Embracing Imperfection

Over the last couple weeks, I have had some pretty amazing opportunities.  First, my students and I applied and were selected to attend not only a reading from Taylor Mali, but we got the chance to write with him in the afternoon.  Then, this past Thursday, I took 80 of my high school seniors from my AP Language and Composition class to Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, a world class museum located in Bentonville, Arkansas.  After our trip to the museum, I was honored to watch my daughter perform in her first high school play (along with several of my students).  It has been a whirlwind of a couple of weeks.

There is something that has been hitting my heart as I have been participating in this crazy season of my life-imperfection.  I am swimming in a sea of imperfection, and I need to figure out how to embrace this. Taylor Mali, a nationally acclaimed slam poet and author, asked us to describe a page in our journal.  Then he explained that he usually gets two types of responses.  The first one reads something like, "My journal is filled with hopes and dreams.  The writing is illegible.  The pages contain scribbles from a young man/woman seeking the impossible."  Okay?!?  But then, he said, he sometimes reads this, "At the top is a coffee stain, not because it was an accident, but because I thought it looked artistic.  I see the beginnings of the song lyrics I was writing to him, "On the wings of a dove..."  There is a random phone number that for me, no longer has an owner. There are also the beginnings of a list: key chain, apples, light bulbs, oatmeal."  Clearly B is so much better-but why?

Hanging with Taylor Mali

Mali went on to talk to us about the fear of choosing one-the fear of being specific.  What happens if we embrace and examine only one page of our journal, only one memory, only one person-will all the others get upset (too bad :).  Upon close examination, will we be forced to describe our flaws-isn't it easier to appear perfect from 10,000 feet?  If all you have to do is look at my life from afar, I am certain I can filter it just enough so that, without even seeing the filter, you believe the glossed over image I can present.  Clearly, when we wrote the first time, I was response number 1.  I was the ambiguous journal without any real content.  I left with my head spinning.

Then, this past Thursday we went to the museum.  I was thrilled and a little nervous.  I had never taken a group this large-in the end; there were 78 students-on a field trip.  I was also nervous because I would be guiding half the students while the others toured with museum professionals.  I would be doing this in the presence of some of their parents (just so you know, teaching in front on my students' parents is terrifying-it makes me worry that I am not only being judged by 40 teenagers at a time, but also their parents might listen to my lecture, realize I am crazy or weird, and immediately contact my administrator for a refund and a schedule change).  As I guided my students to the two sculptures we were looking at (selected with help and guidance and thought from my friends at the museum) I was having a wonderful time.  I was thinking and talking and laughing.  

One of the sculptures was of a giant spider that is located outside the front doors of the museum.  It is titled "Maman" by Louise Bourgeios and it is a tribute to her mother.  Students examined the sculpture and we talked about why spiders are frightening and then we talked about if that fear is realistic.  Then, I talked to them about this being a tribute to her mother-she calls it an "ode".  I talked to the students about how our mothers in particular are seen by everyone else but us in a certain way, but that our relationship will never be fully understood by people outside of it.  I asked the students to imagine the tribute they would make for their mothers that represented both what the world thought, and what they thought.  I did this in front of some of their mothers.  I was so scared.  I didn't even know if they would get it.  I had no idea what the responses would be.  At first, to be honest, I feel like my students were confused.  I had not done a good job explaining the complexities the sculpture represents.  But then, a student brought me a picture of a toilet.  I said, "Seriously-a toilet?"  And gave in to my usual reaction that I teach teenagers, and there always has to be a toilet somewhere.  But he said he wanted to tell me about it.  His family immigrated for him.  His biological father is in prison, and his step dad works whatever job he can get to keep his family afloat.  But his mom.  When she first came here, she did whatever she could-cleaning, cooking, anything to learn and survive.  But now, she has worked herself all the way into a bookkeeping job.  He said, whenever he thinks of his mom, he can hear her tell him, "I don't care if in your life you end up just cleaning toilets-but you better do it better than anyone else."  He talked about how toilets are necessary, even if we don't want to admit it-how life would be unbearable and would not even function without them.  I laughed through the tears-because he was sincere and lovely and thoughtful and a teen-aged boy all at the same time.  How lucky his mom is to be that toilet.  While I was working with him, I forgot about being judged by the other parents.  I forgot to worry about if my 77 other students were getting it.  I simply lived in that moment-sharing this intimate story and cherishing the fact that this one human being had decided to share something with me.  

The amazing thing is I had these kinds of exchanges with students all day.  At one point, I took a 6'3 football player, and asked him to lay underneath an installation with me, and we talked about how we could never, not matter where we went, see the whole thing at one time.  People were walking around us; I have a feeling some people stopped to look at us (I mean, two people, one a giant, laying in the floor of a museum might appear strange to some people.)  But, we thought about the fact that no matter where we stand, we can never see anything in its entirety. Even the people closest to us. I got up and thanked him and walked away-I have no idea what he will take from that exchange, but I will never forget it.

My trip to the museum was not perfect.  I had some students get stuck in an elevator (because of their actions), and I had to deal with museum security and staff who I admired and who had trusted me to bring this many students at one time.  I felt I would have to deal with the scrutiny of the parents, museum staff, and my own administration because this had happened under my supervision-this has never happened in the history of my high school.  It hurt my heart and embarrassed me.  I felt like a true failure for allowing this to happen.  I honestly cried about it.  I didn't even want to school on Friday and deal with this issue.  I had let a split second decision by three teenagers impact one of the greatest days of learning I had ever been a part of.  I am human, and I am embarrassed more now for letting these affect me so greatly.  My administration did not yell at me, the museum staff simply got them out and said it was up to me to deal with them.  I have heard from only one parent on the trip, and it did not even mention the incident.  My students' reflections of the trip are, at this point (I am still missing many reflections) 100% positive.  If I get to go on this trip next year is a complicated question (field trips are never easy for a high school teacher) and there will be many factors that my administration and I will have to consider, not just this one incident. But, I intend to grow from this.  It made me think about all of the wonder I have missed out on because of my fear or embarrassment.  If I had been too scared to teach the students in front of their parents, or not been who I really am, I would not have connected with so many of them on Thursday.  If I let my embarrassment and shame prevent me from fighting for this trip next year, I will let my own humanity get in the way of my students' possible learning.  I have to get over myself, admit I could do better, and focus on the good stuff.

I am embracing the challenge to look at the imperfections and in them find the perfectly imperfect truth of humanity.  Instead of not looking at the flaws, I want to look at the flaws and figure out why they are what makes life beautiful.  I hope you find a little something today that makes you embrace your humanity.  I hope you have a wonderful week friends (it's my birthday week :).  Thank you for reading and forgiving me supporting me!