Life

The Age of Innocence

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

As another school year is slowly winding to a close, life moves back into the familiar mode of Summer (and yes, that’s Summer the holiday, not just summer the season). One of the good things about being a teacher, of course, is that we also get to enjoy some of the freedoms we can all remember from our youths – and it is a highly coveted thing. Even now I can remember the way things altered as the school year wound to a close. After all, as a kid, that’s the way life is split for you, typically. School and not school. Summer and not Summer. Play and not play. It’s just a fact of life.

The thing many of us never wanted to think about, though, is what happens when that separation is over. What life is going to look like when Summer just becomes summer, when time changes from being a split between school and not school. Apart from the days when we rested in the satisfaction of having that dichotomy we have only the nostalgia of looking back at “the good old days.” That’s where I find myself today, lunch block slowly slipping away minute by sleepy minute. I’m not alone in today’s reminiscence, though.

Outside my classroom windows there is a small lawn where the younger children in another section of our school have recently been going out to play on warmer days. Today they are out en masse, and my classroom and I have found ourselves immersed in watching their antics. From my students, between the ages of 14 and 17, myself in my mid-30s, and my school’s SSC who is older than me, we have all been drawn into their games.

Sun shining on the bright green lawn, clouds passing over just enough to provide a break for the eyes, if not the skin, the children who have been granted their momentary pre-noon freedom engaged in activities ranging from dodgeball, one-armed baseball, tag, sidewalk drawing, and their own games that seemed to combine some combination of all the above. It was just as amusing, for me, to observe the way we all reacted to their spectacle. We laughed when one of them got a win, or took a rolling tumble to avoid getting hit with the ball. Arms shot up in victory, while none of them showed the standard and dreaded playground separation tactics that plague older students. It was, in the words of our SSC, innocence.

It’s no secret that I do teach at-risk kids, that I myself could have been considered an at-risk kid based on my mother’s income and my status as a child of a single parent household. So when these students, whom many stereotypically assume are troubled and trouble-making, are taking the time to bond and enjoy life while living simultaneously through the playground games of others, it says a lot. Students, who sometimes have to live their lives on guard for themselves and their loved ones for fear of injury or worse, sitting in a classroom and talking amongst themselves while reflecting on the times they had in those playground settings truly puts things in perspective.

I see it as a highly important and therapeutic activity, in all honesty. The fact this allowed students who have to build walls in order to keep themselves safe to drop those barriers and look back on times of innocence means a lot to me as a teacher and a nostalgic person. Most, if not all, of my students know my room is a safe space anyway, and this secured that even more. I take pride in my efforts to meet my students where they are coming from in an intellectual, educational, and social-emotional standpoint. I ask them how they are doing, and they know that is not just a nicety. Seeing the way the games of others put a smile on all of our faces today, it really made me think that humanity as a whole is truly striving for the freedom of a child. The unspent innocence so many take for granted without even realizing they are doing so.

When we were children we couldn’t have imagined the way our lives would alter by the time we left school. That long-distant future was as unreal to us as waking up one day with no sun in the sky. Teaching high school seniors for four years has allowed me to see that change first-hand with others, and it’s impressive how well some handle it. Some students rise to the occasion with plans and schemes galore and provide themselves with failsafes to protect them in the event life gives them a turn for the worse. Others… Others slip on the cap and gown and venture out into the final great Summer with little more than hopes and dreams in their reserves to get them through.

Regardless of the way we approached the end of those playground days, the truth of life comes into play in just how much we allow ourselves the freedom to observe and enjoy the innocence of youth. Wherever life has taken us, it is important to remember those days of fun. The bonds of youth, of innocent life, of going outside and truly just enjoying being alive, are something none of should ever forget. The blessed simplicity of just living for the moment, not having to concern ourselves with what bills need to be paid, what stresses await us when we look through the checkbook or get back home, the idea that we are all just able to enjoy spending time with our friends or even alone is truly something to savor.

