"Don't be afraid of the questions people ask. Do not fear the statements that challenge your beliefs," I told my students in the beginning of our fourth day together.
The second day had been filled with challenges--mostly by two young men who are on the debate team and came to class with a spirit of contrariness. The third day we spent time writing and discussing unchallenging things. The class needed a day to take it down a notch. But on that third day and night, I was finally ready to process what had happened, and I was thankful for the clarity that came.
The discussion of the second day had been driven by the innocuous proposal of the themes of history we were to explore and learn about in the upcoming year. I presented the options of study and gave the class the choice as to which we would study first.
The choices were: nuclear annihilation/cold war; the federal deficit/economy; terrorism/middle east and other; immigration; voting rights; race and equality in America; the environment. With each subject, we would start with current events and then start at the beginning and trace the situation back to its current state. It's been a fascinating way to study history, and as one student showed an animated map with all nuclear testing in the 20th and 21st centuries, (students chose the Cold War), one student asked, "And who thought this was a good idea?" Exactly the kind of curiosity I wanted to evoke.
So in the second day discussion, immigration and terrorism were the hotly debated topics. I told them I had a sure way to stop terrorism from immigrants who radicalize, but they had to wait until we got to that subject. They wanted to know, so I succumbed to their requests.
"If every immigrant had a connection, a foster family, or a friend in America, it wouldn't happen. Did you know you can befriend or help a refugee with homework one Saturday a week?"
"What does that entail?" my one contrary student asked.
I gave him a few details, and he went into a diatribe about the cost and the time a family doesn't have to care for others. The rest of the class shut him down with compassion and logistics: There are a hundred families to every one refugee family--someone could help.
My idealism had been challenged.
"Don't be afraid of the questions people ask. Do not fear the statements that challenge your beliefs," I told my students in the beginning of our fourth day together. "Because it allowed me to think and reaffirm my beliefs and my convictions, and what I didn't tell you, is that when we first sponsored a refugee family, I thought it was solely to help them, but they have brought a different perspective of gratitude and joy I didn't expect. I have received more than they have."
I thanked the contrary young man and acknowledged the validity of his doubts, admitting that my husband and I could only do this now because we had raised our family, and we now had the time.
The class was good-silent. We'd all learned which is exactly what is supposed to happen in true education.
And then it happened again last night.
We were gathered with dear and old friends. After being asked what trip we took this summer, I revealed we'd worked in a refugee camp. Lots of questions. Then the pointed question, "Did you feel guilty?" I was momentarily puzzled and answered no. "You didn't feel guilty?"
The question was too much to think about-- and to come up with a rationale answer on the spot, was beyond the scope of the moment.
So the question allowed me to think and explore. Again, I was able to address, reconfirm, and dedicate myself to the core principles that guide the actions of my life. I don't feel guilty--guilt is a burden which can paralyze action. I feel blessed and when we are blessed, we are compelled to bless others.
Thank you my student, my friend, for the question.
The second day had been filled with challenges--mostly by two young men who are on the debate team and came to class with a spirit of contrariness. The third day we spent time writing and discussing unchallenging things. The class needed a day to take it down a notch. But on that third day and night, I was finally ready to process what had happened, and I was thankful for the clarity that came.
The discussion of the second day had been driven by the innocuous proposal of the themes of history we were to explore and learn about in the upcoming year. I presented the options of study and gave the class the choice as to which we would study first.
The choices were: nuclear annihilation/cold war; the federal deficit/economy; terrorism/middle east and other; immigration; voting rights; race and equality in America; the environment. With each subject, we would start with current events and then start at the beginning and trace the situation back to its current state. It's been a fascinating way to study history, and as one student showed an animated map with all nuclear testing in the 20th and 21st centuries, (students chose the Cold War), one student asked, "And who thought this was a good idea?" Exactly the kind of curiosity I wanted to evoke.
So in the second day discussion, immigration and terrorism were the hotly debated topics. I told them I had a sure way to stop terrorism from immigrants who radicalize, but they had to wait until we got to that subject. They wanted to know, so I succumbed to their requests.
"If every immigrant had a connection, a foster family, or a friend in America, it wouldn't happen. Did you know you can befriend or help a refugee with homework one Saturday a week?"
"What does that entail?" my one contrary student asked.
I gave him a few details, and he went into a diatribe about the cost and the time a family doesn't have to care for others. The rest of the class shut him down with compassion and logistics: There are a hundred families to every one refugee family--someone could help.
My idealism had been challenged.
"Don't be afraid of the questions people ask. Do not fear the statements that challenge your beliefs," I told my students in the beginning of our fourth day together. "Because it allowed me to think and reaffirm my beliefs and my convictions, and what I didn't tell you, is that when we first sponsored a refugee family, I thought it was solely to help them, but they have brought a different perspective of gratitude and joy I didn't expect. I have received more than they have."
I thanked the contrary young man and acknowledged the validity of his doubts, admitting that my husband and I could only do this now because we had raised our family, and we now had the time.
The class was good-silent. We'd all learned which is exactly what is supposed to happen in true education.
And then it happened again last night.
We were gathered with dear and old friends. After being asked what trip we took this summer, I revealed we'd worked in a refugee camp. Lots of questions. Then the pointed question, "Did you feel guilty?" I was momentarily puzzled and answered no. "You didn't feel guilty?"
The question was too much to think about-- and to come up with a rationale answer on the spot, was beyond the scope of the moment.
So the question allowed me to think and explore. Again, I was able to address, reconfirm, and dedicate myself to the core principles that guide the actions of my life. I don't feel guilty--guilt is a burden which can paralyze action. I feel blessed and when we are blessed, we are compelled to bless others.
Thank you my student, my friend, for the question.
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