The word change is all around us—on bumper stickers, t-shirts and in stirring speeches. But for Freedom Foundation volunteers, it is more than just something we say—it is something we make. We’ve been busy creating change every day for the last two years in Selma, Alabama, the same Selma where Civil Rights workers and foot soldiers created a new future by marching for the right to vote. The legislative changes are clear and powerful, but opportunity, prosperity, and unity still elude this rural city in the Deep South. It is hard to imagine that a town with such a rich history could still have segregated institutions and organizations. But in Selma, it is a reality. Neo-confederate hate groups are deeply rooted in the community. Over half of the families in Selma’s Dallas County made less than $30,000 in 2006 and the county has the second highest teenage pregnancy rate in the state. Change is still needed in Selma, Alabama.
Hope drove marchers to face a sea of men in blue uniforms on Bloody Sunday. And they changed the future forever. Change is happening in Selma through hope, one life at a time. Hope isn’t just a word that we use carelessly. It is what drives volunteers to serve the community. Freedom Foundation volunteers have painted local classrooms, playground equipment and churches. They’ve volunteered countless hours to labor in the Tepper’s building, working in hope at the future community center and youth institute. The hours are long and the labor is hard.
But ask the young people who have been changed by their involvement in the youth activities with the Freedom Foundation if the work has been in vain. Ask the local high school senior who recently received his acceptance letter to Samford University, when just over a year ago he said he was “too poor and too black” to go to college.
Hope is that still small voice that rises above cynicism and tells you that change is possible, that we CAN make a difference. Yes, we can. And at the Freedom Foundation, we do. Hope is what inspires our volunteers to give, serve, love and sacrifice. And, as Obama said, “There is nothing false about hope.”
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Facing Fear
At a recent work day at the Tepper’s Building, I had a chance to face one of my fears head on when the site supervisor for the day asked me if I wanted to learn how to use the table saw. A friend had just told me a horror story about her father nearly cutting his thumb off with exactly such a tool so I felt that funny feeling in my stomach and I’m sure my heart rate doubled—I have always stayed away from power tools. My stomach starts to turn when I hear a saw going as my mind conjures up all sorts of images of accidents just waiting to happen. But that day, something inside of me pushed me to answer, and I surprised myself by saying, “Sure!”
After a thorough introduction and safety briefing, I made the first cut. With the site supervisor standing by my side encouraging me, I went through the steps in my head to place the board accurately, check the safety guard on the saw, line the board up accurately and make sure my fingers were out of the way before turning it on. Zzzzziinnngg. I did it! I was using a power tool!
I gained confidence throughout the day and loved being able to say, “Yeah, I got that” when someone had a special request for a two by four. While I cut boards to build the temporary window plugs, I thought about how I would have missed an opportunity if I did not say “yes” to the power tools. How it would have been easier to follow that fear rather than step into an uncomfortable situation. Yet, it was the un-comfort that led to the growth–-the confidence came by going through a trial.
As I continued to use the saw, I imagined the young people who will one day gather for the Youth Leadership Institute on the 2nd floor of the Tepper’s building. I thought about the fears they may have. I felt excitement about the ways they will overcome their own fears and gain confidence as they grow into leaders. I hope that they too will be able to say “no” to the fear and “yes” to tackling the power tools in their lives.
After a thorough introduction and safety briefing, I made the first cut. With the site supervisor standing by my side encouraging me, I went through the steps in my head to place the board accurately, check the safety guard on the saw, line the board up accurately and make sure my fingers were out of the way before turning it on. Zzzzziinnngg. I did it! I was using a power tool!
I gained confidence throughout the day and loved being able to say, “Yeah, I got that” when someone had a special request for a two by four. While I cut boards to build the temporary window plugs, I thought about how I would have missed an opportunity if I did not say “yes” to the power tools. How it would have been easier to follow that fear rather than step into an uncomfortable situation. Yet, it was the un-comfort that led to the growth–-the confidence came by going through a trial.
As I continued to use the saw, I imagined the young people who will one day gather for the Youth Leadership Institute on the 2nd floor of the Tepper’s building. I thought about the fears they may have. I felt excitement about the ways they will overcome their own fears and gain confidence as they grow into leaders. I hope that they too will be able to say “no” to the fear and “yes” to tackling the power tools in their lives.
