email from a student

Teachers are underpaid, undersupported, and not recognized nearly enough for the daily impact they have on society, our youth, and our future. In the past two years I've come to admire and adore the thousands of great teachers out there, and remain confused why people that hate teaching continue to show up for a draining, challenging job.

Through all my late nights and frazzled moments and doubts about my abilities as a teacher, I was blessed with some of the most appreciative, loving children. (Before you think it was all roses, let me remind you I had a student that threatened to kill me with an AK-47, and a parent that wanted me fired/sued/paid less money.)

Thought I'd share with you the joy of this email I got last week, and remind myself and hopefully others that sometimes, we do not even know how much a small thing, a simple hug and encouraging word, can change the heart of a child forever. As they say at institute, teach 'em up.

"Dear ms.robinson ,This letter is four [4] you because all the things you have done for me. OH my brothers and sister said thank you for taking them with you. (to hang out for a few hours)They really enjoyed going with you and again they said thank you so much and me too thank you very much. So ms. Rob how are your dogs . ___ talks about them everyday. ___ missis them alot. Ms .rob so what have you bin doing. Have you found a job yet. Well if you haven’t I hope you fine one soon. You now what ms.rob I miss your big hugs. Ms.rob I want you to take these words in your heart that Even if we don’t see each other alot I will always remember you in my heart as a teacher and as friend and almost as my 2nd mother. I love you so much ."

What a sweet, sweet child! Thanks for reading!
Ms. Rob

thoughts from the mountains

Quick update: I left Houston on Wednesday morning, spent two nights with my great grandparents. Friday morning I woke up at 6 to be sure I was in Albuerqueque to pick up Genie by 6 MST. It was a long, great drive, the farthest I've ever driven solo. And other than the return trip, probably the longest I will ever drive solo. I brought a whole new definition to the word delirious after about, oh, mile 642.

I love how the trees here are not quiet – the wind whips through them and the stream running by the house gurgles its’ reply. I am reminded of God’s immense power and majesty as He creates such different scenery and shows love to us in such different ways. Beauty in Houston can be sought and is certainly in the eye of the beholder, but...the beauty in Taos and the mountains cannot be ignored (and is much more unanimously agreed upon.) But love through people and hugs and comfort is in Houston. He shows up all over, and it is in the moving around that reminds me of his steadfast, everlasting love.

"The LORD appeared to us, saying: "I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness." Jeremiah 31:3

you'll leave this world naked

From 8/8/11 (3 years to the day from college graduation!)
The cobblestoned streets we walked this weekend once supported the feet of American heroes like Thomas Paine, Ben Franklin, George Washington, and dozens and dozens more. As we remembered the sacrifice and bravery of these men – and the incredible women who did their laundry, bore their children, and loved them well – it was evident we’ll likely die without our names in the history books. Does that stop us – or you – from living meaningful, memorable lives? No.

No, we press on through life with the same thirst for freedom, passion for democracy, and appreciation of those around us. We drink our tea just as they did (though ours is over ice with a bit of splenda) and we discuss many of the same things Abigail Adams – or her husband John – discussed. What job will best fulfill our talents & desires? Details of love interests and family moments are exchanged, as we wander the streets in the shadow of the liberty bell.
We ate delicious food in a darkly lit restaurant and conversed of faith, love, hope for the coming years. One of us moving to Greece within a month, one of us perhaps across the country someday but for now in the capitol, one of us contentedly settled in Houston.


It had been too long since I had seen their faces, and it will be too long before I see them again. I thas been too long since I appreciated the privilege of living in a free society, or tipped my hat in reverence to those who protect us, and acknowledged the difference between a woman born in the 1980s and the 1780s.


As news broke that thirty military service members had been killed in Afghanistan, and that two bystanders were severely beat up one month prior in the same city block we’d eaten dinner, I felt thankful for the joy of being alive, deeply aware how fleeting this life is. We take nothing out of this world. The minister on Sunday said we have arrived naked and we will leave that way, too. What then do we live for?


