I forgot my pen for Philosophy class. I need a pen in Philosophy class. I borrowed one from the guy next to me.

Fun fact about Rachel: she likes clicky pens.

After class I handed it to the guy and said thank you for letting me use it. He said to keep it. It was a clicky pen. I kept it. Besides, I said, it is my birthday. It is my birthday too! was his surprised response. We quickly checked to see it we were twins (he is turning 41 and I am 28 so no, we are not) and with that settled, announced to the class that it was our birthday.

And I got a clicky pen.

Yesterday IUPUI gave me free food again. This is beginning to be trend. It was the study abroad fair. And I found out that with my grants/scholarships, Spring semester I could study in Puerto Rico. For free. This spun my head around for a couple of hours, and then it went away. I remembered the e-mail I received from Flavio, asking me to come as soon as possible to begin classes with him at a new Living Stones…

And then the idea came back STRONGLY–imagine putting Spanish on my resume along with Portuguese…Today I banished it. I woke up and without permission, my mind was flooded with palm trees and sugar cane fields. My body is out of sync with me right now. It is confused. Four of the past five years I spent my birthday in Brasil. It is a different thing celebrating in a different place. Saudades blew past my soul and left me breathless.

But family is not overrated. Amazing wonderfulness to be home with my family this year. They took me to my new favorite restaurant–a Thai place–and got plenty of fresh fruit (and frozen Brazilian fruits) to keep me happy. They put up with my random grumpiness and keep the light on when I suddenly decide to go on a night bike ride. And Angel food cake to top it off. yum.

Thank you for all of the calls, texts, facebook notes, and such…I feel very loved and connected.

Cheers to a new year!

I read the Pilgirmage by Paulo Coelho, and am passing on some amazing quotes. It is a deep book with many levels–some of which I don’t understand, and some I think you should be careful of and with. I still have many questions on what I think about parts of it. WIth that said, it does give much to think about:

There are four sacred roads. This is a story about number three—the road of Santiago. The author must travel it to find his sword. The four roads:

1.  To the tomb of St. Peter in Rome—they are called wanderers—the cross symbol, with the clovers, representing grace, miracles, and luck.
2. To the holy sepulcher of Christ in Jerusalem—they are called palmists—the symbol of palm branches, with the hearts, representing love.
3. To the mortal remains of St. James—they are called pilgrims—the symbol of the scallop shell, with the spades, representing power.
4. The secret road that no one can teach you because it is personal, with the diamonds.

“May He show you the only thing that you need to discover; may you walk neither too slowly nor too fast but always according to the laws and requirements of the Road; may you obey the one who is your guide, even though he may issue an order that is homicidal, blasphemous, or senseless.”

“The true path to wisdom can be identified by three things, first, it must involve agape, second, it has to have practical application in your life. Otherwise, wisdom becomes a useless thing and deteriorates, like a sword never used. And finally, it has to be a path that can be followed by anyone.”

“I am very glad to be here, because the work I did not finish is not important and the work I will be able to do after I get back will be so much better.”

“The good fight is the one we fight because our heart asks it of us. In the heroic ages—at the time of the knights in armor—this was easy. There were lands to conquer and much to do. Today, though, the world has changed a lot, and the good fight has shifted from the battlefields to the fields within themselves. The good fight is the one that’s fought  in the name of our dreams. When we are young and our dreams first explode inside us with all of their force, we are very courageous, but we haven’t yet learned how to fight. With great effort, we learn how to fight, but by then we no longer have the courage to go into combat. So we turn against ourselves and do battle within. We become our own worst enemy. We say that our dreams were childish, or too difficult to realize, or the result of our not having known enough about life. We kill our dreams because we are afraid to fight the good fight.”

“The first symptom of the process of our killing out dreams is the lack of time. The busiest people I have known in my life always have time enough to do everything. Those who do nothing are always tired and pay no attention to the little amount of work they are required to do. They complain constantly that the day is too short. The truth is, they are afraid to fight the good fight. The second symptom of the death of our dreams lies in our certainties. Because we don’t want to see life as a grand adventure, we begin to think of ourselves as wise and fair and correct in asking so little of life. We never see the delight, the immense delight in the hearts of those who are engaged in the battle.”

