Sitting in My Grief w/ Hope

This was not an easy write. Nor do I imagine it to be an easy read. These are my thoughts this morning.

One year ago today, I landed on the tarmac in Dublin, Ireland. I was sitting next to my younger daughter, Kira. As per usual, I switched my phone out of airplane mode and texted my family that we had arrived safely. Two seconds later, my phone rang. I looked down and saw it was my sister. And my heart broke. It instantly shattered. I could feel the shards of pain tear through my entire body. There was only one reason she would be calling me. My hand was shaking so much, it took three tries to swipe correctly to answer her call. 

I then heard her courageous voice sharing the unbearable news that my baby brother had died.

I went numb. Cold. Ice cold. And heavy. Cement heavy. I have only spotty recollection of what happened next. I know I told Kira the news. I know we hugged. For a while. I know I asked her to let me try to grieve in a different way this time (having had multiple losses recently) by going on with the trip we had planned for her college graduation. "It's what Uncle Billy wanted." I don't remember waiting for an answer from her. We got off the plane and miraculously adventured our way to our Airbnb. Eventually my older daughter Katina and her boyfriend Tommy arrived and I repeated the above, telling them the news and asking Katina something similar in regards to going on with the trip. Again, I don't remember waiting for an answer from her.

In the next 24 hours, I vaguely remember some churches and Trinity College and card games and hiding in bathrooms to cry and feeling deeply guilty that I couldn't muster up any semblance of motherhood to hold my daughters in their pain. I still feel horrible about that. 

And then I broke down. I remember waking up unable to breath. Gasping for air and needing to move. Needing to hit something. Needing to run, to scream. I needed to get home. I've never felt so helpless in all my life. "What was I thinking??? I'm in f$!%ing IRELAND?? WHY?? Oh my GOD. I need to get HOME! Oh, my baby brother..." And sobbing uncontrollably. I remember Katina holding me, tightly. I remember Kira's fingers tapping on her computer at lightning speed and her speaking on the phone in a firm voice. This lasted for hours, it seemed. The end result was that she got us on a flight out and I was able to calm down. I don't remember how much time passed or what we did before our flight. I really don't. Perhaps if someone reminded me...In fact, what I described above might not be how anyone else would recount this situation. 

Once I got home, a myriad of chaotic family life chapters ensued. For the next year. It's literally been nonstop since then. 

Clearly the request I made of my daughters to "let me grieve in a different way by going on with our trip" was bullshit code for me looking to escape. And it's clear to me that this has been a pattern for the past five years. I've spent so many years trying to forget. Other than work, every memory I have is haunted with excruciating loss. Dan, Mom, Billy, my marriage. It's quite obvious to me that I am capable of deep love because I feel such deep grief. (Thanks, Mom. I blame you. ;) 

But something new has happened during this pandemic. I've been forced to pause. My usual escape of work has not been available to me. Don't get me wrong; I am still working eight to ten hour days. But when I would go into the office, my days would always get sucked up by the unexpected, both good and challenging. Which means I would play catch-up at night. For the last three months, however, I've had at least 3-4 hours of free time in the evenings. That's new to me. Just me, alone with my thoughts. Let's be clear. I'm not a fan. At all. My head knows this is good for me, of course. And my discomfort has taught me a lot the last few months.

I've learned that time does not heal all wounds. I've learned that forgetting now doesn't lessen the pain later. I've learned that there is no circumventing grief. I've learned that strength can be me in a puddle on the ground as much as it can be me holding my daughters and sisters in their loss. And I am learning that memories of my losses can be simultaneously painful and pleasant. 

I was six years old when my brother was born. It was December, right after Christmas.

I remember my dad bringing him home in a stocking & me questioning when he could play ball.

I remember crawling into my brother's crib  & cuddling with him. Often.

I remember pulling my brother out of his crib when he was crying and the metal bar between his shoes (because he wore a brace) hitting me in the shins every time. I had permanent bruises. 

I remember reading WOW magazines with him, and doing the projects in each.

I remember swinging, running, jumping and throwing contests with him.

I remember climbing trees with him, particularly our willow tree.

I remember him wetting his hair down every morning & putting a cap on to straighten his curls.

I remember pulling out his loose teeth for him, per his request.

I remember teaching him how to handle a basketball with my dribbling glasses. 

I remember soon after, he was teaching me new tricks.

I remember letting him drive when he was ~12 & getting pulled over; he was driving too slowly.

I remember him at my basketball games, cheering me on.

I remember being at his basketball games, cheering him on.

I remember him being angry when I started dating, until my senior year when I dated someone who enjoyed spending time with him, too. 

I remember how he would be seemingly disengaged from a conversation, sitting silently on the side, secretly observing and absorbing intently. And then, in his quiet, clever, seamless manner, injecting some unique perspective that either made us think deeply or laugh uncontrollably.

I remember his genuine love for my daughters, how in awe of them he was, how proud of them he was. Every single time we talked, he bragged on them something fierce.

I remember so many moments in my life when he was my confidant and guide.

I remember his deep voice, contagious laughter and protective hug.

And I would give anything to have him here with me today.

I remember so much more...this is all I have the capacity to share right now.

I'm in so much pain today. Indescribable pain remembering my baby brother. And for the first time, in the years I've been navigating three major life losses, I'm setting aside time to feel. To heal. Gods I'm a slow learner...And I f$I&ing hate this. AND I know it's needed.

Billy, I miss you so very much. 

My Senior Picture...

...is not accessible right now. It's in storage. :) But I would choose to share this picture anyway.

In high school, there was nothing I liked more than playing basketball. I played 3-4 hours a day, every day. And I was in heaven. I couldn't get enough.

This is a picture of me walking off the court at the end my last high school basketball game. A local newspaper photographer caught this image as my teammate Shelly congratulated me one last time. This shot perfectly captures how I was feeling in the moment. Despondent. I was going to miss this so much. Honestly, I still do.