Monday, October 20, 2008
A Visit to the Southern Poverty Law Center
Since moving to Selma 15 months ago, I have toured a variety of civil rights museums, both in Alabama and in Georgia. Although they have all impacted and challenged me in some way, it was last week's trip to the Civil Rights Memorial in Montgomery that touched me the greatest. Created by the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC), the Memorial provides a simple yet powerful reminder of the importance of recognizing human rights everywhere--and coming together to stand against all forms of intolerance.
Until this past year, I have worked closely with immigrants. I taught in South America for a year and then taught English as a Second Language in the states. I remember the first time I used teaching supplements published by the SPLC, over seven years ago. Ever since then, I've appreciated the work of the SPLC...more than anything, the organization's commitment to bringing justice and equality to the people, empowering the people who have been robbed of their voice. As an ESL teacher, I worked with families who repeatedly faced the realities of living in a new culture--a culture that judged them as inferior and unworthy.
So although I hesitated to give up the opportunity to work with the ESL population, it was also clear that there was a similar calling to fight against injustice here in Selma. I never expected it to be so hard. Never. It's not the long hours or even the comments of the opposition that have been so hard: it's been the shock of seeing the settling mindset of the kids I work with and love so dearly. Something tragic has happened in the black community where I work. As a white outsider, I continue to need God's understanding if I'm to ever help challenge this mindset. It's not so much the racist few that disturb me, but the mindset I see every day in my kids who--subtlety--believe that they are inferior, that their life options are limited, that they are somehow unworthy of something better.
One of the young men who was with us at the Memorial I met last year in the classroom. Right before he started volunteering with the Freedom Foundation, when asked about going to college, he said he was "too black and too poor" and hadn't even considered this option. Wow. Yet now, a year later, he is a completely changed young man who is making straight As his senior year and applying for scholarships for the fall. He has found pride in himself, in his people, and in the work that we are all doing here in Selma. The people of Selma are some of the most precious I've met. They have beautiful, generous hearts and a desire for something more. This is definitely the community where I belong.
The Memorial has helped build a bridge for me that connects the past with the present. It has provided a vision and a background that will help me go back into that classroom and love and understand my kids on a deeper level.
Until this past year, I have worked closely with immigrants. I taught in South America for a year and then taught English as a Second Language in the states. I remember the first time I used teaching supplements published by the SPLC, over seven years ago. Ever since then, I've appreciated the work of the SPLC...more than anything, the organization's commitment to bringing justice and equality to the people, empowering the people who have been robbed of their voice. As an ESL teacher, I worked with families who repeatedly faced the realities of living in a new culture--a culture that judged them as inferior and unworthy.
So although I hesitated to give up the opportunity to work with the ESL population, it was also clear that there was a similar calling to fight against injustice here in Selma. I never expected it to be so hard. Never. It's not the long hours or even the comments of the opposition that have been so hard: it's been the shock of seeing the settling mindset of the kids I work with and love so dearly. Something tragic has happened in the black community where I work. As a white outsider, I continue to need God's understanding if I'm to ever help challenge this mindset. It's not so much the racist few that disturb me, but the mindset I see every day in my kids who--subtlety--believe that they are inferior, that their life options are limited, that they are somehow unworthy of something better.
One of the young men who was with us at the Memorial I met last year in the classroom. Right before he started volunteering with the Freedom Foundation, when asked about going to college, he said he was "too black and too poor" and hadn't even considered this option. Wow. Yet now, a year later, he is a completely changed young man who is making straight As his senior year and applying for scholarships for the fall. He has found pride in himself, in his people, and in the work that we are all doing here in Selma. The people of Selma are some of the most precious I've met. They have beautiful, generous hearts and a desire for something more. This is definitely the community where I belong.
The Memorial has helped build a bridge for me that connects the past with the present. It has provided a vision and a background that will help me go back into that classroom and love and understand my kids on a deeper level.
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Teppers Building: A Diamond in the Rough
Something special is happening on 25 Broad St. For the past year, volunteers of the Freedom Foundation have made tremendous steps forward in stabilizing, restoring and updating the Tepper’s Building, a historic landmark in Selma, Alabama. The first week of September, 2008 was labeled among volunteers as a “Tepper’s Push” because many took time off their jobs and even traveled from out of state at their own expense to join the work effort.
A.J. Page, the architect for the project, described some of the recent architectural efforts which include exposing the original structure on the first two floors and removing the non load-bearing exterior façade. In addition to this visible progress, Page also led a team in exposing load-bearing beams and columns for structural analysis.
