As the child grows…

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 11, 2009 . 10:49AM

When AJ was little, he had mad empathy. When other babies would cry, he would wail like crazy. This has never left him and I’m inclined to believe it’s part of his temperament. He’s always been the caretaker in this house, and I think it’s because he sees that when one of us is sick, we all take care of that person. It is how we handle sickness or sadness or stress. Since he was very tiny, he would play the nursemaid when Leon or I was sick. I still remember him fetching me lukewarm water in the bathroom cup when I was nursing a migraine because he’d seen Leon bring me water for my aspirin. I believe he was as young as 3 when he started.

When Leon or I am sick, he hates to go to school and when he is here, he will bring ice packs, aspirin, wet washcloths and as many hugs, kisses and cuddles as we will take. There are many nights that he went to bed on a Friday night at 7:30 because I was sick with a migraine and laying there. He would lay next to me, patting my hand, and would eventually drift off.

There is a certain sense of guilt that comes with having chronic pain–that burden that you place on the people around you. The feelings that you may have of feeling like less of a person some days often express themselves at the weakest moments and not always in the best of ways. They often present in anger, misery or irritability. AJ is immune to that when someone is sick.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t have his egocentric “me me me” side, because he certainly does, but it has never been as strong as I expected. And I’m watching him shed it rapidly and sooner than the developmental scales predict and I wonder about the kind of man he’ll become, and how quickly it will happen. Will I ever be ready for it? People keep telling me to have more children. My guess is that they recognize that there is so much love within me for this little guy that it breaks me.

I worry less about it when I see that I haven’t done an awful job and that my health issues haven’t affected him so dramatically. As he was going to bed tonight, he kissed my cheek, hugged me tightly and said, “I hope you feel better tomorrow, mama.” Then, he gave me the dimpled grin that melts my heart and he and his hoppy little weiner dog went to sleep.

Somehow, I think we’re all going to be alright…

One of the teachers who changed my life

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . August 20, 2009 . 10:40AM

Back in high school, I had a teacher who changed my life. How often have you heard that line? How often have you said it? For me, I’ve been lucky enough to say it aout more than one teacher. I’ve been lucky enough to say it about elementary school, middle school was something of a bust, high school, community college, undergrad, and grad school. I’ve also had life teachers that have changed my life outside of the school setting. My mentors in life have been truly amazing.

This story, though, is about a high school teacher who did something extraordinary in a moment of frustration.

I was either a sophomore or a junior in high school and taking a required history course. I’ll call my teacher Mr. Smith, but he has an extremely distinguished name and he has done so much for the small community that I grew up in, that if you googled him, you’d find him. I’m not sure he wants to be found. He’s a small treasure to be sure. But this is my memory, not his memoir and so he is Mr. Smith.

Every day, Mr. Smith came in and tried to teach a room full of students, who were taking a required course, that history is fundamental, important and interesting. For the record, history is interesting to me, but I was 15 or 16 and had other things on my mind. However, I did look forward to Mr. Smith’s class every day. His personality was such, that you felt like you were in on some secret knowledge by listening to what he had to say.

However, our environment wasn’t the best. We didn’t have air conditioning in the school and we had old school radiators in the classrooms. Often, in the summer, it was sweltering and in the winter it was freezing. It was hard to concentrate and when the school had big events, like homecoming, prom, or big sports events, students had a hard time focusing on their education.

The day I’m thinking of was one such day. As usual, Mr. Smith had poured his heart into his class, and, for whatever reason, we couldn’t focus. I remember feeling more tired than usual and being irritated that the class wouldn’t be quiet so I could zone out a bit. After 15 minutes of attempting to gain our attention, I saw something that I had never seen before and I never saw again.

Mr. Smith lost his temper. In a big way.

He slammed his book down on the desk and wailed on us. This was our education and we couldn’t be bothered to be present in his class. He’d put quite a bit into his work that day and this information was going to be on our next test. However, we were being rude and insolent and he’d had enough. So, he was going to sit down and he wanted to know which of us would be willing to teach the class, because he wasn’t going to do it.

There were crickets in that classroom. No one said a word. Mr. Smith had never raised his voice, let alone throw a temper tantrum.

I looked around and 2 things occurred to me: 1/no one was going to volunteer 2/I was just enough of a smart-aleck to do it.

