A Sister

 "Annnnnd in the corner, we have the one, the only, Jaguar!" My brothers prepubescent voice chirped as he bounced on the couch. I stood in my corner, prowling low to the ground, allowing the spirit of the Jaguar to enter my body, adapting the ferociousness, I let a wimpy growl escape my teeth. "Annnnnd in the other corner we have Ballerina!"--there stood my sister, who raised both her arms above her head, forming a nice oval shape, and as gracefully as a six year old can twirl on their tippy toes, she spun around, presenting herself to the "crowd". Nick, still bouncing away on the couch at the meer age of four counted us down to the 'fight'. The go was given and it only took two quick steps before we faced off in the middle of the family room. Inches away from each other I tapped her shoulder and she grabbed my wrist. Now--I would like to preface that I've always been a lover, not a fighter, and even though the Power Rangers looked so incredibly cool fighting off those bad guys, when it came to combating my siblings, I didn't have the heart to do it. Within seconds my sister and I broke into our 'fighting ritual' which was simply just kicking each others knees like some awkward 1950's jive. Ah yes, the magic of imagination. For while I can envision myself in that yellow Power Ranger suit using my awesome blade blaster to ward off those creepy things in spandex, physically acting it out in my family room was not the wisest of ideas. Regardless, lots of imaginative times were had by all.

Perhaps I should introduce you to those wonderful beings whom I call my siblings. The boy is Nick. Nicholas William to be exact and he is currently a junior in high school. He is the baby of the family who currently lives at home with the parents. He is incredibly skilled at any sport and finds interests in playing the drums, eating food, and learning about food, eating protein bars, and shopping for food. He is also very skilled at imitating. As kids we would call it being a "copy cat" but as he has aged his skill has developed into some useful entertainment. Nick is an entertaining kid who can be pretty shy at school, but takes his main stage performance at the dinner table every night.

The girl is Erica. Erica Jo, who also goes by 'jo-jo', 'EJ', 'Eeej', or 'Beav' (short for beaver). She is the classic middle child who is currently a sophomore theater major at Liberty University. She is incredibly skilled at anything theater, particularly dancing, singing, acting, procrastinating, and being a social butterfly. She also is the main reason for a lot of the hilarity that ensues in our household. Her hobbies include staying up exceedingly late, texting, being social, doing stuff with friends, being crazy with friends, watching youtube videos with friends, and making youtube videos with her sister.

That's the general gist of us. I'll allow Erica to fill you in on the part that I play, frankly because I may be a bit biased. Plus, Nick doesn't read this.

Is this post about being a sister, or my sister? Perhaps a little of both, because there is no one who has taught me how to be a sister better than my sister. As I envision Erica reading this I can hear this ferocious laughter bubbling out of her belly. It's the deep, throaty laugh that fits like puzzle pieces between the two of us. Once she starts I follow suit and unconsciously mimic her. Together, we get on a role of chortling back and forth, each filling the space that the other needs to breathe. There is no one who can make me laugh quite like my sister. Besides, she is utterly hilarious.

Sometimes I get frusterated because all I can remember are the simple memories of childhood; the simple memories of Erica and I sprawled across the floor with a deck of cards between the two of us. Erica and I would often duel each other in our favorite card game "spit". Of course, myself often winning. There was one time that she was giving me a run for my money. I was in third grade, laying on the shaggy brown carpet. Slowly but surely, my pile was getting bigger and bigger while Erica's was dwindling away (the point of the game is to lose your cards). Before I knew it, I had actually lost, Erica gloating in her victory. In my shock, discontent, and immaturity I threw down the pile of cards in front of her. "Fine!" I grumbled, "I hope your damn happy." It was one of those moments where you had to blink twice to believe what just happened. Both of her hands flew up to her mouth, and Erica's big blue eyes widened. My eyes widened too and my pale face became even paler.

"Im gunna tell mom."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"

"You just swore."

"No I didn't Erica, I hope you're happy, you won!"

We bickered back and forth, myself desperately trying to take my word back. I couldn't even believe that it had come out of my mouth. Eventually we settled it over another game of spit, by which point the simple slip had been forgotten. I must admit, it was not one of my proudest moments as a sister. Actually it's a moment that is vividly clear to me. I don't even know if Erica remembers (Erica--do you remember?). Sometimes, we sisters take secrets with us to the grave.

