My Hero

"Heroes don't look like they used to, they look like you."

--Nothing More by Alternate Routes

One of my heroes is Sue Buckley.

You probably have never heard of her.

She's an older woman, slight in stature, well-spoken and honest.

Gut level, clear and sometimes brazen.

She's also British.  

So whatever she has to say, no matter how hard to swallow, feels like it has a spoonful of sugar to help it go down.

Her intelligence, her drive and her careful research

 have reformed education for people with disabilities across the UK.

Yes, folks, that entire country places their students with disabilities in regular ordinary classrooms first.

Support is given.  Intention and careful planning go into it. 

Students succeed.

If I had to distill Sue's message into a soundbite it would be this:

People with disabilities deserve an ordinary life.

Life with their family.  

Life with a significant other when they grow up.  

Life with a good education so that you can have the means to have an ordinary job.

A full, ordinary life.

That's all she wants --

and yet, it's revolutionary in so many places.

This week-end I had the privilege of hearing Sue speak

and advocate

and share her vision.

She was stern.

Indicting all parents who let their child with special needs have poor behavior.

She was funny.

Sharing stories and attempts at searching for this ordinary life for her own daughter.

She was incredibly articulate.

Reminding all of us of how important it is to strive for inclusion and why it matters.

She was bold.

Creating educational models that can be replicated easily and aren't costly, basing it all in research.

****

There, among the crowds of people yesterday, were new parents.  They were holding their tiny babies with Down Syndrome and being washed in acceptance.

It must have felt like a baptism for them.

There were educators who have dedicated their entire lives to the vision of full inclusion...renewing their vows, so to speak, redoubling their efforts, reaffirming just how important this work is.

There were parents who hold close Sue's vision too.

Clinging to her every word.

Spontaneously clapping.

Crying silent tears in agreement and urgency.

There is no time to waste.

And then there was my crew...

mothers of children with Down Syndrome who know in their souls and hearts that the efforts to fully include children with disabilities in Catholic schools is a sacred mission divinely guided.

We were from mostly California...

Napa, Davis, Manhattan Beach, Sacramento, Roseville, Costa Mesa.

But we had friends from Arizona.

And a mom from St. Louis, Missouri who out of desperation formed a Facebook group a year ago that has grown and ricocheted across all sorts of places and created a tidal wave of energy with it.

It was a shout into the void.

And people answered.

She jumped on a plane to be with her tribe and it was right.

Exactly right.

Thrilling.

For both nights that we ate out as a group,

a child with Down Syndrome that was unknown to us came up to our group...

two different kids

hugging us,

reminding us, 

encouraging us in our mission.

My friend, Michelle, called it a "God-cident".

It was like a sprinkle of fairy dust.

Or the slightest whisper of love.

Or the sparkling rocks that guide your way on a dark path.

Any way you describe it, those children felt heaven-sent.

As I watched Sue, 

I thought of these mothers who have no formal program, 

who have nobody funding it, 

no real guidance -- except each other --

who only have the very same desire that Sue has...

a chance for an ordinary life for their child with Down Syndrome, 

learning alongside of his/her siblings, 

making Communion and Reconciliation and Confirmation in their faith community,

singing in the Christmas pageant, 

playing kickball and basketball

just like anybody else.

On my way down Jamboree Road in Newport Beach, a song came on the radio.

I was all alone when I heard these words:

To be humble, to be kind.

It is the giving of the peace in your mind.

To a stranger, To a friend

To give in such a way that it has no end.

We are Love.

We are One.

We are how we treat each other when the day is done.

We are Peace.

We are War.

We are how we treat each other and Nothing More.

Another whisper...another arrow pointing the way.

How we treat each other and nothing more.

Let us remember the heroes,

unsung, 

humble and kind,

who show us how to treat each other

and nothing more.

For us, those heroes have names:

Patrick, Chris, Gretchen, Thomas, CJ, Raymond, John Michael and Adam.

Mia, Savannah, KC and Roberta.

They want an ordinary life.

They are full of ordinary grace.

It is our job to make it happen.

Let's do it.

Our revolution is under way.

Join us.

The Meatball

"Life is like a bowl of spaghetti, every once in a while you get a meatball."

 -- Sharon Creech, Newbery winning author of Walk Two Moons

I had the joy and unexpected surprise of getting to hear Sharon Creech speak to a roomful of beginning teachers.  Two days later I had the pleasure of going out to dinner with her.  My take away from her story was inspiration, the thrill of teaching, the joy of writing and the mystery of how a series of events line up in a perfect way to create someone's destiny.

