October

Wow.  My last post was on Father's Day....June.  That's almost four months ago.  As I grow older, time seems to literally go by faster.  I had always heard that truism from my aunts, but I now believe it.  How can it be that I am starting my 30th year as a teacher at Archbishop O'Hara?  How can it be that I have three children, ages 21, 23, and 25.

Somehow I let the first year anniversary of my dad's death pass by.  Jack and Phil and I gathered in Jefferson City last Saturday and finally settled Dad's estate.  I don't see them as much as I would like.   Somehow we are all too busy living our lives to spend much quality time with each other.  I have vowed to drag them, kicking and screaming, if necessary, into more "quality time opportunities."  Dad always made time for his sister and their families; and I am desperately trying to keep up the tradition, planning another trip to Iowa this very weekend.  Iowa and my aunt's farm have become an anchor for me in many ways.  Mom and Dad moved from our family home in 2002 and although they had a lovely home in Jefferson City, it was never, quite home.  But, somehow, my aunt Barbara's farm in Iowa is that anchor.  I grew up there.  My kids grew up there.  And, although Aunt Barbara is 95, I still find solace and comfort in her "place."  I can't wait to see Aunts Betty and Barbara!

Father's Day

Today is my first father's day without my dad.  Dad has been gone since September and so I didn't expect today to touch me in the way that it has.  Perhaps it was Father Stewart's blessing for Fathers.  As I looked around at all the fathers standing for the blessing, I couldn't help but compare them to my own dad.  I know many terrific fathers and father figures.  But as much as I admire these men, the one I called "dad" was MY dad, Bamber H. Wright.  In many ways, he wasn't especially remarkable.  He went to college, joined the military, serving in the China, Burma, India theatre during WWII,  returning home to marry my mom, going to work for and eventually runnnig Anchor Milling Company, a family owned lumber yard and feed store.

He was a Girl Scout leader (yup, girl scouts), a deacon in his church, and the president of the school board, for a time.  But, for me, and for my brothers, what really mattered was that he was our dad. And, he was a remarkable dad.   He was the one who chased away the monsters under the bed, who took us on endless "cat arounds" on too many Sunday afternoons to count, who made sure we went to and stayed in college, who loved our spouses, and adored our kids.  I never remember my dad spanking us, although my mom did on a few occasions.  I think he couldn't bear the thought of striking a child.  Child abuse and abortion were things he couldn't wrap his head around because he loved kids, kids of every age and every kid.  Every child who came into the store or who dad ran into in town or at church was greeted with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.    Kids in trouble could come to dad.  And they often did.  Cousins Bob and Ron stayed several weeks every summer with us and Dad "fathered" them all.  He didn't mind giving advice, which he often did, and his "sayings" are part of my everyday vocabulary even today.  He talked about "needing that like a hog needs Easter" and having too many "oars in the water" and being "nervous as a whore in church."  Even after he moved to Jefferson City, he knew the names, birthdays, and ages of every kid on his street and he loved giving them a silver dollar on his or her birthday.

Dad taught me so much about parenting and teaching, too.  He taught me never to give up on a kid, my own or someone else's.  He taught me about honor and respect and kindness.  Dad taught me the value of hard work and the importance of family.  No matter where I went or what I did, I knew that with a phone call I could summon his help or advice, whether I was in England shepherding students on a field course or in Lees Summit fixing a leaky faucet. There was a great comfort in that certainty, knowing that always he was there, to hold my hand when I was upset or tell a great story about this or that   After mom died, I called him every night until he moved into the nursing home.  And, I am certain that in the last  couple of years, he couldn't understand a thing I said; but, he would say "okay" and "how are the kids?" and "I am fine."We rarely talked for more than a couple of minutes, but it was enough.

Dad didn't much like modern technology, but he had a cell phone and he would carry it everywhere with him.  Even in his last few months, when he was almost completely deaf, he would open and close that phone, holding it as a kind of security I think.  I wish I had been able to teach him to text.  I think he would have loved staying in touch that way.  But, he often said he was too old to learn, although he enjoyed his email machine.  We could keep in touch that way, too, and I know he delighted in his almost daily emails from Sarah and the other occasional missives from Phil or Sue or me.

I miss you,  dad.  We're doing well and I think you'd be happy that I call Aunt Betty pretty regularly and that I sent Christmas cards to Mary Sue and Clayton.  You would love our new puppy and you would be pleased that Matt wants to become a cop and that he and Becca both made the honor roll this semester and that Sarah is almost finished with her master's.  We love you and think of you every day.  Your lessons of love live on in all of us who knew you.  Happy Father's Day, Dad.