 

What I am finding with these identities and 'roles' is that there is a vast spectrum at which people can find themselves. Think about all the roles you posses in your life. Is there not a spectrum of the level of involvement and dedication you personally can bring to each one? Being a sister is a role that I will continue to have for the remainder of my life. I've heard of several people claiming that they have "non-existent siblings", or 'I have a brother who I haven't talked to in 5 years.' I am very aware that life sometimes has circumstances, but an estranged sibling is something that I never hope to be. Having siblings is this incredible blessing and opportunity in life for literally life-long relationships. In my case, we are each 2 years apart, meaning that I can barely remember life without my brother. As expected, there have certainly been harsh times amongst us Mini-kids, a dark ages of sorts. Between differences in development and academics, three separate eras of puberty, and the touchy personalities that each of us possesses, my parents have put up with a lot.

If people are to title themselves as 'sisters', I believe they must have shared experiences. I feel as though for true sisterhood, these must be experiences of every variety, not just the good ones. Certainly with Erica I have shared a variety of experiences, definitely not all positive experiences. I find it hard to call other people in my life 'sisters' merely because...well, I already have one. One of the things that I truely admire about the relationship between Erica and I is that we have had to go through thick and thin. It is truely in the nastiest and most negative of times that define our relationship as being 'sisters'. There are some experiences that you have with a sibling that you will never have with a friend. For as much as I love my bestest of friends, I wouldn't want to share with them the negative and hard times that my sister and I have had. That's just depressing. I am sure that as friendships grow there will be paralelles between friendship and sisterhood, but I have yet to experience that to the fullest capacity.

What does it mean to be a sister? First and foremost, I'm learning that you have to admit failure. Just as any role, it is impossible to be the perfect sister. Being a sister takes sacrificing. It is easy to dwell on the terrible actions and words that have occurred between siblings. Over the course of time and living with family, these things are bound to happen. However, just because they happen does not make one a bad sister or brother. It is a part of growing up and a part of childhood. To be a sister may mean to be bossy at times, but it also means significant educational moments. It means teaching the ways of high school and beyond, it means being that extra encouragement when they think they can't do something, and it sometimes means informing Nick about how to treat and deal with the crazy females. Being a sister means being a protector. This is not just true for the older sisters out there, middle and youngest children also have an equal responsibility of protection.

One of our family stories is that of my mom. The number of times we have heard this story is countless, yet it is still one that always comes up at the Thanksgiving dinner table. You see, as a child my mom and aunt would go to school together. They too were two years apart. Come fourth grade there came this beastly girl who would continually call my aunt "Peggy Piggy". As a protector, my mom told her to stop. Being a bully, the chick didn't. So instead my mom beat her up and broke her glasses. For any of you who know my mom, you know how atypical this is and actually what a hilarious visual this is. "Blood is thicker than water."

There was a point... more like a phase...in high school where Erica and I didn't get along so well. Young, immature high school drama often caused us to ignore each others existence in the hallways and do nothing but bicker at home. There was however one morning when Erica appeared at my band locker. She was visibly troubled. Shifty and with a crackly voice she explained to me that a fellow student had pinned her against the lockers with a message for me. (I'd love to share with you the bloody details, however this message was full of expletives and since  I've already 'cursed' once in this entry, I'll refrain. Don't want you thinkin' I'm a poor role model or anything...) Immediately I responded to proper authorities full of angst and anxiety, not for the threat against me but for the sake of my sister who was caught in the thick of it. This inward loyalty came to full avail as I sat through meetings and interviews the remainder of the day sorting out the dilemma. Afterwards I was left puzzled, left alone to baffle the response of my 'fight or flight' tendency. Did I naturally protect my sister? Well, by gum, I did. In that phase of life did I want to love my sister? Heck no. Was there something inside of me that didn't allow me to give up on her? Heck yes. These are the times that I never wish to experience with my greatest of friends, because although the benefit is nothing but wonderful now, they were excruciatingly painful in the process.

Needless to say, as the months and years have progressed and as we have aged and actually had to live lives apart from each other, the relationship between Erica and I has changed (for the better as we would both admit).

Being in college away from the family, it is easy to forget what role you still play. What does it mean to be a sister when you don't live with the family? What does it feel like to have an older sibling go off to college? That feeling, I will never know. Apparently it was painful for all involved. Sorry guys! Things are going to continually change and I'm honestly and truely looking forward to seeing how my relationship with my siblings is going to be molded over the upcoming years. This is a role to embrace full-throttle, nothing to be held back. And in case you didn't catch on, I massively love my sister, for as different as we are, she completes me. Love you, EJ!

{there was a time when Kayla and Erica were bored. so they made a movie just talking about life and childhood. hope you enjoy this glimpse of our relationship. it is certainly something special. August 2009}

Sister (noun)

1.a female offspring having both parents in common with another offspring; female sibling.

2.a female friend or protector regarded as a sister.

3.a thing regarded as feminine and associated as if by kinship with something else: The ships are sisters.

