Kathie Z

Interconnectedness

February 25, 2018 By Kathie Z

A little more than a week ago, on Valentine’s Day, there was another school shooting. Another.

Looking at my last sentence, I’m stricken by the directness of it. Another.

I’ve been an alphabet soup of emotions ever since. I am heartbroken, frustrated, confused, angry. I cannot believe I am writing about school violence. The thought of school violence becoming a “thing,” something that happens over and over again hurts my head.

But I’m a teacher, a mother, a writer. I make my living by using words; choosing them carefully, using them effectively. I understand the power of words; their ability to inspire or discourage, empower or belittle. So, I must write about this.

When I first began teaching, in 1994, school violence wasn’t even on my radar. I’m sure I would have defined school violence as punches thrown. Over the past two decades, though, the violence has ramped up, morphed, become deadly and come closer to home. Literally.

First Newtown, in our tiny state of Connecticut, a mere 40 miles away; home to one of my dear friends and her family. Now Parkland. Geographically far, but still close.

In the past week, I’ve followed the Parkland story closely. Sound bites, video clips, headlines. I am awed by the eloquence and strength exhibited by victims and parents, alike. I am astounded by the ability of those grieving to speak up, speak out. Forge their grief into action.

Last weekend my husband and I visited our daughter at her college, my alma mater. The flags were flying at half-staff in honor of the victims of Parkland, one of whom we can sadly claim. The victim’s father, an alumna of our little liberal arts college, was a class ahead of me.

Walking on campus on a gray, snowy day I was struck by the interconnectedness of it all. I hadn’t known this man decades ago when we were both students, but I feel a kinship with him, nonetheless. My husband, daughter and I discussed the lowered flags, the senselessness of this tragedy. Another one. Again. Then I remembered another gray day, a little more than a year ago when my husband and I received those texts from our daughter. She’d just witnessed a shooting and was hiding in a locked stock room of a crowded shopping mall. She wanted to tell us she loved us and let us know her phone battery was dying.

I remembered the wave of gratitude that swept over me hearing her voice a few hours later. The police had arrived, secured the area. Miraculously the shooter had missed his target. An odd realization struck me. That gunman had nearly shot someone; his intended target, a young father pushing his baby in a stroller, my daughter, her friend. In an instant, he could have taken someone’s baby from them. What, I remember thinking at the time was, what could make somebody decide to shoot someone else? Harm another’s baby? Then I thought, this person, this gunman, was someone else’s baby. How could this happen? Was it a lack of awareness? Some broken connection?

It’s a question I’ll never know the answer to. What I do know, though, is we are all connected. Every one of us. Whether we’re conscious of it or not. And words have the power to strengthen or weaken those bonds.

To honor all that have been senselessly lost, I will do my best to remain mindful, continue choosing my words carefully. Because words are the currency of education, empowerment and unity. Which, like us, are interconnected.

Love Day

February 14, 2018 By Kathie Z

It’s Valentine’s Day. A day to celebrate love.

As I write that sentence, I smile, shake my head because it’s a funny sentence. A day to celebrate love. A day. Which grammatically means one. One day to celebrate love!

Last weekend I was out running errands. I was on a mission. Cards for my daughters and husband, pencils and stickers for my students. Valentine’s Day, placed right in the middle of the year’s shortest month, was days away.

While errand-running, I ran into a friend, a former colleague outside our local Barnes & Noble. She’d headed out on this freezing, rainy day to pick up some Valentines, too.

We stood there on the sidewalk, fingers and toes going numb from the cold, catching up. A lot had happened since I’d last seen her at a colleague’s retirement party last spring. Or was it the spring before?

She’d become a grandma again. This time to a grandson. She scrolled through her phone, showing me pictures of her beautiful grandbabies. Her eyes sparkled as she filled me in. She told me about her daughters who had baby-sat my kids when they were wee ones like her grandbabies. We stood on that wet sidewalk, catching up, counting our blessings, sharing the love.

Our talk transported me back in time, at least 15 years ago. We’d collaborated a lot then, become friends. She, a decade older than me, became a role model. She was committed to her work and still a fully engaged mom. A passionate artist, she was an inspiration.

Back then, I’d fretted over not being good enough, struggled to find balance in my life. I worried about things big and small. Life was difficult, hard work. Because I was still tied to my perfectionistic ways.

I think back on those Valentine’s Days of years gone by. The days when my students entered the classroom full of excitement, still beaming over being served heart-shaped pancakes for breakfast. Heart shaped pancakes for breakfast on a school day?! The thought had never occurred to me. And not thinking about showing my love through a grand gesture made me feel bad.

