Why Do Trees Whisper?
For he shall deliver the needy when
he crieth;
the poor also, and him that hath no
helper.
-- Psalm 72:12
There's a hubbub
in the Omaha area about whether there is "equity" in our public schools. The
big center-city district, the Omaha Public Schools, wants to consume most of
its three richer, whiter suburban neighboring districts. It has far more
poverty, absenteeism and dropouts, and far worse test scores. It's slapping
lawsuits on the rest of us and screaming for help.
But the 'burbs are
screaming back. Soccer moms are putting up yard signs urging the urban
oppressors to keep their greedy mitts off their schools. Bean counters are pointing
out that OPS already spends far more on disadvantaged pupils than on other
kids. Inner-city private schools do a better job with almost 100% minority and
low-income populations, and spend less, too. Other states are getting better
results for less money and far less community disunity. More money's not the
answer, they contend. Don't give more power to the same people who got the poor
kids in to this mess in the first place.
It's the Clash of
the Titans, as the superintendents battle at public forums and in the paper.
Then they return to their home turfs to rouse the footsoldiers in this big,
ugly class war, with emotional rallies and stirring letters to their partisans.
At night they must sock down the Maalox and count the days to their retirement
on a full pension with annuities, all taxpayer-provided, of course.
Meanwhile, the
politicians are busily throwing out proposed solutions, each one costlier, more
chaotic and more micromanaging than the next.
But I can't stop thinking
about a boy I met years ago in a writing workshop for the Boys and Girls Club
in inner-city Omaha. It's for kids like him that I'm seeking a better way.
He taught me that
poverty doesn't define children, and shouldn't keep them from their dreams, if
we can help it.
And we can.
The kids in my
workshop, most all minorities, were about 13. They were at risk for gangs and
drugs, from some of the toughest home situations in the state. But they had
academic potential. I had volunteered to help them with their writing.
First, I had them
write about whatever they wanted. Their spelling, grammar and punctuation were
horrible. I don't think there was a single error-free sentence. All they wrote
about was the NBA, NFL and "doent taek druggs."
Sheesh. This was
hopeless. I called them up individually, circled their misspellings, and
pointed to the dictionary.
They gasped at how
many words were circled on their papers. Turns out their teachers in the Omaha
Public Schools never pointed out their writing errors or made them fix them. No
wonder they couldn't write! They didn't even KNOW they couldn't write! I
red-penciled their papers, grimacing. I prayed hard that they wouldn't get
their feelings hurt, but would accept the corrections in the spirit with which
they were offered - for no other reason than that I wanted them to write right.
One by one, they brought
their corrected papers back. I praised them. They beamed.
Hmm. Maybe things aren't
so hopeless. Look at that: they seemed now to have MORE self-esteem, not less,
now that their papers were perfect.
After tearing down
their writing, I was desperate for a way to build them back up. Convinced that
all children, everywhere, are wonderfully imaginative, I asked the kids to pose
any question they wanted, and answer it creatively.
We were sitting under
some cottonwoods -- grand, old trees that never grow in the matchy-poo suburbs.
There's wealth and beauty in the inner city, too . . . if you look.
That's when this
kid amazed me.
His question: "Why
do trees whisper?"
His answer: there's
a tree named Bob, and he's a terrible gossip, and the other trees don't want
him to know their business, so when you hear leaves rustling in the wind, it's
them whispering. . . .
Now I was the one
gasping. It was creative. It was funny. It was wonderful. His writing
conventions were a "D," but his ideas were "A++."
Goosebumps! I went
from pitying these kids . . . to believing in them.
I told him he had
a God-given talent. I hope he can still feel my hug: "You're going to be somebody
someday."
I made a promise that
day to do everything I could to help disadvantaged kids get a better education.
That's why I'm always harping on it. They don't need more money. They don't
need more integration. They need the old 3 R's, and they need them now.
They already have
everything else they need: imagination, people who believe in them, and God on
their side.
Let's be like
those trees. Let's quiet down and stand tall . . . put our heads together . . .
ask God to whisper to our hearts . . . and together, dream up a better way. †
