I have been fortunate in that I have been blessed with great teachers over the course of my life. They were Sunday School teachers, Private School teachers, Public School teachers, superiors in the Marine Corps... and I came away a better person for having known them.
These teachers were not amazing because of the content they taught. They were amazing because they understood that, more than teaching a subject, they were teaching the whole child. They saw me and my peers as more than mere students answering exam questions. We were young people who needed to take our steps into a greater world prepared for what that world had in store for us.
Here is a brief run down of some of my most memorable teachers and what I learned from them beyond the subject matter. If I am 10% of what they were to me with my own students, I would count myself quite successful.
Roger Glidewell: My Youth Minister, who reminded me that I could rise above my circumstance. For starting me on my faith journey.
Tommy Lyons: My Music Minister, who encouraged my talents and despite knowing my challenges, treated me with grace and dignity-always. I was so happy that my family got to know him and his wife before we left.
Mr. Bazan: My first grade teacher. He was one of the first to encourage a love of learning.
Mr. Bradley: My middle school history teacher. He showed me kindness and temperance with everyone, not a select few.
Mr. Cox: My Algebra I teacher. He never gave up on his students.
Mrs. Tatum: My English I teacher. She renewed a love for the written word and taught me the value of creating a good argument. She also reminded me that anything I wanted to do could be possible-with hard work.
Mrs. Dowdy: My English II teacher and debate coach. I learned to see potential in every student.
Mrs. Rhodes: My Algebra II teacher. She taught me the importance of teaching to every student.
Mr. Davis: My Choir Director, who pushed me to be better, taught me humility and perseverance. Who first introduced me to beauty that is choral music and helped me find my voice.
Mrs. Smith: My first university voice instructor, for renewing and reminding me about the aforementioned love of music.
Dr. Johnson; My first University Choir Director, for showing me another level of music making. For giving me a big hug and telling me how glad he was to see me at my first TMEA as a Choral Director.
Robert Albright: My Cooperating Teacher, for showing me just what being a choral director involves. For bringing together everything I had learned as an undergrad and showing it to me as you taught your students and trusting me to stumble though teaching as you handed them over to me. I never got to tell you before you died but the letter of encouragement you sent me my third year into teaching could not have come at a better time. I still read it on occasion.
Dr. Silantien, Dr. Mabry, and Dr. Dill: my university instructors, voice teachers, and choral directors, for encouraging me, disciplining me, and guiding me on my journey as a choral director and music teacher.
Lastly, my dear friend, David Custer: Choir Director extraordinaire, for being the kind of friend I needed when I needed it. For reminding me that success is possible with any group of students as long as you make it about the students. For getting me back on my feet when I was ready to hang it up. I cannot believe three years have gone by since you died. I still miss you, my friend.
All of you have given me inspiration (still do) to be the best teacher and director I can be. To be in a constant state of learning. To teach more than just the subject to my students as you did with me.
Thank you.
Wednesday, November 22, 2017
Giving Thanks for Dad
My father is not a perfect man and he would be the first to tell you. Even so, I am thankful for him.
Dad has run a business for as long as I can remember and served as an officer in the US Army. Dad worked a lot but was supportive of me. He took me to piano and later, voice lessons. Dad made it to concerts, recitals, and other performances. He took us to church and encouraged involvement in in youth group and choir. I learned some of my greatest life lessons from him. Some I did not fully grasp until after the "know-it-all" years of my youth. No matter what, Dad was there for me.
One of my favorite memories with my Dad happened when I was in the second grade.
Dad understood the importance of an education-not only for material gain but as a means to better one's self. Dad did his best to make sure we had the best education possible by every means at his disposal.
I was struggling with reading. I was also attending a private school and aware that Dad was working hard for me to attend it. I was having a hard time with my work and fell behind. Dad went with me to visit my teacher and it was clear I needed to catch up.
One day I left my reader at school. I was scared to tell Dad but he said, "we will go in early."
Dad not only took me to school early, he sat with me and helped me with my assignment. I still remember him sitting next to me, guiding me through each sentence until I was finished with the work. He made time for me. Time that encouraged me to keep working and get better. Time that said, "I believe in you."
