“Can you be brave and afraid, articulate and sad, respectful and angry at the same time?”
In Teach It: Mixed Emotions in Civil Rights, educator Callie Feyen asked her students to consider this question. Her class looked for examples of these responses in the book As Fast As Words Could Fly, by Pamela M. Tuck. Set in the 1960’s, an African American student named Mason Steele writes business letters to leaders on behalf of his father’s civil rights group and attends a newly-desegregated school.
I wanted to order the same book and read it with my daughter and son. But it would be a while before it arrived in my mailbox. In the meantime, I thought about starting a spin-off conversation about feelings: How can we constructively move through difficulty, while experiencing strong emotions?
It was Phase One of our morning routine: Ease Into the School Day As Slowly As Possible. As I drank my dark roast with whole milk in the dimly-lit kitchen, I recalled my own experience at school. I knew how easily unexpected conflicts could flare up in the hallways or out on the playground. If an intimidating person zeroed in on me there were some instances where I’d talk my way through it and others where I’d get frightened and freeze up.
What would my kids do in a situation like that? Maybe if they thought ahead about ways to respond when fear sets in, it could strengthen their confidence in a real-life situation.
Time was dwindling, and so was the coffee. I needed to get cracking on Phase Two: Wake the Kids Through Whatever Means Necessary. I poured milk into two cups, plunked in straws, and headed down the dark hallway. If I could just get them to hold onto their drinks in bed, it’d be hard for them to fall back to sleep.
Eventually, my son and daughter emerged through the aqua kitchen entry with Phase Three accomplished: Put On Clothes That Don’t Look Like Pajamas, Even If They Are.
I glanced at the clock on the microwave as we transitioned into Phase Four: Scarf Breakfast. While they gobbled their meal, I’d have time to open up the topic. The kids would probably listen sleepily and maybe chat about it for a couple minutes. Later, if they remembered the talk, we could develop it further.
After mentioning to them that I’d read an interesting article and wondered what they’d think about it, I asked: “Do you guys think it’s possible to be scared and brave at the same time?”
“Of course,” my fourth-grade son immediately answered. “If a burglar broke into our house, and you and Dad were on the ground, and well… you know… I wouldn’t want to, but I would fight him.”
“Oh…” I looked at his hands, not quite as big as mine yet. “Um…” I hadn’t anticipated the kids jumping straight into a home-invasion scenario.
An animated discussion broke out at full volume about where they’d kick or punch a robber in self-defense, complete with demonstrations. (There was some mention of using the stainless steel teapot, in a pinch.)
“Well, I don’t think this will ever happen to you, but if you were in a rare kind of emergency where Dad and I couldn’t help, and someone was trying to hurt you—you run. Run, hide, fight, I think is what they say, but the first thing is to run.”
My second-grade daughter’s eyes opened wider. Milk dripped from her spoon, halted above her bowl: “I would run all the way to Grandma’s house and call 9-1-1! Mom, I would only stop to put on my coat.”
“Honey, if you’re ever in an urgent situation where you have to run out of the house, please don’t stop for your coat, okay? Don’t stop for anything.”
She was out of her chair and all business now. Framed in copper-wire fairy lights with her back against the patio door, she narrowed her eyes. “Okay Mom, watch. I’m gonna show you how fast I would do it. Ready?”
Off she shot, past the table, the soles of her white sock-feet kicking up behind her. She muscled the stiff deadbolt over with two hands, yanked the door open, and sprinted down the driveway, straight to our maple tree (our emergency meetup spot) — coatless. Chilly February air poured through the doorway into the living room. We were all going to remember this talk.
Their conversation continued rapidly as we moved toward the final phase: Don’t Forget. Homework was found to be in place, baby teeth were scrubbed, and little ice packs were crammed into the nooks of metal lunch boxes. Fiddling for my keys, I double-clicked the car locks open. “Let’s go!”
Three seat belts clanged and clicked. My daughter continued, “So we’d run to Grandma’s house. We’d figure out the way there, and I’m pretty sure we’d recognize it. Right?” She looked at her older brother for an answer. I glanced at their little faces in the black frame of my rearview mirror and then back at the road. “Or, you could try ringing our next-door neighbors’ doorbells instead. It’d be quick and easy, and they would help you.”
