A friend of mine posted a "positive sticky note" he made at his local Starbucks, and put it on their wall of positivity. It went something like this: Hurt people hurt people, but helped people help people". And you know what? That is so true.
I'm going to preface this blog post by saying I actually loved my paternal grandparents very much. I always loved going to visit them, and I truly have no "bad" memories of my time with them. One of my earliest memories is from when I was around 2 years old, and we were visiting them when they lived in New Jersey. I remember walking over a bridge near the ocean shore and seeing lights in the distance and my mother pointing them out to me. I remember them living in Florida in a pink house. They had citrus trees in their back yard, and I remember my father helping them spread sod when they first moved in. I loved going to Florida to see them- that was back in the olden days when you didn't just go to Florida, people didn't go away on big vacations like they do now-a-days. So it was such a treat to go down.
But- and here is where my memories of my grandparents diverge from the sappy-grandma's lap/grandpa's front porch rocker memories I see floating around- My memories of my grandparents are waking up every morning and they were already well into their morning can(s) of beer, and their morning cigarettes. I remember going to the Tavern every day with my grandparents when we would visit. It was always the big event of the day. I first learned what a boilermaker was from my grandfather. I remember my grandparents unable to walk from one end of their small home to the other without having to stop for a breath. You see, they were chain-smoking functional alcoholics. There was always a beer ready for one hand, and a cigarette in the other.
But I also remember my grandfather playing his organ every day. I remember him playing, Stars and Stripes Forever on his organ, but changing the words to, "Oh be kind to your web-footed friends... for a duck maybe somebodies mother..." He loved birds, and hated cats (because cats chased and ate the birds).
My brother and I on my grandfathers lap with his beloved organ.
My grandparents, and thus my father, had a darker side. When my father and his sister were younger My grandparents would pass out drunk on a regular basis. I never knew this until I was older, but my father always worked on Christmas to give other officers time off to be with their families, because he didn't have great memories of Christmas when he was younger. His memories of Christmas were of his parents passed out cold, and little to no presents. So, while so many have these images of waking up early on Christmas and rushing down to open presents, my memories are of waking up and waiting for Dad to get home. This isn't a bad memory, mind you! It's just, now that I know the reason behind my memories, it makes them much more poignant.
Many people might use the memories my father had to hate their parents, to become like them, or both. Not my father. Dad took care of his parents until their deaths. I remember him making frequent trips to Florida before each of my grandparents died, just to be there, and to do what needed to be done. I never once heard my father say a negative thing about his parents; I believe he made his peace with them long before I came into being. And I also never once remember my father being drunk, let alone passed out drunk. I was never neglected by my father. He wasn't a man of many words, but he definitely took care of his family. We always came first for him.
Somewhere along the line, whether it was when he was younger, in the Navy, or somewhere else, someone came along to be a helper to my father. I know there are some people who can change the path they are on alone, but in my experience as a teacher, it usually takes someone else in a mentorship type role to get you to change, or alter, your direction. People talk about "grit" and they talk about "mindset", but rare is the person who comes upon grit on their own. Rare is the person who understands the power of "yet" as an individual. It usually takes a helper to help.
Today I was going through pictures with my Mom, helping her get ready to move, and I came across some pictures of Dad from when he was first on the force. Knowing my father's history makes these pictures even more special. The smile on my father's face in these pictures says it all- and knowing that he came from, what many would conclude was a neglected, if not abusive, childhood, says even more. He loved being a police officer. He truly believed he was doing his job to help those who needed it. He believed in the motto, "To Protect and to Serve". I remember seeing a poster in the 70's, of a police officer holding a bleeding child with the words, "And some will still call him a pig"- That was my dad. He had the softest heart for those in need.
Picture of my father with a child he helped rescue from unfit parents. They left the baby out in the rain while then went to a tavern. The parents were gone for about 12 hours, and when they came home and were questioned by the police, never mentioned the baby. When my father brought up the baby to them, they finally admitted they left her.
My father with another child who was neglected. Dad bought him a pop and a sandwich while they waited for others to get there. Also, I remember that watch vividly.
After Dad passed away in February, so many people called Mom to tell her some of the things Dad did for them- from driving around in a squad car when he was a Sergeant, to give his officers walking the beat in the cold of winter a break, to how he helped out someone else. One of his friends developed Alzheimer's, and Dad would go every Sunday to take him golfing and over to the house for dinner. Mom once asked him why he did it, because that friend would never remember, and all Dad said was, "I would hope someone would do that for me."
As a leader, he would stand up for his officers. He once told me that someone came in to complain about something and said to him, "I pay your salary!" To which he reached into his pocket, pulled out a nickel and said, "Here's your money back." He wasn't perfect, and I am sure that wasn't the most professional way of handling that situation, but it also shows Dad's sense of humour. But I have had some of his former officers come up to me and tell me he was the real deal, that they don't make them like my Dad anymore. Even years after he retired, his reputation as being fair and honest followed him. Once, at a high school class reunion, the husband of a classmate came up to me and said, "I never knew your father, he retired before I was on the force, but if I could ever be half the officer he was, I would be lucky."
You see, as teachers, as leaders, as people, it is important for us to not just expect our students to do as we say, we need to mentor and model them to do as we do. Because, guess what? They're going to do as we do no matter what we say.
Hurt people hurt people- we see that every day. But helped people help people- are we looking out for that, too? Are we being the helpers, like Mr. Rogers so famously is quoted as saying?
That student who is lashing out at you, or others? They're hurting somehow. It's up to us to see that and help. I had a student this past year who.many would have automatically written off as mean and unpredictable. But the more I knew him, the easier it was to see the hurt. I spent a lot of time trying to help him. And so did many other professionals at our school. And, he came a very long way. He still has more to go, but I felt like we were in the right track.
I pray, as some of us begin to prepare to head back into the classroom, while others of us are finally relaxing from the past year, that we remember that we are the Helpers. That when we help people, they return it by helping others. These are the acts that will make us all stronger every day.
PS, though I never saw my Father drunk doesn't mean he never drank. He very much did. He taught me to make him a gin martini when I was about 8 or 9 years old. I mean, it was the 70's, it was a very different time 😉😂
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