Lessons in the classroom

I didn't know he noticed me sitting silently in his class and hoping beyond hope that I could muddle through without ever being called upon or that I could hide behind the head of the student in front of me. Those of you who had Brother James Walker know that that could never happen. He noticed. He noticed everyone. I don't know if it was my look of apprehension or if he thought I really had something intelligent to say or if he just wanted to get me to say something in class.

Presumptuous sophomore that I was, and in the beginning stages of my English major career, I had two classes back to back with Brother Walker: creative writing and introduction to English literature. A friend of mine gave me fair warning that two English classes back to back would be challenging at best, but to have Brother Walker as the professor for both would be collegiate suicide. My first day, was a hit and miss. Creative writing was a breeze and I knew I would absolutely love being an English major. The class was small and intimate and I didn't mind because everyone seemed just as nervous; we'd all be nervous together. There is much to be said for solidarity. Br. Walker was funny, witty, intelligent and very encouraging. I knew I would learn so much from him. I vowed to do my best in class. So, how bad would my second class with him really be? Surely, my friend had been exaggerating. Br. Walker was great!

And then darkness settled into the land and all was lost.

Intro to English Lit was my first official class on a long list of classes for becoming an English major. It was very intimidating. I soon lost all bravado gained from my previous class. This class was larger and more boisterous. These students were real English majors. They seemed much more confident and assured. I, on the other hand, felt dead in the water. They already knew each other; I was the odd-man out. I knew life in this class was headed for disaster when Br. Walker started taking attendance. He was sharing some light banter with a few students in class that he knew by name. He knew their names?! A gnawing sensation grew in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want him to know my name! I wanted to remain nameless, faceless! I wanted to be a number on the attendance sheet and in some way still be able to absorb all that he would teach me. And then, it happened. He called my name and paused...for a long time. He looked around the room and then his piercing blue eyes found mine. There was a moment's hesitation as he struggled to recall where and why...and when it clicked, his eye brows raised just a little. "Aren't you in my creative writing class," he asked? I nodded and said, "uh, huh." (Boy that sounded like someone who should be an English major.) "And now, you're in this class?" Again, I nodded. Someone in the class said, "You have him twice? Good luck!" The class laughed, because they all knew the truth. No one in their right mind would take two classes from Br. Walker in the same semester! "You must be a glutton for punishment," said Br. Walker. And then he added, "see me after class, and if you want to drop, let me know." I knew then that I would never become an English major.

That was a tough semester, and I struggled through each and every class. We studied different genres in creative writing class and had to submit a piece for publication in the school's literary magazine. Intro to English lit opened a world that I had no idea even existed. We studied Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, Keats, and learned all things literary...and then wrote about it. I wondered if anyone ever had a nervous breakdown from becoming an English major? I'm sure I came close several times that semester.

There was student in my English lit class named Bob, who was taking the class for the second time. Bob wasn't geeky or square. He was a surfer (which is why he had to repeat...too many days in the water and too few days in class) and all his sentences included the word "dude" in one way or another. Brother Walker teased him incessantly about having to retake the class, but Bob loved talking about Wordsworth and "all things literary." So much so, that he often made references to Mr. Wordsworth and Br. Walker in his column for the campus newspaper. I was in awe of Bob and Brother Walker. Bob was the student that I wanted to become (not the repeating student, but the lover of English literature). Brother Walker was the professor that I wanted to learn it all from.

Brother Walker has since retired from BYU-Hawaii. He might still be living in Hawaii or has returned to his native Canada. But he is forever ingrained within the person I have become. What struck me most about him was how his gaze never left mine as I struggled to put my unintelligible thoughts into words and have them come out sounding like a would-be English major. He would stand there and let me string my elementary vocabulary into something coherent and then he would push me to up my game in each class, each semester, each year.

I never told him how much he inspired me to strive to be a better reader, a better writer, a better lover of British literature. I never told him that through his efforts I came to love being an English major more than anything. I never told him how much I love him for all the lessons he taught me as a professor and as an individual. Thanks for noticing me, Br. Walker.

I Got Me Some Education

When I was a student at BYU-Hawaii, I took a history class from Professor Lance Chase. Professor Chase had been notorious for his blunt remarks, and his keen sense of "student fear." In other words, he knew when a student was unprepared and he could zero in on the target. His words were like ice-picks chipping away at lame excuses about why the reading assignment wasn't done, or why you couldn't make an intelligent contribution in class, and most importantly he could strip away the use of the big $10 dollar words. Professor Chase could weed through the rows of students, and always, always find the unprepared victim.

I found myself in that predicament one time too many (and oddly enough I love learning...lol). I was given a "special invitation" to meet with him in his office. My initial reaction was "Uh, yeah right." The only way I would go was kicking and screaming. Knowing how ruthless he was in a roomful of students, it made me shiver to think what a personal confrontation would be like. I'd rather jump in front of a bus!

