What Misfits Wish Their Teachers Knew (Guest Blogger – Courtney’s Voice)

July 22, 2015June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 6 Comments

Courtney’s Voice is the online manifestation of a young lady who has wrestled with more in 18 years than many of us do over a lifetime. Rather than hide it away and use the magic of the interwebs to paint a shinier picture of herself and her world, Courtney lays it all out in brutal honestly – right or wrong, hurting or healing, accepted or attacked.
Sometimes it’s rather poetic, and others… painfully blunt. Often it’s both.
While I don’t claim to fully embrace everything Courtney has to say about every issue, I’ve come to rely on her for an unfiltered perspective on things for which teacher school couldn’t possibly prepare us. I love her transparency and willingness to struggle publicly in order to make it a tiny bit easier for other teens or young adults to confront their demons or accept their differences.
And it does.
I asked Courtney if she’d be willing to contribute a guest blog on the subject of “What I wish my teachers knew about me,” primarily from the point of view of the misfit or misunderstood. I’m in no way suggesting teachers consciously neglect ANY of our kids or have some secret malice towards those we don’t quite understand. Honestly, the fact that we connect with as many as we do is something of a miracle, given the generational differences and sheer numbers in front of us every day.
But none of us are omniscient, and none immune to the frustrations or failures associated with carrying responsibility for kids we don’t always ‘get’. This is not a lecture, but a reminder of what we so easily miss if not ever-watchful and ‘tuned in’ to our little darlings. It’s as a reminder of our calling.
Thanks, Courtney. I’m glad you’re here.

Hello. You don’t know me, you probably don’t even remember my name, but I’m your student.

I’m that eager beaver over achiever who sits in the front of the class and raises her hand for every question. What you don’t know is that the pressure my parents put on me, and that I put on myself, is starting to break me. When you “talk” to the troubled kids, I often wish it were me you were talking to so I could open up about how much weight is on my shoulders.

I’m that kid who sits in the back, slouching and you don’t think I’m paying attention. Truth is, I am trying really hard but my effort goes unnoticed. Teachers constantly tell me to try harder and it makes me want to give up because I feel like I am not good enough.

I’m the class clown, always loud and making inappropriate jokes. You try your best to hide how you really feel about me, but you don’t realize my jokes are me crying out for attention. Maybe I am unheard at home and enjoy that people listen in class. Or maybe I am hurting and use comedy as a way to cope. It is my way of yelling for help without having to say the words.

Sometimes I think that making others laugh will somehow mute my pain.

I’m that quiet kid who never speaks. You call on me, but barely hear my answers when I give them to you. Sometimes you look at me like you pity me. But I don’t want your pity; I have social anxiety and you put me in a tough place by forcing me to answer in front of the entire class.

I’m that girl that dresses like a guy and prefers a different name from the girly one I was born with. Or I’m that boy that likes other boys even though it means getting beaten up in the locker room because everyone thinks I’m checking them out. Or maybe I’m that girl who just isn’t sure if she likes girls or guys. And I am just starting to come to terms with who I am.

It’s been a long journey of self-discovery, and all the kids around me make me hate myself because they don’t understand. I cower when you call on me because I don’t need any more attention brought to me. They ask me why I’m the way I am, or lecture me about what is “right.” I’m tired of trying to explain that it’s just who I am. I can’t help it, or explain it so they’ll get it.

All I want is for someone to care, and for my feelings to matter, even if they don’t agree with them.

I’m that kid who can’t even fake a smile for the jokes you think are so funny. Every day I walk in looking like I haven’t slept in days, and often I haven’t. Depression has set in with me and I just can’t make the effort.

Every student, no matter how they behave, has a story. We all go through things we wish others would see.

That misfit student you can’t seem to put your finger on? The one that gets on your nerves for being silent, or for being too loud? They are screaming in one way or another for your attention. Sure, they may be cold with you at first when you try to talk to them or you try to get them to have a one-on-one conversation. But don’t walk away. Don’t give up on them.

Honestly, they need someone to try for them, to fight for them, to show them they matter. They want you to know that they are struggling, whether it’s stress over college and the future, or whether they’re worried they won’t have food on their plate tonight.

Some are being bullied so badly all they can think about is how much easier it would be if they were no longer here. Others may be worried about just passing so they can go to the next grade.