I know it isn’t always easy, but I recommend taking a moment to do just observe the life of youth. Enjoy a moment of watching children play without judgement, look at animals lounging in the sun, watch a river flow, anything that pulls you out of the stresses of life. We all deserve a moment to remember how good life should be. That’s the truth of our situations in the world. We have, most of us, forgotten that life is supposed to be enjoyable. It shouldn’t be competition and anger, stress and work, bills and class status. It should just… be. But until that’s something we can make happen, the next best thing might be to just relax. And, hey, while we’re at it, why not find a playground that’s empty and have some fun of our own?

Superstition

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

I do want to say no to this, but to be honest, it’s hard to be Appalachian and not hold some superstition. Growing up in this area you hear a lot of wives’ tales about why things work the way they do, what this event or happenstance might mean, or how changes in the weather can effect the seasons ahead (can anyone say “mythology” and the origin of storytelling?). Hearing those things, you also can’t help but notice that some it does kind of make sense. For instance, there is a saying that if you see a bee/hornet/wasp nest built high off the ground in a tree or on a structure it means there will be a bad winter. The idea is that insects know that bad weather is coming and try to build high enough to stay out of the snow.

I noticed late into Fall and early into Winter there were several nests/hives built high in the trees on my drive to and from work, and made note of the myth. This winter we had some decent snows – nothing like the 3 footer we had about ten years ago, but a decent amount. You can see how there are some elements of potential truth to things like that, I hope.

Knowing there are truths to some of the superstitions in these mountains is not exactly a bad thing, either. Seeing the leaves turn upside down in the summer typically means there will be rain soon, so that can give you an indication you should seek shelter soon. Likewise, the color of the sky in the morning or at night can give you an amateur meteorologist’s view of the day’s weather (Red sky at night, sailors delight vs. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning) and let you plan a little.

On the other side of this, there was a wives’ tale I heard growing up that said if you hear a Screech Owl (one of my personal favorite sounds in the mountains) at night while in the bed you should tie a knot in your bedclothes or someone you know will die. Needless to say, I don’t have any reason to necessarily believe this is true, but when I heard that lonely, warbling screech last year I was sure to tie that knot. In other word, I may be superstitious at times but, with some things, it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?

Daily writing prompt
Are you superstitious?
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Coming to Terms

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

I went to the visitation service for my biological father last night. I’m not at all sure what I expected to happen there, but it was certainly not the way things went. Or maybe it was.

For those of you who don’t know, I was raised in a single parent household because my father made his own choices. Those choices did not involve me. Through the years I have made an abundance of attempts to reach out to him and create some sort of relationship, against the advice and better judgement of pretty much everyone around me. For a little while at one point it worked. When I was 12 I convinced my mother to take me to his adoptive parents house and ask about him. This resulted in his nephew taking us directly to his house and we began forming what I hoped would be a real friendship, if nothing else.

It may have lasted a year. During that time we went to a few movies, ate a couple of meals. he bought me an action figure or two and I paid for at least one of those movies with saved allowance. Of course, toward the end of this period of time as we were driving him back to his home he asked to stop at a convenience store and borrowed money from me for a beer. I probably should have known.

Not long after that the contact stopped. Again, his choice, not mine. He stopped answering calls and letters. Faded into the distance again with no explanation or excuses.

For five years I didn’t know if he was alive or dead until we received a letter from the state that he had been summoned to court for back child support. The state’s choice. Not ours. So, at the age of 17, I convinced my mother to go with me to the courthouse and see if he showed. Surprisingly he did. He was told to pay, said he would, walked out the door with barely a glance in my direction, but I followed. I shouted for him and watched as he thought about walking on and getting in the car as if he hadn’t heard me.

But he stopped. He turned around and came back with his shark-toothed grin and made me feel like he was happy to see me. More empty promises of future contact, blank apologies for a lack of communication, and we went our separate ways.

I never heard from him again.

For nearly 18 years I went without a single word from him. Nearly as long without any word about him, save the mention of him given by his brother after the man found me online. I could have had a child of my own in that time, and watched them grow to be the age I had been the last time I laid eyes on the man who contributed to my DNA. I know damn well I would have treated that child a lot better than I had ever been treated.

Several times during those 18 years I attempted contact again, including one shameful time when I went to his house and knocked on his door. As I looked at the window I saw him looking back out at me before the woman he lived with opened the door and told me he wasn’t there.

