No Child Left Behind -- Ironic Isn't It?

“We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?” 

- Ray Bradbury

I'm really bothered.  There is a dirty little secret in education and it is called No Child Left Behind.  Ask any educator what they think of it and you will get an earful. It has a fantastic premise: "Setting high standards and establishing measurable goals can improve individual outcomes in education."  Who can be against such a thing?  

Nobody.

Which is why the bill passed with huge bi-partisan support in 2002 and the heavyweights of politics signed on: proposed by George W. Bush, co-authored by John Boehner (R-OH),  George Miller (D-CA), Ted Kennedy (D- MA), Judd Gregg (R- NH).  It sounded great.  It was going to reform education and make teachers accountable. It was going to make sure that every child in every school improved and made progress or else.  It was the "or else" that changed everything.  If the improvements didn't happen every single year, your school went into "Program Improvement".  Eventually your entire district would go into Program Improvement.  

After ten years of NCLB, 80% of the districts in the state of California are in Program Improvement.

Should we guess which districts these are?  The poorest and the most diverse.  No duh.

What happens when your entire district is Program Improvement?

no field trips

no art

no science

no social studies

no writing of any significance

no literature

no PE

reading and math take up most of the day -- with constant re-teaching and fill in the bubble testing

Here's where it gets really bad.  The teaching is literally taken out of the teachers' hands and a "scripted curriculum" is given.  The teacher must be on the same page, on the same day, at the same time as all of the other teachers at the same grade level in the district.  People come in and check and make notes of where you are.  Any professional respect has vanished.  Any feeling of competency is gone.  Teachers with 20-30 years of experience in the poorest, most diverse districts are treated with derision and disrespect.  Morale at these schools is at an all time low.

It used to be that if you taught in a poor, diverse district your students had a chance, a real chance to grow and learn and make progress and lift themselves out of poverty.  They had opportunities afforded them that their family life would never provide: science camp and outdoor education in 6th grade, a field trip to a farm, an observatory, a play.  As a first grade teacher in one of these districts I started out my year with a field trip to the city library by city bus.  We had them get their first library card and check out their first ever book; 75% had never been to a library and sadly, many did not even know what a library was.  Although the economic and family situations of my students were often disastrous there was always the hope and love of school.  Reading big books or fantastic stories and poems, singing songs, playing outside games, creating art projects and doing science experiments naturally ignited their curiosity and fired up their wonder.  
That is all gone now.

Today, students in Program Improvement districts are treated to heaping mounds of reading drudgery and worksheets.  There are math worksheets and the unforgiving pace of constantly moving ahead regardless of mastery and leaving behind most of the class.  The second language learners are given ever more opportunities of re-teaching and more worksheets.  It is grim.  

And yes, I'm bothered. 
Real bothered.

I keep waiting for the big wigs to shout this insanity down.  But, how can you say out loud that you are against NCLB without looking like a teaching lightweight?

Of course, I am for high expectations and equal opportunity.  Who isn't?

But, I am not for condemning an entire segment of our society to educational gruel while the haves continue to have all of the enrichment and joy of learning.  

Most of you don't know education's dirty little secret because you are part of the lucky 20%.  Your district is wealthy or perhaps your children attend private school -- either way your child's school is full to the brim with opportunity, joy and educational privilege.  You naturally thought all children were given real opportunities for learning. Well, No Child Left Behind left behind an entire chunk of our population. Check out the drop out rates. 

And where is the grace in all of this?

It is in the incredible resilient spirit of both the students and teachers in the desperate schools.  After ten solid years of this, those teachers still come to school each day with hope in their heart and faith that their students can learn and grow even with drudgery.  They work to provide a moment of lightness: skipping to recess and calling it PE, singing while they take attendance, assigning the fun stuff for homework.  

The students still come to school with bright eyes and high hopes.  Their parents, with no real knowledge of the system, still put their faith in the school. 

Those teachers are heroes.

They haven't left town, retired or put their hands up in the air and waved a flag of surrender.

They are still there, regardless of the rancor, the disrespect and the impossibility of their situation.  

They believe in the kids.

And now here is the Kryptonite of No Child Left Behind that no one wants the poor and diverse to know:  we can dismantle it.  We have the power.  All we have to do is to choose not to take the test.  If enough parents make that choice, the test becomes invalid.  Suddenly, Program Improvement has no weight. 

Trust me.  No one wants you to know this or do this as a parent.   

