Your Mom, the Morning after Election Day

I have no words about this country this morning.  But I do have words about the private stuff you posted last night, so I ask your forgiveness in advance for acting as if I know you in the real world instead of just on Facebook.

I was 35 years old and had been teaching high school for 13 years before I figured out that — no matter how strong I was for my students and defended them; no matter how much I cared for and about them; no matter how much I encouraged and nurtured my school kids; hell, no matter what kind of dad I was for my own daughter — nothing would ever change my experience growing up… nothing would ever give me the mentors I craved… my past was still my past.

I was afraid then that this realization might make me less caring, that once I knew that I had been trying to change things that couldn’t be changed I would give up, but I was wrong.  All it did was allow me to derive joy from my work.  As long as I had been trying *unconsciously* to rewrite my own teenage years I was always disappointed.  Once I became conscious that’s what I had been doing, though, I was able to see for the first time how much I was appreciated. I was able to see how much love I was actually getting from my students.

Now I am 64 years old.  We are all facing a hard future.  I face it, though, knowing that I have many more children than my own one or my wife’s two.    

I hope this brings you some comfort.  I hope you can forgive me for presuming to share it with you.