When people ask me about my high school memories, basketball is what I think of most. I can hear my Adidas squeaking on the court, feel the basketball as an extension of my hand, smell the musty, old locker room. My locker was #1002 and the combination was 3-5-47. I can still tell you how best to get the ball to each teammate on every play. And I don't believe I've ever laughed harder than I did on the bus to and from our games. Fun times!

I learned so much from basketball. Loyalty, hard work, collaboration, leadership, for instance. I learned how to bounce back from disappointment. I learned how to push myself beyond what I thought I could do. I learned how to be coachable and practice humility. And so much more.

I cannot imagine the loss I would've felt had my last season been unexpectedly shut down as many of our senior athletes are experiencing now. All seniors are feeling a sense of loss. I am seeing so many musicians and singers putting together a virtual substitute for their performances. I've tried so hard to think about how to capture at least a bit of the spirit that exists playing on a sports team in a similar manner. But how do I capture the harmony I contributed in my role as point guard to the other players on the court via Zoom?

To spring season senior athletes, I see you. I empathize with the loss you must be feeling. And I hope you are taking care of yourselves, doing what you can to remain fueled by your passion of working out in the sport you love.

Take a look at this video from Nike (by Wieden + Kennedy). Your sacrifice is a part of the story described in it, of those making a difference and saving lives. And I hope that some special homecoming exists for you and your teams next year, to celebrate one another in person, perhaps on the track, field, court, etc. 

For now, #StayStrong #StayHealthy and know that #YouAreTheLight

My Teaching Friends, This is YOUR Moment...

...and it's about damn time, too. :)

We finally (and unfortunately) know what it might take for the world to get a tiny glimpse into the selflessness, endurance, empathy, and compassion necessary to live the life of a teacher.

A pandemic.

The last few weeks have been intense, with a plethora of uncontrollable circumstances surfacing quickly. There have been a great many mysterious meetings held in governmental "offices." Many follow-ups in superintendency-led Zooms. All with the hopes that some familiar problem-solving strategy would help guide the way in determining what the next couple weeks (and months) ought to look like. Based on the resulting swirling questions, ever-changing decrees, constant uncertainties, and increasing variables, clearly we are experiencing a first. And routine problem-solving was quickly exhausted.

And yet there's something about this horrible health crisis that I believe has the potential to profoundly and positively change the way U.S. society views our profession. Just as health care professionals literally hold our lives in their hands, teachers are now being called upon to hold the hearts and minds of our youth in theirs, in a collective manner like never before.

This, my dearest colleagues, is a moment in history where teachers will no longer remain as an invisible backdrop to society's emotional infrastructure.

The things that you do every single day—instinctually, selflessly, consistently—will no longer remain in the shadows. How you compassionately and skillfully hold the well-being of 140 individuals in your head and heart every day, five days a week, will now be seen and felt by the masses. Unlike any other time in history...

...because you are bridging school with home, teacher with family, learning with life.

During this remote learning experience, you may be in a purposeful or serendipitous moment: you may meet other family members, perhaps grandparents, aunties, baby siblings, even pets; you may eat a meal with your students, because that's the only time you or they have to eat; you may get to see your student as a daughter or son, as a sister or brother, in a responsible role. (That's a very different identity than what you typically get to interact with at school, no matter how well you get to know your students.) First year teacher? Thirtieth year veteran? Doesn't matter. This is the Apollo 13 version of fixing the LM's carbon dioxide filter: no textbook or simulation has prepared us for this.

In the midst of a health crisis, teachers are entering homes to carry families through it.

And this will be tough. Joy and Pain will live side by side for a long while. And we aren't being asked to move gently into a new way of being to meet this new "normal." And neither are our students or their families. We've been catapulted there. Inequities will become in-your-face apparent. Survival needs, health problems and job losses will be part of our daily conversations. (Perhaps this might explain some of the discombobulation we already feel.)


This provides us with an opportunity to balance these tough moments with Affirmation. Compassion. Innovation. Joy.


So in the midst of all this, I urge you—I beg of you—to play. PLAY! Push your practice to a new dimension. You may never have this opportunity again. To literally launch a new way for schools to function, rooted in the teachers' and students' lived experiences. What will you do with this chance? What will you learn? What does your class look like, feel like, sound like, when no one is there giving you traditional boundaries, requiring content objectives? When students' lives dictate the direction of the educational experiences, what's the curricular result?

How will students remember this moment in time with you? Because THIS IS one of those moments in their lives that they'll remember. For life. YOU ARE THAT teacher.

And as I stated, I think the teaching profession will be looked at differently from now on. Our communities might gain a deeper understanding of why teaching has been described as one of the noblest of professions. I share this not as pressure. It's something I've always believed. I always will. And now, others will get to see it, too. And they'll picture your face behind this newfound understanding.

Please know that I'm here to support you on this journey! I'm looking forward to intentionally and awkwardly walking through it with you. And helping to provide healing spaces for us to be together. Because we'll need that, too. Thank you in advance for all you do. It's an honor to be a part of this collective.

No matter how we've connected in the past—any content, any level, any continent—happy to brainstorm interactions you're developing with and for your students.

And above all, #StayHome, #StayConnected, #StayHealthy

Rush University Med School Awards Ceremony

(They told me 90 seconds. Yikes!)

Good evening everyone. It is my distinct pleasure to be here to award the Daniel Welsh MD Memorial Scholarship. Quickly, I’d like to share a bit about the man behind the award’s name. Dan and I grew up together; we went to grade school, high school, and college together. Dan possessed an effortless charm and indomitable spirit. Energy permeated the room when he walked through the door. You could feel it. You see, Dan lived every moment with incomparable intensity and integrity. Whatever experience life was offering him, he jumped in full throttle. In fact, he was quite exhausting to be around! Pleasantly exhausting, but exhausting nonetheless. And it was this passion for life that drove Dan to become the best doctor he could be. To have his very purpose be rooted in authentic personal relationships and to take care of those around him. That may sound cliché, but I have stories to support it (as does Mrs. Welsh who is here tonight) and never tire of telling them. Just ask my daughters and students.