Friendships, Work, and Summer

It's been an interesting couple of days for exploring what it means to be a friend and to have a friend.  Last night I got to spend some time with people that I don't get to see enough on a regular basis, Todd and Kathy Magwire.  I still feel so badly for what happened to Todd at O'Hara, and I often think that I didn't do enough to impact those decisions.  I knew in my gut at the time that he was a victim of an ouster campaign that had very little to do with the actual incident; but, I was ultimately powerless to make any real difference.  I often think that if I had said X or done Y, that perhaps there could have been a different outcome.  That opportunity has passed me by, but it has made me more aware of those other opportunities that I should speak out and stand up.

I so admire the way in which Kathy stuck by and for him.  And, I hope that he is right in his conviction that God has led him to a different place for His own reasons.  I have been having my own challenges of faith and I admire people who can stick to a conviction even in the face of difficulty.  Last night, too, I learned more about another friend.  I knew she was a woman of deep faith and conviction; but, I hadn't heard her express it with quite so much conviction before.  I, too, believe that faith in God and faith in the church are two different kinds of faith.  Since humans make up the church, it is reasonable that they make flawed and sometimes hurtful decisions.  It's hard to distinguish sometimes between the two...but, as I listened to Mary, I found hope and heart.  Thanks, Mary.

And, I learned more about friendship and mothering today.  Someone made a comment about my son, a hurtful, mean-spirited comment.  And that someone passed the comment along to him.  It's just a comment, but what we say and how we say it always makes a difference.  I think really that mean spiritedness is never random or unintentional; it always hurts, even when said in the heat of a moment.  And, so, I have always urged my kids and my students to think before they say something that they can really never take back.

Words matter.  The way we speak and what we say makes a difference.  Words can heal and they can hurt.  Pay attention to what you say and how you say it.  I know that I will be more conscious of my words, reflecting on the lessons of these last couple of days.  Thanks, friends, for teaching me what it means to be a real friend...once again...and for valuable lessons that I still need to be reminded of.

End of the Year Thoughts

The end of the school year is a bit like the curves on Highway 17 in a blinding rain....you know they are there...and you are expecting them....but you come upon them so quickly that they surprise you.  I know it's not an analogy that many will understand; but, if you've driven highway 17, you'll get it.  The end of the school year is like that for me.  I know it's coming...I'm prepared for it...and then suddenly it's upon me in a flash of graduation parties, Baccalaureate, teacher farewells, final exams, semester grades, and Prom.  It happens so quickly, there's barely a moment to slow down.

I want to savor the friendships of those teachers who are moving on...some to new jobs and some to new chapters in their lives.  I want to say so long, but not goodbye, to those students that I've grown to love and cherish over the four short years that I've known most of them.  I want to stop and reflect on those things that went well and those things that could use improvement; but, in the flurry of the business that is the end of the year, I don't have the time.

Teaching is a unique profession.  I can't think of too many careers  that allow you the luxury of  starting over each August, each year with it's challenges and promises, difficulties and joys.  And, it's a uniquely sad profession, too.  So many of the things that we do, we do in the blind faith that they will, one day, make a difference.  The difficult student will grow up; the struggling student may, eventually, find a course, a job, a passion that will excite him (or her); the immature student will one day get married and have kids of their own, and perhaps, if we are lucky, remember the lessons that we drilled into his head each day about family and faith and God and each other...And, so, once again, it is May...the time of year that teachers (and students) anticipate with joy and enthusiasm; and also that time of year that makes us, at least some of us, reflective and for a moment, regretful of all those opportunities that we missed and student's whose lives we touched and didn't.

Onward to next year....in cheers and celebration of all that we did accomplish during this chaotic, crazy year.

