This sets up the excerpt we read from the Joy Luck Club, in which a mother pressures her daughter to become a child prodigy. This is just one of many readings selected for high schoolers that manages to get at me more than it does my students.

In my head,  if I’m honest, as much as I pride myself on being passionate and driven, I still weigh columns like this more than I care to admit.

In the first column, there are the causes and projects that burn white hot inside me–the things that insist on being brought to expression.

In the second column, I reflect on the expectations of others–mainly the “others”  of Christianity. Despite my tensions with parts of it, this is the only subculture where I’d be considered a native (unless you count “skinny white girls” as a subculture). I don’t have to physically write anything out to know this  column is packed—crammed with the opinions of parents, leaders that I respect, books I’ve read, conventional religious opinion, social norms, peer approval.

Both columns–like for the characters in the story; like for my students–hold weight inside me of course. The first column, the pursuit of the divine-in-me,  holds this adrenaline-lit and sometimes risky path to the unknown. The second column, the affirmation of peers, can also be a welcome, tangible comfort while living on a dysfunctional planet where God doesn’t always seem as “right here” as I wish he was.

The prospect of conflict between the two columns–investing in one at the expense of the other–is uncomfortable. Pulling away from either column would be scary.

But one scares me A LOT more than the other.

The older I get, the more I know what I am willing to live with and what I am not willing to live with.

I am willing to live without the affirmation of my peers if needed, for example (although, let’s be honest, it’s not my preference). However, I am NOT willing to live in an eternally-curious state, wondering what my life could’ve held had I learned to live “all in” in Column 1.

Complexity #4,569: to translate that into my life.

Any ideas?

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Here’s how it works: In class, if my students stumble upon something that inspires them in history or literature, they post a picture, object or piece of writing on this board. Over time, the wall becomes a visual reminder of why showing up to this place and learning something is important.

Sometimes something my students do or say inspires me too and I add that to the wall as well.

And now here’s where you come in. Have something inspiring to share with my students? A story, a quote, song lyrics, whatever? Just email it to me and your own contribution could make their inspiration wall as well. (sarahraymondcunningham (at) gmail (dot) com.)

Forget Hollywood people. This is the Inspiration Wall.

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Reality set in this morning around 7:20 a.m.

Three words: Back. To. School.

For some of you that phrase translates into peace and quiet around your house.

For me, it means the kid-count in my life just went from one 16-month-old chubby white boy to 300 at-risk urban teenagers.

Starting today, a big chunk of  my time lands in the building pictured above, our alternative high school. Don’t let the 360 degree fencing fool you. It’s way less jail-esque than it looks. =)

This is MY room (right).  Please check it out now while it’s spiffy and clean because I’m not gonna lie, it starts to resemble a warzone about fifteen minutes into most days.

The students that fill the seats:

• 52% ARE BLACK.
• 42% ARE WHITE.
• 5% ARE HISPANIC.
• 1% ARE NATIVE AMERICANS or PACIFIC ISLANDERS.
• 55% ARE MALE.
• 45% ARE FEMALE.

But here are the stats that paint what these kids are really up against:

• Even though our city isn’t enormous, our crime index is 600.7, almost twice the national average of 320.9 (Chicago was 615.5, Detroit was 901). Some possible influencers? We are located between Detroit and Chicago, which makes us–according to some local police–a natural stop for drug trafficking and gang activity. We are also the home of the state prison.
• 80% of students qualify (by family income) for FREE breakfast and lunch from the U.S. government, which means that a family of four makes less than–often WAY less than–$28,665 per year. (In April of this year, our city’s unemployment rate was 19.2%.)
• Jackson has had some of the highest rates of illiteracy, teen pregnancy and meth production in the state the past few years.
• On the MME (the standardized test used to measure progress in the state of Michigan) our students scored 46% lower than the national average. The average ACT SCORE to come out of our  building is a “13″. And 35 students graduated last year, which was a new record.

All challenges aside, though, I’m really glad to be here today. And I’m glad that my students will be here too because it means they scraped through the summer without getting locked up or shot or–just as bad–giving up. When we both show up at this building, it’s a reminder that every year we get is another symbol of hope and possibility…for them and for me.

I thought you might like to get in on the action too, so I started an “adopt a classroom” page where people can go to donate supplies for my students. I haven’t added any needs to the list yet, but maybe down the road it will give you a way to share some possibility with them too. You can also contribute to the Inspiration Wall anytime you feel like it.

In the meantime, feel free to check out these news videos about our school:

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Keep in mind, I come to you from Prison City, where I’m up to my neck in urban teens and the things they say.

Shoes are “crispy”.
Causing a disruption is “going ham”.
Making fun of someone is “roasting” them.
Calling someone out is “ho-ing” them.

