a story that needs to be told

it must be said that these days, other than a handful of loyal friends and my faithful grandparents, i have no idea who reads this thing. i did check my "stats" recently and someone has clicked more than a dozen times from FRANCE in the last month. Bonjour!

so, most of you may be bored with this story or the entire blog, so go read some news or visit http://blog.mrslilien.com/ or http://blackeiffel.blogspot.com/ or something.

Now, after that warning, no apologies for this story I'm merely getting down on paper for my own memory's sake.

Flashback to the first weekend of August. DC with Caitlin & Bonnie & LJ for a bit. Then, Philadelphia with Paige & Caitlin. What a wonderful, marvelous 40 hours. So, these two brunettes are hilarious and funny and caring and generally just, can't say enough good things. Normally I'd consider myself the embarrassing or weird or foolish one, or all of those things, but not for one morning in Philly. No, no, these two became all three traits: embarrassing. foolish. weird.

Where: We went to visit Christ Church on this warm summer morning, having walked across town from our hotel, crossing cobblestone streets and passing the Liberty Bell and other historical sites. We entered the ancient church, dripping with history and architecturally impressive, and sat in the same pews as our Founding Families. We listened to a tour guide weave the end of his tale, glanced at the gardens, and wandered around as the tour broke up. I wanted to look at William Penn's specific pew and these two wandered out to the gift shop.

The tour guide stood in the middle aisle of the glorious sanctuary. "You don't happen to have any questions for me, do you young lady?" He was a bit nerdy and wearing a name tag and tall socks. I figured I was foolish if I didn't ask a question. I don't remember what the first thing I asked was, but I know we talked for over ten minutes. He was THE OFFICIAL HISTORIAN of the CHRIST CHURCH. One of the oldest, most historical, religiously and otherwise, churches in the history of our NATION. All caps to emphasize my excitement to be talking to him, one on one, soaking up facts and culture and just, enjoying. I looked around, Paige & Caitlin no where in sight. They'll come back to find me, I thought, as he continued telling me about black slaves who were baptized during the slave services at the church long before integration was ever even a passing thought. Finally, I figured Paige and Caitlin must have abandoned me or I was being rude as they wanted to visit the next site on our list.

I thanked Homeboy Historian for his time, smiled a big smile, and walked out, feeling so privileged to have casually bumped into such a fountain of information, who was willing to talk to a ditsy, blonde girl as myself.

I purchased a few postcards for some students in the gift shop on my way out of the church and hurried to find my two wonderful friends. Not ten steps from the exit, among all the beautiful red brick and cobblestones and green, luscious trees, I saw them. Standing up against the church in semi provocative poses, laughing loudly, taking pictures of each other glamour-shot style, barely caring who noticed.

I was speechless.

Excuse me. What are you two doing? Is this what you have been doing the WHOLE time??

They were just a tad ashamed, but only a tad. "Yes," Caitlin confessed. "We even used a self timer because you weren't here. WHERE WERE YOU, by the way?"

"Oh, where was I? Where was I while you two were making eyes for the camera, fluffing your hair, and leaning against what I must admit is a great backdrop of old red brick? Where was I?"

"Um, yes, I think that's what I just asked you."

"Oh, just talking to the HEAD HISTORIAN of the church and listening to him tell stories!!!! You wanna hear 'em?!?!"

Paige avoided eye contact and fluffed her brown locks. Caitlin looked at Paige and then back to me. "Nope. But you wanna take our picture now that you're out here?" She smiled her most deviant smile and thrust me her camera.

If they weren't so goshed darn fun and usually normal and appreciative of history and America, I would have killed them. Instead, I made sure to get the best angle possible.

the human race

i continue to be in awe of the human race. while recently watching "the switch" and admiring jason bateman's comedic genius, I found this quote:

"Look at us, running around. Always rushed, always late. I guess that's why they call it the human race. What we crave most in this world is connection."

I recently had a conversation with a group of women, some strangers and some not, and several confessed to being in a pretty lonely place in life. For once, I am not. (And I don't necessarily mean romantically, two of these women were married and still struggling with lonely stuff.)

It struck me how funny that we go through emotions and periods of life at different times from those around us, that we become equipped to relate to others, to help them cope, to breathe empathy? It's as if it's, oh, I don't know, some kind of... plan. How funny!