I’ve had the privilege to read through today’s award recipient’s application. It is so heartwarming for me to see such similarities in his words and Dan’s legacy. “Beyond the sophisticated craft and intellectual stimulation, the most meaningful aspects of General Surgery are the patients I have had the privilege to serve...I have tried to be a source of support to our patients...and to make their hospitalization as comfortable as possible.”

To this year’s recipient, when you look at this plaque, may it help fuel you with “Dan-like energy” and may it consistently remind you of your own passions to “provide meaningful and definitive care to patients” and “to work with compassion and empathy every day.”

On behalf of the Welsh family, my sincerest congratulations to Dr. Raghav Chandra.


Dr. Daniel Welsh

"Hey All You White People..." Women's March St. Louis 2018

Last January, I trekked to DC on a bus with one of my daughters and with 100+ other women from my community. We all bonded. We shared stories of #Laughter and #Love and #Truths and #MeToo and so much more. And I learned so much. I posted. My daughter posted. And we all vowed to stand in solidarity. To do our part. Because #Times Up. #NoMore.

This year, I marched in St. Louis. And I learned so much more. In listening to some extraordinary women of color speak and perform, to hear them share their truth, I was moved and awed and touched. Not only are they in it, I was reminded just how deeply they've BEEN IN IT. For a very long time.

And then a white woman took the stage. Reverend Ranita Lamkin. A preacher from Cape Girardeau's St. James African Methodist Episcopal Church. 

And she let us white people have it. Appropriately so.

"I'm gonna talk to the white people for a minute, if that's okay." She paused. And then she let out a penetrating laugh. It was part witch, part hyena, and part big sister. You know, the big sister that you simply can't lie to? Hide from? She's gonna use it as leverage. And you never win. That kind of laugh. (Of course this is not a transcript, but it's close.)

"Hey all you white people taking selfies with Black people just so you can post it on Facebook to show you were a part of something. You're not allowed to do that. You can't do that! That's not right. Shame on you. Stop it."

"Hey all you white people. Going to church and hoping and marching and praying? Thhpptpt" She let out raspberry sounds. A few times. "That ain't enough! Prayin' ain't gonna change policy. Open doors. Prevent injury. Provide food, clothing, shelter, health care. Prayin' ain't enough."

"Hey all you white people. I know. There are laws. And you like to follow the rules. But when the rules are wrong, when people are struggling, when people are dying, you can't keep wondering about when the rules are gonna change. CHANGE THEM! Stop following the rules and push back on the rules. Make things right."

"Hey all you white people. If you're not out here when the confrontations surface, when the tear gas erupts...if you're not out here to protest police brutality arm in arm with all your brothers and sisters, to feel the pain of mace in your face as you protect our youth, then your presence here today is vanity." And she smiled at the women of color, the other speakers, sitting around her. And looked back at us, as if to say, "These women have been doing this for a very long time. For generations. Where have you been? What are you doing? Besides marching?"

"Hey all you white people, if this march is all you're doing, that's being a sloppy human being. Use your position, your skin color, your privilege to make things right. Stop being a sloppy human being."

The overall message of the morning was positive. We are better together. We are effective united. We must #speakourtruth. And we women must also adopt an unapologetic attitude. #NoMore.

This moment spoke to me. My honest reflection on what I've done with my time during the past year is ongoing. As for the upcoming months, my presence will be more than last year's and deeper than the intellectual space I find comfortable. 

March. Act. Vote. #WomensMarch2018

PS It wasn't lost on me that the one year anniversary of the first march also corresponded to a government shut down. And who the greatest victims of that shutdown will be. We have MUCH work to do.

Great American Eclipse, 2017...

...What's My Take?

Here's what I'm sharing with my department. Wanted to share with you, too. Would love to hear about your experience, as well.

I must admit, I was way more excited than I thought I'd be. Being outside the band of totality, I was surprisingly moved. When I finally let go of all the anticipation and allowed myself to absorb the experience, I couldn't help but dance and stare and hug and sing...and wonder...

After a while, serenity set in and my amazement amplified. A calculated shadow gently blanketed our country, one location at a time, carefree and careless of the ongoings of our sometimes empathetic and sometimes shameful behavior, highlighting the magnificence and beauty of the universe. And I was part of it. I was in that shadow. There's a reason why this celestial event is referenced repeatedly over the centuries in history, in science, in literature, in the arts. I believe insightful authors and artists knew that future generations would experience the same event, but with new context. There's faith, even desperation in that wisdom. What do you hope will be cradled in the next eclipse's shadow? And how will you contribute to that vision?

In a way, this is what we've chosen to do for a living. We hope that our students will be able to navigate their life experiences with a deeper understanding of their surroundings. And of themselves. And contribute to their world in a way that makes it better than the way they found it. We use our classrooms as an opportunity to practice and investigate those possibilities. That may seem far-fetched, exaggerated, but I truly believe each teacher does that, in big and small ways, every day. For that, I'm grateful, and in awe. The Great American Eclipse 2017 is committed to my memory, and hopefully yours. Here's hoping the next shadow captures a greater version of ourselves—individually and societally—than who we modeled this time around.

Lions and Tigers and Bears...Oh Such Incredible Women!

This post will not be lengthy, much to your relief. This is because I haven't yet determined how best to share the impactful movie theater experiences I've had over the last two weeks.

Suffice it to say, I highly recommend Lion, Hidden Figures, and I Am Not Your Negro. These are "must see" shows.

There is a great deal to learn from these movies. They are potentially life changing. And what I found potent were the two inescapable themes:

1. Women are spectacularly strong.
2. A sense of belonging shapes our identity, and vice versa.

There is a universal need to feel accepted, to have family, to know your history and how that shapes your current sense of belonging. Understanding the connection of where you came from gives you the courage and wherewithal to pursue the trajectory of where you're meant to go. And these four women—Brierly's Moms, Katherine Johnson and Dorothy Counts—in the midst of heartache and adversity, exemplified living in a manner indicative of pure love, unfettered determination, and inexplicable beauty all stemming from the foundation of believing in what their life's journey was meant to be. 

