Thank You For Your Service

I was at the World War II Memorial one day about six years ago, and an Honor Flight arrived. Honor Flights were originally set up to take World War II vets to their World War II memorial in Washington DC. The plan was that every veteran who COULD go would get to go, for free. And every Veteran would have a person to personally accompany them.

Do you know this all started with one guy named Earl? He thought of something, wanted to do it, and then actually did it. It started with 12 Vets in six private planes. Now it’s happening all over the country, and it has extended to Korean and Vietnam Veterans, as well.

I have been so fortunate to witness Honor Flights during my tours of Washington DC. I have never been with a group of Honor Flight Vets, but I have seen them many times at the World War II memorial, and numerous times at Arlington National Cemetery, where they lay a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, as part of their day in DC.

Because of guys like this one.

It is a very moving experience for me, every single time. It’s also a wonderful time to teach students about respect, honor, and getting outside of oneself to thank someone else for something. We talk about going up to a Veteran and saying, “Thank you for your service.” And we talk about how maybe it seems embarrassing to say it right after someone else said it (Well, what ISN’T embarrassing to an 8^th grader?), but how it doesn’t matter to the Veteran – every single time and every single person is a gift to their heart, and a blessing to them. My personal hope is that it teaches them to thank others, but I also hope it teaches them to be brave. To do and say the right thing regardless of what your “Friends” are doing.  Let’s be honest: I have never seen a Veteran rebuff a kid for thanking them – whether at a Memorial or in the airport. Every Veteran I have ever seen has been gracious and thankful. So, what a great opportunity to teach kids to get outside of themselves for ten seconds – it’s a win-win situation. It teaches them to speak out, make eye contact and thank someone, and their efforts will be appreciated in return.

I will tell you it’s a pretty neat experience to have these kids come back to the bus and say, “Sohailah, I walked up to this guy and thanked him for his service and he shook my hand and started crying and saying, ‘Thank you, young man.’”  Or, “We didn’t see any Veterans when we were at the Memorial, but when we were at dinner we saw these two soldiers sitting at another table in the Food Court so we walked up and said, ’Thank you for your service’, and they shook our hands and said, ‘You’re welcome.’” And when I say, “ That’s really neat. How did it make you feel?”  They always say, “ I was scared at first, but I’m so glad I did it, because they were so nice.”

I have had a few students tell me how their parents taught them this, and that they’ve been doing it for quite a while. YEAY PARENTS! The interesting thing is that there are some commonalities amongst the kids who have told me this, over the years.

1)   They always take me aside and tell me privately. No need to brag.

2)    I’ve probably already noticed them on the trip – they seem to be “soaking it in” more than the average student on the trip – actually looking at the Memorials, reading what’s written, making eye contact with me when I’m telling them all my really cool stories.

3)   Their peers also generally like these students – they have a self-confidence that draws others to them.

These things typically tell me something about their parents.

1)   Their parents are actively involved in investing in their kids.

2)   Their parents look beyond the convenient, and strive to teach their children life lessons about caring for others.

3)   Their parents understand, for the most part, that their job is to raise decent, hard-working, competent citizens who make an honorable contribution to the world.

Is either group perfect? No. No one is perfect – but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. (As every Tomb Guard Sentinel you talk to at the Tomb of the Unknown at Arlington National Cemetery will tell you, in reference to Line 6 of the Sentinel’s Creed). But they’re taking time to be with each other. The parent is actively investing in their child, and the child is hearing.

And that is our small contribution back to the Veterans who gave everything, literally everything, so that we could freely walk around and decide whether to take the time to thank them or not.

"What Do You Do?"

One of the first questions many “grownups” ask other “grown ups” upon meeting is “What do you do?” Me?  I teach. I never thought about being a teacher as a kid. I remember playing school, probably not because I was “in love“ with it, but because I had stuff for it. Stuff like paper and pencils and crayons. I probably liked playing House better. I seemed to be obsessed with cleaning grease off of the walls in the kitchen of my make-believe house. I’m not sure why. My mom never fried things, we didn’t own a fryer, hence, I am still a bit puzzled as to the grease obsession, but it was there. Ask my friend, Lisa. She played it with me. Our moms wouldn’t know about this game, because while we were playing House in the basement, they were upstairs doing “Mom” things – like talking about Elvis Presley.