A team of local painters worked day and night to brighten up the exterior with a fresh coat of paint. Inside the building, the gutting and cleaning continues, a tedious but necessary part of preparing the building to house the “Fresh Start Café” and the Youth Leadership Institute.
Though the Freedom Foundation has run into many obstacles along the way due to weather and extensive water and Termite damage in the building, the vision for a fresh start for the building and the community has remained strong and encouraged people to continue through difficult news and daunting tasks. Despite the many challenges, volunteers continue to show up on their evenings and weekends to pitch in.
People with little to no construction experience have put their backs and hearts into the demolition work. One notable volunteer, who is wheelchair bound, could be seen at the work site stripping copper wires for recycling. Her inspiration and smile gave other volunteers a morale boost. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why Roger Hendershot, one of the leaders on the project, was much more interested in talking about the people at Tepper’s than about the physical progress: “There is something to be said about what’s happening among the people working at Tepper’s. There is something special as we all offer our time and efforts in a spirit of charity.” That spirit shines through with Ms. Debra as she strips those wires and with many others who encourage each other, smile and laugh as they labor in a filthy and hot environment.
One day during this “Tepper’s Push,” I was busy exposing a termite-damaged beam for architectural review. I was wearily chipping away at it and wiping sweat from my eyes when Matt Skelton approached me. Skelton, who volunteers when he is not wearing blue for the Selma PD, is known for his cheerfulness and energy which shine through even difficult labor and long hours. He had come to give me a “present.” I was immediately suspicious, just as I would have been if one of my big brothers had done the same. When he handed me a lump of coal, I laughed and chucked it back at him. I moved on, but Matt was trying to tell me something.
I finished my shift and returned home for the kind of satisfying shower, meal and nap that can only come after a day of hard physical labor. Hours later, Matt showed up at my door, dirtier than when I had left him and no doubt tired and hungry, but with a bigger smile on his face too. He told me I’d forgotten something and handed me the lump of coal.
Enough pressure, time, and heat can turn something ugly into something beautiful if it stays in the process. Yes, Matt, I get what you’re saying and I believe.
A.J. Page, the architect for the project, described some of the recent architectural efforts which include exposing the original structure on the first two floors and removing the non load-bearing exterior façade. In addition to this visible progress, Page also led a team in exposing load-bearing beams and columns for structural analysis.
A team of local painters worked day and night to brighten up the exterior with a fresh coat of paint. Inside the building, the gutting and cleaning continues, a tedious but necessary part of preparing the building to house the “Fresh Start Café” and the Youth Leadership Institute.
Though the Freedom Foundation has run into many obstacles along the way due to weather and extensive water and Termite damage in the building, the vision for a fresh start for the building and the community has remained strong and encouraged people to continue through difficult news and daunting tasks. Despite the many challenges, volunteers continue to show up on their evenings and weekends to pitch in.
People with little to no construction experience have put their backs and hearts into the demolition work. One notable volunteer, who is wheelchair bound, could be seen at the work site stripping copper wires for recycling. Her inspiration and smile gave other volunteers a morale boost. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why Roger Hendershot, one of the leaders on the project, was much more interested in talking about the people at Tepper’s than about the physical progress: “There is something to be said about what’s happening among the people working at Tepper’s. There is something special as we all offer our time and efforts in a spirit of charity.” That spirit shines through with Ms. Debra as she strips those wires and with many others who encourage each other, smile and laugh as they labor in a filthy and hot environment.
One day during this “Tepper’s Push,” I was busy exposing a termite-damaged beam for architectural review. I was wearily chipping away at it and wiping sweat from my eyes when Matt Skelton approached me. Skelton, who volunteers when he is not wearing blue for the Selma PD, is known for his cheerfulness and energy which shine through even difficult labor and long hours. He had come to give me a “present.” I was immediately suspicious, just as I would have been if one of my big brothers had done the same. When he handed me a lump of coal, I laughed and chucked it back at him. I moved on, but Matt was trying to tell me something.
I finished my shift and returned home for the kind of satisfying shower, meal and nap that can only come after a day of hard physical labor. Hours later, Matt showed up at my door, dirtier than when I had left him and no doubt tired and hungry, but with a bigger smile on his face too. He told me I’d forgotten something and handed me the lump of coal.
Enough pressure, time, and heat can turn something ugly into something beautiful if it stays in the process. Yes, Matt, I get what you’re saying and I believe.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Turning Beauty Inside Out
As a teacher at a local high school, I have learned as many lessons as I have taught. This weekend marked a particularly poignant lesson for me.