Like so many other women I look up to, I found these stories inspiring. It's a gift that there are these real life examples being shared in the theater for our young women to see. And it's about time. #StillShePersisted

Why My Daughter Marched...A Guest Post

The following was written by my youngest daughter. She gave me permission to publish her work as a guest post. I'm certain her words resonate with so many of us, and I couldn't pass up this opportunity. So thank you, Kira. Well done. I'm so very proud of you.

"Why I Marched" ~By Kira Bolos

In this photo my mom and I climbed up a fountain and were looking out at hundreds of thousands of marchers; the crowd extended literally as far as the eye could see. It was impossible not to get choked up, to not be moved by that sight. Everyone was kind, everyone was full of love, and everyone was fighting to protect one another. It was the largest sign of unity I have ever seen and likely will ever see, and the most beautiful part was that this is just the beginning of a fight we will not lose. This incredible experience and all the amazing women I met this weekend inspired me to share #WhyIMarch.

As a college student, I see and experience what happens to the women on my campus. We go to these parties and we keep one eye out for those men staring at us. We keep our drinks in our hands at all times because putting it down means we are a target. We go to bars where men touch our backs and grab our hips, and we don’t get a choice. We walk five minutes off campus and are cat called if we are alone. We walk home at night clutching our pepper spray, the whole time the “1 in 5” statistic ringing in our ears, permanently burned in our brains. It is not something we can escape. And maybe more terrifying than all of this, these instances where we are most uncomfortable are not even when we are most vulnerable. We are most vulnerable around the men we know and even trust. These women are scared, I am scared. And I am so tired of holding my breath and making myself small when an unknown man approaches me. Of having a slight alarm in my head whenever I start to have a close relationship with a male, because this is who I am taught to be afraid of. Most of all, I am tired of feeling LUCKY that I have not been assaulted—because it is absolutely unacceptable that this isn’t the norm.

This is why I march. But that is not all; the reasons are infinite. I not only march for my fellow college women, but for women of every shape, size, and color. I march for women all over the country who have the same statistic ringing in their ears. I march for the victims of domestic violence (which 1 in 4 women will experience in their lifetime). For the young girls who do not know they are allowed to say no, for the ones who were told not to be raped when no one told their attackers not to rape them. I march for 12-year-old me who was cat called for the first time. I march for the women who were born biologically a male and are now trying to find their place among our community. I march for the women of the LGBTQIA+ community. I march for the black women who are the most educated group in the country but yet are still among the most underrepresented, undervalued, and underpaid. I march for all the little girls across the world who do not have access to education. For women in other countries who are even worse off and unfathomably oppressed. I march for my incredible and passionate female friends and family members who are too beautiful and strong to put into words; for the dreamers, the fighters, the women who are unstoppable in a world trying to prevent us from soaring. I march because the patriarchy hurts us all. Because women’s rights are human rights. Because we will only be free when we are equal. We are the ones who will make America great. Girls, stay nasty ;)

Why I Marched: One Woman's Perspective

I had one of the most incredible experiences of my life this past weekend. I attended the Women's March on Washington, 2017. Sisterhood. Solidarity. Strength. With allies walking arm in arm. We were navigating in a non-male-created airspace. (Sigh!) This, along with knowing the sheer numbers of global marchers, made it an unprecedented historical event. And I felt empowered, connected, cared-for, valued, loved.

I've participated in multiple election cycles in my lifetime. I am not a member of any particular party; I vote on specific issues. I get excited about some winners and disappointed in others. In the end, I typically have mixed emotions for everyone who holds office. :) Tough to please, obviously!

This time around? This is different. We're all swinging without a net here. Every last one of us is experiencing something atypical post election.

And I am concerned (putting it mildly). Sexist, Islamophobic, racist, homophobic, ableist language has become normalized. I've never felt such tangible hatred in the air. Word choice matters! It clearly communicates an individual's beliefs. I understand how powerful my words are; others are affected by what I say.

Women's March on Washington w/ my daughter.

So why did I march?

I marched because, as a young girl, I was taught to:

• fight for the underdog
• walk in someone else's shoes
• pay it forward 
• keep an open heart and an open mind
• love thy neighbor
• fight for what's right 
• do unto others

As a grown-up with experience, these lessons hold true in the following ways. I marched because I am a woman, and women are still being oppressed. I refuse to be objectified, belittled or silenced any longer. (Just today, I was greeted by a male colleague and was immediately given the top to bottom once over; he didn't think I noticed. I did. I do. Stop it.) I marched because, as a woman, I refuse to allow flippant dialogue about sexual assault to go unchecked. SEXUAL ASSAULT IS NOT A JOKE; IT IS A CRIME! A CRIME!! I marched because men can wear anything they like—as much or as little clothing as they choose—be surrounded by women and still feel safe; the opposite must also hold true. I marched because I have daughters, and I want them to know they deserve better. They will know that when I say "I have your back," it will always be met with love AND action. I marched because, as a woman, I know we are all gifted, beautiful individuals. I do not speak for all women, but I will unconditionally, unforgivingly, unrelentingly support, defend and fight for them as long as I live.

I also marched for my fellow brothers and sisters who are now experiencing even further oppression than they already tragically have to deal with on a daily basis. I marched for healthcare and reproductive rights, for racial justice, for equality, for protection against gender-based violence, for LGBTQIA, for religious freedom, for immigration rights. And I will continue to do what is necessary until such time that all are treated and protected equally and equitably under the law. We are a nation of immigrants, of diverse ethnic backgrounds, religious affiliations, gender identities, sexual orientations, etc. We always have been.

When the product of an election can even entertain the promise of exclusion, dehumanization, and further oppression, it is imperative that I rise up. That We Rise Up.

And it is incredibly inspiring knowing I'm not alone. Marches in over 60 countries in over 600 cities took place around the world. In Washington, I felt safe. In fact, I have never felt this safe in my entire life other than in my parents' or siblings' arms. That's my truth. And that says something.