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord. "Plans for your welfare, not destruction, to give you a future and a hope." Jeremiah 29:11

I'll tell you, I do not claim to understand the plan or the reasons, but I do know that the older I get, the more receptive to this plan I become. The more trusting. The less doubtful, guarded, cynical.

Recently a high school friend of mine (literally, a friend of mine who is currently in high school) showed up at my house (oops, my parents' house in which i currently reside) and was a mess. Crying, upset, hurting. I may sound insane, but I felt full of warm fuzzy feelings. I had walked this road before and come out alive. There I was, an instrument of grace, sharing wisdom not from myself but from scriptures and books and lessons learned before this sweet girl. I was so thankful, grateful, to have been able to be there for her, even if just for sixty minutes. Isn't that what life is about? Relating to others in their troubles. Loving others. Trusting. Sometimes hurting, other times tilted towards the sun, smile on the face, wind in the hair. Sometimes sunshine, sometimes dark and rainy. Regardless, always hopeful.

For whatever reason, though family members around me are hurting and friends are going through growing pains and life isn't blissful, I am overwhelmed by hope today.

Psalm 31:24 "Be strong, and let your heart take courage, All you who hope in the LORD."

a little inspiration for thursday

there's not really a reason for this post, other than to share a few pictures from a public art project in philadelphia, and other random things. you should listen to this, too. see youtube link.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCj9dRu0ksM

this has been saved to my desktop for, literally, years, but i just love the shot. i stole it from a blog, can't remember the name though. have a marvelous day!

hearts on fire

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d21OZAkedoQ

This is the acoustic version of a song I recently heard on Houston's 103.7 (you should listen to it daily if you don't already) and i loved it for several reasons: a) band is British b) lyrics are strange c) that's pretty much it.

In the spirit of sharing music with the blogging world, here's a few other things i can't stop listening to.

Kyle Park. All of his music is streaming at his website, kylepark.com

A Fine Frenzy. All of their music is on their website too, i loved to blast it when the children weren't in the classroom and i needed motivation to get work done.
http://www.afinefrenzy.com/ electric twist, blow away.

Etta James recently popped up on my pandora to sing "At Last." Here's beyonce's version.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vx_AhWeFcOU&feature=related

And, quite possibly best for last. Foster the People. Houdini. On repeat, I recommend.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04TXoFI6CSM

Happy Listening!

"my friends are my estate." -emily dickinson

august 2009

Sororities are laughable, I understand that, what with their parties and binge drinkers and stereotypes and pearls and houses full of gossip. But at their core, they do stand for great things: philanthropic service, friendship, academic dedication, leadership.

The sorority I joined in the fall of 2004 is not different from the others, really; it is dedicated to the same things. Though parts of my time as an “active” seemed silly, and I absolutely detested some of the songs we were forced to sing, I found some of the richest friendships I’ve ever known, and they continue to bless my life today.

[As a side note, experiences with my sorority and positions on my resume helped me land an internship at the White House my senior year, as well as provided me with a steady closet full of colored t-shirts and the constant need to be on the lookout for a fun date.]

The sorority to which I pledged at TCU, and later affiliated with at Texas A&M, often labels themselves as “classy.” (I will acknowledge that many of our members and our events do not always give off the best image of “classy,” but for today’s purpose we will overlook that as something out of my control.)

Webster says classic is “serving as a standard of excellence, of recognized value.” My first night as a new member of my sorority in Fort Worth, I met a girl who could not be more “classic.” Her clothes, her personality, her outlook on life, the way she carries herself: classic.
If they sold friends at a cute little boutique, I know this girl would fly off the racks. She is thoughtful, loyal, kind, patient, an excellent listener, and wise beyond her years. She has been this way since I met her seven years ago. Seven years ago, could it really have been that long? You see, she is one of those rare finds that after months of life in different cities, you can pick up right where you left and not even notice.

She is a loving aunt to numerous nieces and nephews. She is the youngest of six daughters, and to be honest, I have lost count exactly how many nieces and nephews she has. When we first became friends, I was proud of myself just for knowing all five of her sisters’ names in chronological order.