Sharon Creech was a high school English teacher for many years.  She had a fantastic childhood with many siblings and a stable family.  She went to college, got married had two children and found herself divorced and searching for an escape.  She interviewed for a teaching job in England but at the interview the man interviewing her made a snap judgment about her personal situation and determined that the job was too much for a single parent. He told her flat out that she wouldn't be good for the job or the students and ended the interview before hearing any of her qualifications.  She was so shocked and angered by his reaction that she wrote a three page letter outlining her qualifications and explaining how her single parent status was actually a benefit to her students...she would be compassionate and understanding...less rushed to judge and punish.  

She got the job.

But then, she found out the salary.  She faced the truth that the salary was so minimal that she really couldn't responsibly take her two children and herself overseas on such a small income.  She made the phone call to let the school know.  However, the man she was supposed to speak with was in a meeting.  She was told to call back at lunch.  But before she made the call she went to lunch herself.  She found herself at a communal table in an Indian restaurant in Washington, DC.  Eating alone, she heard a mother speaking to her daughter next to her.  They both had British accents. Sharon began speaking to them, pouring out her story and her inability to reconcile the wages of her job offer with the supreme effort of moving across an ocean and abandoning all she knew.  The woman's reply:

"Oh, you simply must go!  There's the Thames, and the theater and the adventure.  You simply must go!"

Like some neon road sign on a dark night, Sharon knew she must listen to those words.  She made the decision that made no logical sense.  The one that wasn't planned out perfectly.  The one that wasn't safe.  She moved to England.

"Leap and the net will appear."

When she moved to England, she ended up meeting the man that would eventually be her husband.  She taught English and filled up her soul with great wisdom from great writers.  She focused on teaching writing and literature and slowly over eighteen years the percolating words started bubbling out of her.  

She had to write her own stories.  The first two were novels for adults.  They got published but they didn't take off.  Then she began a novel for children.  She had a publisher but after a year's worth of work, the publisher declared her main character "unlikeable" and told her to go back and rework it.  After another year, the editor told her that the character wasn't believable.  After a third year, she was sitting in a Chinese restaurant in London and received a fortune cookie with a Native American saying:

 "Don't judge someone until you've walked two moons in their moccasins."

Instantly, Sharon knew that she had found a clue to her story.  The novel would have a Native American flavor...the title would be Walk Two Moons. She began writing in earnest and when she showed it to her editor, it was accepted.

A few months later she received a phone call -- the American Library Association had chosen her book as the Newbery medal winner for the year.  She thought it was her brother playing a joke on her.  She laughed it off until it became clear it really was the American Library Association calling her.  She had no idea how many Newberys were given or how big a deal this was.  Let's be clear: only one Newbery Medal winner is chosen a year for "the most distinguished contribution to American literature for children."

Her first children's novel won the Newbery...and it was published in England!

"You simply must go!"

That was 1995, since then Sharon has gone on to win the Carnegie Medal (the Newbery equivalent for Britain) for her book, Ruby Holler.  She's won Newbery Honor book awards and many other notable awards for children's literature for her many other compelling books.  One of my favorites: Love That Dog.  In short, she followed a winding road that lead her to her purpose.  In her acceptance speech when she received the Newbery she mentioned a line one of her students had used in his own graduation speech: "Life is like a bowl of spaghetti.  Every once in a a while you get a meatball." and went on to say: "I guess this is my meatball."

Her humble joy in writing, her insatiable curiosity about what others are thinking and feeling and her love of children and their creative way of viewing the world all meld together in her works.  At her core, she is a teacher.  She uses her words like a magnifying glass to your heart, helping you to discover your own feelings and thoughts on difficult topics like grief, isolation, independence, childhood.  She nudges, cajoles and pushes you to see your own story within hers.

I can't help but wonder what her story today would be like had she stayed in the States and played it safe.  I can't help but think of that British voice inside an Indian restaurant in Washington, DC telling her that she "simply must  go" as an angel lighting the way. I can't help but be grateful that our paths crossed for several hours.  

Today I'm grateful for Sharon Creech: her courage, her words and her instruction.  She's a reminder for me to live bravely, to write and write and write and to listen to the angels whispering all around.

