An Open Message To My Students

         After being an educator for twenty-nine years, and teaching at the secondary level for twenty-seven years, I have instructed my fair share of students. I have taught the brightest of the bright, the slackers, the druggies, the jocks, the introverts, the absentees, the gang bangers (wannabes or otherwise), the spirit leaders, and immigrant kids from all over the world. While teaching was never an easy job, it was a rewarding one. It was my life. Folks often say that teaching isn’t a profession; it’s a lifestyle. They are correct.

            I have watched my high school students graduate, some choosing a trade, a job, or college. Some have chosen to travel or wander in hopes of figuring life out. Whatever route one has taken, it’s a personal choice and the directions my students have taken have depended on many things – money, family support, desire, tenacity, legal status, and plain old-fashioned hard work. I have had the privilege of staying in touch with many of my students throughout the years, and I must say I am very impressed by the productive adults they are. Many have families; others do not, well, not in the traditional sense – Mom, Dad, two kids, and a dog. Still, no matter what, I can see that my former students have forged families their ways and have places to call home. Many have found their voices and stand proud - gay, straight, queer, bi-sexual, transgender. A very few have made poor choices and have spent time in jail. I am assuming they learned something. Whatever “my kids” have chosen, however, it has been their choice. Theirs. They are as diverse as the universe, as colorful as a rainbow, and harbor all the feelings and emotions all of us do. They are humans, worthy of kindness, of respect, of support, of love.

            In the last week or so I have thought a great deal about my teaching days. I remember many teens who passed through my classes and touched my life, usually in a positive manner although a tiny fraction of negative interactions still sting. For those who have found success, I applaud you. I am happy for you. For the strugglers, I urge you never to give up. Keep moving forward. Dig down. Do it. For the visionaries, keep imagining a better world. We need you now more than ever; your idealism feeds the spirit. For dreamers and immigrants whose status is unclear, I encourage you to stay strong in the face of uncertainty. I think of you most these days because I know life at times has been a struggle. I wish the world could understand your integrity, your work ethic, your intelligence, your talents, your love of family, and your humility. I wish.

            If I had it to do all over again I’m not sure I’d become a teacher. Though I loved my job, the responsibilities were often too awesome, too burdensome, too challenging for words. I sought not to be the instructor but the guide, helping kids find their way. If I did that for a single one, or more than one, I suppose my lifestyle choice was not in vain. 

            And to all my students, I want to thank you for teaching me too. I have learned your dreams, your angst, your aspirations, your talents, your cultures, your humanity – all gifts you did not realize you were giving. So, thanks! 

 

www.jdechesere-boyle.com

 

Life Happens

         

         (Author note: In this time of uncertainty, I must write what I feel. Bear with me.)

 

“So, life happens.” The teen’s statement, the title of her essay, though cliché as hell, struck me as profound in its simplicity. Perhaps the timing of my reading - nursing a loss and fearing the unknown - played a role.

“It does,” I responded. “It’s probably not a good idea to begin a sentence with so though,” I told my student. Always the instructor!

I didn’t tell her anything about life, however. Why would I? It certainly isn’t anything I understand. Oh, I know how I feel when I work in my garden, smelling the flowers and digging until I’m dirty; I know how I feel when I look into my dogs’ big brown eyes or watch a tiny hummingbird, its wings a blur, drawing nectar from a feeder. I know how I feel when I walk with my mate on a cool autumn morning when the air bites a little and the leaves spiral out of control right in front of me. I know how I feel when a friend checks in . . . just because. I know hugs and kisses and the toasting of wine. I know a flickering candle, a crackling fire, a kitten’s meow. I know sunshine, a breeze, and I know clouds, too . . . or do i? I’m not the first to muse this life marvel.  What I do know is clouds change right in front of us, in spite of us, and so does life. So, yes, life happens.  

            Unlike the transformation of air masses that often draw our attention, our admiration even, other life changes make us want to look away, to hide, to shutter the windows and not look out at all. “Seriously, I can’t look. I don’t want to see what happens.”

