Being born with a healthy imagination and then spending my life employing it, as well as teaching others to get back in touch with the power of their imaginations, is usually a huge asset. Imagining a wonderful life, vividly and wholeheartedly, experience tells me, truly sets one up to focus on the good and stop giving undue energy to the bad things, negative experiences that are inevitable at times for all of us. But this kind of waiting also brings a range of horrid possible outcomes to mind. Oh yes, we wallowed in agony and ecstasy. Our anti-climactic results can wait for a future blogpost.
[Looking back at this post I can't seem to discern a reason to connect the above with what follows. If you succeed at coming up with an idea of the connection, please let me know.]
For three debilitating years after I was banished from my beloved school community, I was first in shock, then -- for the first time in my life -- became depressed. Confusion, anger, self-pity, each took its turn hijacking my otherwise sunny disposition. I felt wretched. Even the incredible outpouring of love and support [see the website set up by kind and thoughtful supporters: http://www.whereisbear.org ] could not lift me out of my bewildered, mournful state. Then my doctor told me that my kidneys were failing and I'd need a transplant. And, as I've relayed in an earlier blogpost, when I received a healthy kidney last March 27, everything changed for the better.
Two or three years ago I couldn't have told the story I'll share today. I'm feeling peaceful and reflective this morning. My brilliant career lies shattered at my feet, but my spirit is strong and I continue to find ways to make teaching and learning central in my life.
My "Off with his head!" moment (or "Off you!" said-the-Head moment) arrived late in the afternoon on Sunday, October 25, 2009. I was at school, having just taken part in a lively rehearsal with the fathers of the young women in the Senior Class. We were preparing for the upcoming Father-Daughter Dinner Dance, an annual tradition, part of which included a dance & sketch over-the-top performance by about sixty Dads. I'd gladly volunteered to be the date for one Senior who didn't happen to have a dad.
I was back in my office copy-and-pasting into the secure system at school the 96 thoughtful evaluations I'd spent the past three days writing, one for each of my students. I've always been the odd one who actually enjoys this monumental task. Suddenly my cellphone sings out. I don't recognize the number calling, but pick up anyway. There on the other end is the school Head. She seems to be at a party, hearing the background chatter. She sounds excited. Her phone died, so she's calling on her husband's. She sounds triumphant. She says that I'm not to come in to school tomorrow. Say what?
She's heard things. Someone told someone else who told her that I had screened a pornographic film to my 9th grade Core Arts students. No, I told the Head, of course I've done no such thing. Certainly she knows that I'd never do that. No response. She reiterates that it's big trouble and I'm not to return to school. She'll be in touch. Boom.
In order to help you, dear reader, wrap your mind around this and that which follows in this story, I'm going to give you some context about the lead players in this shocking tale. This I shall do in my following post.