Chris, thank you for writing this. The boys are beautiful. You are beautiful. I've been very angry as well, for most of the same reasons, feeling hopeless and wanting to do something. We can do many things but they all begin with love and kindness, first to those close to us and ourselves.
As a white man, my anger is superfluous. No matter how I direct it, it is anger by proxy, angry for others, anger against the power I'm a part of. Kindness, that I can do. And it is never superfluous. There's always a need somewhere.
And there is a great need for kind men like you to teach.
I'm returning to poetry. I live where Walt Whitman wrote Leaves of Grass. I am going to read it where he was inspired. Maybe I'll write some again, too.
Don't forget to be kind to yourself.
You deserve it.
This all sounds sappy as hell, but I mean it. We will save all we can together. It's all we can do.
Chris, this is beautiful. Your poetry class has made such a positive and unique impact on my students. My students have been more vulnerable then ever before because of your class, which has made it easier for them to express their feelings. One student in particular who has difficult life at home has said to me, "I have so much on my mind, but when I write, my mind feels emptier."
Jacqueline, thanks for telling me, and thanks for commenting. I love your students, and the vibe of your classroom. And the unanticipated coffee saved my day.
My, my, my - this is the first thing I’ve read today and I feel like you gifted me a good day. It’s hard to find the good in all the bad, isn’t it? But you’re doing it. This struggle is worth it. You are the person who created a space for that boy to sing, and for another to love him for being open. That’s so intense and beautiful. You did that! That’s amazing! Keep pushing through, Chris. Keep pushing love out there. And know that I am with you every time you’re on the side of the road, panicking, and don’t know why. I do that too. How our roadsides are not filled with people like us, screaming into the safe void of our cars, I don’t know. Xo
Yes to all of this. So many people (myself included) seem to be especially struggling lately. In some ways, it feels as if we've lived in this strange pandemic world too long. There's no normal to go back to anymore, our reserves are depleted, the violence and ignorance and cruelty around us never seems to stop. We're all raw all the time. Your story about the boys in your poetry class made my heart break open because I do think that's exactly what we need--even though we're all there right now, trading off those two roles is important right now. Letting ourselves be vulnerable around someone safe, and also being there for someone we care about. The first is necessary because we need to acknowledge exactly how hard everything is right now, how isolating. The second because it takes getting out of ourselves to rebuild towards some semblance of whole. Thank you for writing this. Your thoughts always help me put words to something I've been feeling but unable verbalize.
The story of the Two Boys is the most hopeful thing I have read in a significant period of time.
There's a story about Tolkien that may be apocryphal, but it has stuck with me through the years. He was involved in the trench warfare in France during WW1, and it was in those trenches that he began to work out the world and the story of Bilbo Baggins. I don't know if he came up with his "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world" line during the Battle of the Somme, but the idea of being completely surrounded by some of the worst pieces of humanity while dreaming of a life of community and peace and artistic expression of those ideals is one that feels so relatable right now.
I keep telling these kids that paying attention is necessary because one never knows when something that you will carry with you the rest of your life will happen. I feel that moment is one of those very scenes for me.
What a sensitive post. Those kids are lucky to have you shuffling in to engage and encourage them. Your role, perhaps, is that of the old wise ones who carried with them the group's memories--the good ones and the bad ones--who helped guide the path forward?
I'm slowly hearing this more and more, and I'm so grateful when it is touched on: We have to commit to action to create change and not just hope for it ...and hope that the wind carries it to someone who can do it "better than we can." Nah. There's action in us. It's in you teaching, even when you're fighting. It's that little boy going in for a hug because it's his soul telling him what needs to be done. That's all of us figuring out one more action, however small, to make this world a little bit better every day.
Damn, I'm getting my morning cry in for sure. Those kids are lucky to have you. May I share your post on my blog? I'm have writer's block, really just hurting in a way I can't seem to put words to the paper these days.
Oh man, this pierced me right in the chest today. Thank you for voicing it: "Maybe something different is broken, some frayed binding finally snapped." Sharing this fear, suspecting sth similar has gone awry inside myself this year.
And yes, to love. And yes, to poetry! And most of all to shuffling into classrooms, literal/metaphorical, empty/full, guiding ourselves & others to a shared sense of both these things.
