Team S.J.G.R. Thursday Huddle: Say something--I'm giving up on you.

Isn't it funny how easy it is for us to pay compliments to other people but not ourselves? I was listening to the radio the other day and someone posed this question. It was simple enough, but wow, did people have a tough time answering it. Then they asked a second question. That one was equal in its simplicity yet for that one, those answers came fast and furious. And honestly? Short of one word, the questions were identical.

Yup.

So I'm sure you're wondering. . . .what, pray tell, were these questions? Let me tell you. Or better yet--let me ask you.

Quick--tell me the answers to these questions:

1.  What are five things that you really, really like about your body?

2.  What are five things that you really, really *don't* like about your body?

Now. If you're anything like me, that second question was easy-peasy lemon-squeezy. But that first one? Hmmm. Even if you have a great self image, it's hard to hit five without having to think hard. But doesn't it suck that it isn't even remotely difficult to point out even ten things you don't like or that you'd change or that you want to work on?

Yeah.

So, here's the deal. Today's huddle is going to require you to speak up--and speak up publicly. Since I already know that you can (and probably have) told someone of the things you aren't so keen on when it comes to your body, I won't ask you to do that. Instead, I need you to take a moment to answer that first question.

What are five things that you really, really like about your body?

Jill and I were most likely affirming each other at this moment

Now. Before you respond by telling me that you can't do this, imagine YOU as a friend to yourself. As your own BFF or girlfriend sitting across from you in a coffee shop saying that same thing. How would you affirm that friend? Because I know that surely you would. You'd quickly find twenty beautiful things about her (or him) and list them right then and there. You know you would.

And.

Let me also challenge you to not just name those things like hair, lips, and earlobes. Push yourself to see beauty in the parts of your body that work hard for you every day. And, sure, it's fine to name those aforementioned things, but I want you to do for YOU what you'd do for a friend. Tell YOU what you'd tell her. Or him. Or them. See it. Find it. And then tell it.

My point is that we need to be friends to ourselves. Like really, really good friends. One day I was feeling particularly crummy about a few things and that song "Say Something, I'm Giving Up on You" came on the radio. And for whatever reason, that day I heard it as me talking to me. Me saying that I need to chuck myself under my chin and look myself in the eye to say, "You're really kind of amazing, actually."

Yeah. That.

Maaaaan, I wish I had time to talk to somebody about how it doesn't matter what somebody ELSE is telling you about you if YOU don't believe it yourself. Yeah, I know that "you yourself" thing was kind of redundant--sort of like this dude I knew who always used to preface things by saying  "me, myself, personally. . . . " Ha. The take home message is that everyone can be saying something about you--but if your opinion differs from it, what difference does it make? That goes for the good and the bad, man. Or like that other songwriter said, "No one can tell you what you know." Mmmm hmmm. Wish I could talk to somebody about all that, but I don't even have time.

So tell me. What do you know about you? What do you really, really like about your BODY? No, not your personality or your spirit--your BODY. Come on. Say something. . . I'm giving up on you, man.

Alright. Deep breath. Here goes. And like the radio personality said, "Don't overthink it. Just spit it out."

What are five things that I really, really like about my body?

#1

I like my nose. It's kind of biggish, actually but it's such a . . . well. . .huge part of me and my face. It's super distinct, covered with freckles like JoLai's, and is the thing that I think makes me look like my dad. It's very "Draper" that nose. Which connects me to them.

#2

I like how my legs look in skirts and high heels. I feel feminine and beautiful when I put on a heel of three inches or more. I like how my husband looks at me when I do and how strong and agile I feel when I walk across a floor in them.

#3

I like my arms, including my wrists and hands. This took a while for me to embrace. Yes, I know that my wrists are skinny and that my triceps are a far cry from Mrs. Obama's. But over time, I've come to like that my wrists are kind of delicate. My hands are veiny like my mother's and my grandmother's. Sure, I'll never be a hand model (unless it's an old lady hands model) but so what. My hands are their hands. Which makes me feel like we are one whenever I look at them. My upper arms tone up pretty well when I exercise which I like.

