"I'm just trying to do good here."

"You have a kind heart. I can tell you pray every day, inside it."

Those words were uttered by a man I had never met, and will probably never again see. But they are lodged in my mind, and I feel the need to share a story I have not told anyone. Bear with it, if you will. It has a point.

One week ago, I had the opportunity to travel with two other coaches to a mid-sized city to observe spring football practice, interact with coaches, and get an up-close look at a major college program as they try to rebuild. One morning, I woke up, and not wanting to wake the other two people who were not afflicted with whatever it is that keeps me from sleeping past 6:30 am, I grabbed shorts and shoes and slid out the door.  A combination of hatred for treadmills and the clear, warm morning led me outside for a walk.  I wandered, really without a direction except to see neighborhood.  It was pretty cool. I met every person on the street the same way I meet every kid in the hallway before school. I nodded and said "Good morning" or "Hello." Apparently, despite the fact that this city is as Midwestern as it can get, size does matter. My small town greetings were not brushed off, but most simply nodded, maybe smiled, but none responded with much else. That is, until I turned down a one block street with a bench at the end.

As I walked, I noticed a man trodding along ahead of me. His coat was dirty and crumpled, and his hat was sweat-stained.  He was a little bit ahead of me, and when he reached the bench, he dropped onto it, more heavily than would seem warranted that early. I nodded and said, "Good morning" as I neared the bench. It was then that I noticed just how rough and grisled he looked. However, he looked up, and for the first time that morning, someone replied, "Good morning." I kept walking past the bench, but then I had to stop. Behind me I heard him say, "Bless you. You are a good person." It slammed me to a stop. When I turned around and walked back, he looked up at me. "You have a kind heart. I can tell you pray every day, inside it." Odd? Maybe. Strange from a stranger? Perhaps. But his words, words he had no reason to say, struck me. Hard.

I did not know what else to do. I had slipped out without grabbing anything. And he was not asking for anything either. So I did the one thing I can do.  I talked. The only thing that seemed appropriate was to say "Thank you." I meant it. We talked more, briefly.  As I walked away, I said, "You hang in there. Have a good day."

"I will. I'm just trying to do good here."

Tonight, with the weather clear and calm, I went for another walk. The rough, haggard man sat in my mind. Recently, an incredible colleague of mine said that great teachers, teachers who make a difference, share a heart, and they let it guide them in what they do. Today, one of our students presented her Passion Project, which explored the effects of affirmation on others. I'll post the video component below.  It is worth a look. In essence, she skillfully illustrated this thought that has been rolling in my head but that I was struggling to form into something more coherent.

Affirmation Creation

"I'm just trying to do good here."

The young lady wanted her project to drive her classmates to find those who mean something to them, those who have a positive impact on their lives, and let them know it, while they can. It is simple, it is free, and it is meaningful. As she told my class, for some, affirmation is a love language that can have a significant effect on people. But we have to use it. Too often, we let the opportunity pass.

Sometimes, I might read too much into things.  My students will tell you that is true. And maybe that is what I am doing here. But so what.  I realized I do pray every day, inside my heart. And over and over again, my prayers are answered. My kids are bright, loving individuals. They are incredible in being who they are. At school, amazing young people move through my room each day. Some have organized workdays to help a local homeless shelter, while another has organized a student-driven club with the mission "to make sure every student knows they have someone in their corner." Students are teaching grade schoolers to care for animals, conducting lessons on the dangers of judging a book by its cover, guiding Cares Club kids to explore the benefits of fine arts, and constructing motors using exotic metal alloys. One young lady has published a literary magazine for teens and submitted a manuscript for publication, several students have composed music and performed in amazing fashion, a young man has explored how writing serves as therapy for young people, and a young lady has explored how healthy exercise can improve mental health. The list can go on, but you can get the idea. These are amazing people. They are not "just kids". They are kids who have drive, intelligence, talent, and, most importantly, heart.

This afternoon I walked into the hallway outside a classroom where I had covered a class. I saw one of my students and said, "Hey, you missed my class today." He ran to me, gave me a hug, and said, "I know buddy! I'm sorry." How could I not end my day happy? A prayer, in its own little way, was answered. Just as so many others are, every day.

And I am inspired by those people I see each day. Those individuals remind me each day that they, and I, are striving for one thing:

"I'm just trying to do good here."

30 for 30 2018 Let's Do It.

So, April is National Poetry Month. One challenge that is blowing up my Twitter - my Twitter feed is populated by teachers, poets, and students, among other positive people - is the 30 for 30 Challenge . This has nothing to do with ESPN, but everything to do with writing. I will be challenging my Creative Writing Class when we return to school tomorrow to attempt this challenge. Since it is up to me model what we do, I am going to follow the lead of author Jason Reynolds, whose novel in verse Long Way Down is a must-read, and Sarah Kay, whose style and sincerity serves as an example for so many of our students; I am attempting the 30 for 30 Challenge. I plan to add each day's attempt to this post.  They may be rough, and they may be flimsy at times, but I will try my best. You have to get your hands dirty to grow a garden, so maybe these will be a few seeds that can grow.  Or perhaps it will all be manure.  Either way, it will be mine.

April 5

(#wtwrites prompt: What is your favorite monster’s self-care routine?)

“A Creature’s Dilemma”

Why wash this face

When none shall see it

But as a mask that haunts the night?

Why scrub these hands

When none reach for them

But as claws that carry them fright?

Why bend these lips

When none shall kiss them

But shrink from their whispered breath?

Why hold to this clean soul

When they’ve already damned it

And scream for my torturous death?

April 4

(#wtwrites prompt "What is something from your childhood that you lost, but still remember?")

Brownie

Eyes that never shed a tear

Nor turned downward in disappointment.

A smile that seemed stitched as

A permanent reminder that kids,

They should be happy.

A back that seemed to be purposely made

To serve as a pillow,

No matter how heavy the head.

And ears, hanging limply,

But forever at the ready to listen.

No one was ever so loyal,

So steadfast and true,

As he was,

My constant companion,

Until tossed one day away,

Or pushed back in the shadows.

April 3

“Wounds”

Surrounding me, silent, are loved ones with wounds -

Some hardened to scars, some fresh and raw -

That no one sees at a glance,

But that inflict just as much

Pain

As a spear in one’s side

Or nails through one’s palms,

Wishing only for some salve -

A healing hand,

Warm heart,

Kind word,

Gentle smile -

To embrace them in

Healing hope.

April 2

One day, words

that spin like steel balls in a Pinball Game,

Bouncing plunger to bumper to flipper

Setting off flashes and clangings

That seem unending

Driving every other thought into the darkness

And shadows,

Will roll gently from my mouth or spill smoothly from my pen.

But not today.
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April 1

Easter morning,

But the stone was still here,

Sitting heavy in hearts,

Under the gray cast of the cold dawn,

Heavy clouds hanging low,

And bitter cold, not crisp, piercing,

Screamed, sending those seeking solace

To seek shelter.

Then,

As the day called for its close,

The sun peeked through,

Sending slants of celestial substance,

Taking the day

Behind the gray that blocked our view,

Reminding us so subtly

Of what seems to simple:

It was always there,

Waiting for us to remember

It is not about the clouds or the stone,

But always about the sun.