Kindness.

For approximately three days every year, I march around telling Nick I want to be an author. Almost on cue, he grins and says, “You know you say this every year, right?” This annual desire to be an author coincides with the days after I post my yearly blog update on a website platform that I am continually surprised is still in existence and equally surprised that I remember the password each year. I equate my three-day wannabe author stint to this theoretical high I get from spending some quality time just thinking about my mom. As we approach seven years since my mom died, one thing that became apparent to me this year is that it is beginning to feel harder and harder to remember all of the little things that used to be quick in my memory. I’ll always have the Queen’s socks for every holiday, jewelry to accompany the socks, and the world’s greatest tacky Christmas sweater (that Nancy and I have agreed to take turns with each year...except that I might have ‘accidentally’ packed it and then moved across the country...). But it’s those day-to-day memories that feel hazier as each year goes by.

When those moments hit me, I am grateful for reminders that pop up sporadically. Recently, my dad saw a person driving a motorcycle very recklessly- weaving in and out of traffic and speeding (let me also add in- this was while he was Ubering- yes, he’s an Uber driver!). As we were chatting on the phone, he was telling me about this and he reminded me that my mom used to always say, “There goes another organ donor,” every time she saw a reckless motorcycle driver. Or there’s the time Nancy reminded me that my mom was a “product tester” for the Atlanta Journal Constitution. She tested products ranging from smoothie drinks to tanning wipes, wrote her very professional opinion on them, and then her review was published in the paper. Or when I find photos that remind me of my mom's fun loving and kind nature, yet make me severely question my haircuts and choice in clothing as a child. And just like that, I’ve got more memories to add back.

I’m going to slightly switch gears here, but I promise I’ll bring it back full circle. Also, this is an obvious sign I’m not an author. An author would have a great transition here. I substituted a great transition with telling you I was going to go way off topic- yet assuring you that I recognize this- and will hook it back soon enough. Since 2011, it feels like our world has been full of highs and lows. I realize this is nothing out of the ordinary and I realize that history is full of amazing things and terrible things that define us. I perused just a few of the major headlines from the past 7 years and I couldn’t help but think what my mom would think of our current world.

Some of my highs included: Prince William and Kate getting married in Westminster Abbey (2011), Obama winning a second term (2012), the birth of Prince George and the Geico ad that always makes us say “Hump Day” with that camel’s voice (2013), travel restrictions being lifted to visit Cuba (2014), the birth of Princess Charlotte and the supreme court voting to allow same sex marriage nationwide (2015), a woman running for President (2016), Women’s March, #MeToo, and Doug Jones (2017). These might have been lows for some of you, but I don’t really care (must be because I’m 30).

And here are my lows: Sandy Hook and Aurora (2012), Boston Marathon (2013), Ferguson (2014), Charleston and San Bernardino (2015), Orlando (2016), Alexandria and Las Vegas (2017), Parkland (2018). I understand these are not all classified under an ‘umbrella’ of mass shootings and I don’t really care how anyone reading this feels about gun control or mass shootings, so please don’t feel the need to share how you feel (again, there’s that 30 and don’t care mentality coming out).

I wish it was the highs from the past 7 years that were constantly on my mind, but it’s not. It’s the lows that keep me wondering what my mom would be saying and doing. You see, in my job as a Kindergarten teacher I preach the importance of being kind. All day, every day, I talk relentlessly to my kids about being kind. Not only for you yourself to be kind, but to notice other people being kind. I tell them that it’s important to notice that when someone else does something kind, it makes you feel good. I tell them to notice that when they are inclusive, and invite someone else to play, that it makes someone else feel happy. Over and over and over I try to fill their 5 and 6-year-old brains with discussion and chatter about being kind. Thanks to another teacher’s idea, our class has a heart chart where kids can “Catch People Being Kind” by adding a heart to a chart. Twice a day, we check the heart chart to see who was caught being kind and we talk about what they did that was kind and how it made someone else feel. As I said, I spend large portions of my day preaching about the importance of being kind.

I know that preaching kindness isn’t enough. But the truth of the matter is that I don’t know what else to do. The truth is that each time I hear of yet another tragedy that could have been prevented, I worry where I will run or where I will hide these 5 and 6-year-olds that I claim as my own. I wonder which way out would be the safest exit. I wonder how I will get the child who speaks little English or the child who has tantrums out the door quickly or hidden safely. I wonder what my response will be when they ask me why we are practicing a lockdown drill. I worry that they are hearing all about things 5 and 6-year-old brains should never have to hear about. I know that all of this isn’t enough, but I continue on, hopeful that maybe the 18 kids in my class will leave Kindergarten kind enough to spread kindness to others and in turn, help others feel included and happy. And in case you were wondering, which you probably weren’t, I worry all the time that I accidentally left a bottle of Advil in my purse at school and a child might somehow get their hands on that bottle of Advil and break through the childproof cap. So I will absolutely never, ever, ever be a teacher with a gun. I will start my own school filled with teachers who are also afraid of having a bottle of Advil in their purse.


Now, let me fulfill my promise and hook it back to the beginning of this post. My mom was full of much better ideas than me, especially in relation to teaching. She probably had the perfect spiel to tell Kindergarteners why you have to be quiet and hide during a lockdown drill. She probably would have had some perfectly sassy comment about this thought that teachers should have guns. While I’m not able to hear her opinions on these issues right now, I am forever grateful for my mom’s history of writing letters to express her opinions. I am grateful that when I read these letters, I get back some of those memories that are becoming hazy. And more importantly, I am grateful that she managed to leave us with a reminder to keep doing what you can, for what you think is right, in any way that feels right to you. For me, right now, in this moment, I will continue teaching and modeling the importance of kindness to ‘my’ 18 kids. 

And for your continued enjoyment, below are copies of just a few of my mom’s letters, ranging in topic from needing changing tables in restrooms (1988) to animal research (1992) to dealing with cancer (2001). 

If you've made it this far, here's a completely unrelated- but very cool- letter that Nancy found.