Excerpts from "How to be Perfect"
Get some sleep.
Eat an orange every morning.
Be friendly. It will help make you happy.
Hope for everything. Expect nothing.
Take care of things close to home first. Straighten up your room
before you save the world. Then save the world.
Be nice to people before they have a chance to behave badly.
Don't stay angry about anything for more than a week, but don't
forget what made you angry. Hold your anger out at arm's length
and look at it, as if it were a glass ball. Then add it to your glass
ball collection.
Wear comfortable shoes.
Do not spend too much time with large groups of people.
Plan your day so you never have to rush.
Show your appreciation to people who do things for you, even if
you have paid them, even if they do favors you don't want.
After dinner, wash the dishes.
Calm down.
Don't expect your children to love you, so they can, if they want
to.
Don't be too self-critical or too self-congratulatory.
Don't think that progress exists. It doesn't.
Imagine what you would like to see happen, and then don't do
anything to make it impossible.
Forgive your country every once in a while. If that is not
possible, go to another one.
If you feel tired, rest.
Don't be depressed about growing older. It will make you feel
even older. Which is depressing.
Do one thing at a time.
If you burn your finger, put ice on it immediately. If you bang
your finger with a hammer, hold your hand in the air for 20
minutes. you will be surprised by the curative powers of ice and
gravity.
Do not inhale smoke.
Take a deep breath.
Do not smart off to a policeman.
Be good.
Be honest with yourself, diplomatic with others.
Do not go crazy a lot. It's a waste of time.
Drink plenty of water. When asked what you would like to
drink, say, "Water, please."
Take out the trash.
Love life.
Use exact change.
When there's shooting in the street, don't go near the window.
I've always loved this poem. Loved the simple language. Love the list format. Love how some of the lines are so serious and almost new-agey but are quickly juxtaposed with something close to hyperbole.
February is, "I love to read poetry" month at my school. I had lots and lots of awesome things planned for my students, including an anthology of contemporary poems that I made for middle schoolers. These would serve as a springboard for discussions and get the kids, hopefully, jazzed about language. Padgett's poem was one that I chose for the packet. We read it together in class the other day. The kids laughed. We talked about lines we enjoyed. We discussed the tone and the choices he made with language. Caught up in the moment of the poem, I spontaneously asked the kiddos to open up to a new page in their writer's notebooks. I told them to do their own list of, "how to be perfect" inspired by Padgett's piece. I didn't say a whole lot more than that.
Fifteen or so minutes later their hands started to shoot in the air. "Can I read mine, Gillian?" "Can I?" The children began to share their poems with the class. They were absolutely fabulous. So adolescent and honest and pure and thoughtful.
How to be Perfect
by Grace
Eat a strong breakfast.
Sleep at least six hours every night.
Be positive and friendly.
Have a good spirit. Hope.
Take a position of leadership when needed.
When feeling mad, sad or distressed,
take a walk in the peace of nature. Feel the severe feeling
flow away. Let your imagination wander.
Always let your heart expand,
whether possible or impossible.
Let your heart beat truly.
Keep peace.
when frantic or extra excited,
take a deep breath and plow ahead,
calm and free of any worry.
No one is horrible, nor perfect.
Feel courageous,
even when you are scared.
I left my middle schoolers and decided to try the same exercise with my second and third graders. The results were equally fabulous. I sat down at my desk in between classes reflecting on how much fun I was having. I wanted to tell Ron Padgett how inspired I was by his words, how fun and heartfelt and satisfying he was making my day, my job, my career path.
And, on a whim and with a huge shout out to the Internet, I dropped Padgett a line. I'm good at the spontaneous act and before I could think myself out of it, I'd composed a little letter of gratiutde and pushed send.
A few hours later I was back at my desk. In my inbox, a letter from Padgett. He was so thankful for my note, he taught poetry for years to adolescents, he loved Missoula and, because this town is so dang small, we have a mutual friend. I felt all blushy and goofy, like one of my students getting an email from Justin Bieber or Adam Levine. And then I took my crush to the greater purpose.
It's sort of hit me over the head lately, how much I love my job. How much I love our school. How cool it is that I get to teach so many things that I love, to be a specialist in English in an immersion school. I never planned on being a teacher, never took a course as an undergrad in education, it just always came my way. Teachers and friends said I'd be good at it. It was the first full time job I got, fresh out of school at twenty-two. Seventeen years later, here I am.
The working mama struggle has had me in various stages of angst for the past six years. But lately I am just full of gratitude. Gratitude that I have a job that I love to go to everyday. Gratitude that I get to share my days with my husband and child. Gratitude that this amazing, cutting edge school exists in Missoula, Montana.
When I was in LA last weekend, I went to observe another IB school. A few old colleagues from the school where Jeff and I met work at this school. I wanted to check out the IB in the public school environment. The IB is such a progressive, forward thinking, child-centered program. Part of the reason I left teaching in the Pasadena Public Schools was because my job was becoming scripted. We spent way too much time teaching kids how to fill in bubbles correctly for their standardized tests. There was no room for creativity, for whole language, for thinking outside of the box.
I walked up to this school with vigor. It was a glorious February day and I stopped to shoot a picture before I even entered the building. I already had a sense that it would be fabulous. And it was. The teachers were committed, the children prepared to answer any of my questions. I had an incredibly thorough tour of one classroom and my new young friend could answer all the questions I thought would have been for her teacher. She had such a solid sense of the program, of her own learning, and could articulate it all beautifully.
I left the school feeling even fuller than when I entered. That night headed to my favorite Mexican restaurant with my family. Who should be my hostess, but Adelid, one of Jeff's first students from Loma Alta. When I knew her, she spoke no English, was teeny tiny for her age and painfully shy. She was so sweet when she asked me if I remembered her. She told me that she always remembered Jeff and I as good teachers. I told her we were married and had two kids. She wanted me to bring, "Mr. Kessler" back in to see her the next time he was in town.
The next morning at another restaurant, I ran into the parents of another old student. This kiddo I had as a middle schooler at a private school. He was one of my drama and dance stars, goofy and smart and super comfortable with me, always full of self-deprecating humor and a worldly sense of what was right. His parents told me that I had been one of his most inspiring teachers, went on to tell me about his accomplishments. He promptly send me a friend request on Facebook that evening.
So where am I going with this? It's all part of this feeling of gratitude for my work. Running into those folks while in Pasadena was part of the universe reminding me to feel grace. To appreciate. To be thankful for the work that I do. To know that I am, indeed, making a difference.