And anything and everything you agree with is punctuated with “believe dat”.

Enter the situation at hand. A charismatic kid, who reminds me of a young Dave Chapelle minus the ambition, observes a girl passing some snacks to another, bigger-boned girl in class.

“Hey, didn’t you read the sign? It said don’t feed the animals.” He says.

A handful of kids on his side of the class erupt with laughter, slapping tables, hooting and hollering.

I, being the teacher–the person responsible for defending people’s psyches and keeping us out of the bullying headlines–of course, pounce.

“Oh no, Mrs. Cunningham.” The girl–his target–waves her hand. “Don’t even acknowledge that comment.”

Taken aback, I tell her I don’t tolerate that kind of ridiculousness in my classroom. I don’t want my students losing sleep at night over some kind of harrassment they encounter at school.

“Don’t even worry about it.” She says with an assertive sort of calm. “I’m un-ho-able, Mrs.Cunningham.”

I laugh.
Hoing=people calling you out.
Un-ho-able, then, is her own spin-off.

“That is nothing, Mrs.Cunningham. I’m my own woman.” She pauses, hand waving through the air as if she’s giving a sermon to her classmates. “I know who I am. I come from good people. Nobody can ho me. I’m un-ho-able.”

From that day forward, every day of the whole semester, I watch Dave-Chappelle-Jr. and the Un-ho-able-woman sit together at the same table. They banter back and forth. Chappelle-Jr. gets out of line sometimes and Un-ho-able woman puts him back in his place.

I watch it all and I think to myself that the world would be a better place if we could all be a little more un-ho-able too.

What about you? How thick is your skin? Does every little thing bother you or do you stand confident in who you are? Are you un-ho-able?

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You may have seen Jimmy Fallon do his thank you card bit. That is, if you’re ever up that late with nothing better to do than watch Jimmy Fallon.

Here are mine (and then my REAL, honest-to-God appreciative ones):

THANK YOU (this is the real one), bloggers, who have worn my book cover and reviews on your sites like giant gaudy pins on a church lady’s lapel. :)

Anne Jackson (Flowerdust)
Brett Barner (Godly Sheep)
Elora Nicole (Love Wins)
Vikki Huisman (Recliner Reflections)
Ben Arment
Lisa Colon Delay (Life As a Prayer)
She Seeks
Kary Oberbrunner (Your Secret Name)
Julie Ivens
Brian Mayfield
Darryl Dash
Jason Hayes
Travis Mamone (Coffee Chats)
Amy Sondova
Ian Scott Paterson

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Its a dull, achy, surreal sort of feeling.

One that jars you out of normalcy–the way we sometimes tend to sleepwalk through life–and reminds you of  just how bad things can get.

Of the emptiness that a human being can leave behind.

The school where I taught this particular young man was not an ordinary school.

At the time, it was self-contained at around 120 students, which meant I–the lone history teacher at times–taught nearly every student in the building.

I had some students for four years straight.

I don’t know how many  concurrent times I taught this particular guy along the way.

Enough.

Well and again enough to have my heart sink into my gut, molding together like heavy jello, at the news.

I got several calls and emails from former students.

Reeling.

Processing.

Regretting.

Wondering.

All the emotions that happen when death involves some level of choice.

Just a couple hours later, without too much time for reflection, I found myself performing our nightly rituals…because, even in the face of death, normalcy has to be “done”. Babies must still be fed, diapers still have to be changed, and thankfully–there is something comforting; something pure–in rocking them to sleep.

When Justus, my ten month old, gets really, really sleepy, its like he goes back in time…to his younger days, when he wasn’t quite as squirmy and sitty-uppy and rolly-over as he is now.

So he lays in my arms, eyes fluttering as he fights off the coming weight of sleep, lifting one hand up–wistfully–to touch my face, to run his chubby fingers through my hair. He sometimes widens his eyes to check to see if I’m still there and then grins at me with a delirious open-mouthed smile.

If it was possible to stay frozen in this moment, I’d consider it.

When I finally lay him in his crib, he isn’t quite all the way asleep. He breathes heavily, checking for me every couple seconds–to see if I’m still with him or if I’ve left him alone–and at last, he falls asleep with one hand stretched through the bars of his crib resting on mine.

I have no idea how I keep myself from melting every single night.

But this one leaves me especially breathless.

I can’t help but reflecting to myself, that people need to know that someone is there to hold onto.

They need to open their eyes and see someone is present, that someone is with them.

And so I resolve, as I have a thousand nights before, that we can’t afford not to be present in the lives of those we love.

And I grieve, in what might be the thousandth night, the things that deplete and restrict and edge love out of life.

I think to myself that I need to do a better job of not letting those things matter.

Let people begrudge themselves silly, let them project and speculate and analyze their energy away.