#4

I really like how my back looks in a backless dress. It looks strong. And I can see that, even with my narrow shoulders and generally small build up top, all that running and also those occasional lat pulls and dead rows show there before anywhere else. I like that.

A friend took a photo of me dancing at an outdoor concert last weekend. I was in a halter dress my hands were in the air waving to the music. And when I looked at that candid snapshot, I said, "Hmmm. I like the way my back looks on this picture."

 And I was proud of myself because I said it out loud to my friend. About myself.

#5

I like my. . .errr. . .  seat cushion. I can't say I had a full appreciation for it before marrying the BHE. He's definitely in cahoots with Sir Mix-a-Lot and is far less concerned about high letter alphabet brassieres. In jeans, in skirts, in dresses, I like it. In pajamas, too. I'm working on liking it in swimsuits but it's funny . . .Harry always comments (positively) whenever I walk by him in a swimsuit. And it ain't my delicate wrists he's talking about. Ha.

"We flawless!"

Okay. There's my five. Now it's your turn.

You know? Affirming my body in this way just made me keep thinking of things I like about the one I have. Just like dogging yourself (and others)  can become a habit that rolls off of your tongue without you even thinking about it, loving yourself can be the same way. I was surprised to see that I could think of five more things I liked once I allowed myself. I think I'll do this with my boys tonight, too.

Alright. Delurk and give me five. Five things that you really, really like about YOUR BODY. Say something. . . . before you give up on you.

Go!

***
Happy Thursday, beautiful ones.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . .as sung to myself.


. . .and Sir Mix-a-Lot. . .as sung by the BHE. Ha. Go on and dance. You know you want to because even as misogynistic as this song is, it's impossible to not shake your donk to it. Ha ha ha. Now pardon me. . . . .

"What's for dinner, Zack?"

Zachary's first place sprint today

"Dust, bro. Oh, I'm sorry. Were you allergic?"

Ha.

He's always been naturally fast. But he excels in sports because he consistently works at it and tries hard. He's such a disciplined athlete to be so young. It's kind of amazing how some kids are like that.

This is what I always tell him. "See? You worked hard and your hard work is paying off, son. Great job." I try to focus on his effort instead of his natural ability. That way a loss won't devastate him; it will just make him go harder.

Yeah. So that? That's what I tell him with my mouth. But in my head? Man, please. I'm totally trash-talking.

Totally.

***
Happy Tuesday.

Oh, and that approach to encouraging my kids by highlighting effort not natural ability certainly wasn't my idea. It came from this which makes me think of this quote almost every day:

"Becoming is better than being." 

Yeah. That.

And that's the way it is.

My boy at his bus stop

When you question me for a simple answer
I don't know what to say, no
But it's plain to see, if you stick together
You're gonna find a way, yeah
So don't surrender 'cause you can win
In this thing called love
When you want it the most there's no easy way out
When you're ready to go and your heart's left in doubt
Don't give up on your faith
Love comes to those who believe it
And that's the way it is

~ Celine Dion

__________________________________________

She creates a space for those kids to talk about things. No, not just little kid things like Legos and Barbie dolls or Minecraft and rubber bracelets. She gives them permission to speak freely of more salient things affecting the world that they live in.

Yes. That.

So on a carpet in that room, last week she opened a dialogue with those children like she always does. But what that really means is that she carved out some time for an unplanned topic, driven by their first grade ideas and passions. Not so overly planned yet not so loosey-goosey that other things don't get done. Again, just a metaphorical window pushed up high enough for them to breathe and share.

Yes. That.

The "big Martin" he suggested they make. To which she obliged.

On this day, my baby boy raised his hand. There was something on his heart, gnawing at his seven year-old self that he needed to get out and into the open. And so, she gave Zachary the floor and, because of the magic she has already created in that room, he lifted his voice with all ears turned in his direction.

"There is this law in Georgia and in Florida and I a little bit think that it's a not good law."