Dad did not get a college education. This did not stop him from becoming an officer in the Army. Dad retired as a Major after working his way up from the rank of Private. I have always respected his work ethic and desire to do more. Helping me that morning showed me that I could do better. I could do more.
More than anything, Dad was there for me. When I have been at my best and when I have been at my worst, Dad has been there. And he always says the same thing to me: I love you.
When I found my place in Chorale in high school, Dad was there.
When I struggled with my demons, Dad was there... even when it meant coming to me.
When I became a Marine, he was the first officer I saluted... and hugged-briefly.
When I received both my degrees, I remember seeing my Dad, waving and smiling at me in the stands.
When Dad found out he would become a Grandfather-all three times.
Whenever I meet up with him for lunch or dinner when I am in town.
For all of these times and so much more, I am thankful for my Dad.
For showing me how to love my family.
For introducing me to books.
For taking me fishing.
For bringing me to music... for still coming to concerts.
For encouraging my love of learning and inspiring me to teach others.
Thank you, Dad.
Dad has run a business for as long as I can remember and served as an officer in the US Army. Dad worked a lot but was supportive of me. He took me to piano and later, voice lessons. Dad made it to concerts, recitals, and other performances. He took us to church and encouraged involvement in in youth group and choir. I learned some of my greatest life lessons from him. Some I did not fully grasp until after the "know-it-all" years of my youth. No matter what, Dad was there for me.
One of my favorite memories with my Dad happened when I was in the second grade.
Dad understood the importance of an education-not only for material gain but as a means to better one's self. Dad did his best to make sure we had the best education possible by every means at his disposal.
I was struggling with reading. I was also attending a private school and aware that Dad was working hard for me to attend it. I was having a hard time with my work and fell behind. Dad went with me to visit my teacher and it was clear I needed to catch up.
One day I left my reader at school. I was scared to tell Dad but he said, "we will go in early."
Dad not only took me to school early, he sat with me and helped me with my assignment. I still remember him sitting next to me, guiding me through each sentence until I was finished with the work. He made time for me. Time that encouraged me to keep working and get better. Time that said, "I believe in you."
Dad did not get a college education. This did not stop him from becoming an officer in the Army. Dad retired as a Major after working his way up from the rank of Private. I have always respected his work ethic and desire to do more. Helping me that morning showed me that I could do better. I could do more.
More than anything, Dad was there for me. When I have been at my best and when I have been at my worst, Dad has been there. And he always says the same thing to me: I love you.
When I found my place in Chorale in high school, Dad was there.
When I struggled with my demons, Dad was there... even when it meant coming to me.
When I became a Marine, he was the first officer I saluted... and hugged-briefly.
When I received both my degrees, I remember seeing my Dad, waving and smiling at me in the stands.
When Dad found out he would become a Grandfather-all three times.
Whenever I meet up with him for lunch or dinner when I am in town.
For all of these times and so much more, I am thankful for my Dad.
For showing me how to love my family.
For introducing me to books.
For taking me fishing.
For bringing me to music... for still coming to concerts.
For encouraging my love of learning and inspiring me to teach others.
Thank you, Dad.
Giving Thanks for Fatherhood
As a father, it is difficult for me to categorize memories of my children. A favorite one? Not possible.
As a teacher, I have been telling stories about my children for as long as I remember. And why wouldn't I tell them? They are like my own children. Some of them have looked after them a time or to and I consider my choir family an extension of my own.
On that note, I have a student who has told me time and again I should write my stories down and I could not think of a better one to start with, given the time of year than one I have told to students, colleagues, and friends alike. It involves my oldest child.
The day our Oldest was born, my wife agreed to an epidural (sedation that taps into the spinal chord). I was nervous about the procedure myself but it was my wife's decision and after being informed about it she said yes. A possible side effect, we were told, was that the baby may also be under the influence of the sedation. That is exactly what happened.
Our Oldest came to us sometime in the afternoon on a beautiful Fall day. Her eyes were closed. She did not appear to be responsive. She looked as though she was asleep and for a moment it was as if all that I knew was being torn from my being. And I was afraid.
I have endured some ugly, painful things in my life but I never felt as terrified or helpless as I did that afternoon in the delivery room, watching the nurse hold my daughter. She was placed in an incubator and it was at that time the nurse turned to me as said, "sing to her."