In part, we live for friendships. Deep, rich, loyal, hilarious, true. And freedom – for ourselves, but also for others. It feels cliché, after a simple weekend in Philadelphia with two delightful friends, but I am renewed and rejoice at the gifts given to me: such amazing friendships, among endless freedoms here in America. My cup runneth over.

back to school...yet not for me

Today, August 15, 2011, is the first day back of the new school year at SHINE. A place whose hallways I have memorized and whose mission will forever be written on my heart: quality education for all children, regardless of skin color or zip code. It is not an exaggeration to say that some of the very best days of my life, and some of the very worst, were spent there over the past two years. It feels quite strange and sad to not find myself there today, greeting faces and getting hugs and generally stressed about having everything ready to go for the day: lessons, copies, materials, emails. Yet I know I am moving on to the next part of life, and that my two years at SHINE taught me so, so much. I left with a passion for ensuring all children have the kind of education they deserve: the kind of education the kids at KIPP schools are getting right this very minute on this hot August Monday morning.

As my thoughts drift back to my thirty-eight three year olds who are officially kindergartners today, my stomach churns with emotion. I think of my student, my beaten up & bruised baby, who was thriving last time I saw him, big eyes lit up to tell me of the latest happenings in his class. To tell me he remembers me and give me a big hug. I think of the lows we went through together our first year, him throwing up from being so upset over what I still do not know, the way his eyes seemed haunted as he ran away from me and everyone else in the cafeteria day after day. I think of the times he hit others or stabbed himself with a pencil, or the days he crawled into my lap, put my hands over his, and rocked back and forth. I think of the days he tried to teach a friend their numbers, because he already knew his. I think of the days he danced with delight on our carpet. I think of the many times he tried to run from the classroom, from the building, from love, and I was forced to restrain him, my legs over his little, very strong ones until he finally gave in and was no longer a threat to his own safety.

There were so many happy moments over that year, so many laugh out loud, kind, simple things that flow from toddlers mouths. From the mouths of babes, as they say. It made the painful, confusing days of struggle brighter. My students’ excitement for learning, for each other, for the world around them, made my year worth it.
Here are a few quotes to get your Monday going, too:

Ms. Robinson: "Why are you eating crayons? Why?"
Student: "Oh." Blue crayon in student’s teeth and chin as he says: "I should only eat fooood???"
----
Ms. Rob: “D, you must take a time out. You just hit your friend in the face. You will take a three minute time out.”
D: “YOU ARE NOT COMING TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY! YOU ARE NOT COMING TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY! WE ARE NOT FRIENDS ANYMORE!!!”
Note: This was in December. D’s birthday is in May.
---
One day during dismissal one of the students' parents was very late to pick him up, so I moved the fish bowl to the center of one of our class tables. We sat and watched “Carrietta” together. Very entertaining to watch a fish swim around if you're three years old. The student looked up at me after a few minutes and wanted to know: "So, Ms. Robinson, where did you put the batteries in the fish?"
----
An excellent student who never, ever breaks rules or causes trouble, or does things such as run around in the cafeteria, jumped from her seat and started sprinting to the other side of the table.
"Why are you out of your seat, Alice*? You should be eating your lunch."
Alice wraps her arms around me. "I just want to give you a hug, Ms. Robinson!!"

camp longhorn alumni weekend

Nothing has changed, and yet nearly everything has. The old screened in cabins are the same, with a coat of fresh paint on some. The music flows from the same speakers blanketing, all of camp in a familiar song. The lake is in the exact same spot as it was when we were counselors four summers ago, and the four summers before that. Nothing has changed, and yet nearly everything has.

For starters, one of us is dating a yell leader, and brought him along for alumni weekend. Two of us are madly in love and married: to each other! A few of us were rowdier than we had ever even thought about being during our actual camp days. We have jobs (or in my case, applications floating about) and rent (or in my case, not currently) and bills and responsibilities and schedules to juggle. Nothing has changed, and yet nearly everything has.

