Describe any three important lessons that you have learnt through the course of your life. How did you learn these lessons and why do you think they are so important?
Although not very old, I am old enough to perceive, think and judge. These have contributed in helping me to learn three very important lessons which will last with me a lifetime: honesty, punctuality and respect. The age old adage says that 'honesty is the best policy' and on numerous occasions it has been proved that it is true. In fact, being honest with oneself is more important than being honest to others because that gives us a clear conscience and enables us to endure fearlessly. The most significant incident that helped me to learn the lesson was when I admitted to have dropped the catch during the final match of an inter school tournament that we ultimately lost. However, because of the frank confession. I won the admiration of one and all.Vulnerability, according to researcher Brené Brown, is the emotional risk, exposure and uncertainty that fuels our lives. When we enter the arena of vulnerability, she says, we can either run away from it or lean into it, allowing ourselves to be seen, to be honest and to qualify courage. That’s what Brown calls resilience.
Several years ago, my arena of vulnerability was a job in New Orleans that provided services to disabled students. Into that arena stepped Josephine. She prefers Jo, though I find that name too diminutive for such a big woman—not just big as in tall and traditionally built, but big as in energy and laughter; big as in rich, earthy eyes; big as in a smile that embraces you with an even bigger heart. Although Josephine conveys a complex and expansive woman, Jo delivers simple punches.
Her thumps came into play on a daily basis. She was one of a handful of counselors who provided academic support to the most challenged students in arguably the most challenged schools in the entire country. The criteria for our program were specific—low income; first-generation, meaning neither parent had graduated from college; and disabled.
Disability is an interesting term. We considered physical diagnoses like cerebral palsy, blindness and sickle cell anemia. Most of our students, however, fell into the vast category of “learning problems.” Sadly, that term was a catchall for slow learners, behavior problems, and kids being raised by tired grandmas and aunties who counted on Supplemental Security Income to make ends meet. Alas, the greatest disability was often not a condition that hindered learning, but that these children were simply never taught.
These students and the work we did with them defined our daily arena, though it wasn’t all about vulnerability. More often than not, it was about resilience and accountability. We had to quantify and qualify hundreds of activities that were supposed to prepare these learners for post-secondary education, job training, GED or just about anything that would give them an alternative life. Thousands of kids passed through the program. A handful graduated from high school; two made it through college. Those success stories still make me proud.
We designed every kind of assessment and activity you can imagine for kids in rundown schools that had long since abdicated the right to call themselves that in neighborhoods known more for their crime rates than their residents. Lovingly frustrated, we schlepped reams of paper through noisy hallways; sat through interminable conferences with parents, teachers and guidance counselors; and arranged field trips, study-skills workshops and summer camps.In theory, the camp offered academic remediation and cultural enrichment. In reality, it was something to give naive scamps and potential thugs something constructive to do, get them out of their crime-infested neighborhoods and offer relief to their guardians. In many instances, their homes were headed by single grandparents, or even great-grandparents, who lived from entitlement to entitlement.
Several years ago, my arena of vulnerability was a job in New Orleans that provided services to disabled students. Into that arena stepped Josephine. She prefers Jo, though I find that name too diminutive for such a big woman—not just big as in tall and traditionally built, but big as in energy and laughter; big as in rich, earthy eyes; big as in a smile that embraces you with an even bigger heart. Although Josephine conveys a complex and expansive woman, Jo delivers simple punches.
Her thumps came into play on a daily basis. She was one of a handful of counselors who provided academic support to the most challenged students in arguably the most challenged schools in the entire country. The criteria for our program were specific—low income; first-generation, meaning neither parent had graduated from college; and disabled.
Disability is an interesting term. We considered physical diagnoses like cerebral palsy, blindness and sickle cell anemia. Most of our students, however, fell into the vast category of “learning problems.” Sadly, that term was a catchall for slow learners, behavior problems, and kids being raised by tired grandmas and aunties who counted on Supplemental Security Income to make ends meet. Alas, the greatest disability was often not a condition that hindered learning, but that these children were simply never taught.
These students and the work we did with them defined our daily arena, though it wasn’t all about vulnerability. More often than not, it was about resilience and accountability. We had to quantify and qualify hundreds of activities that were supposed to prepare these learners for post-secondary education, job training, GED or just about anything that would give them an alternative life. Thousands of kids passed through the program. A handful graduated from high school; two made it through college. Those success stories still make me proud.
We designed every kind of assessment and activity you can imagine for kids in rundown schools that had long since abdicated the right to call themselves that in neighborhoods known more for their crime rates than their residents. Lovingly frustrated, we schlepped reams of paper through noisy hallways; sat through interminable conferences with parents, teachers and guidance counselors; and arranged field trips, study-skills workshops and summer camps.In theory, the camp offered academic remediation and cultural enrichment. In reality, it was something to give naive scamps and potential thugs something constructive to do, get them out of their crime-infested neighborhoods and offer relief to their guardians. In many instances, their homes were headed by single grandparents, or even great-grandparents, who lived from entitlement to entitlement.
