PIECES OF A BIGGER PICTURE

I was a little ambivalent about going to see Bruce Springsteen’s Land of Hope and Dreams show in Pittsburgh in mid-March. People on social media criticized Springsteen’s harsh words toward the current administration and its policies. Others were praising him for his inspiration about the country he knows and loves. 

I just did not know what to expect. Unfortunately, I have allowed myself to be inundated with social media posts, news programs, and articles about the state of the country, and, irrespective of my personal opinion, it has all become too much at times. The world has affected my ability to filter out the talking heads, turn the channel, or swipe the page.

So I was apprehensive about going to the show, worried that hearing one of my favorite artists vent about politics might dim any remaining positive outlook more than impersonal commentators on a news channel’s roundtable. I was wrong, though. 

Bruce was angry, yes. He channeled his anger into his music, opening with a blistering take on Edwin Starr’s "War.” Throughout the show, Springsteen would stop to criticize recent events in our country. Many people would say he was harsh and unpatriotic, while others would call him passionate and inspiring. But do you know what? He always leaves me feeling that there is some hope to be found if we just look hard enough.

Right before his song “My City of Ruins,” Bruce ended his speech with this plea:

“Honesty. Honor. Humility. Character. Truth. Compassion. 

Humanity, thoughtfulness, morality, true strength, and decency.

Don't let anybody tell you that these things don't matter anymore because they do. They are at the heart of the kind of men and women we are, the kind of citizens we want to be, and the kind of country we want to leave for our children.”

This was Springsteen’s request. We can be critical; we can disagree. That is our right as Americans. But can we retain hope? Can we latch onto that which epitomizes the traits and characteristics we value? We simply must.

I left the concert feeling better. I was surrounded by people who felt the same, people who stood and applauded the principles of our country that the Boss passionately espoused. Some voices you just listen to and feel better.

Days later, I was still recovering from an early morning return to Wheeling after the concert, and I would have enjoyed sleeping in a little longer. My two government classes had already taken their exams, and I had graded about half of them. An extra hour or two would have done wonders.

This poor student had to miss his last day of classes because of a medical emergency. Shortly before going into surgery on the day of his final exam, he emailed me to let me know he wouldn’t be there. I would have been more worried about surgery, but God has a special place for students who always remember to email teachers if they are going to miss class.

He came the day after his surgery to take the exam. So, despite a nausea patch still stuck behind his ear, he showed more energy than I did at 7:30 am, when he was waiting for me outside my door.

As he dug into his exam, he searched his Citizen’s Chronicle for answers to the questions about rights guaranteed in the Constitution. The Chronicle was a standard composition book wrapped in class stickers, quotations, and a bunch of masking tape. Inside, he found his handwritten notes, drawings, pictures, and the amazing story of Billy Rightway.

At the beginning of the school year, I was comfortably uncomfortable being retired from teaching full-time. Central called to ask if I could teach a couple of government classes this school year. I was hesitant at first. An entire year? Government? Ugh.

Betsy had a bunch of old, slightly used composition books collecting dust in her room, remnants of an APush class years ago. I made my plans, took the composition books, and decided to forgo being overly formal and go with real and gritty, maybe even messy. But the bottom line was to do something meaningful and relevant.

The students filled over 62 pages of the composition book not only with the guiding principles and laws of our country but also with their personal takes on a wide variety of topics. What does it mean to be a good citizen beyond just claiming you are one? Who are the people in your life who have modeled this for you? 

What about the Bill of Rights? Do you know what they guarantee to you? When you look around the country or watch the news, do you witness civil discourse, or do you hear insulting rhetoric? Do you feel as if your voice is heard? From this point on, what type of citizen do you wish to be?

These are just a few questions I could ask myself, ones that I thought would be good to ask my students. We walked a fine line, doing our best to objectively examine issues from multiple viewpoints and to listen as one another shared their thoughts. Then we wrote, we drew, we thought, and then we did it all over again.

That was our journey this year.

The following week, prior to graduation, I enjoyed the students’ commencement presentations. They all had an opportunity to share the reflections they had written in English class. Some offered heartfelt tributes to their parents, grandparents, and siblings, acknowledging the roles those loved ones played in shaping who they are. 

They shared elements of their own stories. One person talked about her friend, who thoughtfully created motivational sticky notes for others in the hope that their days would be good ones. Others spoke of the honor of having played a sport with classmates and referring to teammates and coaches as family.

I listened to students who talked about challenges they have fought to overcome. They bravely spoke of individual medical conditions that made every day a challenge. Many voiced the sadness they felt over losing a family member close to them or the fear they have when someone they love immensely has been fighting a battle with cancer. A quiet student told of growing more confident from time spent on the drama stage, while another retold parts of his incredible journey from war-torn Ukraine to America.

And when they were all done, each student returned to an audience that congratulated them with fist bumps and compassionate hugs, some of which were sprinkled with the tears of humanity. I witnessed a small but compelling picture of what the future can be like with the current generation.

“Don't let anybody tell you that these things don't matter anymore because they do.”

SUNSHINE SHUTTLE

The brown paper bag looked amazing. A huge, smiling yellow sun covered nearly the entire top of the brown bag, with the colorful words “you are sun-sational” splashed beneath it. Below that was printed, “Thanks for all that you have done this year!” Tufts of bright lemon paper looked like rays of the sun popping out of the top.

