Notes from public school - Day 45

On my best days, I’m quiet. 

"You have two ears and one mouth," said my Grandpa one day as we walked down a row of tomatoes together, "So you should listen twice as much as you speak. You might learn something if you listen." 

I looked into his blue eyes, watery with memories from his childhood on a dairy farm in Greenville, SC, from his service at Iwo Jima in World War II and from his work in heating and air conditioning with Freeman Heating and Air.

They were also watery with tenderness from raising five children, from caring for my Grandma through Alzheimer’s Disease, and from  tending gardens.

 I grinned at him with a twinkle in my own watery blue eyes. 

I didn't say a word. 

I was quiet. 

I was listening.

Listening is hard work and has to be developed slowly over time. 

We live in a world that teaches us to speak twice as much as we listen, or to speak without listening at all. 

Yet, over time, listening will grow the most important thing we can have in our hearts — deep empathy for each and every person we encounter each and every day. 

And, over time, listening will grow the most important thing we can have in our hands and feet and, indeed, our words — simple kindness.

As a public school teacher, I work hard to listen to my students. 

One day, I was talking with Geraldine about a wonderful book she was reading, Ophelia and the Marvelous Boy by Karen Foxlee.

"Oh Mr. Barton," she said with a giggle, "I'm just like Ophelia in the story because she's a curious kind of kid and I'm a curious kind of kid because I want to know everything about everything." 

Then she became serious. 

"But she's a nervous kind of kid, too, because she's had a hard life and I've kind of had a hard life, too."

I looked into her earthy brown eyes and thought about the ground from which she came, for she came here from the fields of Guatemala with her family. 

For the first time, I noticed the faintest of dark circles around her eyes, the slightest of a downward turn at the corners of her mouth, and a hint of tiredness and sadness that should not often be on a 9-year-old’s face.

"Geraldine," I asked, "What's your life like?" 

And she told me her story. 

"I share a room with my mom, my aunt, my sister, and my two younger cousins," she began, "and my family works really hard."

As she talked with me about the book and about her life, a tiny tear appeared in the corner of her eye. 

I wondered if it came from giggles or from sadness. 

I caught the tear in my hand as it rolled off her cheek.

"See how I caught your teardrop?" I asked. 

"As your teacher, I'm here to catch your happiness and your sadness, Geraldine. 

I'm here to help you learn everything about everything so you can be anything you want to be. 

I’m here."

I was there because I listened.

What are the stories of the people around us? 

What are they saying? 

With our two ears, and with the ears of our hearts, let's listen.