Turn Down the Stereotypes

http://mikidevivo.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Anthem-Child-Photographer.jpg

For one of my continuing education classes, I’m taking a technology integration course. Last week’s class focused on using photo stories to give our students a competitive voice so they can creatively express their thoughts and ideas.  Our homework was to get comfortable using the software - how else would be be able to use it in our classroom?  Here is my assignment for the week.  Hope you like it!

Turn Down the Stereotypes

Music:

Matt Maher
"Hold Us Together"
Essential Records
2009

Easter is for the Nerds!!!

Image taken from https://si0.twimg.com/profile_images/2267187011/talk-nerdy-to-me-t-shirt-vintage-t-shirt-review-rad-rowdies-rad-rowdies-1.jpg

Nerd – An unstylish, unattractive, or socially inept person; especially one devoted to academic or intellectual pursuits.

*****

I’m a nerd.  This confession won’t come as much of a surprise to anyone that has known me for more than, say, 30 seconds.  In high school I lettered in football, baseball, and… orchestra.  I wasn’t invited to my first party that served alcohol until college.

My geekhood didn’t end as an adult either.  You know when you go on a tour and there’s that really annoying guy that’s asking a billion questions to the tour guide?  That’s me.  I love to learn, and I’m not satisfied just taking someone’s word for things – I need to ask questions and come to my own conclusions about things.  Unfortunately, in the 5^th grade (or any stage of life, really), it isn’t cool to be a nerd.  As a teacher however, I want to instill a sense of wonderment amongst my students so that they too will open their minds up to learning.  After all, I believe that much of learning stems from the desire to learn.  And, I believe that hearing and learning about things once does not make someone an expert in it.  This is a difficult concept for my students to understand; many times when I’m teaching a lesson, the same dialogue takes place with my students:

Mr. Lin:          Today, we will (insert learning objective here) and demonstrate mastery by (insert assessment objective). 

Students:         Do we have to??  We learned this last year already!

My students often feel like if they’ve learned it once before, they don’t have to try to learn it again.  But, as any teacher will tell you, hearing about it once never makes someone an expert in the matter.  Not that this is big news to any of us; I’d guess most people wouldn’t consider themselves experts on anything if they’ve only heard one perspective or learned about it for a few hours.

I’ve gotten to know the basics of Christianity fairly well, and over the past 5 years I’ve gotten to know my bible pretty well also.  Case in point:  I know that Good Friday is the day that Jesus was crucified and Easter is the day that Jesus was resurrected.  So why do I go to church each week, especially on Easter when I know the basics of what the message will be about?  Well, because I’m a nerd. 

I admit it seems pretty fantastical that a person can die, then be raised from the dead.  If there wasn’t evidence that would lead me to conclude that Jesus was resurrected, I wouldn’t be a Christian.  Unfortunately, since video surveillance of the tomb Jesus was buried in is unavailable, so I needed other kinds of evidence before I could take that essential part of Christianity to heart.  Much of this evidence was found through my study of Roman Centurions, the like of which was guarding Jesus’ tomb some 2,000 years ago.  I recently stumbled on a blog that sums up a lot of what I discovered some time ago.  If you are a big nerd like me, you may find it a fun read as there are several posts on the make-up of the guards at the tomb.  It also looks at different theories at what happened to Jesus’ body – again, pretty fun reading for nerds like me.  Click here if you’re interested in reading more, since the topic of this post isn't Roman Centurions or defending the resurrection of Christ.  Instead, today’s post is focused on a different part of Sunday’s Easter sermon that I nerded out on – a medical look at the death of Jesus. 

*****

Even the greatest cynics will agree that Jesus was a person that walked the earth around 2,000 years ago.  They will also likely agree that He was put to death by crucifixion.  However, medical professionals will tell you that crucifixion in itself cannot be the cause of death, much like a gunshot wound isn't in itself a cause of death.  Instead, a coroner will determine that death from a bullet was caused by exsanguination, hypoxia caused by pneumothorax, or something of the like.  So… if crucifixion was only the means by which Jesus’ death was facilitated, what was the actual medical cause?

On March 21, 1986, the American Medical Association (AMA) wrote an article looking into answering this very question.  Although there are no Associated Press news reports of the crucifixion on microfiche and no coroner’s reports available, they base their findings on biblical accounts which would be meaningless to fabricate and therefore generally accepted as fact:

1)      Jesus was crucified with nails penetrating hiswrists, according to Roman practices.  

2)      Jesus’ death was at approximately 3pm. 

3)      A Centurion thrust a spear upwards into Jesus’side and penetrating the heart, delivering a blow that would be fatal in theevent that Jesus had merely fainted and wasn’t dead.  