TCU ended up not being the best place for me, for whatever reason I was meant to break my father’s heart and become a loud, obnoxious, proud Aggie. But my days at TCU were brightened by this friend, and all of my best memories from there involve her. Whether it was escorting a fellow sorority member up the stairs of our dorm as she projected blue margaritas everywhere, or racing each other down the stairs and me always winding up injured, or leaving each other notes in our dorm rooms, or football games or chasing my brother my down or just dinner and an episode of friends, she was my constant. She was my favorite. And, anyone who could put up with me for as long as she has deserves some sort of medal.

This sorority sister of mine is a kind of girl you’d like your daughter to find to be friends with: she is not judgmental, she is not flashy, she decorates her home and closet with impeccable taste, she never fails to ask about others before she talks about herself.

I’ve probably rambled on long enough, but one thing I’ve learned in these “adult” years post-college is that we cannot be too appreciative of the blessings in our life. They are not deserved, as is this friendship not deserved. This friend wrote me several notes or emails over the past two years of teaching, saying how proud she was of me and other kind thoughts. She’s put up with my crazy schedule and continues to see me on a regular basis.

She easily could have written me off her list six years ago after I transferred to that country little town called College Station, Texas. But she has not, and I remain proud to call her friend.

Editor’s note: I do not want to give off the impression this lady is perfect. She is not, and it must be noted that you CANNOT rush her. Just don't even try.

The past three weeks teaching has been on my mind a lot, particularly my time as a PreK teacher; my students faces and voices have flashed through my mind as I think about my friends and colleagues who have gone back to school (work) and as I struggle to decide what job is next for me.

Most readers know how close I came to walking away from teaching in the middle of my first year, for a whole host of reasons. A child wetting his pants while sitting in my lap and therefore wetting my pants too was reason number 18, and that was only on the second day. http://courtneyrob.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-think-i-just-peed-in-my-pants.html

Through the grace of God and very supportive friends & family, I survived. I may have even done a pretty good job with those thirty eight three year olds. Even though I was adamant about teaching older children for my second year of TFA, I left the PreK classroom knowing that I would forever be an advocate for early childhood, and that was huge: I had started the year wondering what the point of me even showing up for work every day was. Glorified babysitting? That is certainly what it feels like at times. But with the right school leader and the right curriculum (huge shout out to KIPP SHINE Prep) early childhood is transformational in a child’s life, especially those growing up in poverty or underserved communities.

I highly recommend reading the UNICEF website if you want to learn more about early childhood around the globe. For disadvantaged children, the initial deficit of interventions for development has a multiplying effect: children raised in poverty complete far less education than middle class children, due in part to their lowered ability to learn in school. The opportunity to help disadvantaged children attain a more equal start in schooling is in the earliest years of life, when children’s brains are developing most rapidly, and the basis for their cognitive, social and emotional development is being formed. A commitment to reducing poverty and increasing the chances of success for all children requires investment in the earliest years. -unicef

One quick example of how I came to know early childhood is really important: I had a student, we’ll call him Rick, who did not like being left at school. He was in the afternoon class and when his family would start to get him ready for the school day, he did not want to go. He was struggling to learn all of his letters and numbers at school and still speaking a lot of Spanish and little English. As the year went on, his progress was slow and he clung to his dad or mom or older sister at the door to be dropped off. By January though, Rick was thriving. He had made friends in the class, he was extremely talkative, and always wanted to show me a new discovery or a building he had created or read me a book. (He still calls me Ms. Roberson. Replace the “in” with “er.”)

Rick finished the year very strong academically, on target with kindergarteners across the city though he was just going to start PreK4. He was so sweet, his face lit up when he arrived at the classroom door beginning sometime in January, and on a few days he would run down the hallway to get to class quickly, and get in trouble for not waiting for his sister at the front door.
His sister had graduated from high school the previous year and was a huge help to their parents with Rick and his first grade sister. She stopped me in late April when we passed each other in the hallway.