I have been all of the students I listed above. Each year I tried a new persona as a way to cry out for help when none of the other ways worked.

Luckily, my 6th grade year, I had a teacher who genuinely noticed how “off” I was. She saw that I was pressuring myself too much while also battling social anxiety. She’s the one who encouraged me to write as a way to cope with my feelings, and to be more vocal. It was obvious to her that I didn’t have a voice, and she thought that writing could be my voice.

She was an English teacher, and after a few assignments, she came to me after class one day. “Your writing is raw and emotional in a way I haven’t seen in a while.”

Simple words, but for me they held so much meaning. To me, it meant that the feelings I poured out into everything I wrote were being heard. After that day, I began to pour myself into my assignments even more. I started showing her poems I had written that were just for me. I opened up to her and talked to her about the serve depression I was facing, all because she took the time to acknowledge my feelings; to acknowledge me.

Years later, I connected with her on Facebook and explained to her just how much of an impact it had, her taking time out of her day to encourage me and comfort me. Little did she know that simply talking to me would lead to that voice being amplified by that writing she had pressed me to continue. There was no way she could have known that it was because of her that I would start writing and speaking up against the injustices I faced and I have watched others face.

Taking just one minute to talk to your students really can change their life.

Sometimes we just need a boost. Every now and then we need a shoulder to lean on and an ear to talk into. Just because we don’t come to you first doesn’t mean we don’t need you. Sometimes we just have our own ways of trying to get your attention. Sometimes we think we don’t want your attention, even when we do.

Don’t think that we don’t care about what you say, even if we do have an attitude. Sometimes we simply can’t admit to needing the help. But your words run deep and ignite things inside of us. Teachers are inspirations. Use that power for good.

I was a misfit. Fitting in just wasn’t something I could do. I was suffering from serve depression and anxiety. But my recovery started with one teacher who took the time to understand me and talk to me, even if she didn’t believe in everything I did or support all the causes I did. Her taking the time to say, in so many words, “Hey I care,” helped me to realize there are people out there who will listen and there is a reason to keep fighting.

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Entrance Videos (Updated)

July 18, 2015June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 7 Comments

Update (8/3/15)

I’m a little late on announcing the results, but they were suprisingly close – and cast with passion! I like that. The Final Tally:

We Care A Lot (Faith No More) – 18 votes

Let The Day Begin (Black Rebel Motorcycle) – 19 votes

Because I’m Awesome (The Dollyrots) – 20 votes. My NEW Official Entrance Video! I’m giddy. (Videos posted below)

I was actually a bit worried there might be a tie until a late email vote was cast – and by someone with whom I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever interacted before. So… intrigue and drama to spare!

Now, the Edu-Blogger Entrance Video Challenge:

What’s YOUR Entrance Video? And I’m warning you, peeps – if you don’t choose, I might just choose one for you. If that sounds like a good way to do it, you obviously haven’t been following this blog very carefully.

This challenge is issued to all #oklaed peeps, whether regular bloggers or not (it can be a Classroom Entrance Video). It is additionally extended to edu-bloggers at large, including some of you legit, big-name types who really should have thought of this before. I mean, what do you DO over at those name-brand major blogs all the time? It’s summer – what is there to SAY about education until, like, Labor Day?

Let’s get rolling folks. I’ll compile and begin posting as responses roll in.

( Original Post Begins Here ↓↓↓ )

Here’s the thing.

I’m working on a post about Sam Patch, whose claim to fame was jumping from waterfalls as a form of socio-economic protest. I’m also looking forward to a very cool guest blog from one of the most amazing young ladies on the interwebs. I still need to expand the Pedagogy page, and I’m behind on some of my reading and research. Oh – and there’s this series on the Tulsa Race Riots I keep coming back to without quite figuring out how I want it to go.

But I can’t stop thinking how much I need an entrance video.

‘Need’ might be a little strong, but ‘want’ sounds so selfish – and you know all I do here is for YOU, and for THE CHILDREN. So maybe what I should say is that I want an entrance video to better help prepare and guide YOU, my Eleven Faithful Followers (#11FF) and to then – by proxy – better inspire and enlighten the children.