I wasn’t super obsessed with what I “wanted to be” when I grew up, either. I had the best childhood, seriously. I’ve alluded to this before, and I will go into detail later, but many will be jealous (or immediately taken back to theirs when I describe mine). Even if yours was great, mine was probably just a little bit better. Kind of a fact. I had the mom that made the amazing popsicles. No, not “kool aid” or “fruit juice” lame, popsicles. Jell-O and kool aid and magic. And…. (Wait for it)… she even made them three different colors. I kid you not. Yes, she poured in the green, let them set for the EXACT amount time they needed (I don’t know what that time as, I was the kid, she was the mom, I didn’t hang around the kitchen and this is not a recipe blog), poured in the orange, and topped it off with red. Which meant that that was the last part of the Popsicle you ate, and of course, the best. And she made 60 at a time. I know, you think I am exaggerating, but please… I hate exaggeration. Not a fan. Don’t do it. My mom was that kind of mom. Because, you see, there were a million kids in our neighborhood. Okay, not a million. 12? 15? Let’s see, Beth, Bret, Lisa, Daniel, Todd, Heather, Gayle, Tammy, Timmy, Nate, Ginny, Brian, Kevin, Marlene… and then the ones older than us who we didn’t play with. And me and my brother, Jimmy. See? 12-15. And we were within 4 years of each other, and every day in the summer, someone was playing with someone. And at some point, we needed popsicles. Oh yes… NEEDED popsicles.

So we made the afternoon stop at our house, my mom passed out popsicles, and we ate them outside, under the tree between our yard and the Matthys’. And she would collect the Popsicle “sticks” (they weren’t throw away ones – these were Tupperware), and did NOT let us in the house, and we were off.

I’d like to point out one drawback to being a child of the Seventies – no one ever had to go to the bathroom during the day. This means we were all probably living a life of dehydration… yet, all of those people I mentioned who were my friends – they’re still alive. Hmmm…. Still alive. Intriguing.

I never stopped playing the piano, and in the Fourth Grade I took up the flute in Band. I was also in Choir, but usually ended up playing the piano – which was fine, but wasn’t what I was really wanting to do. I wanted to sing. That’s why I was in Choir. The drawback to always being the “Piano Player” for Choir is that I developed a complex about my singing. I did have a director once tell me that I should just stick with playing the piano, and although he was trying to compliment my piano playing (in his very awkward 1980’s man way), I (in my perfectionist, performance-oriented, people-pleasing way) took it to mean I didn’t have a good singing voice. Which is why, even today, I don’t mind singing for my choirs to demonstrate how they should sing something, but I won’t volunteer to sing a solo.

Building with my brother, James, and my cousin, Zahra. The Engineering gene...?

Anyhow – I didn’t want to have a “career” in Music. Duh – that’s so easy. Anyone can do music. I was also SMART (gifted and talented, remember?), so when I was in the 8^th grade and I was told I should go to this Engineering Camp at IBM because I was so smart in Math and Science (WAIT!! Isn’t that a new thing? Trying to get girls into Engineering?!) I was all OVER that!

I liked the Camp, I guess. I mostly liked the thought that I was smart enough to have a job that paid good money. I started my College Career in Engineering. I wasn’t really sure what kind to study – I liked the ide of designing bridges (Civil Engineering), b didn’t seem a bit concerned about me deciding.