4.a female fellow member, as of a church.

5. Informal . a form of address used to a woman or girl, especially jocularly or contemptuously: "Listen, sister, you've had enough."

A Friend

Late June, 1997

It was my 8^th birthday and I ran to the car, sweaty, red-faced, and bearing my ‘purple people eaters’ uniform. What a better way to celebrate your birthday than to play soccer? Devouring our ‘treats’ myself and the rest of the team were kicking the extra soccer balls around while the parents chitchatted the night away. Sarah was on my team, and our parents were talking. We were begging, “pleeeeese, can we go swimming?” The parents, looking with mischievous looks on their faces gathered around the car. Sarah’s dad pulled out a backpack, a sleeping bag, and a pillow. Wait, what? A sleepover? A real live sleepover?! “You can go swimming at Kayla’s, and you can sleep there too” said Sarah’s dad. The two of us squealed, jumping, running, expounding any energy that we had left in us. Sarah and I were now officially best friends. We were going to have a sleepover, and sleepovers are what best friends do.

"Purple People Eaters" 1998

It was the biggest deal in the world. Our little minds had figured out that if I cut through my backyard and walked up the road behind us, I could get to Sarah’s house, all by myself. That means I wouldn’t have to rely on the parents for a drive over, I could just go. And what person wouldn’t want to spend an afternoon at Sarah’s house? Sarah was only the coolest girl in school, we could jump on the “tramp”(oline), play video games with her older brother, and it was almost a guarantee that I would come home with some new craft, sand art, or art project that I had made at her house. She was still my best friend. We had code names for each other (“kay-kay” and “sar-sar”, the crowning display of our creativity), we were equally matched academically and liked a lot of the same things. We both had brothers, we both played the clarinet, and we both struggled with our spelling. One day I went to one of Sarah’s soccer games. Over the years it became blatantly clear that Sarah had more athletic ability than I did. She was gliding across the field when all of a sudden, down she went. The entire sideline gasped, and Sarah didn’t get up. Memories, images. Sarah being carried off the field by her dad, Sarah hobbling around at school, Sarah at her house, hooked up to a machine. She had torn her ACL and needed to have surgery. My mom and I shopped throughout a variety of stores, looking for things to get her. I sat at Sarah’s house, on the couch. We were just talking, laughing, keeping company. That’s what best friends do.

A few weeks later I had a soccer game of my own. It had recently rained and the back of my calves were splattered with specks of mud and grass. The ball was right in front of me so I gathered speed and swung my leg. My momentum didn’t balance the huge puddle that I had found myself in, and down I went. Memories, images. Ref blows the whistle, leaving the game before it ends, my dad and I in the ER, my arm in a sling. We were three days away from fifth grade graduation and all of the really cool stuff was happening for fifth graders. Sarah had been on crutches for weeks, and now I too was banned from participating. Instead we sat along the sidelines of all the games, cheering on our classmates, dancing in our own corner when the DJ came, and giving advice to help our class cream the teachers at dodgeball. We self-titled ourselves “the cripples” and even had our picture taken with the school principal. We didn’t let each other go through a tough experience alone. That’s what best friends do.

Jae, Sarah, Kayla. High school friends all grown up.

Fast forward to high school. All sorts of changes have happened, including a shift in friends. Sarah and I were still both in band, but had academically grown apart as she played sports all year round and I found myself in choir and the musicals and every musical endeavor possible. Luckily for me, Jae also found herself in these activities too. We quickly clicked and bonded over our distaste for band, but both knowing we wanted to be in music education we stayed anyway, complaining and rolling our eyes every day. As part of being in band it was a requirement to play at the graduation. Pomp & Circumstance an average of 14 times as all of the seniors processed into the arena. The band of 120 was then required to sit in silence for 2 ½ hours while the ceremony took place. Whoever thought that was a good idea was sadly mistaken. Jae and I sat there year after year talking, giggling, and devouring large packs of sour gummy worms to make it go by faster. We made the best out of crappy situations. That’s what best friends do.

Friends change, and friendships change. The levels of relationship between your best friend in second grade and your best friend in college are vastly different (at least, I would hope that they would be). We all have these crazy memories of childhood friends, and if we’re lucky we’re still in contact with a quarter of them. I know for me, it is far less than a quarter of them.

I’ll just put this out there, I have really high expectations of myself. When I think of all that is entailed in entering into a friendship with someone, it’s seriously daunting to think of all the things that could go wrong. Perhaps China is a good place for me. The Chinese culture is serious about friendships. This past summer we were warned that if one of our students asked if we could be ‘friends’ to strongly consider what our answer would be. To accept and enter into a friendship with a Chinese person, you are binding yourself with them for life. That means that you are their resource if they are in need, you are their confidant, you are their lifeline. Although I absolutely love this demonstration and commitment, it makes one really think hard about what friendship actually is, and to how many we can actually be devoted to in this nature. We Americans are so casual in our friendships that we may go through our entire lives without ever having a relationship to this degree.

