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Lincoln Hearse 150th Anniversary

Lincoln Hearse 150th Anniversary

Today (5/2/15) marks the end of an era.  While there were Civil War related happenings that occurred after today, the celebration of Lincoln’s funeral trail arriving in Springfield, Illinois, represents the end of a glorious 4 years of remembrance.  As a reenactor, I have thoroughly enjoyed having the Civil War so close to our thoughts during this time.  I’ve attended national events, visited battlefields and museums, and watched movies (including this week covering the Lincoln assassination and showing The Conspirator) and TV shows focused on the period, and attended countless other events.  With today’s event, that aspect will begin to fade.  For that reason, despite the busyness of the season for me and the struggles of coming off chemo and preparing for surgery for my friend, we decided to make the 3+ hour trip to Springfield–to be there for this once in a lifetime event.

We arrived in Springfield just as the horses were pulling the hearse down the street followed by a procession of reenactors.  But, we still had to park, so we actually arrived just as the formal program was beginning.  It was truly a beautiful beginning.  Bishop Thomas Paprocki of the Catholic Diocese of Springfield opened with prayer, recognizing the fact that when Lincoln left Springfield to travel to Washington D.C., not knowing if he would see his friends and neighbors again, he left them in the care of God.  He explained that while many lost a president, residents here lost a friend.  A number of other speakers followed–each with a pearl of wisdom.  Governor Bruce Rauner shared about Lincoln’s role as a uniter of races–a relevant topic in light of recent events.

Reenactors outside the Old Statehouse

Reenactors outside the Old Statehouse

The military commander shared about Lincoln the soldier, and not only the way that he followed instruction, but the way that he led.  Lincoln was represented by a number of members of the armed forces from Illinois who also represented fallen comrades in Iraq and Afghanistan.  The ambassador from San Marino to the U.S., Paolo Rondelli presented a Lincoln coin that had just been created in Italy.  Interspersed with these inspiring speeches was the music of a number of different bands and a choir.  My favorite was when the choir sang “Amazing Grace” shortly after the invocation.  The man beside me began singing along, I did as well, and before the end of the first verse, many of the crowd had joined in. It was a powerful moment.  What I loved most about this time was that each speaker painted a different picture of Lincoln.  As our group would later discuss, Lincoln was a man–he did many things I agree with and admire, and a few that I don’t, but all in all, he was simply a man.  A man who as Secretary of War Edwin Stanton said, “Now (he) belongs to the ages.”

From the opening program, we headed over to the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum.  It was an amazing experience, well worth the $15.00 combined ticket with Union Station (which I got for $8.00–Teacher perk…)  The museum really focuses on Lincoln’s entire life.  It starts with Journey 1, where visitors will track through Lincoln’s early life, his boyhood, jobs, courting, etc.  In the section called Journey 2, Lincoln’s political life comes to life and death, for here we trace Lincoln’s career as a young Senator, through his presidency, and finally to his funeral.

Entrance to Journey 1

Entrance to Journey 1

Each area offers incredibly lifelike wax figures portraying scenes in Lincoln’s life, but also shows artifacts from the period and gives information on Lincoln’s journey during that time.  My favorite section of the display was a series of political cartoons published about Lincoln.  I had seen about 4 or 5 of them, but there were probably 50 completely vilifying Lincoln.  I’ve long told students that political cartoons back in the day were brutal, and the ones about Lincoln are exceptionally cruel.  Just another opportunity to see a different side of Lincoln.

The dual ticket from the Museum also offered entrance to Union Station where there is currently a display called “From History to Hollywood.”  This display boasts sets and costumes from the movie Lincoln.  What was most interesting to me in this section was the wardrobe of Mary Todd Lincoln (costumes.)  I learned that Sally Fields is exactly the height of Mary Todd, though she had to gain 20 pounds to play the role.  Standing on the floor beside the costume resting on the steps, I towered over the top (I’m 5’9″).  How short was Mary Todd?!  About 5 feet tall–Imagine that next to the 6’4″ Lincoln.  They must have looked fun in pictures, though I don’t recall any of the two of them beside each other.

Lincoln Home draped in mourning

Lincoln Home draped in mourning


With sore feet, we headed to the Lincoln House, but, when we found out that the next tour wouldn’t leave until about an hour and a half later, we decided to just enjoy the outside and head out of town.  We made one final stop at Lincoln’s tomb to see where all of the family is buried, except Robert, who is buried at Arlington–I’ll have to look him up next time I’m there.  The monument tomb has to be the coolest burial place.  Not only is the monument huge and imposing, there are replicas of numerous statues of Lincoln with details of where the actual statue stands.  The walls also bear transcripts of famous speeches Lincoln made–incredible to read.  Finally, the sarcophagus for Lincoln is beautiful and surrounded by the flags of states where he or his ancestors had lived.  Just an amazing and appropriate place–and indeed, the perfect place to lay to rest this season of Civil War celebrations.

