"Washington D.C. - A very public education"

"Government is not reason; it is not eloquent; it is force. Like fire, it is a dangerous servant and a fearful master." -  George Washington

Those closest to me thought I was absolutely out of my mind for signing up to take 80 eighth grade students to Washington, D.C. this week.  Perhaps they had a point but the outcome, nay, the sleep deprivation, was well worth the message that a trip to Washington sends, not only to young people but to adults like myself, who shockingly have never been to Washington.  This trip would be a lesson in accountability, history, and the importance of public service.

The six hour bus ride which began at 6 a.m. took us to the United States Holocaust Museum.  At approximately 12:30 p.m., we unloaded from the buses to stand witness to the horrors of the Holocaust. Washington was unseasonably cold and bitter, very fitting for a visit to a collection of historical horror. The museum which is also a place for families of the Holocaust to grieve and pay respects, requires absolute silence.  It was interesting to watch each one of the students comply.  The smells of the cargo train carrying so many innocent Jews to their death, and the smell of hundreds of leather shoes piled high were all that was needed to send a message and ask the ultimate questions, "Why? How?"  So much loss of life.  Our students got on the bus and were quiet. So was I.  Did they get the message? Did they?

After lunch, it was off to the Smithsonian's three museums and let me tell you, I bee-lined it directly to the red ruby slippers worn by Judy Garland in "The Wizard of Oz." Call me crazy, but those slippers meant something to me as a child. They meant hope, and well, they were pretty.  Not far from the slippers were the presidential exhibits.  I learned about each and every presidential assassination and it sickened me but then I walked to the exhibit of the first ladies. Behind every man is their steadfast, stable and loving if not honest partner.  Our first ladies had taste, strength, and withstood so much of their husband's accomplishments and sorrows.  I saw the airplanes of Amelia Earhart and Charles Lindbergh.  I saw the most beautiful orchid exhibit. It reminded me how badly I wished the spring weather would arrive.  Back on the bus.

After dinner, it was the World War II Memorial, the Korean War Memorial, the Vietnam Memorial and then if history had not presented enough heartbreak, the majestic Lincoln Memorial.  I stood on the exact spot that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. gave his "I have a dream" speech and looked at Lincoln and wondered whether their incredible strength and personal sacrifice could ever be duplicated.  Where did these men, including all those who died in the face of war, get their personal conviction? Were we, as the public, truly grateful or have we become complacent?

Nothing would prepare me for the following day.  The morning sun and the chilled air and the comfort of the bus and our driver, took us to the Capital. At the security checkpoint, the alarm sounded as I walked through and I immediately put my hands in the air.  It was my bracelet!!!!!  Let me just say for the record, they are VERY serious about security at the Capital.  As we walked through the rotunda, among the statues and the art work, Speaker of the House, John Boehner walked through with his head down and headed to his office. I noticed him but none of the kids did. The tour guide brought him to our attention with nothing more than another indication like she did with the other statues and paintings.  I thought to myself, . "Mr. Boehner, you couldn't have thrown us a bone here and perhaps waved or said "Hello," and nodded your head.  Really?" I learned today that a budget was passed on the "Hill" so perhaps I'll forgive him...this time.

The changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Solider, the thousands of white marble gravestones and crosses strategically placed on acres and acres of  farmland were next. Not a word was spoken. The understated graves of brothers, the Kennedys, the youngest having probably suffered the most, burying the other two along with one of the most intriguing first ladies in history.  I cried, silently.  No one should have to go through the violence or pain while living a life of service.Or perhaps, this is what a life of service means for those strong enough to withstand it.  We have thousands, literally thousands that fit that bill.  

Then, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was before us and there was The White House.  It was grand, simple and very, very white.  I would go as far as to say pure white which of course is the point.  The White House is the ultimate symbol of the greatest decisions ever made by one man in any given term as the leader of this country.  Across the street was an older, weathered woman manning the longest protest in history. That's what Washington is...our voice, our ideas, our way of life intermingled with politics.

 The end of our trip brought us to the Battle of Iwo Jima Memorial, the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial and the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial. Did you know that if you rub the ears of the statue of Roosevelt's beloved dog Fallah, that it will bring good luck? Luck was something I was slowly doubting ever existed in history. History was teaching me that personal sacrifice, candor, intelligence created our nation and the Washington that we were seeing today. As we and the very, very exhausted eighth grade class of 2013 got on the bus to journey home, I couldn't help but feel that I was the one who had changed.  