With the title of “friend” comes a large responsibility. In our society the term is used  casually all the time. “Facebook friends”, church friend, this friend, that friend. I’ve spent a large amount of time over the past four years coming to the conclusion that being a friend is so much deeper than what many make it out to be. What does it mean to be an incredible friend? I am an idealist meaning that I have this idea in mind that is basically unattainable. For the time being we can still make strides in attempting to be the best friend that we can be. To be a real friend takes effort, it takes sacrificing yourself, yet knowing where to draw lines. It means being open. The type of friendship that I showed and shared with people in high school is far different than how I interact with my friends now. The role of being a friend is a process that is continually being molded by those who we surround ourselves with. I notice that each of those who I am in close relationship with bring out certain aspects of who I am, different personality glimmers and dimmers (ie the good and the bad).

Sidenote: I never understood how others could refer to six different people as their “best friend.” Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a best friend? The way that I roll in relationships is that I often have very few who are actually close to me, and then a wide variety of acquaintances. I think this would stand true for most people as well. Anyways... this whole friendship ordeal is rather complex and I had no idea where to throw that in...

Despite everything I just said, I have been blessed with the most incredible friends in the world. I mean, I may be a little biased, but I’m not joking when I say that I would do anything for these special people.  I would love to take you through a variety of stories with my college friends, true demonstrations of love, devotion, and community, the way friendship was intended to be. That however would take months to complete and maybe catch the interest of like, 2 people. I guess this is a general shout out to all my friends whom I love and adore. I hope you know I love and adore you, and frankly I couldn't live life without you. {flash back to middle school. I'm ok with it.}

Everyone has the capacity to be a friend. The question is, to what degree of a friend does everyone choose to be? Are we willing to put forth the effort to be an incredible friend, or do you just mozy around all the live-long day, sucking up what you need to get by from this person and that person?

[These thoughts on friendships will drastically change as the next few weeks come around and major life changes take place. I just thought it would be a good idea to capture where I'm at in this moment. It's always fun to come back months and years later to see the changes that have taken place in 'you'.]

Friend (noun)

1. a person known well to another and regarded with liking, affection, and loyalty; an intimate

2. an acquaintance or associate

3. an ally in a fight or cause; supporter

4. a fellow member of a party, society, etc

5. a patron or supporter

A Student

It was September something, 1995, and I stood in a black and red flowered dress, equipped with a chunky lace collar, engulfing the top half of my torso. I had a tag pinned to this collar, proclaiming my name and my bus number for all the world to see. From the front, my patterned dress was disturbed by two turquoise straps. These straps belonged to my backpack, which was only the coolest thing known to mankind. On the actual backpack was a screen print of Pocahontas and all of her friends. I was smothered in my Daddy’s arms, a horrendous 90’s caterpillar crinkling across his face, and glasses that enabled his eyes and cheeks to see better. Mommy, with her video camera and film camera, capturing every moment while two additional kids under the age of 3 crawled up and down her legs, weighting her down. This was the first day of kindergarten.

The lace that engulfs my torso.

“Kayla Marie, why do we go to school?”

“To have fun!!”

We all have those home videos, or old pictures, or ‘diaries’ that we kept when we were just learning to write. These are some of my favorite items ever. In fact, I sometimes have nightmares that my house burns down with all of our captured memories from childhood, inside. What would I share with my children when they have to do those crazy “family tree” projects?! What would I have to prove to the world that I too, once was a child? These home videos have brought about many family jokes, the one with me catching the brunt involves my simple philosophy of education. We go to school to have fun.

It is truly a blessing in this country that every child is entitled to an education. We have heard it time and time again how so many kids around the world are not allowed access to public schooling, how an education is a privilege for many kids. Here in this country we are so overwhelmingly blessed to have the accessibility to an education that we want and need. Now please, I’m not preaching that our system is flawless, I have plenty of qualms with our educational system even though I am soon to be a part of it. In fact, I saw a documentary Waiting for Superman that really hit home. I strongly encourage you to go watch it and leave comments as to what you think.