We bounced with the pop and rattle of the railroad track crossing and a few blocks later successfully pulled into the school lot before the last bell rang. They hoisted backpacks up onto their shoulders, and we said our love-you’s through the window.
I spun the steering wheel counter-clockwise and headed back toward the street. Was that talk even helpful? I hadn’t set out to discuss burglar-evasion strategies. My hope was that they’d glean something practical from our chat that they could actually use. I should try again at dinner.
But maybe I wouldn’t need to. I picture my daughter’s quick sock-feet pounding the cold driveway. I remember my son’s willingness to sort through a worst-fear moment. The discussion didn’t follow my plan, but my kids got to imagine just how strong they could be.
Photo by RebeccaVC1, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Bethany Rohde.
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L.L. Barkat says
This is so absolutely ticklishly wonderful. (I laughed out loud at the bolting down the driveway! 🙂 )
I’d say the conversation went exactly as it should have. (Go you, for letting their imaginations steal the show.)
Bethany Rohde says
Aren’t they a kick? I couldn’t believe how quickly my son jumped into this scenario. And I wish you could have seen my daughter’s stance and expression as she prepared for take-off. She had on her (adorable) “determined face,” which made it extra hard not to smile.
Thank you again for the writing invitation. 🙂
Callie Feyen says
Bethany, this is absolutely spine tingling wonderful. Oh, how I love these phases of the morning! Me too, friend, ME, TOO!
Bethany Rohde says
Hahaha! Yes, you get it. 😉 Thank you so much for the kind words and encouragement, Callie! There are many more micro-phases I think we could add to the morning routine, what do you think?
I’m also grateful you wrote the Mixed Emotions piece that this spun off from. I did end up buying that wonderful book and read it with my kids. Glad you brought it to our attention.
Will Willingham says
I’m well past the days of trying to get small people organized and run through the phases of morning, but not so far out that I don’t remember it like it was yesterday. 🙂 Such a familiar story in that way. I love the way you let this unfold with them, and take it in the direction they took it. 🙂 (Also, I’m a little torn between wonder and terror at the idea of giving my kids glasses of milk in bed. 😉 )
Bethany Rohde says
Thank you for the kind words and for editing this piece, LW. 🙂
The phase, “Wake the Kids Through Whatever Means Necessary” is constantly evolving. I get your reaction to the drink in bed strategy! Amazingly, no one has spilled them yet. (I’m shocked too.)
I thought of the milks in bed (which are sometimes lightly sweetened with vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry) after realizing how much my own mug of coffee helps motivate me to start my morning.
Then I started adding the phrase, “Here, I need you to hold onto this so it doesn’t spill in your blankets, okay?” as I would touch it to their fingers. And that got their attention… for awhile. But over time they’ve wised-up to my plan (maybe after I read them an early draft of this piece?) and have started responding to me with, “Just put it on my dresser.” Darn.
So now I’m trying a technique where I put on inviting (non-obnoxious) music in the kitchen and hope it rouses them enough to try sipping on their drinks. I’ll keep you posted. 😉
Megan Willome says
I think you did just right, Bethany. We never know what our kids will face, but we do know they will need all their emotional tools. And possibly very fast feet and a killer kettle.
This was something the movie “Inside Out” showed so well, like at the end, when Riley is playing hockey, she needs both Joy and Anger together to give her the competitive drive she needs to be a good player.
Bethany Rohde says
Thank you for taking the time to read this and write out your response, Megan. 🙂 I agree with your comment that “…we do know they will need all their emotional tools.” One interesting thing about starting these conversations with the little darlings is that it causes me to start and keep thinking through my own strategies for dealing with difficulty (whether it’s from a bully or a robber). 🙂
Donna says
I love this times a million!
And the milk in bed? HA!!! Brilliant!
This is so wonderful!
