20 Angels

I'm not going to try and make this about my blog or about my words tonight, the tragedy in Newtown Connecticut and the loss of those precious, beautiful children is hardly an event that should be used in any way...

I just feel like I need to write about it, that's all.

So many things have struck me in the past few days.  My son is in 1st grade.  The fallen little angels were all his age. This is perhaps the most haunting of all thoughts that have circled my mind the last few days.  The principal died too.  That didn't escape my attention.  It has also made me angry... last week I called to police on a belligerent parent.  This parent was the 3rd this year that has stepped out of line in our school.  You cannot come into a school and behave inappropriately...period.  There are 250 students under my care. It's time for the adults in this community to behave appropriately, because we are no longer a culture that can take much lightly in the halls of our schools.  This very incident highlights my hypersensitivity to some of the behaviors that happen in the front office, in our community, and at our school board meetings.  I'll think of those 20 angel faces every time someone elevates their behavior, we all will.  How can we not?

I've thought a lot about those teachers too.  The stories of heroism.  I work with people like this everyday. I can't say I'm surprised by these stories.  By their very nature, teachers...these bright individuals who could have otherwise have chosen another, far-better compensated path in life, chose to enter into a field that nurtures human growth. Of course some of them threw themselves in front of their children.  It is the heart and nature of a teacher.  I grieve for their loss too.

...and those babies. Those 20 babies whose life had only begun.  20 Christmas trees sit in the homes of 20  broken-hearted families...and under each, there are gifts, wrapped with love....toys, electronics, dolls, books and trucks that will never touch their little hands.  When the shock subdues, they will see that tree. They will see their names adorning the top of a perfectly wrapped gift-- To Emily, Charolette, Jack, Daniel....

and they will weep.  Like I have wept these past few days. As we have all wept.

20 Angels.

Just now I sat and watched the press conference held by Emilie Parker's dad.  Emilie, only 6 years old, told her dad she loved him before he left for work in Portuguese, because he was teaching her that language. He never saw her again.  He says he's not angry. That we all have free agency and that the gunmen chose to do something horrible with his agency. But, he too had free agency and he wanted to do with this tragedy what his little Emilie would have done.  To help and to forgive.

How?   How does a father, who clearly loved his bright and vivacious daughter speak of forgiveness and love when he will never have the opportunity to share those human elements with her again? How does human compassion prevail in the face of the most horrible of tragedies?

....of all the things that have hurt so deeply the past few days, this, and this alone, gave me a sense of peace.

God Bless your perfect little souls, little angels.  Wrap your tiny angel wings around those who grieve for you and pull them through the darkness.

My Voice

When I was growing up, courage was something other people had. Though I have always had strong opinions about the world around me, they stayed quietly tucked inside my own mind. It didn't even matter that I got stepped on from time to time, because even that was easier than going out on a limb and speaking the truth. If I were that same girl now, I would fail miserably in my field and more importantly, I would be a whisper of a voice, unheard in a loud, loud world.

I can remember very distinctly the day I found my voice.  My teacher's name was Mr. Dennis and I was way over my head in a Sociology class as a sophomore in high school.  I can hardly remember what the topic was we were studying, but Mr. Dennis framed the lesson by asking us all one simple question "what is it you want out of life?" As he worked his way around the room, I formulated the answer in my head and it was very much the same as all the others...'a good house, a nice family, a good job."  You know, the standard answers to the question.  

Then Mr. Dennis arrived at my desk "So, Giacoletti, what is it you want out of life? Let me guess, good make-up, nice hair? Pretty nails?"  

In that moment that meek and unruly piece of me that never spoke up against a thing came barreling out of my system like a bull towards the matador.   "No, Mr. Dennis, I want RESPECT." 

In retrospect, I never remember considering that answer or reformulating my initial response. No, it just flew out of my mouth like instinct. I was being attacked, and I needed to protect myself. Mr. Dennis, without skipping a beat, looked me straight in the eye, pointed at me, and with a small hint of shock in his voice replied "you got it, Giacoletti."  

Turns out, I learned more about sociology and the way people truly work in that moment than I would for the entire rest of the course.  People will cross lines, and they will challenge you, no matter who you are. You can be the nicest person, the most evil, the most giving, the rudest...no matter who you are and or where you fall of the spectrum of personalities, at some point or at many points, people are going to challenge you, who you are, what you stand for...  but sometimes if you simply draw the line in the sand, they do something incredible. They stop.  