There will be incredible push back and repercussions but what can be worse than TEN years of drudgery??? TEN more years?  Entire generations of learners thinking this is the only way?

I'm ready for a fight.  Bring it on.

As a parent at one of those schools, I'd opt out of the test. Bring the legislators with no educational knowledge to task.  Ask them to think up some new way to have high expectations and accountability.  I'm all for it.  I'm against teaching to the test and pure drudgery.

Our poorest, most disadvantaged kids need way more than that.  

They need the wonder and joy and excitement of school.

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."
-- Martin Luther King, Jr.


Today, I'm not quiet any more.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

   "My home is not a place.  It is people." -- Lois McMaster Bujold

I've heard it said, "You can't go home again." and I've worried about that.  Because if that sentiment is true, what happens to Jack, my oldest who has left home and is in the very first few months of college?  Is it possible that he won't ever return home with the same heart, the same self, the same Jack-ness that we love and adore? What does that mean?  Where do we go from here as a family?

I had some crazy feelings of excitement and trepidation as we ventured onto an airplane just John and I headed to Los Angeles to see Jack for the first time in two and a half months. I was simultaneously tortured by the idea of seeing him for just a few hours and thrilled with any time at all.  Like a wilted flower, any drip of water would do.  When it became clear that we would for sure get to see Jack, John's face was lit up with a smile that wouldn't stop.  He kept looking at me, smiling.  I kept brushing him off.  I just wasn't sure.  Were we going to be cramping Jack's style?  Would he want us there?  How was it going to play out?  It felt unreal and dream-like and I couldn't quite picture it at all. Most of all, I wondered, would Jack be the same? 

We got to his dorm and took the elevator up.  We walked the halls that at the beginning of school had been freshly painted, new and clean. Today, they were dirty, lived-in and rather collegiate looking. We knocked on the door and found three room-mates missing and three girls sitting in the living room with Jack in the shower...so college...so classic.  We introduced ourselves and heard their stories. Zoe from Dallas, Aubrey from San Diego, and Jordan from LA.  All were together and friendly and polite.  Zoe gave us the run down of the plans for the day.  We made small talk and visited until Jack popped out, clean and ready to go. We hugged and took a good long look at the newest incarnation of Jack: college guy.  He was smiling, excited and happy.  He was ready to show us around and we followed his lead and got ready to go.  Zoe, ever the cruise director, handed Jack a list of phone numbers that he could use since he had misplaced his phone. 

First stop: book store.  We walked across campus and noticed mothers and fathers and sons and daughters just like us.  We felt part of something and yet a cloistered bubble of three at the same time. We decided to get some red for the football game and put on our required USC clothes.  We watched guys paint their entire bodies, we saw Trojans and cheerleaders and families and fraternities and an entire college scene that seemed scripted and watched Jack maneuver and make his way.  He greeted friends as he passed through and knew instinctively where he was going.  He guided us through it all.  He seemed comfortable and confident.  This was his turf and he wanted to share.  He showed us where he practiced volleyball, where he filled out paperwork for the screenwriting program, where he hung out with friends.  Best of all, he was genuinely himself, nothing was lost or missing, totally himself but with a bit more.

I don't know when I first felt this, maybe it was eating a hot dog at the Parents' Barbeque amid red and gold swaying balloons or it could have been as we were rushed along with the sea of red making its way to the Coliseum, but I knew that my heart was here.  It didn't matter what I was doing or the thousands of people beside me, as long as I was with Jack, my heart was here.  It was then that I realized for perhaps the first time that my heart is indeed cut into four very large pieces and they are outside of me.  

I guess since my kids have always been under my roof and generally with me that I was tricked into thinking that my heart was in my home.  But being with Jack and feeling a piece of myself there, I know now that my heart is wherever my children are.  Somehow, in the strangest way, I feel comforted by this.  I feel as if I have unintentionally made four horcruxes and stitched a little piece of my soul into Jack, Mary Kate, Patrick and Caroline.  They may travel the earth but they have my heart and that is where my home is -- wherever they are.

We kicked the flagpole and wished for good luck.  We resisted the bacon wrapped hot dogs with sizzling vegetables tempting us on our way to the stadium.  We walked by the rose garden planted in the early 1920's and filtered our way into the LA Coliseum.  We went down into the student section almost onto the field and were greeted by Jack's friends with a warm welcome.  We basked in the balmy southern California sunshine, the sublime joy of an afternoon of nothing but football and Jack and started learning the Trojan way.