Lincoln tomb monument

Lincoln tomb monument

What struck me most is a statement Lincoln makes in his farewell to Springfield (transcript posted inside the tomb and quoted in the opening ceremony today.)  In the speech, he states, “I now leave, not knowing when, or whether ever, I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington.  Without the assistance of the Divine Being who ever attended him, I cannot succeed.  With that assistance, I cannot fail.  Trusting in Him who can go with me and remain with you, and be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet be well.”

What stood out to me was the fact that he had a tougher task than George Washington.  Washington merely had the task of building a nation (merely!)–Lincoln had the task of reconciling a nation that had splintered before he ever stepped into office.  And yet, he managed.  With faith and trust in God, he saw our nation weather devastating losses, brought an oppressed people to freedom, and kept our nation from splintering, all while undergoing untold personal losses–the death of three of his children and its affect on both him and his wife.

Close up of Lincoln Memorial

Close up of Lincoln Memorial

One of my students asked me this week how the nation would have been different if Lincoln had never been assassinated.  The ripples, I explained, would be vast.  With easier reconstruction, racial reconciliation might have been easier, perhaps even eliminating the need for the Civil Rights movement, as segregation might never have happened.  But, he also might not have been quite so loved.  Lincoln had been horribly unpopular in wide circles, but with his assassination, the tide turned, and people flocked to pay their respects.

But, regardless of what might have changed, the fact is, 150 years later, we are still touched by the legacy of a man who held fast in difficult times and saw our nation through.  His example of steadfastness in the midst of adversity is incredible.  May we strive to do the same today–to bring reconciliation to long held wounds, to hold fast to truth and integrity, and to seek to leave a legacy for those who follow behind us!

I woke up early this morning (my first back in the U.S.) thinking about school. I have been out of the country for the past month, and now have a little over a week until a new year starts with all the joys and challenges that brings.

What was on my mind this morning was actually an incident from last year. I had an incredible class last year, and I’m looking forward to seeing many of them after the summer. There are very few years as a teacher when you have a class in which there is NO student that you don’t like. Last year was one of those years for me: No one that annoyed me, no one I hoped would be absent, back teaching a subject I love, just an incredible year. While that is an amazing thing, it makes preparing for this year a lot harder. It’s true that I’ve heard every year from at least one 7th grade teacher, “This is the worst class to come through the system!”, but by the time they get to us as 8th graders, they’re usually not bad (except the traditional 5 to 10.) The class coming up has mixed reviews (Some teachers loved them; most had a few challenges.) Still, going from the best class you’ve had in 10 years at the school to the unknown is bound to be rough.

So, what was on my mind this morning was an incident from the last week of school. I was in the midst of writing my traditional “end of the year” letters for my students, and when I wrote one particular student’s, I started crying (and I’m not usually a crier). So you understand, I put a lot of thought and prayer into the letters and try to say what I feel each child needs to hear. The kid that made me cry was a rough kid. He had had a hard life–more difficult than most of our kids who have hard lives. But, in the course of the year, he had shared bits and pieces of his story with me, and on a few occasions, I was able to see through the chink in his armor to the little boy he was hiding with the “tough guy” exterior.

When I read the letters to my students the next day, a number of students cried over their own letter, but his was the only one I’ve ever read that made someone other than the person it belonged to cry. I had warned him that his letter had made me cry, but he let me read it anyway (and I cried again, as did many others in the class.) When other classes came in later in the day, I heard the same statement, “I heard you’re going to make us cry.” I explained that some students do and others don’t, and that more people had cried in the previous class because I had when I was reading someone’s. They immediately guessed the student, so word had gotten out (as things do in a small school.) A student asked me, “Why did you cry over (student’s name)?” The answer I gave surprised even me. I said, “I don’t know. Maybe because no one else ever has.” The truth of that hit me like a ton of bricks. If even part of the stories I’ve pieced together about this student are true, his dad has never cried, his mom can’t stand him, and his siblings beat him up. So, in all likelihood, no one has ever looked at his life and loved him enough to cry for the things he’s suffered and the wrongs that he’s experienced. No one has watched him make bad choices and grieved for him. Whatever way he’s made, he’s made most of it himself. To me, that’s not how it should be. Somewhere along the way, I had gotten a huge heart for this kid without realizing it until I started typing.