Mothering

Ah, as Father Stewart reminded us today, next week is Mother's Day. And, I still miss my mom...her wisdom, her smile, her energy and enthusiasm for Cardinal baseball, fishing, and her family. I think a lot about mothering and mothers, young and old. Yesterday I had the privilege of attending a baby shower, given by the "aunties" of a dear young friend who is expecting her first baby. Surrounded by family, she's embarking on a journey fraught with perils and opportunities for joy. As I told her in my piece of parenting advice, "babies are God's way of reassuring us that life is good and that He does, in fact, exist." Who cannot hold a baby and not marvel at God at work in the world. And, as anxiety ridden and stress filled as new motherhood can be, I think it is easier in some ways than parenting the 20 somethings. They are young people embarking on their own, learning and growing, stumbling and failing, loving and trying. It's so hard to watch when they make dumb decisions, despite your best advice and constant worry. Every ambulance siren that ever sounds, every tear, every heartbreak, that they experience, touches the mother, too. All we can do is be there to help pick up the pieces, to remind them that life is messy and that the journey is worth the effort, that finding love and happiness is possible, although never really easy. Mothers matter. Take heart all of you who mother, whether you mother a baby, an older child, a student, a niece, a friend, or a stranger. Mothers, too, are God's way of being present in our world.

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Musings on my birthday

Wow, tomorrow I will be 58.  That's amazing....because, in so many ways, I feel as though I am still about 16.  I have three adult children, and in some ways, I feel as though I still know nothing about living or how to be a good mom or a good teacher.  How is that I have grown old?  When I look at my terrific kids, I feel it is appropriate that they are 25, 22, and 20.  It seems right.  I remember their babyhoods and their childhoods with smiles.  But, it doesn't seem right that I'm 58.  58.  That's a pretty big number.  Lots of people don't make it to 58.  Have I done anything that really matters in my 58 years on the planet?  Have I made a difference?  I have loved almost every moment of those 58 years.  There have some times that I could have done without.  Childbirth was NOT fun.  Losing my mom and dad were heart wrenching experiences.  Watching my husband struggle with dementia is not great.  But, still, most times have been good.  There have been far more smiles than frowns; more happiness than sadness; more hope than fear.  I've loved my job and I have amazing people in my life who make a difference for good each day.

Could it really have been so long ago that I sat in my bedroom with  my best friend, Connie, and dreamed about who I would marry and what my children would be like?  I feel caught up in some kind of cosmic time warp.  Wasn't it just yesterday that Connie and I were sharing dreams and stories?  And, I miss my mom and dad.  Hardly a day goes by that I don't think of them and even start to pick up the phone to tell them about this or that event.  Becca had a dream the other night that dad was sitting in the big chair in the living room.  He told her he loved her.  Can it really be that he's been gone from us for 6 months already?

There are no easy answers to these questions, but the fact that I can pose them gives me hope.  Here's to the next 58.  I will never stop loving, or learning, until I stop living.  And, in the end, that is all that I really want.

Awaiting a New Pope

As a lifelong Catholic, I remember the popes John XXIII, Paul VI, John Paul I, John Paul II, and Benedict (I’ve probably missed one).  The Cardinals are meeting in conclave and I, like many Catholics, am mildly interested in the results.  I do not think that my personal happiness or that of my family or my salvation hinges on the question of the personality or even the office of the next pope.  Frankly, and I say in this in all sincerity, I find the office of the Pope a bit redundant.  Recently, a friend of mine was told by her school district that her services were “redundant” and that she would not be offered a contract for 2013.  I’m not sure what “redundant” means to the school district and she would never, ever be considered redundant.  However, I do believe, perhaps, the office of the Pope has become so.  How I live my life each day has very little to do with the politics or personality of the pontiff.  I can admire him (and how sad that I can never say her) but he really makes no difference in how I go about teaching, how I respond to the challenges of living as a moral Christian in the 21^st century, or even, really, what I believe about the sanctity of life, or the institution of marriage, or the nature of God.  My parish priest.  He makes a difference.  He challenges me, argues with me, humbles me.  But, even he is not directed by a far off figure 3,000 miles (and many centuries) away.  

Growing up, my brothers, mom, and I were the only Catholics in our profoundly Protestant midwestern hometown.  And, my best friend and I had many spirited arguments about the papacy.  Literally, she had been told that in a neighboring Catholic community, the houses of the nuns had tunnels that connected with the rectory.  And, although she was never a bigot, many in our small town had no idea of even what to think about a Pope.  For many Americans, even Catholics, the pope is too foreign, too removed from how Americans, and the American Church, lives out the gospel message.

And, so American Catholics wait for white smoke.  And, I think for most of us, it will be met with interest and perhaps some hope; but, for many of us, the Pope is too foreign, too distant, too removed from the way in which we live our lives to make a real difference.  In the 21^st century, the Pope reminds me of the monarchs of England..historically significant but redundant.