For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, most WWE Superstars (yes, that’s ‘professional wrestling’) have an entrance song and video which kicks in as they enter the viewable part of the arena and approach the ring. The tone, lyrics, and visual choices of each video quickly shape the basic character and style of each performer for anyone who may not be familiar with these personalities. It also stirs crowd reaction, both positive and negative (and in the WWE, even negative is positive – the only bad reaction is when there’s little or no reaction). Entrance videos are the bomb.

I want one.

Here, I’ll show you what I mean. Don’t worry, these aren’t full videos – just clips of a half-dozen or so in order to give you the idea.

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But I’m torn. There are songs I’d definitely adapt as my own, but whose videos aren’t really me at all. There are different aspects to my depth and wisdom which some tracks capture better than others. I’m such a complex and enriching creature to experience, it’s hard to know which elements to emphasize. In a way, it’s a shame to limit me at all.

But I want one.

I’ve narrowed it down to three, and I’m opening the floor for voting. The first 12 people who vote via Twitter (make sure you tag me so I’ll know) will receive a coveted Blue Cereal Education #11FF Steaming Hot Nectar Receptacle. It’s the coffee cup so cool, it deserves it’s own entrance video.

But I’ll take as many votes as Twitter can stand between now and July 31st, at which point I’ll announce the results and decree as my very own whichever video has won. I’ll use it every time, um… well, I’ll bring it up whenever there’s…

It will be my new, official entrance video. Shut up.

AND… HEADS UP TO OTHER EDU-BLOGGERS. On August 1st, along with the announcement, I’ll be challenging every #oklaed blogger and many of you beyond the trappings of my poor state to choose an entrance song and/or video yourselves, to be compiled in a separate post. I’m going to be quite belligerent about it, so start working on the idea NOW, kids. (I’m looking at you, Robertson. Don’t make me come over there.)

If you DON’T choose, there’s always the danger I’ll take suggestions from others, or choose myself. Do you really want to risk where THAT could go?

But for now, my narrowed list – the three final contenders…

“We Care A Lot” – Faith No More (this is one is my favorites, lyrics and generational issues-wise, but the video is a tiny bit… not quite me. Or worse, maybe it is.)

[[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_small”,”fid”:”1138″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”}}]]

“Let The Day Begin” – Black Rebel Motorcycle (I almost went with the original from The Call, but this video supports the lyrics in an interesting way, and it’s edgier, like me. Nothing personal. Rob.)

[[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_small”,”fid”:”1139″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”}}]]

“Because I’m Awesome” – The Dollyrots (because $#%* the establishment, let’s Pop Punk Against The Machine – am I right? Am I? Hello? Anyone?)

[[{“type”:”media”,”view_mode”:”media_small”,”fid”:”1140″,”attributes”:{“alt”:””,”class”:”media-image”,”typeof”:”foaf:Image”}}]]

I look forward to your comments and participation. Yes, you – specifically. Because you’re awesome.

A Negro Girl’s Prose Poem (1889)

July 16, 2015June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

The Library of Congress has a fairly impressive newspaper search availabe at Chronicling America. You can search some ridiculous number of publications from 1836 – 1922. I’m not sure why it’s available for those specific years, but I suspect that’s more from my not paying attention than anything else.

The thing is, it’s strangely addictive to just search various words or names and see what you find. Last year, while looking for some information on Black involvement in the first Oklahoma land run, I came across this article. I’ve since found it printed in several different papers, all around Spring or early Summer of 1889. It grabs me and breaks me every time.

She Wrote A Poem.
It Was Real Poetry, Too, Although It Didn’t Rhyme.
In attendance at one of the Indianapolis ward schools is a little colored girl nine years old. She is miserable, indeed, for at home she is ill-treated and the shoes she wears, and often the clothes, are supplied by the teachers or some of her classmates. There is a tender poetic vein in her makeup, and it found vent in a composition.
The teacher took a little pansy plant to school one day and told the pupils of the flower. Two days after she asked them to write a poem of it and gave them the privilege of having the pansy talk and tell the story, and this, according to the Indianapolis Journal, is what the little girl wrote, the word pansy in the copy being the only one dignified with a capital:
“I am only a Pansy. My home is in a little brown house. I sleep in my little brown house all winter, and I am now going to open my eyes and look about. ‘Give me some rain, sky, I want to look out of my window and see what is going on,’ I asked, so the sky gave me some water and I began to climb to the window. at last I got up there and I open my eyes. oh what a wonderful world I seen when birds sang songs to me, and grasshoppers kissed me, and dance with me, and creakets smiled at me, and I had a pretty green dress. there was trees that grow over me and the wind faned me. the sun smiled at me, and little children smelled me. one bright morning me and the grasshoppers had a party he would play with me and a naughty boy pick me up and tore me up and I died and that was the last of Pansy.”