If you've never been to a USC game let me tell you one thing: they live large.  They must have taken lessons from the British because nobody does Ceremony and Pomp better than these guys.  Out comes the fairy tale white horse with a Trojan atop.  He leaps off the horse and plunges his sword into the soil.  A cheer releases from the thousands of people and the game begins.  The band with full regalia plays its heart out.  The cheerleaders give it their all.  Gigantic flags are waving with an individual U and S and C and a Trojan all working together.  Smoke comes billowing out of a side entrance and with music playing, cheerleaders yelling and the crowd chanting, the football players rush onto the field.  

The game was fantastic...triple overtime and a heartbreaker of a loss...but that was beside the point.  We were with Jack.  Suddenly, we had to rush to the airport. We had to kiss our sweet son good-bye.  We got a glimpse of his world and had to head back to ours, where three other hearts were waiting.  We knew that we had found our way back home and that Jack would too.  Thanksgiving isn't that far away.

Change is inevitable.  Babies grow up.  Kids move out and we must adjust our sails or get stuck in stagnant waters.  This week-end, the grace that filled me up was learning that my home and my heart are where my people are...no matter where on the planet that takes me. 

Side By Side

Good friends, Patrick and Daniel at 6th grade camp.

The other day, I was on a mad dash to Target.  As I was driving in the parking lot, an old lady, spry and remarkably quick zipped across oncoming traffic to get to the other side.  Following behind her, WAY behind her, still on the other side of the parking lot was her hunched over husband.  He was slow moving, and clearly the anchor weighing down the speedboat.  It was painful to watch him try and keep up.  Impossible not to notice his resignation and his sadness at being left in the dust. I wanted to get out of my car and tell that mean old bitty a thing or two.  But pausing long enough not to hit him and forced to take the time to watch him cross the street like some slow moving snail made me feel a compassion for both of them.  It must be hard always ready and perpetually waiting.  It must be just as hard to be the one always trying to keep up.  It was then that I said out loud with nobody in the car to hear: "Why can't we all just be side by side holding hands?"  

Side by side.  What a lovely thought.  Nobody rushing.  Nobody feeling like they can't keep up.  Nobody tapping a foot in irritation. Just side by side.  Together.

Patrick is forever s-l-o-w moving.  I feel like I am constantly rushing him and forcing him to hurry.  Twelve years down this road and still I haven't learned my lesson.  There is no hurry, Beth.  It all unfolds at the exact right moment.  Some people you can't rush. Some moments you can't rush. It's a tricky balance in a world where speed is adored and adulated.  Rushing and hurrying are the norm -- it's what is expected.  

So living with someone like Patrick is a constant balance.  He indeed knows the right way to live.  He is excellent at giving you undivided attention.  He takes the time to listen.  He affords you the gifts of lingering and cherishing because when you are with him, there is no rush.  I want to be more like him. I want to be able to see a sadness in someone's eyes and find myself taking the time to ask and linger.   I want to live at his pace and stop trying to speed him up.  It's a tug of war between what matters and feels right and what the outside world tells you is important.  Clearly, I'm still learning.

"Always remember that each day as you look at your world and see millions upon millions of flowers opening up, God does it all without using any force." -- Dr. Wayne W. Dyer

Patrick has two friends at school.  Two real friends, Christopher and Daniel.  I knew he had friends that he played with on the playground but I didn't know until his birthday party in the summer just how close these three are.  They are equal friends...laughing and sharing jokes, running and playing games, sitting and sharing sodas or pizzas or ice cream and enjoying each other's company.  It has been a remarkable thing to watch unfold.  No play date began it.  There were no helicopter moms facilitating it.  Outside of school all three are involved in other activities and rarely run into each other.  It just evolved over time at school and getting to know each other.  Christopher is gentle and kind.  He is someone who loves the underdog and looks out for others.  He's a Boy Scout and a fantastic singer.  His love of music was what first sparked a friendship with Patrick.  He's a natural encourager.  Daniel is a recent immigrant from Cuba.  He has language barriers and difficulty understanding this crazy culture he's been dropped into.  He needs people who aren't rushing to take the time to break through that barrier.  He has an easy going personality and a quick smile.  He's always ready for some fun and a laugh and I know that is what drew Patrick to him.  He's so much larger than Patrick that he often will take on the role of protector and since he knows what it feel like to be an outsider, he's always willing to let people in.  These three together know what it's like to be side by side.  They were cabin mates during a week away at sixth grade camp.  They hiked together and encouraged each other through new experiences and fearful moments.  I try and picture those hikes and I smile.  Patrick must have surely been bringing up the rear but I can imagine both Daniel and Christopher looking out for him, telling him he could do it and encouraging him in such a way that he believed it too.  He hiked to the top of a peak, a first for him, side by side with his friends.