My heart is not only warmed knowing that we have a sense of who we are as a nation again, but that other countries got to see it, as well. We showed up. Determined, confident and committed. Peacefully sharing our discontent and anger. And the world bore witness. Tomorrow, I'm ready for Day 2.

A Heartfelt Letter. To Students. Love Teacher.

October 11th was National Coming Out Day. Niles North's GSA Club organized a panel discussion that was made available every period for faculty, staff and students to attend. A host of very giving, insightful, courageous and caring students, parents and teachers shared their stories with a minimum of 9 audiences that day. A teacher colleague of mine composed and read a letter to our students. It was beautiful. And an authentic "life" lesson plan. I asked her if it she would be okay with using it as a guest post on my blog in order to reach even more individuals. My heartfelt thanks for her permission, authenticity, and generosity.

"While preparing for today, I’ve been reflecting on what it has been like to come to terms with my own sexuality as a child and to learn to live courageously as an adult.  But with all of the stories in the media regarding the injustice associated with issues of sexual assault, Islamophobia and Black lives, I have to admit that I’ve had a difficult time dwelling on my own struggles and journey. As a result of this reflection, I've written the following thoughts that I am honored to share with you today:

I grew up in the 60s and 70s in a small town downstate where people were afraid of gays, blacks, women's lib, Russians and Jews, just to mention a few.  The only thing that I feared was public speaking, gay people and perhaps unknowingly, myself.  I was insecure, immature and in most situations, a follower. I recall playing coed volleyball during my junior year of high school. As I looked across the net, I noticed a very lanky and effeminate boy standing awkwardly. I shouted "fag" as he ducked and ran away from the spiked ball headed in his direction. Unknowingly, our mothers worked together and during the next summer, I finally met the boy whom I had bullied with a single word.

When I started teaching in the late 80s, I was one of three female science teachers at Maine East High School. I didn’t know of any other gay teachers and there were no organizations such as GSA that supported students. There were no state or federal laws that protected my job based on my sexual preference, no domestic partnership benefits, and gay marriage seemed an impossible dream. I pretended that my roommate, Dirk, who was also gay, was my boyfriend.

But by the early 90s, a brilliant PR and social justice movement emerged, driven by the impact of AIDS, which encouraged gay people to no longer live secretly.  “Silence equals death” was the slogan and stars like Elton John, Melissa Etheridge and Ellen "came out" to the world. As many families learned that either their uncle, child or even mother was gay, the gay community slowly but surely gained straight allies over the next two decades.  In 2014, perhaps one of the biggest surprises in my life, gay marriage was legalized in the US.

The LGBTQ community still needs straight allies, just as Blacks and other minorities need White allies. Women need men to stand up against sexist language and behavior. Rape culture cannot be ended if only women care enough to try to stop it. Muslims need Christians, Jews and even atheists to support their religious freedom. Transgender people need the support of all of us who are comfortable with our given gender. Silence equals death is for each of us, for all of our differences and all of our special needs.

Statistics are facts and facts cannot be argued or denied. According to the FBI’s latest report, there were 6,727 victims of hate crimes in 2014. Of the 5,462 single-bias incidents reported, 47 percent were racially motivated. Other motivators included sexual orientation, and gender identity which accounted for 21% and religion, ethnicity, disability, comprised 32% of the crimes. Every two minutes an American is sexually assaulted, according to RAINN, the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network.

Islamophobia, homophobia, misogyny and xenophobia all have the same thing in common.  Fear. I have found that when people make or post sexist, racist or anti-gay comments, they create a false sense of self-empowerment and satisfaction.  Support from like minded friends gives them a bit more perceived power but it's the silence from the masses that empowers them the most.  If we say “No”, or question them, we take away that false sense of righteousness.  Driven by cowardice and fear, confrontation typically silences them, and in my experience results in quickly disappearing Facebook posts.

I am thankful that my religious preference is not the first thing people think about when they meet me and perhaps many of you didn't even know that I am gay.  I have the privilege of never ever having to think about racial discrimination affecting me or my family never having to give my daughter "the talk.” I guess I wouldn't be gay if I were transgender, but I can't even imagine the obstacles I would face and have to overcome to change my gender.  I do have the privilege of being White and I do pledge to spend the rest of my life advocating for under represented minorities. After a couple weeks reflection, I think my journey has been pretty easy for which I'm grateful.

Not much has changed in my hometown of Taylorville. The fear of Russians has transformed into fear of Muslims, gays are still scary but not as much as the transgender people (especially while using the bathroom) and people unhappy with the town’s increasing diversity blame the increase in Black population on the local prison which was built in the 80s.

This past June, one of my best friends whom I loved like a brother took his own life. He was 52 years old, a U of I graduate and an attorney for a federal judge. He was the kindest, funniest and most giving person I have ever met. Still living in Taylorville, he had never married, never dated to my knowledge, and was most likely transgender. His happiest moments were on Halloween when he dressed up as Cher or Stevie Nicks and danced, and spun and sang. He was incidentally, that very same boy whom I called a fag in high school.

Do you want to return to Skokie in 50 years to find that the same fears, racism, sexism, etc. still plaguing your community? If I can face and finally conquer my fear of public speaking, apologize for calling someone gay after coming to terms with my own sexuality, and learn why Black Lives need to Matter, then you can face your fear of others who are different than you.  You can learn to face and conquer your fears. Each one of you can become an ally for one person, one cause. It’s not who you are to today, but who you will become that is most important. The question is, what can you do with your privilege?

Male, female, Lesbian Gay, bisexual, transgender, straight, Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Black, White, Brown.  They are all labels.  Human constructs satisfy our innate desire to categorize and divide in order to understand, but they CAN NOT be used to segregate and isolate us from one another. To learn, we must listen.  

In closing, I'd like to share a quote from Shannon Alder:

'There comes a time in your life when you can no longer put off choosing. You have to choose one path or the other. You can live safe and be protected by people just like you, or you can stand up and be a leader for what is right. Always, remember this: People never remember the crowd; they remember the one person that had the courage to say and do what no one [else] would do.' ~Shannon L. Alder

I thank you so much for listening today with an open heart and mind."