That's pretty close to what he told me he said to open the conversation. And because this is not the first time I've been blessed with a child in her classroom, I know that she turned her head to him and raised her eyebrows, her nonverbal way of nudging him forward.

"Like, if you see somebody and you think they look like they might hurt you or you feel like they might be a robber or a thief or something, if you have a gun you can shoot them and you won't even go to jail. Just because you think they look like they could be a little bit, um, suspicious."

Yes. Suspicious.

He went on. "There was this boy in Florida. And he was just walking down the street minding his business and you know what? It was raining so he had on a sweatshirt but like with a hoodie. You know, a hood. And this man, he saw the boy and he thought that he looked like he was suspicious and like maybe he could be a robber or a thief. But really, he wasn't. So the man, he like chased the boy and attacked him and then they were like wrestling and stuff. But that man, he had a gun and so then he shot the boy and he DIED. And nothing happened. He didn't even go to jail."

It was raining on this day, too.

And, you know? She didn't have to say a word. Because those kids grabbed that topic and carried it right along on their own. Some were outraged and others were just sort of pensive and thinking. And, okay, we live in a fairly liberal area, but still. I love knowing that these children not only were thinking about important things but that, without having their ideas shaken or stirred, they could. So, yes. Zachary's topic grabbed their interest. Some asked questions that were quickly filled in by other children in the class who knew a bit about this, too.

"The boy, his name was Trayvon Martin," one friend said. And then she--also a first grader--commenced to let the group know a bit more about who Trayvon was specifically. All of which seemed to be accurate.

That wonderful woman who leads that wonderful space that my baby boy calls his homeroom was so in awe that she sent an email to both that little girl's parents and to Harry and me. She told us a bit of the important things our children had shared and how, from the mouths of babes, a rich discussion ensued.

Another bus stop shot

The following morning while standing at the bus stop, I asked my boy about it. I wanted to hear what he said with my own ears and answer any questions he might have. And you know? He repeated the whole story to me. He even said, "One person asked me, 'Why would they think the boy with the hoodie on was a robber or a thief?' and I just told them the truth."  And so I asked him what, indeed, that was. "That some people think that people with black skin might be a robber or a thief even if they're not. That's why it's a bad law because, like, somebody could look at my dad and think HE is a robber or a thief and just take a gun and shoot him. And they won't even go to jail."

Yes. That's what my son said. And so, like her, I said little and let him speak. And honestly, he didn't have a lot of questions, just mostly ideas that he needed to get out. "That's such a bad, bad law, Mom. And it's in Georgia, Mom. That's why I told my class because it's in Georgia where we live."

And I nodded because he's right.

"There's one thing I didn't say, though, Mama. Because I didn't want anybody to feel sad." He craned is neck to look for the bus and his little face grew serious.

"What's that, son?"

"I didn't say it but if Dad saw a man with white skin and he felt like he looked suspicious or something and then if Dad took his gun and shot THAT man then Dad WOULD go to jail. Even though that man who shot that boy in Florida didn't."

I am not kidding you. This is what my 7 year-old son told me in the morning haze as we searched for red blinking lights on a big yellow school bus. "Why do you think that, son?"

"Because," he said. "That's just the way it is."

And with that, he stepped onto Mr. Sanders' bus, waved goodbye and told me to have a great day. My eyes filled with tears as they pulled away. I'm still not sure if they were because of immense pride, immense sorrow, or both.

Yeah.

****
Happy Monday.

And thank you, Ms. R., for giving my son a place to share his truth that day and for being the same person who encouraged him to learn and sing "Lift Every Voice and Sing" in front of his class.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . "That's the Way it Is" as sung by Ms. Celine Dion. (Yes, she annoys me, but I've always liked this song and her voice.) I've heard this on my mental iPod ever since that conversation with my son.

Team S.J.G.R. Thursday Huddle: Do the right thing.

I saw this patient today who was smart. Far too smart for what he was doing and, in addition, asking his doctor to do as well. I was seeing this gentleman with a resident physician and before going into the room his provider reviewed the plan of care with me.