I told myself that was it. I had done more than enough. But, it didn’t stop me from sending some last ditch letters. Or from making a phone call after my grandmother passed. A phone call that asked me to leave a message on a voicemail that had his name on it. I told him I wanted nothing from him, no money, no goods, I just wanted to speak to him. Even once.

I won’t even pretend I was surprised when the call wasn’t returned. Or that the next time I tried the number it had been disconnected/my number was blocked.

That time it really was over. I stopped trying. I won’t pretend I hadn’t thought about trying again, but I hadn’t. I had no clue if the man was alive or dead, if he had other children, if he thought about me. I knew nothing. Until I got the message last week that he was actually dead.

If you haven’t lost a parent, I’m glad. It has been something of a whirlwind for me, and nothing like the standard I’m sure. In talking to friends who have reached out, I do realize how many of us have a non-standard (read non-glamorous, non-Hollywood, non-cookie-cutter) relationship with our parents, so I definitely know many of you will know what I mean. A parent who has been nothing but a repeated disappointment, who you truly had no relationship with despite your best efforts, suddenly passing, is still quite a shock.

As I said, I went to the service last night. A more than two hour drive from where I work and nearly the same back to my house. To say I was nervous is an understatement. I have always hated funeral homes and hospitals, and this made that even worse. But I went. I’ve asked myself why it was important that I do so, and others have wondered the same, and I think the full truth is exactly what I said from the start. This is the only time I have had full control over the way this relationship ended. I never got to say my goodbyes. I never got to be the one to really choose how things would progress, or whether they would progress.

Sure, I had decided to stop trying to reach out, but that was really tantamount to deciding to stop pounding a closed door and let my bloodied knuckles heal. It was already sealed. I merely gave in to the choice of others. No, this time I was the one who had the final say. So I went to the service. It took a while to work up the gumption to walk in, but I did it. Amanda and I were 2 of the 7 people there for the man who had isolated himself from his flesh and blood. I will never be able to thank her enough for putting herself through that for me, for supporting me in what she knew was a lost cause. Having her by my side was the only thing that kept me from losing my grip, as it so often is.

When I went to the casket he looked so different from the man I remember, the man who I have maybe three pictures of, that I was worried we were in the wrong chapel. But it was him. His mother was there. My grandmother. Whom I hadn’t seen in probably 25 or more years. She had to subtly walk to the sign-in book to see if I was who she thought I was, but she came up to me and spoke. Told me she knew the effort I had put in, but chalked it up with the true Appalachian “you know how he was.”

No, ma’am. I do not know how he was. He made sure of that. You all made sure of that. I know next to nothing about the man. Even the things my own mother can tell me about the father of her child is little more than three decade old facts. How much of that changed? How much different was the stranger in that box who made sure I never had a chance to know any version of him from the 22 year old she had once cared for? I have no idea. And, given the likelihood those who have chosen not to reach out in the past will continue on that trend, I may never know.

Not once did my grandmother ask about me, my life, my wellbeing. Would it matter to her? No. Just shrugging off the way her son had behaved the same way he shrugged off his own child. I can’t pretend I’m not upset by it all, but I finally am at a point where I can truly say I did everything I possibly could. I will be able to go to sleep tonight and every night knowing I never closed the door on my father, though I likely should have. At the end of the day I was able to say goodbye on my own terms, something that feels as close to satisfaction regarding the matter that I may ever get.

Confusion and Grief

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 3 Comments

Last night, I found out my biological father died this week. No way to sugarcoat that information, really. I hadn’t spoken to the man in nearly 18 years, not for lack of trying. I sought him out time and time again, wanting to have a relationship with him, no matter how small it was. I put myself out there and gave it my all to try and be a son to a man who didn’t want to be my father. I’ve never gotten to share my accomplishments, my sadnesses, my truths, and myself with the man whose DNA I share. I might never have even known he was gone because of these decisions on his part.

I am forever grateful to the cousin who made sure I knew, also. A lifetime of potential memories gone. A lifetime spent wondering why I wasn’t good enough, if there was something wrong with me, if I would ever even know why he wanted nothing to do with me. Now I guess I will never know the answers.

