My Christmas Gift to TB2000

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Cyber-friends:

I had been pondering what thoughts to "give" to those of you who have proven to be invaluable sources of support, information, and humor through all this. I realized the best gift I could give would be the gift I get every day: the stories of my "kids".

I am an 8th grade teacher. I returned to this profession after a 4 year absence. When last I left teaching I was disgusted. I taught at a high school in which the kids were worse than anything you have seen in any teacher flick. This time, though, I found a wonderful school with a great principal in a good school district and jumped at the chance. I have never felt so lucky, career-wise. To be able to spend every day with the future is a pleasure beyond words. They make me laugh, and they remind me daily what it's about. They remind me, too, that there was a time when I, too, enjoyed simple pleasures, and felt thrilled just to receive a small treat--an unexpected smile from a teacher, going to lunch a few minutes early, getting to drink a Coke in class as a reward.

Many of my students have their roots in Mexico and have grown up listening to the stories their parents have told them of having to sell lemons on the street corners beginning at the age of eight. Or living the life of the migrant worker. Some of my students, as recently as a year ago, WERE these kids selling lemons on the street corners. They see school, and their life here, several family members cramped in a tiny apartment, as a luxury.

One boy, Sylvester, lives with two younger sisters, an infant brother, and his parents in a two bedroom apartment. His father works three jobs. His brother was born 10 weeks premature and requires eight medications daily. He gets up in the middle of the night to help his mother with the baby every night. Every Saturday, he goes with his father to collect aluminum cans to make extra money. Some days, he has trouble staying awake in class, but he has just recently made the A Honor Roll for the third time in a row. His father dropped out of school at 16, when Sylvester was born, and has always emphasized how important education is. He tells me, with the shy smile of a 13-year old, that he wants to be a doctor someday, to help premature babies like his brother. And I'll just bet he does it.

Vivian lived a nomadic existence with her parents and three younger brothers until her father went to prison, then her mother, too. This was before she was eight years old. The siblings were put in different foster homes--Vivian lived in four before being adopted last year by a wonderful couple. She single-handedly organized a canned food drive at our school for the North Texas Food Bank. She heard the bank was running low this year and wanted to help. She spoke to each of her classes and over the intercom in the morning, imploring her peers to just donate three cans each. She went door to door in three apartment complexes, with her adoptive mother at her side, to ask for donations. She brought over 350 cans of food to the food bank. I saw many of her classmates bring food that I knew well could not afford to. Leticia, in particular, was living with her mother on the brink of homelessness. She told me as she was putting her cans in the box that her mother said that every good thing you do comes back to you.

Vivian ended the food drive by thanking her peers for contributing and emphasizing the need to give year round. When I asked her later why she did it, she looked at me as if I were crazy and said, "Once you've been really hungry, you never forget it."

And people are worried about the future of our kids? I can't be. There are so many other stories to tell, but as long as kids like Sylvester, Vivian, Leticia, Natasha, Cynthia, and Adam and all the others don't allow the world to suppress their wonderful spirits, they will make a positive contribution. Scratch that--they already are!

I look at my own daughter, who in our society is considered "lucky" because she has two parents who love her, a nice home, and has no idea what real hunger or deprivation is like, and wonder if her kind of life will ever be considered normal instead of lucky. I wonder somtimes if she knows what she has. And I wonder if I do, too.

This Christmas, I want to wish all of you happiness and health and freedom, even if only for one day, from everyday worries and stresses, to focus on what is really important: the little gifts we receive each day of the year.

And by the way, my name is .....Kellie! ;-)



-- preparing (preparing@home.com), December 14, 1999

Answers

Kellie: You know some idiot is going to flame you for the article because they will say it was OT! I say "Thanks", especially at this time of year and under the current circumstances. It would be nice to have Channel 5 in DFW area to run something like this instead of the usual garbage they spew out. You are fortunate that you found the current position so satisfying. Good managers(or principals) are hard to find.

-- Neil G.Lewis (pnglewis1@yahoo.com), December 14, 1999.