Since that day in 1995 I have played the role of ‘student’. Of course, being in education I believe that every experience is a learning experience, therefore I have been learning since day one, but my official title of ‘student’ didn’t come until that fateful day. Now here I stand almost 20 years later, still with the title of student, a title that I will not be keeping for much longer. This is a major shift in life. No more golden star stickers, ‘good job’ stamps, or ‘extra credit’ to get ahead. Being a ‘student’ is more than a title. It actually encompasses who you are. I’ve had many ‘titles’ in my life. I’ve been president of this, treasurer of that, leader for this… but none have the impact and the weight that the role of ‘student’ actually means. Being a ‘student’ has been defining over the decades, and to lose that role is like giving a part of yourself up. It’s the death of a life that you have lived.

High School graduate with Grandma and Pappy.

One of the trickiest things for me to grasp when my Pappy passed away was that I no longer was a granddaughter. I mean, yes, I still have living grandparents (whom I absolutely love and adore) but I was no longer his granddaughter. He was no longer in existence. I felt that in some twisted way, a part of me was no longer in existence too. I lost that role. I loved that role. I didn’t realize how much I loved it until I lost it. It absolutely sucks. I understand that the two are drastically different things, losing a loved one and completing an education, but they vastly parallel one another in a sick and twisted way.

My role of student has driven me to do all sorts of crazy things, try crazy projects, and learn all sorts of stuff. There were so many joys along the way, so many things that I absolutely loved doing naturally that made my role of ‘student’ just happen. Am I an overachiever? Not on purpose, I swear. However if a task or assignment involves something I am passionate about, I can’t help but get exceedingly wrapped up in it. For example, Mrs. Sexton was my 7^th and 8^th grade English teacher. Our monthly assignment was to read a book and to complete one of various projects that we could turn in. For these two years in my education, the week before the project was due, my entire life would be wrapped around completing the journals, posters, and text that was needed to complete the project. I saw these projects as a way of expressing my creativity, loving to write stories, drawing pictures, and the best part of all was that I had to read books. Your average student would not be into that, and probably see these things as a chore. Myself, they ended up being the highlight of my entire school year. I love projects, crayons, creative writing (can’t you tell?)

A part of being a student that often gets overlooked is the responsibility to find what fits you. Too many students get wrapped up placing blame for lack of learning on the teacher. In actual reality, the teacher and student share equal responsibility in the education of the student. If something is not processing or connecting correctly in the student’s mind, it is up to them to find a mode or way to make it work. The teacher is to provide the resources, and the student is to use them. If the resources are not provided, then it is up to the student to ensure that they obtain what they need.

I speak from experience. I am not a student where everything comes naturally to me. I’ve had to work very hard to reach the point of where I am. My evenings were spent on homework and after school activities. There were many a days spent after school, working one on one with Mrs. Steubing, Mr. Ressman, and Miss Abatta (coincidentally, all math teachers), Mr. Myslivecek, Mr. Swian and various others along the way. There were many tests that I bombed, many presentations that I gave that consumed my whole being with anxiety. Now, those tests and presentations basically mean nothing, but the time and effort that my teachers carved out for me means the world.

Thank you for listening to my ramblings as I reflect on my past life as a student. Maybe they’ll help you to think of where you are currently in a different way.

Student (noun)

1.  a person formally engaged in learning, especially one enrolled in a school or college

2.  any person who studies,  investigates, or examines thoughtfully

big picture

I am a lover of metaphors. I love pictures. Thinking in pictures, motion pictures, drawing pictures, photography. I believe that one of the greatest inventions ever "created" are those puzzles where every piece has a different picture on it, but when you put the whole thing together it creates a totally different picture. It is a process called photomosaics and it creates a big picture.

Sometimes, it's really fun for me to think about creation. Yea, to some degree of the "creation" and Garden of Eden stuff, but also about the creation of life, and the incorporation of the 6.2 billion lives that are currently being lived right now. I love thinking about time as a patchwork quilt...without the patches. You see, God has this beautiful quilt goin' on, and by now it's probably the size of a million football fields, also known as Russia. Sometimes, I envision God taking a day off and just sitting down in a rocking chair to just work on this quilt, to sew on a variety of colors, patch people, animals and stuff, and on this quilt the lives of the billions who are currently living on this earth. Adam and Eve? Oh yea, they're on there too, but they're somewhere by the Bering Sea (God started on the east coast of Russia.) Somehow, everyone's lives are intertwined and those who cross paths on the quilt cross paths in life. Sweet deal right? The thing that makes me really exited is that when we die, we get to actually see the quilt...oh, and God too.

I'm not trying to be sacrilegious. Sometimes having pictures or metaphors can speak to people on a different level. An image can be carried around with someone for the rest of their life, while a challenging lecture cannot. Just saying. And some people might have real issues with me incorporating one of our humanly tasks of 'sewing' and placing God into a box of our humanness. And yet others might have the dilemma of me incorporating such a 'womanly' task of sewing and using it to describe something God would do. That could make for some good debate points.