“Finally, the third symptom of the passing of our dreams is peace. Life becomes a Sunday afternoon; we ask for nothing grand, and we cease to demand anything more than we are willing to give. We  think of ourselves as being mature; we put aside the fantasies of our youth, and we seek personal and professional achievement. But really, deep in our hearts, we know that what has happened is that we have renounced the battle for our dreams—we have refused to fight the good fight. We go through a period of tranquilitiy, but the dead dreams begin to rot within us and to infect our entire being. We become cruel to those around us, and then we begin to direct this cruelty against ourselves. What we sought to avoid in combat—disappointment and defeat—comes upon us because of our cowardice. “ 

“There are two manifestations of agape. One, not the only one, but it is the purest. Agape as total love. It is the love that consumes the person who experiences it. Whoever knows and experiences agape learns that nothing else in the world is important—just love. This was the kind of love that Jesus felt for humanity, and it was so great that it shook the stars and changed the course of history. Many individuals have been seized by this love that consumes. They had so much to give—and their world demanded so little—that they went out into the deserts and to isolated places, because the love they felt was so great that it transformed them. They became the hermit saints we know today. For you and me, who experience a different form of agape, this life may seem terrible. But the love that consumes makes everything else—absolutely everything—lose its importance. Those men just lived to be consumed by their love. Agape is so much more than liking. It is a feeling that suffuses, that fills every space in us, and turns our aggression to dust. “

“Agape in its other form is enthusiasm. For the ancients, enthusiasm means trance, or ecstacy—a connection with God. Enthusuasm is agape directed at a particular idea or a specific thing. When we love and believe from the bottom of our heart, we feel ourselves to be stronger than anyone in the world, and we feel a serenity that is based on the certainty that nothing can shake our faith. This unusual strength allows us to make the right decision at the right time, and when we achieve our goal, we are amazed. “

“A disciple can never imitate his guide’s steps. You have your own way of living your life, dealing with problems, and with winning. Teaching is only demonstrating that it is possible. Learning is making it possible for yourself.”

“Once a problem is solved, its simplicity is amazing.”

“This is the most difficult moment in a person’s life—when the person witnesses the good fight and is unable to change and join the battle. When this happens, knowledge turns against the person who holds it. “

“You can learn only through teaching. We have been together here on the Road to Santiago, but while you were learning the practices, I learned the meaning of them. In teaching you, I truly learned. By taking the role of guide, I was able to find my own true path. Life teaches us lessons every minute, and the secret is to accept that only in our daily lives can we show ourselves to be as wise a Solomon and as powerful as Alexander the Great. But we become aware of this only when we are forced to teach others and to participate in adventures as extravagant as this one has been. “

“The secret of my sword, like the secret of any conquest we make in our lives, was the simplest thing in the world: it was what I should do with the sword. The only thing I had wanted to know was where it was hidden. I have never asked myself why I wanted to find it or what I needed it for. All of my efforts has been bent on reward; I had not understand that when we want something, we have to have a clear purpose in mind for the thing that we want. The only reason for seeking a reward is to know what to do with that reward. And this was the secret of my sword.”

“Few can accept the burden of their own victory: most give up their dreams when they see that they can be realized. They refuse to fight the good fight because they do not know what to do with their own happiness; they are imprisoned by the things of the world. Just as I have been, who wanted to find my sword without knowing what to do with it.”

At Supercamp I got really excited about learning, and learning in better, more efficient ways. Especially working with at-risk children, I need to make up for lost time and present/facilitate the best I can. Quantum Learning, the curriculum/basis of Supercamp is fantastic. I recommend any teacher look into it. Here are some internet resources:

www.qln.com

www.jensenlearning.com

I believe that EricJensen was part of founding Supercamp (but don’t quote that). He has a really great book called “Teaching With Poverty In Mind” which is in my pile of yet to do (once I do, I am sure I will post information about it). Tony Buzan also has some neat books (he’s the guy who created Mind Mapping) like “Head First.”

