Protecting The Flame

In the Olympics, an athlete with significant achievements and milestones is allowed to be the last runner in the torch relay and given the honor of lighting the Olympic Cauldron. On occasion, the people chosen to light the Cauldron are not dignitaries, cultural figures, or famous at all.  Their invited participation, nevertheless, symbolizes Olympic ideals.

The torch is seen by millions as it makes its journey through thousands of miles.  It carries the flame, the very essence of the Olympic games.  Huge crowds turn out to cheer the start of the torch relay. Astonishing spirit from tens of thousands is sensed around the torch convoy. There is, however, a marked difference between the torchbearers and the spectators.  Spectators are unaware that the design of the torch often makes it a heavy carry for the runner.  They are unaware that sometimes the torch must be carried across water and only a skilled diver is able to hold aloft.  They are completely unaware of how long the relay journey can be.  All they will remember is how bright and spectacular the flame glowed through the routes and how it made its triumphant entry into an opening ceremony. 

Over the course of the route, it is not uncommon for the flame to be accidentally extinguished during the relay.  Sometimes – even deliberately.  Many factors can and often contribute to the sudden black out.  Gusts of wind, torrential rain, repeated below-zero measures, and the cries of protesters are a constant threat – not to the relay itself, but to the torch.  

Every so often, just like in The Olympics, our lives are marked by “memorable extinguishings.”  Long passageways inevitably create wind tunnels and no matter what we do – the impending glitch occurs.  The honor we felt as torchbearers – chosen among hundreds of athletes – quickly transitions into an eternal moment of self-consciousness and awkward experience.  At this trivial point, the runner meets the spectator once again.  Except no longer a spectator – now a caretaker, a flame protector.  Vision is impaired for only a moment – until someone from the crowd shares the flame.  You see, redemption is near when a close observation of a lit candle is made.  It reflects two flames.  The yellow one – highly visible, tall and glowing and the blue – much smaller, hotter, closer to the candle itself.  The former is prone to the extinguish because it is readily exposed.  The latter is protected, hidden, for it lies closer to the candle.  When both are abruptly extinguished, the flame of dreams moves through caretakers around and among us as we are charged to carry the torch with high regard.

 

Should the journey threaten to extinguish the flame – do not be discouraged. Be en-couraged.  The torch is simply re-lit by caretakers around you and it will carry on.  For unbeknownst to you, the flame itself – the blue one - remains preserved – safely encased inside your heart.

 Dedicated to Torchbearers

Asael Ruvalcaba, Carlos M. Lainez, & Letty Rodriguez

Significant contributors to the Los Fresnos Educational Community.

Alongside which, before the eyes of the nation, 
the city’s cauldron has shone at its brightest.

“My hands remain

Protecting the flame

Until you are able to, on fire,

Set yourself once again”

                                  ~ M. Bolado

Something Beautiful Happens

It’s been close to two months now.  Count-keeping has become inevitable.  The date displayed on my computer’s bottom right-hand corner says it is 5/8/2015. 

I hit the pavement two months ago, figuratively speaking.  My face had to have broken my fall because for weeks, the mirror reflected the injury. No matter which way I tried looking and how I tried hiding – the fractures, the cuts, and the bruises were ever-present.  Embattled beyond words.

I spent my days sitting on the curb staring at every wound and my nights fell victim to the constant play and rewind of thoughts, words and many tears. My professional life had been violently shoved into somber terrain.  The harmful blow caused a degree of internal injury that I had never experienced before.

It has taken me almost two months to go through Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ Stages of Loss & Grief.  Just this week – this Monday – I wore my high heels again to work (yes, I teach in heels).  I wore my nice earrings – fixed my hair and included eye shadow in make-up routine. It may sound like too much information – but for the first time, I smiled into the same mirror that two months ago refused to show my true reflection. 

[Disclaimer: I dress up for work – it empowers me to deliver a better lesson to my audience]

I had tried to #CelebrateMonday, you see.  Talk myself into having a great week.  The drive to work though, was just a reminder of how events had unfolded in my life - without the slightest of warnings.  

This Monday, though, I wanted to succeed.  I must confess that the Kleenex commercial featuring Estelle’s “Do My Thing” nudged me a little bit.