Last week, in the middle of a lesson about propaganda in the media, a verbal argument about something unrelated broke out in my classroom. I was shocked and brokenhearted when I heard things like "black" and "big lips" being used as insults. It was a perfect, but painful example of a logical fallacy we were studying: ad hominem (attacking a person rather than the issue at hand). The incident reminded me of a handsome young man, who constantly jokes about the deep shade of his skin but who privately expresses his insecurities about the same, and of another who has always believed he's "too black and too poor" to accomplish great things in life.
I decided to extend my lesson on propaganda with an adapted lesson from Teaching Tolerance called "Turn Beauty Inside Out." The lesson teaches students to critically analyze the media and the effects its messaging has on self image. I diligently started constructing the lesson, researching media, and compiling thought-provoking images of "beauty."
Meanwhile, I hesitantly agreed to be the subject for a college student's life-sized bust for her sculpting class. I smiled awkwardly and tried to act natural as she took 15 painfully close close-ups of my head, neck and shoulders. I cringed when I saw the pictures: the blemishes… no, they're ZITS, the double chin, and all the features I've hated about myself for as long as I can remember. I considered asking her to find another subject, hastily requested that she smooth out the chin and sculpt me without these "blemishes" and that she destroy the hideous photos immediately when she completed the project.
And then I went back to creating my lesson on turning beauty inside out. You probably already see what I had yet to see: I was getting ready to teach a lesson I could not apply to myself. I considered scrapping the lesson altogether but concluded that rather than chucking it, I would take the chance to apply the lesson and confess to my students (who I wish could see themselves with my eyes) that I too have a few things to learn.
Perhaps when I have a library named after me, this bust will become the centerpiece for its atrium. Perhaps I will proudly display it in my own home along with all my other… life-sized images of…. myself. Or maybe I will take a sledgehammer and bust it to pieces. In any case, as I told the artist, I want the sculpture to show me exactly as I am.
Last week, in the middle of a lesson about propaganda in the media, a verbal argument about something unrelated broke out in my classroom. I was shocked and brokenhearted when I heard things like "black" and "big lips" being used as insults. It was a perfect, but painful example of a logical fallacy we were studying: ad hominem (attacking a person rather than the issue at hand). The incident reminded me of a handsome young man, who constantly jokes about the deep shade of his skin but who privately expresses his insecurities about the same, and of another who has always believed he's "too black and too poor" to accomplish great things in life.
I decided to extend my lesson on propaganda with an adapted lesson from Teaching Tolerance called "Turn Beauty Inside Out." The lesson teaches students to critically analyze the media and the effects its messaging has on self image. I diligently started constructing the lesson, researching media, and compiling thought-provoking images of "beauty."
Meanwhile, I hesitantly agreed to be the subject for a college student's life-sized bust for her sculpting class. I smiled awkwardly and tried to act natural as she took 15 painfully close close-ups of my head, neck and shoulders. I cringed when I saw the pictures: the blemishes… no, they're ZITS, the double chin, and all the features I've hated about myself for as long as I can remember. I considered asking her to find another subject, hastily requested that she smooth out the chin and sculpt me without these "blemishes" and that she destroy the hideous photos immediately when she completed the project.
And then I went back to creating my lesson on turning beauty inside out. You probably already see what I had yet to see: I was getting ready to teach a lesson I could not apply to myself. I considered scrapping the lesson altogether but concluded that rather than chucking it, I would take the chance to apply the lesson and confess to my students (who I wish could see themselves with my eyes) that I too have a few things to learn.
Perhaps when I have a library named after me, this bust will become the centerpiece for its atrium. Perhaps I will proudly display it in my own home along with all my other… life-sized images of…. myself. Or maybe I will take a sledgehammer and bust it to pieces. In any case, as I told the artist, I want the sculpture to show me exactly as I am.
Friday, July 25, 2008
A Fresh Coat
I spent most of the day on Wednesday painting at Selma High. We've been having crews of people coming in and out all week to try to get 48 classrooms painted with the Saint's blue and gold. Around 10:00 am, a group of Selma High band members came in, ready to put paint on the walls of the classrooms they'd be sitting in come August. There was a pair of boys who looked a little too young to be walking those halls anytime soon, and I found out that they were tagging along with their cousin for the day. I paired up with one, a ten year old with the sweetest smile. As I taught him how to use a paint brush and watch his drips, he told me about the flat tire on his bike, and how he loves math because he's good at it.