But that was then. Listening to my friend recount her recent days with her grandchildren and grown children, I was reminded of what’s truly important. This woman was the embodiment of love; self-assured, kind, and strong. She was available and present. And here she was, outside a bookstore, poised to buy her grandkids a book or two that she undoubtedly would read to them over and over again.

I smiled picturing her on the sofa, reading to her grandkids with her gentle, nasal voice. How loved they must feel! Then I thought of my girls when they were little; freshly bathed in their footie jammies, snuggled in close, following along in a picture book as I read aloud. Remembering this nightly ritual from those days so long ago, when life felt so rushed, I feel happy. I realized all was right in my world, even if I didn’t know it then.

It’s in these seemingly insignificant moments of our daily lives, when we make ourselves present, available; we show our children they matter, that they’re loved.

On this Valentine’s Day, I’m reminded that simple, regular expressions of love are tools that uplift our children. Cheers from the sidelines, goodnight hugs, a jar of maple almond butter in the fridge. All are expressions of love. As are just because text messages, answered phone calls and cards that arrive in the mail a day late with the words, “I love you” written in ink. And maybe, just maybe, heart shaped pancakes on a school day.

What I do know is, love is powerful, infinite, transcendent. The ultimate gift we parents can give and receive.

One Hundred Days

February 7, 2018 By Kathie Z

We educators may seem a bit time obsessed. In our world, every single minute counts. Literally. We plan our lessons to the minute, use timers to stay on task, and make every attempt to transition smoothly and swiftly. We even have bells that ring at key points in our day to remind us it’s time to start or stop or be somewhere.

Time is constantly moving and there are many days I feel like Lucy in the chocolate factory; trying to accomplish as much as I can in the precious minutes I’m given each day. Because we have so much to do, so many concepts and skills to teach. Before we send our students on to learn more, do more, soar higher.

This week we reached a milestone, the 100^th day of school. The 100^th day is one of the best days of the year. It’s a fun-filled, celebratory day. A day of reflection and acknowledgement. We marvel at how far we’ve come together, how much we’ve accomplished.

I love this day because I get to experience the wide eyes and broad smiles from students as they realize they’ve overcome fears and developed tangible skills. To see a child discover that she no longer struggles to read or complete math problems is a powerful thing to witness.

In our second grade classroom, the 100^th day of school is one of joy. A day where we take stock of all of the effort invested, take time to acknowledge individual accomplishments and shared successes.

Coincidentally, this week marks 100 days for my oldest daughter, as well. This week she starts the 100 day countdown to graduation. In a matter of months, my daughter will be a college graduate.

For me, her mother, it’s exciting to consider what lays ahead. I’d love to say it’s the same for my daughter, but her excitement is tempered by the presence of the unknown. And as we know, the unknown can be the source of a lot of stress. And this stress can lead to a full-on crisis of confidence.

Sensing her ambivalence, I instinctively steered towards compassion rather than offering my usual next step problem solving suggestions of “Link in with so and so,” “Go to career services,” or “Reach out to your advisor.” Knowing that this daughter forms her beliefs based on evidence, I took the tactic I take with my seven year old students when they are experiencing self-doubt, questioning their capabilities. I told her to reflect on all that she’d accomplished and write her successes down.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” she dismissed. But I persisted. “No, I’m serious. My kids at school are doing this this week. It will give them the sense of pride and motivation to tackle even harder things.”

“No, I will,” she said. “It is a good idea.”

I heard the weariness in her voice. So I started rattling off all of the ways she had demonstrated bravery, pushed past ambivalence, went for it and experienced success; big and small. That got her talking about some challenges she’d long forgotten about. Things that helped her to grow into the amazing young woman she is.

Then I got thinking. Why wait for 100 days to pass before reflecting on accomplishments? What if we engaged in reflection, recognized specific challenges conquered more often? Say monthly or even weekly? And why reserve this review, this celebration for our littlest learners? What if all participated in this exercise, young and not so young? Kept a record of accomplishments to look back on those days when confidence isn’t optimal? I think that would be one powerful practice.

Welcoming the Good

December 31, 2017 By Kathie Z

We’re at the waning days of the year and the same old same old topic has started to clog my newsfeeds. What’s your resolution? How to make this year the best year ever! How to really accomplish your resolutions. In years past, I would have opened each and every article, scoured their contents and distilled the salient points which I would work to replicate. Because who can’t benefit from some self-improvement? Goodness knows I certainly can.

Yesterday, though, when my sister asked if I’d figured out my resolutions for the coming year, I told her quite simply, “I’m not making any resolutions this year.” “What?” she replied, obviously stunned. Being my closest confidante, her surprised reaction made complete sense. Aside from being my closest sibling, she is my exercise buddy, wellness accountability partner, creative work collaborator and my dream sharer. She knows first-hand the myriad of goals I set and work towards accomplishing bit by bit. All in an attempt to replace my own criticism with accomplishment.