Thank you for this morning’s gift of such beautiful truth. Tears are good an honest expression of being moved. The children will always have your words as well as their own. Haiku is so powerful what better introduction to their own emotions . Your story has a way of weaving threads into whole cloth. From an old weaver of threads.
I’m having these cracking moments too, and can imagine just those spots in Missoula, though I’m far from home. Thanks for writing, and for teaching—the kids and the rest of us.
I've been feeling raw today and this let me actually, really, feel it. I am so grateful for you and your words. Both of those views break me a little, too.
I read this first thing this morning, and had to come back to it for a second reading after I'd had some time to think about it.
Chris, from where I sit, you're doing your part by sharing what you're going through, and even more so by being the person in those kids lives to show them what grace looks like in real life. The active love of which you speak is you sharing what you're learning and seeing, like the story of the two boys (which floored me as much as everyone else). That's your gift. And the work of sharing it IS the practice of active love. Yes, the world around us is a mess, and so much is out of our control. Yet each one of us can have an impact, if we only use the gifts we have and try to share ourselves with others. You're doing that. And it's having an effect on all of us: your readers, your friends, your family and those kids who are at a point in their lives when what the world imprints on them sets them on a course that ultimately helps form what kind of human beings they will be. If I'm one of those kids parents, I'm incredibly thankful for your putting yourself out there and sharing yourself with my child. When you're angry and upset and feeling like what the point of it all is, remember those two boys, and the core of that emotion and empathy.
Chris, thank you for writing this. The boys are beautiful. You are beautiful. I've been very angry as well, for most of the same reasons, feeling hopeless and wanting to do something. We can do many things but they all begin with love and kindness, first to those close to us and ourselves.
As a white man, my anger is superfluous. No matter how I direct it, it is anger by proxy, angry for others, anger against the power I'm a part of. Kindness, that I can do. And it is never superfluous. There's always a need somewhere.
And there is a great need for kind men like you to teach.
I'm returning to poetry. I live where Walt Whitman wrote Leaves of Grass. I am going to read it where he was inspired. Maybe I'll write some again, too.
Don't forget to be kind to yourself.
You deserve it.
This all sounds sappy as hell, but I mean it. We will save all we can together. It's all we can do.
Thank you, Thomas. We could all use more sappy.
Lots of us as Americans are with you. Time to bring the barriers between we the people down. Strength in numbers. All stand or we all fall.
Chris, this is beautiful. Your poetry class has made such a positive and unique impact on my students. My students have been more vulnerable then ever before because of your class, which has made it easier for them to express their feelings. One student in particular who has difficult life at home has said to me, "I have so much on my mind, but when I write, my mind feels emptier."
Thank you,
Jacqueline
Jacqueline, thanks for telling me, and thanks for commenting. I love your students, and the vibe of your classroom. And the unanticipated coffee saved my day.
My, my, my - this is the first thing I’ve read today and I feel like you gifted me a good day. It’s hard to find the good in all the bad, isn’t it? But you’re doing it. This struggle is worth it. You are the person who created a space for that boy to sing, and for another to love him for being open. That’s so intense and beautiful. You did that! That’s amazing! Keep pushing through, Chris. Keep pushing love out there. And know that I am with you every time you’re on the side of the road, panicking, and don’t know why. I do that too. How our roadsides are not filled with people like us, screaming into the safe void of our cars, I don’t know. Xo
It's true. Maybe it would be better if more of us DID just pull off and let it roar.
Yes to all of this. So many people (myself included) seem to be especially struggling lately. In some ways, it feels as if we've lived in this strange pandemic world too long. There's no normal to go back to anymore, our reserves are depleted, the violence and ignorance and cruelty around us never seems to stop. We're all raw all the time. Your story about the boys in your poetry class made my heart break open because I do think that's exactly what we need--even though we're all there right now, trading off those two roles is important right now. Letting ourselves be vulnerable around someone safe, and also being there for someone we care about. The first is necessary because we need to acknowledge exactly how hard everything is right now, how isolating. The second because it takes getting out of ourselves to rebuild towards some semblance of whole. Thank you for writing this. Your thoughts always help me put words to something I've been feeling but unable verbalize.
Anni, thank you for your words. I'm sure happy our paths crossed.
The story of the Two Boys is the most hopeful thing I have read in a significant period of time.