Picking wiser brains than mine, I asked my mentors from Supercamp to write down their favorite books on the subject. Here are some good ones I am/have checked out:

“Drive” by Dan Pink

“Outliers” and “Tipping Point” and “Blink” by Malcolm Gladwell (I am about half-way through “Outliers,” it is a fun and interesting read)

but my favorite is the Talent Code by Daniel Coyle. Which I will proceed to give you a summary/best quotes and ideas list that takes two pages. Just passing on the good info . So take it or leave it.

Ten-year, Ten-thousand-hour rule (Ericsson “Cambridge handbook of expertise and expert performance”) says that every expert in every field is the result of around 10,000 hours of committed practice. Herbert Simon and Bill Chase added the ten year rule that says world-class expertise in every domain requires roughly a decade of committed practice. So: Deep practice X 10,000 hours (over 10 years)= world-class skill.

Deep practice isn’t just practicing, but when all of your concentration is in it (An example is “The girl who did a month’s worth of practice in six minutes” a study by Gary McPherson and James Renwick). It requires:

1.       Chunk it up (like one line of piano music until it is perfect): absorb the chunk as a whole entity and slow it down until you really feel/master/grasp that chunk.

2.       Repeat it: use it or lose it

3.       Learn to feel it: get into alpha (learning) state and once you master that chunk, focus and remember what it felt like to do it right: don’t settle for anything less—make that your standard/target.

Besides all this time and practice, world class skills begins with ignition. Getting the idea planted in you that you can do this. Most often, genius runs in packs because one person succeeds and others look and say I want that—if they can do it, so can I. This is the ignition of the possibility of actuality. The idea that they can do it jumps the success rate.

“It is not as simple as saying I want X. It is saying something far more complicated: I want X later, so I better do Y like crazy right now.”  It is like the story of Tom Sawyer painting the fence: how did he flip the ignition switch to make the other kids want to do his work? He gave the signal that those people over there are doing something terrifically worthwhile. In short, it is about future belonging: the desire to connect ourselves to high-achieving groups. Ignition switch says “See someone you want to become? Better get busy. Want to catch up with a desirable group? Better get busy. (Cohen and Walton)

Studies were done about the large amount of world-changers who lost parents at a young age. Losing a parent is a primal cue: you are not safe and that they need to create that safety. Of the top ten fastest people in the world, none of them are first or second born—but third or later. The primal cue is you’re behind—keep up! With the rest of the family. Whatever primal cue flips the ignition switch, in all world-class skills, it was flipped. In Tom Sawyer’s case, he helped the switch by sending primal cues of the EXCLUSIVITY of painting the fence as well as the SCARCITY. His gestures and body language echo the same messages.

So why the sudden burst of the Renaissance? The way they worked under apprentice, all in a close-nit group, set off the cue of better get busy and I did it, so you can too. Same thing on the island of Curacao, where little league baseball is the big thing. One guy from there made the big leagues showed them they could do it—it flipped the switch. For the Z-boys (a successful group of skateboarders, shown in the movie Lords of Dogtown) Their coach, Engblom, says “When it came to skateboards, we got all systematic about it, practiced a couple hours a day, four hours a week. There’s no instant gratification, man. Everything boils back down to training; doing it over and over. I never said much. I would just be mellow and say ‘good job dude’ and sometimes do something to up the ante, toss in a little carrot, you know, like “I heard so-and-so did that trick last week.” And then they’d all be trying like crazy to do that one, because they wanted to be part of the equation. Here’s the deal. You’ve got to give kids credit at a younger age for feeling stuff more acutely. When you say something to a kid, you’ve got to know what you’re saying to them. The stuff you say to a kid starting you—you got to be super careful. What skill-building really is, is confidence-building. First they got to earn it, then they got it. And once it gets lit, it stays lit pretty good.”

