferson didn’t even follow what he wrote about in the Declaration of Independence?”

“Like Freud asked, why are we so hung up about sex?”

“Does religion serve to grease the wheels of capitalism?”

“I just don’t get this Tao of C.S. Lewis’. How can anything be absolute?”

“Are we just killing time waiting for our own Godot?”

“So if there is no meaning to life as Sartre contends, then . . . .”

“What did Solomon mean by ‘Vanity, all is vanity’?”

I suddenly felt like Dr. Frankenstein. Had I gone too far in getting these young minds to entertain such questions? What happens if they challenge the shadows so much that they lose hold of what is real and true? Am I leading them down a path less traveled or pushing them off the edge of an all too familiar cliff?

Jesus quizzed the Pharisees and the Sadducees, asking them to look beyond the law and into the heart. Socrates challenged “the youth of Athens” to think through the obvious toward what was beautiful and true. Hmmmm, they crucified Jesus and executed Socrates.

Deep in my own cave, I took Hamlet’s soliloquy as my own. Is it nobler ‘to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing them, end them’? (Hamlet, Act III, Scene 1) Is it? What’s my responsibility here? How far do I pursue Truth in an environment where so few even believe it exists? How long do I play the philosopher king and stir the prisoners still deep in the cave?

I am, after all, just a teacher.


Act III: The Harvest

Honors 250, Final Essay. 100 points.
In three single-spaced pages and using the readings assigned during the past two semesters, answer the question, “How, then, shall I live?” Your essay should be personal, reflective and an honest portrayal of your current thoughts . . .

“When a person, or in this case a professor, asks me how I will live my life, it becomes difficult to even begin to explain how I, as a young adult, will attempt to live my life. Yes, I can read the books of philosophers, and, yes, I can read philosophical stories of characters with interesting views on life. Yet, they can only usher me in the right direction in finding who I am and how I shall live my life. Finding who I am is no longer the challenge; it is now how will I live my life.

“I shall continue on in this life much like that of a philosopher. I would rather look at the larger picture than just inside of the box. If I can do that, then perhaps I’ll be able to understand even more of exactly who I am; not because the world will tell me who I am but because the meaning I apply in life through questioning can tell me who I am.” – Matt

“Answers are not made to be handed out on a golden platter. They are meant to be discovered and used wisely. Only the person who questions his life and his reason for being here will begin to learn and discover the meaning to it. He will be the one who actually lives, unlike the man who simply follows in the paths of others. He will look back on his life and won’t remember any of it having importance because it was not his. I do not want to live a life of regret and failure. I want to live each day like it was my last and make a difference in the life of others any way I can.

“Jesus Christ had an outlook on life that was like no other. He dared to be different and in doing so saved many individuals from destruction. Together, the courage and knowledge that he possessed were an indestructible force. To have such courage and knowledge that allows a person to be so persistent and successful in the betterment of others would be extravagant. Simply daring to be different is enough in this day and time to get a person killed. I hope, however, that one day I will obtain an inner sanctuary of moral beliefs and rules that will be untouched by any outside force. Then, throughout my life everything that surrounds me will be like an illusion because my life will be solely based upon the fulfillment of my happiness and doing right in the eyes of my God.” – Morgan


“Part of the process we must follow in life involves figuring out what the thrones in our lives are and then judging whether they are beneficial or toxic to us. We pledge our allegiance to scores of nouns and adjectives during our lifetime. If a person finds their reason for living in their spouse, then they are found kneeling at the throne of marriage. If someone is given to an uncontrollable temper, they kneel at the throne of rage and emotion. We must periodically discern the value (or worthlessness) of all these things.

". . . The question is ultimately this: whose interests are you striving to serve? If you’re constantly at the mercy and will of other people, I don’t believe that is the way life should be lived. One must not live solely for self, but he or she should have their own best interests at heart, instead of perpetually prostituting time and talent to those who plead most pitifully. Once allegiances are struck, whether to God, self, family, friends, career, or anything else, they must be either firmly held and honored or totally thrown out and replaced. The world is, sorrowfully, full of men boasting of their fortresses in life, when in reality they hide behind the popsicle stick walls of compromised integrity and honesty. One must be true to self, as well as true to the allegiances that you strike.

