Discipline

Today I had a great conversation, one that will stay with me for years, I think. It didn’t surprise me because I have meaningful talks with this guy often. He’s insightful, funny, tough, and intelligent. But today he messed up. More accurately, today is when I found out he messed up. Because of his positive reputation up to now, we spent lunch having what we call “a strong talk”, while the paperwork for a referral for either in-school suspension or lunch or after-school detention sat there as I asked his version of the story.

As usual, he told me the truth, as difficult as it was for him to do. Then he kept talking. He let me know why he’s starting to get angry—what’s happening around him and within him. He gave no excuses for his behavior.  He even said if he were the other boy involved how he would feel. There was no violence, just hateful words. He understands I feel as strongly about hate-filled words as I do physical violence. It was uncharacteristic, and that’s why it stood out. Boys will not just be boys all the time. That is a societal cop out. Not when it incites fear. Not when it’s disguised as a “joke”. And not when I find out the source of the anger and it’s fixable. I told him the consequences, part of which backfired. {Lunch detention doesn’t work when the kid wants to eat lunch with his teacher because school is almost over and he’s sad about that.}

There are hard days at this school, with this age. Nothing was harder than looking this child in his eyes and telling him I was disappointed in him. But it had to be said, and it had to be said by me. Nothing else made me realize more that I was made for this than when I could have this talk with him, and provide whatever discipline was necessary. It would mean more; it would hurt him in the right, fair way. No yelling, no accusations. A conversation.

I told him he is one of the very reasons I get up and teach every day. He helped me find my purpose in life, without ever trying. He doesn’t have to be perfect, but he does have to choose his friends wisely. I reminded him every child in that school deserves to feel as safe and cared for as he does by all of us, and the boy he was unkind to is a favorite of mine too, and it will be made right. That’s HIS job. We’ll see. I know I put a lot of trust in children, but only in the ones who have earned it. Damn it, it’s tough when they violate that trust. But it’s not personal; they’re trying to figure out who they are. And that’s an exact quote from a very wise 11 year old.

Soccer, family, girls, becoming somebody, and respect are the most important things to him. He asked me if I still respected him before we left.

I told him I never stopped.

s. Jensen

5-5-1

The Power of Poetry

I don’t know who to attribute the following quote to, but it briefly appeared on the screen during the movie “The Big Short.”

“Truth is like poetry. Most people can’t f**cking stand poetry.”  

So much brilliance has never been uttered in so few words. We, as a society, expect truth in all aspects of our daily life. We expect it from the institutions who serve us, those employees who work alongside us, our friends, and those whom we love. We demand truth in all things and demonize and damn those who don’t speak it, in many regards, rightfully so.

We do have a collective reaction to the truth though. When our institutions fail us, we can hardly contain our anger. When our employees do less than what is expected, we demand compensation or for things to be corrected. When friends come up short, we implore them to work harder. When our partners let us down, we preach or act like a disappointed parent. Again, these reactions are more than justifiable, but I would like to use this post to focus on the second sentence and its relationship to the truth.

The truth is people don’t read poetry anymore. John Adams once said, “You will never be alone with a poet in your pocket.” For me this is true, but for many poetry has fallen out of fashion. It isn’t shared across the internet like online magazine articles, videos, or pictures. It lives a secluded life regaled to blogs and dedicated websites. For many, poetry’s time has come to pass. I understand this feeling, but I wholeheartedly disagree.

While most people can’t handle the truth when it is delivered in the form of failure or disappointment, poetry speaks truth to power. It challenges institutions. It demands that they be better. Its verses speak to the joy of work and the difference one can make. Poetry longs for friendship and the joy of belonging. Poetry is a language of love. It does more to describe affection than any other art form. Poetry is truth.

Poetry can also save lives. On more than one occasion, it has saved mine. It has delivered me from dark places. Places I was never meant to travel. Places, once I could sum up in words and view from 10,000 feet, I could allow myself to escape. On more than one occasion in my life, thoughts of violent disruption to myself have crossed my mind. In all of those circumstances, I raced for a pen to capture my thoughts. More often than not, my savior was delivered to me not from above, but from the power of a pen meeting paper. I am who I am, because of the power of poetry. I am alive, because of a forgotten art form.

When I view the world, I process it through words, prose, poetry, and lines yet to be written. I try my best to quiet my mind, live in the moment, be present, and record what I am thinking and feeling. It is a trick I have developed after years of letting my emotions get the best of me. Like a giddy child on Christmas morning, I can hardly contain my excitement when it comes time to record my feelings in my composition book or my journal. Eventually, I work up the courage to share these thoughts with the same world I have been observing. I do so, not in an effort to garner attention and admiration, rather I share, because I know I am not alone. I am one of the billions trying to make his way. If my story can help just one person, then it was all worth it.

As I observe, I wish I was better. I have recently gone back and read things I wrote in high school or college. It has been hard for me to believe that some of those words were mine. I try not to judge too harshly though. Those feelings were an encapsulation of a time gone by. They were real. They were raw. At the time, they were powerful. Writing them made me a better person. Writing them helped me move past the pain, disappointment, and/or loneliness. Those words were my words. Those words are still my words.

I write every day and every day I get better. Every day, I speak my truth and apply truth to power. Poetry is often my weapon because it forces me to synthesize my thoughts. I am not allowed to wax on with compound-complex sentences that never end. My method is short, sweet, and much like a nuclear bomb seeks to make the most impact possible. Poetry will always be my first choice when it comes to expressing myself and if you’re reading this, I hope you will give it another chance. The pen is said to be mightier than the sword and poetry may be the greatest weapon of all.

Be good to each other,

-Nathan 

The Short Word

There is no word more powerful. There is nothing that can stop it. There is nothing that can stand in its way. Hate, fear, and cynicism pale in comparison. It can move mountains. It can reach the depths of the sea. It progresses people forward. It drags the rest along kicking and screaming. It has led to the fall of tyrants and it has instilled hope in us all. There is nothing more powerful than love.

Thanks for entering my world,

-Nathan 

My Strength

Some people find strength in their relationships. They look to loved ones for guidance. Their trusted partner or spouse acts like a sounding board providing wisdom, concern and direction. 

I haven't been afforded this opportunity in a very long time. To some degree, friends and family have filled the void. Try as they may, they can never offer the advice given by someone who knows you on an intimate level. 

Instead of a reliance on others, I have had to reach within to pull my strength from without. Which made me recently question the source of my strength. It comes from several places: 

1. Pride 
2. Humility 
3. A deep seated desire to leave this world better than I found it
4. A desire to help those who cannot help themselves. 
5. A wish to make those around me smile
6. Promise from those I love
7. A simple notion, "this life is not my own" 
8. A simple quote from Mr. Hemingway, "The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for." 
9. A simple Greek proverb, "Society becomes great when old men plant trees whose shade they shall never sit it." 
10. An unyielding pursuit of the truth through knowledge

So, strength can come from many places, but the key, as always, is how to use the power. 

Thanks for entering my world, 

-Nathan