There's a story about Tolkien that may be apocryphal, but it has stuck with me through the years. He was involved in the trench warfare in France during WW1, and it was in those trenches that he began to work out the world and the story of Bilbo Baggins. I don't know if he came up with his "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world" line during the Battle of the Somme, but the idea of being completely surrounded by some of the worst pieces of humanity while dreaming of a life of community and peace and artistic expression of those ideals is one that feels so relatable right now.
I keep telling these kids that paying attention is necessary because one never knows when something that you will carry with you the rest of your life will happen. I feel that moment is one of those very scenes for me.
Hopefully they never have to relearn that once you open for your people, they will open back and that shared humanity will keep your clock ticking.
Frodo Lives!
Wow. This is so incredibly moving and human.
Thank you, Betsy.
What a sensitive post. Those kids are lucky to have you shuffling in to engage and encourage them. Your role, perhaps, is that of the old wise ones who carried with them the group's memories--the good ones and the bad ones--who helped guide the path forward?
Linda, thank you. Old? Getting there. Wise? Well ... it's a work in process, and it's something that claims us, not the other way around, heh.
Wise just may have crept up and claimed you while you were pondering that "old" comment. :-)
I'm slowly hearing this more and more, and I'm so grateful when it is touched on: We have to commit to action to create change and not just hope for it ...and hope that the wind carries it to someone who can do it "better than we can." Nah. There's action in us. It's in you teaching, even when you're fighting. It's that little boy going in for a hug because it's his soul telling him what needs to be done. That's all of us figuring out one more action, however small, to make this world a little bit better every day.
A little bit better every day. I like that. Thank you.
Damn, I'm getting my morning cry in for sure. Those kids are lucky to have you. May I share your post on my blog? I'm have writer's block, really just hurting in a way I can't seem to put words to the paper these days.
Feel free, Frances.
Oh man, this pierced me right in the chest today. Thank you for voicing it: "Maybe something different is broken, some frayed binding finally snapped." Sharing this fear, suspecting sth similar has gone awry inside myself this year.
And yes, to love. And yes, to poetry! And most of all to shuffling into classrooms, literal/metaphorical, empty/full, guiding ourselves & others to a shared sense of both these things.
Thank you, Clare.
Thank you for this morning’s gift of such beautiful truth. Tears are good an honest expression of being moved. The children will always have your words as well as their own. Haiku is so powerful what better introduction to their own emotions . Your story has a way of weaving threads into whole cloth. From an old weaver of threads.
Thank you, Diane. And thanks for the shout-out for haiku!
I’m having these cracking moments too, and can imagine just those spots in Missoula, though I’m far from home. Thanks for writing, and for teaching—the kids and the rest of us.
Thanks for reading, Sarah.
Thank you for this writing....it brought me to tears...in a very good, and apparently deeply needed way. Heartfelt, deep, beautiful work! 🙏🏻
Sometimes tears are exactly what we need.
I've been feeling raw today and this let me actually, really, feel it. I am so grateful for you and your words. Both of those views break me a little, too.
I hope you're home soon. We can cry at each other from a safe distance.
I read this first thing this morning, and had to come back to it for a second reading after I'd had some time to think about it.
Chris, from where I sit, you're doing your part by sharing what you're going through, and even more so by being the person in those kids lives to show them what grace looks like in real life. The active love of which you speak is you sharing what you're learning and seeing, like the story of the two boys (which floored me as much as everyone else). That's your gift. And the work of sharing it IS the practice of active love. Yes, the world around us is a mess, and so much is out of our control. Yet each one of us can have an impact, if we only use the gifts we have and try to share ourselves with others. You're doing that. And it's having an effect on all of us: your readers, your friends, your family and those kids who are at a point in their lives when what the world imprints on them sets them on a course that ultimately helps form what kind of human beings they will be. If I'm one of those kids parents, I'm incredibly thankful for your putting yourself out there and sharing yourself with my child. When you're angry and upset and feeling like what the point of it all is, remember those two boys, and the core of that emotion and empathy.
Thanks for sharing your gifts with us all.
Thank you, Brooks. I still owe you an email, and I WILL get to it.
Beautiful as ever, Chris. "Being broken open is hard." Hard, for sure, but so important.
Joanna, thank you.