". . . I suppose the important thing for me to remember in life is that not everybody is going to conform to my view of what is right, or how one should live. Yet that isn’t really the point. The thing that I need to remember is that I must pick my battles in life, fighting for the most important things worthy of my defense. I have to use the correct tools in life if I want to create the best meaning out of life, and thus the best self, that I can.” – Justin

“Throughout my life, I will use life experiences as my dictionary. I will learn from my past mistakes and apply what I have learned to my future. I will voice my knowledge and my ideas to make my life and the lives of people around me better. I will not fear my self or others. I will not let others infringe upon my beliefs or ideas. I will do my best to turn my ‘thought . . . into truth.’ I will apply my knowledge and ideas to my life in order to further my understanding of the world around me and to assist in my personal growth as a human being.

". . . Throughout my life I will look for the truth and form my opinions based on those truths. I will not be refused my personal rights as a human being and as an American citizen, and I will exercise those rights based on my own morals, values, and beliefs. I am going to live according to my goals and the goals that God has for me.” – Lacy

“Early in life we begin walking down a path, and we’re not sure of its destination. For much of the time we can’t even see the end of the road. Because of this we try to put value in whatever is around us at the time. We spend so much time chalking meaning into anything and everything we see that we miss the true meaning of the journey. Those who search for true meaning will come to realize that at the end of the road there is God or there is nothing. If you turn away from the wall of the cave, begin down this path and find nothing, then you have nothing. Those who get to that point understand themselves better than those still facing the wall of the cave, but their meaning is fleeting. Under that form of existentialism, they have themselves and they are their own value and meaning.

". . . I believe that you reach the end of the road and find God. Within that belief, God is able to take a form (ours) that before had only fleeting meaning, and place in it Himself, something that has eternal value. After that the way to live is not simple, but I’m no longer living to serve my own fleeting self. . . . How then shall I live? ‘Fear God, and keep His commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.’” – Jeremy

“I plan to live my life by continuing my education through school and by what I encounter throughout my life. I will still question almost everything I see, hear, or read. That part of me I do not want to change. I will look at life and decide if I do more damage by questioning than by accepting. I will attempt to let my friends know they are my friends. I will try to learn to see the good in everyone. I will not seek revenge against people who cause me grief. I will be aware of why I am joining an organization. I will understand that I am influenced by everything in life and that is how I form my opinions. I will try to realize that what ever happens in my life is a part of life. I will not blame others for what happens in life. I will try to live my life in a way that creates no regrets. I will try to live in such a way that I will not be ashamed.

". . . I will live to help others have a better understanding of things they need to understand. This is a deep-rooted part of who I am. I am a better person for doing this. I know this sounds conceited, but I become a better person every time I accomplish this task. My ultimate goal is to become as good as I can at helping others. I guess I will have to live my life as a teacher.” --Rogers


Act IV: The Thanksgiving

‘I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.’ (John 15:5)

“Father, I feel so alive today. I know I did some good with those kids! I know they learned something more than just how to make money, look good, and speak and think well. And, oh, I hope they learned something, too, about who they are, why they’re here, and maybe, just maybe, something about you, too.”

‘This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.’ (John 15:8)

. . . . . . . . . .

Today the irises with their spouting pollinating beards stand out among the sea of green stalks and petals; next week the iris will bow and the columbine and daisy will take center stage. Wait a month and the coneflower and day-lily will trumpet the arrival of summer’s heat, while the azalea and rhododendron, with their glory now past, welcome the coolness of the giant hickory’s afternoon shadow. Wait two more months and the fountain grass will send its fruited plumes skyward and the apples from the gnarled old tree at the corner of the house will once again prove Sir Isaac correct. Although I can imagine the scene today, I find it difficult to envision that in six short months all of this can be sleeping beneath the cold blanket of another winter’s snow.

Such radical change often saddens those gardeners whose joy comes seasonally. They perceive no other time than spring when life is at full bloom. All else pales. All else fades. All else foretells death and despair.

Although I am all too human — prone to wither in the summer, sneeze in the fall, and say in the midst of a dark bleak January, ‘Oh, Lord, let it be spring!’ — I have come to learn (and now to teach) that I can not be a spectator in this garden play; I desire with my very being to act upon this stage in whatever role the Gardener chooses. I am His to direct.

And so now . . . I sing, and the incessant cadence of the Garden’s life spirit comforts me. I listen, and I no longer look toward that which distracts me to seasonal pleasures. I march, and I find no reason to fear the shadows of an advancing winter. I dance, and I am unashamedly filled with life eternal. I teach, and I fall to my knees in joyful, purposeful worship.