There's an old saying, "Out of the mouths of babes," referring to the uncanny ability of children to say things to which we adults are either just not paying attention or in ways that really hit home. They’re the voices crying out. The mini-prophets with profound words and visions or if not so profound just REALLY blatantly evident. I think of the children's fairy tale, "The Emperor's New Clothes" as a perfect example, where a child fearlessly states the obvious in the midst of adults foolishly wrapped up in their fears, self-doubts and obsessions. I also think of my students over the years and the many lessons they've taught me, whether I was wanting to learn them or not.
Many years ago in my second year as a licensed teacher, I taught a Head Start class based in a Fairfax County Elementary School. One of my students, we'll call him Mo, was one of my prophets. As is easy to do, not only as a new teacher but as both a woman and an ultra-responsible, invest-it-all type, I put a LOT of time and energy into work...okay, all of it. Essentially, I opened the building and closed it many a day. Yes, I do like being able to get in before the madness and bustle start to fill the air, AND, I have a tendency to, well, forget that there's more to life than work. Work, though exhausting, generally is a safe place--meaning: I know what to do there and am pretty good at it; it's mostly dependable and predictable; and besides, in my little classroom, I was in control; I was in charge. Other parts of my life...not so much.
Enter Mo. Mo was a high energy, fast forward kid. He seldom knew where his body was in relation to anything or anyone else and, consistently, slammed into other children and objects as he flailed about the room. Often, he would leap up from a collision ready to take the offender down. (The day he realized HE was the offender is a whole other entry.) Needless to say, with him around, I was not in control but constantly on high alert for potential wars.
Mo was also not a strong turn-taker. He wanted it all and NOW. He was exceptionally vocal about it too. Interrupting, calling out, jumping up and, well, taking over---over and over and over.
About a month or so into this beat down of my energy and spirit, Mo was heard repeatedly calling out, "What about me?” I glossed over it for several days, not REALLY listening to him; instead redirecting, modeling, doing all that teacher stuff I'm supposed to do. After about a full week of "What about me?" echoing loudly throughout the classroom throughout the day, I finally stopped. I stopped and I just looked at him. Staring at me intently, a joyful smile across his face, he said, "What about me?" The emperor had been exposed--these words were for me. What about me? How is it that work is everything? How is it that I’ve been living so safely and so carefully? Who am I to think I'm in control? How is it that I’ve gotten so wrapped up in doing and not being? He said it again quietly and again quietly. I smiled and said nothing but nodded my head. Then he stopped and sat down.
Out of the mouths of babes...
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