For My Freshmen, My Freedom Writers

Dear Diary,

I had my freshmen do this last week--this diary assignment. They really enjoyed the Freedom Writers movie and were even interested in the actual entries from Freedom Writers Diary. In a move so predictable it must be an English teacher cliché, I had my freshmen mimic the assignment. Surely they could see that coming, right? How could they not.

I'm glad they could see it coming. I might have seen the assignment coming, but I could never have imagined what they would write. I am a freshman teacher. They are my favorite level in high school, and I am my best teacher when I'm with freshmen. Can't explain it and have given up trying. I tell the kids with my words and the world with my actions that I am an advocate for people that age. I have always meant that, but now I mean it more than ever.

Their diary entries astonished me. They broke my heart and earned my respect. Of course there were a few, but really only a few, who couldn't take the assignment seriously and wrote about things that don't matter. Most of the kids, though, not only wrote about thing that made a difference in their own lives, their writing will make a difference for someone else. Their openness, honesty, and trust make me proud. I will never look at them the same. I thought I knew what their lives were like, but those diaries were so raw, so to-the-point, so desperate, that I learned I didn't know anything. I had no idea what these kids had gone through.

Rape is not uncommon. Students wrote of sexual abuse in early elementary school. They wrote of molestation and rape in junior high and high school. Some wrote of both, and wrote with an honesty that cannot be manufactured. Since I started reading these entries Wednesday, I've thought of little else. Now when I look out into my classroom, I don't just see the goofball who can't sit still; I see the young man who has seen violence firsthand. I don't see the girl who always has a boyfriend, I see the girl who trusts no male for very long. I don't see the long sleeved shirt and jacket in a warm room; I see the bruises underneath. I don't see a lazy head down on a desk; I see an overnight babysitter trying to get through school every day.

When I look out into their faces, I don't see my students; I see people who have lived lives. I see my very own Freedom Writers.

That Third Question . . .

An artist-friend is working on a new project that deals with inner peace. In preparation for her work, she asked several people to answer the following the questions:

1) What is your occupation?
2) Where do you find inner peace in your life?
3) If you could choose an object that would represent this peace what would that object be?

Well, number one is easy. I herd cats for a living. Adolescent cats posing as students in the wagon that is my classroom. When I say number one is easy, I don't mean the job is easy. Believe me--I earn my money. I dare you to make twenty-five 14- and 15-year-old walking hormones sit down, shut up, and focus on a specific task. Assuming you can do it, you will have earned your money and it won't have been easy unless you have access to some airborne sleeping potion. And if you do have that access, TELL ME!

Yes, the first question was easy. Just like with children, first questions should be easy. Otherwise, there wouldn't be second and third questions.

Again, like children . . . The second question isn't as easy as the first, but I can handle it. Where do I find inner peace? Hmmm . . . Outside. Cliché, I know. Can't help it. Deal with it. Yes, definitely outside. Here's where the cliché ends, though. Outside. Four-wheeler. Camera. Cooler. Me. That's it. I want to be on my grandparents' or uncle's land, or the land between. Inner peace and outer peace are not the same thing. That four-wheeler? It's noisy. Very noisy. My camera? Chock full of new technology. The cooler? Packing aluminum cans full of carbonated beverages. Nothing natural there! And yet . . . That four-wheeler takes me places I can't walk to right now. My camera helps me gather souvenirs of the astonishing beauty I find. And the cooler, well, the cooler just holds Diet Mt. Dew, which tastes wonderful and makes me happy.

I can take off on an adventure with myself and my favorite things and return a calmer, better person. I can feel the wind blow the frustration out of my body. So where do I find inner peace? In the woods on a four-wheeler with a camera case strapped to my person. Reasonable, right?

That third question, though . . . Just like the third child, the third question is work. The third question makes me grateful there isn't a fourth question. Don't tell. An object that represents inner peace? Really? I struggle with this question. In my wonky world, inner peace is thoroughly intangible. I don't know how to crown a tangible, materialistic object queen of my inner peace. I know what brings me inner peace, but does it represent inner peace? I don't think I can buy inner peace. There's the rub. I'll cross the four-wheeler off the list. I love it and love riding it, but it's surely not the key to inner peace. The cooler would just be silly. Yes, I love my dew, but it's not inner peace. It tastes good. It perks me up. That's pretty much the extent of my relationship with the dew. Of the participants in my perfect day, my camera is the closest thing to inner peace that I take along. My camera is the only thing that can distract me from rush-hunting mushrooms in the spring. It can pull me away from my family and take me into my own world where beauty is recordable and my eye is super-human.

But still . . . is my camera inner peace? Surely not.

Maybe inner peace and outer peace are more closely linked than I thought. Yes, I'm ridiculously happy riding that four-wheeler. Its constant noise almost turns into white noise. Not real noise, but a type of silence. It's impossible to worry too much about everyday concerns when I'm holding onto the handlebars and flying down a trail. Looking through the lens of my camera at a bee making love to a flower, I am unable to see ugliness. Even the nettle, that prickly, untouchable plant, shows a beautiful flower. Through the lens I see the flower and the bee; the thorns are thrown out of focus. I have to think, though, that inner peace can't truly be represented with an object. I think inner peace is in me and those objects dust it off and let it out.

What if I don't have to find inner peace? What if it's with me all the time and I just have to let it out? Ride it out, focus on it, feel it. And if that's the case, why the hell don't I summon it up more often?