As I gear up for a new year, I know some of the kids I will have are students that have caused a lot of problems for other teachers. I already know them by reputation or discipline reports, or from having to write them up in the hallway. And yet, if I keep in mind this situation from last year, I will remember that this kid was a student who had gotten in trouble, and who, from the exterior, made others assume he was trouble, and yet, I had seen a side of him no one else had. If I approach each student (remembering that looks can be deceiving), searching for that chink in the armor that will let me see what’s really going on with them–if I look beyond the external to the heart of a child, I will have no problem loving each one. And when a child knows you care, it’s amazing what kind of a year you can have!

When we came back from Christmas Break and headed into the long stretch of winter before Spring Break, I could tell my students needed a bit of encouragement. In a moment of honest discussion, one student asked me quite candidly, “Why is school so boring?” At the time, I gave him a typical, “You’re used to a more fast-paced world because of video games, so it seems slow…” answer. Then, I actually thought about it and discussed it with all my classes the next day.

While it’s true that this generation has never known life without cell phones and a myriad of other technology, it does not necessarily follow that school has to be boring. I opened the discussion with the question, “What makes school boring for you?” I explained quite fervently that I did NOT say “Who is boring?” So they were precluded from mentioning specific teachers by name. I really made them analyze what was boring about their classes.
The number one thing the listed was that the content didn’t interest them.

Then, I moved the discussion to them. “Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘Tough Crowd’?” They nodded. “Well,” I explained, “You guys are a tough crowd. Imagine what it feels like for your teachers to look out and see this…” (I mimic their behavior, and they laugh.) “Do you think that makes them WANT to be passionate about what they’re talking about?” It’s beginning to sink in…

“Over break,” I share, “My mom and I went to Dollywood, and we got to see the same show performed two nights in a row. The first night, it was a good show, but the audience totally wasn’t into it. I still was pleased with our experience. But the next night, the audience was incredible–clapping, encouraging…The show was entirely different, even though they performed all the same numbers. The same is true at school. I teach the same material five times, but every time is different based on the audience. My ____ hour class last semester was awesome because they asked great questions, and we had some amazing discussions. Other classes weren’t like that. The difference is YOU!”

“What you have to realize, “I continued, “is that YOU determine what kind of class you have. This is 8th grade–all of your teachers have at least a college education. That means they know WAY more than what they’re sharing with you. So ask about it. When you’re covering material for class, look for something in it that is interesting. Think of how it relates to something you care about. Everything you study has something cool about it. When the teacher mentions something that’s interesting, ask him or her about it. They’ll have a better day because they think you care, and you’ll have a better day because you get to spend time on things you like.”

Now initially, we had to lay out some boundaries because they would just ask question after question. (I reminded them that as the one who EXPLAINED this concept to them, I knew what they were doing.) But, since then, we’ve had some incredible discussions–all related to the material we’re covering (At least loosely…). I even had one girl come up to me and say, “I tried what you said in Mrs. _______________’s class.”

“How’d it go?” I asked her.

“It was really good. Though then we had other things to do, so it got boring again…”

“Well, keep at it.” I encouraged.

Reminding students that THEY are responsible for their education too is always a good thing.

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The new Boeing 787 Dreamliner can carry about 250 passengers. This blog was viewed about 970 times in 2012. If it were a Dreamliner, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

One of my favorite things about teaching History is the projects one can do with students. This is one I did the beginning of the quarter which is a lot of fun.

For me, History is more than just names and dates–it is the story of the human experience, and as such, is relatable to everyone. I strive in my classroom to enable students to feel the feelings of those who have gone before us. Whatever the topic, whether through discussion or role play, I try to make my students “walk a mile in their shoes.”

Charters

Charters

One of my favorite projects is an approximately six week project I do involving colonization in America. Since I hated being assigned a group when I was in school, I always let my students choose their own groups. Before we get to the six week project, I do a smaller project where students have to work together to present one of the different Native American groups. I use that project to encourage my students to be creative (think outside the box) and let them experience group dynamics such as division of labor and which members you can count on. This way, when they choose groups for the six week project, they know whom they can trust.