At noon, the band kids headed out, and my buddy for the morning followed suit. Before he left he said, "I'm coming back all week!" I told him we'd be there waiting on him.
An hour later I left for a soda run, and as I was leaving the parking lot, I saw him across the street. I waved and he yelled, "Y'all still there? Can I come back?" He sure did come back and stayed the rest of the afternoon. I made up tasks for him to do just so he could stay around. He was a great helper and it was really special to me not only to have him be a part of everything, but to see how much he loved being there.
I was on the first shift this morning, and sure enough, when I got to the school, he came running down the hall to let me in the door, ready to paint!
At noon, the band kids headed out, and my buddy for the morning followed suit. Before he left he said, "I'm coming back all week!" I told him we'd be there waiting on him.
An hour later I left for a soda run, and as I was leaving the parking lot, I saw him across the street. I waved and he yelled, "Y'all still there? Can I come back?" He sure did come back and stayed the rest of the afternoon. I made up tasks for him to do just so he could stay around. He was a great helper and it was really special to me not only to have him be a part of everything, but to see how much he loved being there.
I was on the first shift this morning, and sure enough, when I got to the school, he came running down the hall to let me in the door, ready to paint!
Saturday, July 12, 2008
It's the Little Things
"Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and see they
were the big things." Antonio Smith
We met Miss Debra through the radio show we began as an effort to bring
positive energy to Selma's residents through the airwaves. She listened
faithfully because she loved the energy and life the show carried to her.
She quickly became one of our biggest fans and we became one of hers. She
was always quick to call with an encouraging word or just to say she loved
us and was praying for us.
After a life of very actively doing and working hard serving others, a
tragic illness bound Miss Debra to a wheelchair. She found herself just
pushing through her personal pain on many days and looking for ways to be
her same energetic self, even though confined to the chair.
She credited the members and activities of the Freedom Foundation for adding
a spark to her life and has become an active part of the volunteer group and
a bright spot to the community events and activities.
I could list a hundred examples of times she brightened one of the days
we've had here with a thoughtful word or gift. But the greatest moment we've
had with Miss Debra yet came a little while back on the Alabama River.
A friend invited a group of us to spend a day at his river cabin to eat,
swim, hang out and cruise around the river in his speed boat. Miss Debra
accepted the invititation extended to the group before any of us could think
of a way to not invite her, fearing it would be too hard for her to get
around the unstable hilly ground that surrounded the cabin. She was more
excited to go than any of us and it was all over her face. We quickly became
more excited for her to come, regardless of what we had to do to help her
get around once we got to the river.
It was a beautiful day....the water was high, the air was warm and the sun
shining through the most majestic clouds. Joyful sounds filled the air as
people talked and laughed and kids and dogs were ran around everywhere. The
owner of the house was always focused on everyone having a great time. He
offered to take a couple of small groups out on the boat and Miss Debra was
the first volunteer.
Instead of a single question being raised as to how this would occur,
different people immediately began getting Miss Debra out from her chair and
into the boat. She sat there on that boat as if she owned it. Her smile
beamed up the hill to the cabin where you could hear her contagious laugh
and FEEL her joy. She stayed on that boat the entire day and no one could
have been happier than me to see her just as light and free as she could be.
There was nothing binding her....nothing to remind her that she couldn't do
something that she was dying on the inside to do. No pain, no wheelchair, no
one pushing her around. She was the same Debra that grew up running and
playing and being the first one to try something new...only she was able to
enjoy it even more.
The boat ride ended and the clouds closed in to bring a beautiful and
powerful rainstorm to close the most perfect day....but Miss Debra's smile
was unchanging. We all gathered around her under the stairs that led up to
the river cabin and listened to her tell all about her adventure. She
laughed and squealed like a child as she recounted the feelings and sights
and proclaimed, "nothing could have made this day better....it is worth
it!!"
Miss Debra has been learning every day how to be free in her mind and heart
of the pain and limitations her illness brings. But on this particular day,
she was free from it all....she said so simply and with such personal
gratitude, "this day happened because you came."
Nothing could have assured me more!! I will never forget that day and I
know many, including our beloved Miss Debra, would say the same. It was a
small thing. And it was SO big....
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Smashing a CD – Changing an Outlook
Although this past year living in Selma has left its mark with many poignant memories, there is one that touched me so deeply that it continually reminds me why I'm here. First a little background: I'm a teacher at a small high school in the country, a school with a 100% black student population and only one other white teacher. These kids didn't know what to do with all my quirkiness at first, but they never judged me because of the color of my skin; instead, they showed a lot of interest in my background, my culture.