Washington made me feel rebellious, passionate and ready to invent a future generation that would not settle, that would study and educate themselves with some direction from teachers like ourselves.These eighth graders would hopefully develop the respect and the love of their own history.  For myself, as I got off the bus,  and watched anxious parents hug and kiss their children and grab their suitcases , I grabbed my suitcase and returned home to my husband, who by the way, served his country in the United States Coast Guard. I felt like we could all change the direction of our lives, our country with one simple act...the act of service to those in need. The act of service to protect the future of those eighth graders who by the way, did object to the curfew but wished me good night in spite of their objections.  I wish them a bright, successful future but more than that, I wish them a full history, one that will be epic and life-changing.

"With a Conscience" - "I'm fun size!"

“It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, It’s the size of the fight in the dog.”- Mark Twain

The day I was born was a worrisome situation.  Being my own overly anxious self,  I  decided to come into this world a week early, five pounds was my birth weight.  Literally, I was no more than a bag of sugar. I was put into an incubator for a spell.(I guess that was probably everyone's first sign that I needed to have some boundaries.) HA! When my mom and dad brought me home, my mother jokingly said to my grandmother, "Maria, she's so tiny.  What are we going to do?"  My grandmother, 4', 9"  tall said, "Micky, we'll keep her."

When I reached two or three years of age. I would not stay in my crib.  I would use my legs to push the crib away from the wall and hoist myself over the side.  Clearly, I would not be contained nor would I be protected. That was only the beginning.  When I was four, I left the yard and walked about a quarter mile to the neighbor's house to play with my friend Mitchell.  When I was four, I also decided I could ride the very tame, sweet, horse owned by the farmer who borders our property by coaxing him with carrots and then use the rope I found to lasso him and go for my ride.  Clearly, I had no awareness of my height or petite stature.  I just wanted to "do stuff."  My parents' hair turned gray in those years.

I've learned through the decades that height plays an incredible role in people's perception of you.  There are experts who say that those of the petite stature, are less likely be taken seriously.  They are less likely to be promoted on the job. They vie for the attention and the voice that others readily get because, well, it's easier to speak someone eye to eye and ignore the voices that may be brewing below you.  Those who are "vertically challenged" are very rarely listened to because, if we are mature, if we are respectful, listening does NOT become an issue.

I learned through the years that I would compensate for my height, by being funny.  I would be larger than life or at least larger than the average life.  Those who are petite stay younger by nature because everyone treats them as though they're younger and for years, I loved that because that meant I didn't have to think for myself.  I only had to worry about what others thought.  And I did.  I worried.

I carried the "Peter Pan Syndrome" for years.  I refused to grow because I just had it too good.  I was protected.  I was loved.  But it took decades for me to accept adulthood as the natural order of life.  As I entered the "real world," I realized that nobody would take me seriously, if I didn't. By the time I reached 25, "nuggies" were getting tiresome.  I lost my sense of humor but not my sense of adventure. It would take years before I realized that humor was a true, true salvation and that humor above anything else is vitally important no matter what you're experiencing.

When there is something physically different about a person, we forget often that they are human beings.  Now I say this with an understanding of human nature that I didn't have while I was growing up.  Being different, means that not only are you a great conversation piece but you never have to look far for a chance to change a perception or an opinion. I knew I was different.  Sometimes I asked for more attention than was welcome.  That's what happens when you're different.  People gravitate towards pointing out the obvious even if the obvious was not necessarily obvious to me.  That took maturity.

As I teach each year, I witness first hand how difficult it is for any of the young people I teach to enjoy their obvious differences.  Then they spend their time with me and hopefully realize that being different is a blessing.  Being different is their door to their future interests and passions.  At least that's what I discovered.  By the time I was 18 years of age the school had voted me "most individualistic" for the year book. I was also voted the most humorous.  How I wish my students, my kids saw that there's always a way to hold to individuality instead of giving it away for the sake of acceptance.

I married a man who appreciates individuality. It took a while for that to evolve mainly because I had to let go of my hurt that I would never be like anyone else. At least that's what I thought as I matured. Thankfully, my family always appreciated my individuality. How I wish with all of my heart that we could embrace differences instead of stating the obvious. 

I turned 52 this past weekend and the only thing I could think about is that I made it this far in spite of all that fight to be like everyone else. With every birthday, I find less and less regret and more and more acceptance of what is.  You don't height to reach heights.  You simply need to believe.

So, to conclude, "I'm fun size."  I believe in fun and being different.  "Fun size" means that I am just enough for this world.  We are all "enough" as long as our hearts are in the right place.