Giving Thanks For Teachers

I have decided that as a community we are not just lucky, we're blessed with the men and women who teach our children.

Being a teacher takes talent to begin with. Aside from the obvious credentials and education, teachers must have patience, organizational skills, be able to multi-task around the needs of twenty-plus children, and maintain self-control when at times a classroom of Kindergarteners might feel like being trapped in a cage of chimpanzees.

A teacher must also have the ability to keep a straight face when a stinky teenager who has obviously forgotten to wear deodorant comes to him or her with questions, or have compassion when a tearful young girl is beside herself over breaking up with her first love.

And then, there is the teacher who will reside over my 5-year-old son Riley from 8:15 a.m. to 11:35 a.m. Monday through Friday. She is more than a teacher, she is a saint...or at least she will be by the end of this Kindergarten year.

Monday night, the evening before school started, I declared it to be a "take a shower and scrub all 2,000 body parts" night for my little posse of Smith boys. My older two ran off to take their showers dutifully while my sweet Riley announced that he would not be showering.  After asking nicely, threatening, counting to three, and numerous unsuccessful requests, I realized I had a battle on my hands.  I took a quick look at the clock and had a one-sided conversation with myself that went something like this:

"It's going to take ten minutes to cut and peel the beets and sweet potatoes. Another hour to roast them. Don't forget to set aside time to make the salad. Thank goodness the chicken is already in the crock-pot. Let's see...that gives me three and a half minutes to take control of this shower situation."

So, with lightening speed and grace like a Baryshnikov dancer, I picked up my fifty pound almost-Kindergartner, stripped him down, stood him in the shower, washed his hair and most of his 2,000 body parts, pulled him out, and wrapped him in a towel. Just like that, in three and half minutes flat, Riley was about two pounds lighter due the removal of excesses grime and dirt.

"Your clothes are sitting on the sink. You can either dress yourself or come ask me for help," I said rushing off to start cutting vegetables for the salad.

What followed then was a temper tantrum of ginormous proportions.  As I busily chopped away at carrots, celery, and onions, my son writhed on the floor naked by my feet screaming something about not wanting to have taken the shower. Meanwhile, I fell into a zen state and began quietly repeating my most recently adopted mantra.

"He, too, will have a 5-year-old one day. He, too, will have a 5-year-old one day."

It wasn't until about ten minutes later when a pair of Spiderman briefs whizzed past my head, nearly landing into a pot of boiling water that I decided I should probably confront this red-faced, angry little boy.  I took in a big breath, absorbing all the peace and serenity I found in my zen state. I knelt down until I was eye-to-eye with Riley, and in the sweetest, Snow White-like voice, I said this to him:

"In a few minutes I will be calling your brothers into the house. They will walk through that front door, see you lying naked on the floor kicking and screaming, and they will laugh hysterically at you. It will be something I cannot control because, yes, you do look pretty funny behaving this way. It is your choice whether or not you would like to be on the other end of their laughter."

With that, I stood up, opened the kitchen window, and let my older boys know that they had two minutes left of play time before they would need to come in to help set the table for dinner. Wouldn't you know it, I turned around to see Riley scrambling into his Spiderman briefs.

The rest of the night went uneventfully with no mention of the chaos that had occurred earlier.

The next morning, my children bounded off to school, Riley most excited of them all to enter his first day of Kindergarten. To be truthful, I'm always sad to see them off the first day of school because summer brings a time of great bonding between us. I miss them terribly.

But that morning, as I sat in the still, quiet, and peaceful ambiance of my home drinking a warm cup of coffee, my thoughts were with Mrs. Garcia, Riley's Kindergarten teacher.  I mentally sent her all the patience, love, and compassion that I have for my son, hoping she could absorb it from two blocks away. And then I thanked her for allowing me to have three hours of drama-free adult time.

Our teachers are more than just educators.  They are counselors, cheerleaders, and disciplinarians to our children.  They console, encourage, and provide structure to the youth who are lucky enough to grace their classrooms.  And, I say this with the utmost respect and thanks, they assume authoritative responsibility of the little people who encompass the most fragile part of our hearts.

On that day, alone in my house, I lifted my coffee mug and toasted to the educators who will encounter my children over the next thirteen years.

Three cheers for teachers!

It's a Small World After All

This has been a pivotal year for me.  This year is my 20 year high school reunion.  Yes, its been 20 years since I've roamed the halls of teenage-dom, doing everything I could to fit in and avoid looking like the total nerd.  This task proved difficult seeing as I went to three high schools in four years.

My first school was not far from a beach town in southern California, what they called at the time "The Melting Pot".  There was no room for religious bias or racial favoritism.  We were a mish-mash of all skin colors, all beliefs, all backgrounds.  Luckily I managed to stay there long enough during my elementary, middle school, and freshman year to learn the lingo, the moves, the "do's" and "do nots" of how to behave.  Everything was "RAD" or if something was nasty it "gagged" me.

Then came Idaho the lessons of trying to fit in started all over again. Having been raise of no religion but recruited in my preteen days into Christianity, lets just say my Jesus lingo didn't fit so well with Joseph Smith crowd.  I seemed to have a neon sign on my forehead that invited enlightenment from classmates who were practicing to go on their future missions.  Since it their religious prodding fell on deaf ears many adopted the "Two Books of Mormon" rule, or in my case "Twenty Books of Mormon" rule and kept their distance.  I left Idaho with making a handful friends, the small pod of non-LDSers.

Junior year, I found myself in Oklahoma and thankful I no longer had to find new ways to be cool within the Latter Day Saints community.  I had high hopes that maybe in the Bible belt, I might find myself in the "in" crowd.  Although I did fair a bit better among the Southern Baptists, Jesus lingo still intact, I felt as I had been whisked back in time.  Here it was 1990, and my lily white complexion seemed to be the thing that defined me this time.  While the south had certainly advance beyond the days of the Civil War there still felt as if there was an impregnable wall I could not pass. There were those like me who were born with blinding snow white skin that classmates would have to wear sunglasses while passing.  There were also those I used to think (and still do) were lucky because they never lost their golden and brown suntans.  I disliked the obvious "us" and "them" behavior on both sides of divide.  Eventually I left Oklahoma, again walking away with a handful of friendships.

After 4 years and three high schools, I had enough of the blatant division among my communities I had lived in.  I moved back to southern California where I landed myself a job as a Disney Character.  I spent 4 years in that one magical place working with diversity in its finest form.  Not only did I meet and greet with people from all walks of life, religions, races, family structures, and preferences but I worked and lived among them day in and day out.  Aside from the genuine Disney grin, they fit no mold society could place on them.  They were unique, beautiful just as they were.  They became my extended family.

It's incredible to me how Disney represents itself as a "family theme park" but how few people know how  depth the thread of truth that runs deep in that representation.  The family behind the Disney scenes truly loved one another, respecting their unique differences and beliefs, finding ways to live in harmony with one another...and really...it was effortless.  It was a small world, sheltered by the rules of status, race, and religion, that created a community of friends to become family.

My high school 20 year reunions came and went.  I did not attend any of the three high school get-togethers.  Truthfully, I didn't think much of it.  But this weekend, my Disney family gathered for a one of a kind reunion.  I had every intention of going but circumstances did not allow it this time.  As the pictures posted, and the Facebook Reunion page comments went up, a sadness grew in my heart. I missed the event that brought my Disney family from all parts of the world together to rekindle the love, affection, and camaraderie we have for one another.

However, my heart is warmed by the thoughts that no matter the distance or years that separate my furry friends and I, this world is much smaller than it appears and my that Disney family is just a magic carpet ride (or a Boeing 747) away.