This came full circle one December afternoon. I was talking with a student I'll call Sam. Sam is an aspiring rapper and he had often shared his creations with me. This particular afternoon, however, brought an unexpected comment. With a serious look on his face, Sam explained that the day before he'd been listening to one of his favorite CDs. All of a sudden it hit him that the lyrics he'd been quoting for so long were derogatory toward white women. In his words, "When I realized, hey, that's Ms. G they're talking about, I took the CD out and smashed it." He went on to explain that he'd never really known anyone white, but when he met me he started to realize that he'd been making a lot of judgments about a whole group of people. Sam’s life has drastically changed – in more ways than one.
But the deepest change I feel personally is in me. I have grown to love the kids as if we truly were family. The Freedom Foundation is about finding hope. And in bringing hope, I have also greatly received.
This came full circle one December afternoon. I was talking with a student I'll call Sam. Sam is an aspiring rapper and he had often shared his creations with me. This particular afternoon, however, brought an unexpected comment. With a serious look on his face, Sam explained that the day before he'd been listening to one of his favorite CDs. All of a sudden it hit him that the lyrics he'd been quoting for so long were derogatory toward white women. In his words, "When I realized, hey, that's Ms. G they're talking about, I took the CD out and smashed it." He went on to explain that he'd never really known anyone white, but when he met me he started to realize that he'd been making a lot of judgments about a whole group of people. Sam’s life has drastically changed – in more ways than one.
But the deepest change I feel personally is in me. I have grown to love the kids as if we truly were family. The Freedom Foundation is about finding hope. And in bringing hope, I have also greatly received.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Giving What I Received
When I was in high school, I had a volleyball coach who saw I had a lot of potential, and who took the time after practice to run extra drills with me and push me to become the player he knew I could be. He chose me as a sophomore for the varsity team – not because I was as good as the seniors, but because he saw talent that he knew he could develop. He told me one day that when he recruited players, he didn't look at the 18-year olds who were heading into college, but at the 12 and 13 year olds - the ones with big feet, who he knew would grow tall, and the ones with raw athletic talent who could be turned into volleyball players. Some girls could be shanking volleyballs left and right into the stands, or serving it straight under the net, but he wasn't concerned about where they were at – he looked at where they were going.
It meant a lot to me, especially at a young age, to have someone take the time to invest in me. That experience stuck with me through the years since high school, and it wrote a lesson on my heart that I needed - that I could be somebody worth investing in. So partway through college, when things in my life weren't going the way I had hoped they would go, it meant something to me once again, to run across someone who found greater potential in me, and could help me develop it.
It's that love and dedication that we’ve received from people who've invested in us that has made us want to give that help back to others. A little love and understanding can go a long way, and it is now our commitment to pass along the same help onto others – simply because we're grateful that somebody else did that for us.
It meant a lot to me, especially at a young age, to have someone take the time to invest in me. That experience stuck with me through the years since high school, and it wrote a lesson on my heart that I needed - that I could be somebody worth investing in. So partway through college, when things in my life weren't going the way I had hoped they would go, it meant something to me once again, to run across someone who found greater potential in me, and could help me develop it.
It's that love and dedication that we’ve received from people who've invested in us that has made us want to give that help back to others. A little love and understanding can go a long way, and it is now our commitment to pass along the same help onto others – simply because we're grateful that somebody else did that for us.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Footloose - Opening Night
One of my most memorable experiences in Selma so far was the opening night of “Footloose: the Musical.” Most of the students in the show had never been in a play, and all the hours of rehearsal, painting, construction, and team building lead up to this night. With a rough dress rehearsal and some major technical difficulties the day of the show, none of us really knew what the outcome would be. The directors were simply praying that everyone would remember their lines and that the set wouldnt fall on anyone, but what happened that night was truly a miracle.
I was waiting to open the curtain when the house manager called places. All the kids rushed onstage hugging, high fiving and wishing each other a good show. I saw the energy and excitement in their eyes - a beautiful blend of fun and terror like the one you see on a childs face as he jumps off the diving board for the first time.
The audience cheered and clapped as the band struck up the rockin musical intro. The light show began and the curtain rose to reveal students from different schools giving their best to the community. The whole night was electrifying as the students performed their hearts out for a diverse and enthusiastic crowd. When the cast sang the final phrase of the show “Everybody cut footloose, yeah!” the crowd jumped to their feet and clapped and cheered for ten minutes.