"His hemoglobin A1C is over ten and his blood sugar today is in the 400 range. That said, he's not too keen on insulin so I guess we'll try to up is pills. And then as far as his cholesterol goes, he's said he doesn't want anything and that he'd watch what he eats."

"Wow. What about the blood pressure?" I asked.

"It's almost controlled but not perfect. He would likely benefit from a second agent since he smokes but he's not having it. So I guess I will just work with what I have. Maybe refer him to nutrition to lower his salt and give the quit line number to quit smoking."

"That's it? This plan sounds kind of bootleg, man." (Yes, this is how I speak to my residents sometimes. #dontjudgeme)

"I mean. . . what can you do? He doesn't want what I'm recommending. So I guess I just have to work around that, you know?"

Now. Let me just unpack on this for a second. Would that be okay? Don't mind if I do.


But before I do, let me tell you a little more about what happened when I met this patient. Honestly, I was expecting some overweight dude who would appear older than his age. Thick middle, thinning hair, and a defiant attitude. What I found was nothing like that.

This man wasn't too overweight at all. Sure, he smoked but he didn't look very old. And that's good because he was actually a little younger than me. And really, he wasn't difficult to interact with or any such thing. Matter of fact, he was a pretty cool dude.

I asked him some questions and he gave me answers. I explored his family situation (married with high school and adult kids and five grandkids) and his siblings, parents, and upbringing. Part of a big family. Lots of love and support. Used to be an athlete. Works a good job with benefits. And seemed to have plenty to live for.

But then, upon further questioning, he reveals to me that not only his father but recently his brother passed away from a heart attack. Both of whom were under the age of fifty.

Yes.

Now. Despite all that, he was refusing insulin ("I don't do needles!"), pushing back about blood pressure pills ("Those things is 'dick killers.'"), shutting down cholesterol management ("I'll just skip eggs") and still smoking ("I try to quit but my nerves get too bad.") And this? This right here--when coupled with his family history--wasn't just unfortunate. It was stupid.

Yeah, I said it. Stupid.

We all do stupid things. Like, I remember my first year of medical school when I was madly in love with this guy for like six very intense months almost to the point of messing up in school. Oh, and I also racked up a ridiculously high phone bill despite zero income coming in. And even with my phone about to be disconnected, I kept accruing more charges. Plus I kept catching him in tall tale lies which were red flags, but I ignored all that. And that? That was unfortunate, yes. But mostly, it was stupid. You know what, though? That shit wasn't life or death. And it wasn't threatening to rob a family of their patriarch.

It's the same with people shaking salt and drinking sugar and never exercising and then either avoiding their doctor or blaming them for confronting them about it all. Not just unfortunate--but stupid. Especially when the person KNOWS the right thing to do.

This man knew what he needed to do. But he was resisting. And yes, we talked about his feelings and trepidations and excavated why he felt the way he did. We uncovered some things and got at a few things but he still threw up road blocks to allowing us to offer him the standard of medical care. Instead he wanted us to come up with some cockamamie plan B.

"You know? This is like somebody asking you to paint their house and giving you a tiny paint brush and some first grade tempera paint. It doesn't make sense. At all."

That's what I said. And I said it because it was true. Because this man knew better. He did. So I flat out told him that we will make recommendations that do right by him and that he is grown and can decide how he'd like to proceed. But as far as this play-play regimen he was asking his resident doctor to piece together for him? Like the Grady elders say: "That dog don't hunt."

Now the good news is that the patient came around. We had a good talk and we connected and he agreed to do the right thing. But really that isn't the point. The point is that this--this knowledge of the right thing to do but a refusal to do it-- is so, so common and is probably responsible more than anything else for killing us softly when it doesn't have to. I do give this brother credit for at least coming to the doctor. Turns out that for his job, they check blood pressure so the necessity of being signed off forces him in to see us. So he tries to go for the minimum. A la carte medical management, if you will.