So feeling the way I felt, and knowing what I knew, and thinking what I thought, I could not understand why I continued to agonize over whether or not to meet with him. After all it was an invitation not a summons. He never said, I had to meet him. He merely suggested that I meet with him. The bottom line? He scared the bejeezus out of me and I would have to be a masochists, right? So you can imagine my horror and trepidation as I found myself contemplating the unthinkable, worse than that, I soon found my feet walking in the direction of his office; and horror upon horror, I was standing outside his door trying not to hyperventilate as I watched in slow motion, my eyes wide with terror, as my arm rose up and my hand clenched in a fist knocking on his door.

My legs nearly gave out when his voice from the other side of the door said, "Come in."

Just one word repeated itself over and over in my mind, "Run!"

He offered me a chair and then posed the dreaded question, "So what's the problem?"
It wasn't a "I'm concerned for you, what seems to be the problem" kind of question. It was more of a "So, what's YOUR problem that I gotta drag you into my office" kind of question. This was an "adult" conversation. I hadn't had many of those and I cringed to think that this would be my introduction to a no-holds bar tete-a-tete. I prayed for a hole to open up and swallow me.

***Interjection: Yeah, I'm not going to bore you or humiliate myself with the remainder of that conversation. Everthing he said to me hit home...hard. I'm grateful for all of it. I'm most grateful for his last comment as I was leaving his office.***

"I give you credit for coming," he said. "Not many would have--considering the circumstances. It took a lot of guts. I admire that."

And with those parting words I was out the door. It felt like I had gone a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson. I was emotionally drained and yet, I felt as though I were walking on air. I had survived, and more importantly I had learned a very valuable lesson (here's the money shot so pay attention) -- excuses only matter to those who aren't willing to invest in you. So why bother with those people? To the ones that do matter, all they want to know is that you gave it your all, and you did your best, beyond that it's all just fluff.

SHUSH!

Sometimes the act of speaking is just too perplexing for me. People speaking bubbles. BUB-BLES!! Some people talk just to fill the silence that surrounds them. I say, enjoy the silence...shhhhh. Speak not. Speak less. My current job requires a lot of travel time on the road. I work with my cousin and he has an insatiable desire to talk. He'll talk about the obscure, the wife (newly married...ick), politics **rolls eyes**, religion **rolls eyes in opposite direction**, music, family, work, traffic, cars, money problems, the list (unfortunately) goes on and on. All of it, is enough to make me scream and then drive into the guard rail. Talking. Yes, peace and quiet is all I require in the early hours of the morning (refer to previous post regarding Mornings). Seriously, don't feel compelled to fill the void of silence. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Silence it. Please, just shush.

Goodbye to Brother Joseph

They called at dawn to say, "He's gone and you must hurry home.

Call mother, father, sister, brother. None must tarry -- none."

They called at dawn, what an early hour to be wakened by such news.

It was a dreadful task for them, which they did not refuse.

I called at dawn to say, "Mother dear, your darling boy is gone.

And we must gather to our home. None must tarry -- none."

I called at dawn, the messenger, the bearer of bad news.

There was a dreadful mournful sound, that grew -- and grew -- and grew.

We flew at dawn to our island home, with heavy grieving hearts.

For we had lost the very best, the sum of all our parts.

We flew at dawn to our island home, travelers from afar;

For Him, we'd spiral round the globe no matter where we are.

We stood outside the doors at dawn, together huddled near,

He sent his love in silence, ours laid in his sepulcher.

We stood beside his earthen mound as parting words were read:

"For since by man came death...also the resurrection of the dead."

I stood beside his grave alone, and read a card he never sent:

"Dear R-, my only comfort is my faith in you, and your faith in God."

I stood beside his grave alone, and clutched his final words:

"Thinking of you always. Love, your baby brother, Joe-boy."

Just A Thought...

When I was a young girl living on Kipou Place, I would stand in the driveway at night and stare up into the sky. I was amazed by the beauty of the stars. I wanted to be able to lie beneath them all night long -- unfortunately, the mosquitoes made that impossible. But on the nights that I was able to do my star gazing, I found myself contemplating the most amazing thoughts:
-- I thought how talented God must be to come up with the concept of stars, moons, galaxies and the way they twinkle in the night sky. I can hardly comprehend the creative process of something as vast as galaxies, planets, suns, and the universe.
-- I thought how cool it was to see a shadow ring around the moon. It made the moon seem mysterious.
-- I thought God seemed nearer to me when I looked up into the heavens at night. Sometimes I would cry and tell God my problems. It was easier to talk with him then.
-- I thought he heard me better when I stood under the stars; if felt like he did.
-- I thought dreams seemed more attainable if I stood outside and stared into the twinkling lights above.

There are many things that block my nightly views of the sky now; walls, street lights, buildings, being too busy, forgetting to look up; sometimes I catch a glimpse of the moon and stars through the branches of a tree, or around the edge of a building and I feel the urge to knock down a wall or uproot a tree. I want to be able to lie under the night's sky and feel the glory of the moon and stars, being totally enraptured by their beauty.