I think that is the strangest part of the whole thing for me. I have thought about going to the last place I knew he lived and seeking him out, or pushing harder to find the relatives on that side of the family that are still alive (which, according to his obituary – in which my name is not even correct, I might add – is nearly everyone except his father), but ultimately have chosen against it. For the last few years, I honestly didn’t even know if he was still alive, with Covid running rampant as it did. Until his brother found me on Facebook last year and at least confirmed that much for me, that is.

Even until I got the obituary and saw the face of the man I barely remember looking back at me, some part of me said my cousin must be mistaken. But there it was. The first line in the obituary read that he died with his daughter by his side. A daughter I’ve never met. Not a biological sibling, I know now, but nonetheless, someone who mattered enough to him for him to raise. To stick by. To live for. Someone I never even knew existed. Did she know about me?

Did he ever mention me? Could she hold the answers to why she got a father figure out of him and I never did? Do I even want to ask?

Those questions and more have been flooding my mind for the last 16 or so hours, and I am no closer to deciding if they are even worth asking. I have a whole side of my family whom I know nothing about. My father’s obituary said he loved God, loved to cook, was a great dad. Two out three ain’t bad… we have those in common at least. Is there anything else we share?

There is a service for Scotty Wayne Osbourne on Monday. A time for those who knew him to grieve him, to say goodbye to him, to pay their respects for a man they now have to build a life without. Do I fit that mold? I know next to nothing about him. I only know life without him in it. But I’ve never gotten to say goodbye. I never knew I would have to. Until it was too late. Just like this time.

Erosion of Free Speech

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Good morning, all. Of course, in the states, one of the most talked about issues right now is the ban of Tik Tok. While I’m the first to admit I was slow to the game, and I definitely didn’t utilize to the full potential I could have for my writing and business ventures, I did enjoy the app. Fortunately, I was not one of the thousands, if not millions, who used the app so successfully they were able to start making their living as content creators and no longer need a day job. I will say that I know some of my posting drove people to my books and my events – because they told me so.

Since I started using the app to promote my writing and my travels, I have had numerous encounters with people who found me and my work through the app. At one of my events I had a young man who left his job early one day, telling his boss he was sick, just so he could come to the book store I was at and meet me and buy some of my books. Another time I was out in a local store and met someone who frequently interacted with my videos and we were able to make a face to face connection. These are just a couple of examples in my own personal life that came about because of the freedom this app allowed.

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention the hours of laughing and simple entertainment I have gotten from the hilarious content there, as well as the bands I have discovered (one of whom, Definitely Maybe, has even graciously allowed me to use their work and their name in a book of mine) because of the platform. This is all a drop in the hat to international connections made because of a simple video platform.

I mention because I want to emphasize that the app was more than just a silly place people could go learn dances or recipes. It allowed homebound individuals to catch glimpses of faraway places they might not ever be able to go. It allowed readers to connect with their favorite authors, genres, or other readers to discuss books in an easy to use way that offered real time discussion rather than short messages back and forth. It gave truly free speech to a number of people who might otherwise be too timid or worried to speak to people outside their home. Introverts thrived on Tik Tok.

In order to truly understand s to have this platform taken down, you have to be able to look beyond the surface and the lies that politicians and nay-sayers have been spreading. There little to no “data breaching” happening on this platform. As long as this country still orders mass amounts of goods from Shein and Temu, those will always be a much bigger threat than Tik Tok. No, the threat was not to data or citizens. The threat was to the lies we are told every day. The threat was to the control the U.S government wants to maintain over its citizens and the information they receive.

Therein lies the true issue. As long as people across the world have the chance to speak their mind to others without interference from the Powers That Be, we will always be a threat to them. Of course, Agent Orange is pretending that he is going to save the day, despite being the one who started the whole issue 5 years ago, but is he? Will anyone offer the same brand of freedom and connection without limitations? Sure there were issues with the app. There are always issues with new things. But even I witnessed the growth it experienced. Growth that now doesn’t stand for much. 

