O Danny Boy

My cousin, Danny, passed away on Thursday, July 25, 2013. He was 18 years old and had just graduated high school from Bucks County Technical High School as a cabinetmaking major. His biggest dream in life was to open his own karate studio, and, as a third-degree black belt, he had just been hired full-time to the studio where he had trained for over 10 years.

Danny drowned in the Neshaminy creek with his best friend Perry, after they had decided to go for a swim. The current proved too strong, and Danny and Perry died, while their friend was able to get out and call for help.I am not good about speaking about sad things, especially when they have to do with my family or myself. I have had such conflicting emotions over the past few weeks, coming to terms with the death of a family member so young and with so much potential. I wrote Danny a letter to say the things I have been having such a hard time verbalizing:

Dear Danny,

What can I say? When I think of you, I think of the last Christmas everyone spent together before Mom Mom got sick. She gave me the first bowl of pudding, and you sat on the stairs in the living room and sulked because you wanted to be first. I remember when you had your hair cut into a mullet, and you thought it was the coolest thing ever. I remember when I was mad at you for cheating at hide and seek that one time in the basement. Mom Mom told us we couldn’t hide in the dryer, and you did it anyway. I remember piling on the couch and watching cartoons, and finding the not-so-secret stash of papers and crayons under Mom Mom and Pop Pop's T.V.

I don’t remember you growing up. I think of the little boy who ran around in his karate outfit and tried to tackle everyone. Almost everyone from your karate studio came to your viewing on Wednesday. I didn’t know that you had reached a third degree black belt or that you taught classes now. My heart broke when I saw dozens of little kids lined up to say goodbye to you, dressed in baggy uniforms as they cried for Mr. Dan. Did you know they granted you the title of “Master”? I’m sorry you won’t have the chance to open your own studio, like you had planned. I know you would have been an excellent instructor.Did you know that over 800 people came to your viewing? You and Perry were so loved, by so many people.

I’m sorry, Danny, because there is nothing anyone can do to take away the pain of your loss. I saw how loved you were in the community. The day of your funeral, some businesses in Bensalem changed their signs to honor your memory. Someone donated a luncheon in your name. Thousands of dollars have been raised in your and Perry’s names. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen for ordinary people.

You have a big job ahead of you now. You have to watch out for your mom and dad, and your three brothers and their kids. They are hurting over you. Watch out for Pop Pop; it breaks his heart to have to bury another grandchild. Watch out for all your cousins, and aunts and uncles; we miss you an incredible amount too. Take care of all your little kids in karate, and pay special attention to all those kids who may think it’s a good idea to go swimming in the Neshaminy. I saw the promise ring you gave to Sarah, and it is beautiful. Watch out for her and when she’s ready, help her find someone else who can love her like you did. Let your friend Nick know that no one blames him for getting out of the creek. He’s a hero, and his call for help helped everyone find you and Perry so we could have peace. Say hello to Mom Mom and uncle Danny, and Jen for the rest of us.

No one should have to die when they are 18 years old, and I am sorry I will miss the chance to see you grow into someone who promised to be a terrific man. I am glad that I was able to be your cousin for the past 18 years, and I am honored to have known you based on all the stories I have heard over the past few weeks. I don’t know when you started going by “Dan”, but you will always be “little Danny” in my memories. Rest easy and fly high until we meet again.

Love,

Jamie

Things I Haven't Said

I have already finished two grad school classes, and by the end of the summer, I will have completed five as I work towards my Masters in Education and my certification as a Reading Specialist. I realized I had not advertised much on this blog about my plans after finishing a year with MVC, and for many reasons, I hesitated posting my news.

I’ve been back on the East Coast for a little over a month and it still feels weird sometimes, like I will wake up and go out to see my trailer in Arizona. It feels weird to be living in a house that is three stories tall. It is weird to have sidewalks and neighbors everywhere when I had grown so accustomed to the natural silence of the Reservation. It feels weird to have this humidity (I am melting) and more rain in two weeks than in the past ten months.

Something that I haven’t said, that I haven’t admitted to publically, is how much I miss Arizona. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, and there are things I would change if I could, but it was overwhelmingly one of the most important years of my life. I struggled, fought, loved and cried throughout the past years and learned about the type of person I wanted to be along with the type of person I knew I would never be.

I met someone who became my roommate, then my friend, then my sister. Allison and I started out virtual strangers who ended up crying as we said our goodbyes at the airport last month. We wore silly hats as we strolled through Wal-Mart speaking in our fake Russian accents and finding each other by playing Marco Polo (still wearing flamingo-pink straw beach hats). We ran away to the 24-hour Denny’s and got milkshakes at 1 in the morning after the last day of school to reminisce on our first year of teaching. We sang to the prisoners of the Window Rock jail each month, and pressed our faces up to the bars as we held hands with the inmates and prayed with them.

