A different dream

I don't talk politics much (ever?) online.  If I did, you would probably say I straddled the fence too much.  Conservative some.  Liberal some.  Somewhere in the middle quite a bit.  I don’t believe I’m good at debate, so my political arguments are usually reserved for my dear husband.  Of course, I think both of us would enjoy a few more political conversations with my daddy, if he were still here with us…

My father lived a hard childhood.  Born in North Carolina, he was tossed from foster home to foster home, finally settling down at some point at an aunt’s house.  Two stories he shared with us are seared into my memory- and make me ache when I recall them.

Story one: Daddy told me that one family he lived with loaded up a pickup truck of belongings and drove off.  They didn’t tell daddy where they were going, and they left him behind.  Daddy ran after them, thinking they were not coming back.  They were moving, but they didn’t bother to tell him that, and they laughed at him for being scared and chasing after them.  

 

Story two: When daddy started school, the teacher asked him his name.  He replied, “Jimmy.”  She asked for his last name, and he told her he didn’t have a last name.  He didn’t know his last name.  His classmates laughed at him.  

Can you imagine the fear in his heart?  The loneliness?  I can’t.  I wonder how you survive that level of isolation and desperate need for love.  My father worked hard to overcome the hardships of his childhood.  He was a complicated, introverted man who didn’t do everything right.  But, he was the strongest man I’ve known.  He was a dreamer.

My father graduated high school, worked as an efficiency engineer in a manufacturing plant, was a race car driver, started and built his own successful moving business, got his pilot license, owned an airplane, and read everything he could get his hands on.  He dreamed of living at the ocean, owning a houseboat, and he fell in love with Alaska on a trip just a few years before he died.

His admiration for teachers was boundless.  He called them his heroes.  Not too long before he died, he even told me that “teacher” was the password he used for all of his online accounts.  So of course, he was overjoyed knowing that all I ever wanted to do was teach.  It was my calling, and he couldn’t be prouder. 

In my high school graduation card, daddy wrote, “The world steps aside for anyone who knows where they are going.  You’ve always known where you were going, and your mom and I will help you get there.”  And that’s what he did.  He had high expectations, he taught me to dream, and he supported my dream of becoming an educator.

Daddy was a staunch Republican.  You must know that he loved his family more than life.  He always had pictures of me and my sister thumbtacked on the bulletin board above his desk. But, there were pictures of Reagan and Bush framed and hung in the main office.  Yep. (Actually, Charlton Heston holding a rifle was in a frame, too. But, I'm not jealous.)  Daddy always told me, "I'm a Republican who desperately wants to be Democrat."  I think I understand what he meant by that.  I remember another note he wrote to me.  He reminded me to always, “Love your country.”  He was so proud to be an American. 

It has been eight and a half years since daddy passed away.  And it has been nine years since I left the classroom and started on a different path in education by becoming an Instructional Technology Specialist.  It’s funny how things turn out differently than you had planned.  I was going to teach third grade forever.  But, just as my daddy taught me, I never stopped dreaming, and my passion for teaching and technology, along with my faith in God’s plan, led me on a new and exciting journey in education.  Daddy was so proud to watch me complete my master’s degree.  

We would talk together about the struggles in the education system.  We would dream of something better, something more for the children.  We would hold on to the hope of passionate educators and leaders who knew just how vital it was to get it right.  To make it the priority.  To honor teachers as heroes and raise the next generation like we have everything to lose and everything to gain.

If he were here today, sitting beside me, there would certainly be talk about the grandbabies.  He would be telling of golf and fishing trips with Jacob (and planning for his first solo flight while I bite my nails at the thought of my baby in the air), and he would marvel at the mysteries of our special girl as she worked the iPad and sang her songs.  

Then we would talk about education.  We would talk about the horrific news of this week, the NC education budget, and we would share our grief at the demise of dreams.  My daddy, the staunch Republican, would tell me how his party failed the teachers.  How they failed the children.  He would tell me how desperately different things should be.  Could be. 

In a way that only my daddy could, he would tell the story with his hands, his eyes, and I would feel the passion he has for education.  I would see the weathered hands of a man who built a life for himself in this America, who taught himself through words of countless books, who envisioned a nation where teachers were heroes and children’s dreams were priceless.  There would be a fire in his eyes, an anger against those who have trampled on the future of North Carolina.  

My daddy was a dreamer.  And I am my father’s daughter.  We both dreamed of a different path for NC education.  This nightmare reality is more than scary.  It’s inconceivable.  

Daddy once chose the words of James Allen as inspiration for me.  “The world steps aside for the man who knows where he is going.”  I ask forgiveness of the late Mr. Allen as I alter the quote a bit…

Dear North Carolina leadership:  You’ve stepped on education and pushed it aside.  Where in the world are we going?