History In The Making

A new president for the United States! And it's a "wow" moment for all of us. All the newspapers and t.v. reports are calling this election "historical." It is. I never thought I'd ever see an African-American president, but seeing as how this is America, I don't know why the possibility should have eluded me. Think of all the possibilities that Americans thought would never come to fruition: wars and politics, advancements in science and technology, social and economical changes, etc.

In my 42 years on this earth, I've witnessed many historical events, some I may not have considered influential, and then there were those that I couldn't even wrap my brain around, and those that changed my life forever. One of those historical moments that comes to mind, is when I saw Haley's comet in 1986 ( I thought it was cool), and then the Hale-Bopp comet in 1996 (thanks to my nephew who pointed it out because he was studying it in school). We watched it in the sky for at least 3 days. It was magnificent.

In 1990 (there's no timeline, just working off of my memory), I worked an after-school program for the YMCA. It was one of the best jobs I ever had especially since I usually have an aversion to children, mainly because I don't know what to do with them. Fortunately, my sister had a child and I got to practice on him; it prepared me for that job. I think that was historical in and of itself, but the moment of history I progress to is the Persian Gulf War that broke out in the summer of that year. I had never known so many people who were called to war. Friends, family, acquaintances all were being sent to or being prepared for war. I watched it on the news every morning. Missiles were being fired, explosions, gunfire, demolished cities, and then the body count on both sides began to grow like a ticker-tape on the stock market. How was any of this possible? In my lifetime, how could I be a witness to such a war? A co-worker, who had just turned 19 and was currently in the reserves, came to work one day and announced that he would not be coming back because his unit had just been called to active duty. He was only 19 and they wanted him to go to war; where there are missiles being fired, and things exploding and burning, and people being sent home because they're....dead? A knot began to grow in my stomach. I think it was there all along, but it became more noticeable after that day. I really don't like war. I really don't like it at all.

The first Polish pope made a lot of headlines in 1978. I'll never claim to have been edified in the history of Catholicism, but I knew enough to know that a Polish pope was a big deal. Besides, I thought he was pretty cool and he made a lot of headway within the church. He taught me an important word...solidarity. Solidarity. I don't claim to know much, but I know he wanted desperately to influence change. I could feel it when I heard him speak. Solidarity. So many people hated him and tried to cause him harm. He never gave up and continued to work to help his people, his faith, his religion. Solidarity. He once said, "Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song."

9-11 was one of the greatest tragedies that I have ever witnessed. It was like watching an action adventure film without the popcorn. In all my life I have never been privy to such knowledge that evil existed in the world. I mean, we hear that there is evil in the world; we read that there is hate and animosity; words are spoken of such an evil that brings despair and darkness to one's heart. But to know it, to know of yourself that there is such evil in the world made me fearful. But even in my greatest fear I found my heart clinging to the hope that God has a purpose and a plan. I believe. I may, at times, doubt and fear and even despair; it's a weakness. I acknowledge that. But yet, I believe. I do believe that in all things God has a purpose and a plan. I believe.

3 John 4: "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in faith."

And now, we have a new president of the United States. Wow. Let's all say it together: wow!

Oxford University researchers....

compiled a top ten list of irritating phrases. It's a list of phrases that have rubbed your last nerve and you just can't stand to hear it any more.
1) At the end of the day...
2) Fairly unique (they didn't like it because it's an oxy moron)
3) I personally...
4) At this moment in time
5) With all due respect
6) Absolutely
7) It's a nightmare
8) Shouldn't of (grammatically incorrect)
9) 24/7
10) It's not rocket science

It's an interesting list, don't you think? Let's try them out.
1) Well, "at the end of the day" it's all about the numbers.
It is a rather trite phrase, but it fills out the sentece very well, don't you think so?
2) It's not a "fairly unique" assumption about what is considered an irritating phrase.
Oxy moron, I get it.
3) "I personally" believe that redundancy is alive and living in my basement.
I had a history professor that would cringe at phrases like "I personally" or "it's my opinion."
4) I cannot comment on that issue "at this moment in time."
Comments for #3 apply here. By the way, redundancy does not really live in my basement.
5) "With all due respect" to the Oxford University researchers, but why is this phrase annoying?
What does that phrase really mean?
6) I "absolutely" enjoy the use of this word as it is only used to give emphasis to a statement!
Need I say more?
7) I can "absolutely" state that I have never used "it's a nightmare" as a phrase unless I were describing a scary movie or a bad dream.
Hmm...yeah, that's about it.
8) I "shouldn't of" spoken so grammatically incorrect.
Yeah, that was lazy on my part...I couldn't think of anything else to say.
9) All 7-eleven stores are open 24/7.
They don't have 7-eleven in the U.K. maybe that's why.
10) It's all about gaining perspective, it's not like it's "rocket science."
There really isn't much that's like "rocket science" is there?