Will They Know?

As a teacher in a city-school, I have my bakers dozen of kids that make me cry. They make me cry for different reasons. I cry when they exasperate me. I cry when they distract the class from learning. I cry when I think about the system that is failing them. I cry when they fail. I cry when they succeed. I cry when they cry.

Tonight, I have one young man in mind. I knew 5 weeks ago that this would be a student who I would cry over.

The first days, he was hesitant to do anything. I could see his frustrations with schoolwork boiling up into his eyes and spilling out in a variety of ways: tears, dancing and singing, throwing stuff, fighting. Everyday with this young man has been an absolute battle.

Two weeks ago, we had an open-notes quiz. He had all the notes in his binder, but they were so disorganized he didn't want to look through them. Slowly, we went through and pulled them all out and when he realized he had enough notes to get a B on the quiz, the biggest smile came across his face and he looked at me and said, "Oh. I can do this."

Yes, I thought. Yes - you can. You've always been able to do this. But for him to recognize that in himself was the key. It was a pivotal moment in our teacher-student relationship, and his relationship with his schoolwork.

Over the course of the next few days, he handed in all of his assignments. The effort he'd put into them was obvious, and he beamed at me as he handed them in.

"I bet these ones will be as good as my quiz!"

This young man is tender-hearted, but he's impulsive. Like most 12 year old boys, he acts before he thinks. He sees a friend in the hall, he's going to go to the hall. He feels like chatting with his buddy 6 rows over, he's going to get up and chat with his buddies. He hates the girl behind him? He is going to tell her, and when she comes back with "Boy, I'mma slap the shit out of you" he stands up and meets her request for battle.

This week, his impulsivity got the best of him.

5 weeks of piecing together the puzzle of this young man - so, so delicately - has been shattered. His eagerness and desire to please - to be included, to be heard in this world....those things took over.

He brought a knife to school. Kids were threatened.

It's heartbreaking. Just as we were making progress. Just as he was beginning to believe in himself, just as he was starting to understand that you can play the game of school without getting played yourself - that classrooms can be a place where we learn and grow and laugh and love and cry and live...

Over. Before it even started.

So I worry. I cry for him. I wonder - will there be another teacher in his future who will give him the time and space he needs to grow? Will they keep him in the classroom and let him know that he belongs there - not in the office? Will they let his behaviors keep him from learning?

Will they let his behaviors keep them from trying to teach him?

Mid-February Shouldn't Be So Scary

When I walk around cemeteries, I am always fascinated by the headstones. Some are modest, little plaques that say nothing more than a name and a date. Some are crazy large monuments. Others are strange symbolic figures that are comparable to abstract modern art. But, no matter what they look like, they are a very real signifier that beneath the stone - and my feet - lays a person who was once loved - is still loved - by many.

This plaque above will be on the back of Jamie's headstone.

His headstone. Did I just type that? It still feels unreal. I'm still waiting for him to send a text that says "JK everybody! Did you miss me?" I wouldn't even be mad. I had this sinking feeling in my chest as they closed the casket over him - would he be lonely? Was there enough space? Can I see him just a moment longer? When they put him in the ground, I had similar thoughts: would it be too cold for him? - It became very real. He was gone, and it was time to say goodbye. I just hate(d) thinking about him being under the ground when he belonged above the ground. With his wife. With his friends. Flying planes.

I let myself slip into denial from time to time. Maybe it's not healthy, but it's true. Sometimes, I just want to pretend he's still around. That I can send him that text. That he will still be taking my brother to lunch in the near future. That we will see him and the wife at conference and we will all play conference bingo together.

So, seeing the plaque brings me both joy and sorrow. Joy that we have all made it this far. Sorrow that we had to make it at all. It makes me sad that people may stand over his headstone, doing what I do so often when I walk through the cemetery... they will wonder what happened to this young man. Where are the people that love him? They will wonder at what his middle name was, and they will always be wrong because they won't know that it only ever was D. It makes me sad that people will pass by his headstone but not know him. They will not know his love for cherry dipped cones. They will not know his funny laugh. They will not know that he loved Firefly or Tomcat F-14s or F-18 Super Hornets. They will not know about how he proposed to his wife. They won't know about Lolita or his mission to South Korea or any of his funny sayings: Make all 100's! Remember who you are! Don't embarrass the family! Now - get out of my car!! They will not know that he achieved his dream and they will not know the pure love and joy this man embodied. His selflessness. His spontaneity. His steadfast faith in God.