Sing to her.
I attended a workshop on the ability of developing babies to hear and possibly even possess memory not only three months earlier. I came home excited about what I learned and we sang to our child whenever possible. Some of my most cherished memories as a husband and father are of me laying in bed or on the couch, singing to our children when they were in the womb.
I had read and heard stories of people who recalled things that their mothers/fathers could not explain because they happened prior to being born.
Interesting. Touching. And now all I can think of is the song I sang to her every chance I could do so:
As a teacher, I have been telling stories about my children for as long as I remember. And why wouldn't I tell them? They are like my own children. Some of them have looked after them a time or to and I consider my choir family an extension of my own.
On that note, I have a student who has told me time and again I should write my stories down and I could not think of a better one to start with, given the time of year than one I have told to students, colleagues, and friends alike. It involves my oldest child.
The day our Oldest was born, my wife agreed to an epidural (sedation that taps into the spinal chord). I was nervous about the procedure myself but it was my wife's decision and after being informed about it she said yes. A possible side effect, we were told, was that the baby may also be under the influence of the sedation. That is exactly what happened.
Our Oldest came to us sometime in the afternoon on a beautiful Fall day. Her eyes were closed. She did not appear to be responsive. She looked as though she was asleep and for a moment it was as if all that I knew was being torn from my being. And I was afraid.
I have endured some ugly, painful things in my life but I never felt as terrified or helpless as I did that afternoon in the delivery room, watching the nurse hold my daughter. She was placed in an incubator and it was at that time the nurse turned to me as said, "sing to her."
Sing to her.
I attended a workshop on the ability of developing babies to hear and possibly even possess memory not only three months earlier. I came home excited about what I learned and we sang to our child whenever possible. Some of my most cherished memories as a husband and father are of me laying in bed or on the couch, singing to our children when they were in the womb.
I had read and heard stories of people who recalled things that their mothers/fathers could not explain because they happened prior to being born.
Interesting. Touching. And now all I can think of is the song I sang to her every chance I could do so:
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy, when skies are grey.
You'll never know just how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.
A simple song that sums up how I see myself as her father. She (all of them, really) are my sunshine. At their best and worst, that will always be the case. In our happiest hours and our saddest, this will remain. There is no possible way for any of my children to know just how much I love them because I have realized that the capacity to do so has grown so much since they were born. And then there is the last line. the one that was going through my mind that afternoon: please don't take my sunshine away.
It was then that I learned the hardest truth about parenting: I really have no control. This life that has been given to me to care for exists in the same world I do-one where the only control I ever really have involves how I handle what comes my way. We could have lost her that day. We could still lose her and there is nothing we could do about it. All we can (and should) do is prepare them for their lives and the world they will soon join. Hopefully, we do so with humor, faith, empathy, and intelligence.
I think we can find eternity in the present. I did precisely that on that October afternoon. I can tell you where everyone in the room was. I can tell you exactly where I was standing in relation to my daughter when I began to sing to her. And I will always be moved when I tell what happened next:
She opened her eyes. Her gaze went across the room in my direction and in that moment,
I just kept singing.
Many times since then, when I look at her, I remember this day. I re-live it. I hope I am being the best father I can be for her and her siblings, especially when I know I get things wrong. And I do.
I also hope that in those moments, they know that when I get back on my feet it is because I want them to know that I will not give up on them-ever. And they should not give up, either.
Every day I have the joy of taking them to school and in those moments, I see a wonderful transformation taking place.
Every day, they become stronger, smarter, more independent, than the day before. They also become more compassionate, selfless, empathetic, and ever mindful of those who cannot help themselves. And we are blessed.
I have come to see my children in the context of a different trinity:
When I held them.
As I see them now.
The persons into which they will grow.
Every day is as much a new adventure as it is a blessing and I am thankful for each day with them.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Guns in Church?
I get and support the right to bear arms and I do not pretend to know what the church members and their families are going through, but when I read, see, hear about churches informing us (in the media or via signs on their doors) that their staff and/or membership is armed and will use force, I wonder where we are placing our faith? Are we making proper use of our "talents" to borrow from today's liturgy. Are we burying it, like the third servant did, out of fear (real or perceived)? Because we see our circumstance through the lens of fear and anger that created it, should we respond from that same place? I wonder.