Christopher and Patrick are all smiles!

October is Down Syndrome Awareness month.  All month I've been pondering what to tell you.  What to say that might bring an ounce of hope and optimism to a new mom that has been prenatally diagnosed, or a new mom that is holding her tiny infant and just knows a diagnosis and can't imagine what the future looks like.  All I can tell you is a simple message: side by side is how you get through anything.  It's so much better that way.  Don't rush.  Don't hurry.  Just take the hand of a friend or a loved one, take a deep breath and begin the journey.  The journey is pretty beautiful.

The world may think we need to out-run each other but I've been taught otherwise. 

I'm so grateful to my teacher.

The Earth Laughs in Flowers

"I don't know whether nice people tend to grow roses or growing roses makes people nice."    Roland A. Beowne 

I have a secret spot...as soon as I think of it, I smile and can't help it.  It's not hidden but whenever I go there it feels as if it's my own private paradise: the Frederick N. Evans Memorial Rose Garden in McKinley Park in Sacramento.  I want to know what Frederick N. Evans did to deserve such distinction and such a fantastic legacy. He must have done something good, real good.

I recently read about a question to ask your children: name five things you love. So, I asked Caroline, in passing as she was literally scootering around the kitchen and living room in an endless track.  Each roundabout revealed another, in this order: Buddy, Momma, Teddy, Flowers, School. Since she is a newly minted kindergartner I breathed in a momentary breath of gratitude for "school" -- with such a big adjustment I was grateful that in this crystallized moment she was loving school.  It was a revelation to me since she has been coming home exhausted and prone to tears. 


Of course, Buddy and Momma and Teddy made sense since those are three things she routinely hugs, cherishes and sprinkles her sweet sugar on.  


Flowers, for some reason, floored me.  We hadn't been gardening, picking roses, buying flowers at the Farmer's Market or even talking about them recently but flowers sure made a lot of sense to me.  She loves to gather flowers.  She picks the dandelions, cuts the roses in our garden, notices the flowers growing wild in our neighbor's yard and begs me to make crowns of little clover flowers whenever we spot a clump growing protestingly in a manicured lawn. She has a secret spot for flowers...smart girl.


What gets us side-tracked and oblivious to the daily beauty around us?  Speed?  The nonsensical rush through our day to day obligations? Pressure? Stress? It's silly isn't it?  The very thing that can give us pause and help us drink in the beauty of today: a flower, seems inconsequential, optional and thoroughly "extra". 


Yesterday I was making a grocery list.  As usual, we were out of milk and assorted other necessities.  I was writing it down while Patrick and Caroline were eating breakfast and so I enlisted their help, hoping they would remind me of some crucial item I might have forgotten.  I asked them what they would like me to get at the grocery store.  Patrick mentioned cranberry juice and Caroline piped up: flowers.  Flowers.  How luxurious.  How completely frivolous.  How unnecessary.  


How tell-tale adult of me.


I don't usually buy flowers at the store but yesterday I almost forgot the milk I was so intent on my mission.  Flowers.  Of course. The earth laughs in flowers someone wisely once said. However you say it, life just feels better being cloaked in their beauty. We feel their sacred ordinary grace and calm down for a bit. Yesterday, I bought some flowers for a little girl who reminded me not just of their beauty but their necessity as well.

  Happy Thursday Caroline!

Happy Day to me!

In Praise of Dads

"Small boys become big men through the influence of big men who care about small boys."

My father's dad was overwhelmed by the sudden death of his wife and gave custody of his two young children to his spinster sister.  My dad was raised by a schoolteacher with strict, firm love and as soon as he turned 18, he was outta there -- onto new adventures, courtesy of the Marines.

My husband said good-bye to his dad when he was about ten.  His parents were newly divorced and his father opted to fade into the shadows.  I'm sure in some twisted way he told himself that he was being noble and giving his children stability by only having one parent to answer to.  In truth, his absence left a Papa Bear size wound that could never be healed.  

Yet these two men each had children of their own and both are not just good and attentive and kind dads.  They are superheroes.  They get the ever-present, not-for-a-minute-am-I-missing this award.  They are in it through every twist and turn and awkward moment.  And every single one of their children can feel that commitment...that cement of stability and presence and it serves as a both a compass and as a talisman.