Testing, Testing...

...anybody out there?

It's been too long! I've taken an extended break from blogging. Why? I've been working on another writing project, which I'll reveal shortly. But for now, I'm back. :) My first re-entry story has to do with a trajectory change in my department.

Last Tuesday, I had a wonderful department meeting. I was so nervous, even announcing to my teachers, "If I don't introduce this conversation well, I'm certain it's the end of my career. That's how nervous I am." They laughed. But I noticed them bracing themselves. Physically. Prepping for the hammer to drop, or something.

Boy did I get lucky. I just let a piece of myself free. Without filter, my teacher self took over. More than anything, I wanted them to see a bit of who I am and what I believe and what I know to be true. I did my best to pull back the curtain (gently) and loosen the grip that I know they've felt. The grip that they should only focus on one dimension of student growth—content. That nothing else mattered. And what did I see?

SMILES! RELIEF! AFFIRMATION!

Yes! We are on our way. And I am so looking forward to this journey. It will be hard work. Meaningful work. Work that could only be accomplished by teachers with the talents, dedication and intellect that this group holds.

What journey? I intend to share over time. But for now, the following poem describes what we plan to bury. We will find the right balance, our equilibrium. But with equity as our foundation and scientific literacy as our focus, we will bring the joy of learning back to the heart of what we do. And students will fly.

(And by the way; I was the girl on her knees in this poem. And was allowed the time to explore.)

Hurry, Hurry!
A poem by Clydia Forehand

Hurry up children; don't lag behind.
Please face the front; please stay in line.
We've all got to hurry. We must take a test.
And hope we are better than even the best.

Way at the back, a young girl on her knees
Was not facing front; she was looking at leaves.
There on the ground, she held one to see
She looked at it closely; looked up at the trees.

"Miss Giffrey, Miss Giffrey, could you tell me how
This leaf is so different from that one. Right now?
Miss Giffrey, Miss Giffrey, I just want to know
Why do leaves fall? And how do trees grow?"

Miss Giffrey was saddened; she wanted to teach.
She wanted to show them the veins in the leaf.
The wonders of chlorophyll; osmosis, too.
Instead she said, "Please do as I asked you to."

The child put the leaf down and stood in the line.
They all had to hurry; it was almost time.
The schedules were set; the test was at nine.
"Hurry up, children; don't lag behind."

They all took the test; they did pretty well.
Their scores became data; not stories to tell.
Somebody, someplace, entered those scores
And somebody, someplace, compiled a report.

Miss Giffrey's and all other classes that year
Were ranked in an order that made it quite clear
Who were the winners and who was in trouble
And who'd better make better scores in the future.

Miss Giffrey did well; the report in the paper
Made her and her class and her school look quite able
To teach things that mattered; to make sure kids learned
And like every story, this one's pages turned.

The child in the back who had looked at the leaf;
Been told not to dawdle; been taught not to see.
Grew to adulthood, a product of schools
That taught how to test and to follow the rules.

Miss Giffrey kept teaching; but teaching had changed
There were scripts now to follow. "Please don't deviate,"
Said the words in bold print at the top of each page
"Take the lessons in order, teach the lessons the same."

Test scores were rising, and, each year, believe me
Everyone said how much kids were achieving
"They're learning so much" people said to each other.
"It's so good to know now that schools aren't in trouble."

And Sarah, that young girl who'd once found the leaf,
Soon learned not to look; soon learned not to see.
Like everyone else, she walked in a line.
'Cause she had been taught she could not lag behind.

There are so many children, from so many places
To test for conformity really erases,
All that they are; all that they dream
All that they look for and all that they see.

Taught not to question; taught not to ask.
Stay in your seat; stick to the task.
Each one so different; each boy and each girl.
They are lag behind children in a hurry up world.

An Annual Repost

Each year, I give a prompt to my students for one of their journal reflections, "What was a difficult time in your life and how did you handle it?" The following is my response to that question. And I read it out loud to my students. One of the most difficult experiences of my life was the sudden loss of a close friend; he passed away from cardiac arrest.

Forty-seven years ago on September 28, 1967, a baby boy by the name of Daniel Eric Welsh was born to Kay and James. The fifth of five children. Dan and I eventually became very close friends, like brother and sister. We went to Blessed Sacrament Grade School, Morton High School, and the University of Illinois together. Our schedules were always identical, hour by hour, through grade 12. The only difference that occurred in high school was our language class—when I went to German, Dan went to Spanish. Then during our last year of college, I decided to go into teaching and he applied to medical schools. We both graduated. I began my teaching career and fell in love with it. He went to Rush University for medical school and also had found his calling. We, of course, kept in touch. Twenty-three years ago on September 24, 1992, four days before his 25th birthday, my dear friend died.


I’m sharing this story with you because I still have a hard time with the fact that he is no longer around, even after twenty-three years. One action that has provided me with some comfort is to share his life with my students. Why? I’ll explain.


Dan was the type of person who did everything 100%, otherwise he wouldn’t do it at all. When he studied, he studied 100%. No matter what gadgets or distractions we created at the library, he would not stop focusing on his studies. When he slept, he slept 100%. We actually had to break the door down one day to wake him up to go to Physics. Pounding on it wasn’t doing the trick! And when he had fun, he had fun 100%...well, you get the idea.


Saying that Dan was focused doesn’t seem to describe him thoroughly enough. When we were in grade school, we were asked what we wanted to be when we grew up. We actually recorded our responses, and I still have a copy of our class’s responses in my keepsake box. He said, without hesitation, “a doctor.” He was lucky this way. He knew what he wanted to be for a very long time. And throughout his life, his family experiences gave him the motivation to make his dream come true. His focus started at a very young age and never faltered. He was the type of person who wouldn’t miss class in college because he felt that something he learned that day might end up saving the life of one of his future patients. He was intense.