4)      Blood and water flowed from the wound – more blood than water according to the Greek translation.  

What do these accounts point to medically? According to the AMA, death during crucifixion was primarily from exhaustion asphyxia (suffocation) or hypovolemic shock (blood and fluid loss resulting in the heart being unable to pump enough blood into the body).  This is where things get interesting.

I have long dismissed blood and water flowing from Jesus’ side as a mere detail of Jesus’ death.  After hearing about Jesus' death in the sermon, I decided to take a closer look into what this meant and how it pertains to the crucifixion.  In this article and the AMA article referenced earlier, I found that of the two physical effects of crucifixion, hypovolemic shock is the likely cause of Jesus’ death.  This is because the appearance of blood and water flowing from a wound through the heart would be consistent with what would happen with heart failure and heart attacks.  In other words… Jesus died physically from a broken heart while at the same time dying metaphorically from the same cause – as illustrated when he looked upon the city of Jerusalem and wept for those He came to give His life for...

As He approached Jerusalem and saw the city, He wept over it and said, "If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace - but now it is hidden from your eyes. - Luke 19: 41-42

***** 

As Easter 2013 fades into our memory, I understand that there are many skeptics out there – and perhaps you are one of them.  Maybe the story of Jesus is a collection of legends that grew and was embellished as the years passed.  It could be that it’s a twist of fate - the story of Jesus telling of a loving God whose heart was breaking for mankind so He came down from Heaven… and the cause of His death being a physically broken heart so that mercy could be given to us.  But… what if it’s not a coincidence?   

Be a nerd and dive in.  Maybe you’ll be like me and find you are surprisingly intrigued with what you discover...

Heartache in the classroom – Part III

*image taken from http://fromthepews.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/by-igzlzddeviantartdcom-title-heartache.jpg

In December, I wrote parts I and II of this series.  If you missed them, you can click here for part I and here for part II.  This is the final chapter in that series, and a continuation of part I.

*****

I often talk to fellow teachers about behavior and discipline.  When it comes to how we handle individual students, we all have our own tactics and styles.  Whatever way we handle behavior issues though, we have the same goal in mind – for the children to learn from their decisions so they can grow up to be productive citizens. 

Many teachers - myself included - believe that it is a good thing if a child cries when their actions require us to give them individual attention.  As sadistic as this sounds, it brings me joy when kids cry during these moments. This is because the tears come when they become aware of the magnitude of their poor decision(s) and understand they have not only disappointed their teachers, but also let themselves down as well. 

I recall how I felt that day I spoke with Tala (click here to read her story) like it happened yesterday.  Those tears – real, genuine, remorseful tears – falling from her eyes brought no happiness to me.  The sight of sobbing students never makes me happy.  However, there is a difference between happiness and joy – an understanding that my work with kids has helped me realize.  Happiness occurs when I have a classroom full of kids that never do anything wrong, have great home lives, and are already great learners.  Life is good because life is easy - and a chimpanzee could do my job.  The success of these kids would be almost guaranteed!  On the other hand, joy happens when kids turn a corner in my classroom.  It is when they discover how to love learning, change previously bad habits, and learn from the poor choices that they make.  For a teacher, joy is when a child realizes they can be better - and strives to become that person. Life is hard because it often takes blood, sweat, and many tears for this to happen. Yet when it happens, it is the best feeling in the world.  It happens because I love my students and want to protect and grow them in the safety of my classroom.  None of my students are perfect, so I have experienced joy with each of them.

As a human and as a Christian, I know that I am far from perfect.  I sin constantly and I know the consequences of my actions…

For the wages of sin is death… – Romans 6:23a

… so, knowing that we are created imperfect though, does it follow that we are subjects of a merciless and unloving God?  Does he punish us for our iniquities and relish in the consequences of our actions?  Fortunately – like how I am with my students – God loves us too much to leave us to our own devices.  In doing so, he gives us hope for a future…

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord.  “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” – Jeremiah 29:11

Even though our poor decisions cause heartache to our loving Teacher, He provides us with a way out…

…but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus.” – Romans 6:23b

*****

Much like my students – even the ones that don’t have behavior issues - it is inevitable that we will continue to make missteps and poor decisions in life.  This comes no matter who you are – after all, even the apostle Paul had his own vices.  We are in God’s protective classroom though.  When we allow Him to grow us and mold us, the very discipline that causes Him heartache allows us to grow and become better individuals.  This brings our Creator joy: we hurt Him, He loves us.  Indeed, God is good.