The point I’m making is that, with this ban, goes the first in what could be a long line of changes toward information sharing and free voices in this country. What will be next in the list of things that keeps us from connecting with like-minded people both in and outside this country. If you want to see some possibilities, you can always grab a copy of “1984” or even “The Handmaid’s Tale.” Oh, wait… those are banned books. Books that the local and federal governments have deemed in some ways dangerous or damaging to the minds of learning individuals. Coincidence? I think not….

Childhood Love

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

The biggest thing that comes to mind here is the stuffed Bugs Bunny I had as a kid. I’m not sure when I got it, but it was legitimately my favorite thing in the world. I always have and always will love Bugs Bunny, and this little guy went everywhere with me. The store, vacations,  libraries. Everywhere. I recall the various stages of “well-loved” he went through. From hearty and whole, to slowly becoming more threadbare, holes in his body, the wire that held his ears up starting to poke through the fabric. Unfortunately, I do not know what became of him, but I do know I would do a lot of sketchy stuff to have another one. I’ve seen some that are on eBay and online elsewhere, but they don’t look like mine. He would have been released probably between 1990 and 1995 if anyone has any clues on where to find one… what about you guys? What was your favorite childhood thing?

Stephen King’s Rage

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

As a lifelong fan of Stephen King, it is my mission to read everything the man has published, naturally. I’ve been on that track for quite a while, but the main book that has eluded me for much of that time is the one book King himself doesn’t want the world to experience. Given today’s climate and the subject of the book itself I had been understanding of that idea, since he is (some would say ironically) a huge supporter of human rights and simply being a good person. I still have not been able to purchase a copy of this book for myself, but I did get my hands on a copy so I could finally read the forbidden tale, and I have to say…. I think the world deserves to read it.

Woah, a teacher not wanting to see a book that, at it’s base description, is about a school shooting taken off the shelf? Polarizing, right? Keep in mind, also, that I am an author and a literature lover who has an extreme hatred of censorship as a whole, but kind of. Like I said, at its base description, Rage is about a school shooting. More specifically, about the shooter himself. But there is so much more to it than that.

Charlie Decker reacts to life the way he has, in part, because he has been consistently let down and crapped on by everyone he is supposed to be able to rely on. Being a teacher at two different alternative education centers I have seen this phenomenon more than I ever thought possible in such a small community. More often than not kids are being let down by everyone they know. They are being abused, disrespected, and not being given the love and guidance that is a parent’s obligation. Which is exactly what Charlie Decker dealt with.

While Decker did have his moments of abuse and neglect, he was also very obviously suffering from not only the social pressures of being a teenager, but I heartily believe he was suffering from mental illness as well. Charlie kills two teachers in the school a couple of weeks after striking another with a wrench, causing him considerable damage. There is no doubt he was a school shooter, and before the term was used in conventional conversation. His crimes, however, were small in comparison to even some of the smallest of real world attacks in this country. So how does that influence, or even potentially motivate others to take up the gun? During the late 80’s and 90’s there were multiple students who acted on feelings of anger and hatred and performed atrocious acts of school violence that were either openly attributed to the reading of King’s book or associated with it through mere familiarity.

I can completely understand being an author who has to deal with that and having to make the difficult decision to pull your work because of it. I fully support King’s decision to remove his book based on the idea that it was harmful to others, if only because it was associated with those who made poor decisions based on their own hurt. One of the bigger things in the book that I noticed, however, was the deeper meaning I associated with it. That, of course, is one of my favorite things about literature. We can all read the same words, but they speak to us all differently. The individual interpretation of works of art can not only be different from person to person, but one person going back to a familiar work might resonate with it differently based on maturity and changes of life and attitude. I can’t honestly say what I would have thought of Rage if I had read it ten or even 20 years years ago, but I do know that now it speaks to me in a very specific way.

The book itself, to me, is not just about the fact that Charlie comes into the school with a gun and uses it. It is about the fact that he poses no real threat to his classmates. He sits down and speaks to them. What’s more – they listen. Each and every student in that room understands Charlie – save one, of course. Decker is a boy who has been dealt a crappy hand, and he doesn’t make great choices. But he is real. He is relatable. Once he sits down and really levels with his classmates many of them open back up in the same way. We learn that all of their lives are not only connected, but that many of them have judged or been judged by their peers based on public or personal opinion. Several of them discuss their own hardships and come to understand Charlie’s point of view and why he has done what he has done. If they can’t agree with his decision to shoot their teachers they can at least see that he has enough hardship in life that it has taken him through avenues that are not totally unfamiliar to them.