I’ve always had a very difficult time during this week of the year, ever since I lost Dan. When it first happened, I remember feeling so weak in the knees, to the point where standing up was an effort. My younger brother, Bill, was worried about me, because he knew how close Dan and I were. Bill had also lost a friend of his, Matt, 2 years prior to Dan’s death. Bill came into my room one day to give me a reassuring hug. I looked at him and asked, “When did you stop crying? When will I stop crying?” He said—and let me remind you that this is my younger brother, but at this moment he seemed so wise—he said, “Joan, it seems like holding onto the pain is the only way to stay close to Dan, doesn’t it? Well, I don’t know how or why, but one day I was thinking of Matt, and I laughed. I laughed out loud. And it felt great. And one day that will happen to you; you’ll think of Dan and smile. You just have to be patient. Just don’t think that the pain of his loss is the only way to stay close to him.” I  knew he was right, but had trouble with this for years. But, about 12 summers ago it happened. I was thinking about Dan, about how in second grade he glued a Kleenex on his eraser and started flying it around the classroom calling it a “Super Eraser”, and I smiled...then I laughed out loud. Bill was right. It did feel good to let the happiness through.


So why share such a tragic story? Because if Dan's life can in any way inspire you for one moment in your life to grasp everything that occasion has to offer, if this story can inspire you to make your next words and actions be a positive influence on the people around you, then this story will have made a difference. You have no idea to what extent you are impacting another person’s life. Who knew that I would ever remember “Super Eraser” and that that memory would in some way help me grow as an individual twenty-seven years later? Your words and actions make a difference for you and for others. Speak carefully, listen wholeheartedly, and live positively...as best you can.


Every experience, no matter how painful, provides opportunity for growth. Dan’s life and death have influenced many aspects of my life, including my teaching, in a profound way. And I will be forever grateful to my friend for playing his part in helping me to become the person, and the teacher, I am today.

College Readiness...With a Twist

This post provides no answers. Fair warning.

In the last 12 months, I have been inundated with, challenged by, and learned from conversations regarding "college readiness." In all honesty, that label has never been used as much in all my years in education combined as it has in the last year. That's both a good and disconcerting reality.

The dialogue can become suffocating when the focus is simply on numbers and what we baptize as "core content." BUT, happily, all of my conversations at Niles North are with colleagues who embrace and understand the nuances of that label. They reach for, and many times find, creative and loving ways to nurture our students on their high school journey so that they are ready for college in ways far surpassing simply being prepared for the rigors of post-secondary coursework.

The people I've been privileged to work with focus on the entire spectrum when it comes to helping prepare our students. We aren't perfect. But I've never seen a faculty so dedicated to reaching every child's needs and helping them grow and be ready for life outside our building. The commitment demonstrated by the educators here reflects an ability to think about the following...all at once...and how to get the kids to recognize where they are, where they can be, and how to get there. Areas they focus on include:

1. Knowledge base
2. Academic skills
3. Maturity
4. Emotional intelligence and flexibility
5. Relationships
6. Time Management
7. Independence
8. Reflection and Growth
9. Citizenry
10. Cultural competence

I'm sure I'm missing many.

But this week, as we've started school, I've had a conversation about each of these at some point. And it's made me think about my daughters and how they had/have varying degrees of "college readiness" in those categories. But in any sense of the definition, they were/are both quite ready. I had/have no hesitation that heading off to school was a constructive and appropriate next step for them. And I thank my family, friends and their teachers for helping to raise them and get them there.

But here's the thing. We focus so much on the kids, which makes sense, of course, because that's our job. But recently, I've been thinking about our Niles North parents. I'm curious. Do we have anyone on staff for parents to speak with if they aren't ready for their kid to go to college? And if they're not (I'm not), can we keep our child in high school a little bit longer? Just a little bit?

Please? Even if it's just for another week...

What I Learned at Lolla

This was my first time at Lollapalooza since it moved to Grant Park. Yup. I'm that hip (read, "old.") I was at the fest when it was hosted at Poplar Creek! Jane's Addiction's very own Perry Farrell was one of the founders. And many bands coined as "alternative" got their original recognition from being a part of this touring festival. (One of my all time favorites is Violent Femmes. :)

So being there with my daughters—and 300,000+ others—this past weekend was an electrifying experience. I know that it might seem cliché to speak/write about experiences related to music festivals, but since it's new to me, I'm gonna give it a go. Here are my thoughts:

1. Chicago rocks. Period.
2. Alabama Shakes rocks. Double period.
3. Alabama Shakes w/ Paul McCartney is a once in a life-time experience. If you left, it's your fault. It was magical!
4. Walk the Moon's guitarist split his jeans. Still played. Had a ball. A man after my own heart.
5. Sam Smith can captivate any audience. And make them believe they can sing. Even if they can't, they still sound wonderful.
6. Coin. An up-and-coming-band who deserves our support. So humble. And talented. And passionate. Hoping they "make it."
7. Being a teacher is the worst kind of celebrity at these occasions. Trust me. 
8. I can eat pizza. And cheese fries. Under any circumstance.
9. Being short is the best bonus. People block the sun, don't notice you, help you through crowds, and provide assistance. I love being "little."
10. The stupidest thing I did at Lolla? Ran home from the train station in a lightning storm. Ignoring my science background, I was worried about my pup. Seriously, I should be fired for stupidity. Or dead. 
11. My daughters both have incredible taste in music. Unique, but wonderful. I'll follow them each. Learning new things along the way, any time, any place.
12. I'm the luckiest woman in the world. Although Lolla didn't teach me that, it reinforced it. :)

Getting tix for next year. With my girls. Perhaps VIPs. :)

What My Dad Taught Me...

...and continues to teach me.

Just as I was on Mother's Day, I find myself particularly nostalgic this year. And the adventurous, reflective, and rewarding life I'm living has much to do with my father's influence. So on Father's Day, I'd like to share a few of the things my dad has taught me over the years.

