no crystal stair

This morning, in order to stem the tearful flood of "Why can't I stay home?" and "I hate school," I decided to give a little history lesson about some very brave brown-skinned boys and girls in a place called Little Rock. My kids' reaction: "I don't understand, Mommy. Why couldn't those kids go to school? I don't get it." This, from the boys whose way to tell their Auntie Dee (black goddess) from their Auntie E (pale redhead) was that Erin has curly hair.

I didn't even get going on the kids I met at Mi Refugio in Guatemala, who live in the city dump and whose wildest dream is to wear a uniform and learn to read and write. Or the kids working the fields near San Rafael, whose "homes" make our chicken coop look like a palace. I decided not to bring up the kids I taught in Quito, who faced prejudice every day for being "indios." I left out Daniel's stories of working at a mission hospital in middle-of-nowhere Angola and how patients had to scrape together their own medical supplies so they could have surgery.

Now I'm home, behind on work and surrounded by the detritus of days of no school, pondering that conversation. How do I protect my children's color-blind innocence while also teaching them how to fight for what is right?

I don't want to shovel out guilt-trips or worse, harden their hearts to the fabled "starving children in Africa." When I went on my first mission trip to Ecuador at age 15, I witnessed poverty I'd never imagined. I was shocked. I was right to be shocked. But after many experiences working and volunteering in poor communities, I quickly realized that the tearful histrionics of poverty-tourists don't help the person suffering. Rolling up your sleeves, actually talking to the person, supporting local, grass-roots efforts that are led by people who live there and understand the socio-cultural nuances: these are ways to really help.

Nice musings, but on a practical level, how do I raise my boys to be both strong and sensitive? On the one hand, I want them to recognize the blessings and privileges they take for granted. On the other hand, I'm not a fan of shoving adult issues in children's faces. I don't think children should be listening to NPR updates on ISIS or watching news flashes on hurricanes and Ferguson. I'm all for teaching children to do something practical for the poor, needy, and oppressed. As a Christian, I believe Jesus calls us to mercy and to action. However, I think we destroy our children's innocence when we expose them to world problems so young. If I feel crushed by the injustice and violence of our world, how will my children--with developing brains and hearts on their sleeve--navigate that avalanche of information?

Part of what bugs me is that some of their complaints about school are 100% valid: exhausting standardized tests, recesses cut short for more desk-work, a highly academic environment with not enough hands-on learning, not to mention the extra challenge of doing everything in a second language. At the same time, I don't want to raise kids who will end up like some of my college students, two of whom wrote me today to complain about my "unfair grading" and "vague" paper assignment. Interesting, that strange notion that I might expect a student to actually read and respond to my assignment prompt. And I must say, it's a mystery to me how a 500-word description of essay assignments, a 300-word essay prompt, individual feedback for your proposed thesis, and a 500-word, detailed sample rubric (all for a 500-word paper) can qualify as "vague." From what I can tell, today's college students spend about 20% of their time throwing up crap on a page while simultaneously checking facebook and texting friends, and about 80% of their time whining about life being unfair. These days, the only reason I keep teaching is because of the noble few who do the work honestly and surprise themselves by learning to love literature. Perhaps I should send this to my students. My point? As a mother, these are not the kind of young men I want to send into the world.

As an educator, I do want my children (and my students) to love school. I want them to be challenged and I want them to have fun. I feel sick to my stomach when they say they hate school. I worry that boys are falling through the cracks of our educational system. I re-visit our torturous elementary-school decision, going back to the drawing board where I find some high-paying job (good luck with an English degree) and we take out personal loans to fund an uber-progressive, expensive school. Or I decide I should cancel my modest career aspirations, put myself on Zanax, and start homeschooling. Or we move to a farm, start weaving our own clothes and eating homegrown sprouts and we un-school. I want them to love learning! 

As I swirl away into panic zone--all before 8am, mind you--I hear Daniel's voice telling me something I find truly shocking: Not every child is a school-loving bookworm like me. On the whole he didn't love school either; the best part of his day was going home. And yet my husband is clearly a smart and well-educated man. Public school taught him how to get along with people from lots of different backgrounds, how to be true to his beliefs, how to discipline himself, and of course, some facts that proved useful along the way. But for him, the best learning happened in conversations around the dinner table, summers in Muskoka and on mission trips, and playing outside in nature.

And before I overhaul our entire life, let's be honest: the main reason my boys are whining about school is that they haven't GONE to school more than three days in a row in weeks. Who wouldn't want to cozy up at home, play with Lego, and eat cereal all day while Mom cleans up after you?

I want my boys to have inner resilience and courage. I want them to be men of integrity, like their Dad, like their grandfathers and their uncles. I want them to have a spiritual foundation and relationship with God that gives them strength when life is hard, that teaches them how to "do justly and love mercy and walk humbly with their God." Some days this task seems far too hard for little old me.

I just taught this poem in my online literature course. Maybe it's time to read it to my boys (and to myself).

"Mother to Son" | Langston Hughes

Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.