The Next Chapter

Dear special education family,

It is bittersweet to say that I will be moving into a general education position this fall.  Out of respect for the incredibly hard work that you all do, I wanted to give a bit of explanation.  

I have always had a special niche in my heart for reading and writing, and especially teaching.  However, as a young girl at Syracuse Jr. High, I was able to go down to the elementary and help my mother a few times with the "Readiness" class.  I fell in love with those kids and helping them seemed to make my life more complete.  Then, I was able to take "Intro to Special Education" with Judy.  Her heart and passion for her job solidified my desire to become a special education teacher.  I was asked to interview only a few months after graduating college, and I've been here ever since.

Last summer, I set out to become "highly qualified" in English and Math.  By the grace of God, and support of Sarah and Ryan along with other friends and family, I was able to achieve this goal.  

Then a little birdie mentioned that I could actually teach those classes with this new qualification on my licence.  I started to give it serious thought this last year after returning from maternity leave.  To be honest, it was pretty tough.  I've worked through tough years before, but when the 8th grade English position opened, I knew it was a chance to try something different, yet also (hopefully) be something I could do well.  

My family and I prayed over this decision, that it would be God's will, not mine.  When I applied, I honestly didn't know if they'd even consider me.  When Susan offered me the job, there was a quiet peace and reassurance in my heart, so I accepted.

We all know this job is stressful and demanding.  I've always thought that we needed to steal that old armed service slogan: "It's the toughest job you'll ever love."  I have learned, lost and loved more than any college class could ever prepare you for.  Each one of you have poured into my life in your own way, and for that I am eternally grateful.  I take all of this with me as I forge a new path in my life.  

God bless,

Rebecca

I sent this email out this last week.  Initially I wanted to send it for the people I've worked so closely with these last 10+ years.  But the more I thought about it, I felt I needed to document this in my life somehow.  Solidify it in my memory.  I tend to be more of a roll with the punches type-a-gal.  I'm one of those that stammers a little when asked my children's birth weights.  Those things tend to slip through the pockets of my mind.  Things that in the moment don't seem like too big of a deal, but later I wish I had taken the time to make it more permanent.  

So - I don't want to miss this.  I don't want the school year to start in a rush and miss this change in direction.  I don't want to gloss over where I came from and the people that got me here.  They deserve much better than that.  

Have you been writing?

This quiet question came from a dear friend, but also one that I greatly respect.  I murmured a slow, "no..." and probably added some comment like, "I should be".  I hated letting her down.  

My excuse before was that I was so terribly busy and exhausted.  Which I was.  But now that I'm on summer vacation, I don't have much for an excuse.  I do write some, just with pencil and paper so no one can see except me and God.  

During the Slice of Life Challenge I had a reason to write that made sense in the outside world.  Now that I'm on my own, it has a different quality.  Before, I had some sort of an audience in mind. Now, I may have no audience.  It drives me into a quieter, deeper place.  It's as though I've stepped out of my warm comfortable home for a late evening walk - hesitant steps into the darkness with a single candle burning.  I have no intention of leaving those fond and familiar things completely, but the desire to discover something new drives me out.  I may find a swarm of mosquitos, or a perfectly still, moonlit masterpiece.  Most likely, a bit of both.  

Hudson

Yogurt melts
Plastic keys
Squinty smiles
Busy knees

Crawling off to adventure
The dog dish
Fridge magnets
Surviving big brother's
Best intentions

A tiny heart beats for mine
A slightly older one
To his entwined

What He Thinks

"Punchinello?" The voice was deep and strong. Punchinello stopped. "Punchinello! How good to see you. Come and let me have a look at you."

Punchinello turned slowly and looked at the large bearded craftsman. "You know my name?" the little Wemmick asked. 

"Of course I do. I made you." Eli stooped down and picked him up and set him on the bench. "Hmm," the maker spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray circles. "Looks like you've been given some bad marks." 

"I didn't mean to, Eli. I really tried hard."

"Oh, you don't have to defend yourself to me, child. I don't care what the other Wemmicks think."

"You don't?" 

“No, and you shouldn't either. Who are they to give stars or dots? They're Wemmicks just like you. What they think doesn't matter, Punchinello. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special."

Punchinello laughed. "Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?" 

Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and spoke very slowly. 

"Because you're mine. That's why you matter to me."

Above is an excerpt from You are Special by Max Lucado.  This book has sat on my son's shelf since he had a shelf.  It was mine from college.  For some reason, he never seemed too interested in it.  [Maybe it was the wooden puppet on the cover?  No offense Max, but it is kinda creepy.] 

Dakota had had a tough night.  Just tired I suppose.  The poor guy's evening from supper on was just one big meltdown.  Mommy was doing her best to not have a meltdown of her own.  I was surprised though when he grabbed this book to read before bed.  In fact, I even set it aside thinking it got tossed on the bed while he was looking for another book.  But there came a quick, "No Mommy!  I want that one!" So I began to read, waiting intently for his response - there was none.  He always makes a comment, always asks at least 5 or 6 questions, but this time - nothing.  

So I prayed over him tonight instead of with him, sensing that he maybe needed some extra TLC.  Again, he was pretty reserved.  No profound moments from the story or our prayer time.  

As I walked down the stairs, tears started to well up in my eyes.  Sigh... it was for me.  Oh, I know that Dakota got something from our time together and was just too tired to sort it out with words, but I could feel my heart ache and soften.  Another sigh... The line, "Because you are mine.  That's why you matter to me."  

I've been letting the lies of the world suck me in - "You're doing a terrible job. Why do you even try? Why aren't you more like her or him? You can't do that.  Why would you even dream of doing something like that?"  And when I start to do that, I start to forget just how precious I am.  The God in heaven who created unimaginable far away planets and each intricate snowflake made me.  And he loves me more than I will ever possibly know.  He wants me to not let those "bad marks" shadow my life because what does matter is what He thinks.  

A Special Job

My first trip down to visit the classroom where my mother worked as a paraprofessional in a "readiness" room was my inspiration.  I vividly remember a teeny little guy with super duper crazy curly hair that was practicing tying his shoes.  My task as a peer helper was to encourage and support him during his practice of this delicate art.  I did so for a few days and then one day - it happened.  A little nub of a loop connected to another barely holding on by the aglet.  He. was. so. excited.  The glee that poured over that little guy began like a rainstorm.  A few trickles of grinning, a compliment from me, a whisper to see if he could show Mrs. Keiper,  gave way to steady streams of congratulations, high fives and maybe even a few sideways shoulder squishes.

These days working with my 8th graders, it doesn't happen as often, nor as exuberant.  Ha.  That - would NOT be cool.  But seeing their faces light up when they've tried ten times harder than the others and only done half as well and STILL proud - that, my friends, makes being a special education teacher worth it.

My Monster

  Here's me.  My little monster avatar thingy for posting my Slices of Life-ez.  At first, I kinda giggled to see them all when others posted along with me, but I was secretly a bit disturbed by my own.  I mean, she has ice pic arms, cave woman hair, a mouth like a garbage disposal and sewn up eyes - is that like I'm squinting, or knocked out or something???  

Well, I don't always look like this, but there are times... when honestly, I feel like this.  Blue, un-huggable, and closing my eyes to the truth, while spewing loud horrible things from my mouth.  What's even worse it that happens more often at home than I'd like to admit.  This ugly little creature takes over my body and mind and  I find myself doing and saying things that I desperately want erased as soon as it takes place.  It's not a creature though, it is me, a part of me that I must learn to manage.  

Whatever the reason why I've lost my softness, I know at this breaking point that I must go back and amend.  Request forgiveness and mercy from the ones I hold most dear.  Both my husband and my son grant this so easily - it's humbling.  And through this humility I am warmed and become soft once again.  

Post-It

It's a cruddy picture, but for the past three weeks or so, every time I've been in our girls restroom at school, there has been different one hanging up.  This one says, "Smile - Make someone's day a shade brighter".  Others have said things like, "Hey beautiful" and "You are lovely inside and out".  I have no idea who's doing it, but today it finally soaked in just how neat it is that someone actually IS doing this, especially if it's a student.  They've made me smile to myself each time I've read them.  Today though, I couldn't help but wonder what young girl might read that same message as me and find that tiny bit of love and kindness that she so desperately craves.  

We think too much and feel too little.  More than machinery, we need humanity.  More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness.  
Charlie Chaplin