Do you remember your favorite moment as an educator?
While it's tough to narrow down, one particular school field trip stands out in my memory.
Being There
We were visiting our Nation's Capital, with our oldest students. This annual trip was marked by extremes: anticipation, excitement, enthusiasm, and exhaustion. A multi-day overnight trip, we visited museums and monuments, attended special events, and shared meals. It was never easy to be a chaperone. But it was a ritual that bonded us adults. Our common interest: we cared deeply for our students. And the trip proved it was 24 hours a day.
A lesser-known aspect of the trip happened on the first morning after our arrival day. After a full day of traveling and sightseeing, our groups would have a late dinner.
That is where the "The Announcement" was made.
"For anyone brave enough, there will be four of your chaperones waiting in the lobby at 5 am. If you want to join us for our "DC Run", make sure you are there. Everyone is welcome."
This event always marked a rite of passage, a turning point. It separated a select number of us from the others. I was always surprised at who stood in the lobby, ready to join us.
Some years, it was the highest of academic achievers. Other years, it was the supreme athlete, looking for a workout. Often (yes, often), there was someone who none of us really knew. I mean, we knew the student's name, and who their teachers were. We knew he/she was quiet, or nondescript, or "a nice kid". But there was always that one kid, who we quickly came to realize, standing in the lobby before sunrise, that we'd realize we don't really know.
What a humbling experience.
That would all change, during and after our four mile route in our Nation's Capital.
It was cold. Dark. Sometimes windy, and even rainy or snowy. Someone was always under-dressed, and less prepared than they'd imagined they'd need to be. We were all awake, but already exhausted, both physically and mentally.
But we were there for it.
The chaperones would take various positions along the route. Often the least in-shape, I'd offer to stay in the back, mostly for the kid who regretted his decision two steps into the run.
No matter who showed up, a bond was forged that would last the rest of the year, or longer.
One year, no one showed up in the lobby. The running chaperones looked at one another, a bit sideways and cross-eyed, thinking, "What are we doing right now?" This was a first.
Then, it happened. He showed up. The kid we all recognized, but none of us really knew.
Wearing his over-sized Harvard sweatshirt, winter hat and gloves, he was standing in the lobby. All by himself. The only student who'd gotten up, gotten dressed, and was ready to accept the challenge. We all smiled, knowing this meant we'd be going on our DC Run.
For some reason, this kid decided early on, I'd be his sidekick. It wasn't because he was slow, out of shape, or dragging behind. It was something else, I'd come to realize later.
We all ran together, the adults and this one student, but this student was intent on running right next to me. We made small talk. We discussed our families and the highlights of the trip so far. And we discussed the future: the rest of the school year, the school years ahead, even his career aspirations. Between huffs and puffs I'd ask a question. And he'd carry the conversation. His responses energized me, to ask more questions and listen to his answers.
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The rest of the trip was marked by the usual highlights that'd become memories.
In my weekly message to parents, I felt compelled to write about this experience, the run with one student. I didn't mention him by name and made sure to preserve the details of our discussion, at the risk he'd shared something that was not public knowledge.
I sent the email.
And I got a response.
It was from the boy's mother. She knew about this run, from him. And she smiled, reading my message to parents, because she knew who I was writing about. She thanked me for "putting up with" his chattiness. He's always like that, at home.
What did this help me learn?
To make a difference, you only need to help one person.
Today, I stress the importance of "Go-To-People". And I write.
If it helps one person, it's worth it. Years later, I wonder...who helped who that morning.
PS An accompanying photo coming Monday - it's displayed on my bookshelf in my office.