Camp Longhorn is timeless. One of its best features is that campers, counselors, and alumni alike are all able to let nearly 365 days pass, or more, and come back to right where they left off. I wonder if Pat & Tex Robertson knew what they were doing in 1939: creating for thousands and thousands what would be some of their best memories, best friendships, and best lessons learned. I have talked about my experience at CLH in nearly every job interview. I have thought about CLH and the values to which camp founders are devoted, and looked at my own life in comparison. I have internalized that it is okay to go without air conditioning or make up or cell phones for a while. I have been reminded that people matter more than anything else on the planet.

Camp Longhorn is our safe place. Some of the activities and cabin names look unfamiliar, but as we bounced on the blob and raced down the water socks (slides), it felt as though no time had passed. Our muscles and knees told us differently the next day, but while we were there, how great to have 24 hours of the good life.

We have lost loved ones and been through pain. We have moved to DC and Chicago and back. We have danced by the light of the moon, made some really great decisions, and some really silly ones, too. We have grown up. We have walked by faith. And we have spent some quality time together, back at one of the greatest places on earth. As we loaded our car for the weekend & put ice in our cooler, I found myself offering a prayer of thanks. I’m not sure how I found these friends, nor what I would do without them. I just know that for them I will forever be thankful.

It was the same, nine years ago, our last year as campers. I was not sure what was in store next, I simply knew I would come back to be a counselor for as many years as possible, and hope that Renza, and Paige, and Peter, and Jennie, and Haley, and my brother, and Tres, and others would be there along with me. And later, we met the other “crob,” the real one, and I held on to her as tight as I could. I did not know how I had found such wonderful friends, nor what I would do without them. You see, not much has changed. And yet, almost everything has.

the honesty of children

The world would most likely be a much happier, peaceful place if we listened to children more often. I’m not the first one to recognize this: there are books and tshirts and entire movements dedicated to listening to children. Have you not received that email about what love is from four to eight year olds kids at least once? Exactly.

Yesterday I had the joy of picking up two former students and their siblings. I had E when he was a three year old in my Orange Owls classroom, and his sweet, thoughtful self made it hard to avoid having “favorites.” The next year, I had his older sister, N, who was a bright spot in my classroom: wants to be a teacher when she grows up, works hard, often left me notes in the classroom to tell me she loved me, cried when her friends got in trouble because she “wants better for them.” She’s nine years old.

So, I picked up the two of them, and their other brother and sister who are starting first and sixth grade respectively. Their parents, somewhere around the age of thirty, are hard-working, caring, involved, excellent role models for their children. Anyways, I digress; all you need to know is that I spent about five hours with them yesterday.

We went to lunch at Jason’s deli: their kids menu is healthy, under $3, and there’s free frozen yogurt for all who finish their lunch. While waiting for our food to arrive, I snapped some silly pictures of them on my camera phone. N took a picture of five year old E and I sitting together, and I laughed when I looked at the image she had captured.

I smiled and looked at E. “Oh my gosh, my hair looks crazy!” He giggled.
N looked at me, a shy smile on her face. “Ms. Rob, it doesn’t look like it did when we were at SHINE. (The name of our school.) It looks like, well… it looks like you just woke up.”

Apparently I have really let myself go in this season of unemployment.

“N, thanks for being honest! I appreciate that. I let it air dry last night instead of blow drying it like I always, always do.”

The first grade boy spoke up. “Ya, it does look kind of bad. Not really bad, but… kind of bad.” I laughed out loud. His sixth grade sister politely poked him under the table.
“No, L, it’s okay. Being honest, in a nice way, is great! I said my hair looked crazy and C was just being honest instead of pretending it doesn’t look bad. Thank you.”

We all laughed as I attempted to pull some of my hair back from my face. I thought to myself, I wonder what the world would look like if we never abandoned our honesty, as most of us do around age nine or ten.

I’m blessed with parents/roommates/friends who usually tell me when my hair looks out of control or “kind of bad.” I have people tell me when they think I’m making an unwise choice or when they think I’m crazy for having a crush on someone that is…well, crazy. (I’m not saying I ever have.)