In Calculus with Tammy. We were standing under the cooler - we lived in Arizona - it was HOT there!

ut the University I went to didn’t have that kind of Engineering, and I don’t know if I appeared flaky or indecisive or what, but the professor I met with

Now, I had a plan to get out of College in three years. To this end, I took English at the Community College in Sierra Vista, and History and a Bible Course via Correspondence. And I had 18 ½ credit hours a semester. I was struggling. But I was smart enough – that’s what the tests said. So I studied like a crazy person, and worked 40 hours per week. Not my parent’s idea – mine. I studied AT work, so that was a nice side benefit. I worked at a Tanning Salon (yeah, I did). Free tanning was a side benefit (yeah, it was). I was ridiculously tan – but not orange. I’m Middle Eastern, we don’t get orange. And it was 1986 so who really knew about dangers from the sun?

I struggled through my first year, and lost my academic scholarship. In October of my sophomore year, the pastor from my church in Sierra Vista was in town. He was getting his Masters’ Degree from the same University. His children were (and still are) dear friends of mine. He asked me how my studying was going, and I was positive in an evasive sort of way.

“Yeah. Going well. A LOT of studying. But, it’s fine. It will BE fine.”

Pastor Tumpkin: “Are you sure you’re supposed to be studying Engineering?”

Me: “Oh yeah. Sure. It’s the right course for me. I’m really good at Math and Science.”

Pastor Tumpkin: “How about if we pray about it together?”

Me, in a death grip of fear: “Oh no. That’s ok. I’m fine.”

Because…. When Pastor Tumpkin prayed, God spoke. And I did not WANT to change majors. And I had been struggling for about six months with whether this was really what I was supposed to be studying or not. But… 1 ½ years of Engineering equals a LOT of Math and Science credits. Do the math. Well, never mind, you might not be very good at math, and I’m the one who did well on the math and science tests so I’ll break it down for you… 12 credits of Math, 24 credits of Science, and some Engineering credits, and I don’t even know their category. What does a person in a “regular, non Engineering major” need in the way of Math and Science credits? Probably about 7.

But, I really kind of had to acquiesce because, duh, he’s my pastor. So he prayed, and when he finished I said, “Maybe I should go into Nursing.” – (I’m thinking Science credits…)

He graciously said, “We’ll just see what the Lord shows you.”

As I was driving back to campus I already knew what I needed to do. I needed to change to Music.

I called my parents. They both got on the phone (2 extensions) and I told them what I was thinking. Their reactions were completely the opposite of what I thought they would be.

Mom (the ever practical, piano teacher): “ Music? Are you sure? Can you support yourself with that?”

Dad (teacher): “That’s great, Honey. I think you’ll really like it.”

Needless to say, I ended up being in college for five years. So much for that three-year plan. And even thought I had taken and PASSED Chemistry, Calc based Physics an Organic Chemistry, I still had to take “ The Science and Sound of Music” as my Science class. I am not kidding.

Of course, just because I had decided Music was where I was supposed to be didn’t “get me in” to the School of Music. I had no idea you had to “get in” to the School of Music. The piano teachers were not impressed that I had not had “formal training.” I distinctly remember one of them saying, “ Well, I guess you could always teach private piano lessons.” Thank you, Mrs. Kirk…

But, I DID get in, and it is where I met Karen, who has been one of my closest friends since then. Oh the shenanigans.

Playing the Piano

It’s funny how some memories stick like glue – good and bad. And it’s also interesting to me that sometimes I have such clarity of vision about certain events. Then I sometimes look back on my life as a kid and am shocked at the things I did that I didn’t even consider a big deal. Things that as an adult I certainly realize were a big deal. But my parents didn’t faun over me, or unduly praise me, or over-emphasize my talents to everyone else (Well maybe they did this when I was not around, but I think back then they just wanted me to not talk so much so they could maintain their own sanity)

What things did I do that I thought were no big deal, but now I realize were fairly uncommon, you ask? At the risk of sounding like a braggart (which nobody likes), I’ll tell you.

The first one is totally attributable to my mom. (If we have any sense in our heads at all, MOST or any of our abilities attribute back to a wise and wonderful relative). My mom started teaching me to play the piano when I was five. She was a piano teacher, so this made sense. I probably had a piano lesson every day or every other day at that age. I think I grasped it fairly quickly – I was reading and writing my name at four, (I clearly remember playing with the alphabet flashcards with my mom when I was younger than that), so this was all kind of to be expected.