Instead, they will simply know his name.

They will see his plaque. They will wonder - and then they will do what so many of us will struggle to do for the rest of our lives: they'll move on in a different direction.

I suppose that I'll have to visit him sometime. I know the story. I won't have to wonder. Not about this man. I will be able to stand at his headstone and know - remember.

And it is a beautiful plaque to be mounted aback a beautiful granite headstone that will appropriately mark the beautiful resting place of a truly beautiful human being who, to use the word one more time, brought a love of beautiful things to my life and the life of many others. So, this headstone brings me sorrow. But it also brings me joy. Sorrow that the world lost a truly righteous, honest, loving man and joy that, in this moment, I get to remember him...and Him...in such wonderful and powerful ways. Joy that I ever had such a friendship, and sorrow that it will be such a long time before we see each other again. Joy that the plaque brings a comfort, marks a milestone, signifies a wonderful life lived. Sorrow that comfort is needed, that milestones are being reached and that his wonderful live isn't still being lived.

So it is bittersweet. But it is beautiful. Just like he was.

Chapstick, Chapped Lips and Things Like Chemistry.

I have been a student for 18 years.

This means 18 years of sharpening pencils, trading erasers, passing notes, lunch hour, markers, tape, glue, construction paper, posters, book reports and papers. For 18 years I have walked school hallways, high fived friends, loaded up my binders with pictures and poetry. In 18 years, I have written a novel's length worth of witty comments in the margins of my books. I have signed my name as

Nikki W

Nikki C

Nikki A

Nikki M

Nikki P

Nikki I

Nikki S

Nikki J

and of course, as Nikki Hansen, all on the left hand side of my notebooks, near the coil that holds the paper together. In 18 years I have collected numerous, hilarious drawings of people that I know or knew. Phone numbers. Snide comments. Lightbulb moments. Impromptu poems. 18 years of who I am, how I've grown lives in writing around the edges of my notes.

Oh yes. Notes. For 18 years I have taken notes. The alphabet, times tables, sentence diagrams, mice and men, geometric shapes, musical theory and happy daggers. For 18 years I have had a notebook as a steady companion, with little pockets to hide secrets and house schoolwork in. For 18 years, I have had a fairly predictable routine: waking up, packing my back pack, going to school, doing homework.

I cannot remember life as anything but a student. Sitting in desks, staring at chalk boards...then white boards...overheads, then projectors. A place to put my lunch and hang my coat. My best friends sitting next to me, keeping me distracted from the schoolwork I love almost as much as I love them.

Naturally, the fact that in May I will formally leave the structure in which my whole life has taken place scares the hell out of me. Or maybe it scares hell into me. I'm not sure which.

Either way, I feel a little ridiculous. Every time I pick up my green four subject notebook, I get a little emotional. I know that it is the last notebook I will own as a student seeking some form of degree. I can see the bright light shining - telling me that, soon, the page will turn and there will be no more curled edges. No more notes to take. No more "I like your pen you" or hearts being drawn, no more swirls or butterflies or "hi's" - no more phone numbers being scrawled across the top of the pages, no more drawings of teachers, cats, bff's holding hands. No more pictures of farmer dan, who has appeared on the pages of my notebook for a steady 10 years. No more snarky remarks written to the person next to me, and no more critiquing the things I like or dislike about the ways my teachers teach.

There will be no more teachers.

I will be the teacher.

I will watch the girls and boys scribble on their notebooks - songs and notes and awful pictures of me and everyone else they know. Poems and signatures of names they hope they never have to change, or someday get to have. I will watch them doodle, and I will let it happen, knowing that they only get to be students for so long and that life is being written on those pages.

I Pray You, Remember The Porter.

