Have you ever experienced a loss? The death of a loved one? A divorce, perhaps? Maybe a close friend or a child moved to another town? What did that feel like? How productive were you during this time?
Both my parents died after long battles with disease. The last weeks of their lives were grueling—both for them and those of us who loved them. I did my best to work during that time. I went to the office. I took work home. I got done what needed to be done. But I wasn’t on top of my game. I was distracted. I tried to keep my mind on work. Mostly, though, it was with my parents.
It took awhile to return to good working form after their deaths, too. Some people are skilled at compartmentalizing their lives. They’ve learned how to block out personal strife and get things done. I’d give myself a grade of okay, not great.
I simply wasn’t as productive as usual in the weeks before and after my parents’ deaths. I don’t know what this cost my business in a monetary sense. But, it wasn’t insignificant. The burden my distraction placed on my colleagues to carry an extra load was not insignificant, either.
If you’ve ever experienced a significant loss, think about how it affected your ability to focus and get things done. Hold that thought. Now, consider this story.
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I went to my daughter’s third-grade “author share.” She and her classmates read essays titled, “The Day I Remember Most.”
The readings began as you might expect from group of third-grade Colorado authors. My daughter wrote about a long weekend at her grandparents’ mountain cabin (she interpreted “day” loosely). One of her classmates wrote about learning to ski. Another read to her audience the joys of riding horses. The essays continued, unique but similar, student after student.
One boy sat on his hands, his essay in his lap. He fidgeted, but not in the ordinary third-grade boy sort of way. He was clearly nervous.
His teacher gave him a look after every few readings. He’d shake his head “no” without making a sound. The teacher would nod, a knowing and understanding look in her eyes.
Only a few students remained. The teacher looked at the boy again. This time he rose to his feet, hesitantly. He walked slowly to the front, shoulders hunched as if trying to hide behind his own shadow.
He stood before the audience of 20 parents and 20-plus classmates. He looked at the crowd and down again at the paper as he began in a soft voice (I can only paraphrase now):
“My teacher said I was brave to write this,” he said, perhaps trying to prepare his audience for what we were about to hear. But, we really had no clue.
“The Day I Remember Most.
“I went to bed like I usually do. My brother told me a story.
“It was really dark. I heard some loud noises.
“My brother and I ran downstairs. The cops put my mom in handcuffs and took her out the door.
“A lady told my brother and me we had to go with her.
“The day they took my mom away is the day I’ll remember most.”
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Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs is, from bottom to top: food and water; shelter and security; family and friends; respect; and self-actualization.
A friend and teacher wrote on Twitter just the other day: “Sometimes kids have bigger fish to fry than homework. Sometimes there’s not much I can do to help. When Maslow’s bottom rungs are lacking for a child, teaching doesn’t really feel like an art.”
Many—but certainly not all—of the education reform debates we’re having in this country are useful. We need to figure out ways to modernize our century-plus old model of education.
As we talk, even argue, about what’s best for kids, we need to keep some perspective about what’s possible to accomplish some days in school. It’s hard to be productive when your mind is distracted by a loss.
We need to keep in mind that some days “kids have bigger fish to fry” than what is happening in their classrooms. And, some days, teaching is less an art and more just getting through the day.
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John Creighton writes on community life and public leadership at johncr8on.com. He can be found on Twitter @johncr8on and on Facebook.
Photo Credit: woodleywonderworks (Flickr)