The lobby was full of hugs, photographs, flowers, and laughter. No one wanted to go home. Now, months later, when someone mentions “Footloose” in Selma people remember that night. A night when people came together, students gave their best, and love showed up in a very special way.
I was waiting to open the curtain when the house manager called places. All the kids rushed onstage hugging, high fiving and wishing each other a good show. I saw the energy and excitement in their eyes - a beautiful blend of fun and terror like the one you see on a childs face as he jumps off the diving board for the first time.
The audience cheered and clapped as the band struck up the rockin musical intro. The light show began and the curtain rose to reveal students from different schools giving their best to the community. The whole night was electrifying as the students performed their hearts out for a diverse and enthusiastic crowd. When the cast sang the final phrase of the show “Everybody cut footloose, yeah!” the crowd jumped to their feet and clapped and cheered for ten minutes.
The lobby was full of hugs, photographs, flowers, and laughter. No one wanted to go home. Now, months later, when someone mentions “Footloose” in Selma people remember that night. A night when people came together, students gave their best, and love showed up in a very special way.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Piano Gathering
A few notes drift from the piano. It’s a recognizable tune, a love song by KC and JoJo. The usual key master isn’t at the piano but rather an unlikely character plays with heart and soul unusual for the countenance he normally displays.
He’s tough and cool and always connecting with someone on his cell. Today a group of kids are lounging around the piano; his backup singers are a mixed bag from elementary school through college. They are white and black, rich and poor. Until this theatre production of Footloose, many of them had never spoken to a kid of a different race before. They were awkward in the beginning and are now producing a harmonious blend of music; it’s the type of music that cannot be created by trained talented voices.
The music heard today came from voices that had found a common ground to connect on. Walls and judgment that had once been in their hearts and minds have now all but faded and this is the place where they are singing from. It is a place of freedom where they can be themselves. This is a good place to sing from. This is a good place to be.
He’s tough and cool and always connecting with someone on his cell. Today a group of kids are lounging around the piano; his backup singers are a mixed bag from elementary school through college. They are white and black, rich and poor. Until this theatre production of Footloose, many of them had never spoken to a kid of a different race before. They were awkward in the beginning and are now producing a harmonious blend of music; it’s the type of music that cannot be created by trained talented voices.
The music heard today came from voices that had found a common ground to connect on. Walls and judgment that had once been in their hearts and minds have now all but faded and this is the place where they are singing from. It is a place of freedom where they can be themselves. This is a good place to sing from. This is a good place to be.
Monday, February 11, 2008
What Can I Give?
Rather than asking "What can I gain?" I've chosen to ask "What can I give?"
Until July 2007, I was a salesperson and had won a national award in a large corporation. I was gaining favor with company leadership and had bought my first home in a beautiful Colorado suburb at age 22.
But one weekend in February 2007, when I volunteered for a youth talent show in Selma, Alabama, changed the course of my life.
Driving home from the airport, I saw all the conveniences of a modern suburb. In my rearview mirror, I saw the beautiful mountain range and a lush golf course in the rolling hills. I stopped a moment and thought of the struggling kids in Selma. I knew that many would never have the money to spend on a day of golf and would never see the mountains. If they weren't given another option, they would continue the destructive cycles: they'd continue using and dealing drugs, and the teen pregnancy and violence would continue too. It was time to stop asking what I could gain and start asking what I could give.
With a Bachelor's Degree in English and no experience, I pursued becoming a teacher. I put my beautiful house on the market. I quit my job to try to make a difference. This low-income school was in desperate need of teachers and hired me unequipped, nervous, and full of hope.
I found out what I love: I love people. I love making a difference. I love hope.
Until July 2007, I was a salesperson and had won a national award in a large corporation. I was gaining favor with company leadership and had bought my first home in a beautiful Colorado suburb at age 22.
But one weekend in February 2007, when I volunteered for a youth talent show in Selma, Alabama, changed the course of my life.
Driving home from the airport, I saw all the conveniences of a modern suburb. In my rearview mirror, I saw the beautiful mountain range and a lush golf course in the rolling hills. I stopped a moment and thought of the struggling kids in Selma. I knew that many would never have the money to spend on a day of golf and would never see the mountains. If they weren't given another option, they would continue the destructive cycles: they'd continue using and dealing drugs, and the teen pregnancy and violence would continue too. It was time to stop asking what I could gain and start asking what I could give.