What could I possible add to that?

State Testing: The Ultimate Solution

July 10, 2015June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 5 Comments

Oklahoma is rewriting standards for the 143rd time in the past decade – each time ‘raising the bar’ even higher than the time before, we are assured. National struggles continue over Common Core in all its manifestations and retitled remnants. Should we move to the ACT to save money? Is it better to grade writing exams with crappy software or crappy temps rounded up on Craigslist? Should we punish 3rd graders for not developing at a pace of our liking? Stop high schoolers from graduating for their test scores? Devalue teachers who take on tough classes and work in the most challenging districts? The rhetoric alone gives me a headache.

We’re can’t even agree on WHAT we should be measuring – which subjects, which skills, and at what level. Should we one day solve that (we won’t), we’ll still have to reach some sort of consensus HOW we can evaluate whatever it is with any sort of accuracy or consistency (we can’t) – and all at lowest-bidder prices.

Fear not, my Eleven Faithful Followers – for I am about to reveal to you the final truth regarding this matter. I am confident my solution is both eloquent and attainable, for that is how I roll. You might want to sit down for this.

To hell with the tests.

Seriously, $&%# ‘em. I refuse to care about them one way or the other anymore. I’m tired of watching good teachers with missionary zeal end up stressed out and derailed due to the pressure of some stupid state test and its randomly shuffled cut scores. I hereby revolt against the entire process.

Parents are already opting out in some places, and a few brave teachers in Tulsa Public have refused to administer anything they believe is bad for their kids. I applaud each and every one of them.

But what I’m instituting is more basic. Starting today, we universally refuse to worry about tests or testing. When they happen, they happen. Our kids will do well, or they won’t. Our schools will shine, or they won’t.

We must no longer give even tiny little damns.

You didn’t go to teacher school to improve test scores – none of us did. You, like the vast majority of your peers, signed up to save the world – or part of it, anyway. You became a teacher because you love kids, and history, or music, or art, or math, or literature, or some other life-altering something. You signed up because you care.

Silly idealist.

You may teach a high stakes, heavily tested subject, or something marginalized as ‘extra-curricular’. Maybe you coach, or sponsor, or organize, or publish. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you just show up and teach your tired old butt off every day and that will just have to be enough.

But you signed up to make a difference. You signed up to teach kids.

So let’s teach. Let’s love our kids where they are and who they are, without concern for where they stand in relation to someone else’s legislative pablum. We’ll challenge them, and push them, and demand great things of them no matter WHAT their circumstances or gifts – but I’m no longer willing to frame anything important in terms of state standards or national goals. I’ll work for my clueless lil’ darlings, and I’ll do it because I like it. I don’t care about the rest.

So to hell with the tests.

Most of the time, if we just teach the way we know we should, the kids will do fine on the tests anyway. But even if they won’t, as soon as we begin to focus on things BECAUSE they’ll be on the test, or rush through content BECAUSE the test is coming, our priorities drift away from our calling. Testing puts us in an adversarial role towards our weaker students, and rewards ZIP codes over zeal.

Testing is anti-learning, and anti-education. It doesn’t even $#%&ing work the way they keep pretending it does.

I can’t prevent lawmakers from labeling my kids as losers, or failures, or stupid, but I don’t have to be the instrument of such blasphemy. Bill Gates may excoriate my darlings for their lack of college and career readiness while Sir Michael Barber shakes his mass-mandated little fingers at them for their reading scores or their lack of interest in Algebra II – but I don’t have to help.

I don’t have to abuse my kids to please lawmakers or publishing companies. I refuse.

My students are awesome. Some of them are lazy, but that’s fixable. Others lack certain skills or critical content knowledge, but I’ll ride their behinds until they progress. They’re amazing, even while they make me crazy. They’re perfect, even when I have to kill them dead in front of God and everyone in order to get their attention. Give me those tired, poor, muddled classes, yearning for a ‘B’.