Old New York

Old New York

I begin the project with the selection of jobs. There are approximately 105 original settlers, and, as luck would have it, I had 105 students in my class. Additionally, Jamestowne (historic) offers a list of the occupations of the original settlers. The original jobs included a majority of gentlemen, a large number of laborers, and a smattering of craftsman. I gave my gentlemen a set salary, my laborers no salary, and my craftsmen got to roll for their salary (so many “heads” equal so many dollars.) Each member had to raise a certain amount of money to secure a ticket to the new world. Because laborers received no salary, they have to “indenture” themselves to other classmates who are gentlemen and can afford them. I occasionally take taxes from them (or fine them for misbehavior). Those who cannot pay their taxes are placed in “stocks.” There are so many societal dynamics taught in this period of the project.

Rhode Island

Rhode Island

Once it is time to “Sail,” I took the class down to the football storage room. It is small, stinky, complete with barrels and a ladder where we could hang my Civil War kerosene lantern. There, by candle light, I had an alumni act as my “ship captain,” and between the two of us, we rehearsed what happened to the early settlers on the voyage, from the six week delay in the English Channel before they could get off to the problems with John Smith, who ended up spending a majority of the voyage in the brig for challenging the captain’s methods, to the Indian attack where two men were wounded the moment they arrived. Despite still being in the school, it lends a reality to the smell, the cramped quarters, and the experience.

When we return to class, each group selects one of the original 13 colonies that they will build. They are given a “plot of land” (white piece of paper) and a charter signed by their “proprietor.” Then, they have the next several weeks to create their colony. During that time, they will do research on their colony, create a travel brochure for their colony, create the rules by which the colony will operate, and build their colony.

History Fair 2012

History Fair 2012

It is always amazing for me to see the creativity and variety each group brings to the experience. I offer “supply ships” bringing items that may be purchased with any left over money from their initial salaries (all salaries stop in the new world.), but students may purchase or make their own supplies or used those provided by nature (rocks, sticks, etc.)

Finally, they are able to present their projects to the community in a history fair. We set up the projects and allow parents, teachers, and friends to come in and view all the projects. It is an incredible experience to say the least. Through the teamwork, the struggle, and the decisions, each student learns the decisions and challenges that faced our founding fathers. I think it’s a lesson they’ll never forget.

A student told me today that I was almost like an angel or a saint—“One of those people who never do anything wrong.” She listed the traditional “sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll” kinds of activities. At the time, I explained that I had made choices based on a long-term perception of how I wanted my life to be and the conversations I didn’t want to have with my spouse. I then launched into a discussion of how our choices affect our lives, specifically in the areas of sex and drugs.

I realized, however, as I thought about it, that I didn’t make good decisions because I was so wise as a teenager, but because I wasn’t around all the stuff these kids are. I didn’t know anyone who was divorced when I was in junior high or anyone that wasn’t living with both biological parents (unless one of them had died.) I couldn’t have found drugs if I wanted them (except on a family trip to New York when I was offered crack), and I knew very few people who drank in high school—and those only by reputation, never around me. It’s an entirely different world from the place my students live.

To allow others who may have been similarly sheltered to understand what my students deal with, I wanted to type out a portion of their stories in their own words. The writing is in response to an autobiography project that I assigned. They started with a list of five events that had impacted their lives. Then, they could either pick one to tell in detail or all five in summary. Those were the only instructions I gave them. I got a few “When I got my tongue pierced” or “The day I met my best friend” essays, but more were much more tragic. I think for me the greatest tragedy was the realization that for these kids, there was nothing abnormal or weird about sharing these stories—it is their “normal.” I asked them for permission to share their stories with you. So here they are, in their voice, the stories of their lives :

1. When I was young, my mom lost custody of me and my brother. My grandma [name] got custody. They are still fighting for us today. My brother has seizures, so he’s kind of mental. I have two sisters and three brothers. My mom and dad were never married.
Now, my mom is engaged and my dad is now married. My dad has been married for five years almost. My family is kind of hectic. My grandma is married and has been married for six years. I moved here from [location]. I’m hoping that I’ll move down there next month after the ninth. I haven’t lived with my mom for seven years. I moved here in the third grade when I was nine. . . .

2. The first thing I remember is police busting through the door arresting my dad for drug trafficking. I was small. I’m not sure how I remember this, but Tupac’s “Hail Mary” was playing and the stove was on. My mom and I were crying.
Another memory from my childhood is me, about three now, sitting in a tub. My mother was washing my feet. I cried because the water was too hot. I got burned.
I remember when I was thirteen, when my dad was arrested again—on Christmas. My mom went to rehab for alcohol abuse. My brother and I cried together.
I remember being forced to share a house with my grandparents, staying outside all day, playing football and basketball with my brother.
I remember my first fist fight. I won. But, I felt so bad.
I remember the first time I thought I was cool and try a cigarette. I coughed my lungs out. I almost died. Ha-ha. . . .
I remember a lot of things. Negative or not, the memories have made and shaped who I am today.