With a Bachelor's Degree in English and no experience, I pursued becoming a teacher. I put my beautiful house on the market. I quit my job to try to make a difference. This low-income school was in desperate need of teachers and hired me unequipped, nervous, and full of hope.
I found out what I love: I love people. I love making a difference. I love hope.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Raising a Standard...And Rising to It!
The semester was filled with frustrating stories...students fighting in the middle of class, walking out and slamming doors, demonstrating attitudes reflective of deep hurt and anger. Each day seemed like a battle - a battle where the goal was just to survive the day! Then the last day of the semester a note was given to me by a student I will call "Kelly".
Kelly was one of my best students - smart, polite, diligent, obedient...the kind of student every teacher would like to have. So when I intercepted a note she had written, I was shocked to discover the highly inappropriate language and content of the note. I decided to show the note to a trusted colleague hoping to get some advice on how to handle the situation. This particular colleague laughed when she read the note and said, "Oh, she's not old enough to even know what she is writing about...just forget about it. Give her a warning or something, but I don't think you need to contact her mother."
I knew enough to know that if my child had written this note, I would have wanted to know about it! I brought Kelly into my room and told her that I was going to have to call her mom. After begging me not to and shedding a few tears, she stormed out of the room, not agreeing with the standard I had set. The next afternoon I had a very direct conversation with her mother. She appreciated our meeting and promised that she would talk to Kelly when she got home. I wondered what Kelly's actions would be like the next day. Would her silent treatment toward me continue? Had my decision given her an attitude of resentment that would continue throughout the year?
It was the last day before winter break. I saw her coming down the hall toward my classroom. She had no smile on her face and it appeared as though she was going to just walk right past me upon entering the room. However, before she came through the door, she handed me a note, smiled from ear to ear, and said, "Thanks so much."
I read the note after school and cried.
"I just wanted to tell you thank you for telling my mother. I know that one of my teachers might not have told her. I was pissed off at you about telling her because I was afraid of what she might say or do to me. I felt so relieved when you told her and it was all over. I appreciate you telling my mom because it shows that you really care about me and my life. I thank you again for just caring about me as much as you do. My mom also said thank you. We had a GREAT TALK last night. Sincerely, Kelly"
What touched me the most about her note was the last sentence. Many of these kids do not have the opportunities to connect with their parents on a deeper level. My heart's desire was for them to connect as mother and daughter.
To me, the note represented a child's heart to be cared for, even if it hurt. Many students would not have risen to the standard, but she did. And if the standard made a difference for her, isn't that enough?
Kelly was one of my best students - smart, polite, diligent, obedient...the kind of student every teacher would like to have. So when I intercepted a note she had written, I was shocked to discover the highly inappropriate language and content of the note. I decided to show the note to a trusted colleague hoping to get some advice on how to handle the situation. This particular colleague laughed when she read the note and said, "Oh, she's not old enough to even know what she is writing about...just forget about it. Give her a warning or something, but I don't think you need to contact her mother."
I knew enough to know that if my child had written this note, I would have wanted to know about it! I brought Kelly into my room and told her that I was going to have to call her mom. After begging me not to and shedding a few tears, she stormed out of the room, not agreeing with the standard I had set. The next afternoon I had a very direct conversation with her mother. She appreciated our meeting and promised that she would talk to Kelly when she got home. I wondered what Kelly's actions would be like the next day. Would her silent treatment toward me continue? Had my decision given her an attitude of resentment that would continue throughout the year?
It was the last day before winter break. I saw her coming down the hall toward my classroom. She had no smile on her face and it appeared as though she was going to just walk right past me upon entering the room. However, before she came through the door, she handed me a note, smiled from ear to ear, and said, "Thanks so much."
I read the note after school and cried.
"I just wanted to tell you thank you for telling my mother. I know that one of my teachers might not have told her. I was pissed off at you about telling her because I was afraid of what she might say or do to me. I felt so relieved when you told her and it was all over. I appreciate you telling my mom because it shows that you really care about me and my life. I thank you again for just caring about me as much as you do. My mom also said thank you. We had a GREAT TALK last night. Sincerely, Kelly"
What touched me the most about her note was the last sentence. Many of these kids do not have the opportunities to connect with their parents on a deeper level. My heart's desire was for them to connect as mother and daughter.
To me, the note represented a child's heart to be cared for, even if it hurt. Many students would not have risen to the standard, but she did. And if the standard made a difference for her, isn't that enough?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