“Ms. Robinson, I think you should know Rick loves you.”
I smiled a huge smile. “Well, I love him too! He is having such a great year, has made friends in class and is just a delight!”
I figured that was the end of our conversation, but she kept talking. “No, I don’t know if Rick really likes school or his friends.” Weird, I thought. “Some days, he’s running around the house or singing songs or watching Disney when we tell him he has to shower and get dressed to go to school. He will not stop what he is doing until we mention your name. Then, Rick will say, ‘I have to get dressed to go see Ms. Roberson! I have to go see Ms. Roberson!’ And then we can’t get him calm until he’s in the car headed here.”

My voice caught in my throat and I gave the sister a quick hug. I looked in her eyes. “Thank you so much for sharing that with me. You and sweet Rick have just made my day! Completely!”

I think without early childhood and free PreK that our school provided Rick with what he needed to start kindergarten on the same playing field as his middle class peers, and allowed him to learn to love teachers, and school, and learning, and “growing his brain.”

It may have taken me many months to see the value of preschool for toddlers; I know now that quality early childhood programs are worth every penny and a few extra. And you should feel the same way! Be sure to vote for local politicians who support early childhood.

http://www.unicef.org/earlychildhood/index_40748.html

Weddings! Weddings! Weddings!

Cliche but true: I love weddings. Who doesn't love a good, fun wedding with good, fun people? So let's talk about true love and fluffy dresses and hilarious people for just a second.

First, my bff Renza's twin brother got married over Memorial Day weekend, it was the coolest story and Will (groom) and Maddie (bride) are one of the coolest, most fun, genuine couples you'll find.

I won't ramble here, their story and pictures made it on to a legit, awesome wedding website. See it all at the link below! And, take note that Will asked his sister to be his "Best Woman" and the bride asked her brother to be "Man of Honor." See? I told you they were cool.

http://www.stylemepretty.com/2011/08/30/greenville-country-club-wedding-from-mk-photography

Next I'd like to draw your attention to the BEST WEDDING WEBSITE I HAVE EVER SEEN. Sure, I've been known to exaggerate, but I am serious. I'm no wedding website professional reader or anything, but I've visited a few in my day. And this one takes the cake. (Cake, get it? Wedding cake? Bahaha.)

Okay, so I'd like you to notice that David & Annie both went to Princeton, are super attractive, are very down to earth, love their families, started out as really good friends, and are laugh-out-loud funny. I'd also like you to notice how stinking awesome their photos are and how much David must be in love to take lovey-dovey, model-esque photos with his bride to be.

I am honored to know them and have numerous fond memories of life in high school with David Colquitt. In fact, when he's a famous GOP advisor, I'll be able to say I took him as my date to senior cotillion & his dance moves blew everyone away. Truly. As did his Sister Act re-enactments. Couldn't be more excited for such a fun couple! Now, get on over to their website.

http://davidlovesannie.com/

Renza has hit the blog world!

I am blessed to have such amazing friends, who make my life colorful, witty, and even dazzling. There are a few crazy friends who are more family than friends, more loved than they know, more valuable than gold. One such friend has taught me to recycle, to travel, to love peonies, to be good to my family, to hold out for the best.

She has encouraged me in everything I’ve done, since the summer we met between our seventh and eighth grade years, and now, finally, after a bit of encouragement from me to start a blog...

colorado 2009

I am proud to announce that Renza, a talented storyteller, photographer, and food connoisseur has launched her own blog. Hooray!

http://rsharpewrites.blogspot.com/

Rome 2009

holes that cannot be filled

There is a hole there, a hole that cannot be filled, try as we may to fill it up. We cannot replace him, but we can honor his desire for us to continue to live life abundantly.

Admiration flows over for them: their willingness to not only survive but thrive in his absence. To think of him often, to hear his laughter in his brothers’ similar chuckle, to love each other well, to serve each other, to continue smiling.

He longs to pick up the phone and ask advice from his friend, to share a funny moment, to hear him talk, or simply breathe. It is a waste to attempt to understand why he is gone, but a joy to know where he has gone. The mountains and beauty of the places he took his family reveal a higher power, a creator, a love too deep to end life with something like a word “cancer.”
A sacrifice was made on a hill, and we trust in that, and know that “cancer” was just the beginning of something glorious. Glory.

There is a hole, a void, which will never be closed.

But there is a triumph in our lives as we press on, telling stories and repeating his name, clinging, not in a desperate way, but as she, his love Mary, models for us, in a holy, honorable, peaceful way.