I raised my hand, stood up and went to his overhead projector. I heard him say “Jillian, excellent. It’s good to see that someone is willing to step up for all of you. I look forward to hearing what you have to say.”

This is a fatal flaw within myself. I still do it to this day. If a teacher asks a question, and no one in the classroom will answer, I will try, even if I fail miserably. I can’t stand letting the teacher hang or letting the class hang. I’m working on that first-born responsibility mentality.

Honestly, I don’t know what kind of job I did that day. I knew the material and I did my best.
After class, Mr. Smith came up to me and said, “Jillian, that was impressive. Have you considered being a teacher?” I told him I hadn’t, but that I enjoyed it. He let me know he was impressed with my moxie and appreciated what I had done with his class.

I never saw him lose his temper again and the class was attentive from that point on. My self-esteem received a great boost that day.

Last Spring, I taught my first undergraduate class. I carried Mr. Smith’s words with me every day, especially on the hard ones. Most especially on the days my class was inattentive or the class was hot or cold.

Teachers…mentors…who has changed you life?

A spoon full of sugar is what kindness is to us

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . May 7, 2009 . 2:13AM

One thing I’ve noticed is that we, as humans, understand abstract, but we want our proof in tangible form. When you ask people about God, they want to see Him/Her. When you ask people about love, they want you to prove it to them. When you stand accused, you must have a tangible alibi for why you are not guilty.

These things don’t change as we get older. When we hit about 12, Piaget, a development psychologist said that we begin to develop the capability for abstract thinking and moving beyond that concrete thought. I agree with Piaget because I have personally experienced this phenomenon and seen it with my eyes. I’ve taught it and shown it to my students and watched them be convinced of it’s truth. However, what I recognize is that the want and the need is still there to experience hands on proof for the things in life that comfort us.

If you feel attracted to someone, they want proof that you are attracted. How can I say this delicately? I don’t want you to walk up to me and show me your proof. Please don’t. You go to jail for those kinds of things. However, a comment as such is a good indicator of that unless it’s something like “Baby, dem clothes are looking mighty fine but dey be looking better on my floor.” I know you get my drift, here.

If you care for someone, they want proof that you care. A kind word or gesture is well received and I’m not talking a pep talk or false compliment. Something genuine that speaks to who they are as a person.

If someone feels insecure, they want to know that they can trust you. Trust is so hard because the question is, really, how do I give someone that in a tangible form? It’s so hard to earn because it’s a series of acts, rather than one act and a single act can negate all of the series.

My reason for bringing all of this up is due to my own feelings that came about after I received feedback from my students this semester. Finals were this week, May 5, and I had just given them an incredibly hard cumulative final. This was my first semester teaching undergraduates, which was daunting by itself, but I was also teaching Gen Psych. The thing about Gen Psych is that it is such a broad, diverse subject with so much material to cover that you never get everything in that you need to in a semester. Students often believe that you are an expert in the field when, in reality, I know alot about psychology, but I’m not an expert. I will be a lifelong learner.

Overall, my experience was astounding. I learned more from them than I believe they learned from me. I watched them grow and change in so many ways over the course of the semester. My worry about being a new instructor waned some as I drifted into my groove and learned more about my class. Every now and then, though, my doubts would come back to haunt me that maybe I wasn’t a good enough teacher and they would be better served by someone else. Just like everyone else, I needed that tangible proof that what I was doing was working and I was effective.

As I graded their papers, I hoped for strong grades and that they would all earn the final grade they wanted in the course. Overall, the majority of my students had As and Bs and I could not be more proud of them. My course was very, very challenging and I expected a lot from each and every one of them. They worked hard and they should be proud of themselves. After I finished my 4 hours of grading, I finally took time to savor my feedback. I was prepared for some nastiness after the final I’d just given them.

There was not a single bad comment about my teaching. There were some complaints about things that were beyond my control in the classroom setting, but overall, they rated me as “one of the best” teachers. There were so many edifying comments that, when I was finished reading, I was close to weeping. One said that he or she wished all of his/her teachers were just like me. Another said they would miss me, another loved the class, etc. There were more but I want to hold them in my heart. They feel too personal to share.

Yes, we all need something tangible, don’t we? I want to say that I’m so mature and comfortable in my own skin that I don’t need the reassurance, but it sure feels nice. Humans sure do respond well to kindness, don’t they?