My first grade friend’s honesty yesterday made his compliments all the more sincere. Later that day, when he whispered to me in the middle of a movie that he loves, loves, loves my dogs, I know he was not saying it to be nice. He really, actually loves our lab and golden retriever a LOT. And when he got out of the car, gave me a hug, and told me had so, so much fun with me, well, I knew he meant it. And I also knew that my hair did not look its best.

If these kiddos had not been so nice about breaking the news to me about my crazy curls, it could have been rude. But they love me, and they’ve been raised to be so well mannered and thoughtful. Honesty wrapped in love is so easy to little kids. Why is it so hard for adults? What have we forgotten? We are too concerned with being liked or being popular or stepping out of line that we’ve grown up and forgotten this: if your intentions are kind and cased in love, criticism is really not so bad. But, apparently my hair is when I allow it to dry by itself…

deep breaths

They say life is not the big moments, but the small ones. I used to think that quote was silly: milestone birthdays, graduations, weddings: aren’t the big moments the ones that lead us to the small ones? Is it not the big days, the big events, the white dress and the graduation gown and the final job interviews, that determine the little ones? Of this, I’m not so sure anymore.



My thinking about a lot of things (at the risk of sounding dramatic, I’ll say everything) has been shifted during my time in Teach for America. The days following June 3rd, my last day as a “corps member” have allowed reflection on just how much I’ve changed, grown up, become more appreciative of the world around me, and been given clearer eyes to see harsh realities.



My two years as a teacher in a community struggling to overcome poverty radically changed my day to to day life. I will not bore you with the details but I will say this: it was absolutely the small, everyday, at times monotonous moments that led us to the huge ones.





It was the daily review of colors and their names that finally helped my very quiet, non-English speaking three year old successfully be able to recognize all ten colors in English, which is a kindergarten objective in the state of Texas. It was the daily struggle to teach basic reading skills that moved my class to very high scores on high-stakes state test day. In fact, more than half of my students scored “commended” on our state reading test. The daily practice though, made the moment of achievement possible.





My two years and my student’s success was very much about getting out of bed every morning and putting one foot in front of the other: small moments. Which led to huge ones.



I have been given a gift this summer: paychecks until early August and no job responsibilities in June or July. In this space of deep breaths and late nights and sunsets and sunrises and travel, I have discovered that I was wrong about that quote. The small moments are probably more important than the big ones. A weekend in Salt Lake City with three hilarious girls was one of the best I’ve had maybe… ever. It did not have any extravagant events or anything particular that happened: it was just friends gathered together. And sure, we hiked and went tubing and packed our schedule full of adventure, but really, it was a lot of small moments that made it such a delight. Making mojittos in Katherine’s backyard with her fresh-grown mint: a small moment, but one that I’ll likely remember for the next several decades.






Simplicity cannot be overrated, in my opinion. That feels strange, coming from someone as loud and fast-talking and silly as myself, but it’s true. What has made this such an enjoyable, over-the-top happy summer? The simple things. Floating in the lake with a friend from Oklahoma, talking about nothing and everything, or dancing on our living room table as the ipod blares in the background: simple moments. But it is in those moments I feel most blessed by her friendship.





Coffee with Jen Jenkins in Houston. Meeting Marnita for an adult beverage to talk school and catch up. Grown up lunches with Crossley, a week hiking in Colorado with little advance planning, visits to my great-grandparents house in Dallas. Sitting on the boat dock, staring at the Texas summer night sky. Swimming with eight-year-olds in a friend’s backyard pool. Bike rides to nowhere, or to grab a margarita with my Dad. This summer has been packed full of small moments that add up to a giant pile of smiles, friends, celebrations, reflections, melancholy moments, and life lived to the fullest.

Thanks for reading, being a part of my small moments even if you weren’t mentioned, and being a friend. Wishing you dozens of happy tiny moments that you lead you to the big things.
Much love, Courtney

my grandfather loves the bachelorette

I say it often because it’s true: I’m immensely blessed by my loud, crazy, fun, faithful, loyal family. Most twenty-somethings do not have three of their four grandparents still living, as well as bonus great-grandparents still loving life and pretty healthy on a regular basis. But I do, and I know it’s not something I should take for granted.