Epilogue…

Tala’s story, like all of ours, continues each day.  Some days are good ones, where she is the student that had become one of my hardest workers and a well-intentioned student.  Like all of us though, there are days where she slips into her old ways.  The root of these episodes vary – sometimes she regresses because she loses faith in her new ways, and sometimes it is because she is caught up with the wrong people.  While her actions change day by day, the love of her Teacher never wavers.

Anyone see my unicorn?

When you were a kid, did you ever run into one of your teachers outside of school?  It always cracks me up the way kids react when they see me outside the brick walls of my school.  My kids know I have a life outside of the classroom, but it isn't real to them until they actually experience it in person.  So far this year I've run into kids snowboarding at Snowshoe, WV; at indoor rock climbing; shopping at the grocery store; and shopping at the mall.  Each time, it's the same reaction - the one where the mute button on their mouths is pressed and the same confused look they get when I'm trying to explain how to change fractions into decimals comes over their face.

Being able to relate what they learn in the classroom is essential to a child’s understanding, and one of the major reasons we, as teachers, strive to make our lessons connect with their lives.  In Puzzling class for example, we recently learned about measuring volume.  To demonstrate the different units of measurement, we had our students measure out and mix together different amounts of cereal and marshmallows to make multi-colored Rice Krispie treats.  The kids experienced first-hand what cups, pints, quarts, gallons, liters, and milliliters look like – and we all got to eat tasty treats afterwards!

This post isn't about pedagogy or best practices though.  Let’s be real – how any of my posts actually are?  This is a post about my life outside the classroom.  This past weekend I took a trip up to New York City, to celebrate my buddy's birthday, to visit my other buddy's newborn, and to eat yet another buddy's restaurant.  I didn't run into any of my students on this trip; instead, the only kid that was around was the 10-year old that resides inside my adult body: 

Jenny:  Wait, you’re a teacher?!?

Me:  Yup.  I teach the 5^th grade

Jenny:  WOW!  That explains a LOT!

I apparently have the maturity level of a 10-year old… and I’m completely OK with that.  I love that I get to act like a 10-year old every day – it’s one of the perks of my job!  Seriously, how many professions are there where acting and thinking like a kid is not only acceptable, but actually encouraged?  Speaking of which, only in NYC would you find THIS…

Needless to say, I couldn't resist the urge to text one of my similarly child-like colleagues:

Me:  Have you seen my unicorn?  I seem to have lost her L

Stacey:  My boyfriend say all unicorns are male. 

Me:  Umm...

Stacey:  There’s nothing in my sex ed textbook that says all of them are male.

Me:  Yeah – if they’re all male, how do they reproduce?

Stacey:  Magic, duh!

Me:  There’s no such thing as magic. Duh!

Stacey:  Sounds like a boring way to reproduce

Me:  Especially since all unicorns are horny.  Get it?  Horny??  Haha I crack myself up.

Yup, I fit right in with my 10 year old students.  Aren't you jealous?

MLK would have LOVED the Yankees...

Happy MLK Day!  I realize I have a few posts that need continuation, but I wanted to honor a great man today.  Thanks for reading, and to view last year’s MLK post, click here. 

Don’t be a Hater!

During the first week of school I was taking a sip of coffee from my Pittsburgh Steelers coffee cup when one of my students decided to use that moment to introduce me to his favorite team.

Bastien:          “The Steelers suck.”

Mr. Lin:         “Thanks for your opinion, but we don’t use that word in my classroom.  I take it you’re a Ravens fan?” 

Bastien:          “Yup.  And I hate the Steelers.”

I figured this much, since the Ravens are the arch rivals of the Black and Gold.  Then, when the Steelers lost to the Ravens in late November, he used this opportunity to try and provoke a response:

Bastien:          “Haha, Steelers lost.  We beat you!”

Mr. Lin:         “Yeah, it was a great game… the Ravens played really well.”

Bastien:          “You’re not mad we beat you guys?”

Mr. Lin:           “Honestly, I cheered for the Ravens last year during the playoffs once the Steelers lost.  I really like their style of play.  I know it’s a rivalry, but it’s just a game.”

Bastien:          “Yeah, but we’re rivals!  We hate each other!”

Mr. Lin:         “Yeah, but if I find myself cheering against a team I know my life is consumed by hate.  I’d rather just cheer for my team.  I’d rather my life have more love in it than hate.”

            I hoped those words would resonate in him…

The Power of Love

Often lost in the recounting of the Civil Rights movement is the ground-breaking way that it was carried out.  Yes, we may know the theory behind civil disobedience and peaceful resistance, but do we truly understand how difficult it must have been to carry out?  After all, it is far more intuitive to think about exacting revenge and to allow our hate to engulf us than to love.  But, as Martin Luther King, Jr. so eloquently states,

“I have decided to stick to love...Hate is too great a burden to bear.” ― Martin Luther King Jr.