I love them.

What will happen to my kids if they don’t pass their state tests? They might have to take them again, which kinda sucks. If not, there are a dozen alternate ways to graduate. Generally, as long as the children are suffering, hate anything involving learning or school, and replace natural belief in their own possibilities with a deep loathing towards their truest selves, the state is satisfied.

I don’t want students to go out of their way to fail the damn things, but neither will we divert meaningful time or energy into passing them – the trade-off is simply too great.

If this is a calling, then let’s do it as a calling. That’s why we put up with the crappy conditions in some places and the degrading pay in most. It’s why we’re so tired, and why it’s sometimes hard not to become jaded, or bitter, or simply give up and go through the motions.

If this is a calling, then let’s do it as a calling. Make a difference, help kids, pour yourself out in a desperate effort to light a few more fires. Look your broken ones in the eyes and tell them that the world is a liar, and that they’re amazing, and beautiful, and powerful, and smart. If you can’t – if you’re afraid because someone’s pressuring you over test scores, and that’s the priority – then why are you even here?

Seriously – go get a real job. There are better gigs. Some even pay.

Let them fire you. Fire ALL of us. Well, the good ones, at least – the ones unwilling to play that game, even a little. The ones who’ve decided to follow their calling until they’re shown the door.

Let those principals and superintendents reach out to that long line of people desperate to teach public school in Oklahoma, or Texas, or wherever you are. Around here, that line consists of something like… zero people.

OK, that’s not entirely true – there’s that pompous unshaven guy with all the degrees who spills his coffee everywhere, and that weird chick with no concept of personal space or social cues. I guess they could hire both of them. But after that, their options are pretty much exhausted.

The rest of us aren’t going to worry about the tests, no matter how many times they’re revised or how high a ‘bar’ some legislator thinks they’ve set. Our bar is higher anyway – and so much better.

If they don’t like what we’re doing, they can find someone who will cooperate. We’ll sell shoes or fix computers or work in our brother-in-law’s insurance office. More money, less stress.

To hell with your tests. I don’t care about them, and I won’t play along any more. I’ll no longer compromise my calling or my kids to cater to the rhetoric of liars and fools.

And neither should you.

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The Other (Two)

July 4, 2015June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

Given the ‘All Men Are Created Equal’-ness of our founding ideals, how is it that we retain such an entrenched sense of ‘The Other’? I respectfully suggest it’s a combination of five factors. I make no claim they hold equal sway or interact in any sort of conscious or rational way.

One: War. Given that the last formal declaration of war made by the United States was in 1941, we sure seem to stay militarily involved everywhere, all the time. Despite mankind’s penchant for perpetrating violence on one another, it’s still actually rather difficult to get large numbers of people comfortable doing horrible things to one another. So… we’ve developed propaganda – most of which is centered around the ‘Other’-ing of the enemy.

Over time, that covers a pretty wide variety of peoples and groups. And it’s sticky. Once you’ve heard a political figure caricaturized on Saturday Night Live, you see and hear that figure through that lens indefinitely (just ask Sarah Palin or Gerald Ford). Imagine the long-term impact of government-sponsored demonization of every culture or color we’ve bombed in the past century.

This is hardly unique to American history, by the way – but we do it so much better than most. ‘Merica!

Two: Self-justification. Think of the last person you treated poorly. Someone you shamefully used or betrayed. If you’re so pure and caring as to be beyond such a past, think about the last person who misused you instead. How does mistreatment change the attitude of the abuser towards the abused?

You might assume there’d be guilt, sympathy, maybe some desire to make things right. More typical, however, is an increased hostility and loathing towards the person violated. The more we mistreat someone, the more we despise them. It’s an ugly human nature thing.

The United States has done some wonderful stuff and aspired to some amazing ideals. Mostly, though, we’ve lied, cheated, stolen from and killed everyone we found in our way or insufficiently submissive to our whims. Four centuries of slavery, virtual genocide of hundreds of Amerindian cultures, contrived war with Mexico, unbridled Imperialism – and that’s not even tackling the past century.