When the first tower was hit and fire was raging on that awful September day in 2001, I stumbled out of bed confused by a phone call from my mother urging me to turn on the TV.  When I walked into the den, groggy and disoriented, I asked John why he hadn't awakened me.  His words were some of the sweetest, kindest and wisest he has ever said:

"Because I thought you could use a few more minutes of not knowing this."

For a split second I was wrapped in that love and fierce protection and then the second plane hit shredding that cloak and leaving us all with the naked knowledge and dread that this was no accident but the methodical plan of evil intentionally crossing our path, hell bent on destroying us.

How could I send my two small children to school?  How could I pretend that things were normal and life would just keep going?  I called my dad, hoping he would give me the Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card and go along with my plan to keep Jack and Mary Kate home from school.  He paused and let the silence on the phone make his point.  "No, Lizzy, they need to go to school.  They need that order in their day.  If you keep them home don't you see that the people who crashed those towers win.  You are giving them exactly what they hope.  You are listening to the fear.  You send them to school.  That's what you need to do."  Robotically, I did it, taking comfort in my father's words and wisdom.  It was the right thing to do but it sure seemed questionable that day.  Without my compass I wouldn't have known the right direction.

Both my husband and my dad make the mission of fathering their children their most important life's work and their children know it.  This level of devotion changes everything.  As a child, I knew I was safe, accepted, loved and highly regarded.  That childhood send off allowed me to provide those same things to my children.  But in the back of my mind I hear a critic yell: "Big Deal -- You saw what it looked like, you knew how it felt, so you were able to copy the model showed to you, no biggie."

But how did my husband do that?  With out any fatherly figure in his life, how did he navigate adolescence, college, his career, his adulthood and his fatherhood without any roadmap?  He listened to his gut and he plowed right in.  Holding Jack in those first breathless moments, tears unexpectedly sprang to his eyes and he asked out loud: "How could my dad have given this up?" I had no words.  I could feel the gigantic gulf of emptiness and the deep sadness that John had to somehow carry during this moment of immense joy.  But that was all I could do -- I couldn't heal that wound.

But four people could.  Jack, Mary Kate, Patrick and Caroline have somehow lessened the pain.  His joy in their lives, their hopes and dreams and accomplishments is radiant.  It is positively enticing.  He is over the top in his regard for them.  They are wondrous, amazing, fantastic and incredible.  He always gives second chances, sees their good side, thinks they are beautiful and fills them up.  His ability to give that love especially in the least deserving of moments is such a beautiful act that I am humbled over and over again.  It's harder for me, truly, yet he makes me want to be that selfless.  

Dads often get shoved aside.  People disregard their powerful influence and today, shockingly, it is considered a viable option to have a child all by yourself as a woman.  Ask any child who grew up without a dad to give their uncensored opinion about that and the truth becomes crystal clear.  Dads are not optional, like some sort of appetizer at a grand meal.  Dads are necessary and crucial and non-negotiable.  They provide the other side of the coin.  They are the mirror for their sons and a first love for their daughters.  They are a daily grace that is indispensable and in need of some serious applause.  

Three cheers for you, dads!  You matter!  You rock!  You're amazing!  

Most of all, thank you!

Needing More Hellos

"Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together?  I guess that wouldn't work.  Someone would leave.  Someone always leaves.  Then we would have to say good-bye.  I hate good-byes.  I know what I need.  I need more hellos."  ~Charles M. Schulz



It's been almost two weeks since I had to kiss my firstborn good-bye. Two weeks.  That's not that much time at all and yet every time I see him on Skype, hear his voice or read his words I know it might as well be a decade.  Already so much has changed for him...navigating the world -- yes that big wide world -- pretty much on his own with three stumbling and bumbling room-mates for companionship.  He seems older already.  He seems more worldly and yes, more moments have happened in these two weeks where his eyes have been opened.  I love it and I hate it in pretty equal doses.  I'm so thrilled for him to be on this adventure and so sad for me that our adventure with him in our daily life has ended.  


He's fine.  No, actually, he's pretty great.  He likes his room-mates, he has averted disaster and he's found his way to class and to food and to friends all relatively easily.  Heck he's even done his laundry!  


I can't help but reflect on my own going away moments.  I really don't remember being fearful at all -- although I'm sure I must have been nervous.  I just remember the adrenalin.  I remember being excited and ready and so curious about all of the new places and new people and new things I was seeing and learning.  I was thrilled and hopeful.  I knew I could do it and I wanted to go for it.  I couldn't get over the people...so very different and yet so very much the same.


