Teach Your Children: A Christmas (?) Story

"Teach Your Children"    (listen to the song by clicking on the title)

You, who are on the road must have a code that you can live by.
And so become yourself because the past is just a goodbye.
Teach your children well, their father's hell did slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams, the one they fix, the one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.

And you, of the tender years can't know the fears that your elders grew by,
And so please help them with your youth, they seek the truth before they can die.
Teach your parents well, their children's hell will slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams, the one they fix,the one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.

* * * * * * * * * * 

It's interesting that, "Teach Your Children" remains one of my "favorite" songs; even as a very young child, I asked my sister to sing it to me as a lullaby (though I know she wasn't permitted to use the word "hell," I can't recall the euphemism she used...perhaps "pain"?).

I think it's about how we all teach those around us how to live, dream, and love--our own children, our students, our families, our friends.   Each generation, no matter how old or young, related or "classroom kin," can learn from each other, love each other.

                         You, who are on the road must have a code that you can live by.

When I was younger, I thought of my grandparents as the ones who had to seek the truth, now I see it differently--we all seek the truth.  

And so become yourself because the past is just a goodbye

And if we knew how much our families and dearest friends love us (and maybe even some of our students), we would cry.  

As children, our love is boundless.  When I envisioned being a teacher, even as a young child, I imagined doing it with love in my heart.  

                           Teach your children well, their father's hell did slowly go by,

                   And feed them on your dreams, the one they fix, the one you'll know by.

Several years ago, I received a new student in my class, not long before Christmas.  Her mother was a young woman who had been in my very first class when I was just 22 years old!  She and her siblings had essentially grown up in distress, eventually "moving away."  I soon lost track of her.  

But our paths crossed once again, briefly, when she and her own young children came to live in our town for a short while years later.  

 Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,

With a different last name, I didn't immediately recognize that this "new student" was the daughter of a former student.  I was amazed that her mother was the child in my memory, and I wondered at the miracle of our encountering each other again in this way.  Just a couple of months later, it was the holiday season.

The day of our Christmas program arrived, and the children performed their sweet music, reminding us to hold dear the innocence of our little ones... all felt right with the world.  

As we returned to the classroom, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.  I turned; catching my stride was the young woman, looking down into my eyes (yes, she was now taller than I), smiling a familiar child-now-mother smile that stirred my soul, even after all the years that had passed us by.

I warmly greeted her.  She suddenly wept, saying, "I was watching for you.  As soon as you walked in, I saw you... and then I cried."  Her brow furrowed as hot tears filled her enormous, brown eyes and trailed down her narrow face.  Her long, thin arms reached for me, holding on for just a momentary hug--so abrupt, so light, it barely existed.  Then, with eyes darting to blink away tears, letting go without looking back, she disappeared into the crowd. 

So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.

Just a couple of days later, it was the day before Christmas vacation.  Everyone was in a jubilant mood, as treasured Christmas crafts were sent home to become heirlooms, parties were held with sweets and fruit punch, and small gifts were exchanged between classmates and co-workers.

Amid the din of the day, the woman's daughter (my new student) came to me and told me that this would be her last day; her family had been evicted from their home.  She said that she was not to take the bus home (her usual route), as they now had no home... someone would come to get them.  

                       And you, of the tender years can't know the fears that your elders grew by,
               And so please help them with your youth, they seek the truth before they can die.

                        

I immediately notified the office staff who called all emergency number--to no avail.  The day wore on as we waited for calls to be returned, but the day ended in deafening silence.  Large, feathery snowflakes began to fall, swaddling the children in its icy white blanket as they stepped onto buses, heading to their warm homes, looking forward to Christmas vacation.  

No word had come from the mother, the young woman who had once been my student whose child was now entrusted to my care.  Didn't she know that I would wonder, that I would worry? Was her life in such disarray that she just couldn't communicate with us?   Was she embarrassed, swearing her girls to secrecy in hopes that "the school" wouldn't know?  Should I just let them go?

Teach your parents well, their children's hell will slowly go by.

"The daughter" and her little sister were in the hallway, arguing in their babyish voices about whether they were to get on the bus or wait.  School policy was that if no adult contacted the school, the child was to go home as usual. (This way, families always knew what to expect.)  Had they been in our school long enough to understand this? I plead one last time, asking to keep the girls at school until we heard from someone--I would stay with them, I said.  

But I was assured that the bus would take them home and that somehow they would be safe.  For a moment, it seemed as if the commotion of dismissal time stood still as everyone waited for me to let them go.  I hugged the girls goodbye and fastened their coats, pulling up their hoods.  They looked away, leaving without a word.  The snow on my face melted with my apprehensive tears as the two little girls disappeared into the snowy evening.

                  And feed them on your dreams, the one they fix,the one you'll know by.

The worry didn't stop there.  The guidance counselor and I kept checking to see if the girls made it home safely.   At first we radioed the bus driver, who confirmed that they had reached their destination.  Questions were left unanswered... Was someone waiting for them?  Did they have any dinner?  Were they warm?  

The evening wore on, no assurances came.  

My family attended a Christmas party where warm, delectable food was served and lighthearted conversation sparkled.  But all I could think of were the little girls, the snowy night... their mother, crying at the sight of me.  Where were they?  Were they alone, hungry, cold?  

Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry

When we arrived back home after the party, I checked my messages.  There was one from the guidance counselor.  She had spent her evening checking on the well-being of this family (bless her).  She had, eventually, talked to the sheriff's department in a nearby county, where the girls' aunt lived.  A deputy had gone to the aunt's home; she had confirmed that her sister and the girls would be staying with her.  Though the deputy did not see them, the aunt assured him that the girls (and their mother) were "fine."  

Questions floated in my weary mind, but the only choice that remained was to let go. We had done everything we could; oddly, I felt that the girls' mother and aunt had probably done the best they could with the circumstances that surrounded them.  

As I lay in my comfortable bed that night, waiting for sleep to come, I asked for angels to guard this family, to ensure their safety and shelter, and to somehow keep them fed... and I imagined the mother, cuddling her beautiful "baby" girls, watching the falling snow from a safe, warm place, maybe even with a small tree and twinkle lights, as Christmas drew closer. I was thankful for the hope that this image could be real and prayed that it was.

                              So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.