I think, ultimately that day though, I learned something about myself, that despite my previous track record as a meek and unruly girl, my voice was the strongest and most powerful defense I had in the world.  That who I was and what I stood for mattered and that if people challenge that in way that is designed to cut my stature in half, I could redeem my height and stand taller than everyone in the room by using that voice...even if it stood to have little impact on the person attacking you. 

I've never stopped using it since.  In fact, one might surmise that I've swung the pendulum entirely the other way. These days, perhaps I use it more than I should, but I'm taller than I've ever been.  Not to mention,  the world and those around me are much clearer about who I am and what I stand for than they have ever been before.  There are certain values that are unshakable in me and if anyone purposefully attacks them or attempts to bring harm to them, you will hear me, loud and clear.  Lately, it seems that same voice that surfaced in Mr. Dennis' class has gotten me in a little hot water with people, but as I sit here and ponder that outcome, I realize that in many ways I've drawn the line in the sand and demanded for the things I value in my life, the same respect I demanded in that classroom that day.  If I sacrifice popularity, relationships, or otherwise, it's a fair trade-off for laying my head on my pillow every night without the sense that who I am and what I stand for hasn't shriveled inside me. 

With that said, I have learned about myself in the past several years that the following things will undoubtedly 'release the cracken' that is my voice:

My kids--don't mess with them.  I have more respect and love for my 4 year old and 6 year old than any blog could ever capture. If you are a mom, don't bother reading on...you get it. However, if there's need for more clarification, let me put it to you this way...from the moment you hear their first little cry,  two realizations come crashing into your world: 1) you are completely in love without truly understanding how and when that happened, and 2) they are the closest thing you have ever known to vulnerability. When you are responsible for their sleep, their health, and their nutrition from the time they are a little 6 pound bundle, it's pretty hard to become unconditioned to that role.  My purpose from the moment they take in the first breath of a relentless world is to keep them safe.  For some reason, as moms, we become trapped in that moment and mindset forever.  I'd crawl through a swampy jungle laced with broken glass for them.  That's how intense a mother's love is.  So, attempt for one moment to mess with my kids and that intensity rises in me like the flames from the smoke of a fresh fire. Mess with  my kids....you'll hear my voice. 

My integrity--I might be a relentless and unwavering voice, but I am a person who is guided by a moral compass. I believe in right and wrong and walk carefully on the side of good and righteous.  I value ideals like honestly and care deeply about doing what is right...and yes, as cliche as this sounds, even in an empty room, when no-one is looking,  my conscious navigates.  I believe in the value of  taking responsibility, saying the words "I'm sorry" when I'm wrong. I believe in second-chances, in redemption. I believe most people are good. I believe doing what is right matters at the end of a life and that the choices you make have a rippling effect in your life. For that reason, I toss honest pebbles into my pond. When you challenge my integrity...you'll hear my voice. 

My husband and my marriage--I make no apologies for the devotion I feel to the man I chose in my life.  He's part of my story, part of who I am, and though he hardly needs my voice...I'll lend it any day and anytime it's needed.  I stand firmly by him because nobody in my life has ever stood as firmly by me as he has. For that and all the love I feel for him, challenge that and you'll hear my voice.

My family and friends--there are people in my life that will have my voice anytime they need it.  When the people who have surrounded me through thick and thin are ever challenged, hurt, and or in need, you will hear my voice. 

The kids I Work For--yes, I work for them.  It's why I have a job.  I challenge constantly the notion that some kids can't be saved. They all can...I believe in all kids. It doesn't mean it always works out, or that I have some power to save all kids...but I sure as hell believe it. I'll never stop. Education is the ultimate equalizer and teachers have more power than batman has cool cars.  They are a light in a dark world, and the day they all believe that, they day they all realize their awesome power to change lives...we would yield more success than ever before. 

There's more, there's always a reason to use your voice. But I should say, I'm not advocating abusing it. Don't get me wrong, this doesn't mean that I walk through life telling everyone I meet what I think and why I think it. I reserve my voice for those moment when what's listed above is challenged, hurt, attacked, compromised or otherwise. I reserve my voice for those moments when I am demanding respect.  It doesn't always end well for me, some people, despite my best efforts will never hear what I am saying. But my soul does....my soul hears me loud and clear. 

