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WHEN IS A BASKET NOT A BASKET?
© Shawn Bird November 13, 2019
Often, when we work side by side with someone, our learning comes not from the task occupying our hands, but with the stories that come along side.
On Indigenous Learning Professional Development Day, the creation of a lovely small pine needle basket was the least of what I took away.
The elder teaching our class told of gathering the pine needles. How she wept to discover a clear cut where her favourite trees had been. She told of saying a prayer during the gathering in respect to earth, and how when we were finished with our baskets, the needles left behind should not go to the garbage, as that impacts our own healing, but that they should be given back to earth, with thanks.
Quietly, at our table, she told our group that what one saw as a mistake, was not. The elder who’d taught her when she was seventeen had explained they were meant to be there. I found a connection in that statement, “Oh!” I said, “Like I tell my English students: it’s about the process. There are going to be mistakes, and that’s good, because it’s part of the learning.”
Her eyes down on her basket flashed. “English!” she exclaimed. “I tried and I tried and I tried. But everything was always wrong, wrong, wrong. Finally, I told them what they could do with their English!”
Then she glanced up, alarmed, concerned to have caused offense. “Oh. But not like that!”
“I understand,” I said. “Your stories are in your baskets. Not in English.”
She stitched her basket, silently.
And I saw.
I saw a school system that scarred her papers and her soul. I saw a sense of never measuring up. I saw frustration growing until giving up was the best decision to preserve self.
I saw how profound it was that she was in our building teaching us her talent and skill, sharing her art, her values, and her stories with us.
I saw that there are many others in my classroom who share her experience.
I am humbled and very grateful for her teaching.
A small pine needle basket on my shelf is full of new, poignant understandings.
Here is the Word Document version for easy printing.
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Pick up any yearbook
any place
any year.
Turn the pages,
you will recognize them.
That one:
always so friendly.
That one:
forever in trouble.
That one:
so cool.
That one:
Oh! The music!
That one:
skipped more than attended
That one:
kept you up nights,
worried about wise choices
safe places.
Any yearbook,
familiar faces,
each so unique,
every one the same.
I’m through
with being split in two
three
four.
No more trying to be
too many of me.
Finally,
the best is there is to shine,
when troubled is the rare and not the rule,
where expecting excellence
is rewarded,
not met with whines.
Once, I’d have wept to leave this team,
but now it seems we’ve seen the best
and sweeping up the mess
is all that’s left.
It makes it easier to say good bye
When a dream is dangled before your eyes,
and so you reach, because like me,
sometimes you’re surprised by victory.
Now I can be
just one me,
doing what’s my specialty.
What I want to know
is what the magical ingredient is.
What’s that essential something
that makes this kid go “WOW!”?
Not just this kid, but that kid, too.
You know how some will not be moved,
never seem to find their groove?
I want the magical ingredient for them all,
so when they’re pushed from their nests
they don’t fall, they aim for the skies with eyes
open to opportunity, head full of curiosity.
Every time I think I know the secret
I see another one sneaking by,
not willing to try or
afraid
to try?
What’s broken their curiosity?
Taught them to close out possibility?
It hurts me.
I want to know if that kid
is going to move to his groove later.
Will he save his curiosity to ride a wave
at twenty instead?
I want to see it now,
but late is better than never.
I hope when it happens,
I’ll know.
So much difficulty
is avoided
when we read the instructions.
If you don’t know what is asked
why do you try
to answer?
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I’m marking exams at the moment and astonished at how often answers in no way reflect the question asked.
I’ve fallen into a fog
that fills my head with cotton
and adds sandpaper to my throat.
Bed sounds like such a good idea,
but work requires my presence.
Mentally, I’m home, buried under quilts.
Physically, I supervise workers,
who all wish they were home in bed.
We may lack spirit for spirit week;
but today is pajama day.
How apropos.
The never ending circle
of expectation raised
no effort was applied
of failure achieved
makes me want to scream.
What makes the difference
between students who give up
and those who persevere
to find success?
Perhaps it’s in their mantras:
I don’t care
versus
I care.
Those who say they don’t care, do,
but they simply don’t believe
they can.
How much of the stuff that they make you teach us
Do you really want to teach? He asked
What are you talking about? I reply.
I LOVE this stuff!
We’re passionate about our subject,
glory in the possibilities,
long to share wisdom!
Do you know how many years I studied this stuff?
I adore it all!
Oh,
how wonderful when we connect students to our subject
so they are empowered by it, too.
Recursive learning
circles of transformation in
Relation
Rigorous
Reaching to better teaching.
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a little Masters reflection today.
Shawn L. Bird 