If you have no qualms with my metaphor, thanks for goin' with the flow.

I now find myself student-teaching in an elementary setting, surrounded all day by fifth graders, armed with a variety of instruments, attempting to blow out my ears. So far, the clarinets are winning. It pains me to say this, but thirteen years ago, I was in the same seat that they sit in only I was in a far less technologically advanced school. Some of our lessons were held in a closet, literally, with brooms and the whole nine yards (I am on a football kick today, aren't I?). These kids use a program called SmartMusic for their lessons, each of which I lead on a SmartBoard. Those of you who have been out of the education realm for awhile, I suggest you go Google that one.

Anyways...I sit through lesson after lesson watching different kids struggle with the same concepts, lesson after lesson. What note is that? Whats a half note? How do you finger a 'C' on the flute? For as annoying as it may seem to some, I am actually finding it to be quite the lesson to myself, a lesson of how we all struggle and only progress through baby steps day after day. With that perspective, it's hard to find them obnoxious. Especially because they're so gosh darn cute. After all this time that has passed, I cannot even recall the daily struggles that occured throughout my music career, or even life in general. How did I learn how to write? Or read? I know that they were both a bear, but I only know that because my mom has told me. I cannot actually recall the everyday frustrations of crossing my T's. (Although, somewhere in the back of my mind I can hear my mom saying "she makes her i's like lollipops, Bill, can you help her out?") I know that now my fingers fly as I type this on a keyboard, but heavens knows that at one point they were painfuly slow. Do I recall every step of that learning process? No way. Funny thing is, I can't even remember the beginning of that process when the task at hand couldn't be completed.

Being surrounded by kids all day can take your brain into limbo. On one level you relate to them, laugh with them. Life is simple, talking about anything and everything, commenting on the newest clothing that kids wear (some of it is actually really cool). Then, every once and awhile your mind has a whiplash and all of a sudden you're analyzing humanity, childhood and mankind, critiquing progress, learning, and the educational process of the kid.

I don't know if it can be proven, but there is a wise old saying that "an elephant never forgets". Although we have no proof of this {to my knowledge, I am anything but a scientist} it's slightly intimidating that a massive animal such as the elephant has an advantage over me physically and mentally. I have forgotten a lot of things, I have forgotten a lot of childhood. It seems that no matter how hard I try, there are always things that slip my mind, and others that I beg to leave that have certainly overstayed their welcome. I have tried time after time to keep a "laughing journal", when in one place all of your memories of laughter are compiled. Who wouldn't want to have a bank of their happiest memories? My idea never seems to work, or it works for about two weeks before life takes over again {is that a sign that I laugh too much?}. Then there are the visions of others being hurt, times when I've failed, or miserable memories that involve boys, family, friends, embarrassment, that won't go away. For as discouraging as that may be... well, I'm sitting here trying to think of a positive way to complete that thought, but I just can't. At least not at this current stage of life. Give me another week to reflect on it.

The point of this was to be about how we trap ourselves in the everyday cycle of life. There's this desperate need for routine in our daily life, and yet the thing that we need is the thing that can kill us. And although we may experience little pains by the day, when looking at the big picture, how much of it is really going to be remembered? It's times like these when I like to think about the quilt. Is God really going to sew on that test that I bombed in Music History? Or is every single one of my involvements in my over-scheduled life going to make it on there somewhere? Definitely not. But I am confident that my path will cross with thousands, perhaps even millions, and it makes me ever more excited to "get up there" to see and trace the lives of all those who crossed mine. It's the beauty of humanity, peeps. {what? it's springtime}

i told you so

"You are what you eat", how many times have we all heard that? There is a new concept swimming about my mind today, and that is the concept of "we are what we teach". I'm in the middle of student-teaching and trying to encompass being a teacher in all that I do. Every living moment is a learning moment for someone, whether that be for me or the person that I am encountering. Even in the times of bliss with merely hanging out with others or in a social group, you are constantly taking in information about those around you, their reactions and personalities. We, being lazy peoples, often don't apply all that we have learned, or recall quickly enough that some are sensitive to certain topics or have experienced certain things. Therefore people get hurt. That's a whole different posting.

I think that one of the joys that I am finding as a teacher is the glimpse of childhood, and the glimpses of humanity that I get on a daily basis. I'm aware that as long as one has a job interacting with people, they are interacting with humanity, but students bring a different aspect of humanity than the adult world. Take time to just observe the world around you. Then, go back for an additional 5 minutes and observe the world around you as a ten year old. You see completely different worlds, don't you? I find it a privilege to get to immerse myself in a variety of worlds on an everyday basis. It's even more of a privilege to get to accompany some others between various worlds, as you watch them go from children to teens, from teens to young adults, and all the development that happens along the way. It's not something that can be captured on a canvas, through words... it has to be an experience.