I sipped my chilled glass of ice-cold lemonade, which I had made for myself at the cool lemonade stand across the counter in the lounge, adding some fresh berries and a few drops of blackberry syrup. I was having quite the afternoon.

I retired from full-time teaching three years ago. I never thought I would step back into the classroom again, but teaching only two classes this year is kind of nice. I have plenty of free time to walk the dog more often, play video games for hours on end, and catch up on years of lost sleep.

So when Teacher Appreciation Week rolled around this year, I felt a little guilty about taking part in the celebration. Some days, I am only here for one government class while other teachers are navigating a full load of classes each day. That lemonade sure tasted good, though.

I looked at the bag. The principal stood at the table in the teacher’s lounge talking to me. I know Becky wanted me to open the bag, but I didn’t want to do it in front of her. I was content to sip on the lemonade and imagine what was inside the bag, so I told her I was going to open it at home. 

I lied. Once she left, I peeked inside. Maybe I didn’t want her to see me smile as I pulled out the surprises. 

I quickly unwrapped a Golden Grahams bar and savored tiny bites while checking out my stickers, Play-Doh, and a little rubber duck. But the "pièce de résistance" was something totally unexpected: a personalized laminated round-trip ticket on the Sunshine Shuttle to Dupes Scoops for an ice-cream treat. 

The next day, on an overcast, chilly afternoon, teachers, their eyes worn from the end of the year and their arms crossed, gathered in front of the school after the students had been dismissed.  Survivors of a full day of hyperactive teenagers who would rather be anywhere else began to smile when they saw the Sunshine Shuttle awaiting them.

I masked my own enthusiasm while holding my own golden ticket in front of me like Charlie Bucket. I half expected to see Willie Wonka driving the orange school bus, but Mr. Murphy was the perfect replacement.  Orange, yellow, and white streamers dropping down in front of the bus door invited weary souls to a magical place where today’s pressure was not to be found.

I feel kind of corny writing about all of this. But when I stepped on the Sunshine Shuttle to find it decorated with balloons, small suns, and even more streamers, I felt like a kid again. And let me tell you something, for a pushing 60, underdressed-for-the-weather man in shoes that had lost their arch support, to feel excitement about a trip to Dupes Scoops was something pretty special.

I remember a few specifics from the journey through downtown Wheeling, but for the most part, I just recall the feeling. Many of the teachers jabbered enthusiastically while I kept my arms atop the school bus seat in front of me, silently listening to some happy music playing faintly in the background as I looked out the window.

Throughout life, we often struggle with being “present” in moments. We may not always appreciate the simpler things, see the value in a kind gesture or smile, or acknowledge the road we have taken to arrive where we are. The significance of moments is often found in the time and places we take for granted.

The Sunshine Shuttle arrived quickly, hopefully avoiding the impending rain showers. Teachers are the universally certified guardians of orderly lines. With that in mind, we took our turns slowly disembarking the bus, stepping into the aisle without encroaching on the person’s personal space in front of us, and keeping our hands to ourselves.

Younger educators stood in line with the veterans. Math and science, English and social studies, art and video, staff and admins, all shivered in excitement as they waited their turn at the window. I tried to calculate the number of years of teaching experience gathered there on National Road, but I am a former English teacher who currently teaches a couple of government classes. I can add, but I struggle to keep a tally in my head, primarily because of my remarkable ability to become distracted whenever I am getting ice cream.

My turn came, and I stepped to the window, where I came face-to-face with Dupes himself, Luke Duplaga. Talk about moments. I had Luke in my class nearly a decade ago. Can that even be correct? I tried to do the math standing there, but…well, you know. Ice cream. 

Many teachers lose track of the years; some, like me, have occasionally forgotten names. We don’t forget the time spent together, even if we can’t remember the specific years and faces.  The great gift educators are afforded is the occasional opportunity to witness how a student’s story is progressing, a story far removed from the chapter in which you appeared.

It was good to see Luke. We talked a little, but Dupes still had a bunch of ice cream to hand out, and knowing Luke, I am sure he wanted to get the orders right. So I took my cappuccino crunch waffle cone, said “thank you,” then stepped to the side, the way all good teachers try to model for their students.

The Sunshine-Shuttle headed back to school, escaping the rain at just the right time. So many thoughts and emotions spun around in my head. Looking at everyone on the bus, having one last glance at the decorations and the shiny sun hanging beside me on the seat, I felt good, better than I have felt in a while. 

I was touched by the appreciation the school showed my colleagues and me. Yes, I loved the lemonade stand, the coffee cart, and, of course, the Sunshine Shuttle trip to Dupes Scoops. I will always be grateful for the week we had this year. 

Beyond the treats and gifts, the week gave me another treasure: a sense of gratitude for the career I chose, the never-ending flashbacks to previous classrooms and schools, the experiences of learning and teaching, and, of course, the enduring lifetime connections with students and colleagues.

I had my arms resting contentedly on top of the seat in front of me again on the ride home. I could still taste the cappuccino crunch ice cream at Dupes. “Becky? Can we do this every week?” 

Becky chuckled, “I wish we could.”

Living in the moment, appreciating one another, and being forever grateful.