As October grew nearer on the calendar, I asked Sam if they would continue the blog this year. I admitted that I love the blog so much I often read in months that don’t start with O. I was elated when he let me know that 31 for 21 would continue this year. And then I was asked to write something to share. I feel so deeply honored to be asked to write something for Team Lincoln (and as all of you know, everyone who meets him is on Team Lincoln).
In order to tell my story about Lincoln, I am going to back up and tell a part of my story – the part that leads me directly into the path of being his teacher.
I can clearly remember the day in first grade when I decided I wanted to be a teacher. My mom was an assistant in a special education classroom at my elementary school. I spent every afternoon in that classroom acting out my dreams of becoming the most popular teacher in the school. I asked a lot of questions about the students in that class and what made them “special.” Mr. Flynn, the classroom teacher told me that they were special because everyone is special. He said that everyone learns, speaks, and thinks in different ways, but we are all equal and special. But it wasn’t just that he said it. His actions taught me that as well. There was no pity, no coddling, and certainly none of those sad eyes and clucking noises in his classroom. There were goals and expectations and lots of hard work.
Then one day in 2nd grade, a boy (who shall remain nameless) was picking on me during recess. He was pulling my pigtails and yelling “Gravy Train” - pretending my braids were the reigns of his chuck wagon. This had been going on for years and though it always bothered me, I really didn’t do much about it. That particular day, the 5th graders were on the track while we were at recess. One of Mr. Flynn’s students noticed and came over to where we were standing. His name was Dean. Dean had cerebral palsy. He was terribly difficult to understand and one side of his body didn’t work so well. On that day, none of that mattered. Dean made his way to where we were standing, grabbed the front of the boy’s shirt with his good arm and (no lie) lifted him off the ground so they were eye-to-eye. Dean told him never to bother me again and let him dangle for a bit longer before dropping him to the ground, winking at me, and ambling back to the track. That was the moment I made up my mind to teach students with “special needs.” I think I had some idealistic notion that I could help all kids to be heroes.
In later years, I realized that maybe part of what I wanted to accomplish was being an advocate for those who couldn’t advocate for themselves. The awful truth is that for every family like the Myricks – who treat Lincoln as a child first and only – there is another child who is treated as a burden and not given access to the care and education that is deserved by all children. Liz has so eloquently touched on this in a recent entry, so I will move along with my story rather than belabor this point.
So fast forward a few years and schools, and the Myrick family walks through my classroom door. I was at a point in my career where I was really questioning whether or not I made a difference. If I was making a difference, was it enough? I just didn’t feel like I was living the life that that my second grade self wanted my grown up self to have. When Lincoln came to school, I started on a journey of change, learning, and reassurance.
Lincoln loves to celebrate every little success that he or his classmates make. He cheers and claps and laughs when good things are happening in the classroom. He is first in line to high five a friend when they do the right thing. I call this “Lincoln Logic” because it’s very clear that he sees a direct correlation between success and celebration. I’ve started applying this to other parts of my life. I have started looking for little things to celebrate. I want to cheer for my friends, my family, my students, my coworkers, and everyone in between. If you want to be happy and make a difference, start by being happy and doing good things. Encourage good things in others and in yourself. Learn from mistakes (that’s why we make them) and celebrate doing better next time. Don’t waste time wallowing in self-pity. Lincoln Logic dictates we turn our frowns upside down.
Lincoln has taught me that making a difference is not something that happens all at once. My job is not to create big changes in a short period of time. My job is to create small changes that will last for all of time. I get it now. I don’t need to teach Lincoln the 3R’s by the time he leaves my classroom. It’s my job to teach him to take turns (which is more about learning to have a conversation, but also is helpful in making friends), to show him how he can communicate, and to celebrate every time he tries.
And when he doesn’t succeed, Lincoln never cries, never quits – he just tries again. Sure, he gets frustrated and sometimes I’m pretty sure he’s mad at me, but he never gives up. He’s one stubborn kid. But that determination is what is going to help him go far in life. He’s not going to let people tell him he can’t do things. And when he’s four, it’s sort of bothersome because even though you said no, when you turn around, he’s on top of the table waving at his friends across the room. I try to imagine him at 40 – and here’s what I realize – I don’t think there’s anything he can’t be if he is determined. President Lincoln Myrick? CEO Lincoln Myrick? Pop Star Lincoln Myrick? Do you see it too? Future Lincoln is as determined as Preschool Lincoln and is doing everything that he was told he could never do.
So after a year of Lincoln in my class (along with a whole bunch of other equally wonderful little munchkins), I finally get it. I’m doing a good job. I might not be moving mountains every day, but we are moving in the right direction, and that is all it takes. And that notion that I was going to help all these kids be heroes? I missed the point completely, but I get it now. These kids with "special needs" are already heroes. They overcome adversity, laugh in the face of nervous stares and fleeting eye contact, and already know the value of a positive outlook and perseverance.
So, thank you, Lincoln Myrick, for being my hero and teaching me how make a big difference in a small way. I am so blessed to be a part of Team Lincoln and long after you are too big for the things in my classroom, I will be celebrating your accomplishments. Just try to remember to visit because I sure will miss you!
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