And yes, in case anyone is wondering, it makes my heart break to realize none of these kids have any preparations at home in case Y2K is bad. "Y 2 QUE?"

-- preparing (preparing@home.com), December 14, 1999.

Thank you Kellie.....and happy Holidays to you and yours.

-- rb (ronbanks-2000@yahoo.com), December 14, 1999.

Kellie, your stories moved me! I want to tell you that I have been reading your posts and I felt you are are caring warm person. Well, this latest post of yours cinches that. Thank you so much for your story. I have 2 wonderful daughters and I try to tell them how lucky they are to have what they do in life. I will share your story with them. Thank you again! Merry Christmas!

-- Debi (LongtimeLurker@shy.com), December 14, 1999.

Kellie,

Merry Christmas and may the New Year bring you and your family nothing but happiness (and everyone else too). Yours was a very sweet post. My kids would be lucky to have a teacher of your calibure.

-- Rob (maxovrdrv51@hotmail.com), December 15, 1999.



Holiday greetings to you and yours Kellie! Thanks for a good post.

-- Irving (irvingf@myremarq.com), December 15, 1999.

Thank you for reminding us about the really important things. I hope my two boys are fortunate enough to have teachers like yourself throughout their education. I too remember being allowed the occasional soda in class. Best drink I ever had.

God Bless

-- Carl (no3daystorm@hotmail.com), December 15, 1999.


Kellie,

Thanks for the present. Warm wishes to you and your family as well as the wonderful children in your school. I pray that God will protect them and you from harm.

-- Mara (MaraWayne@aol.com), December 15, 1999.


Thank you Kellie. Your story is a wonderful Christmas present. May God richly bless you, your family and especially your students.

-- snooze button (alarmclock_2000@yahoo.com), December 15, 1999.

Kellie;

Your post brought tears of memories - good and bad - to this spirit's eyes and heart. I would like to share part of my story with you.

I was born in New York State. My mother was ostracized by 'polite' society because she was Native American. Being a 'half-breed', I was outright rejected. Cruelty was the norm. I can remember back when I was 4 years of age, people calling me ugly names and telling their children to get away from me, like I had some fatal disease, just because I was indian. So when she married my step-father, we moved to Texas to start a new life.

We arrived along the Rio Grande, we had basically nothing! I remember many nights of waking up crying because my stomach hurt so much from the pain of hunger. My step-dad worked 2 full-time jobs and many part-time ones as well trying to build a home for us. Unfortunately, in the end, it destroyed him, he turned to alcohol to find peace.

There were many children like me ... mostly Hispanic ... only a few 'White' families in the whole county at that time. The children would do all sorts of odd jobs to help our families. We would plant gardens in empty fields to grow extra vegetables, everyday carefully carrying buckets of water and pulling weeds by hand. Trust me, there is nothing sweeter than a fresh vegetable grown with the love, care, and affection we put into our little gardens.

Together, the whole neighborhood, of misfits, outcasts, and dirty lil Messy-cans and that damned injun boy (as the local whites called all of us) grew up by helping each other to help ourselves.

Many of that group are now firefighters and police officers, teachers and professors, doctors and nurses, accountants and lawyers, engineers and technicians, priests, nuns, and ministers who have dedicated their lives to help others to help themselves. Most of us in that group have spent their adult lives volunteering with the Red Cross, various Emergency Services and Agencies, volunteering as ham operators to sit in danger zones during hurricanes, floods and other disasters providing communications when there was none to make sure that people were safe. None of us ever forgot that we survived because there were others who cared enough about us to help us, nurture us, and love us for being just ourselves.

After college, I went on to work as an electronics engineer in government service for 12 years and industry for an additional 8 years. 10 years ago I accepted a calling as an ordained, inter-denominational minister, at the end of last year, I retired from the engineering profession to answer Creator's call and returned to my roots. I help other Natives here on the reserve to help themselves. By day, I manage an apartment complex, at night I hold counselling sessions; distribute food, clothing and other essentials to those in need. I am doing all that I can to ensure that over 2,000 people survive whatever 2000 brings .... when I stated that I am prepping for this to be a 1000, I meant it; too many depending on me to cover as any potentialities as I can.

