United States – beatingcowdens

When I taught Social Studies I most enjoyed the curriculum that allowed me to teach about the United States. It made me sad on Friday to overhear conversations about this upcoming weekend, and never once feel there was an understanding of Veteran’s Day. When I was a fifth grade teacher the children wrote about their “Rights and Responsibilities” as American citizens. That was a long time ago.

I was raised to answer the question, “Where are you from?” with, “The United States.” Growing up, that aggravated more than one person who was looking to learn where my ancestors had traveled from to arrive in America.

Precise language. They learned to ask the question they wanted to know the answer to, or not to ask.

I am the proud daughter of a Vietnam Veteran, and the grateful granddaughter to 3 WWII veterans. Although 2 of my grandfathers are no longer here with us in body – their spirits remain strong in my soul.

All of the men I mentioned served in war. All of them returned home to us. All of them shaped my life and helped me become the woman I am today.

Pop T. came home after serving in Iwo Jima, to raise a family of 9 – 8 boys and a girl. Visiting their house as a child was certainly wildly fun. My father is the oldest child, and my sister and I were the first grandchildren. We enjoyed time with Pop who had left behind a promising athletic future before his service in the war. He had time to impart much of his wisdom before he passed in 1993. My only sadness is for my many cousins that never got to know him the way I did. There is no denying his legacy.

GGPa came into our lives later when Mom married Ken. I was 15 years old, and my sister was 18. Ken wrapped his arms and his heart around both of us, and truly made my world a better place. At the time his parents, who came to be known to us as GGPa and GGMa had no grandchildren of their own. I was so flattered that they accepted us and enveloped us with such love. GGPa is gone over a year now, but in our years together I got to know the definition of “gentleman” through him. He was a positive influence, a pleasure to be around and a treat to talk to. He is missed and loved and appreciated.

Pop G. is one of the most amazing men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. The fact that I will turn 40 next week, and I can recount my day by saying “I spent some time with my grandparents,” in and of itself is amazing. Not to mention that they are 93 and 94 – living in the second floor of their own home. I grew up during my most formative years, in the first floor of that home. I had the daily love and support of my grandparents. When I speak of Pop, and the influence he has had, even I am at a loss for words. His faith dictates how he lives. He loves God, his family, and all others before himself. I am so blessed to listen to his stories, and to revel in years of beautiful memories, while still making more!

And then there is my father. The free spirit whose love of adventure has guided him down many paths in his life. We have conversations that always leave me deep in thought. He has experiences that are broad, from far and wide. Most recently in the last few years that road led him right back closer to home, and I have been so grateful to have him just around the corner. My girl has gotten to know him, and always remarks about his smile. He tells her he smiles because of her. His genuine heart, and the depth of his love have made him the person he is today – one I am truly glad to have in my life.

There are children who seek desperately one male influence in their lives. The amount of time I have been afforded with each of these men is a gift. I will not squander the knowledge, and life lessons I desperately try to soak up like a sponge.

Each of them saw things I do not dare imagine. Each of them lived experiences I will never understand. Each of them sacrificed, time, love, health, and so much more.

I can only imagine that at some point they have all wondered why they got to come home when some of their comrades did not. And, while I can not ever know the plan – I can, on my knees thank God for returning each of them safely so they could live their lives.

Not everyone is as fortunate.

I have received a gift too great to squander, too valuable to toss aside, and too personal not to wear it close to my heart each day. For it is because of them that I am. It is because of them that I have learned poise, strength, and grace under pressure. It is because of them that I know to love so deeply. It is because of them I have been blessed with my daughter, unique, RARE, and determined to change the world.

Stand for the Pledge of Allegiance and the “Star Spangled Banner.” Think about the words. Feel them in your heart. Educate yourself. Learn about the sacrifices made to make this country.

You may want to complain that life isn’t perfect. You may want to complain about the country. And while I can agree that many things are not as they should be, remember what my grandfather said to me, “The Constitution is an extremely well-written document, the flaws are in its execution.”

And regardless of your political stance on any war ever – support the soldiers. Those men and women are there out of a selfless love of country. They are making sacrifices far beyond what we see and what we know.

