Last week

I know everyone’s been writing about this and talking about it for the past week. And I know you’re probably terribly tired of it by this point. So don’t worry, I won’t resent you if you stop reading now. But I guess I need this to be part of my healing process.

Last Monday I went to the Boston Marathon for the first time in years. I think the last time was when I went to see my elementary school teacher run in it. But every other year for my whole life I’ve watched it on TV. After all, when you grow up in Massachusetts, it’s a beloved tradition. Every year you hear about the inspirational stories, hear the stories of great marathons past, make bets on whether the winner will be from Kenya or Ethiopia, and laugh at the funny costumes. We even refer to the holiday of Patriot’s Day as “Marathon Monday.” My college didn’t give us the day off, and I’d always grumble about having to be in class when I ought to have been watching the marathon. This year I decided it was high time I go watch in person, and I recruited a friend to come with me.

We went to Kenmore Square, a mile from the finish line, beginning the morning by sharing a doughnut (because let’s face it, there’s nothing like watching other people exercise to make you want to eat junk food. Especially Dunkie’s). For the next few hours we clapped and cheered for the elite athletes and ordinary folks. Whenever someone struggled to keep going, everyone started telling them, “You can do it! Keep running!” and whooped when they started picking up those feet again. When one man started swaying, on the verge of passing out, and fellow runner crossed over and put an arm around him, walking the man over to a police officer to get help. And yes, there were some great costumes—fairies, a bumblebee, superheroes, etc. The day was a great celebration, as it was always meant to be, and it was bringing out the best in people.

We left at 1:30, after being there since 10. After a little stop in Park Street (yes, to visit Brattle Bookshop….couldn’t help myself), I headed for my home outside the city. Soon after I got back, the friend I’d spent the day with texted me about the explosion at the finish line. I hurriedly turned on the TV, horrified.

When it was becoming clear that these were attacks, I became increasingly upset. I spent the next two days watching the news, crying, and checking in with friends and family so we could all make sure everyone was okay. And then on Friday, the horror hit again with full force. I was completely shaken up, and I felt violated. How could someone do this? At an event so dear to my heart? On a street I’ve walked down a thousand times in the city that I love? To people who were doing just what I’d been doing that same day?

I don’t need to relive for you all of the events of that week. But I am grateful that it was school vacation and I was able to spend time with some people that I love who helped me work through my emotions and anxiety, then distracted me with talk of all the good and wonderful things in this life. And I am extraordinarily proud of the way the good people of Massachusetts responded to the horrific events. From running after the finish line to the hospital to give blood, to opening up their homes to the stranded, to running towards the blast to help the injured, to pledging to not let this incident scare them away next year, the bravery and kindness shown was beautiful.

As we move forward, I hope that the lessons learned don’t fade quickly, as they often seem wont to do. And I hope that people do not condemn an entire religion for the acts of a couple individuals. This was something I had thankfully been addressing with my sophomores the week before vacation as they began reading The Kite Runner, and I hope they kept it in mind. I hope that they keep asking me questions so that we can openly discuss our fears and prevent ourselves from giving into them. One of the powers of literature is that it can allow us see ourselves in others, and can help ease our fear and mistrust of that which we previously did not understand. And I hope that Boston, and all those affected both directly and indirectly, can begin to heal together.

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WBUR posted this article on their website. It discusses why we so often feel the need to write about our connections to traumatic events. Many thanks to Ms. K for showing me this!

Hoops, horrors, and hope

Last week, I experienced two of the most powerful days of my young teaching career. On Wednesday, Chris Herren was a guest speaker at school. For those of you who are not familiar with his story, Herren was once the next big thing in basketball. He was a local kid from Fall River who decided to play for Boston College, and eventually ended up playing in the NBA, including for the Celtics. However, his career was derailed and destroyed by his drug addiction. It started off with “just” smoking pot and drinking beer as a teenager, which eventually led to him getting hooked on cocaine, which led to oxycontin, which led to heroin.

Herren was a very powerful speaker. First off, he looked and sounded like someone the students could relate to, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and speaking in his Boston accent. Then there was the content of his presentation. He began his story by talking about how in his freshman year at BC, he was required to go to a lecture on drugs, and he was one of those kids who laughed at it. As he said this, sure enough there were a few students in the audience laughing to one another. He pointed and whistled at them and asked if they were following him, effectively demanding their attention. From that point on, you could hear a pin drop in that gym.