I think that is the most important thing to look at for this book. These students bonded with the shooter in their midst because each and every one of them have been through some of the same horrible situations. It goes to show that everyone in the book itself is an example of how we can all react differently to any stimulus. That, in my opinion, is the real genius of the book. King presented us with a story that, yes, can be taken as offensive due to Charlie’s actions. But what book can’t? King has been through an extensive list of people, creatures, dimensions, and aliens intelligences that have massacred people in enough ways to supply the writers of even Game of Thrones with some new ideas, and we still return to his work. Because he gets it. He’s real. he gives us the honest truth about the world and the crappy humans that inhabit it.

Like I said, I respect his decision to want Rage off the shelves. No creator wants to think of their work contributing in any way to something and horrendous as an act of domestic terrorism and violence. But the strength and openness in the book are among the best pieces of helpful literature I’ve seen in a long time. As a review, I have to say that I highly recommend the book. Charlie Decker is to the world of the misunderstood and abused what Holden Caulfield is to the disenfranchised youth of the world. Any student familiar with the feelings of anger and neglect associated with an abusive, addicted, or absent parental figure can gain some real insight on how not to act based on Charlie’s tale. Until the world, this country in particular, comes to the realization that violence is not the solution to their problems, I think books like Rage both do and do not have a place in popular culture. Think of it like Schrodinger’s cat. A kid who never opens that book might still walk into the school with a gun and do horrible things. But the student who reads the book and truly makes an effort to understand it may have a chance to think about his or her actions a little longer. They could see the results of Charlie’s ordeal and understand they just have to hold on a little longer, just power through for a little more time. It could be the difference in another act of violence, or a true act of peace and restraint based on knowledge.

“Peace sells, but who’s buyin’?” -Megadeth

Thursday Morning Thoughts

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

You know, this is a good question, and not one we usually answer with the full extent of honesty. As a form of greeting, it’s so easy to ask or be asked “how are you?” and get or give the standard “good, and you?” in today’s world. But how often are our feelings so simple? We are humans with complex thoughts, complex emotions, complex lives. Can that really be summed up with a simple “good?” Not at all. To be brutally honest, that’s one of the reasons students in school right now often face such a struggle with their own emotions. They have been trained, if not forthright, then at least through observation, that emotions and thoughts should be simple to categorize and explain away. So, when they start feeling actual emotions and realize how BIG they are, it freaks them out. They have no clue how to accept the fact that everyone else can simply be “good” all the time, while they feel like entire universes worth of emotion are swirling through their every waking thought.

At some point we have to ask ourselves as both a society and a species if this “how are you” routine is more helpful or harmful. Do any of us ever actually look at someone who asks that question and say “you know, I’m having a really bad day. I’m feeling a lot of things right now and I could stand to talk it out?” Almost never. The question really has become more rhetorical and continues to move in that direction the longer we ask it with such simplicity. More often than not people ask this as a simple greeting, not expecting anything other than that standard “good,” or better yet, the sarcastic “living the dream.” It has become a social call and response that merely acts to show us that we have noticed and acknowledged one another, so now let us go on about our day without any further or deeper interaction thanks. Altering society’s problems with accepting and teaching emotions and social emotional positivity is not something that can be fixed overnight, of course, but I think we could go a long way toward repairing those broken bridges if we take the time to actually ask each other how we are – and both expect and give real, honest answers. We can’t always just be “good.” Some days we might be sleepy, maybe we’re hungry, maybe we got behind a slow driver and we’re late for work and we need a minute to vent and complain. Maybe we got some really good news on the way to work and we want to take a minute to rejoice in it. Who knows. The point is, this is a very pregnant question. If any of us care to ask and answer it honestly, that is.

But anyway, I’m good today. How are you?