On this Martin Luther King Day, I want to recognize a great man who understood that hate was a burden.  This man realized that that it’s consuming nature is far more destructive to its owner than to anyone it might be directed towards.  Because of Dr. King’s great leadership, a nation found that love is a far more powerful and effective weapon than hate.  

A 10-year old boy

In a world where sports have become more important in our daily lives than God and country, families and friends are often divided along team allegiances.  Many carry the hate of another team more strongly than their love for their own team.  I recall an encounter a few months ago with an Orioles fan who angrily told me he could not bring himself to cheer for the Yankees, even if a Yankee victory was necessary for his team to make it to the playoffs.  I wonder… how much does resentment affect his life?  In what other areas does it manifest itself?

As an educator, I’m determined to teach the lessons that we aren’t required to teach.  I know these lessons are the ones that are of greater importance to one’s overall satisfaction with life than being able to write eloquent essays or perform computation that most adults use calculators for.  I pray each day for my students to see that life success is beyond academics and money.  I pray that their lives will be filled with love, and not by hate.

When the playoffs began two weeks ago, the Ravens were in the playoffs and the Steelers had not.  Bastien and I exchanged words once again:

Bastien:          “Sorry your Steelers didn’t make it this year.” 

His normally jestful eyes were thoughtful and genuine.

Mr. Lin:         “Yeah, it kinda stinks.  Oh well… I’ll be cheering for the Ravens.  It would be great for Ray Lewis to go out with a ring.”

Bastien:          “Yeah, it would be.” 

When the Ravens square off against the San Francisco 49ers on February 3rd, I’m happy that I’ll be rooting FOR a team, and not AGAINST one.

Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another – Romans 13:8a

Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?

Yesterday, one of my students came to me at the end of the day with a very strange question: 

Alicia:             “Mr. Lin, is there any where that you want to go that you need directions to?"

Mr. Lin:         “Hmm… not that I can think of.”

Alicia:             “Come ON, Mr. Lin!  There has to be somewhere you want to know the directions to!”

She sure was persistent!  I decided to indulge her:

Mr. Lin:         “OK Alicia, how about Heaven.  Can you tell me how to get there?”

There was absolutely no hesitation in her reply.  Apparently, Alicia knew very well how to get to Heaven.

Alicia:             “First, you close your eyes.  Then, spin around 5 times.  Next, hit the imaginary piñata and run straight through the imaginary candy.  Then you will meet a llama named Bob.  Give Bob an apple and $5.  Bob will give you a ride on his back to Hogwarts Academy and $20.  Once you are at Hogwarts, Acadamy, use the $20 Bob gave you to get on Hogwarts Express.  Go to compartment 5 where you will meet Ke$ha.  Ke$ha will give you a map leading to a year long journey to the Bulgarian countryside.  Once you are there, turn to your right, and there will be Heaven.”

Mr. Lin:         “Wait… what??” 

Alicia proceeded to repeat the exact same directions, verbatim.

Mr. Lin:         “Okaaay…”

She wasn’t done yet.

Alicia:             “Now ask me how to get to Sesame Street.”

            This ought to be good…

Mr. Lin:         “Fine.  How do you get to Sesame Street?”

Alicia:             “Same thing as Heaven, except you turn left.”

            Alicia proceeded to skip away, happy as a clam.  I, like you undoubtedly are, stood there shaking my head.  I’ve had many, many moments as a teacher where I’ve wondered,

What’s going on in that kid’s mind???

            All of a sudden, a thought came over me.  I called her over; it was my turn to ask a question.

Mr. Lin:         “Alicia, if you turn right to get to Heaven and left to get to Sesame Street, you would be going in opposite directions, right?  So… is Sesame Street the opposite of Heaven?”

Alicia giggled; she had realized this joke had turned Sesame Street into a far less happy place.  Again, she skipped away, unable to keep her dimples from appearing once again.  I watched in amusement as she packed up, oblivious to the hilarity that she provided for me. 

81% of Americans…

…believe in Heaven. That’s a true statistic, taken from a Gallup poll in 2004.  As childlike as Alicia’s words were, it conveyed a decidedly profound thought:  The way to get to Heaven isn’t all that different as the way to that OTHER place.  What I mean is, are Christians really all that different?  If you were to ask any of my friends from college, California, and New Jersey, I’m certain they still recognize the same person as I was not-so-many years ago.  Well, perhaps I’ve grown up a little (not much, but a little!), but haven’t we all?  The same friends that were branding themselves with hot coat hangers, running with the bulls in Pamplona, and staying up until 6am on weeknights drinking 40s are now fathers, businessmen, and… Christians. 