They told the story about two schools running a violin program. In one, they had money for each kid who wanted to learn to have a violin. In the other school, it was a lottery, because the violins were scarce. When it was scarce, and only those who won could play, the program was successful, whereas in the other it just puttered out. KIPP (Knowledge is Power program –Feinberg and Levin) drives in these cues:

1. You belong to a group
2. Your group is in a strange and dangerous new  world
3. That new world is shaped like a mountain, with the paradise of college at the top

“We say college as often as people in other schools say um.” It is made valuable. Classrooms are named after the college the teacher went to. The name of the grade is the year they will enter college, they go and visit colleges for class trips. KIPP shows that character might be more like a skill—ignited by certain signals, and hones through deep practice. “What we do is like lighting a switch,” says a KIPP teacher. “It’s extremely deliberate. It’s not random; you have to stand behind what you do, to make sure every single detail is pushing the same way. Then it clicks. The kids get it, and when it starts, the rest of them get it too. It’s contagious.”

Characteristics of great coaches: “mostly older; many teaching for thirty or forty years. They possessed the same sort of gaze: steady, deep, unblinking. The listened far more than they talked. They spent most of their time offering small, targeted, highly specific adjustments. They had an extraordinary sensitivity to the person they were teaching, customizing each message to each student’s personality. Coaching is a long, intimate conversation, a series of signals and responses that move toward a shared goal. A coach’s true skill consists not in some universally applicable wisdom that he can communicate to all, but rather in the supple ability to locate the sweet spot on the edge of each individual student’s ability, and to send the right signals to help the student reach toward the right goal, over and over.” They have:

1. The matrix: deep connections to the information so that they can access it from many different ways, depending on the needs of the students.
2. Perceptiveness: able to see the problem, correct it, and help the student FEEL the right way to go about it.
3. GPS: give out blips of info to guide to the next turn like a GPS
4. Theatrical honesty: finding the connection with the student, having fun with it, getting into it theatrically—give them a good show

Summing it up: Ignition (with master coaching) to deep practice (10,000 hours over 10 years) to talent.

“When something goes wrong, ask WHY five times.”

I love school. Really.

Weird, I know. But…it is sort of the same feeling I have when I am on an airplane, something like this:

“I might not enjoy the whole ride, but it is a good view and man, am I lucky to be in the top 10% of the world population that will actually get this experience.”

Oh. I looked it up. Wikianswers says only 1% of the world population has a chance to go to college. Dang. I rode my bike to school today, and realized I must be in the top less than that population of people who don’t have to ride their bike because they have a car, but can because they have the time.  

I especially love college when:

* Free ice cream. And other random free stuff–they just keep handing me things.

* I know people. Dang, I actually ran into more than a dozen people I know already.

* Tap dancing doesn’t seem impossible like when Fred and Ginger do it.

* My health teacher says “You already have an A, just don’t screw it up.”

* My Sociology teacher says we can write about ourselves and our deliquency.

* My fencing teacher said I did a good advance and recover (yeah fencing!!!)

I was sitting in Philosophy class (listening, of course) when I made a pie graph of what I’ve been living for lately, and the time spent living for those things:

15% Living Stones/Brazil

5% The unknowns, wondering “if”

5% Single/not single issues

15% God things

35% Becoming a better teacher/writer/student/person

25% Caring/sharing in relationships/people in my life

Or something like that. The pie graph looked more interesting. But I don’t know how to do it on xanga. Anyways…All that to say…it is nice to be back in school. This is the first time in school that I am not working (although volunteering at the youth center–I can’t manage to stay all the way away) and have some time to check out student activities and such. There are quite a few Christian organization that will be interesting to check out.

I can’t believe I will graduate in December.

Pre-warning: the plan is to leave for Brazil in January, meaning  I will not walk/graduate cap-and-gown style. So…big party or something?? Speaking of which…it is my birthday Thursday. Don’t forget me:)!