            Well, tough. If I, if we, are alive at all we must look to the future. Despite disappointment and loss that cut deeply into our souls, we must not stop determining our part in understanding that our outlooks are as important as our personal inner reflections. It’s difficult. I don’t want to! The child in me wants to run to my room and slam the door.

            But life happens. Growing older has brought countless changes in my life some good, some devastating. What has gotten me through the pain is understanding gratitude. And while it may sound sappy, I practice it every day.  I am fully aware of what I have and what I am thankful for – that I understand. Life’s contractions, however, are a different matter. I don’t enjoy being blindsided by the “stuff” of life that hurts; I am uncomfortable with the uncertainties that clearly lie ahead. I suppose I’m not alone. I know I am not. What’s true is that life gives us lemons sometimes; life doesn’t ask permission. No need to make lemonade though. We can control that option.

            Life can make us feel small; I can understand and accept that, but how we manage what lies ahead is a different matter. I have to believe humanity can right itself. We can’t give up no matter what fickle life tosses our way. We simply cannot. 

 

 

www.jdechesere-boyle.com

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Honoring Fire Heroes

A portion of the Memoria wall.

I was given the opportunity to record an oral history for the California Fire Foundation regarding the California Firefighters Memorial. This wonderful organization maintains the memorial wall and surrounding park area in Sacramento, CA. It is a lovely setting that is dedicated to the memory of over 1500 California fire professionals. I wanted to share on my blog what I had to say.

 

       

        My name is Judith DeChesere-Boyle. My husband, Rick, and the rest of our family feel honored that my son, Alexander J. Stevenson’s name is engraved on the wall of the California Firefighters Memorial in Sacramento. Whenever we are in the area we feel a presence, one of love and support, just knowing he is honored there.

If Alex had known, he would have said, “Why all the fuss, Ma?” 

We certainly would reply, “Oh, Alex, you are so deserving of this honor.”

Alex's name is here along with his friends, Karen Shubin and Luis Magallanes.

Alex passed away on May 24, 2013, at the age of 39 of occupational-related brain cancer. For nine long years he fought to beat the beast, but in the end, he lost the battle. As a mom, I knew I had to do something to keep his memory alive. So, I wrote a memoir, Tumor Me, The Story of My Firefighter. We talked about it before he passed.

 

When this is all over,” I told Alex, “no matter what, I’m writing a memoir, a record of all we’ve been through together.”

            He looked at me a bit apprehensively but smiled anyway. He knew there would be no stopping his mom!

            “I’m going to call it Tumor Me,” I told him decisively.

“I think that title might get lost on a few people,” he answered glibly.

“Maybe, but I think it’s perfect. You’re always so upbeat, so funny, even with all you’ve faced. When I feel like crying, you make me laugh. Every day you have me chuckling. It’s a paradox, really. I don’t know how you do it.”

He grinned again, his azure eyes twinkling, an uncanny wisdom lying behind them.

 

I recall that conversation vividly, and in retrospect I suppose he was right. Some folks might be offended by the title, but I hope would humor me a bit. I had a story to tell, one with a beginning, a middle, and an end. 

Ours was a tale of trials, fears, unknowns, and desperation. Yet it was countered with hope, determination, bravery, and unparalleled optimism that only my son could have mustered.

And who was my son? He was a CAL FIRE firefighter, a Fire Apparatus Engineer, a Fire Inspector, a fighter, a friend, a confidant; he was responsible, trustworthy, funny, respected, and loved. He listened, he contributed, and he worked hard. Laughter was his sidekick, and everyone knew it. 

Who was Alex? He was a man, who, when the chips were down, had 4,482 hours of leave donated to him by his co-workers through CAL FIRE’s Catastrophic Leave Bank. It was an unequaled gesture of love and support from his “fire family”.

The words between the covers of my memoir tell our story. It’s a mom’s perspective and every bit is true.

It’s on Amazon and kindle. I would love to send a copy to your office as a way of thanking “the fire family” for always being by our side. And thank you for so beautifully maintaining the California Firefighters Memorial that respects the lives of so many heroes. It keeps their memories alive. And that means everything.

 

 

Receiving the flag with my son, Justin.

The memorial

 

www.jdechesere-boyle.com