3. Birth. My parents got divorced. My dad got remarried. My mom got remarried. I ended up with two sisters and three brothers on my mom’s side. My step mom told me she was pregnant on my birthday. Worst birthday ever because I wanted to be Daddy’s little girl. Sixth grade, my little sister was born. I was scared. My mom took my dad to court for custody of me. We lost. My dad wouldn’t talk to me for a few weeks after that. Seventh grade, I got in my first fight. I was afraid my dad was going to kill me, but he just said as long as I didn’t lose, then I wouldn’t be in trouble. And now, here I am.

4. When I was a little kid, my dad was not a good one. He is/was a drug addict. My mom had me at a young age and wasn’t married to my father. My mom had me in April, and they got married in September. She married him because she thought he would change. But, he didn’t change. He would steal my mom’s car and leave. When he left, he would go get high on cocaine or marijuana and stay out until it wore off. When he would come home, he would make up lies about where he was at. My mom dealt with it for a long time. Then, I found out that my mom was pregnant with my sister. She had my sister and still put up with his crap. In August [year], they finally got divorced. I was sad about it, but then I got over it. He couldn’t keep a job and was in jail a couple of times. In March [year], I got a call that my dad wanted to see me. I went home and saw him. He was with my cousin. My cousin and my mom were talking, and my dad took me in my room and said he wanted to talk to me. We sat on my bed and he started to cry. He had been doing drugs and told me that he didn’t want to live anymore. I screamed and started crying. My cousin and my mom ran in the room and asked what happened. Then, they left, and I didn’t see my dad for a while. In October [year], my dad went to jail for a month and a half. It was sad, but then again, oh well. He is now sort of stable and has a job. But, if any of that wouldn’t have happened, my mom probably wouldn’t be the woman she is now and wouldn’t have raised me like she did. I probably wouldn’t be as strong as I am now and independent.

5. I grew up in a house with four rooms two bathrooms. I lived with my mom, dad, and two sisters. This was until I was six. My mom decided to move out and get a divorce. We went to my aunt’s house for a couple of days, then moved out to [location.] I lived there from [time]. I went to first and second grade in [location]. We had moved in with my uncle. Things got bad between me and his daughter, so we went back to my aunt’s. This time, we lived in the back house, which the last time was occupied. We lived there for like two years. In [year], my mom wanted to move again, so we did. We had to move schools again and make new friends. Well, I liked it because it wasn’t that hard. . . .

6. I don’t really remember when I was born, so I’ll skip to when I was five. When I was five, my mom, my mom’s ex, and I used to live in [location.] My dad would always think my mom would cheat on him. He was a truck driver, coming home only some weekends, so he did not know. I know my mom didn’t cheat on him because I’m here from like __to two o’clock. So then my mom and dad divorced. We got kicked out of our house and forced to move here. We lived with our uncle until his wife didn’t want us to live at their house. So we moved into my grandfather’s house. I loved it there because he didn’t care what we did at all. My life has been very well after all of this. My mom has a very good job and she is very well. . . .

7. [Date] is one day I will never forget. One interesting day, I should say. That day I won’t forget because I lost my dad that day. I was at my friend [name]’s house, and early in the morning, my dad got up and decided that he didn’t want to be around anymore. He got up, and he got dressed. He and my mom got into a huge fight. They wouldn’t stop. They argued about everything, until my dad got so far, he grabbed a knife and started going towards my older brother’s room, and my mom had to call the cops. The cops heard the whole thing over the phone and were sent to our house right away. My dad was escorted out and told it would be best if he were to stay gone for a few days. It ended up being more than a few days. When I came home, he was gone. I saw my dad again that July when there was a medical emergency including me where I had to go to the hospital because my little brother shattered a glass window in my face at about three inches away from my face. I was put into the emergency room for eight hours. They took X-rays of my face and hands and then sent me home.
The problems just spiraled out of control from there. My brother was sent to a mental institution, shortly after the incident with my face, and we went in for family counseling. One year later, my little brother was released and sent back home. Before he was released in [time], I had stopped seeing my dad in [time]. I haven’t seen him in a year, nor has he tried to contact me in over a year. I really don’t understand why it seems like my dad didn’t care, and if he did, he had an odd way of showing it. I kind of miss my dad, but I don’t really miss the things he said and he did. On [date], my parents will be getting a divorce, and then me and my two siblings will be put in a custody battle. This will probably be a long, hard process, but it will have to be done. I hope to have all the fighting over with soon, but with all this, something good is sure to come.