My life hasn’t changed all that much since I made the decision to start following Christ in 2007.  I’m still impulsive, impatient, and prone to do really stupid and borderline inappropriate things.  But, I’ve matured, become more altruistic, and become (relatively) responsible as I’ve aged.  These things all could have all happened regardless of me becoming a Christian.  The difference is that, as alluring as it is to turn left towards Sesame Street, I made the decision to turn right.  It's comforting to know where that road leads.

Leave it to a 10 year old child with dimples to remind me that Heaven was never - not even in my darkest hours - really all that far away.

Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.  ~ Mark 10:15

Words Never Spoken: Chapter II

This is chapter 2 of my story, ‘Words Never Spoken’.  These entries will appear from time to time in addition to my regular blog posts.  I hope you enjoy them; they are a compilation of memoirs from my father’s life in the United States that I’ve gathered, along with stories from my classroom.  To read the prologue and chapter 1, click here.

Chapter 2 – Ms. Dornan

Each year our school puts out a yearbook that contains class pictures.  In order to insure that there are no mistakes, teachers are given copies of the class pictures to make sure that names are spelled correctly and the right students are in each class.  A few weeks ago, we received those copies in our mailboxes.  Lindsay, a 23 year old first year teacher, came to me after looking at her copy of the class picture.

Lindsay:         “I look like one of the kids.”

Me:                 “C’mon, I doubt that.”

Lindsay:         “Seriously.  If they wrote ‘Lindsay Dornan’ instead of ‘Ms. Dornan’ as the caption, you’d think I was IN the class, not TEACHING the class.”

I looked at the picture; she was right.  It was difficult to discern her youthful face from the beaming smiles of the 10 year old students that were in her homeroom.  I couldn’t help laughing a little.  I also couldn’t help but think of what it would be like if, in 30 or 40 years, I came across a picture from my first year teaching.  Would I remember how excited and nervous I was on that first day?  Would I remember all the incredible stories from the students that I had that year?  And, would I remember how the year was filled with difficult and unexpected challenges?

***

In the summer of 1966, my father found out that he had been accepted into the University of Missouri doctorate program for metallurgical engineering.  3 years of hard work, careful planning and saving money had come to come to that moment.  Now it was time for the second part of his plan to take effect.  He began packing and preparing for America.  Finally, in November, he boarded an airplane to Seattle, Washington.  He was 23 years old.

When he exited the airplane on November 30, 1966, it was the first time my father had set foot in a different country.  As he told me about that day, I recalled the day I left for college.  That August, my parents drove with me to Boston ease the transition.  When they left, I recall the thought of ‘Oh man, I know no one here, and my family is 500 miles away!’ I was scared, excited, and everything in between – and my friends and family were only a phone call away.  I would see them on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and even some long weekends in between.  Can you imagine the magnitude of emotions that must have been pulsating through my dad?  Not only did he not know anyone, but he didn’t know the language well.  On top of that, the only communication he would have with family is through mail – and in 1966 international mail took weeks – and sometimes even months – to get to its destination.  The next time my father would return to his native Taiwan, he would have a wife and two young children with him.  Not that these thoughts would be on his mind.  He had other things to think about.

The plan was for him to work for a few weeks so finances wouldn’t be as tight when he started his graduate program at the University of Missouri.  My uncle, the 2^nd of the 6 sons that my grandmother bore, had a friend in Seattle that my father would stay with.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to find a job for those weeks so it was off to Missouri without any additional money.  While he didn’t leave with any extra cash, he did come out of Seattle with a strip of black and white photo booth pictures – the only artifacts that remain from his short stay in Seattle.  He stumbled across these pictures during the last week he was in the United States while he was packing to leave.  It seems poetic that he would find pictures from his first week in the U.S. during the final week he was in this country.  These photographs are now a fixture in the mirror above my dresser. He looks almost exactly the same as he does now.

My father, about 1 week after coming to America.

If those pictures could speak, they might tell me that my father was excited for the opportunities that awaited him, but also nervous because of the unknown.  But these pictures don’t speak.  All I see is a confident young man that is in high spirits.  I don’t see the stories this man has to tell about leaving Taiwan or Seattle.  These stories would stay unearthed for 46 years – the first I heard them was the day I drove him to the airport on that final day in the States.  It isn’t because the men of the Lin household are notoriously bad at communicating.  It is because in the grand scheme of things, his time in Seattle was but a flash in time – a minute detail in the great story of his life.  The 23 year old man in those pictures is naïve.  He is unaware of the spectrum of challenges he would face in the next few months.  And, he would learn that he was impervious to all of them.  