But then in the Second Grade things went south with the piano lessons. My mom would try to teach me, and I would have angry, ugly outbursts. What I couldn’t articulate back then, but what I realized by the time I was in College (when we all receive our brains back), was that I had this massive “performance” mentality going on. What “Therapy” would reveal (And I’m a huge fan of therapy – even if you think you lived the perfect life) to me is that I had some fairly typical “hang-ups”.

1) I was the oldest, aka “First Born”.  And you’ probably heard about how “First Borns” are the performance based, people pleasing type kids. Outside of the home, anyway…

2) I was adopted. And “First Borns” who are adopted tend to be people pleasing by nature.

3) I’m pretty competitive (I think this is because I am a people pleasing, performance based person). So, when my mom would correct me (which any regular piano teacher would do), I would translate it into “ She doesn’t like me, she thinks I’m dumb, she’s not happy with me”. (These were stupid lies in my head)… but what came out was, “ I HATE THIS!” So, she stopped teaching me piano.

But I loved playing the piano. And she had plenty of piano students of all ages and a ton of piano books. I would listen and figure out which kid was playing the hardest music, and then I would get that book from my mom’s book shelf, and try to play it myself. And my smart mom would casually walk through the room and say something like, “ Did you get the B flat in that piece? I think it’s in the key signature”. This was no big deal to me, nor was it offensive – it was just conversation. (Mind games people play). But it worked. I know my parents would have let me had piano lessons from someone else if I wanted them – my mom even suggested it, at one point. But, I knew they cost money, and I didn’t want my parents to pay money for something I COULD get at home.

I guess it worked out ok, because I was the accompanist for the Elementary school choir at my school was 4^th-6^th grades. I didn’t think a thing about it then, but now I look back and think, “ Good golly. I was good.” Because I have had possibly THREE students during the many years I’ve taught High School choir that were good enough to accompany a choir. And NONE under the age of 15. And the only one who was consistently qualified was the 15-year exchange student from Japan – Aki. And she thought she was “moderate.” (She was SO good).

Me with my cousin, Zahra, at the piano I learned to play on.

The thing I like about this is that I had a true talent, but it was encouraged by the people in my life not as a “true talent/you’re so amazing”, but as something that I would naturally develop because I had it. It wasn’t to the exclusion of anything else; it wasn’t capitalized on as in “ Oh, you could get a scholarship for this”. It was simply, “you play the piano well, play this piece, please.” And so I did, and I was a “regular” person for it. I wasn’t compared to others, nor was I “vaunted” over others – I was just expected to do something good with what I had been given. If it was my mom’s dream for me to play she didn’t tell me that.  Why do we do that now?

“Oh! You’re SO good, you should keep playing that.”

 “You’re AMAZING. Let’s get you private lessons. No, let’s get you three private lessons a week. Wait. How about if you just get home-schooled so you can focus exclusively on your TALENT?”

Seriously? How about if we just let people be people? Encourage them in what they excel in, support them if they want to try something else (I do NOT mean three different sports/lessons a week, and you are a taxi drier – get some self-respect), and most importantly, RAISE your kids, don’t just manage them. Come on – you are the grown-up. Act like it. Stop trying to be their “Best friend” – you do know Gilmore Girls was just a TV show, right? Say the hard things at the hard times. The word is “NO.” You can handle it. It only has one syllable.

The worst part of this is, I find myself doing it with my students, sometimes. Although I have made a conscious effort to try to not over-praise. A few reasons for this:

1)   Give me a break. It’s stupid.

2)   Why emphasize what people do well? I don’t want “average”. I want amazing. And when it’s AMAZING, then I’ll tell you. (By the way, all students know this. They know when you’re praising crap, and they’re not impressed with you. It makes them trust you less and like you less. And not just “students”. Parents, this is to your personal kids, too)

3)   When I praise, I want them to know I mean it. And they do.

4)   I value sincerity and genuineness. And so do they.

5)   Shall I go on?