Precise language.

I am PROUD to be an AMERICAN, and even prouder to be related to so many who loved this country enough to fight to defend the principles it was founded upon.

Veteran’s Day. November 11. FREEDOM ISN’T FREE.

I can remember as if it were yesterday, walking the halls of the elementary school where I am a teacher, in the hours after I had heard of the horrors of 9/11. I attended the same school as a child. I knew that the lives of the young second graders I now taught would never be as happy and carefree as mine; some 20 years prior to that day when everything changed. It was an eerie feeling. One that I knew would be realized gradually. It was a moment I have reflected on countless times through the years.

Friday was a busy day. I never stopped for lunch, and it was 6th period before a colleague mentioned the shooting in Newton, Connecticut. At that point the details were still extremely sketchy, and while I was troubled, I was not nearly as disturbed as I would come to be over the next few hours.

As the details of what had transpired at Sandy Hook Elementary school began to unfold this weekend, I was, like any other compassionate human, horrified and appalled.

I send my child, my heart and soul, to a school a few minutes from where I work. The staff is dedicated, and caring. Honestly, I never gave her safety a second thought. But, after visualizing the entrance to her school – so close to the cafeteria, often full of children. Well, my mind when left unattended can do some awful things.

And then there is my own school. The school I attended as I child. The school I have taught at for 16 years. The children who are the siblings of others I have taught. The families I have known for years. I think about these children often. I talk about them at home as if they are part of my family. I live each day with the knowledge that I am entrusted to educate, and keep safe, someone’s “heart and soul.” This is not a responsibility taken lightly.

I know the exuberance of a room full of 6 and 7 year olds. I know the electricity in the air in the weeks before Christmas. I know the love in a teacher’s heart when she hides her students in closets, or tells them she loves them.

What I do not know, what I can not imagine or comprehend, is the heart of a man who walks into a school building and kills – 20 children and 6 adults. I can not know. Nor do I want to.

It is not my place to judge him. It is not my place to publicly state his wrongdoing. I have a strong faith, and I leave the sorting out of all that to God.

I know with confidence that those who died, as young innocent children, or their protectors, were welcomed warmly though Heaven‘s gates. They are not the ones I worry about anymore.

As a parent of an ill child, especially one that suffers with a ruthless rare disease like Cowden’s Syndrome, I do not know a day of peace. I worry from sun up to sun down about tumors, and growths, and headaches, and hot flashes, and lingering maladies that don’t suit a 9 year old. I am always at the ready because I don’t know what we will be fighting next. But I can tell you this- there is no part of me that would trade places for a second with these families.

I have the blessing, if you will, of knowing something about our enemy. We have the ability to be proactive. We can battle. We can prepare. We get tired, but we can win.

Evil ripped these lives from their families. There is nothing they could have done better. or differently There is nothing they could have fixed or prevented. They went to school. They went to work. And they died.

So, what can you take from this whole nightmare?

I will take from it that I need to do more of what I do every day. I need to hug my daughter and my husband. I need to tell them I love them every time it crosses my mind. I need to serve ice cream for dinner sometimes, because its fun and silly. I need to look less at the clock and more at them.

I need to prepare for the holidays with a different mindset. I need to organize, but not to a fault. If the cookies don’t get baked – I need to buy them. If the cabinet’s don’t get cleaned, I need to serve extra wine so no one notices. If I can’t cook it, I will order it. And come Christmas Day we will sit as a family. We will count our blessings, and remember our lost loved ones. We will understand that we are all different – and we are all the same.

The battles we face in our house are real. The journey is not always easy, but every day that we are together is a blessing. And there is no promise of tomorrow together on this earth.

Monday will be here in a few hours. I will send my little girl on the bus to school, with an extra lump in my throat. I will head the short distance to my school where I will look at everything with an eye towards awareness. I will look at my students and remember the lumps in their parents throats. I will look at my colleagues and respect that we all have the same goals in mind.

And when my phone rings, and I get the news about my spleen – bad or good. I will take a deep breath and keep on swimming. No matter how tough things can get, it could always be worse.

May God, and all the angels above surround the families and friends of all the victims. And may they all rest in peace.