And sure, stuff happens. Wars are fought. Some win, some lose. It’s not really conquering half the world of which we should consider being ashamed. It’s how often every step, every lie, every death, every betrayal was cloaked in friendship and democracy, godliness and goodwill.

Stalin or Hitler may have been some crazy bastards, but they were at least transparent about their desire to rule the world and crush everyone in their way. We’re more like the guy who keeps slipping and stabbing people or knocking them off the ledge while proclaiming ‘Oops!’ and ‘That is SO not what I meant to happen – are you OK?’

How do we reconcile our stated ideals with our behavior? Perpetually demonize or marginalize the loser! They weren’t simply defeated – it was TOTALLY THEIR FAULT despite all we tried to do to help. But… some people!

Three: Cognitive Dissonance. This is a variation on the previous factor, but camped out in ‘after’ rather than ‘during’. We have a natural urge to see ourselves in a reasonably favorable light, to believe in a just and ordered universe, and to remain synced with our peers and professed ideals. So whether reading history or watching the news, people of all nationalities, educational attainments, and belief systems, have an amazing capacity to process and funnel input into our previously existing paradigms and passions, regardless of what others perceive.

Remember when you first fell in love? Your friends encouraged caution, but everything he said or did only reinforced your affections. You saw with enamored eyes and heard with captivated ears. Later, during that ugly break-up? He couldn’t eat toast or hum in the shower without you knowing for a FACT he was doing it just to annoy you. Every word or look, every unconscious action, became proof of what an ass he truly was. Different filters were being applied to make sure reality cooperated with what you needed to be true.

We do that with everything.

One example: if America is truly a ‘land of opportunity,’ but large pockets of people remain unsuccessful, it suggests the possibility that the system is broken, or inequitable. That risks calling into question MY success, and negating MY hard work and MY good choices and WTF?!

If I ‘Other’-ize those less successful, I’ll spare myself some discomfort. It’s not MY fault how ‘They’ are. I’m with ‘Us’. We reconcile dissonance by categorizing inconvenient people and dumping all responsibility on them. Conflict resolved. They’re not doing it right.

By the way, my lefty friends – you do this too. I’m not just talking to the conservatives. Here, I’ll prove it.

“Christians.”

Yep. All that stuff you just thought and felt without a moment’s consideration? That’s you filtering so your universe is more convenient. Et tu, litteratus?

Four: Unrealistic Expectations. Modern America is the land of the 23-minute sitcom solution, the feel-good moral of the story. We want so badly for things to fit neat narratives, even when it comes to matters of equity and justice.

How often have we been told that everyone is the same, regardless of race, religion, or background? Is it true? What about the idea that if we’ll just get to know one another, we’ll walk away with some treasured bit of insight or understanding? Does that always happen? Unless Pocahontas marries John Smith every time, we feel like something hasn’t quite resolved.

Don’t get me wrong – it’s nifty when it does. Sometimes we ARE the same, and we can often learn much from one another. Sometimes the Mighty Ducks or the X-Men pull together and save the day.

But our obsession with such niceties too easily morphs into a subconscious sensation that unless this happens, the ‘Other’ hasn’t held up their end of the deal. They haven’t established full personhood or value because we haven’t had our fairy tale moment.

Our national birth certificate doesn’t say that all have the potential to become equal once they learn the system, nor does it suggest that our warm fuzziness together is in any way a prerequisite to the whole ‘unalienable rights’ motif.

I shouldn’t have to learn something nifty about the world through your eyes or embrace the way our differences bring us together for you to be ‘all men’. We can’t place conditions on anything we simultaneously insist the Creator has endowed to all.

Five: We Suck. “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” (Jeremiah 17:9, KJV). We maintain only the thinnest façade of decency, the flakiest gilding of civilization. For all of our progress, we’re wretchedly close to savages and beasts. You show me the Louvre, I’ll show you a million hits on a YouTube video of a girl being beaten up. You offer Shakespeare, I’ll counter with WWE.

The ‘Other’ is a punching bag for our primitive selves – Littluns and Piggies for our Jacks. We may never completely overcome it, but we can fight it. We can insist without exception or equivocation that we’re all the ‘Us’ spoken of in our most foundational ideals. Otherwise, we’re doing the most important thing we can ever do completely and totally wrong.

And blaming Others while we do.

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