Daily writing prompt
How are you feeling right now?
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Lessons from the Classroom

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Teaching is one of the most rewarding, but also one of the most difficult professions out there. To be on the forefront of instilling education and knowledge into the minds of the future is something I, for one, do not take lightly. Now, I can’t speak for every single educator out there, of course. I have first-hand experience with some people who act like little more than warm bodies in a chair waiting on a paycheck. That is one of the first and best ways to fail children – and I don’t mean on a grade scale.

Working with students is a never-ending responsibility, that much is certain, but there are an endless supply of benefits in the profession regardless of how hard it can be. Growing up in a single parent household, I did not have a full-time male role model in my home. My grandfather stepped into this role as often as he was able, and I certainly have many life lessons from my short time with him. Likewise, men from my church were crucial parts of my life, becoming friends that I am still in contact with to this day, but that’s a different story. Teachers, however, were an example that I looked up to on a daily basis. Granted, in the early and mid-90’s when I was entering the world of public education the vast majority of teachers in Tazewell, Va. were female, by the time I made it to middle school I was happy to find myself under guided instruction of some very positive male educators. Likewise, in high school I made the acquaintance of two or three men who were essential to my education and who influenced me to consider taking on the mantle of teacher myself.

Being who I am, though, I still told myself I would do better focusing on my writing because “who would want me as a teacher, anyway?” I fought that bug for several years before listening to my wife and accepting the drive I had been putting off and seeking to finish the education path I had already started in undergrad. As you all know, I started my path as a teacher of high school English in 2020, at the height of the Covid-19 epidemic. During that time I met several students who would show me how wrong I had been.

Coming to my students in an impoverished area, many of whom did not have a positive male role model at home, I saw myself in their eyes a lot. Some of them, naturally, were a bit apprehensive coming into my classroom. In this region if a student makes it to high school not liking to read, English classes are something of a sore subject for them. However, I was able to show many of them a type of literature that they did actually enjoy. By taking the time to speak to my students and get to know them, I was able to show them there is more to English and Language Arts than writing essays and reading giant British Literature novels. There is a whirlwind of education floating in the ether and, by approaching students at a level of respect and understanding, I taught them an appreciation for, if not exactly a love of, literature. More importantly, though, I showed them there is someone who cares about them.

That, to me, is the most important lesson a teacher can impart to a student, regardless of what subject they teach. Life lessons of love and appreciation, just knowing they can come into the building and have someone genuinely care whether they got a good night’s sleep or ate breakfast can make or break the day. Many of my students from my first teaching job have gone on to graduate and start families now, and I am still in touch with some of them. Knowing the things I heard some of these students being told – that they could never graduate, they wouldn’t make it in the real world, they would be better off getting a GED (and worse) – makes me disgusted. Yes, I know what you are thinking. “Did those things come from educators, from school staff, from people those students should have been able to trust?”

The answer is yes. And it is pathetic. For a student fighting to make it in this weird world life is hard enough without having someone they should be able to trust constantly beating them down. I am now in the first year working at a new school, in a new county, and it is honestly like night and day. The staff here truly cares about the students. These kids might not get the support they need at home, and they might not have expectations of getting that support at school, but I do my best to make sure they have it here. Some days, being a teacher is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but the rewards so far outweigh that struggle it’s not even comparable. Knowing a student will come into my classroom and get a smile, have a kind word, and hopefully figure out there is more out there than what they’ve dealt with so far is a lesson I couldn’t have learned if I had continued to deny my own voice.

The biggest point here, really, is simple. Kids need you. If you are considering going into education, make sure you are listening to that urge. If you are a first year teacher worrying about whether or not you can do it, whether or not you will do a good enough job – you will. The fact that you care shows you have the heart for it. If you are a teacher experiencing burnout, listen to that inner voice, but also remember all the good you have done. Students are alive and well today, excelling through this world, because of the influence you had on them. That is a lot to be thankful for. In my experience, it is the student who doesn’t realize how much they need a teacher that will gain the most from a positive one. Some days may look dark, but the real light comes from knowing you made a difference. I thank God for putting me a situation where I can do just that.

Who Do You Need?

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Greetings and happy 2024, everyone! It has been a bit since I’ve been able to buckle myself to the keyboard and hash out a nice post to greet you all with. Partly, of course, that is due to my grad school work, and a lot of it is to do with my own mental health and just general level of business. This year, however, has started strong, and great things are coming. I declare it.