Should we, instead, engage in real, most likely hard, conversations about how we handle fear within the context of the One in whom we believe? "All are welcome to the Table, but know that there are members of at the table who will visit violence upon you instead of love?" "Love conquers all but here is a weapon, just in case?" If we are not demonstrating grace in the midst of our fears, then what is the point of faith? Maybe the better question is: in Whom or or what is it placed?
For me, here is the question that I come back to-that I always come back to as a person who is called to "be in the the world but not of the world": If might makes right, is there room for love in the world?
What does it say about us (followers of Christ) when we place a sign that says "we have guns and we will use them on you..." at the entrance to a building where we worship the One who both showed us and told us to "love our enemies... bless those who persecute you"? The One who spent His time with criminals... and loved them. It seems to me that the hard part-where it matters most, is trying to see Christ in all, even and especially those who need Him most. Our fellow "good thieves" who we may see again in Paradise.
Are there conversations about this happening beyond the meme and sound-bite level in our churches and faith communities? Are we struggling to meet this through the lens of Christ?
I truly hope so.
Monday, November 6, 2017
Here we go again?
I grew up around weapons. I used weapons, from pistols, to M-16A1, to .55 Caliber Machine Gun, while in the Marines. I own a weapon. I have no problem with Concealed Carry.
That said,
We have another shooting and the usual suspects are coming forward: Gun Control, 2nd Amendment rights, NRA and Trump haters, and once again, lines are drawn in social media and beyond.
In the midst of this, a report by the New York Times states that this person, who was given a Bad Conduct Discharge due to Courts Martial for assault on his spouse and child, managed to clear an FBI Background check that should have shown his discharge status. It is yet unclear if a Bad Conduct Discharge warrants prohibition from gun ownership but I think that the assault (felony) charges brought about in the Courts Martial should have been enough to prevent this man from purchasing a weapon. Either way, the FBI apparently did not get this information from the DoD.
If the article from the NY Times is correct, then people died because our current gun laws are not being enforced as they should and there are clearly gaps in the process for verifying eligibility to own a weapon. In short, what happened Sunday could have been avoided not by "having tougher gun laws" but by responsibly enforcing current law and procedure.
I hope that the DoD does all it can to correct the problem.
The NRA, in the wake of the shooting in Las Vegas, agreed to get behind limiting or outright eliminating bump stocks. That is a good start, but we should revisit how we deal with mental illness in our country. I also think that we should be doing a better job of enforcing current gun laws. It is one thing when the bad guy plays the system. It is quite another when the system simply does not work.
When one considers that there are about as many (if not more) guns in the country as there are citizens, shouldn't there be a moral imperative to do at least that?
That said,
We have another shooting and the usual suspects are coming forward: Gun Control, 2nd Amendment rights, NRA and Trump haters, and once again, lines are drawn in social media and beyond.
In the midst of this, a report by the New York Times states that this person, who was given a Bad Conduct Discharge due to Courts Martial for assault on his spouse and child, managed to clear an FBI Background check that should have shown his discharge status. It is yet unclear if a Bad Conduct Discharge warrants prohibition from gun ownership but I think that the assault (felony) charges brought about in the Courts Martial should have been enough to prevent this man from purchasing a weapon. Either way, the FBI apparently did not get this information from the DoD.
If the article from the NY Times is correct, then people died because our current gun laws are not being enforced as they should and there are clearly gaps in the process for verifying eligibility to own a weapon. In short, what happened Sunday could have been avoided not by "having tougher gun laws" but by responsibly enforcing current law and procedure.
I hope that the DoD does all it can to correct the problem.
The NRA, in the wake of the shooting in Las Vegas, agreed to get behind limiting or outright eliminating bump stocks. That is a good start, but we should revisit how we deal with mental illness in our country. I also think that we should be doing a better job of enforcing current gun laws. It is one thing when the bad guy plays the system. It is quite another when the system simply does not work.
When one considers that there are about as many (if not more) guns in the country as there are citizens, shouldn't there be a moral imperative to do at least that?
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