WHEN IT IS PRIVATE AND NOT YOUR BUSINESS



It's a cold autumn fourth grade day, back to the day I began teaching 27 years ago. It's expectations of me to lead  with watching eyes fairness and clear directions and to listen to their routine to become part of  their every day.

But I'm  subbing, and  their days are  not really my daily business. My intrusion into their moments today finds remarkable acceptance. Wanting to help--needing to help-- is a fourth grader's crown jewel.

And it starts with questions--always questions--mostly they are comments masquerading as questions. But thank God for questions.

Straight to what matters questions: "Where is my teacher? Is she sick?"  And it is an unclear answer but close to I don't really know, but  she is "under the weather" and "it might be her hip." And I abide with their conversation for a bit, but but  my thoughts quicken to pray for their everyday fearless leader to subside  their growing undercurrent of speculative fear. Followed by a joke that maybe only me and one student gets that she really is under the weather and pressure because yesterday she could tell the weather by her hip.

It's fourth grade easy smiles and seeming trust and hoping and questions.

It's fourth grade double-digit addition review and working through answers on the sheet independently after instruction.  But it is real life and some times when girls double up for spelling word review and you are left alone, it can feel like double heart trouble. The slow bubble feelings inside not reviewed or worked through.

It's fourth grade researching the internet lesson disguised as pony express stories--a discussion of quick correspondence today compared to long-ago yesterday. They are wide-eyed amazed that my phone was connected to a wall with a three foot range and texting wasn't even around until I was an adult.

It's fourth grade and it's always teacher questions: "How would you get a message to someone you love like Grandma today?"  But it is a young girl's far away eyes that are wishing she could quickly get a message to mom and dad who took a trip this week, and this is day four or more for her.  It is wishing they would hurry and travel home, but knowing it is a great birthday present for one of them and even though they are not present "the good thing is they left a gift for me fo each day they are gone."

It's lunch and recess and watching the playground with four classes finding space for tag and  playground and basketball equipment.  But it's fourth grade and watching other girls laugh and and play and learning to equip your heart in the striving for space in a friend's.

It's fourth grade science: matter, air is matter, air has weight, and air creates pressure. It's so many teacher questions and two experiments they are eager to try at home with rulers and straws.  And the lesson flows so quickly, all wishing we could stay here longer.

And it's fourth grade and right now her entire world  is the matter to her.  The weight of today seems to crawl to a slow draw until the pressure inside rises causing her inside and face to  fall.  She wishes the pressure would equalize but today she feels the ton of atmosphere that she deals with every day on all sides. And she might just be six miles in the sky where breathing is nearly impossible because the air she silently gasps is getting thinner by 3:15.

And she can't measure her feelings any more than she really understand how to measure air.  But like the balloon experiment, she is blown wide inside and she knows her feelings still nudge her insides there. And it's study hall before the descent to home and she begins to study the day. In her bubble, she thinks no one sees the feelings inside, no visible proof of pain.

But it's fourth grade, and I am a sub, and there are teacher questions--always teacher questions.  I know she is in pain, but the six mile high question is "Are you feeling sick?" and the air releases slow from the balloon inside.  It's fourth grade and it's "yes" and  "maybe a little"  and then there's but that part is "private and not your business."

And teacher pressure lets her know I notice and just want to help her there, that place she doesn't know I know.  And it's fourth grade and then it's no spelling practice partner, no parents at home, and then there's the "private and not your business." It's people coming each night to stay with her, and then it's the "private and not your business," and the little bit of real sick. It's" maybe I won't be here tomorrow because I will be sick."

But it is fourth grade and I have been here before whether it was 38 or 26 years ago. I am here in fourth grade today, yet really I am here every day because we all know private pain.  It just wants release.

And when this teacher hand pulled her closer, her eyes fell with one quick tear.  And the air released shoulders lifted ever slightly with my promise to pray that she would not be sick so she could be here tomorrow.  And this "private and not your business" pain  that I didn't pry into but  promised to pray for brought me a quick tight hug and her "thank you" before she heard the call for home.

It's fourth grade and it's 'private and not my business," but thank God for questions.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Wow such sensitive writing. I can actually see these young ones through you writing. I can go back to fourth grade and see myself. I can learn so much from you. I will reread it again and again learning how to put myself on the page. Your writing is so poetic, so lovely. I love you Ma
Brenna said…
this is probably my favorite thing I've read of yours. Too true, too true!
Your love for your students and heart for teaching them amaze me! So good! Sometimes the pain is "private and not my business" but God knows and your heart to pray and encourage where you don't know the whole story is spot on! So good!
Anonymous said…
Those feelings never really ever go away. That hug will always be remembered and accepted.
Lori