Let them build their walls, but don’t let those walls contain you.

The only person they should be allowed to hold captive is themselves.

You? You live free to go on loving.

Because life can be lost not just all at once–as it is in the tragedy of suicide. But it can also be lost, just as severely, just as painfully, in the buildup of every day moments where we let the opportunity to open our hearts slip by.

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And by “goes over well” I mean it scrapes by.

That the kids–well, most of them–do it.

And that when they’re done, the pieces they’ve written show a little piece of them. A little piece of their lives.

Assignments aren’t always easy to read because their lives haven’t been easy to live.

The topics that pop up are staggeringly inappropriate  sometimes.

Although true to their lives.

So I can’t always put them up on the wall like the proud classroom teacher, no matter how good their work might be.

Some of them can write though.

They’ve got rhythm. And honesty. And soul.

Precious commodities that many lose by adulthood.

I’d rather share their poems (but can’t), so you’ll have to be satisfied with the one they asked me to write, which will give you the general idea.

***

(This assignment is a type of “form poetry” based on an original poem we read in class by George Ella Lyon)

Where I’m From

I am from sledding

down Pennsylvania hillsides.

from picking dandelions

(and blowing their

white feathers everywhere)

I am from Willow Trees

From climbing them

Just as good as theboys.

I am from pigtails and mismatched barrettes,

From Fisher Price and Osh Kosh,

I am from tomboys,

And bookmobiles,

From “Won’t you be my neighbor?”

And “Can you tell me how to get

How to get to Sesame Street?”

I’m from “Yes Michigan” and its Farmers Markets,

From strawberries and corn on the cob

(that tasted better than candy).

From open fields and tractors,

Whose potatoes spill into our yard.

I’m from skipping down church hallways,

Humming and praying for miracles,

From laughing until I get hiccups.

I’m from He’s Got the Whole World,

From pleather New Testament Bibles,

And tiny communion cups.

There was a slideshow at my wedding,

Casting pictures on the wall.

A sea of people who flow

In and out of my life.

I am from them—

From what they believe in—

From chasing truth and love.

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Showing a movie in class is supposed to be “low-key” for the teacher. A chance to kick back, relax, check a few emails.

Someone should tell my students that.

I show mine on the big screen with the lights off. Movie theater style. I’d even be willing to overlook a few smuggled snacks. (New dietary codes prohibit teachers from providing junkfood for class parties, like the good–and maybe obese–old days.)

It is harder to pull off a movie than it sounds.

Day 1, students have all kinds of questions, as if they are investigative movie critics, budding Siskel and Eberts (or whoever the guy is who does reviews with Ebert now).

They want to know what the movie is called and whether the movie is a “movie movie” (meaning it was shown in theaters) or a “boring movie” (aka documentary).

Then they want to know when it was made. It better not be black and white. (I’ve never shown them a black and white film, but apparently someone else is forcing pre-50’s movies on them).

The next question: Who is in it? Oddly, even though they’re not minority actors, they like Sean Connery and Kristen Dunst enough.

Then, how long is it? If they deem it a good movie, they want it to be long. If it doesn’t have enough car chases in it, they hold onto unrealistic expectations that its one of those new six minute movies.

When I get past the interrogation, I hit play. This is when I receive nineteen sets of instructions about how to maximize the Media Player to make the screen bigger and twelve sets of mixed complaints, half of which claim the volume is too high and half which insist it is too low.

They can barely hear it or its gonna make them deaf. Simultaneously.

Perhaps its a local culture thing, or a function of the diversity or ages in my classroom, but watching movies is a full-contact sport. Students frequently yell either in affirmation or anger at the characters on the screen, saying “Yeah, boy” “Come on” “Tell ‘em” or “No! Don’t!”, pounding the table, falling over laughing in hysterics.

These kids are the reason some of my co-workers drive to Lansing to go to the movies.

Day 2 of the movie–if it lasts that long–is no easier. I hit play in the middle of the movie, near the second where we left off yesterday–the place  in time scribbled down on a post-it note (40:11, for example).

But no, this isn’t where we left off, Mrs.C. We were 11 seconds before this part or 24 seconds after. You know, the part where the girl in the olive green beaded dress had just said, “Alas, the war is upon us. Boys shall soon be men.” They suddenly have near photographic memories which magically disappear any time I try to insert a point about how the events on the screen tie into our history lesson.

Occasionally there are moments of enlightenment in the middle of the chaos. During a scene showing the suffering of a soldier, the whole class–some of who rotate on and off suspension lists for various acts of aggression–become ardent passivists. For today, they stop making disconnected comments about “Ay-rabbs” (Don’t worry, I correct their terminology) and how we should “nuke” them (them meaning all of Iraq and Afghanistan).