I remember the kindness of strangers: that first day on my bike searching for my Classics class when out of nowhere a fellow biker pointed out the correct building I couldn't figure out from my map.  I remember the professors who told good stories and recited lines of poetry from their passionate hearts.  I remember feeling super cool hanging out in the Coffeehouse after class with my 75 cent bagel and cream cheese. I remember the parties and the craziness and the FUN!  Mostly, I remember the new friends who made me laugh and think and wonder about things I'd never thought about before. 


So...when I wish for more hellos from my big guy, I just remember how many, many, many hellos he is getting everyday. It's tantalizing to think about all of the paths he is crossing and all of the experiences he is having each new day of his adventure.  


And, it makes me want to have more hellos too.  I look a little longer for those confused faces trying to figure out a new school, a new team or a new town.  I find myself reaching out...pointing out a building, a person who knows the answer or a website that might help.  


A few years ago during the summer I had an itch to go to the beach.  My baby was weeks old but that didn't stop me; the beach was calling our name.  It was a little reckless but I packed up a picnic, good sunscreen and lots of sand toys and we started our adventure.  Two freeway exits down the road I got a flat tire.  I was close enough to home that I didn't freak out but it was a very vivid, deep feeling of vulnerability and suddenly I felt like a jerk on the open road with three kids and a tiny baby. What was I thinking? 


Two young hispanic guys stopped their car in front of ours.  I told the kids to be silent and I opened my window.  One of them offered: "I'm a mechanic, I know how to change a tire.  I'd like to help you change yours."


I was shocked and thrilled and very emotional.  He changed my tire like the expert he was and I sat in awe at a skill I needed to have.  Within  ten minutes we were ready to go.  I searched through my purse and tried to pay him.  He shyly smiled.  He refused and said: "I just got married a few weeks ago.  I would hate to have my wife out on a freeway like this and I would hope someone would help her the way I am helping you. "  That sacred moment of silent connection between us was all we needed:  I thanked him, and vowed to pay it forward.  He just smiled.


Often I think of that good deed...that kindness because he could see his wife in me.  Without effort, I can see Jack in all of the college kids around my town and I begin my hellos.  I can see myself in the new teacher and it dawns on me that that's the secret.  Seeing ourself in others gives us the willingness to say hello, to reach out and break down barriers.  Knowing it could be you gives you the grace to be patient, forgiving, understanding and most of all kind.  You're a little more tender and a little less ready to pounce.


So...deep breath...it's time for fewer good-byes and more hellos.


Hello world -- you're pretty beautiful.  

Grace Happens

Do you have someone you'd like to be when you grow up?  For me, it's Susan Branch.  If you don't know her, she writes the most beautiful cookbooks, creates gorgeous calendars, develops material for quilters and generally has her creative mojo overflowing. Recently she began a blog and I love it!  Take a look and escape into the wonderful world of Susan Branch.

http://www.susanbranch.com/

So...I had to steal her little bumper sticker...I just know we would be friends if only I hung out in Martha's Vineyard.  :)  

Anyway, her bumper sticker got me thinking...if we all lived like Susan Branch, we would create our own islands full of people that are wise and of good will.  The grace would happen.  We wouldn't need anything fancy.  We wouldn't even need a view...just some good will and wisdom.  And where can we find that?  Here's the big secret that even darling Susan Branch doesn't seem to mention very often: at eye level with kids.  

So often, they have that lovely mixture of good will and wisdom.  

They give second chances.  They love ferociously.  They think you're beautiful.  They dance.  They cuddle when they need to (or if you need to), offer up a quick "sorry" when the time is right, pause with wonder and stop eating when they are full.  They don't have any pretenses and they tell it like it is.  In short, they keep it real.  

Just the other day, my sister's son Peter was crying and my sister asked him why.  He looked up at her and clarified the obvious: "Because sometimes little boys cry." Yep.  They do. So, on my list of things that kids do right is Peter's astute observation: they allow themselves to cry when necessary. 

Kids keep it simple.  They can sense a fake the way a raccoon can find a garbage can, immediately.  They live effortlessly, simply and with profound grace.  

I have four kids.  One just left to find his own little village full of wisdom and good will.  Pray that he finds it, creates it and lives it.  I do.  And until I see him again, I'm going to hang with my posse: kids.  I'm going to search them out, listen and wait because sssshhhh: that's where the grace happens.