One aspect of Herren’s talk was that he didn’t hold back. I’m sure that there are a lot of parents who are upset that he didn’t censor himself, but I think that the grim reality is exactly what these kids needed to here: stories of sleeping on the street, of having his heart stop and get restarted on two different occasions, of having needles hanging out of his arm, of an Italian man pulling a string of heroin bags out of his mouth, of dragging his children into the car so he could go meet his dealer, and so on. One of my students said that he knew that drugs did bad things to your body and life, but he had never before realized just how much damage they could cause. That kind of shock and awe may have been controversial, but it was effective, so censorship be damned.

The real turning point for Herren was when he left rehab to attend the birth of his third child, and was high just a few hours later. His wife finally told him to leave and get away from her children. When he returned to rehab, someone there told him that he needed to call up his wife and tell her that he was going to drop off the face of the Earth and to tell the kids that he had died in a car accident, saying that he was scum and that this was the best thing he could do for his family. This was the push Herren needed to finally get sober. This part of his story was extremely emotional, and I found myself tearing up.

What was even more moving, however, was the students’ responses afterwards. During the question time, some students asked good, thoughtful questions. One kid said that going into the presentation, “I thought this was going to be crap,” and then said that he wanted to thank Herren for being there. One of our school’s biggest thugs, a kid who’s always getting into fights and has been arrested a number of times, actually asked a question (“What’s the hardest part of your day?”), and the shock in the room was palpable. A couple of students also shared personal stories of friends and family members who have struggled with addiction, and another said that he was writing a book about his past addiction, and passed down a few chapters, asking if Herren would give them a look. For those students to feel comfortable speaking up in front of their peers like that was amazing. One thing that I think helped them was when he talked about kids who had trouble speaking up at past presentations he had done. One girl at another school felt pressured to put her hand down, but emailed him later and told him about how she was bullied at school and was cutting herself. He wanted these kids to know that they could tell him whatever they wanted, and that everyone else had better be respectful about it.

The presentation ended up going past the time we had originally allotted for it. Someone, I think it might have been his assistant, told the administrators that Herren spoke more passionately, emotionally, and longer than he usually does, and that when he thanked the kids for being an amazing audience, that wasn’t just a throwaway line—he doesn’t usually say that to the crowds he speaks to. Students remained in the gym talking to him and asking questions for the next half hour until after school had ended. He later tweeted about our school: “Words cant describe what I just witnessed at  __________HS ... Emotional and powerful 2hrs with the kids !! THANK YOU forever grateful..” He felt a great connection to our kids, and vice versa. Of course, some kids still left this laughing and will go on making bad decisions, but some were truly affected. Herren also made sure to give us his contact info, which I passed on to my kids, and noticed many of them writing it down.

The next day, I barely did any teaching. All of my sophomore classes ended up talking about the presentation throughout the whole class. I had them circle up and discuss it. In a couple of classes where they were a little more reluctant at first to talk, I just had them go in a circle. If they weren’t sure what to say, I just asked them to comment on something in the presentation that they found powerful. A lot of them spoke very passionately about how powerful they found Herren’s talk. But some kids did have personal stories that they wanted to get off their chests—stories of family members who struggled with addiction (some of whom lost the fight), stories of themselves overcoming problems with addiction or self-mutilation. One student even cried, as did I a little bit. I had to contact some guidance counselors to follow up on some of what I heard, as I am a mandated reporter. One of the cases I had to report required immediate attention: during one class, a girl said that because of Herren’s words, one of her friends said that he no longer wanted to do drugs, but that with that taken away, he felt like he no longer had anything left to live for. I pulled her out of the room at the end of class and asked if she would give me his name, which she did. She asked me about it the next day, and I assured her that the counselors were working to get him the help that he needed. I am so proud of her for having the courage to speak up and tell on her friend. One thing I told all of the students that day was that telling on a friend who is doing drugs is not a bad thing. Yes, the friend might get mad at them, but saving their life is more important. I talked about how their teachers are not looking to just get kids in trouble and make this a “gotcha” kind of thing—we genuinely want to get them the help that they need.

Throughout the day, I really made sure to reiterate just how much I, along with the other teachers, care about our students. We may often be looked at as the people who make them do things they do want to do, but first and foremost we want to ensure that they are happy, healthy, and safe. The learning can’t happen effectively unless that other component is taken care of. I talked about how much we worry about them, and discussed the resources they have at school to get help.