I will jump on my primary care physician soap box and say that it's not fair to your doctor when this happens. Asking us to offer you substandard care because you aren't ready to accept what is tried and true. Or what will work. And I swear that I am also guilty. My doctor tells me to get certain lab tests or exams and I factor whether or not it is worth getting socked in the pocket for. Sometimes I'm a good egg and sometimes not. Now I have a great PCP that holds my feet to the fire. She ignores my BS and nudges me to do the right things.

And so I do. (Mostly.)

We need to cut this shit OUT. This practice of highly, highly intelligent people making stupid choices when they know better. Like knowing that your family history is effed up but eating high fat, salty things every day anyway. Or having high ass blood pressure and other risk factors for heart disease yet operating as if you don't. No, that's not just unfortunate. That's stupid.

And doing all of those things AND not being under a doctor's care? That makes you more than stupid. It makes you an assassin. Yes. THAT. An assassin of yourSELF. Which is a damn shame.

Sigh.

In the movie Forrest Gump (one of my favorites, along with Do the Right Thing) Tom Hanks' character Forrest was a simple guy. There was a lot of stuff he just didn't know or get. So if, say, Forrest Gump decided to drink sweet tea and full sugar sodas and eat french fries and not exercise in the face of crappy genetics, a spare tire, and cardiovascular risk factors at least we could chalk that up to him not knowing better. So here is my question: What is our excuse?

If you are savvy enough to read a blog or be on Facebook or click on Twitter or whatever techie things you do, then surely--SURELY--you are among those who are learned enough to know the right things to do. And see, at some point when we keep ignoring what we know to be right, something unfortunate happens.

With that boy, I failed a biochem midterm and got called into the Dean's office. I also got confronted by the ("Oh, I forgot to tell you that I sort of have a"-)girlfriend. Yes. The one that he'd had the entire time we'd been together (unbeknownst to me) which was as awkwardly bad as it sounds. And yeah, all of that was unfortunate. But it wasn't life threatening. It wasn't.

This? This avoidance, denial stuff when it comes to cardiovascular risk? That's not awkwardly bad. Instead, it's just sad. Or least, it will become that way eventually.

Damn. I'm all up in your faces, aren't I? But I guess I'm just frustrated with this crazy do loop we get into. And this do loop becomes a death spiral if we don't grab the handles by both hands and right the plane back upward.

Yup.

I broke up with the boy, got a tutor and ended up doing just fine in Biochemistry. I became a doctor, I got to marry Harry and, allegedly, that girlfriend became that boy's wife at some point. So hallelujah that all of that worked out. For everybody. And hallelujah that nobody got really, truly, severely, irreversibly hurt in the process.

I wish heart disease was that simple. It isn't though.

Ask yourself: Do you know what "the right thing" is when it comes to your health? Or at least sort of, do you? If not, find out. If so, ask yourself this out loud:

"Am I an assassin?"

If you aren't raging against this machine called heart disease with all of our might? That answer is YES.

Sorry to unpack. And yes, my toes hurt after this one, too.

Shit Just Got Real, y'all. Let's do the right thing, a'ight?

***
Happy Huddle Day.

A reminder from da mayor. . . . 


Love and hate. . . . . often how we feel about the balance between doing right and doing not-right. Right?


Remember Radio Raheem's good word about how love wins: "Left hand hate K.O.'d by love."  Say word! We can DO this.

No one can tell you what you know.

There've been times in my life,

I've been wonderin' why

Still, somehow I believed we'd always survive. . . . 

Now, I'm not so sure--

You're waiting here, one good reason to try

But, what more can I say?

What's left to provide?

You think that maybe it's over

Only if you want it to be

Are you gonna wait for a sign? Your miracle?

Stand up and fight. . . . .

This is it

Make no mistake where you are

This is it

Your back's to the corner . . . .

This is it

Don't be a fool anymore

The waiting is over

No, don't you run

No way to hide

No time for wonderin' why

It's here, the moment is now, about to decide

Let 'em believe

Leave 'em behind

But keep me near in your heart

Know whatever you do, I'm here by your side

You say that maybe it's over

Not if you don't want it to be . . . . . 

For once in your life, here's your miracle

Stand up and fight . . . . .

