Shall We Complicate the Reason?
I distinctly recall a time having a conversation with our oldest daughter. It was following a choice she had made that had broken not only an understanding and expectation to uphold herself, but following her actions, had left my husband, her loving father who had only admired his angel into silent disappointment, and in his silence, great hurt.
I will never forget my daughter’s reasoning, her justification for her actions. “Daddy always told me all my life what not to do, but he never really explained to me why.” She will never know how much my silence represented pure utter revelation upon her spoken words. While I quietly processed the reasoning for her action, I had no words to tell her that she just gave me an epiphanal moment. Although her action was so damaging to her father’s heart, forcing him to arrive at a new perspective of his maturing daughter, I knew exactly what she meant. Whether my husband or I failed to mention the “why”, most likely she wasn’t receptive because it wasn’t her “why”. Her reason to do served far better purpose than her reason or reasons not to do. And yet, she had to own that wrong was still wrong, no matter how you cut it.
This brings me to yet another time of reflection. It was a time I taught a combination of sixth to eighth grade math classes. I distinctly recall an incident where I had a talk with a student about her consistent tardiness to our class. As she questioned “Why?”, I found myself surprised, but nonetheless, emphasizing classroom expectations for the classroom’s success.
Her argumentative response gripped my heart to an awakening. In reference to another student regularly coming in tardy without me addressing the same behavior, she stood across the room, continued to look me in the eyes ever so strongly to voice out, “I feel as if you are being racist.”
This hurt me to a point she will never know. No. Not because I had to unaffectedly remind her that on my desk was a clear picture of my predominantly black husband or that, I, too, was a female minority standing before her (2 strikes as a second-class citizen if I allowed it ever to take me down).
I got stuck on her word, “feel”. She hit my heart. We both stood in our classroom amongst all of my other innocent and still growing students who remained seated as she spoke those words and I felt myself wanting to explain that this other student she was referring to had clear guidelines documented permitting the tardiness. This information was clearly and professionally a non-disclosure, however. While I wanted to defensively respond with that information knowing that it would have given me power and her, understanding, I couldn’t. I had to keep the focus on her behavior and the expectations for her success. My hidden “why”, had to protect and honor the privacy of another student.
My stronghold in our argument was someone else’s actions should not ever be an excuse or a reason for her own. I wanted her to acknowledge her own “why” for her tardiness and not use someone else as an easy escape of her own behavior. She needed to understand that regardless of someone else’s actions, her own action was still unacceptable. I stood my ground that day and following a phone conversation with her mother, the tardiness from this student stopped.
I ran into this student many years later. It was great to hear that she had started her own business and was moving along in life strong and willing to be the best, what I always hope for all my children and students. I openly recalled that one day where we had “our moment”. I was touched to hear her state that I had always been her favorite teacher. While I thanked her, I couldn’t find the words to tell her I wasn’t convinced I had earned such praise. That time where we had an exchange of words in front of all my students awaiting to start class fared not a favorite with me in my memory.
She will never understand what that open dialogue we had in front of class did to me. That moment, like several moments that arise as a teacher in a classroom after classroom, year after year, of many masterpieces moulding before you, had tested my ability to convey purpose for success. Was I to convince her “why” it is important to hold high expectations for oneself or let the student own her “why” she chose to question on the basis of her behavior and verbal exchange? Did she not honor doing the right for the sake of being right? Shouldn’t doing the right thing always just be enough? What purpose is there to bring another one’s actions to defend your own?
That student’s word, “feel” has stuck with me even to this day. As I took in that word and processed it through my heart, mind, and spirit, I grew up as a teacher. Students—children do see our what and do listen to our how, but unless they own their own why, our reasoning for why they should uphold expectations has no hold on the strong-willed souls who don’t just want to follow because you told them to.
I am always thankful as truthfully, relieved, to have arrived at making a positive mark in one’s life, no matter how long the seed I planted took to flourish. That student will never know how much I felt I had failed to make her understand that the “why” sometimes must be trusted even when not seen. That “what” seemingly allowed doesn’t always mean it’s agreeably right to do. At the end of the day, we each must know our own “why” without using those around us to excuse our actions otherwise. You come to class on time because it shows honor for you, your family, and your learning. You matter like all the rest of us and so present yourself as so and be ready to go at the start of every race. Be on your mark as we get set to go. That was my “why”. Thankfully, as that student shared with me her current thriving growth in life, she confirmed for me that the “why” is not as complicating as we make it out to be. That way, we can focus more on the “what” and “how”.
Twelve years apart from the youngest of our first three, our last two have given me some years in between to grow and mature a bit more as a mother. Reflectively, I can look back and come to some understanding that it wasn’t in my failure to explain “why” nor was it my husband’s failure. My work in progress as a parent is to get my children to own their own “why”. No matter what my husband and I will tell them, no matter how much work we have and will put to show them “how” to finish and finish strong, purpose is lost or non-existent if our children cannot own their own “why”. Make the “why” complicating and the “what” and “how” loses fruition.
Whether intentionally or unintentionally, our oldest three were merely raised to trust and abide by the “what” and “how”. Leaders in all spectrums, our older three children knew what they had to do to remain academically, athletically, and extracurricularly ahead of their peers. How they would make this happen required much sweat and sacrifice from both my husband and I, but it was essentially a team effort to get to the finish each time. When we spoke our “why” for the purpose, I realize now that it was exactly that- many times, our why, not their own. However, they trusted and followed to our relief. At the moment they started to question “why” is when I saw the path get split into unplanned directions. This is why I love Forrest Gump’s character so much to this day. Why was he running? He just felt like it. To me, it was just a good thing to do.
Simple spoken words of, “I’m only doing this because you ask me to” from my former student Sakile, who was otherwise sweetly suggesting through her lovely smile that out of respect, her reason to do the science work I placed before her was not because she was excited about it (I try!), but because it was the task to complete I set before her- a good enough reason for the both of us. Other times, while having a math team surrounds you with overzealous wonders for numbers, a general math class welcomes you to a room with many, I respectfully say, clients, who either have already bought into your class or those who will be asking from the onset of the school year to the final weeks, “Why do we have to do this?” (Like music to my ears.) I am grateful, however, that regardless of the “music” students sing, a great majority, if not all, finish the yearlong concerto in peace and harmony.
Sometimes we just have to trick our minds to get a job done because it’s the right thing to do. Purpose can be so bleak or unclear at times to the soul and so, it’s hard to sell it to our heart and spirit. “It’s the right thing to do” isn’t always the easier route to the other side, for instance, if one has to morally choose between stopping to pick up trash to throw away rather than just keep going. Doing your homework first before turning on any electronics is not the most exciting route. Still, we hope to choose to do the right thing.
Our greatest potential, I must believe, may never be discovered or arrived to if we complicate the “why”. I believe if we listened to that voice within us that says, “It’s the right thing to do” followed with “because you can”, commanded by the ubiquitous Nike motto “Just Do it”, we’d be doing more good deeds, completing more goals, having more successes.
If all my moments as a mother or teacher were like those with Sakile, life would be a piece of wonderfully served warm chocolate fudge cake… a la mode.
Other times, I’m in Neverland with Peter Pan.