Heed My Words

"The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone."  -- George Elliot

The Forakers are doing a drive.  A multi-hour, grueling, boring drive with four kids and two adults who are all sleep deprived, sick of fast food and frankly ready for their own toilets and their own beds and in that order.  The term "weary traveller" becomes dear to me and I try to envision the Good Samaritan, the settlers who traversed the Great Plains and every immigrant that has ever made his way to our beloved country and hold them close.  It's not that bad, I tell myself...we're on a vacation...those people were changing their very lives.  Still, I feel a kinship with them.

We stop in Bakersfield, California.  It's not a tourist destination in any sense of the word.  Actually, no offense to native Bakersfield-types, but it's a place to try to avoid.  It's hot, flat and pretty dull.  It has the dust of agriculture floating in the air.  It has the scent of a town that shoulda, coulda, woulda done something great but just never did.  It makes me say to my kids who've been confined in the car for hours already: "This is a fast stop.  Let's get it all done quick and we're back on the road."

Mary Kate needs something that McDonald's just isn't going to have so we wander next door to Harry's Market which is a gas station and a convenience store and peruse the shelves for feminine protection.  The hunt isn't going well.  We find something that will work and then decide to use candy as our cover.  We buy a candy bar for every family member, throw in some gum for good measure and we plop it all in front of an innocuous looking cashier.  Hoping to be casual, we both avoid eye contact and so I notice what the cashier was reading: a pink-tinged newspaper written in arabic.

"Is this your daughter?" the cashier asks.

Forced from my eye avoidance I look up to find a gentle, kind and hypnotic pair of eyes.  I try to categorize them in my mind in milliseconds...are they hazel?  They seem to be cafe au lait sprinkled with Tinkerbell green glitter and suddenly I want to stare at them longer...to linger.

"Yes, this is my daughter."

"She's taller than you."

I smile.  "Yes, she is. Quite a bit taller than me actually."

"She's going to keep growing." He looks at me, pointedly...suddenly a sooth-sayer, no longer a cashier.

"Most likely." I laugh.  "You should see her brother."

The cashier/fortune teller is not side-tracked.  "I have three daughters." he reveals and suddenly I can feel his parental delight.  Instantly, I know that they are grown and that he is immeasurably proud.

"Congratulations.  How old are they?" I ask curious about the eyes, the wisdom behind them, the stories they can tell.

"19, 21 and 24.  They are all in the medical field."

"Wonderful!  My daughter is hoping to be a nurse."  As usual, I over share, and Mary Kate is cringing.

And that was the secret code that unlocked the door...without regard to time or to customers waiting or to this place we are in, wisdom comes pouring out like a waterfall:

"I knew a lady who was 67 years old when her husband died.  He died on their way to Lake Arrowhead.  She asked herself, What am I going to do now?  And do you know what she did? She went to medical school.  First she went to college to finish her degree and then she went to medical school and became a doctor -- 67 years old.  She is a doctor right here, down the street.  She is in her 90's now and no one can take that away from her.  She is a doctor."

He turns his spell-binding gaze on Mary Kate and she didn't have a chance.  She had to look him straight in the eye.

"You can cut your arm off.  You can have a husband and then lose him and lose all of your money but if you have this (he points to his brain and taps it) you have everything. No one can take it away from you." "Education is what you need.  You don't need any boyfriends.  You don't need anything but this (and he taps again)."

I look at Mary Kate and smile.  She smiles too but it's the smile of being polite.  She is going with it but she isn't sure at all where it's headed.

"Education is everything."

My sixteen year old daughter who thinks she needs a boyfriend, fantasizes about fashion and romance and blows off all adults she lives with actually pauses.  She nods.  She lets it sink in.

We have to get going.  Midnight strikes and the slippers melt away.  We are back with the pumpkins and mice.  I ask this man his name..."Singh" he says and smiles.  I shake his hand.  I feel his kindness permeate my skin and this weary traveller is mesmerized for one last time in the river of those eyes.

"Thank you so much." I pause.  I want to tell him how much he has helped.  How influential a stranger's words can be.  How his name will go into the archives of Foraker Family roadtrips...but how? How do you thank someone for their little rest stop on a weary road? How do you thank someone for the grace they sprinkled with their kindness and care?

I walk out with a black plastic bag full of candy and goosebumps on my arms.  An angel named Singh entered unannounced.  We almost missed him.  As we walked out the door I looked at Mary Kate.  She knew it too. Singh calls to us both, pointing at us he commands: "Heed my words!"

Singh, you have no idea.