Next chapter - An Asian in Missouri, 1967...

Words Never Spoken: Prologue and Chapter I

Hero – noun.  A man admired for his achievements and noble qualities; one who shows great courage.

Tonight I drove my hero to the airport.  No, Superman wasn’t in my passenger seat tonight, and neither were Derek Jeter or Hines Ward.  The person I dropped off at the airport tonight was Dr. Kuang Y. Lin.  After 46 years of living in the United States – exactly 2/3 of his life – my father is moving to the place he still considers home.  My father will be spending his retirement in Taiwan.  This is part I (of hopefully many!) of my tribute to the greatest man that I know.

Prologue

The word 'love' is a complex word in English.  It can be a noun, and it can be a verb.  In Taiwanese, it's not a complex word at all.  That's because there isn't a word for 'love' in Taiwanese.  It doesn't exist.  Maybe that's why I never heard or said the words, "I love you" in the household growing up.  Those words didn't exist.  They were words never spoken.

Similarly, my relationship with my father has been both complex and, on occasion, non-existent.  If you ask either of us, we can probably recall numerous times where I’ve been a terrible son or he’s been a poor father.  I guess this is common for many; after all, we are only human and none of us gets a manual on how to be a good father/son.  Most of us mature and grow out of the stage where we can’t stand our parents, but unfortunately I tend to be a late bloomer.  It has only been in recent years where I’ve realized he’s my hero, and that I want very badly to be more like him.  The evolution of our relationship from one of anger and borderline loathing to one of respect and love is one of many chapters.

Chapter I:  Mr. Barca

“Mr. Barca, I heard that you were an engineer in Ethiopia.”

One of the greatest parts about my job is that I can see parts of my life in each of my 10 year olds.  The week before parent-teacher conferences, another teacher had told me that Mr. Barca, father of one of my students, had been an aeronautical engineer in his native Ethiopia.  

Mr. Barca smiled at me and nodded. 

“Back home, I was,” he said in his soft-spoken way.  “But I need to get more schooling in order for me to be an engineer here in the United States.  I hope to be able to do this soon.  But first, I want to make sure my son gets a good education.”

Mr. Barca is the type of parent that teachers love.  He cares deeply about his son’s education and behavior, gives him plenty of support at home, and also respects and cares for his son’s teachers.  Beyond that, he also took a risk by giving up a great job in his native country to move to the United States.  As we talked about his journey, I began to think that he was similar in many ways to another great man in my life.  Mr. Barca is an engineer with a singular focus – to make sure his son is given the opportunities he didn’t have in Ethiopia.  Similarly, my father once had a singular focus.  It was this focus that brought him to the land of opportunity.

***

My father was born in 1943 in a rural town in central Taiwan.  He was the 4^th of 6 boys, and there was no running water.  I think about the stench in my classroom on days where my students have P.E. and I cringe when I think of what things must have been like for my grandmother in a house full of boys.  Like me, he loved playing outdoors, got into a little mischief, and even got a bad grade a time or two in school.  In fact, he once got a 33% on a test in middle school.  Unlike me though, he cried when the teacher showed him his grade. 

At the ripe old age of 19, my father graduated from the Taiwan Institute of Technology (a hilarious aside – think about what the acronym for that is.  Yes, I’m a 5^th grader at heart).  After serving his mandatory time in the Taiwanese Army, he became a math teacher, then made moldings for a gold company, and then sold electronics.  That last job paid him $75 per month – great pay at the time.  To give you an idea of how high this salary was, my grandfather was a well respected administrator in a hospital, and his pay was only $50 per month.  I asked my father years later why he gave up such a great job, and his answer was simple:

“I wanted to be an engineer.  The opportunities for engineering in Taiwan were not good at that time, and the best opportunity for me would be to come to the United States.”

For 3 years, my dad had a single goal – to come to the U.S. so he could get his engineering doctorate.  3 years is an eternity for a young man.  So much can change, and so much can serve to dissuade us from our initial goal.  I recall being asked where I saw myself in 5 years in an interview after graduating college.  Two years later I couldn’t tell you what that goal was because so much had changed.  But, my father is not like me.  His focus never deviated.  For 3 years, he and my grandfather saved their meager salaries until they had $800 for the one-way ticket to the U.S.  Then, my grandfather mortgaged the land he owned so that my dad could have 2 semesters worth of rent and food.  Everything was in place; my father was about to come to the United States.

I recently spoke with my dad about this dynamic time in his life:

Me:     “Dad, were you scared or nervous when you were getting ready to come to the U.S.?”

Dad:    “No, I was excited.” 

