Memories of My Grandpa

Sometimes it is intriguing what memories can surface, seemingly out of nowhere. That could be what happens, out of nowhere, but I don't think this is always true. Today I was lying in bed, thinking and getting ready mentally for a new group of student teachers. As I lay there, I began to pray, worship, and draw on God's grace. Almost immediately, an image of my maternal grandfather, Grandpa Geesey, came to mind. The image was of him standing with one arm raised, praising God. It was a scene of tranquil intensity, alone with his God. Then I saw Grandma Geesey, serving food, caring for those in need.

This was not a random thought, but sent from the heart of the Father. God had touched a cell, a memory deep in my (very long ago) long term memory and made it real for right now. It has been said by many that we view God the same way we see our earthly fathers and grandfathers. My father was called to the mission field early in life, and lived his life accordingly. Both of my grandfathers had a passion for serving God. Grandpa Geesey raised eight children, all who were in ministry or very active in their churches. Grandpa Seale was a circuit preacher who traveled the east Texas country side in a mule-drawn buckboard preaching to whoever would listen, planting many churches along the way.

I believe God was reminding me of my calling, my family heritage. I was called to serve, to worship God. My calling has has been to children, especially those disenfranchised and left behind, and especially those left behind by NCLB. Now as I work with teachers, I realize that I am uniquely qualified to help them grow into caring, skilled professionals who don't forget their own weaknesses and shortcomings--teachers who regard themselves and their students as just people, no matter how advanced their students' abilities and/or disabilities are.

What is the point of all this? I can't forget where I came from, that while I am breaking away from the path my family has always traveled, I am still following in the footsteps of my father and grandfathers and reaching out with the hand of the Lord to those He calls his dear children. I need to maintain that closeness, the intensity of Grandpa Geesey's relationship with God every day, all day.

When I Practiced Xenophobia

I grew up as a MK (missionary's kid) in Texas, Puerto Rico, Venezuela, and Mexico. As such, I had spend my childhood and early youth with Spanish-speaking neighbors, friends, and playmates. However, in high school, we were back in the States and I had little, if any contact with Spanish or Spanish-speaking people (even though I was a Spanish major for a while in college). I still took an occasional trip to Mexico to see my parents, but that was it.

Then, my ability to speak Spanish well got me into a bilingual teacher education program when my grades did not qualify me for regular student teaching. After student teaching, I got a job as a bilingual teacher in the City Terrace area of East Los Angeles. I immediately immersed myself in Spanish, Mexican food, customs, the community, etc.

After about a year, something curious started happening. I still very much enjoyed my job, being surrounded by Spanish, Mexicans, food. One day I was sick and took off work and went to a Kaiser clinic for a same-day appointment. I was annoyed that everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by Mexicans, Spanish-speaking Mexicans. I started thinking, can't I go anywhere without being around them. Another time I thought if I drove to Pasadena I could see the doctor with out being surrounded, but that didn't work, either. All the while at work, I was happy, making good relationships with staff, parents, loved driving and walking with my students around the neighborhood on day trips. I know that I changed, and over time stopped wishing that those Mexicans would not be hanging around every where I went. In fact, now I feel a little odd if my environment does not include people of color. Even Crestline, a small town developed as a covenant community to exclude minorities, is now starting to be reflective of the way God made us all. There is a point to this, so bear with me.

I remembered this season in my life a few weeks back, and immediately I thought of Foucault and othering. I also made the connection between how I had responded and the special ed teachers who are dedicated to their students, but want nothing to do with disabled persons outside of their jobs. How would we feel about a high school counselor who did not enjoy being with teen agers both on an off the job? What would we think about a kindergarten teacher who told her church leaders that she "doesn't do kids" and was obvious in her displeasure when children came around her?

How can someone be considered an expert on a subject that they only learned about from a textbook, and practiced in a lab situation such as a classroom? A special ed teacher needs insight from knowing the populations they work with from real life, not "senarios" in a university class. A general ed teacher knows what their students will be like when they are adults, what they were like as pre-schoolers. They know what an advanced student or a slow learner is like. However, a special ed teacher doesn't usually have this perspective, unless they have been around pre-schoolers with say, autism, elementary students with autism, high school students with autism, and yes, adults with autism. Also, with individuals of all ages with mild, moderate, and severe autism. Other wise, how could you write goals that not only look good on paper, satisfy the school district, but actually have long-term value for the student when he/she is twenty-nine? With all of the special ed teachers around, there must be some who go to church somewhere. And, maybe some of those who are "church-attenders" may start to live out their faith and take their skills and expertise out of the classroom into their personal lives and churches and make their churches and communities welcoming for those individuals who are for now in their classrooms.

I have encountered countless teachers who make sure their students, both general ed and special ed, don't get close, because they might be touched by their "filthy" students. Teachers who leave so fast that sometimes they pass their students on the way out; they want to make the long drive home to the suburbs before dark. Special ed teachers who openly refer to their students a disgusting, who make sure that everyone knows that their own children are gifted, so talented, go to this or that university or have received this or that merit scholarship.