In my previous posting, I spent a chunk of time talking about a particular woman who is very important to me, and who does amazing things for this world. She is my private voice teacher, a professor who I have studied with for 4 years now. She teaches many private lessons and very few classes, but one class that I have had the opportunity to take with her was entitled "Vocal Pedagogy", a class in which you learn how to teach voice. For this class we each had our own private student. Some were more memorable than others, but we would each come to class telling outrageous stories of the things that happened in our own private voice lessons. My particular student is what my mother would refer to as "a piece of work". She was your common middle school athletic chick who was like many her age, over committed and too cool for anything. *note: name has been changed due to privacy, and also because I enjoy making up fictional names.

Nikki June*: my pride, my joy, and (sometimes) biggest pain. I say that with love. I was forewarned that my student would have limited musical background, and I also knew that she was busy with other things. As I think of all there is to reflect upon, I can do nothing but smile as I think about the journey that teaching Nikki took me on. Making initial contact is part of the process, but I knew from the beginning that I was going to have a handful when I heard Nikki in the background say “I don’t want to sing ‘old-people’ stuff.” In fact, perhaps this posting will just be memorable quotes by Nikki. Or perhaps, using Nikki for segues. So that being said, segue #1…

Not wanting to sing ‘old-people’ stuff. Although at the time it made me a nervous wreck, it now makes me chuckle. I was so worried about pleasing this girl and keeping her engaged. I realized that in teaching, it all depends on how you sell it to the kids, and they’ll (sometimes) go with you. High school kids, not so much. They will just look at you and think you're crazy. Luckily for me, I'm completely at ease with them thinking that I am crazy. It's one of those "accept and move on" things and low and behold, you still get things done. Middle school is a fun age because you can usually get them to go along with whatever you're doing if you present your information in the correct way. Nikki’s attitude toward the old stuff sent me on a train of thought. I began to wonder at what point I’ll stop being the ‘cool-crazy-hip-young-chick’ and turn into the “experienced woman”, as far as teaching is concerned.

Segue #2

“Well, just to get to know your voice, can I have you sing this pattern?”

“How?”

“Well, you just sing it.

“How do I do that?”…

 ‘How’ is a really difficult question, particularly when it comes to singing, because hardly any of the mechanical processes can be seen on the outside. ‘How’ is also a difficult question when it comes to teaching. How does one continue to make the learning process interesting, keep it fresh, keep a student motivated, etc. How is a very important question. Thanks, Nikki.

The teaching process is a lot more natural than I thought that it would be. Yes preparation is required prior to each lesson, but there were very few, if any, times that I feel stuck or ‘unable’ to do my job. That’s a positive feeling. An even bigger benefit of this was that I had fun in the process. Teaching is fun, Nikki was fun, high school choir is the bomb, and no matter what teaching situation I find myself in, it is always possible to have some sort of laughter and craziness incorporated.

Segue #3

“Did you get to look at this song?”

“Yea, I learned both of ‘em”

“You learned both?”

“Girl, what-chew think I’ve been doin’, sittin’ on my butt all week?”

Sometimes, students will surprise us, and sometimes kids say the darndest things. Nikki kept me on my toes and I felt like I had to have every scenario prepared for, and ready to teach anything at hand due to her persistent and never-ending questions and resistance. Am I upset and bitter about this? Absolutely not. My experiences observing fellow teachers didn’t occur until after my final lesson with Nikki. I observed other teachers asking only once for a student to try something, with compliant students. Well, my name is Kayla and it just so happens that I like a challenge. I am so thankful for the complexities of Nikki. I felt like I was better prepared for the ‘real world’. Commonly, I’m a lover, not a fighter; I learned and experienced first hand to expect the unexpected, and learned how to fight back for the sake of the student, with a little love thrown in.
Teaching is not for those who are lazy. There is no room for laziness when being a role model and in being a life-long learner. I’ve also found that teaching has taught me to be young at heart again. I take on the job of putting myself in the mindset of my students, feeling and agonizing over their struggles, and returning to my reality with the knowledge that I have to fix/address and educate them toward the goal.

Segue #4

“We’re not gunna do ‘Someday’? That song is really pretty and I can sing it.”

