12 days after my Method One training in Dallas, I taught my very first class at an at - risk high school. Before that Friday, I planned, I read, I re-planned, I reread. I practiced and practiced. One thing I knew for sure was that hesitation and uncertainty would c r e a t e jokes for years from this crowd.
When the day arrived I was ever so g r a t e f u l to have exactly seven Hoopnotica hoops (some gifted :)) for the P.E. class of six, and for me. I work at the school, but don't know the students as if I were still a teacher. I'm a desk administrator now- some of the kids I get to know, but sadly most I don't. In this class of six only one was familiar.
We started with introductions, then a demo, and plenty of reminders to not touch the hoops, just watch the f a b u l o u s me. We have a plan... see the white board... it will go as planned.
And it worked for five of them, but one of the students kept touching her hoop, and occasionally l a u g h i n g at random. The primary teacher stayed very close to this student and subtly reminded her to pay attention.
Time came for a mini first 'this is how to waist hoop lesson'. The same young lady with fierce intensity listened to each word I said, and watched my every move.
She clapped her hands, squealed, "Ms, I want hoolie oop."
As she spoke, I detected a possible learning deficiency.
"Hoops up... let's try."
The students struggled to varying degrees, but not her. She hooped. She hooped hard. The other students admired her graceful hoopwork, and even cheered for her. She smiled, g i g g l e d, laughed. She was the best at something... finally.
"Have you hooped before?"
"No, but I want to."
In disbelief after class I called her parent. The parent confirmed that her child had never h o o p e d, but always asked for one while perusing store aisles.
***
Today marked the final hoop Friday of our term.
When she hoops, I'm reminded of angels with real h a l o s.
This Hoopnotica journey has been uh-mazing!
I have photos posted on my instagram teffaniewhite or @toimaginemore if you want to see the loving hoop notes I received from the class today. Or search #hoopnotica, #boyshooptoo
h o w d y lovelies, do you need w o r d s to brighten your w a y? have a free book, and play! it's f r e e until Saturday!!! y a y! http://www.amazon.com/Inspiration-ebook/dp/B003D7KB1A we will be sharing words at the museum of the southwest this friday from 10-3. l o v e
"there are no words" read the status update of one of our pictureless' friends. It was my first indication that something went wrong in the world. Hours later I spoke with one of our Connecticut pictureless' tween babies.
"Ms. Teffanie, we are okay."
"Oh, yeah. What happened?"
She explained her understanding, her version, of the atrocity.
At home we didn't talk about it. We prepared for dinner, band practice and a thirteen year old's gymnastic birthday party. I shared with them the Christmas carol mall flash mob my fabulous boss sent me earlier.
"Mom, did you hear what happened?"
"What happened, Baby?"
She explained her understanding, her version, of the atrocity.
I still had no words. I would need some soon, and I couldn't continue to rely on tweens for the 411. Eventually, I would be expected to make a statement to have words as is the nature of all of my chosen professions.
Over the weekend I read the New York Times and I listened by the facebook water cooler. The words were there. People had lots of words to create their understanding, their version, of chaos. They weren't mine.
I didn't want words from national leaders not standing on the educational front line. I didn't want words that voiced people's response to those politicians. I didn't want words of where God was allowed, or not.
I didn't want words of fashion solidarity protocols of hoodies, and colors, and ribbons to don. Within moments, three different posts announcing five different colors to be worn on Monday popped onto my feed.
I didn't want words about gun control or mental illness or gun control and mental illness. I kind of wanted words of Scandal... What did happen to the other shooter? I still knew that it wouldn't bring relevancy to my world or prompt the words I needed to make sense.
Monday, the day arrived. I still didn't have a single word let alone a statement. What had I said in the past? I am from the 254... we lived through Luby's, we lived through Darnell. Nothing.
You can't stop will. That's all I had or some variation of it.
What do we tell the students?
You can't stop will.
Should we lock the doors? Should we post people at the entry ways? Should we arm teachers?
Review Crisis Management. You can't stop will.
It was my answer to it all. Poor leadership. Poor words.
Sorry is all that you can't say Years gone by and still Words don't come easily Like sorry like s o r r y
Forgive me is all that you can't say Years gone by and still Words don't come easily Like forgive me f o r g i v e me
But you can say baby Baby can I hold you tonight Maybe if I told you the right words As the right time you'd be mine
I love you Is all that you can't say Years gone by and still Words don't come easily Like I love you I l o v e you
There they were. s o r r y f o r g i v e l o v e The forgiveness stood out. I thought of the Amish. Remember when a milkman killed five girls in an Amish schoolhouse. The Amish of that community immediately displayed ginormous forgiveness to the shooter and kindness to his family. It was so bizarre, yet so b e a u t i f u l.
For date night a few months back Farmer Guy and I viewed the documentary, The Amish. We both remembered the same man. He indicated that he didn't want to be the judge of something like that. That wasn't his job. It resonated and had relevance.
Sorry, Forgive, and Love
I am so sorry that this happened on my watch. I forgive the Lanzas'. I love you. I love you. I love you. 26 times I love you.