Confession: I was a really awkward adolescent.

I am not entirely sure what happened to me in my early adolescence, but I somehow decided to become "that girl" who wore her teenage brother's clothes, listened to awful music and identified more easily with young adolescent males than females. When I did finally decide that I wanted people to look at me and think "girl" .... I floundered. I went from looking like a girl dressed in boy's clothes to looking like a girl who liked girls.

As you can imagine, this did wonders on my self esteem (but, hey, adolescence does a number on everyone's self esteem). To cope, I became the "funny" friend - the cool girl friend who hung out with the guys "cuz she's like one of the guys." I managed to trade in my true thoughts in feelings for a mask of humor. It was comfortable, but had unforeseen side-effects - some of them long lasting....one of which I'd like to complain about right now: I don't think anyone takes me seriously.

Humor is great for a lot of things. It makes people like you, it makes you seem kind of witty, it's useful when you're in a large group. Humor can be used to deflect off-putting questions, or feelings you just don't want to deal with. Humor can save you from all sorts of little anxieties - which is why I relied/rely on it so heavily. It has some serious benefits.

But the price for all those benefits is that I feel like I'm a walking joke (not all the time, let's not be melodramatic...). I occasionally feel that, when I have a serious thought on something, it gets brushed off because I'm just silly. Or, when my incredibly intelligent friends begin conversing about authors, etc, I assume (yes, that evil word) that they expect that I won't know any of the books or authors they are talking about because, well, perhaps I just don't operate on the same level of intelligence as they do (...I know...what a nerdy thing to be insecure about). *disclaimer: I am fully aware that my insecurities do not accurately portray the feelings of others.

So, it leads me to this point where I feel like I want to jump out and say to everyone I know, "Hey! Surprise! I'm really super smart!" I may be awkward and uncomfortable and, sure, somewhat average in many respects - but I'm an intelligent human being! I have a large compilation of complex and well written essays on abstract or 'dry' topics that prove it. Accept me!

For some reason, I feel like this is my biggest social hurdle. I desperately want people to see that I am smart. I want them to accept me into their circle of intelligence, but I fear that my *ahem* ambivalent nature deters from the fact that I am an intellectual equal and therefore causes people to think that I am somehow simple minded. And, while I could be worrying about whether or not people see me as beautiful or talented or whatever other female insecurities are out there, this is the one that affects me most deeply.

In short, I really want people to like me for what I can truly bring to a group or a friendship - and not just the comic relief. If people would give me the chance, they'd see I'm deeper than the drunken porter or Juliet's nursemaid.

I can be a complex character in the novel of life, too.

A Great And Terrible Stranger, Summer.

The recent, warm Minnesota weather has made me a little nostalgic. I remember hot and humid summer days from my childhood.



I spent them playing outside with my brother, and our friends. We would climb the tallest tree we could find and jump from the roof of the shed in our backyard.

We would take old cardboard boxes to a big grassy hill and "sled" down on them. (We even walked back UP the hill to do it all again). We would ride our bikes to the PX and buy french fries and melted cheese :)



We would save our allowance all month to buy a beanie baby and some pokemon cards. We did extra chores for extra money, and sold popsicles and lemonade.

We went rollerblading. We went bowling. We caught snakes and spiders. We had pet rocks. We drank water from a hose. We rode a wagon down the hill and hit the side of our house :) We came in when the street lights came on.

We didn't have cell phones. We checked in with Mom every now and again or had to call from the nearest friend's house. We played baseball in the yard, tried to catch turtles at the pond, and played night games. We played tag, chase, dead man walking, "town", jump rope.

We (at least Kam and I) even found a way to make yard work fun.

We didn't wear shoes if we didn't have to. We swam and played in the sprinkler. We hiked through the woods near our house, built forts, had wars with people who aligned themselves with different forts.

Even during the school year, we just wanted to be outside. We were outside when we waited for the bus. We wanted to play outside at recess. We came home and wanted to be outside until it was dark.

We even wanted to play in the rain. And sometimes...we did.

