"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...until you climb around in his skin and walk around in it."

My dad, my son and I after one of his first treatments

 I want to start off with a huge thank you to everyone who took a second (some of you much longer) to pray for my dad (or offer your thoughts and wishes) over the last four months.  Some of you, I know, prayed for my mom and our family as well.  On Tuesday, April 8th we learned that my dad is 100% cancer free.  I will never forget reading that text, sitting by my dear friend, holding up the phone, and smiling with tears in my eyes.  I was not doing something that I loved (I was away from my students in a meeting), and I was having a kind of difficult day.  In fact, I had told my husband before I left how much I was dreading the day.  But, the  moment my phone buzzed, everything shifted.  The text was two sentences long, sent to my sister and I: "Best news ever! Dad is 100% cancer free!"  That is all it took, to change my entire day.  From the moment I got that text, all the frustration I had been feeling in the meeting was put into perspective.  I realized I hadn't been in my classroom in two days, and I was probably missing my students.  I looked around and knew that everyone in that room was only advocating for their students, just like I was, and they wanted only the best to result from this process.  I also realized that I should have a piece of chocolate, because life is worth celebrating--I became infinitely more bearable after that!


As soon as I got in my car, my I tried to call my dad.  I think he was out in his garden!  Who could blame him, it was an actual spring day in Northwest Arkansas, and he is cancer free.  I imagine he was hanging out with his dog and tending to some fragile new plants in his greenhouse.  Next, I called my mom.  She and I giggled and teared up.  We both know that in no way does this mean my dad isn't still going to have some rough days ahead, and the next call might not be of this nature, so we decided to celebrate this day.  It is the right decision, to cherish the moment we are in.  The next moment will happen anyway!

Before I knew this news, I had been excited to write my blog about what happened in my life on Monday.  It was an extraordinary day.  I am a second year member of the ARTeacher Fellowship program, a program that works with new(ish) English and Social Studies teachers in my area and connects them with world class arts integration strategies and instructional practices.  It is a collaboration between Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art (yep, its true we have a world class art museum in Bentonville, Arkansas--and its completely awesome and culture-y and stuff), the Walton Arts Center (yep, its also true we have an amazing performing arts center in Fayetteville, Arkansas--also awesome and also culture-y and stuff) and the University of Arkansas.  I knew it was going to be an awesome day because one of the most amazing teachers on the planet--Rika Burnham was at Crystal Bridges from New York, to work with us-looking at art and teaching us.  If you don't know who Rika Burnham is, shame on you--just kidding, but you really should google her.  She has some pretty interesting ideas about questioning, critical thinking, agency and the purpose of education.  What I wanted to write about was my experience with a particular sculpture that I had walked past many times in my forays into the galleries that I love.  I had never even really paused to think about it.  It seemed like something interesting, but there were other things that always caught my attention more than this particular, "significant object" as it has been named by the artist.

Rika said we were doing something different, and we were not to talk during this portion of our lesson.  First, she had us sit down and draw the object--okay, I am not an artist, but its ten boxes, surely I could do this.  But it was hard.  There are all kinds of subtleties in this task.  I was frustrated that I couldn't get it quite right.  Finally, she called time (even though I wasn't finished, I was glad to move on).  Then, she had us lay on the floor and look at the sculpture, just look, for about a minute.  Of course I laid in the floor because this is a world-class museum, when I am gonna get that chance again?  As I lay in the floor, I realized that some how, the bottoms of the rectangles were mirrored and see through.  The red on the front of the boxes that had been so important became secondary, and in the stair steps now created, I could not see the beginning or the end.  I kept trying to wiggle, but I could never see the whole thing.  As I lay there, feeling overwhelmed by this objects infinity, I realized even when I was sitting up, I couldn't see the whole thing.  There were sides that no matter where I positioned myself, I would never see or understand.  I felt overwhelmed.  All it took was a tiny shift, and my whole viewpoint had changed.

My students getting a new perspective.

I couldn't figure out what to write about, and then I realized, they are really the same thing.  What I cherish is perspective.  More accurately, what I cherish is the shift, minute or monumental that enables us access to a new perspective.  My dad's struggle and the news this week took me out of my place of self-pity and made me celebrate the day.  It helped me see that meeting with new eyes.  My lesson with the sculpture took me from a place of confusion and frustration to a place of awe and amazement.  We will never be able to understand exactly where someone else is going through, or understand all the perspectives of people who feel differently than we do, but the value is in the pursuit of understanding.  Some times, all we need is to shift our eyes, just a little bit, and the view might just take our breath away!