Please pass on my love for your lil ones, I share their hearts, for as they say - been there, done that. It was because of people like you, that I am who I am today. May Creator wrap you in his loving arms, protect you and your family, and bless you with his bounty.

To all my friends and family on this forum, I offer the following:

AN INDIAN PRAYER

O' Great Spirit, Whose voice I hear in the winds, And whose breath gives life to all the world, hear me! I am small and weak, I need your strength and wisdom.

Let Me Walk in Beauty, and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset.

Make My Hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice

Make Me Wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people.

Let Me Learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock.

I Seek Strength, not to be greater than my Brother, but to fight my greatest enemy--Myself.

Make Me Always Ready to come to You with clean hands and straight eyes.

So When Life Fades, as the fading sunset my Spirit may come to You without shame.

Aho!

for those that missed it: Aho! means amen, Thank You!, and until later - all at once)

May peace, love, and compassion fill your lives!

Merry Chistmas!

from Dr. Rev. Michael ThunderLight

-- hiding in plain (sight@edge. of no-where), December 15, 1999.



Kellie- Thank you for sharing this with us. It is a great reminder of how beautiful life is.

-- Gia (laureltree7@hotmail.com), December 15, 1999.

Who says this isn't Y2K related? Preparing and Hiding's posts have made me think and I believe I have discovered why I've felt I wanted to be ONE of the Josephs in my neighborhood.

Perhaps I want to forget about a short period of time in my life when I was too proud to go home and didn't have enough money to eat properly. There were many nights I went to sleep with a pain in my stomach from the hunger. I would splurge every now and then and treat myself to a bowl of soup from the local restaurant. I would watch as people got up from their table and walked away from half of a club sandwich or sub. I wanted so desperately to waltz over and save it from the trashcan and eat it. But pride is an awful thing...sigh.

I used to think of the children who go to bed hungry around the world who don't have control over the situation. How do they get beyond that ache and fall asleep nightly? Do they embrace it as a normal state of affairs? I cannot watch as others, esp. children are hungry. Perhaps (I can wish can't I) if enough of us strive to be Josephs in our neighborhoods should supplies be delayed for a while...we can help at least a few children go to sleep without that gnawing pain. We are truly blessed. Thanks guys. I couldn't figure out WHY I felt so strongly about this. Now I believe I know.

beej

-- beej (beej@ppbbs.com), December 15, 1999.


All: Thank you so much for your wonderful responses. I really wasn't expecting too many at all. What a surprise!

Rev. Dr. Michael Thunderlight: Your story brought tears to MY eyes! Especially your blessing to me and my family...I was caught off guard by that and so touched.

I know truly that God called me back into teaching. I felt from a very young age (around 6) that I should be a teacher. I have always also felt that I am destined to help people in an even bigger way, I just don't know what it is yet. That opportunity may be just around the corner.

I failed to mention that one of the reasons I love these kids so completely is because I was one of them. I am too hesitant to tell them, but I had a horrific childhood and adolescence. When I saw the movie Mommy Dearest, I remember thinking, "That's ALL? THAT'S what this is all about?" That sounds cruel, but in light of what I encountered, it seemed like a walk in the park. I spent many weekends of my childhood locked in a laundry room with a dog doing the family's laundry. I stared out the window a lot, daydreamed, was hungry a lot. Suffered black eyes and broken bones at the hands of those who were supposed to care for me, and in the 70's, teachers and doctors didn't get involved. But I survived. It took MY spirit years to heal, but it has.

So now when I say I love my students, I truly mean it. And in every 13 year old girl I see who is too afraid to look the world in the eye, I see myself. In every single confused kid, I see myself. In every kid whose parents make too much for them to qualify for the free lunch program, but still have nothing to eat, I see myself.