This is it

Make no mistake where you are . . . .

This is it

You're goin' no further

This is it

Until it's over and done. . .

No one can tell you what you know

Who makes the choice of how it goes?

It's not up to me this time

You know. . . .

Comes a day in every life

This is it

Make no mistake where you are

This is it

You're goin' no further

This is it

Until it's over and done

This is it

One way or another

This is it

No one can tell what the future holds

You make the choice of how it goes. . . . 

The waiting is over.

~ from "This is It" as sung by Kenny Loggins (with Michael McDonald on backup vocals!)

______________________________________

Feeling rambly. Consider yourselves warned.

Mmmm hmmmm.

Well. Graduation day has come and gone. And, like always, it just never gets old for me.

Ever.

This year was particularly emotional for me. I know for sure that, since losing my sister, I'm a different person. While I always tried to live my life as intentionally as I could, something about the shift my world took on November 15, 2012 made me see it differently. Like . . .I don't know. . .I just feel like I don't want to be involved in any relationships that feel . . . insignificant.

Yeah. That.

I'm sure it sounds exhausting, right? This idea of trying hard at each and every relationship to make it count. The truth is that sometimes it is. But most of the time? It really isn't. I started listening to my spirit more and pushing open the doors that need to be opened. I've also been less afraid to close the ones that don't feel right or that don't nourish my soul.

I know, I know. You're probably saying, "But what does any of this have to do with medical school graduation?"

Well. I'll tell you. See. . . what we do is all about relationships. To be effective at it and to make it really count? It requires intention and building and pouring into people. So. . I guess what I'm saying is that now I find myself thinking more about my time with people. I think about our interactions and what they mean. And, in full transparency, I ponder the divine aspects of these relationships as well. Like. . what am I supposed to be doing right now? Why has this person been placed in my path?

Ugggh. Harry calls this being "heavy." Ha. I guess. But I'm just being honest about where my head is at these days. And the cool part about it is that it feels so much more right and rich now. It does.

This collection of pictures is really a story of relationships. I sat here this evening just staring at those faces and recalling the times connected to them. What we were doing, talking about, laughing about or whatever. I love the graduation photos with the smiles because even though they show the glory--what I see in them is the story. Yes, that. The story. And you know what? I have five trillion more images where these came from.

Yup.

Anyways. As advisors, we get to put the doctoral hoods over the heads of our advisees. That's what those hugging on stage graduation photos are from. Usually, I feel quite verklempt about it but this year? I completely broke down crying. For real. I guess the story part was in higher def for me this year. And perhaps my mind was more present in it all. I don't know.

Seriously, though--it bordered on the full-on ugly cry. Like FULL ON. I managed to quasi get my face together, but I was doing those little kid cry-tics where you occasionally gasp for air from crying. It wasn't really pretty. At. All.

But so what.

The only issue I had with a real, true ugly cry was that this was not my moment--it was that of my students. I certainly didn't want my cry-tic-pop-locking to become the center of the attention. So, yeah. I'm gonna need to work on that.

I blame Kenny Loggins. See, the morning of commencement I was listening to Pandora radio and was on an old 80's soft rock station. Yeah, so what. Anyways, I'm rolling down Ponce de Leon on my way back to the house and on comes that song. This is fricking it.

So, did I mention? Part of my life of intention also means that I hear all the lyrics to songs differently now. So my mental iPod is really on overload these days. Damn, it is. Yeah, so I'm driving and listening, right? And then he says this one line that stuck in my head like a piece of gum in a little kid's hair. . . .

"No one can tell you what you know."

And though I've heard that song seven trillion times and even had it in my real iTunes library, never had I really heard that one line before. No one can tell you what you know. And you know? The minute I heard it--I mean really heard it--I broke down crying. See, some of those students? They were in situations where someone was telling them something inconsistent with who they knew they were. And those words just spoke to my spirit and cosigned all that I hope those I work with see in my eyes.

No one can tell you what you know. Who makes the choice of how it goes?