Bethany says
Thank you, Donna! You’re such an encouragement. 😀
D.W. Stone says
I love it! It’s so descriptive I feel like I was in the kitchen witnessing those two rascals hash out the details! A couple little preppers in the making…
Bethany says
Ha! Thanks for taking the time to read this and leave your thoughts, D. W. 🙂
Lexanne Leonard says
I love seeing what goes on in the morning before they come to me.
This was a delight, Bethany. I cannot count the times I have my lesson plan that goes on it’s own excursion once the littles are engaged. But I believe that is where they learn the most. And so do I, especially about them.
Bethany Rohde says
Isn’t it interesting when the little darlings take a subject down their own path how focused and passionate they can be? I like what you’re saying about how you learn about the student or child in that. Thanks for reading and leaving your response, Lexanne. 🙂
Laura Brown says
I love your son’s tender “Well … you know …”
And that you read them a draft.
Bethany says
He is a sweetheart. I like that he added “I wouldn’t want to but…”
Yes, these days I always try to run anything I write about them publicly by them first to make sure they’re cool with it. Also it’s just fun to read about our experiences together, and hear their helpful feedback. 😉
Sharon A Gibbs says
Bethany, Simply perfect in the telling of the story and how everything unfolded. I love that you introduced the article to your children (and subsequently, the book). Thank you for inviting us into experience this with you. You write beautifully.
I am also well past the days of getting young ones ready for school, but this story brought back some memories. We had “safety” talks that I disguised as softer conversations when my sons were little guys. You know the ones about what to do if there is a fire, or of someone they don’t know offers them a ride.
My two rambunctious tykes turned the conversation into a theatrical release of legs, arms, and raised Cowabunga! voices as they warded off danger with their Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle courage. They were able to imagine just how strong they could be in their playful and expressive ways. Makes me smile.
Bethany Rohde says
Thank you for taking the time to read this and leave your fun response here, Sharon. 🙂
Yes, those kinds of talks can be difficult to broach with little ones. It sounds like “Heroes in a Half Shell” was a fabulous way to work one! So glad you shared this.
Toni says
This is one of the best things I’ve ever read……never mind that they are my favorite little humans. I could just see their faces as you described it. And picturing her running toward the tree made me laugh aloud.
What an amazing description of your conversation. The images were immediate.
I loved this and wanted to tell you so! And the tea pot? Yes. Just…yes. 😁
LOVE it!
Bethany Rohde says
Toni! So happy to see you here, thanks for this! You know as well as I do how interesting a conversation with these little ones can get. 😉 I so appreciate your kind words about the writing, thank you.
Rick Maxson says
Bethany, I loved how you told this story. It was like being there seeing the whole thing unfold.
Bethany Rohde says
Rick, thank you! I appreciate you reading the piece and leaving your encouraging response.
Michelle Ortega says
Bethany!! Just catching up with this charming piece! I have a snoozy 22-year-old with me, here on vacation, and I’ve learned to lure her out of slumber with some gently clanging pans and the aroma of sizzling bacon…You perfectly captured the lesson blooming wildly beyond its intent, through each phase of the morning routine. Loved it!
Bethany Rohde says
Another clever path to the same destination! Bacon and pans—brilliant. Thanks for reading this and for your comment, Michelle! 🙂
Laurie Klein says
Bethany, you had me from Phase One. And such crazy-spontaneous, wholehearted response from your kids!
I’m embarrassed to realize we never set a meeting place for our family in case of emergency. Different times.
I love this piece. A pint-sized cameo of courage. Hoping for a sequel . . .
Bethany Rohde says
Laurie, thanks for reading my piece and for your comment. “A pint-sized cameo of courage” is such a fabulous phrase. The kids are sure colorful and full of imagination—I never know where our conversations will end up (meetup spot or not). 😉
Ann Kroeker says
Oh, golly…so many well-intentioned conversations go every which way when interacting with kids. And yet, every which way is perhaps the very best way after all.
Bethany Rohde says
Thanks for sharing your response here, Ann, don’t children keep things interesting? 🙂
I love to hear the kids’ “first thoughts.” In this case, it ended up being helpful for all three of us to listen to and work through what my son brought up.