[Disclaimer: Commercials are all I get to pay attention to as my toddlers have taken over the media in my house]

I stopped at a convenience store for breakfast and coffee the way I routinely did every morning.  As I wait in line, I am approached by a stranger.  I recognized him from the many a time I’d walked in early to order my food.  He and a group of people habitually sit at a table near the coffee hub. We exchanged “Good Mornings” and “Have-A-Good-Day-s” almost every morning.  He is holding a white paper bag and proceeds to say the following:

“Good morning ma’am.  We have been waiting for you to show up for a long time.  We had missed your smile.  We often wondered what had happened to you and if you were okay.  Here is this coffee mug – we notice you buy coffee every morning.  It is a gift for you – you earned it a long time ago. “

He probably didn’t understand why my eyes swelled up with tears.  It blew my mind that people outside my world would take note.  Never will they know how much it meant to me that my absence had been felt in that coffee place at 7:15am every morning.  Whether my immediate nucleus credited me with worth became insanely irrelevant.  I had made a difference in someone’s day – and I never knew it, until I broke. 

A regression analysis was instantly made. The impact we have on others is monumental.  Every smile, every handshake, every gesture is noted.  Every word is heard and every action is felt.  Whether we realize it or not we either bless each other or..well..you fill that blank. I left the coffee place a "taller" person because someone chose to bless me. Whatever had been trying to destroy me for weeks, dropped powerless at the presence of genuine and kind. 

So, Good Morning! and Have a Great Day! 

The very breath in you today is proof that the assassins have failed.

Dedicated my #GatorTribe

@asaelruvalcaba @Carlos_M_Lainez @C_TrejoLainez @leticia11234454 @jmcdonough33 @jonharper70bd @casas_jimmy @bradmcurrie @jennifer_hogan @dashthebook

"I AM A TEACHER!", screamed my heart.

I overheard a conversation today. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but given my profession, I was immediately drawn in.  My son and I were waiting for our late breakfast.  David and I took a sick day off today – due to South Texas weather, which I am publicly blaming, mind you. 

I am sitting directly behind a young couple with a small baby boy.  They are sporting NFL jerseys – Dallas Cowboys – guess they are still mourning their loss with you, Mr. Ruvalcaba.  As the young mother leaves the table for some condiments, I see him get on his phone and make a phone call.  The conversation will strike a familiar chord – as we were all there – in those exact GPS coordinates many moons ago.  (I landed a job with McDonalds at 17)

“Yes, Hi – was calling to see if you’re hiring? I called yesterday.”

(I can only guess what the other person is asking or suggesting based on his replies)

“No, I don’t have that kind of experience.”

“I only have a GED.”

“No, I haven’t been trained on that.  What is that again? What did you call that?”

“I only have 3 days experience as a substitute.  I did it for a middle school, but that was a few years back.”

“No, I don’t have the associate.”

“No college, no ma’am.”

“No, no one has trained me on that.”

That last one was the one that got me.  I have to admit - I choked a bit.  I heard him go through essentially the same conversation during two other calls.  I sat there trying my best to not seem too interested.  I didn’t want him to see the concern in my eyes. After all, this was his problem.  Not mine.  Surely, this was a young man who had gone through the education system.  He had a fair shot at making something of himself and chose not to.  Nonetheless, here he was - sitting at a coffee place – starting his day making cold calls – with a beautiful baby boy by his side. 

My heart was screaming at the top of the lungs it has beside it, “I AM A TEACHER!!” “WHAT TRAINING DO YOU NEED??” I felt empowered in that moment to teach him everything I knew – no matter how irrelevant it was to the job he was seeking.  But I didn’t.  I allowed the voices to convince me otherwise.  I ran a few conversations in my head that wouldn’t make my suggestions look too out of place.  The “what’s wrong with you” tug was stronger, though.  I let it go.  I focused on having conversations with my son instead.  Ninja turtles were awaitin’. 

 

The struggle left its mark on me, though – couldn’t shake it off all day.  Somewhere along the line, someone failed him.  He spent years in an educational system without the ability to see into his future.  I did the reasonable thing in my head.  I accounted for gaps and deficiencies, subtracted personal decisions, added life circumstances – put it all together in a perfect equation.  I tried to solve for the proverbial X in different ways – but I kept coming up with the same answer.  The classroom failed him.  No one capitalized on his strengths.  He fell through the cracks.  Whatever team he was on, those that were supposed to be rooting for him, ended up being a group of people with no gap integrity.  This is the direct result.  Here he is - no job, no skills, poor vocabulary – but with his beautiful son by his side. 

Fist clenched.  Felt responsible. Had never felt this kind of pressure before - a responsibility to up my game before my 6^th grade audience.  You?