Me:     “Just excited?  I think I’d be scared too.  I mean, what if you didn’t make it in your Ph.D?”

Dad:    “Grampa sacrificed a lot for me.  I couldn’t fail.”

I’ve often thought about that conversation.  Even though I know my grandfather loved my father dearly; culturally, the shame that would have been felt would have been too much for my father to withstand.  On top of that, it would have been financially impossible for him to return to Taiwan.  The courage that my father had to take that risk – to go for his dream despite not having a safety net in case of failure – was incredible, and even heroic.  I want that same noble quality that he has.  I want the courage to strive for a worthwhile goal.  I want to be able to do this with the persistence and single-mindedness that comes when failure is not an option. My father’s admirable achievements in his amazing life are in large part because he has the courage that few men possess.   

Heartache in the Classroom: An unexpected Part II

Valor (noun) – boldness or determination in facing great danger, especially in battle; heroic courage. Synonyms: intrepidity, courage, bravery

Just under two weeks ago, I posted the beginning of a story with the topic of "Heartache" in the classroom. The very next day a different – and far more tragic – story of heartache rocked the suburban town of Newtown,Connecticut. While I still plan on continuing the story of Tala*, I wanted to write an unplanned segment on heartache – and heroism – in the classroom first.

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Undaunted (adjective) –undiminished in courage or valor; not giving way to fear; intrepid.

On December 14, 2012, a 20 year old man entered Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT, and began shooting. 20 students lost their lives, along with 6 adults. Lost among the stories of tragedy was the story of Victoria Leigh Soto, the 1^st grade teacher who did everything possible to protect her children. She hid them in closets and cabinets and, by many accounts, threw herself in front of her children when the gunman entered their classroom. Her students survived. Sadly, Ms. Soto – only 27 years old – did not. I consider Ms. Soto a hero.

When I read Ms. Soto’s story, I was struck by some of the similarities that she has with another person whom I read about not long ago: Jason Lee Dunham.

1)                  Both have the same middle name (albeit, different spellings)

2)                  Both were in occupations which they served others

3)                  Both received far to little pay for the service they provided

4)                  Both gave their lives protecting others at their job

5)                  Both were in their 20s when they passed away

6)                  Both are heroes to the truest extent

You see, Jason Lee Dunham was a 22 year-old Marine squad leader who jumped on a grenade in Iraq. His actions protected at least two of his fellow Marines from certain death. Corporal Dunham was posthumously awarded the highest honor our country can bestow upon anyone of the armed forces – the Medal of Honor. On his citation it reads,

“By his undaunted courage, intrepid fighting spirit, and unwavering devotion to duty, Corporal Dunham gallantly gave his life…”

It is here where the stories of Jason Dunham, United States Marine, and Vicki Soto, 1^st grade teacher, diverge.

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I’m a veteran. Proud as I am of having served in the United States Marine Corps – Infantry no less! – I've always been a tiny bit uncomfortable when people have thanked me for my service. Perhaps it is because being recognized alongside combat veterans of Iraq,Vietnam,and WWII seems to make my service somewhat trivial. Or, maybe it is because I only served two years on active duty, spending the other 6 years of my time in the service as a reservist. Either way, I've never considered myself a hero; not on Memorial Day, Veteran’s Day, Independence Day, or any of the other days we use in the United States to recognize the men and women that have served our great nation.

If you were to take a poll of what might be considered ‘heroic’professions, I’d bet that ‘soldier’, ‘police officer’, and ‘fireman’ would all make the top 10. The reason is simple: for each, their job is to protect and serve, and they don’t have to be killed in the line of duty to command that respect. Similarly, I – like all other service members and veterans – am thanked and given respect regardless of how inconsequential we feel our time in the service was. Although I’ll never be comfortable being recognized in the same breath as the Jason Dunham’s of this world, I am comfortable with respect being shown for those that protect and serve others. I am comfortable that this respect stems in part because it is a ‘heroic’ profession. 

Vicki Soto, 1^st grade teacher, had a job description which required her to protect and serve others. She showed uncommon valor in her actions on December 14, 2012. To all of us –especially the 1^st graders and their families of room 10 in Sandy Hook Elementary – Ms. Soto is a hero for her undaunted courage, intrepid fighting spirit, and unwavering devotion to duty. But, here is where opinions might diverge: Victoria Soto was a hero before she selflessly gave her life to protect her class of 6-year olds. She didn't need to give her life for her to gain that respect.

I hope you will all join me to honor Victoria Leigh Soto the same way we honor the other courageous men and women who went above and beyond a hero's call for the sake of serving and protecting others.  Although I am a veteran, I have never been the hero she was during those dreadful moments on December 14, 2012.