Some lessons were practical, some were necessary, some were life changing, some happened when I was little, and some happened today. But all of them were a gift from my father.

My dad taught me:

1. how to throw a ball and "have a catch."
2. how to drive a car. And change the oil. And change a flat. And drive over a piece of trash with precision. Using each tire. And drive in reverse for a 1/2 mile. Really. That happened.
3. how to fish. All of it, from making lures with a hot lead mold to building my own rod to "getting it in the net" to filleting. 
4. how to fix things. So many, many things. Gluing chipped ceramic figurines, to patching holes in walls, to fixing running toilets, to repairing broken bicycle chains, etc. All things I broke in the first place.
5. how to create an incredibly abundant garden. From seed. Literally and metaphorically.
6. how to be coachable. "When the coach is interested in your perspective, he'll ask. Otherwise, learn from him." And yes, my Dad was my first, favorite and most insightful coach. (He took stats at every one of my basketball games. Pic below.)
7. that hard work is as nourishing as healthy meals.
8. to think "things" through and prepare for the most likely and most important outcomes.
9. how to think like a scientist.
10. to learn the difference between the quick, convenient decision and a solid, deliberate decision. And that each has its place.
11. how to be physically adept, mentally strong and intellectually competitive while participating in sports. It's part of what put so much fun in sports for me.
12. what the true meaning of respect means. Even if you don't respect a person's decisions, respect his/her position. And that self-respect is the most important kind.
13. that life is too short to worry about things you can't control. Keeping your sense of humor in tact is critically important during those moments.
14. to maintain an appropriate balance between academics, athletics, a social life and a spiritual life.
15. right from wrong. And that sometimes it's not that simple.
16. how to be calm in times of stress.
17. how to embrace confusion. If you push past it, you'll learn something.
18. how to advocate for myself. Intelligently.
19. that family is everything.
20. ...and so much more.

I love you, Dad!

I look forward to spending time with you this summer!

I Mowed The Lawn Today...

...and it was a BLAST! :)

Yes, I'm one of those crazy individuals; I actually enjoy yardwork, not just the gardening part. I love it all!

I'm certain it stems from the endless, fun-filled hours I spent with my dad as a kid. Perhaps this post should wait 'til father's day, but I'm on a yardwork high, so here goes.

It's been a while since I've mowed the lawn because we've had yard service for the past four years. In trying to save money, I gave it up this year. But I really don't know why I ever got it in the first place. Seriously. It's such a feeling of satisfaction when you get the yard cleaned up. And with every pass, I could hear my dad's voice:

• "What pattern are you gonna leave in the yard this time, Tad?"
• "Check the oil. Check the gas. Fill it up if you need to. Just don't flood it when you prime it. We don't have time for that. Rain's movin' in quickly!"
• "Don't bump the tree trunks."
• "Careful not to nick the blade on the water pipe."
• "Don't run over the flowers!"
• "You'd better bag it this time; it's too long to leave."
• (When the whole gang was out working...) "Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty." Then looks at me, chuckles, "That's not a problem for you now is it, Tad?"
• "Lift the bag with your legs, not your back."
• "Sweep up the clippings. And remember to pull the broom as often as you push it. And trade hands so you're sweeping with your weak arm as often as your strong arm. Good training for basketball." :)
• "I hate the self-propelled mode on the mower. It's a safety hazard. Don't be a wuss; use your muscles and just push the damn thing." (So that's where I get these guns, eh Dad?! Hahaha!)
• "Clean the mower when you're done. If it doesn't last 20 years, you haven't taken care of it."
• "Nice job, Tad. Good on ya."

Perhaps a silly post, but feeling nostalgic. LOVE reliving these moments. Think it's time for a visit to Morris! :)

What My Mom Taught Me...

My mom has taught me more about love and life than I will ever be able to comprehend. As the years progress, I find myself reflecting more and more on my mom's inner strength, humility and integrity. I am older now and have some life experiences to realize just how remarkable this woman is. Just how much she has taught me in terms of every day living—being a strong, intelligent, loving, compassionate woman. She does it every single day. Just by being her.

Some lessons were practical, some were necessary, some were life changing, some happened when I was little, and some happened today. But all of them were a gift from my mother.

My mom taught me:

1. how to make a bed. Perfectly.
2. how to change a diaper. I had so much practice with my younger siblings, it was old hat by the time I had kids!
3. how to wrap and hold and bathe and dress and rock and feed a baby.
4. how to fold t-shirts. And towels. And men's underwear. (Why? Seriously...)
5. how to vacuum, dust, shake rugs, clean bathrooms, wash windows, sweep, polish silver, and do dishes. K.P. every night!
6. that "By the inch, life's a cinch. By the yard, life is hard."
7. that it's hard not to lose your identity when you're a mother of young kids. But it comes back. 
8. that asking for help can be difficult, particularly for someone like me who likes to do it all on my own. "Do it anyway, Sweetheart. Everyone needs help from time to time. It's not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of intelligence. Besides, that's what I'm here for."
9. that being a really competitive athlete AND a "sexy woman" were not mutually exclusive. ;)
10. how to laugh at yourself. To really belt out a chuckle when you do something "silly." It's healthy. And contagious.
11. to find time for yourself, however brief, every day.
12. how to hug. How to really give someone a hug that says, "You are all that matters in this moment. Can you feel it?"
13. right from wrong. And that sometimes it's not that simple.
14. how to protect the underdog.
15. that when you lose someone close to you, your Mom is there to hold you together.
16. that when you are worried about your newborn, or your toddler, or your grade schooler, or your teenager, or your child at any age, your Mom is there to talk you through it.
17. when someone makes you feel like a million bucks, your mom is there to listen to the story. And to be sincerely happy for you.
18. that family is everything.
19. that there's nothing more challenging and simultaneously rewarding than being a Mommy, a Mom, a Ma, a Momma, a Mother.
20. how to love. Unconditionally. I think she wrote the book.
21. that it's important to pass it all on. 
22. ...and so much more.

I love you, Mom!

I look forward to spending time with you this summer!