After my Senior Recital. With Charlotte, Dotti and Karen (my college roommate and dearest friend to this day)

All this to say, if you’re really good at something, as in exceptional, take it seriously But don’t take yourself so seriously. Nobody likes to be around “those kinds of people.” Praise excellence. Don’t praise mediocrity But you can still be nice. Just don’t be ridiculous and over use words that should be reserved for true excellence. And if you’ve never been excellent at something, you should try it. There’s something about that level of determination and sacrifice that is amazing.

Another Day, Another Time

I should probably pray about actually creating a blog – I’ve had two blogs before already. One was called  “Sohailah in Africa” which got sucked into the other was called “Adventure in Hope” – which was more about all of my life.

Back to the Glorious Seventies when I was a kid. My dad was a teacher, like I said, and I walked to Kindergarten at Riverside. My brother was 2 ½ years younger than me (well he still is, actually), and my mom did not drive. She was born in Iran, and grew up in Boarding Schools in England, (who needs to drive there?). When she moved to North Dakota after marrying my dad (another story for another time), she took the driving test, but she didn’t pass it. I think they said she was “too cautious”. So, she walked. We lived in small towns growing up, and it was easy for her to walk to where she needed to go – I think in Arizona we actually looked in neighborhoods that were specifically close to important places like the Post Office, the Bank and the grocery store.

We were too young to be rock throwing at this point, but you get the idea.

But when I was little, she would walk or would ride the bus. The bus came right down our street – how cool was that that the bus came right down our street?

If she had errands to run in town, she and my brother would meet me at the Old Bridge and we would walk into town and do whatever errands she had. (I guess if it was grocery shopping we would take the bus home?) My favorite part of the trip was throwing rocks over the railing of the old bridge into the river. The Mississippi River. The Mighty Mississippi rolled right through our town. HAH! The Mighty Mississippi rolled right behind Grandma Jo’s backyard, which was right across the street from OUR house. It was so fun to throw rocks over the railing. And the pedestrian part of the bridge was made out of wood slats, and there were holes in the wood where the knots had fallen out, and it was fun to look through those at the rushing, Mighty Mississippi. And in the winter when the river was frozen over, we liked to throw chunks of snow over the railing. I thought maybe if I threw it hard enough I could break through the frozen river. I wonder if I ever said that to my mom? If I did, she didn’t laugh at me, because I would remember that.

One not happy thing that I do remember from my snow chunk throwing experiences: one time my hand knit red mitten went over the side of the railing WITH the snow… that was a sad day. A sad day, indeed. I know my mother wasn’t too happy about that. Because she reminded me. Who am I kidding – even if she hadn’t reminded me in a fit of frustration one day … I would never forget watching my beautiful hand knit red mitten sail over the railing.

But I still threw snow..

I only went to Riverside for Kindergarten. Apparently there was a test in Kindergarten that determined if you were a regular kid or a Gifted and Talented kid. I was the latter. So this meant I would go to Lincoln Elementary – along with all the other kids from the other elementary schools in Brainerd, Minnesota that passed said test. (Seriously - what kind of test in Kindergarten determines this? Coloring? Letters? Numbers?) Luckily, Lincoln was close to our house. But a suburban came and picked me up in First and Second grade. And the driver was the same man every day, and I don’t think he ever said my name right. Not One. Single. Time. This was probably a point of frustration to me. But I wasn’t ever rude to him. I was too shy (another true story for another time)

My brother also went to Lincoln after Kindergarten at Riverside. And the four kids in the family that lived kitty corner across the street from us. And another girl from down the street. But none of the rest of the kids in our neighborhood went. I wonder if it bothered them? I hope not. I think we were all just friends.

Is this blog supposed to have something poignant or stirring or thought provoking at the end of each post? I’m not going there, right now. I’m just writing. Those were the only specific words I heard. “Write a book.” So I wonder if it’s ok to make it a blog? I guess if people read it then it’s ok, and if they don’t then they don’t. 

And someday I'll figure out what to do with it all.