The important message on my mind today, which has been there for several days, comes from the mind of Wil Wheaton. While I was working on my thesis prep last week, I decided to tune into an episode of The Friendship Onion rather than music, and happened upon the episode with Wil as a guest. Of course, the whole episode was a lovely nerd fest that made my nerdy heart happy, but toward the end Wil said something that honestly floored me. He talked on and off about the trauma in his life and what it led him to, and Dominic Monaghan eventually thanked him for being such a passionate and enthusiastic human. Wil’s response:

“I work, on purpose, to be the person I need most in the world.”

That quote blew me away. I try to live my life with an understanding that there are billions of people on this ball of rock, and everyone’s life is different. I’m generally a good, happy guy, and I live by rule number one, which is essentially; Don’t be a Dick. Simple, understandable, easy to do. There is absolutely no reason to walk into the world and treat anyone negatively. I get that we all have bad days, but frankly, that’s no excuse to be a jerk. Everyone you encounter is living a life that is so similar, yet so uniquely different from your own, that there is no reason to bring them down.

Wil’s assertion that he makes a conscious decision to be a good, enthusiastic, big person brings me so much joy and so much thought, because it opened an entirely new world of possibilities to me. Life is literally a series of choices, decisions, and actions all based on the things going on in your own head. From the moment you wake up in the morning you have the ultimate power to be the human who can make all the positive difference in someone else’s life. That is the message that holds the most power to me. From the second your eyes open in the morning, the power of choice is with you, and your presence in the world is so heavily influenced by your internal understanding of that. You can choose to walk out into the world and be a positive and uplifting person, or you can bring negativity and anger into the world.

Frankly, the fact that there are people in the world who make the choice to bring others down with their negative garbage is one of the worst things I have ever had to understand. Granted, I have been in a negative mindset before, and I’m sure there have been days where I have not been a positive force for someone out there. For that, I am endlessly apologetic. Looking into my life from a new perspective with the real reminder that we all have the power to make the world a better place makes a big difference to me. Like Wheaton said, we each should work on purpose to be the type of person we need in the world.

Coming from a background that does contain trauma, with a life that has been touched and affected by depression and anxiety, I can tell you first hand that the way people around you act and behave toward you does have a very heavy effect on your mindset. Think about that, guys. Approaching someone, especially a stranger, knowing little to nothing about what they are already going through, but hitting them with anger and negativity is a harsh and irresponsible action like no other. Why should anyone feel like they have to right to bring someone else down? Should we, as a species, not feel like we have a responsibility to make the world a better place? Should we not make an active effort to help and bring our fellow man up, not tear them down?

That is the challenge I want to issue to everyone today. From the moment you wake up in the morning, think about the way you are going to approach the world. Think very presently and thoroughly about the type of person you want to be in the world. Do you really want to be responsible for making someone else’s life worse? If you do, then allow me to be the first to publicly tell you that you suck. Truly. You deserve to stub your pinky toe every single time you walk for the rest of your life. Just endless pinky toe pain. I lay that curse on you now.

But really, everyone, think about it. It’s a true and honest life-changer. Just be intentional. We all know there are bad days, and there are good days, but the thing that really needs to be considered is just how much good you can spread in spite of that. I’m not saying be fake. Don’t get me wrong. All I am saying is that we have the chance to make sure our own bad days do not make anyone else’s worse. If we can make the real decision to help make sure someone else does not have a bad day just because we are having one, just think about the difference that can make. For that matter, think about the kind of power we have to influence positivity on a good day!

In essence, friends, just be a good human. It is all about making conscious decisions to not harm others, whether that be physical or mental, and bringing more happiness into the world than we take away from it. What are your thoughts on that? Can you think of a time when you made a conscious decision to bring positivity into the world, despite having a bad day? Or maybe a time when you did the opposite? Feel free to share those thoughts and experiences. In the meantime, keep up with your creative endeavors and follow me on social media to stay up to date on mine. I am working to build my events list for the year, and I have a few lined up already, so head over to my event page to check them out. I look forward to interacting with everyone!