It makes me sad to watch how kids these days don't do any of that. They are inside all the time. There will be no memories of broken bones and cardboard box adventures. They won't look back and say "remember when we played freeze tag in our backyard?" There will be no taste of hose water lingering in their mouths, no memories of being muddy and dirty.

Instead, kids today live in a sterile and controlled environment. Hand sanitizer every 3 seconds. Filtered water. Cell phones and electronics that confine them in their rooms, basements, friends houses, cars.

It feels like summer has become a great and terrible stranger.

The In-Between.

I've been in a strange place recently.... and I can't say I've been enjoying it.

I feel like the term "growing pains" has taken on a whole new meaning.

For the first time, primarily because of Jamie's passing, I've taken a step back and started seriously evaluating the things that I want for my life and for my future. To be honest, I hate doing things like this... and while it was going to have to happen sooner or later, I wish it had been later. Not only because of the circumstances that have caused me to re-evaluate myself and my decisions, but... I don't exactly feel like I'm ready for all the changes that are about to/ are occurring in my life.

A lot of what has been going on has caused me to micro analyze my interactions with other people. How does this make me feel? Why does it make me feel this way? Is this healthy: yes or no? What would I have done two months ago in this situation, and what am I going to to do now?

Believe it or not I spend a lot of my time mulling over how my words and actions will affect others and the way they feel. I want the people I care about to know that I care about them - and I always want to let them know. I never want to hurt them, I want them to know everything I'm doing - I want to tell them about my day to day events. I want to let them know what I'm doing tomorrow, next week, next month! I want to let them in on every boring and mundane and lousy facet of my life.

The flip side, and this may be unreasonable, is that I expect the same from other people. The worst part is that (in general) the people who claim to care the most don't do those things for me. It could be because they just don't think about it - sure. But in my disturbed little brain it's because they don't trust me. Or that they're intentionally trying to hurt me. Or because they want to force a reaction out of me.

It makes me uncomfortable. I know where these reactions stem from... I do. And a large part of me wishes I just didn't give a damn about the people around me. But I do. I care, maybe a little too much. I've always been a victim of my own standards for people. I set the bar incredibly high, but only as high as I'm capable of 'performing' or whatever. Sure. That sounds like I'm tooting my own horn or whatever as some incredible friend or something - but ... I guess what I'm trying to say is that if I put 100 percent of me and my effort into any type of relationship, I fully expect the same from other people. If I put in 30 percent, then I expect that I'll receive 30 percent from someone else, etc.

My struggle is ... maybe someone is giving 100%. But that's just not good enough for me. Is that grounds to walk away? Or are they not really giving 100%? I can't assume they are, because I know what 100% looks like. Or... at least...my definition.

Or maybe they perceive my 100% to be less than their 100%?

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all in all.... this is just one of the many weird things running through my head.

the worst part is, people (if people read this at all) will think "is she talking about me?" then they will take it how they choose. and people almost are always on the defense.

So here: no. this is not about any particular person. This is a general concern. This is me trying to work through who I am in this little text box. If you feel the same way ever, that would be so great to know... because then I'll know I'm not alone! And if I'm crazy, tell me... and help me figure out a way to work through it. Do I think too much? Should I start just going with feelings only? Help me out.

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"Lost", Nikki, Season 1, Episode 1 :)

Have you ever just been completely lost? Totally confused.... or like the world is drowning you?

I hate that feeling. I've been breathing in heavy blankets of anxiety and exhaling questions back into the universe. They go silently and unnoticed, but they are out there - bouncing around the ozone.

Sometimes I feel like I'm standing in front of the doors in the Labyrinth trying to decide which guard(s) are lying and which are telling the truth. What if I pick the wrong door? I end up walking through the eternal bog of stench.

- what a great example how I feel.

I suppose in the end she makes it back to the right place just in the nick of time.... but I don't want to show up just before my worlds about to shatter. I want to prevent shattering altogether but I can't see the future.

__________________________________________

I am starting to feeling the growing pains of adulthood. It's scary and new and there's no set way to relieve the pain. Everyone has to find their own pain killer :) and I have the sneaking suspicion that I may break a few bones before it kicks in.