It had been a long couple of weeks. October was in the rear view mirror, a month without holidays, and with it the exhaustion of Homecoming, the stress of hosting a slew of after hours meetings, and the craziness of Halloween. We’d just dealt with an unexpected fire alarm and evacuation of the student body to the field. When we tracked down the cause, it was, and I’m not exaggerating here, a heaping plate of sausage in the lunchroom of the adjoining transportation department. Early November hadn’t brought the piece of mind many expected. Everyone was a little grimmer than usual and Thanksgiving was still a week away.
And then, in one of those moments that provide inspiration, a student knocked on my office door. I smiled and she came in. Without a word she handed me a flower.
I thanked her as she left, a bundle of roses under her arm, and she smiled back before exiting, presumably bound for more deliveries.
Looking down, I read the note attached to the stem. On one side, printed neatly it said:
This world has forgotten what it’s like to be kind to one another. So what are YOU doing to change that? I challenge you to go out of your way this week to make someone smile.”
I hoped I was up to the challenge.
On the other side of the card, handwritten, it read: “Thank you for not giving up on your students.”
No, I thought. Thank you.
Leonard Cohen, another November loss, sang to the world the wise words that a friend once put before me when I was facing hard times. “There is a crack, a crack, in everything. That’s how the light gets in. That’s how the light gets in.”
That flower, and that student who brought it to my office, is the light that Leonard Cohen was singing about. She is hope, and grace, and the challenge to be better than we are. She is, put simply, the reason an educator like me remains more optimistic than some I know who don’t have the great good fortune to work with students.
A little asking told me that during a recent heat wave this same student used her own money to buy Gatorade for the construction workers building our new science and math classrooms. The rose in my office, and given to souls all across campus, was not an anomaly, but a way of life.
For any who doubt that the future is in good hands or who believe that “kids today” lack the empathy or initiative to make a lasting difference, I offer this example of what is right in our world. This care and act of kindness was exactly what I needed that November morning to know that the light gets in.