Dedication

I know this entry is going to be long, but it needs to be said. Today I attended a teacher's meeting at which one staff member, a self-professed poet, shared a poem she had written in honor of a teacher who had greatly inspired and motivated her. She talked about her underprivileged, single-parent home; her bad neighborhood; and her lack of hope because of her gender, her race, and her circumstances. Then she described in detail a devoted teacher who took a special interest in her, encouraged her, spent time with her, befriended her, even loaned her money. She now has two masters degrees and attributes her success to this influential teacher. She ended by saying, "Most days, I feel like I can fly." I had heard her poem a couple years ago, but this time it really bothered me. The feeling ate at me all during the 2 1/2-hour ride home. I considered sending her an email, but remembering how many times my emails have caused problems in the past, I decided to simply post my "letter" here. I'm sure she'll never read it, but it's now out of my mind and off my chest, and I'll be able to sleep tonight.

Dear _____,

You certainly deserve to be proud of your accomplishments and achievements, and it is honorable that you recognize the influence of a special teacher. However, as I listened to you talk about your underprivileged, impoverished beginnings, I couldn’t help thinking of my father's homelife and school experiences – and I was left with several hypothetical questions to ask you about your own "underprivileged" life.

Were you born in a hospital, or in a log cabin that allowed snow to blow through the cracks in the logs? When you were ill, were you treated by a physician, or were you at the mercy of home remedies such as kerosene or skunk oil? Did you ever have a birthday cake, birthday presents, a Christmas tree, or Christmas presents? Did you grow up in the same town, or even the same part of the same town – or did you move from town to town, even out-of-state, as your family was evicted from its dwellings? Were you ever taken away from your family and put into a children's home? Did you have regular meals with nutritious food – or did you have to survive on what your family could grow during the summer and steal during the winter? Did you weigh 63 pounds at the age of 8, or was that your weight at 13-1/2? You mentioned that although your father was in another state, both of your parents were good people. So I’m fairly certain that you were not unwanted at birth (and left for dead because you were “blue”) or unloved or neglected by your parents. Did you experience verbal, emotional, and physical abuse at the hands of both parents, hatred from children and adults in the town, and contempt from school teachers who hated your vagabond, “hillbilly” family? Did you have new shoes to wear to school – or even used shoes – or did you go to school barefoot? Did you get school supplies at the beginning of each school year? Did you ever have a teacher whip you because, when your stubby pencil was too short to hold in your hand, you broke it apart and wrote with the bare lead? Did you get hot lunches at school, or did you go to school hungry and suffer all day until you could scrounge something when you got home? Did you attend the same school for several years, or did you change schools every few months as your family moved? Did you live in a real house – or did you ever live in an abandoned coal mine shaft, a windowless tool shed with a dirt floor, a cave, or a collapsed log cabin? Did you have running water and soap? Or did people avoid you because you were dirty and smelly? Did you have toys? Did you own books? Did you get dental care – did you own a toothbrush? Or were your teeth so decayed that by the time you were 16 they were removed and replaced with dentures – thanks to charity from the community? Did you ever have to walk along the railroad tracks picking up coal that had fallen off the train cars so that you could heat your home? During high school, did you ever work a midnight shift in a factory, go home and do chores on the farm, then go to school – only to be berated -- or worse -- by teachers when you fell asleep during class?

These were the circumstances in which my father grew up and attended school. He also had fond memories of a favorite teacher -- one that felt pity, rather than contempt, for him and who bought him a pair of shoes to cover his dirty, cold feet. My father never earned a college degree, though he was very intelligent. He did, however, graduate from high school – a huge accomplishment, given his circumstances – and he did serve his country in both the Army and the Navy. He later earned his private pilot’s license and co-owned his own small plane. His dream was to be a commercial airline pilot, but he abandoned that dream because of the time it would have taken away from his family. He worked over 30 years in a hot, dirty steel mill to provide for us. He beautified every home we lived in. He raised four healthy, intelligent children and was married to the same woman for 57 years before he passed from this life. He taught us industry, honesty, compassion, forgiveness, love of nature, service to others, respect for life, cleanliness, self-control, and a love for learning. His was the most impoverished, dysfunctional family I have ever heard of, yet he broke the cycle of abuse and poverty. And he did it without counseling, medication, or social services. He did it because he chose to – because he wanted to. He made a conscious decision to have a better life. He had no one encouraging him, pushing him, praising him, guiding him, or offering him incentives or rewards. He had no interventions, no tutoring, no free lunches, no exemptions, no supplemental services. Yet he succeeded. Because he had the desire within him to rise above his circumstances and make a better life for himself and his future family. Though he would willingly discuss his past when asked – often with moist eyes -- he never felt he was extraordinary. He considered his life a gift and his survival and success a blessing from God.

So forgive me if I don’t shed tears when you talk about being underprivileged because you were black, female, poor, and had an absent father. We Americans have become so pampered, so spoiled, and so accustomed to plenty, privilege, and entitlement that we have lost sight of what true poverty is. Dad would have thought himself a king to have had what you had – parents who loved him, warm clothes, caring teachers, regular meals. The world judges success by the number of zeros in your income and the number of letters after your name. My father never earned a degree and never rose above the middle class. But the distance he climbed from his destitute beginning to his noble ending was truly significant. Comparing his accomplishment to yours is like comparing a mountain to a foothill.

My father was a bona fide member of “the greatest generation” – and you know what? He really did fly. I miss you, Dad.