Putting to words

"Sometimes there aren't words.
Sometimes sentences and phrases can't do the moment justice.
Sometimes language fails,
and you're speechless."
(Rob Bell, What We Talk About When We Talk About God, 87)


We are doing poetry in English class this week. Not so much teaching students what it means to read a poem critically, but doing poetry. I am sharing poems with my students. I am asking my students to share poems with me. We are investigating the tone, rhythm, and purpose of the artwork of poets.

But throughout it all, we are trying to understand what it feels like to put words to what can't be said.

Today we looked at Kaveh Akbar. We looked at Naomi Shihab Nye. We looked at Billy Collins. We looked at Nikki Giovanni. We looked at Osama Alomar. We looked at Pablo Neruda. We looked at Mikko Harvey. We looked at each student's own writing, their own exploration of what it means to put words to the impossible feelings and experiences of the world.

But the moment that won the day?

When I found a poem for one specific student. I slid the book over to them and just nodded my head.

And they read the poem. The poem by an unknown Chilean woman. The poem that put words to what can't be said. The poem by a person whose name can never be known.

And the student's response?

"That is the best poem I have ever read."


For today, those words are enough because I know when I see that student tomorrow she will have new words.

The Appointment

I recently watched the film The Greatest Showman with my children. It was a film they have been asking to watch for a very long time (well, at least since "literally all" their friends had seen it).

So my wife and I watched it first as parents. You know, just to play that "PG" rating by the books for once.

And we were kind of unimpressed. Frankly, we were critical of the lack of character development, the glossing over of elements of plot and depth that we felt could have been so much more masterfully orchestrated. The music was good and we felt it would make for some great talking points as a family.

Then we watched the movie with our kids.

We saw it through their eyes.

Suddenly, the plot was gripping.
The characters were filled with magic and wonder.
The. Movie. Was. Just. So. Good.

But the music...the music was incredible.

I've always dreamt my life could be a musical. I love musicals. I loved being in them, I loved watching them. It wasn't until I watched the film through the eyes of my kids, though, that I really fell in love with it. Just the opening lines to "A Million Dreams," when viewed through the lens of my six year old son were enough to bring me to tears.


"I close my eyes and I can see
The world that's waiting up for me..."


As I write this reflection, I imagine watching my son closing his eyes,
swallowing hard,
and dreaming of a world of possibilities.
A world that is his.

And I know the world will disappoint him, that there will be days and weeks and months and years that feel like his dreams are too big for the world...that they're too wild, too reckless. The world will tell him that what he wants to do is...

is...

impossible.

This week I was hit with a realization. It came in the midst of some personal disappointment and a realignment of the "dreams" I had for myself....dreams that have been deferred. Dreams that, as Langston knew, will someday "explode!"

Here is my realization:

When disappointment strikes, realize that THIS appointment called your life is greater than your disappointment. This is what I am learning this week. Sometimes, in the midst of rush hour, we must be reminded how to walk. I am practicing my walking. “A foot here, a foot there.”

These last words were inspired by one of the final poems my incredible friend and mentor, Tim Delehaunty, wrote before his death this fall.

This week my appointment found me practicing my walking alongside my students as they outlined their World Congress papers. They are developing the foundation for incredible, analytical, insightful papers on some of the biggest problems (and solutions!) facing the world today (and tomorrow!). One of the major sticking points in their visions, though, was the conclusion.


"Mr. McDonough?" one student asked during a writing conference. "I've already written about the future and outlook of my topic...and I even included solutions and ways we can help. What should my conclusion be?"


I smiled and bent my knees. My shoulders shrugged and my hands gripped the air, outstretched as if holding two bricks gently before me. There was a glimmer in my eye...


"Yes!" I whispered excitedly. "That is an incredible question...that's the incredible question you need to be asking...but the only person who can answer it is YOU. This is your opportunity to place yourself into the narrative. This is where you get to speak from right here [as I patted my heart]. This is where you get to design the world you want to live in...tell us how this research has changed YOU and inspire ME, your reader, to think differently about the way I lead my life. Use this conclusion to make every second from this point forward different for me!"

And in that moment, I found my appointment.

It wasn't my forever appointment, it was my appointment for today. It found me in a place"...where no one's been before, but it feels like home."

"A Million Dreams" (from The Greatest Showman)