The students see this as relaxation time. They lounge around, sprawled all over the floor and on chairs, eating noodles out of thermoses and leftover pizza wrapped in tin foil. Little do they know that it is also a lesson. I have designed this weekend-sharing ritual for our Monday lunch times purposefully to help them practice active listening and responding. I am amazed at how much practice it takes for a pre-adolescent to listen to a story from their peer and then ask an open-ended question or give a thoughtful response. They usually need quite a bit of guidance.
Today, Adam is my teacher. (Yes, the same Adam from the Unconventional Methods post.)
Our sweet, shy, Casey shares a few quiet sentences about her weekend. She says, "I took my dog for a walk and we almost stepped on a snake." A few students shudder and make murmurs of disgust or fear.
Wanting to take the opportunity to insert a plug for nature-appreciation over nature-fear, I say "You know, it is a powerful blessing to see a snake." Casey lifts one eyebrow, waiting for more. "Native Americans believe that we share aspects of our being with animals, and that when we see certain animals, they are there to remind us of certain aspects of ourselves. Snakes are powerful symbols of transformation."
"Why?" Adam interrupts. "That doesn't make sense."
"Well because snakes shed their skin," I explain patiently, secretly thinking I am wise for sharing this spiritual story, and he is lucky to be hearing it. "They shed what they no longer need and leave it behind, reminding us to do the same."
I nod to Casey in silent thanks for her sharing. She nods back. I take a bite of my burrito as I look to the next student to share.
"No. We're not like snakes," Adam protests, apparently still not finished with the topic. He is shaking his head and his arms are crossed in front of his chest.
"Why, Adam?" I say with one eye on the clock, thinking about how long I can afford to indulge this tangent before insisting that we move on to the next student.
"We are not like snakes because snakes don't document things. When snakes shed their skin, they leave it behind like another pebble on a shore of pebbles. They don't try to hold on to it. We try to document everything. Like - my mom still has a photo of me in each grade hanging on our wall. She wants to save everything from my childhood. Humans take pictures everywhere we go. We buy souvenirs. We keep so many things and we try to re-live our lives with them. But those things aren't real life, so why can't we let them go? I get that the Native Americans think that snakes are about transformation, but we are not. Snakes know how to let go of stuff and transform. We don't."
There is silence all around the circle as all mouths stop chewing and all eyes rest on Adam. Adam, the slight Indian boy. Adam, the jokester of our group. Adam, the sudden sage.
Once again, I went into a "lesson" with an idea about teaching my students something. Once again, I am humbled by the stunning amount of insight they have to share. Adam's speaking is exactly what I need to hear today. He is right. He is brilliant.
And there is nothing else to say.
Whooooaaaaa.
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