As a child, I longed to be a hero, to be seen not just as Arthur, but as King Arthur, bringing chivalry to an unchivalrous world. I had a wicked crush on my third-grade classmate, Susie Wirth, and during recess, we would ride around on the back of her broom — she was a good witch, I was a knight. Together we would fly around Aspen’s Red Brick school grounds, four legs buzzing in unison, saving people like Piggy in “Lord of the Flies” from the cruel nature of Roger, and the weak compliant resolve of Jack, inspired and intoxicated with our daily good deeds.
On good days — and with the help of my teacher, Ms. Ames — there was the burgeoning notion, a sprouting seed of conscience and an evolving identity, that wanted to be kind and save the innocent from a less-than-kind world. Every day, Ms. Ames kept our class spellbound, reading us versions of “The Iliad” and “The Odyssey.” We discussed who was heroic, and what it looked like to have virtue, to be brave, to be kind. Little did I realize that I was onto something — more than just having a crush on Susie Wirth.
I grew up and became a teacher, and have now spent almost 50 years in the classroom circling the ideas Ms. Ames introduced. I have carried forward her questions into innumerable conversations, which have been the most compelling and illuminating of my life and are the inspiration for an upcoming series of columns in The Sopris Sun called “Seeking Haystacks.”
Einstein said, “The purpose of education is to nurture thoughtfulness; to decide for oneself what is of genuine value in life and then find the courage to take your thoughts seriously.” I believe that to be true, and I have had the privilege to witness the precious thoughtfulness of thousands of students, including students in the current Tomorrow’s Voices classes. Every Monday night now, a class of courageous students discusses ideas about justice, freedom and equality. I am awed by their honesty, perceptiveness, and the fresh thinking that occurs, and ultimately by who they are. My students have been a true inspiration and I am lucky to know them. I begin by thanking Isaac Gerber — a senior at Glenwood Springs High School headed for the University of Chicago — for coining the term “Seeking Haystacks,” alluding to the unmistakable passion in Claude Monet’s painting of haystacks and what passion and beauty can teach us. The way Monet took the world in revealed our intimate connection to beauty and to ourselves. Monet wanted to teach us to see life.
Throughout the years, I’ve tried to sneak an anecdote about my grandmother into all my classes (as every student of mine can attest!). More than a personal narrative, she manifested a level of decency and morality she described as being “squeaky-clean” (the sound of clean, freshly shampooed hair). She knew that wisdom, kindness and courage are the currency of justice and that navigating the complexities of this world demands that we are “clean.” I’m quite sure my grandmother never read Camus, Hannah Arendt or Martin Luther King Jr., yet they all lived and died tucked within her life. And she would never have used the term “hero,” or “self pure” or considered herself heroic or exceptional. Yet, with an inspired sense of decency, she leaned into her version of innocence where kind deeds spoke louder than words, where the means, not the ends, were most critical. These notions live at the heart of my moral compass, and ring true for my students.
Thich Nhat Hanh said, “Our own life is the instrument with which we experiment with the truth.” The simple and inherent desire of my students to be their best selves fuels their courageous willingness to name what is true, both personally and collectively. Their eloquent discussions about how to be “squeaky-clean” are the essence of hope. This column will attempt to share their questions, thoughts, and ideas, as well as those of authors who inspire us to bring dignity and an enlightened sense of decency to the world. This starts with our everyday choices and lives — redefining heroism to look less like King Arthur and more like my grandmother.
It is a simple choice, but not easy. To seek haystacks as a way of life is a much tougher call, perhaps best described by a conversation between civil rights activists Bryan Stevenson, Rosa Parks and Johnnie Carr. Stevenson described his work in the justice system to these two women: “I gave them my whole rap, about not enough justice and too much injustice and when I finished she [Rosa Parks] looked at me and said, ‘Mmm mmm mmm. That’s going to make you tired, tired, tired.’ And that’s when Ms. Carr leaned forward … she put her finger in my face, and she said, ‘That’s why you’ve got to be brave, brave, brave.’”
My grandmother would be delighted to know that she is a small part of these class conversations — half a century after her death — helping ordinary people to be brave, brave, brave. And she would gently insist, “It is really the only game in town.”