WE are these children, we have just forgotten. And when I see other teachers that gain pleasure from embarrasing kids, from humiliating them, from holding authority over their heads (and too many do), I cringe. And I get angry. Because I am a parent myself, I don't see a problem, I see a kid. I see someone's heart and soul. Or, at least, they SHOULD be someone's heart and soul.

I heard a story on the radio of this teacher who taught in the hardest, most crime-ridden part of Detroit for many many years before her retirement. Her male students, especially, seemed destined for a life of crime, and early death. But some researchers following boys growing up in this part of Detroit found that a disproportionate number of these boys who had her for a 5th grade teacher had gone on to have very successful lives, against the odds. When they finally realized they had happened upon a very real trend in the statistics, they went to her. She was in her late 70's and they asked her what her secret was for so influencing their lives. She looked at them and said, "Why it was simple. I JUST LOVED THEM."

She knew the secret. I have learned when you truly love kids, it shows. They have antennae for it. And when they know you truly love them, they will work so hard for you. You can discipline them and it is wonderfully effective because they know you are doing it out of love for them. I don't tell my students I love them--they are 8th graders and many would be embarrassed---but they know it, anyway. And by the way, I think we made a big mistake in education when we decided teachers should never ever hug a kid or put a hand on a shoulder to reassure them--there is nothing wrong with hugging kids. Many hug me everyday (whether I like it or not! And some of them are bigger than me!!!). For some, that is the only way they get any hugs. How I wish I had had a teacher who hugged. I would have shied away, but still at least felt noticed.

Class is about to begin. Thank you again, everyone, for your thoughts and wishes.

-- preparing (preparing@home.com), December 15, 1999.


Saturday we'll go to the little mountain town up the road where the local theatrical society holds what passes for a holiday extravaganza in an ancient theatre.My 6th grader will be sawing away (rather badly, she never practices) on her viola with some of the other kids from the elementary schools.Perhaps there will be another production of the Grinch, and certainly a big songfest where adults will get up on stage wearing earmuffs and scarves and badly knitted woolly hats,and run through a lot of carols that make me want to puke with their saccharine sentimentality. I could be out doing last minute preps with that time, I'll mutter, until it begins. Wouldn't be here if my kid wasn't playing.

Then I'm going to be breaking into a big dopey grin, and I'll love every dopey amateur minute of it. Grannies getting together with young gay men to sing. Little kids mugging to the audience. I want the world to go on well for these people, who probably spent much more time rehearsing for their time up on stage than they did prepping. I love them.

I don't know what Christmas will be like this year. Mom's in the midst of chemo for lymphoma. She thought that Christmas Day should be one of the Good Days on her chemo calendar, when she might stand a chance of being strong enough to drive the 100 miles up to our house for Christmas, because she knows how the kids hate having to leave their house and tree to have Christmas elsewhere. But two nights ago she had to have emergency surgery connected with her ileostomy.I don't know when she'll be out of the hospital, and what I'll be able to do with her.

The stress is hitting hard. I've taken some of the advice I handed out to you the other day, Kellie. But still, the level of uncertainty and stress has suddenly increased exponentially, not just geometrically.

But still, in the midst of it all, the blessings surround every moment.And may that which you send out, be returned to you threefold.

Carol

-- Firemouse (firemouse@fcmail.com), December 15, 1999.


Dearest Kellie, What a wonderful post! With the rollover rapidly approaching i can't think of a better way to enter the holidays than to share some personal moments with this cyber family we all have become a part of. I am also glad to see your spirits lifted, as a post of yours a few days back had me really worried about you...i tried to email you but it bounced back. Your unselfish love for these children with bring you blessings you can't even begin to imagine. May God bless you, your work, & your family and carry you into the new year unharmed. ****kitten

-- kitten (kitten@vcn.net), December 16, 1999.


Kellie: Do you like to mudwrestle?

-- King of Spain (madrid@aol.cum), December 16, 1999.

Ah! Finally, KOS asks me to mud-wrestle! I am thrilled! I have been asking HIM for weeks, with no response. I think it is b/c I finally revealed my name and it is a feminine one! ;-)

-- preparing (preparing@home.com), December 17, 1999.

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