I really knew nothing about Jewel until my nephew was born, and my sister wanted me to read her Jewel’s book. For a woman in labor, I do anything. Here are some poems from Jewel’s book “A Night without Armor”

It’s been

Too many nights

Of being with

To now be suddenly

Without

*

I find it strange that we search

Our whole lives for love

As though it were the

Final treasure

Yet when it comes to your door

One morning with calm eyes to deliver itself

You realize it alone is not enough

*

Gather yourself at the seashore

And I will love you there

Assemble yourself with wild things

With songs of the sparrow and sea foam

Let mad beauty  collect itself

In your eyes and it will shine, calling me

For I long for a man

with nests of wild things in his hair

A man who will kiss the flame

*

I’m leaving

You’re done

Cut the cord

I will bare my heart

Make sure it’s sharp

Make it quick

Flash your will against me

Smother the beating

Dull the pulse

Show mercy

And I will rip

What was yours, what was living in me,

And return it to you.

Do it while our hearts

Are still intact

Before they rot in each other’s care

Before they become riddled with bitterness

Choked by the stinking seeds

Of resentment

*

Sometimes

I feel

My heart

Fall

To vague depths

Between

Words there

Are such

Spaces that

I can’t help but feel

My heart fall

Between

The pregnant pause

Of all you will

Not say

And all

I can

Not ask

*

I guess what I

Wanted was to hear

You’d stay with me always.

I guess what I

Wanted was to see

Those hands vowing

Never to leave my own.

I guess what

I wanted was to know

I am not loving in vain.

*

Throw yourself

Into the traffic of

His desire

Unpredictable

Red sports car

No helmet in hand

Your heart a potential

Red smear

In the hindsight of

His rear view mirror

*

There. No more mushy-gushy stuff. I promise.

“If the left side of the brain controls the right side of the body then only left handed people are in their right minds.”
View quotes by Left Handed Society Of The Usa

Aparently, there is a club: http://www.anythingleft-handed.co.uk/club_join.html

Some people celebrating August 13, for Lefty day! (http://www.indiana.edu/~primate/left.html has a lot more)

Left-Handed U.S. Presidents
James A. Garfield  (1831-1881) 20th
Herbert Hoover  (1874-1964) 31st
Harry S. Truman  (1884-1972) 33rd
Gerald Ford  (1913-    ) 38th
Ronald Reagan  (1911 –    ) 40th
George H.W. Bush  (1924-    ) 41st
Bill Clinton  (1946-    ) 42nd
Barack Obama  (1961-    ) 44th

Others:
Joan of Arc (?), French heroine
Alexander the Great
Julius Caesar, Roman general
Napoléon Bonaparte (?), French emperor
Prince Charles of England
Prince William of England
Fidel Castro, Cuban leader
Helen Keller, advocate for the blind (Yea Helen!)
Matt Groening, cartoonist (we have so much to thank him for)
John Dillinger, criminal/bank robber
Jack-the-Ripper, serial killer, Bach, composer
Judy Garland
Michelangelo
Raphael
Leonardo da Vinci (RH paralyzed?)
Charlie Chaplin, Fran Drescher, comedian (ze Nanny)
Whoopie Goldberg
Cary Grant
Jim Henson, puppetteer
Kermit the Frog (YEA!!!!)
Angelina Jolie
Marilyn Monroe
Robert Redford
Julia Roberts
Dick Van Dyke
Oprah Winfrey
Pelé -Edson Arantes do Nascimento (soccer)
Larry Bird (basketball)
Babe Ruth (baseball)

You can watch someone named Rachel on youtube talk about it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fC4CdqKWkWk

Wikipeida says: Left-handedness is the preference for the left hand over the right for everyday activities such as writing. Seven to ten percent of the adult population is left-handed