In the end, it's pretty funny how full-circle this really is. Mr. Dennis asked me that day what I wanted out of life.  Hmph.  A voice.  I didn't know it then, but it's what I wanted, more than that car, more than that house. I wanted the very thing he helped me find.  I want a strong and confident voice in this world. 

Thank God he gave me my voice, because as it turns out, I refuse to walk through my life as a whisper.  

Peace, Love and Crabs

 

Tonight at Joe's Crab Shack, as I was dining with my district's leadership team, our order took over 45 minutes to come to the table. I am now convinced that the staff at that place spends more time dancing to the cheesy 60's music, underneath the gleam of a twirling disco ball then, serving food! When our food finally made its way past the impromptu Cupid's Shuffle, I was so hungry I went straight for the kill, only to realize an entire 2 bites into my breaded shrimp that....well, I didn't order breaded shrimp.

So, I called the waitress over and reluctantly told her that this wasn't what I ordered. It was reluctant, because despite the fact that I don't like much of anything that's breaded (much less the nasty cod on my plate), I considered eating what was clearly someone else's order because I was that hungry. But, she took it back and I sat for another 10 minutes waiting for my dish, while everyone else around my table cracked their crab shells and moistened their fingers with buttery perfection. But, at least I was comforted in that moment knowing that I had clearly just earned at least 15% off my bill, if not a free double-decker chocolate volcano!

When my bill came, however, it did not include the "our service totally sucked' discount, nor was it attached to the 'we should really not list incompetence as a desired skill in our job description" desert. Hell, I didn't even get an apology.

I thought about complaining, I did. And I am quite certain the acting manager, in her little orange "Peace, Love, and Crabs" tie-died shirt posed no match to me. She looked 12 after all, and I was quite set on that chocolate volcano.

But then I hesitated and I'm glad I did. It occurred to me in that moment that I was about to engage in the very thing that I am often on the receiving end of in my line of work. I could have made a big deal over a minor inconvenience (I mean, really think about some of the inconveniences that some people have to go through in life...hell, I watched my mom go through chemo...NOW that's an inconvenience! waiting 10 extra minutes for some shrimp hardly qualifies as anything more than a minor inconvenience) I could have probably gotten my free desert, but at what expense? So the young guy working the line, dreaming of a better life, but stuck at a little more than minimum wage can listen to the nighttime manager lecture him on his pace and lack of work ethic? Or maybe so the young college-aged waitress can get the same lecture and learn all-too-soon just how unrealistic our expectations are in this world and how unforgiving our nature has become over non-issues?

So, I've learned that principal is synonymous with punching bag. I'm not complaining, it comes with the territory and there isn't a soul connected to education that didn't warn me of this pending doom if I signed the bottom line of an administrative contract. However, the day I became a principal, I didn't stop being a human and so taking punches daily takes a great deal of work. I've had to learn (and quickly) how to deal with what can sometimes be an unforgiving public. I filter complaints daily. Many are legitimate. You have parents step into my office who are genuinely concerned with their child and what is happening in their life 36 hours a week, when they entrust us with them. But, some are unfair, abusive, and downright petty. Some are misguided, some are personal, and some are malicious, and like my dinner experience, there are those who will shut down business in my office to complain about what should have been only a 'minor inconvenience.' It doesn't change how I am trained to respond. Whether legit or whether completely out of line, my professionalism is expected to stay intact. But again, I am human and what my instinct (you know, that survival factor when you are being attacked) is begging me to do is sometimes contrary to what my training dictates. And especially when those attacks have no merit, or when they are triggered by something deeper, something not related school. And so, with every ounce of me, I fight the inner emotions, I listen, I respond, I remain patient and composed, even under fire.

Okay, so where is this all leading? Let's go back to Joe's Crab Shack. I could have complained tonight. I could have had a free meal. I could have, but instead I selected composure and patience. My training dictates I choose this under fire in my job and my experience with those who do not understand either of these traits has taught me the value of both responses in situations of 'minor inconvenience." I have learned not to be so entitled; I have learned not to get all bent out of shape for small things. I reserve my passionate responses for things that really deserve such heat.

I left the restaurant full and happy. I didn't get a free desert. But, well, I got a pretty damn cool blog out of it.

Peace, Love and Crabs, people.

