A Reminding

I have to teach poetry and that's not easy because my students think poetry is stupid.  I have them free-write for 15 minutes and then go back and pick their favorite 3 lines out of what they wrote, and guess what?  They have a poem, and usually they're good ones.  Sometimes people are afraid to find out that what they have to say, has impact.

When you write, two things happen, but you're usually only allowed awareness of one.  The first, is the altering effect the words have on you as you cast them out.  You change a little every time you give some away.  The second, is the way they fuel a reaction in the people who ingest them.   I had a student last year who can tell you about it.

She was an 8th grader at a middle school in Salinas.  She was in my first period class and came late every day, but never more than ten minutes.  When I confronted her, she apologized, and told me there was no one home to help her get started, and she took a longer route because it was safer.   After that, I kept Pop-Tarts in the back cabinet, and told her they were for her, whenever she arrived.

She took to the poetry exercise we did, and started coming to my room during lunch to write. Until she didn't.  Weeks later I asked her why she stopped, and if she was still writing.

"No," she said.  "My mom found my journal, and tore it up.  She said she always wanted to be a songwriter, and there was no way her daughter was gonna get the dream, if she couldn't."

Time out.
People, can we assemble over here?
Dad.  You too.
There's someone who wants to have a word with you.


Thank you for meeting with me.  I know your time is limited, and that what you do is hard.  Forgive me for saying so, but your time is more limited than you think, and the difficulty behind what I've asked you to do is almost insurmountable.

I want to remind you that nothing is guaranteed, least of all, time.  If you have something important to do, something you're building up courage for, don't.  Wake up tomorrow, and do it.  Or at least start it.  Because when I assign you here I lose a little control, and the timeline I granted isn't always the timeline you get.  All it takes to alter it is one knucklehead who decides to impose free will on the grand scheme of things. Unfortunately, there are a lot of good people who become knuckleheads in one single, solitary moment.

If you have a son, or a daughter, life, 
and the purpose behind it, 
will look different to you than

it does to those who don't.  That was intentional.  As was your selection to be a parent.  You face the possibility of incurring the greatest loss possible, everyday.  I know because I lost my son.  In fact, I sacrificed him with the hope of prompting an awakening in you.  

If you don't have children, your assignment is equally as difficult.  For those without children of their own, you've been granted the opportunity to identify the people who need you.  And someone does.  All that's left is your entry. With my son gone, you're all that remains.

The purpose you come to after becoming a parent, or entry, is designed to be different than the one you held before.  It's designed to bring you home.  The way home, for any of us, is through what we give up for others.  Let me remind you again: I know of what I speak.  

All of us, everyone of us, has the potential to do great things.  But the greatest thing we can aspire to be is a gateway for another. When you become the link between what someone holds the potential to become, and what they now embody, the seat you've been promised becomes a seat next to me.

You have a job to do while you're here, and for most, it's separate from the one that pays you.  If you haven't discovered it step outside of your life for a moment, and widen your eyes.  Look only for who, or what, you can help.  Don't tear apart anyone's journal because yours was ignored.  Become the person you waited for, but never showed up.

Thank you, and I believe in your capacity to overcome the fear that has kept you contained.