There are many colloquial terms used to refer to a left-handed person, e.g. “southpaw” or “goofy” (USA).  Left hand shakes are a sign of disrespect – however the left hand shake is the standard in the international Scouting movement. In Hebrew, as well as in other ancient Semitic and Mesopotamian languages, the term “left” was a symbol of power or custody.^[7] The left hand symbolized the power to shame society, and was used as a metaphor for misfortune, natural evil, or punishment from the gods. This metaphor survived ancient culture and was integrated into mainstream Christianity by early Catholic theologians as Ambrose of Milan^[8] to modern Protestant theologians such as Karl Barth^[9] to attribute natural evil to God in explaining God’s omnipotence over the universe. (yikes)

Meanings gradually developed from use of these terms in the ancient languages. In many European languages, “right” is not only a synonym for correctness, but also stands for authority and justice: German recht, French droit, Spanish derecho, Portuguese direito; in most Slavic languages the root prav is used in words carrying meanings of correctness or justice. (BOOOO)

Meanwhile, the English word sinister comes from the Latin word sinestra, which originally meant “left” but took on meanings of “evil” or “unlucky” by the Classical Latin era. Alternatively, sinister comes from the Latin word sinus meaning “pocket”: a traditional Roman toga had only one pocket, located on the left side. (Bet you didn’t know that!)

In Portuguese, the most common word for left-handed person, canhoto, was once used to identify the devil, and canhestro, a related word, means “clumsy” (sinistro means only “sinister”). (I did not know this–really?)

In Swedish, vänster means left. The term vänsterprassel means infidelity, adultery; cheating. From this term the verb vänstra (lit. “lefting”) is derived. (yikes)

In Ireland left handedness is called a “ciotógach” (kyut-OH-goch) which is the Irish language term for left-handed. It is frequently used amongst Irish people, e.g. “she gave him a slap of the ciotógach after he insulted her at the bar” the word ciotógach is not derogatory and is held with affection amongst left-handed people. (This makes me laugh. ha!)

Among Incas left-handers were called (and now are called among the indigenous peoples of the Andes) lloq’e (Quechua: lluq’i) which has positive value. Peoples of the Andes consider that left-handers possess special spiritual abilities, including magic and healing. Third Sapa Inca – Lloque Yupanqui — was the left-hander, his name in transfer with Quechua means «the glorified lefthander».

Funny stuff–check out this website: http://www.anythingleft-handed.co.uk/jokes.html

Little Bobby was spending the weekend with his grandmother after a particularly trying week in kindergarten. His grandmother decided to take him to the park on Saturday morning. It had been snowing all night and everything was beautiful. His grandmother remarked…
“doesn’t it look like an artist painted this scenery? Did you know God painted this just for you?”

Bobby said, “Yes, God did it and he did it left handed.”
This confused his grandmother a bit, and she asked him,
“What makes you say God did this with his left hand?”.

“Well,” said Bobby, “we learned at Sunday School last week that Jesus sits on God’s right hand!”

According to http://www.funfacts.com.au/left-handed-people-die-earlier/, Right handed people tend to live nine years longer than left handed people. (Oh well.)

So since we are dying early, I definately think we need a cake. Who’s baking?

goodness. Haven’t been to the State Fair in awhile. I always seem to be in Brazil by this time of the year. Lots of good stuff:

*Anna said she wouldn’t take pictures. Because I put them on facebook and stuff. Me?

*Held Meteors. From space. The owner said he’d never grown up. Red head Peter Pan.

*Saw deep fried butter, fried PBJ, chocolate covered bacon, and garbage burgers

*Ate deep fried pickles and fried pepsi bursts (like donuts with pepsi goo stuff inside). The guy gave me one for free.

*John caught a fish

*John released a fish

*Dad found creative ways to keep us hydrated

*We watched bears. Got tired quick because of hot sun and the fact we’d already seen grizzlies in the wild.

*Sang along with “Only two things money can’t buy: true love and home grown tomatoes.

*Anna’s determind quote for me: “You can’t smile and wear cool sunglasses.” Hence the fact I never have cool sunglasses. I look like a bug.

*John shot 11 out of 12 targets

*We made fire from flint. (correction: John and Anna did. I…didn’t…boo)

*I want a vitamix cookbook. I think it is the only kitchen appliance I need, or ever use. Smoothies, anyone?