For today, they get that war is not as simple as it appears in random news clips that affect people they’ve never met.

I point out that every person on both sides is someone’s brother, someone’s father, someone’s sister, someone’s mother. That every person lived a life, had plans for the future. That war brings incalculable loss to families, to marriages, to children. Perhaps the lesson of history is that when you become voters (many of them already are), you must more carefully weigh the need for war against its terrible price.

Just when I think we’re all on the same page, in a unified search for peace as a future nation, one turns to the other and says, “If you don’t stop talking, I’m going to punch you in the face. I need to hear this part.”

Progress is always a mix of stepping forward and stepping back–a little dance we do that sometimes looks like learning.

*   *   *

What are your thought on peace and conflict? Do you think more international issues could be solved through peaceful efforts if we invested more energy in non-violent solutions? Or do you think that’s idealistic? Sound off here (click the brown comment box under the title of this blog post) to win today’s giveaway, a hardback copy of Let the Poor Be Glad by Greer, Smith and Cowart (Foreword by Rob Bell). Focusing on proven initiatives such as microfinance and employment-based solutions, the authors outline specific steps we can take in leading the charge against spiritual and physical poverty. Also includes photographs by award-winning photographer Jeremy Cowart (www.jeremycowart.com).

Get a second entry into the contest by tweeting about the 25 days of Giveaway contest – this is day 5 (using either @sarahcunning or #picking dandelions, so we can find it). Even if you don’t win today (and let’s hope you will), regular participants will be entered into a drawing for bonus prizes on the 25th day. So stick with us.

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You would think that working a block away from an award winning, family-owned bakery would be a good thing. But you would only think that because your job isn’t keeping 300 at-risk students from skipping school to pick up a donut.

Welcome to my 9 to 5.

Kids routinely sprint into class five minutes after the bell, toting Hinkley bag in hand, and begin distributing their bounty to friends–to only those they like, mind you, not everyone.

As you can imagine, passing out just three or four delicious homemade Hinkley’s donuts in a class of 20+ teenagers is not even a little bit distracting.

Sometimes you can see the planning in action. Money is passed around the room like a church collection plate, as kids make their investments in the day’s pastry takings. (Which is better than some of things money trades hands for around here.)

Some kids will even ask, “Is what we’re doing today important?” which translates to mean “I can’t imagine what you have planned is more important than getting a donut at Hinkley’s.” As if being able to cross a street and count out change for a donut is one of the objectives handed down from the state of Michigan.

When I say no (sorry, its policy), they resort to bribing. We’ll buy you a donut, Mrs.C. Two? Three? How many donuts would it take for you to let us go?

I have my standards though.

Come on, people.

It would take at least seven.

I read from the yahoo reviews that Hinkley’s is “not in the best area of town”–but my students would strongly disagree.

Its in the exact part of town where they’d prefer it to be

*   *  *  *  *

What about you? Where is your bakery or donut hotspot? What do you order there? Click on the brown box beneath the title of this post (see pic) to tell us about your experience to automatically enter to win today’s giveaway:

Seven: Deadly Sins and the Beatitudes by Jeff Cook – The Beatitudes of Jesus stand in sharp contrast to what ancient believers identified as the Seven Deadly Sins. Both promise us life at its fullest but only one delivers. Follow along as Cook sets the Beatitudes one by one against the Sins.

**Contest runs until midnight tonight so get your entries in now.**

Yesterday’s winner- Shawn Kirsch

Saturday’s winners- David Lawrence and Terrace Crawford

Today’s winner- Lisa Colon Delay

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If you’re ever substitute teaching, as a last resort you could always just duct tape kids to the chairs.

Although, as it turns out, that might also get you fired.

It sounds like a sitcom. Or maybe an episode of punk’d.

But every once in a while, a little bizarr-ity breaks through to the real world…and of course, when it does, it always seems to land in the school district where I work.

Really.

A substitute teacher was dismissed, the Jackson Citizen Patriot reports, because SHE DUCT TAPED SEVEN KIDS TO THEIR CHAIRS.

(They weren’t supposed to tell apparently.)

(Silly sub.)

(Kids don’t keep secrets.)

The duct-taping incident, for some reason, didn’t go over well with the principal. Because as every good teacher knows, there will be dozens of times when you would like to use duct tape (and other office supplies–remember nuns and their affinity for rulers?) to tame your unruly masses.

You think about doing it.
You’d like to do it sometimes.
But you don’t actually do it, jokers.

Apparently a candidate’s stance on duct tape imprisonment is not a category on the substitute application. As a result, someone scraped by without ever being trained on the not-duct-taping-kids-to-chairs line item.

Oops.

Yes, again, we’re a headline maker. And its my school district.

Never been prouder.  :)

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