In these discussions, the students also expressed a lot of frustration. There seems to be a big fear of telling their teachers and guidance counselors about their problems, and a lot of them, for various reasons, do not trust their counselors. They also are very cynical about the lasting power of Herren’s words; they said that they believe that soon enough, people who were initially inspired to change will just go back to their own ways. I asked them during the conversations if there were things we could do to change our school’s culture and ways that we could keep Herren’s message alive, as I believe that the question of "what's next?" is very important. Also, the next day, I gave the students a brief questionnaire asking what we as a school community can do to achieve those goals, and also asked what they would like their teachers and guidance counselors to do to better help them. I told them that I didn’t want our discussions to just have been nice little therapy sessions—I want them to truly have a voice, and for the faculty and students to work together on this issue. I promised that during vacation this week that I would read over those questionnaires, type up a little summary of the comments, and pass it along to the principal so that she can know what is on the students’ minds. Some of them remained cynical, while others were appreciative that I had truly listened to their concerns and wanted to make their voices heard.

I am so greatful to Mr. Herren for using his terrible experiences for something positive, and my kids were very touched by his words. The drug problem at my school and at others is not going to ever be completely eradicated; I am not so naïve as to believe that. But I hope that we can start to make a change. If Herren’s speech changed just a couple of lives, I will consider it a success. But I hope it does more, and starting a dialogue and keeping it going is important in determining how much of an effect it will have. And we the faculty need to do more to make sure that our students feel that they can trust us. We need to all work harder to make connections with our students so that they truly understand just how much we care about them and so that they can all feel special. I hope that this can be a turning point at my school. Perhaps that is foolishly optimistic, but nothing great was ever achieved with pessimism.

Be who you are.

"To be nobody but yourself--in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else--means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting." ~e.e. cummings

How do you tell a kid that there's nothing wrong with him or her?

I have a student who, most of the time, appears to be miserable. After reaching out to her for quite some time, last month she finally confided in me and revealed the source of her misery: she is gay. This has caused her to feel so much self-loathing, and she feels so terribly alone. Due to a combination of fear of being outed and abandonment issues stemming from childhood, she pushes people away--sometimes because they have made off-hand homophobic comments, and other times simply because she is too afraid to get close to anyone. Her parents don't know her secret, and I don't think her friends do either. She was even intimidated to tell me, even though she acknowledged that I'm not an intimidating person.

We had a long talk that day. I shared with her one of my favorite quotes, by the great Dr. Seuss: "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." I told her that it is important to be true to yourself, because otherwise you will only hurt yourself. And if somebody doesn't like you for who you are? Fuck 'em. (She was quite shocked by this choice of words, but at least it got a smile out of her.) I also told her that while acceptance of who she is is of great importance, as you have to love yourself before anyone else can truly love you, this is not something that is just going to magically happen in one day. It's a process that requires work and patience.

I encouraged her to keep a journal, since she usually feels like she has no one to confide in. Knowing she would likely never get one for herself, I picked one up at B&N. I told her that she could spill all her angst onto its pages, but my one request is that she write down one positive thing per day, whether it is an inspirational quote, something good that happened, a picture she likes, etc. She said she'd give it a try, and asked how often she should show it to me, but I told her that this is for her eyes only, and that what she writes is none of my business unless she wants it to be.

Since then, there have been days when she has seemed better, sometimes smiling at me and saying a few words, and a couple of times even interacting with other students (which she had not done in my class in a couple of months), but she still so often seems unhappy. She had earlier been open to coming to talk to me again, but lately has been rejecting my suggestions to have a follow-up talk. I'm trying not to push her too hard, while still reminding her that I'm here to support her, but it doesn't seem to be working too well.

The district I teach in has a culture of homophobia. I'm not saying that all the people there are like that, but the amount of intolerance is really quite sad to see. These kids don't seem to realize how an off-hand comment like "that's so gay" and using the word "faggot" can be truly hurtful. I've always tried to stop people from using this kind of derogatory language, and now I feel like I have to be even more vigilant about it, as it is now also about protecting students. As an English teacher, it is my job to educate people about the power of language, and this is an important extention of that.

I wish there were easy solutions to these issues, and I wish I had all the answers. I guess all I can do is continue battling against the intolerance, educating people about why certain comments and words are offensive, and encourage others to do the same. No one should have to feel ashamed about who they were. It is so sad that in this progressive day and age that members of the LGBTQ community are so often made to feel like second-class citizens, on both a community and a national level. I hope that my student will someday be able to overcome her struggles and see herself as a beautiful person, inside and out, and I hope our society becomes more conducive to this.