Grandfathers should not like the Bachelorette. I mean, most grandfathers would make fun of you for watching it, instead of request that you call and remind him when the final episode is airing. But my grandfather is not like your average grandfather. For starters, he should not be alive. Five heart attacks since his mid-thirties, numerous by-pass surgeries, at least two major strokes: his medical miracles are a story for another day though, dear readers. Today we’re here to talk about trashy reality television.

I’m embarrassed to say I’ve watched almost every moment of this season’s Bachelorette. I’m unsure how it got started, as I was not attached to Ashley and did not watch last season. However, I’ve found myself tuning in each week, catching up online or via DVR when I’ve been out of town. My birthday weekend at the lake was the “take home” episode where the four remaining men take the Bachelorette home to meet their parents. My grandfather sat at the lake and watched all two hours with me, commenting on what a catch each of the dudes are and why.

“Well, sweet pea, if she doesn’t pick that Ames fella she doesn’t deserve any of ‘em.”
“Well, look at that Greek guy! He’s a looker! She can’t go wrong there!”
And my personal my favorite. “Hell, sweet pea, does this girl have a “connection” with EVERY guy?”

I told him I thought ABC should consult him so that they could reach an entirely new demographic with his input/commentary. He made me promise to remind him when the final week aired and possibly watch with him.

So, last Monday, we ate dinner with my grandmother, who could careless about the show but laughed at us yelling at the television, and my grandfather and I anxiously awaited the proposal. At one point he tapped my hand. “Shh, now let me hear this!” It was just as if I was watching the show with my high school girls from the younglife trip earlier this summer. But I wasn’t. I was watching with my seventy-two year old grandfather. Priceless.

He really liked Ben, the winemaker. And I told him, that’s who I would pick, because he’s hilarious, but this girl is in love with J.P., who is also great. I called it weeks ago.

As the first airplane approached the beach where ABC had set up the Bachelorette for the best camera shots possible, he looked at me. “Alright, sweet pea,” my grandfather said. “I hope this girl tells her tattooed crazy sister to stick it, and picks that bald P.J. fella. Whew, this should be good.”

Like I said, I say it often because it’s true: I’m blessed. You find me another girl whose seventy two year old grandfather will watch three hours of the Bachelorette with you while your grandmother cooks fish and pours the wine. I win.

a thousand thank yous

I ask too many questions, I overanalyze things, I doubt. A weekend in Salt Lake City was a time to throw questions and details to the wind, and forget them forever. It did not matter how I had met these amazing women or what I had done to deserve their friendship. It did not matter what I was wearing, if I had lost ten pounds before the trip as planned, or what my plane ticket cost.

It was a summer Friday afternoon, and I found myself in a backyard owned by people I did not know nor would I likely see again, in a city I had never before visited.

The sun was slowly making its way to the horizon, mountains visible in the distance, a touch of snow on their peaks. We had gone out west to visit our friend Katherine, who was six weeks into her residency: a genuine, real-life medical doctor. She had taken us to a backyard gathering; while she mingled among other medical people, Lauren and Genie and I took over the backyard badminton area. Lauren and Genie, both teachers in Houston, are hilarious, delightful, witty, ridiculous. I love them with all my heart.

As I threw my head back in laughter while they teased me for whiffing the ball so many times, I knew this life was something for which to be thankful. Sure, a lot of things are up in the air right now: what will my next source of income be? When will I move out of my parents’ house? What century will true love show up? When will I ever have children of my own? Not all are things which cross my mind daily, but they come pretty close. Yet this, right here, this moment in a strange backyard with terrific friends, well… “thank you” desperately wanted to spill out of my mouth and cover everything around me. A thousand thank yous would not be enough.

I’m healthy, and happy. I’m surrounded by beautiful friends, standing barefoot in the grass at a July backyard bash, soaking up the cool weather of a mountain town. Details, they’re for the birds. Questions, ask ‘em later. This, right now, is something many never have or forget to reach out for. This is time to laugh, appreciate life, love others. This, right now, is a glorious blessing. This is my time to just…be.