*Pirate swords. Are so much fun

*More people waved at me than at Anna. I said so.  

*Aren’t we cute? Who wouldn’t want two older sisters like us?

Everyone has a story about their tattoo. Even the guy who had a stick figure fire dragon on his leg who said he didn’t plan it—just went in and got it done. That told me a lot about him. A tattoo can be planned out for certain reasons, and then change. It is all about what you attach to it. Certain stories stick, and others don’t.

I’ve always loved the star of David. Since I was a little girl, celebrating Purim with a Jewish friend, since I had a Sunday school crush on David—who even the Bible says was cute. The past couple of years have grown my fascination, and consequential study of Judaism and determination to someday visit Israel. After all, I am in love with this Jewish guy. I should know a little about His background, culture, family…I envied my friend who was part Jewish…she must be closer to God somehow. Funny how I am the one mistaken as being Jewish now—I am marked.

I flirted with the idea of getting a tattoo long before it happened. God and I talked about it. And many times I came close, but didn’t. Would it be worth it if it offended someone who then might be turned off to something important I had to say? I didn’t want it to be a rebellious thing—I talked with my parents, godly counsel…

But part of me did it for selfish reasons. I felt that many people I knew only cared about me because I fit in their plan, their system. I didn’t rock the boat; I was the “good girl” who didn’t cause controversy. I wanted to see if they would still care, even if I didn’t fit or agree with them: could they see past the outside to the inside?

Just about to turn 26, walking down the hot Brazilian streets of Recife, my friend got a butterfly on her back. Since my mom’s request was to NOT get a tattoo on a side street, I paid a bit extra and got a very sanitary place in the mall. Ten minutes and voila! A star of David, with a cross outside it if you look, just behind my left ear.

But that is not the story I tell when people ask about my tattoo, or if I am Jewish. Because that is not the story that stuck.

One month earlier in Indianapolis, I drove from the youth center to Daisy’s house (name changed for privacy). I had just learned that Daisy, 15, was pregnant. Stories of preggos come fast and furious at the center, so I went to ask myself. I knew the father, and I heard there was a catch: Daisy was telling everyone that it was rape.

I knocked at Daisy’s door, the big Doberman barking me away. Daisy came out. Yes, it was true, she was pregnant. Her mom came out to talk as well, spitting threats about the boy and how this was a demon child. Daisy said she was getting an abortion. “Please,” I said, “please let me adopt the baby.”

The words surprised us both, and tears came to our eyes, but only Daisy let them spill.” I don’t know, Ms. Rachel,” she said,” I don’t know.“

I left her my phone number and left, awkwardly. There was nothing romantic or wonderful about it, TV blaring in the background. I was single and about to leave the country, but the moment the words left my mouth I knew they were true. I wanted that baby. And in that time, that baby had become my baby. Explain that however you want to in your head.

Daisy went back and forth in the next visits I made. I made different suggestions, different ideas—letting her know there were other options. I had an unbelievable amount of love and support by everyone who knew what was going on. She was not alone—I was not alone.

Daisy’s mother insisted this baby was going to be aborted. I broke down and cried that this baby get a chance to live. “No, no no. Ms. Rachel! You can talk and beg here all day, but my daughter is not having that baby.”

Daisy didn’t want to be 15, pregnant, in school. She said she wasn’t ready to be a mother. I agreed…which is why I would adopt the baby. But if she had the baby, then she would want to keep it. Why? I asked. “Because I made it.” She said as she wiped her tears. We talked about God and love and hope and forgiveness, while her little brother popped his face through the screen door, telling me about his superpowers.

She decided against the abortion. She decided for it. In Brazil, my English class prayed for her. Hugo said “Ms. Rachel, I prayed that God would be with this baby. That He would save it and let it be with us, or that He would hold it in His arms.” Two days later I found out she had decided not to get the abortion, giving me hope—and then, a couple days after I got my tattoo, she decided to get the abortion.