Jay. His name is, at times, a battle cry. A challenge to take nothing for granted, not one day. To never fall asleep angry, to love who and what you love immensely.

His name is courage. Jay.

unanswered questions

His eyes are dark, perhaps darker than any I have ever seen. If the room is not well lit, it is nearly impossible to detect where his pupils end and the iris begins.

Those eyes could get my blood boiling in an instant, or inspire and breathe new life into my teaching methods for an entire school day. In his moments of feisty defiance, I saw my brother in this boy: oh so frustrating, yet impossible to not love him. And oh, how I loved him!
This third grader’s thirst for knowledge about planets and astronomy and math facts and presidential history was unquenchable. I like to think that on most days I stoked that fire and did not extinguish it, even if he was interrupting or a nuisance during lessons.

A sweet soul hides behind those eyes, his kindness evident everyday in the way he protects his younger sister, or the way he adores his mom, dad, and most days, his teacher – me. His huge heart is visible when he reaches out to our classmates who have been diagnosed with severe social disorders. He was one of many in my classroom, and quite the thorn in my side on some days, disruptive in class, at times full of attitude, his temper like a short fuse ready to ignite. But when this child is motivated and stimulated, an environment a good teacher would provide every day, he was the kind of pupil all teachers dream of: hungry for knowledge, eager to teach his peers, engaged in the lesson.

His eyes searched mine for answers that I did not have. Those darks eyes of his, inquisitive every single day, asked me unspoken questions frequently. Why are the odds stacked against me, the first of my family born in America? Why will I struggle to pay for college, and statistically unlikely to even get there? Why do one out of ten of my peers in my same financial situation graduate from high school? One out of 10?!

This child, with his huge heart and dark eyes and hungry brain, deserves exactly what my white, middle class brother and I had – great teachers, strong principals, and limitless opportunities as long as you’re willing to work for them. Yet statistically, my brown eyed boy is at a disadvantage because of his family’s ethnicity and income level. However, he’s at a KIPP school in Houston, and though they have their own list of challenges and trials, because he’s a KIPPster he’s above level in reading and math and on target to study space or pediatric medicine, his two dreams. But this over-achiever would also like to a soldier of some sort after college and he would “love to learn as much about the president’s as I can!” What does he want to do with his free time? Become a great mechanic so he can help his dad with his job.

He is one of dozens that have forever changed my outlook: education statistics have a face, and that face has very dark eyes asking me: Why am I not guaranteed free public education similar to the boy down the street, living in the house bigger than mine?

Why are the schools I must attend due to zoning laws failing me, yet they remain open? How will my best friend, who did not get into the KIPP lottery, learn about the solar system? “He doesn’t have a great teacher like you, Ms. Rob! They have not talked about the planets at all. She doesn’t even read out loud to them!”

These are questions we need to answer. Programs like Teach for America are on the frontlines, attempting to find solutions with their “whatever it takes” mindset and their dedicated, fired up teachers. I admittedly left the classroom after two years, and we need people who will stay much longer than that. But, we need to ensure that those who are in the classroom are the best instructional coaches possible, and I wasn’t sure that was me. I do know this: I love this brown eyed boy, and there are literally millions of him out there, waiting for answers.

When? When will our schools be equal?

Why? Why is the answer to many of our questions “no?” Why hasn’t this been fixed yet?

Where? Where are the solutions and the hopeful future we deserve?

How? How is it that a 10th grader in rural Mississippi is reading on a 4th grade level? How is she going to pursue life, liberty, or happiness?

We hear your questions, and organizations like TFA and charters and good politicians and active families are fighting for the answers you deserve. Until then, brown eyed boy, keep reaching for the stars. Study the planets with gusto, my friend. Your passion for knowledge is contagious, and I have full faith in you and your classmates. I am thankful to you, and your parents for letting me get to know you so closely. I am thankful to my school leader for the responsibilities I was given as your teacher. And perhaps most importantly, I am thankful to Teach for America for such a wonderful opportunity. Without the existence or support of that organization, I would not have had this experience, this time to learn about life, America’s students, and our education system. Brown eyed boy, keep reaching for the stars, and hopefully one day soon you won’t have to stretch further or work harder than the boy down the street. Keep reaching!