8. A few months after living a life of abuse and lies, I broke. I couldn’t handle the stress, and I couldn’t bear living with my mistakes. I found a bottle of pills and took nearly twenty. I was numb. I stumbled into my room. Becoming more and more dizzy, I began to pass out. My sister walked into the room, picked up the pill bottle, and screamed. She quickly told my mom what had happened. She was screaming, crying, and starting the car. I was rushed to the hospital. My family was shocked. I was forced to stay awake until a room had opened. I could hear my mom filling in the rest of the family. I could only make out a few words… “She found Grandma’s pills…she was raped.” I closed my eyes as I was put on a stretcher. My inner thoughts were screaming, “Take me, take me, take me already.” The nurse interrupted them as she impatiently shoved a large white bottle in my right hand and a straw in my left. “Drink quickly, sweetheart.” I took a sip. Charcoal. I should have known. I drank hastily, growing more and more terrified. I heard my step sister inform my mother what had to come next. 72 hours in a padded room. I trembled. “Why hadn’t I just used a quicker method?” My inner voice boomed in my head. By now it was 11:00 pm. I had arrived at around 3:00 pm. I was exhausted. Hauled onto a stretcher, the paramedic socialized and tried to give me advice. I fell asleep, and awoke in a new hospital. A mental hospital. I stayed there for almost a week. I will never forget this experience. And I hope nobody will make the mistakes I have.

These are just a sampling, but I think they paint a clear picture. May we love well and never be fooled by the calm exterior. Additionally, may we realize that not everyone’s dealt the same hand in life, but as so many of my students did, understand that regardless of the hardships, there is still hope.

This past week, I had two days of consecutive conversations with teenagers who were trying to navigate the baggage they had inherited from getting involved sexually at too young an age. It is one of my biggest frustrations that no one (or maybe not enough people) seems to be talking to these kids honestly about the choices they’re making, so that by the time they get to me, it is often too late.

The first instance was a young lady who came in to see me because she has sought my advice before. Just that Friday, she had come by at the football game and discussed a relationship with a guy. Knowing the guy she was “talking to,” I had warned her as explicitly as I could without telling his business. She assured me that they weren’t dating, but were “friends with benefits.” I explained to her that was worse. “Why?” she asked me, “What’s wrong with that?” I explained to her that being “friends with benefits” meant that she was willing to give herself away without any type of commitment on his part. She was completely devaluing herself. She agreed I was right, and shortly after, went away…

Tuesday, she came in to tell me “things had happened,” and now everyone knew about it and was calling her names, and she might have a disease–an incurable one. “I should have listened to you.” she said, “But, he promised me he was a virgin…” Of course he did. The whole school had heard rumors of everyone this guy’s been with. But, she believed him. And it may have affected the rest of her life.

We discussed how she couldn’t change the past, but she could learn from this. I explained that the most valuable lesson she could learn is to value herself–that her value doesn’t come from a beauty pageant or from an older guy paying attention to her–it is simply because of who she is. I gave her a hug, and she left.

The next day, the second girl came in. She came to talk to me because I had seen the scars on her arm from cutting. She explained that she was doing it because it made her ex-boyfriend pay attention to her. I asked her if she really wanted a relationship with someone who was only in it because he felt sorry for her. She said, “I don’t care why he’s with me, just so long as he is…” The back story on this girl is that she had given this guy her virginity because he kept bugging her. She finally said, “If I let you, will you shut up?” My heart broke when she’d told me that. I explained to her that the reason she felt so attached to this guy is that she had given him her virginity–that that act creates a powerful bond between people, and that’s why it is not to be given thoughtlessly. I explained to her that she needed her heart to be healed and that bond broken.

Two lives devastated by choices. I realize talking about sex is an awkward conversation to have. I also realize that everyone has to make the decision of when and if they are going to have sex, and that THEY have to make that decision. My challenge though–to parents, to teachers, and to adults who have conversations with young people is this: No one says, “I wish I’d been a bigger slut in high school.” But plenty of people say, “I wish I’d waited longer.” Please be honest with kids. Counsel them on the consequences of the choices they make. When appropriate, share your own experiences–even if they include regrets. It’s far easier to be awkward for a little bit than to pick up the pieces after the fact.