“It is not in the still calm of life, or the repose of a pacific station, that great characters are formed.” -Abigail Adams
The September Bloggers for Peace challenge is to post a quote. I dragged my feet, but realized the quote I include with my email is the perfect one to share. It is my reminder life is not about avoiding challenge, but rather figuring out how to exist to our fullest potential amidst the difficulties and chaos.
Happy equinox-eve from Sacramento.
After yesterday’s post, I wanted to share something that made me smile today. The same child who wept in my arms brought me a box of Nerds and a toy to keep on my desk. Apparently I’m not the only one who felt we bonded.
Just as sweet, a little girl who would make the perfect character in a children’s book with her freckles and wild spirit, brought me a gigantic husky she found at Goodwill. Our class theme is University of Washington, so she was proud to present our mascot. You can guess where all the kids wanted to sit during silent reading. This noble beast was smushed between three children, countless others disappointed they did not get there first.
So, my camera phone might not do my lovely gifts justice, but hopefully my words did. We all bonded yesterday, and somehow these tokens of love are proof. Our missing student returned this morning and was able to go about his business with quiet support. We are becoming a classroom family, as strange as it is to let new kids into my heart.
Today I held a weeping child at recess. He said he lost his best friend, his grandmother, a year ago. I seldom let a child hug me like family. This kid needed it, so I allowed him be loved and cry. He held on tight and I held on tighter. Maybe I needed the hug too. When I let go, I asked him if he wanted to talk to our school counselor. He said, “No, that was all I needed.”
Our classroom family talked about loss today. A different child suffered the kind of loss that stabs for a lifetime. He was not at school, so we talked about how to treat him when he returns. The counselor prepped me on what to say, but I was not prepared for the torrent of grief unleashed by so many other memories of sadness. Little boys, so tough, puddles of tears. So much loss for so few years.
One child raised her hand and offered some advice. She said, “This reminds us to go home and love our families because we don’t know how long they’ll be here.” She said it with conviction and without tears. The others nodded. Our day went on, the tears dried, recess lightened the mood. At the end of the afternoon, we signed a card for our missing student.
As I read the words after school, I was touched. So much empathy and encouragement. Talk of a classroom family, here for him upon his return, ready to listen, “to be his brother.” There is no changing the grief life brings, but there is our ability to be there for one another, to feel gratitude for each day, and for each other. A melancholy post, perhaps, but it makes me grateful for the lessons my children bring and for the overwhelming goodness inside each of them.
So much gratitude for love and family, blood and otherwise.
oliviaobryon 