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George Herrera is a Cotsen Mentor teacher at Northam Elementary School.
One memorable experience completely changed the way I interact with people both on an individual basis and in group settings. It was at a meeting facilitated by Ball Foundation staff, and someone disagreed with what the majority of the group was saying. As that person spoke on and on and on, everybody in the group gradually changed their thinking and agreed with that person. Then, something else was brought up and a different person disagreed with what the majority of the group was saying. As that person spoke on and on, everybody disagreed with that person more and more.
Ordinarily I would not have thought anything of it, but Bob Hill, from the Ball Foundation, brought it to the group’s attention. He said, “I’m going to take advantage of a teachable moment because I don’t want you to lose this. Pay close attention to what just happened. In the first case, somebody disagreed. As a result of listening to this person, everybody changed their mind and agreed with that person. In the second instance, somebody disagreed. Then everybody decided that they felt even stronger about the position they held.” He explained that the reason why it’s important to pay attention to this incident is because in both instances greater clarity was brought to the group by the willingness of the individuals to share. That’s why it’s so important for people who have a different opinion to voice it. It’s critical to the overall work of the group.
This experience changed my perspective and work as a teacher, Cotsen Mentor, and Leader. Being an optimist by nature, in the past, sometimes when somebody didn’t agree with something that I perceived to be positive, instead allowing their voice to be heard, I would focus on trying to make sure that they understood how positive and important the particular matter or issue was. Now, when somebody needs to say something, I make sure that person has a safe respectful forum to say it. As a direct result of that experience, I have developed a deep appreciation for individual voices no matter their position. In my mind each and every individual voice brings greater clarity to the group. By hearing all the voices, we enter a new reality or a new understanding that would not have been possible without all voices in the group being heard.
This experience also revalidated the speaking of my own mind. I was in a class once with an awesomely insightful teacher, and I wanted to say something, but didn’t dare because I thought it might be controversial. Mrs. Bazemore could sense I wanted to say something, so she called me up afterwards and said, “I could tell that you wanted to say something and you didn’t. In the past when you have shared, I have founded incredibly valuable what you have to say. Would you please share what seems to be so important to you?” Her approach was akin to the Ball Foundation in the sense of having the skill and spirit to mine the collective wisdom within individuals.
After I spoke, she gently shared one of her insights, “Whenever you’re in a room or a space and you feel that something needs to be said, if you leave that space without saying it, you lose a little of your integrity.” This work with the Ball Foundation renewed in a professionally relevant matter what Mrs. Bazemore taught me. It’s so important for each of us to share what we think and feel, regardless of whether we agree or disagree, or if we think we’re going to be standing alone. Our integrity and candor is critical to the collective understanding of any group we belong to.
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George Herrera is a Cotsen Mentor teacher at Northam Elementary School.
The story that comes to mind happened during one of the trips we took to Chicago to meet with the people from the Ball Foundation. As we were getting ready to end our three day visit, we were harboring the collective energy and spirit of the group by sitting in a circle. Stephanie Pace Marshall was sharing her thoughts on “living into the firestorm or into the gift,” and the whole process of the role that we as individuals play in the choices we make. One of the things that really impacted not just me, but I believe the whole group collectively, was when she asked questions about the quality of the work we do. She kept repeating and deepening the conviction of her questions, “What is your name written on? What are the things that are important to you? What do you value? What do you care about? What is the quality of your work? What are the things that your name written on?” She was poignant and sincere while allowing us to deeply reflect and consider our respective answers, “What is your name written on?” She afforded us the opportunity to go around the circle and share, “What can you as an individual commit to today?” It was especially inspiring to witness the sum total of the individual commitments made that afternoon by a small group of soul searching educators. The power of that experience was such that to this day I still strive to breathe daily life into the commitment I made that afternoon.
As I was reflecting on what to commit to, faded remnants of a heartwarming life lesson I had as an undergraduate student at Humboldt State University began flooding my mind. We were required to do an “emphasis phase” that was completely outside of our major, so I did mine in gerontology “security and challenge in later life.” Not understanding the purpose of such a requirement, I was somewhat upset having to fulfill it. The emphasis phase lasted a full year that culminated in an internship at a convalescent home. During one of my first internship days, I was told, “Tomorrow you are going to feed Cleo.” And I thought, “Oh my gosh,” because Cleo, in his mid to late 80’s, had recently had a stroke, and was suffering from aphasia. I had heard the staff talking about having to push the food behind his throat and press down because he wasn’t able to swallow. Now – I was very young, impressionable, and completely out of my comfort zone. I had never done anything like this in my life. And I thought, “I don’t think I can do this,” even though I felt badly for Cleo who was in a deep state of mourning. Tears rolling down Cleo’s face were a common sight during that time. His wife had passed away in the same convalescent home only two days earlier.
I was unable to see a way out of this conundrum. So I called my mom. I said to her, “I don’t think I can do this,” And my mom said, “You know, just do it with good intentions, and do it to the best of your ability.” I said, “But I don’t know how.” And she said, “Sometimes in life knowing how doesn’t matter that much. Do it with the best of intentions and to the best of your ability.” I was so anxious the night before that I tossed and turned all through the night. In the morning I solidified my resolve, I thought, “Okay. I’m going to do this.”
With my heart pounding in my ears, I walked in the next morning and found Cleo already sitting at the breakfast table. I told him that I was going to feed him that day. My spirit wrestled with the apprehension I felt inside, but I went ahead and proceeded to feed him, and he seemed to be swallowing his morning oatmeal. Although I was trying my best, I wasn’t sure I was feeding him right. Was I putting the spoon in too far or not far enough? Was I pressing enough or too much? Should I feed him everything or just half? I had been warned by the staff members that he was unable to speak due to his condition. When I was done feeding him, he startled me by making some sounds. I could not make out what he was trying to say. I couldn’t understand him because his speech was severely slurred and muffled due to his recent stroke. So I said, “What, excuse me?” and with a lot of effort he just made a moaning slurred noise. So I said, “Excuse me?” Again, he summoned all his energy and struggled to make a louder slurred moaning sound, and I thought, “Oh my gosh. What am I going to do? What is he saying? Did I do something wrong? Should I get somebody?” I could sense that he was really struggling to communicate something. I came close to running out of that kitchen and going home but I am glad I didn’t. I was deeply humbled when I finally realized what he was struggling to say. He struggled to tell me, “Thank you.” Sadly, Cleo passed away two days later.
So under Stephanie Pace Marshall’s guidance in the circle that harbored our collective commitments, I said, “In the spirit of Cleo, I commit to feeding Cleo the rest of my life.” When I shared that, I was thinking about all those times that we’re called upon to do something and we feel like we don’t have the skills to go about it or to even begin. As my mother said, “the important thing is that we have good intentions and we do it to the best of our ability.” It reminded me of the importance of the sometimes abstract intangible work we as educators do, and wonder, “Where is this going? Am I doing this right? Why am I doing this? ”
In my entire life I have never received a more sincere or heartfelt thank you than the one I received that morning at the convalescent home. Cleo gave me the greatest gift of all – the ability to step outside of my comfort zone for a noble purpose. Thank you, Cleo! The Ball Foundation afforded me the time and space to significantly and profoundly reclaim the gift of Cleo.
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