There is a serious back-story to the quote above. You see, after hearing for weeks that the song was too hard, that the head voice wasn’t pretty,  that Celtic Woman was old, and that she couldn’t do it, the final minute of the final lesson shed a whole new light on the teaching experience. Nikki, the stubborn-willed student, finally complied to see things my way. A slight taste of glory. Glory because yes, she could sing it, and no it was not too difficult for her. I'm not going to say "I told you so", but I'll just mildly gloat on the inside due to the victory that occurred in my favor. Perhaps another time she’ll find the motivation to learn it on her own. So for that,  I would like to extend a ‘thank you’ to Nikki for the foundational stories of my teaching career.

Being that I am going back to China, I can guarantee that there will be plenty more to come. In the meantime (between now and then) there will hopefully be more stories and more insights through times of transition and "growing up".

all growed up

So many cool things happen when you're a grown up. You get to stay up late, you can drive, and do cool things like reach the ice cream in the freezer without standing on your tippy toes. Your hands are big enough to actually shuffle a deck of cards without flinging them all over the place. When you're an adult you can wear whatever you want, get a job and have money to buy whatever you want, and you can tell other people what to do. Grown ups are so cool.

There are some things that are clearly visible. Over time you can visibly see your fingernails growing, your roots coming in, or your feet enlarging as your body sprouts upward (or outward). These are all physical things that you can see happen rapidly, even over night! It's not often you hear someone proclaiming "wow, I can see that you've really grown up this past week." I mean, really? How do you see someone grow up?

Sure, our faces change, we get to be bigger people than when we were five, but it is not like "growing up" is a badge to be put on display. It's not a skill that can be practiced for hours. It just happens when it happens. It's something that takes place internally, happening sometimes even when we think it's not. Sometimes life gives us circumstances that force us to change our ways, attitudes, and perspectives, and we then "grow up" through the changes and adjustments that we make to ourselves. Despite life's urges and (sometimes) nasty little schemes, growing up is still a choice, a choice that many are too scared to make.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Is this not a question that we ask every child in our society? Asking them this question provides them a chance to dream, to be who ever they want. It is not very often that an adult will respond negatively to a child's response. Truly if the child wants to be an astronaut who is the adult to deny or crush the dreams? It's funny how as a child you are never content in your childhood. Actually, it's really sad. Society pushes each child to 'grow up' faster, loading on stress factors, tests, extracurricular activities, all in pursuit to be the most "well-rounded" child. Not to mention the family dilemmas and social issues that can have a lifelong effect on a child. As adults the mentality and sensitivity of a child is often forgotten. Calloused and burdened, adults lay on expectations, mentalities and attitudes onto children, stifling them from the innocence and purity they were created to have.

So much of our childhood goes by without us realizing what we have. It is human nature, to rarely be content with where we are. We're kids, we want to grow up. We grow up, we want our childhood back. My past summer experience taught me how to re-embrace my childhood in a way that I never had before. Not only was I working with kids all day long, but there was a sense of freedom in being whoever I wanted to be. I experienced a joy and delight that I had never been able to attain in a normal every-day grown-up life. What's with that?! I made a challenge to myself that I would strive to embrace my childhood more in my everyday life. You can too!

I have been thinking a lot about "growing up" recently because of the crossroads that is soon to come. There was a time when people in college seemed to be in another planet. The idea of me ever being in college was so far away because I could never imagine myself as that old person. Old people go to college. Now I'm a person who is leaving college. I am a person who is going to start a life unscripted, who is going to live abroad for a year.  What does that make me? I would love to go back in time and interview myself and see just what I would say. What would the seven-year-old version of me say if I told myself that I was going to China? If I majored in music-education? If I did all the things that I've done?

I can tell you this: I had most definitely throughout all of my life set my expectations too low for who I can and will be.

In relation to this I had the opportunity to teach private voice lessons last semester. Our "final" for the class was to merely write a reflection paper about the class and our experience in teaching... that would be a fun student to blog about some time. Regardless of the adventures I had with my voice student, I reflected heavily upon my concern for change. Of course, over time my style of teaching and teaching abilities are going to change (and hopefully improve), but I raised the question of "at what point will I stop being the 'cool-and-hip teacher' and turn into the 'that-old-teacher-lady'?" My brilliant professor Ms. Elaine Henderson answered with this: "You never have to reach that point. Look at me."

And by gum, she is absolutely right. We're talking about the woman who joined us on an excursion to see Harry Potter VII, who spent class time telling us how to make moonshine, and who allowed our final exam to take place at Panera.

To society I tell you this, I think that Peter Pan had it right when he proclaimed "I won't grow up" (I'm currently reading it right now, thus all the references). There is always going to be an inner child in me that will always be sure to peek its way out. I am a stubborn person, and the child child within me is just as stubborn. She's gunna be around for as long as I am. In fact, I'm pretty sure the girl in this picture is me when I was a kid...