 

Balance

Hello Blogging World,

It's amazing I haven't stepped through your doors sooner.  I've given blogging a lot of thought though, especially since lately I have had this incredible writing burst of energy.  I think it's my souls way of trying to balance out my life. It's competing with that part of my life that demands my mind's logical and objective contributions.  You see, I could use some balance...my current reality is a bit overwhelming. Not in a bad way, just in a really, really overwhelming way.  I'm a mom.  I've got my little sensitive, bright boy, Dante. He's 6.  He's this little light of intelligence and has an old soul.  Then there's my free-spirit firecracker, Isabelle.  She's only 4, but she's got this incredible little identity already.  I've been married 8 years to Dante.  Isabelle takes after him...they're both these passionate, hot-headed, loving, opinionated, go-getters.  My little guy, I like to think his deep little soul came from me. Speaking of balance, I'd say we've got a nice one in our little family.  

Then there's my job. I"m a full-time principal.  I oversee a school of 250 students.  I'm 3 years in, walked away from an incredible teaching job after getting my masters, thinking that I was poised and ready for the challenges of administration only to learn that it was one step away from direct contact with kids and one step closer to direct contact with adults. It's been a challenge everyday to keep my feet grounded and my heart with the kids, while most days I want to run as fast as I can from the fiery pit of administrative politics.  This job has changed me, it's changed my hometown for me, it's changed the way people see me and how I see them, it's changed so much. But the verdict is still out on exactly how and most importantly, why.  I'm still on this journey, which is one reason I wanted to blog.  I'm a writer, so I'm constantly analyzing my life for meaning.  I don't believe for a moment life is just a random set of circumstances. I believe choices, relationships, challenges, joys, heartaches and all the other circumstances of life are all somehow interrelated. They weave together to form stories and themes about life and who we are. We are all a story.  I'm still figuring out how this principal gig plays into my plot...but one things for sure, I'm determined for this chapter in my life to have meaning.

Okay, so where were we before I got philosophical (I tend to take those detours every now and then). Oh yes...mother, wife, principal....and now...student. So as if I hadn't loaded my plate with enough Thanksgiving dinner, I have recently added another side!  I have enrolled in the doctoral program at the University of Phoenix.  Why?  Well, gee, life wasn't crazy enough, ya know?  I had only managed to fill 22 hours of my day with my other responsibilities, so I needed something to do with the other 2! ha. No, really, I guess I pulled the trigger because I have learned that anything is possible and this shall be one more journey I embark on to keep me floating higher and higher.  

So, I'm starting a blog because my life is so, so serious. It's so, so full. And yes, while I am a willing participant in scholarly conversations and administrative tasks that demand data-driven analysis and constructive, critical problem-solving, I am also, at my very core, a creative soul, bursting with this writing energy.  I feel a connection to words, to language, to the beauty and power of them. Words fix me.  They make my emotions tangible and real.  They are a part of who I am and with all that has been consuming my life, they have not materialized the way they should have over the last couple of years. Yet lately, I'm even dreaming of writing.  

I hadn't really creatively written in years.  But then the other day, though I had somehow lost touch with my writing...my writing found me. 

I was have a horrible day. It was the culmination of many bad days and pure frustration over broken relationships and rough waters.  I wanted to throw something, cry, explode...something.  I needed some way to cope.  To deal with the onset of cumbustion.  Then, almost as if being pulled in a dreary trance, I opened my laptop and through tears, my emotions materialized: 

Shaking and weak, but lifted and moving
She’s the foot in front of the other, positioned for proving
That these tears are not weakness, they are the inner floods draining
Because she is not dying, she is holding on, she is sustaining

She is the whispers that twine into a soft, pleading prayer
The deep drawn breath that fills the chest with air
And when the heart weakens, it’s rhythm left for dead, bloody in the street
She pounds into our inner bass drum and revives it’s steady beat

She is the force that pulls the defeated hands back down from the sky
So they are free to revive the soul that refuses to die
She is the wind on our back that moves us inexplicably on
That pulls our gaze from the ground and towards the morning dawn

She is voice in the distance that beckons the bloodied warrior to rise
To drag her body off the crimson sand and look her past in his eyes
And when the earth swallows us into the mouth of ravenous quick sand
She reaches through the darkness and drags our breathless body to land

She is the vessel that crashes against the crushing tides of life’s relentless sea
Her name is Strength...and tonight she resides in me.

It was total release and it reminded me of what my therapy looks like. I've been craving it ever since.  So, I'm going to give blogging a shot.   To allow my soul to feast on the creative banquet.  To take me back to a familiar place. To bring peace to chaos...to give me, and my bursting little soul... balance.