I watched with tears of joy streaming down my face, hugging a coworker as we watched our first class of seniors recess out of the auditorium after turning their tassels. I packed my bags and prepared to leave, fragmented by continual visits to friends who became my family during my year.

The thing I haven’t said, what I haven’t told myself is that it is okay to miss where I’ve been and what I’ve done. Arizona, the Navajo Nation, my students and co-workers and community and friends- they will all be with me forever. It’s okay to miss the places and faces of my time there because it was so important to me.  I promised my juniors I would go back next year and watch them graduate, and it is a promise I intend to keep. I love those kids too much to ever walk away from them, and I already can’t wait to go back and see how much they’ve grown.

It is said that students never forget a good teacher, that they will remember how a teacher made them feel over everything else. I think the same should be said for students. I will never forget my students, how they made me feel because they made me feel alive, like I was doing the right thing. We had our struggles and our successes, but I loved each child dearly, and I hope that even if they forget what I taught them down the line, they will never forget that I tried to make them all understand that they were incredibly important.

That said, I also love my new community and my new city. I love getting to know the people that I will be going to school and living with and meeting my new coworkers. I am excited about teaching in a new school and meeting my new students. I have already designed my classroom in my head and I am near to bursting with ideas for my kids and lessons for this year. I am ready to embark on this new journey and although I am still sad about leaving Arizona sometimes, I know that my memories will sustain until I return. My friends will be my friends although miles separate us, and my students will always be “my kids” no matter where they go in life.

Cheers to the next adventure! 

Happy Birthday, Mother Cabrini

Happy Birthday, Mother Cabrini!

Frances (Francesca) Cabrini established 67 institutions in her 67 years, and her legacy continues through many of those continuous operations, new institutions established in her name, and the work of her order, the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. She is the Patroness of Immigrants, and my Confirmation namesake.

When she was younger, she was told she was too frail to be a sister and was turned away from some religious organizations. Undeterred, she founded her own. Afraid of the water, she nevertheless traveled the ocean many times to accomplish her work and never backed down, not even from the religious men who scoffed her. Wanting to go to China, she accepted a mission to come to the United States and eventually became the first American citizen (naturalized) to become a Saint.

Mother Cabrini cultivated educators and healthcare workers to fulfill her missions. She taught her Sisters to be compassionate and instilled a legacy of “Education of the Heart” (sound familiar?) in them, teaching them to be loving and kind to their pupils.

I am honored to have been educated with the philosophy of “Education of the Heart” at Cabrini College. I am honored that I had the chance to spend a summer with the Cabrini Mission Corps, and learn more about Mother Cabrini’s incredible legacy. I am honored to take her legacy into my own classroom and implement compassionate teaching and love into my classes.

Mother Cabrini took the missionary world by storm by holding her head high and staying true to what she valued. She accomplished much in 67 short years and her passion lives strong in the MSC Sisters, Cabrini Students and Missioners, Cabrini Lay Missionaries and Companions and all those who have felt touched by her presence. 

Ingrained

The walk home from school will be forever ingrained in my heart and soul. 

There were countless walks to and from school this past year. An easy shortcut took you through a common meadow, where you had dodge the cowpies and inquisitive calves.Eventually, you would reach the road leading to and from school.

And every time, it was majestic.

Spanish

As the year grinds to a close, and finals commence, I am reminded of how much these kids have impacted me this year. Yesterday was another great example of their caring and compassion, towards myself and others.

The students in Spanish class had to prepare a meal and simulate a restaurant, where all the conversation was in, of course, Spanish. All the teachers who had a prep period during the presentation were invited to attend the mock restaurant in a classroom that looked surprisingly plausible as a dining room (minus the whiteboards!). Since I had class that period, my students brought me a plate of the food they had made. They had chosen to do a Filipino dish, and were explaining to me what they had created. What made this special, other than the free food (hey, people! Volunteer here!) was what one of the students said.

She told me that they were planning to make a shrimp dish but remembered that I couldn't eat seafood. I vaguely remembered telling them that I was allergic to seafood months ago when we were having a tangent conversation about food after class one day. They remembered. Not only did they remember, but they catered their menu to me, someone who couldn't even come to their presentation.

Wow.

And this. This is what makes it worth it. This is what allows me to know that what I did meant something. And, it made me smile. There is nothing better than this!