But this year, I decided that the resolution thing isn’t for me. Bear with me for a moment: I’m not saying that I’m giving up on goal setting. No way. What I am doing, though, is rather than engaging in the traditional resolution setting that includes writing down a list of ick I want to discontinue or change, I’m choosing to celebrate the positive.

What if we siblings, parents, children, partners, teachers, loved ones chose to continue doing good and positive and promote doing even more of the same? What if at the advent of a new year we reflected on all of the things we have done that make us proud of and set goals of continuing this practice and experiencing more of these good feelings? What if we reflected on the various ways we did good and worked towards replicating these good deeds? What if we made time for quiet and appreciating the small moments of beauty? Carved out time to spend with the ones that truly matter? Listened? Laughed? Expressed gratitude?

I believe that by focusing on what’s working rather than what’s not, we can move forward in a more productive way. By welcoming more good into our lives rather than struggling to push the unpleasant away, we are inviting joy. Good begets good. That’s why this year I resolve to keep on keepin’ on.

‘Tis The Season

December 19, 2017 By Kathie Z

The sky was robin’s egg blue, the sun was shining brightly and the snow beneath our feet was powdery soft. It was a picture postcard New England day and the countdown to Christmas was on! The holiday was only two weeks away and we’d yet to get a tree.

Back in our early days, the two of us were all about creating traditions. We’d head to the tree farm where my parents had gotten their tree for years to tag our tree. For those of you unfamiliar with this term, “tagging” is the early bird’s way of getting dibs on the best Christmas trees. Here’s how it works: You head to the tree farm weeks before Christmas; before weather or crowds pose a distraction and you choose your tree. You write your name on the tag in Sharpie and tie it to a branch. Just to be sure no one mistakes your tree as fair game, it’s a good idea to affix something personal to the tree, a ribbon or your dog’s neck scarf, for instance. You return a few weeks later, seek out your bandana and fetch that tree. If you’re thinking “this sounds a little much,” you’re right, but back then, we didn’t think so. We were establishing shared rituals.

As the years passed and we became a family of four, our annual family tree trek evolved and we ditched tree tagging altogether. Finding the tree became less of an adventure as the girls grew and their lives became busier. Last year when our youngest daughter, a lover of all things Christmas, went off to college and we officially became empty nesters, the tree getting officially became one more task to check off our ever-growing holiday to do list.

The third weekend of December, my husband and I headed to the mom and pop tree farm high on the hill and chose a “good enough” pre-cut tree. Just like always, he put the lights on and I began decorating. When I came to the box of “special” ornaments, the ornaments each of the girls had personally picked out since toddler-hood, I decided I had done enough tree decorating. How fun it would be for them to finish the tree together. I pictured them reminiscing as they placed the different ornaments that served as punctuation marks to each phase of their childhoods.

The girls both returned home a week before Christmas. “Nice tree, Mama,” my older daughter said. “Yeah, it looks good,” my younger daughter said. “I left you two a box,” I said. “Nah, I’m good,” my younger daughter said. “You can finish it.” I was crestfallen and super perplexed. How could this lover of all things Christmas take a pass on finishing the tree? “Seriously?” I asked. “Yeah,” she said. “It looks good. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Mess it up? What was she talking about? She could tell from my scrunched up face I was lost. “You’ve already done it the way you want,” she said. “You should finish it.”

“What are you talking about?” I finally said. “I saved the best for you two. On purpose.”

“No thanks,” my younger daughter said pleasantly. “You’ll just move the ornaments when I’m done anyway.” My mouth fell open. “It’s true, Mama” her older sister agreed.

And it was true. In my effort to create long-lasting traditions, I’d asserted control. And in that control, I’d communicated unattainable perfectionism in the form of non-verbal criticism. I’d moved precious ornaments I planned on passing on to the girls when they had homes of their own to higher, less vulnerable spots on the tree. What I’d done out of concern of some future gesture of good will was a present judgment of “wrong.”

In the year that’s passed, I’ve been reflecting. A lot. About the things that matter. And what I’ve realized is the teeniest gestures are often the ones that convey the loudest messages. If an ornament breaks, so what? The memory remains. Besides, who knows if my children will even want these things? Only time will tell.

So this year, the tree my husband and I picked out in record time stands beside the staircase undecorated. It will remain this way until the girls return. And when we decorate it, I’ll do my best to remain grateful, mindful. Who knows, maybe this’ll be the year that we establish a new tradition-one where ornaments are placed and left.

Kathie Z

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