Today a star was born

And left us here on earth

To wander in the small light

Of silver mornings

And golden nights

The beauty with a sword

That kills us willingly

I had learned to love someone I could not see. Someone I did not know the gender, the intelligence of, the athletic ability. Someone that meant leaving the place I loved and being “tied down,” future unknown, with visions of long nights and drool. It wasn’t just any baby—it was my baby. Now I had a star in heaven, and every time I catch a glimpse of my tattoo, I remember my baby. But stars in heaven don’t mend holes in your heart.

Daisy is now 17 with a beautiful baby girl. Her mother answered the door when I picked her up, to celebrate Daisy’s birthday. We smiled shyly at each other and said little of the past. Daisy and I keep the conversation light and laugh as much as we can. I wonder if she will ask me about my tattoo. I wonder what I will say.

Arrive in North Carolina

Jr.Forum

Sr.Forum

Wake Forest Staff–love you guys!

“I’ve come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element in the classroom. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. As a teacher, I possess a tremendous power to make a child’s life miserable or joyous. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated and a child humanized or de-humanized.” Hain Ginott

Supercamp was about me stepping up. Realizing that I can be much more powerful than I even realized. Learning and using many new tools to present information powerfully.  The first night they had us stand up and tell everyone why we came. I said that I was here because there are kids that only I will reach—and I want to make it count. I want to be the most effective possible, with whatever tools I have. I was also there for me—because when I am the best for me, I am the best for you.

I came away from supercamp knowing I did it. I nailed it. I learned, and there were some moments where everything clicked—where I walked away from a piece knowing I did an amazing job—couldn’t have done better. It was a big thing for me to see that I could do it—run with successful 20something Americans in the professional world.   tell the truth, it wasn’t until I arrived that I realized just how low my self-esteem was—how much negative talk I had told myself, that I was letting hold me back. But no more.

Supercamp is about packaging. They have harnessed  efficient ways to use and connect learning strategies in ways that are engaging and memorable. As Chicka stresses—it is not ours to own, but to share. The first 10 days was training—some of the best ever. From speech training, where to stand on the stage, effective pausing, and eye contact to different packages (director, discovery, heart space, leadership, storyteller). Purtubation was used to push us to the max.

Quantum learning (the curriculum supercamp is based off of) is big on feedback. We would present short pieces, and then immediately be coached and given chances to step it up to the next level. The whole time, we would go and observe supercamp going on (using our ninja skills), seeing the real deal. I was impressed.

I showed up to my tryout in February knowing nothing about supercamp. By the end, I saw the PEOPLE and thought—these are the kind of people I would like to work with. In March, I went to training in California and saw the CURRICULUM and thought—this is the kind of curriculum I want to use. But it wasn’t until after seeing a camp that I knew—wow, this stuff really works.

After a really intense piece called barrier breaking, where the kids write a goal on a thick wood board, and then what is a barrier to obtaining that goal on the other side. They then break this board (I did it! It really works!!!) through the barrier to the goal. It is a deeply emotional time as the whole team gathers around you shouting “yes, yes, yes!” I broke down inside with a deep longing—if only my kids could see this, could do this, could be empowered like this.

I then had two days off until a seven day junior (11-13 year olds) camp. From here on out, I felt like I lived and breathed the curriculum, which we fondly call vades (latin): learn it, know it, facilitate it, and on to the next. Lance, Jamie, Kat, and I were the four facilitators at Wake Forrest, along with 17 counselors (called TLs—team leaders) and office staff for 75ish kids. There was no place to hide—step up to responsibility.

 Intense. Then two days off and a ten day senior (13-18 year olds) camp with 100 campers. So many great kids—and they really got into it. But before I knew it, I was sitting in a rocking chair in the airport, waiting for my flight—with Shannon playing the fiddle and Aaron doing interpretive dance—then doing a Texas group hug in the terminal. The world (or at least the airport) isn’t ready for supercamp, yet. Oh. I forgot that outside of supercamp, people don’t normally smile back when I smilingly say “YEAH happy breath!” hmmm. Welcome back.