A Life Invested - Tribute to Henry Black

I didn't know Henry for very long.  We were RFK camp colleagues for six summers.  All together, between camp weeks and training days, that means we had only spent about 7 weeks together.  What you may not know about RFK is that the intensity of service to foster kids drives relationships deeper during those weeks than they do in the non-camp world.  Knowing Henry during these few weeks taught me much, and his death makes the world a dimmer place.  In tribute to Henry, I'd like to share a few of the lessons he taught everyone, especially those at Royal Family Kids Camp.

1.  Gentleness is not weakness.  The kids at RFK have lived difficult lives.  They have seen and experienced things that made them grow up too fast and become defensive.  Often, they arrive at camp with a tough front.  In their lives, vulnerability leads to bad things, so they have to pretend they are strong, whether or not they are.  When they met Henry, they met gentleness personified.  He was kind, but he was not weak.  I have no doubt that there are many adults in the world today who are kinder than they would have been if they had not seen Henry's example.


2.  You don't have to be loud to be heard.  Henry was the calmest man I've ever known.  I never heard his voice raised.  I don't think I ever heard his voice louder than 30dB.  Yet, I stood close to him at camp training because he said great things.  He was funny and profound and worth hearing.  When we planted a new camp, the woodworking director had been trained by Henry.  While the woodworking area is loud, he isn't.  Henry's influence carried over into more than one camp.  While this lesson was never explicitly stated, the kids who spent time at either of those woodworking stations saw what quiet influence was. 

3.  Doing something tangible with your hands is therapeutic.  I mentioned before that Henry was in charge of the woodworking station.  There is no part of camp that was more surprising to me than this station.  Before that first year, I pictured small projects in the realm of those little snap together kits you get at Lowes.  I arrived at camp to find real lumber and real tools.  Kids were building everything from bug catching boxes to chairs.  Yes, chairs that they could actually sit in.  In my second year as a counselor, I had a girl who pulled out a sheet of paper with a list of wood projects she wanted to make, mostly as gifts for family and friends.  She wanted to spend every activity time at the woodworking station.  When I asked her what she liked so much about woodworking, she said, "I can take home something real that I made and give it to people."  Make something real gave her a sense of accomplishment that she needed.  One of the most memorable moments I have from that year happened when I was with her, helping her make a jewelry box.  An angry seven-year-old boy arrived at the table with his cabin.  He didn't want to be there; he didn't want to make anything.  Henry calmly handed him a block of wood, a pile of nails, and a hammer and said, "Just hammer these."  For an hour, that boy pounded nails into a block of wood.  He started pounding them with anger, but by the end of the hour, he was laughing with his counselor while joyfully hammering these nails.  I'm not under the misconception that all of that boy's problems have now been solved because of an hour of hammering nails, but for that hour, he put his energy into something besides anger. 

Camp wasn't the only way in which Henry served the Lord (see his obituary here).  He was an active member of his church, and usher, a Royal Rangers commander.  He invested his life in others, and that investment is reaping eternal benefits.

Yes, You're Busy - Do it Anyway

This weekend was an extremely busy one for me.  Friday night was dinner with family friends that I haven't seen in a month.  Tomorrow is a yearbook deadline, and that always means spending the day at school proofreading and editing.  That usually starts at 6AM and end whenever it ends, which could be 10-12 hours, depending on the deadline and how well the staff has worked.  I will be speaking in our faculty meeting on Monday, so I had to get the presentation together for that. 

Back in October, I was supposed to attend a seminar by Manny Scott with two other teachers.  He ended up postponing that October date to this weekend.  When he first rescheduled, it didn't occur to me that this would be a yearbook deadline weekend.  Had a realized it at the time, I would probably have asked for a refund or sought out someone else to take my ticket.  I usually protect deadline weekends at all costs. 

As it turns out, I'm glad I didn't realize it.  The seminar was excellent, and hearing Manny Scott's story was worth going to school after 12:30 rather than the first thing in the morning.  I'll probably post more about this seminar another time, but I'm going to keep this short because, as I mentioned earlier, I've had a lot to do this weekend.  I just want to say this.  Yes, you do need to rest sometimes; but we lose a lot of experiences in the name of "self-care."  When there's an opportunity to have an experience that doesn't come along often, stop telling yourself how busy and tired you are.  Have the experience.  You'll be glad you did.

Don't Let Me Be in That Story

Friday, a colleague of mine was talking about how much he wished that he knew more about math.  He said, "I liked math until my geometry teacher . . . "  The rest of the story is fairly predictable.  Every teacher in the hallway had the same reaction, "Oooohhhh, please, don't let me be part of a story like that."

When you follow teachers online or attend back to school meetings or even just listen to a group of teachers talk, you will hear a lot of positive talk about our influence on students.  We are often encouraged to think back to "that one teacher" that made a difference for us.  We are told about how far reaching our impact can be.  We are encouraged to remember that what we do can put a kid on the right path.

All of that is true, and it is important for us to think about.  Every once in a while, we must force ourselves to recognize that the flip side is also true.  Our positive impact can carry far, but so can our negative impact.  Just as we can all point back to "that one teacher" who made a positive difference, most can also point to "that one teacher who made a negative difference.  We need to take active steps to not be "that one teacher."

We are human, and we will fail.  We will have bad days.  We will be snippier than we ought to be one day when we aren't feeling well.  We will make errors.  Those foibles will not make us "that one teacher" if we handle it correctly.  When we realize what we have done, we should own it, apologize to students, and make it right whenever that is possible.  Students will understand that we are human if we do not pretend that we aren't.  Letting them see you own and redeem a bad moment is more powerful than the bad moment itself, and it models an important life skill that they need to develop as well.

Unless you are remarkably mediocre, students will tell stories about you.  They will tell them today.  They will tell them tomorrow.  They will tell them to their children.  They will tell them decades from now.  What story do you want them to tell?  Live that story so they can.