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To the teachers I have known – past, present, and future: I am thankful for your service.

Heartache is Good?

The tears were streaming down 10-year old Tala’s* face, but I wasn’t sure who’s heart hurt worse – hers or mine. 

Do I have a soul?

When the year started I told Lisa* – a 23 year old new teacher who would be joining my team – that I like it when I make my students cry.  She looked at me like I had no soul.  She may have even said it, too (well, maybe not.  I’m pretty sure she thinks I care a lot about my students).  It wasn’t that she couldn’t understand my reasoning:

            “When a child cries because of me, it is because we have built a good relationship, and they have disappointed me.  It’s not that they cry because I’m mean – they cry because they feel bad about something they did.”

But, Lisa is an amazing teacher (I can say that now because I’ve worked with her for a few months now) who loves and cares about children more than just about anyone not named Mother Teresa.  While many of us grew up wanting to be baseball players, doctors, or lawyers, Lisa has wanted to help children learn her entire life.  Seeing children hurt makes her hurt as well, so she couldn’t fathom liking the sight of tears from a child full of remorse. 

One Child’s Story

At the start of every year, I remind myself of what I wanted when I began my venture into public education:  If I could make a difference with just one child each year, I would be happy.  As with most teachers, I often lose sight of those small goals because we want to save them all.  On my most difficult days however, I remind myself of that initial thought and think of a child that I’ve seen grow right before my eyes.  On those days, the mere thought of a child can change my attitude and remind me of why I love my job so much.

This year, 10-year old Tala came into my classroom and was one of many students who told me they hated math.  Unlike most of my students however, she couldn’tbe convinced that math could be fun.  In addition, she disliked reading, talked back to me constantly, and even refused to let me show her different strategies to help her in areas she struggled with.  After 2 conferences with her parents and almost an entire quarter, I was at my wit’s end – she was one of the most difficult students to motivate that I had ever encountered. 

I’m not sure exactly when, but I began to notice subtle changes in her behavior.  Perhaps it was after I helped her find a book that she loved.  Maybe it was after I gave her a high-five when she successfully completed some division classwork that had initially given her trouble.  Or, it could have been when I read her writing aloud to the rest of the class and complimented her writer’s voice before I taught a lesson on how to make good writing even better.  In any case, I was talking to the ELL (English Language Learners) teacher a month ago about our Language Arts class and the topic turned to Tala:

Mr. Lin:                     “We have some really needy kids this year!  I’m pretty worried about them.”

Mrs. P:                       “I know!  But some of them have made great progress.  Like Tala… she’s come such a long way.”

Then, the watershed moment came not long thereafter when she came up to me with her friend:

Tala:                           “Mr. Lin, you’re not as mean as you say you are.  Actually, you’re not mean.  I used to think you were, but you’re not.  You’re actually really nice.”

\          

Mr. Lin (grumpily):  “Hmph.  I’m pretty mean.”

Tala (smiling):            “No, you’re not.”

           

The best of times…

Interims went home to students last week, and on Tala’s I had written,

            “Although her grades don’t fully reflect it, Tala has made significant progress and improvements in her attitude.  If she continues to work hard and keep her positive attitude, I know she will be successful.”

I even called her home yesterday, just so I could tell her parents and sister how proud of her I was.  When I hung up the phone and got in my car to go home, I couldn’t help but smile.  Unfortunately, it was a happiness that was short-lived.

It was the worst of times

The next day, Mrs. P showed me the book reports of two students – one of them was Tala’s:

Mrs. P.:            “These two book reports are the same.  Like, exactly the same, word for word.  They copied each other’s work.”

I couldn’t believe it.  We were determined to get to the bottom of things, and in the process we learned that Tala had read the book and completed the book report, and then wrote the same for her less motivated friend.  Then, it was time to talk to Tala:

            Mr. Lin:         “Do you know why I’m talking with you privately?”

            Tala:               “I think.  I helped Naomi* with the book report.”

I paused for a second, then spoke:

Mr. Lin:         “Tala, you’ve made so much progress this quarter!  I even called your parents yesterday to tell them how great you’ve been this quarter.”

Her large, childlike eyes began to brim with tears as I spoke the words that would hit her like a 10 pound hammer:

            Mr. Lin:         “I told them how proud of you I was.”

The tears were pouring out now like tiny spigots of water.  Her frail body shook as I hugged her, and we both knew no words needed to be said – she was remorseful for her actions, and I was disappointed.  But despite my disappointment, I still loved her.

My heart ached as I left school today and I wasn’t smiling, so did the tears of this remorseful child still bring me joy?

To be continued…

*Names changed