Then I started thinking of my own boys and even my husband and praying that they know who they are. Like really and truly know. Because when you believe that you're a winner and worth people's time and love and energy . . .then you receive it better. You also counter the negativity that attacks you from the outside and the inside.

Yes. The inside.

Another thing. Medical school is rough. But it is particularly rough for underrepresented minorities for a myriad of complicated reasons. I think Meharry Medical College--my alma mater which happens to be historically black--did a good job of sealing into me a positive image of myself as a young physician. So when I headed to residency and faced a few tricky situations or awkward teams? Or when someone was dealing with me like I was mediocre or even just ignoring me altogether? Man, please. No one can tell me what I know.

My parents did most of it but you'll be surprised at what something as hard and competitive as medical school can do to unravel all the good things parents pour into their kids. One sucker punch and they are on all fours redefining who they believe they are. And see? That's where we come in. To look at those learners with expectant eyes that remind them of who they are. And no, this isn't just students of color--it's every one. But I feel this urgency sometimes with the ones that look like me. Almost like, for some,  this is the first time somebody looked at them like that. Or at least some one that wasn't their mama or their daddy.

Yeah.

No one can tell you what you know. Nope.

It's been a weepy series of days, actually. Last week, I went to the annual Senior Banquet for our graduating medical students. They give student awards, have a lot of fun and also give some nods to faculty as well. I've been fortunate enough to get acknowledged by them in prior years. And in my experience, they usually send some kind of email that feels like a hint. Or sort of like one. The kind that says "we need to make sure you're there." Anywho. This year, I didn't get anything like that. And that was fine with me because I'm surrounded by amazing educators, many of whom deserve to be chosen by the graduates as "best attending."

Yeah.

So, as the story goes, they called my name. And when I heard it, I was stunned. Not stunned because I think of myself as some lackluster educator, but just. . .I really didn't think it would be me this year. I just didn't. So I go up and they have you say a few words which I stammered through. Something about the fact that I don't take this lightly. Which was true because I don't.

I don't.

But then I stepped off stage and that moment hit me. Here was a completely different class than the prior year. A unique panel of voters from any other time that award had ever been given. And you know? I know in my heart that I tried hard with those students. And I know I'm not the only one, but still. I did my best to value them and show up each day with an enthusiasm that let them know I was glad to be there. I tried to be intentional in our meetings and I tried to listen like Ira Schwartz--my friend and colleague who is literally the very best listener I've ever known. And then I thought about what I always think about when I've worked hard at something and it turns out okay. Or even really good. Or really well. Hell. You get the picture.

I wanted to tell Deanna.

No matter what I ever shared with her, no matter how many times, she was proud of me and happy for me like it was the very first time it ever happened. And she would look at me and tell me how it made her feel and how she knew how hard I'd tried. That was one of my favorite things about her. And every time I get even the smallest accolade, it is bittersweet because I want to call or text my sissy so bad. So, so bad.

So I left that stage and the tears started falling. Complicated tears that, at first, I thought looked super phony like I was feigning emotion. But then I realized how stupid that was and let it go. No one can tell you what you know. And I knew how I felt in that moment. I did.

So when I got home I called my baby sissy. And she stepped right into Deanna's shoes without even being prompted. And she got it when I felt emotional and she nourished my soul. Yes. That.

Yeah.

Look, I'm sorry for rambling. I guess it was just one of those nights, you know? I think I'll be pondering these words and maybe even saying them to my learners when they need to hear them:

No one can tell you what you know.

And you know what? I'm going to be saying those words to me, too.

Yeah.

***
Happy Graduation.

Now playing on the mental iPod nonstop. . .go ahead and admit it. . . . anything with Michael McDonald even humming in the background is officially a LEGIT JAM. Get up and dance, old people. And if you were old enough to either graduate to this or make out to it, you're older than me. Just sayin'. Ha.

What do you feel when you hear this song? Just wondering.



And reposting Mark's virtual graduation from last year's commencement.

Watching this video and hearing this song always makes me feel happy inside. Hope it does the same for you. 

Commencement 2013 from Kimberly Manning on Vimeo.