Trying to locate her, I asked her how close she lives to the house with the car that sports the neon pink rims. "That's my house!" was the answer, making me awfully thankful I hadn't asked how close she lives to the house with the car that sports hideous pink rims... Realizing that her house is right in the middle of several of my elementary riders, I dropped a couple of names and asked if she knew the kids. Answering quickly, she brightened and identified one of them as her nephew, and a moment later, did a double take and looked closely at me.
"Oh, you're Mr. Barber? THE Mr. Barber?"
I like the sound of that. Not just Mr. Barber, but THE Mr. Barber.
That's not the only time I have been glad to hear that little article THE appended to my name. A couple of days ago, one of the Jr. High kids was asking me how I came to drive a bus, and asked how I could be content with being "just a bus driver." While I was puzzling over a response to that, one of the other kids rejoined that rather than being "just a bus driver", I am "THE bus driver." High praise from a smart-aleck 12 year old.
When you work with kids, you find that the simplest change can really help them see things a different way. A couple of weeks ago, one of my riders, all charged up on machismo and bravado, declared his intention to learn how to curse people out in all languages to prepare him to defend his honor verbally against anyone. I suggested that he might be better served by instead learning how to say "let's have some cookies" in every language. Since everyone loves cookies, that is a phrase guaranteed to win you friends the world over. So now I have a bunch of them translating cookie-talk into the languages of the world. Khapse (Tibetan butter cookies), anyone? Sometimes you just might want to see things a different way-it would be hard to curse someone out with a mouth full of a buttery cookie, right?
When you work with kids, you find that the simplest change can really help them see things a different way. A couple of weeks ago, one of my riders, all charged up on machismo and bravado, declared his intention to learn how to curse people out in all languages to prepare him to defend his honor verbally against anyone. I suggested that he might be better served by instead learning how to say "let's have some cookies" in every language. Since everyone loves cookies, that is a phrase guaranteed to win you friends the world over. So now I have a bunch of them translating cookie-talk into the languages of the world. Khapse (Tibetan butter cookies), anyone? Sometimes you just might want to see things a different way-it would be hard to curse someone out with a mouth full of a buttery cookie, right?
Over the past year, I have put countless bandaids on hurts both real and imaginary, tied a myriad of shoes, found and returned numerous lunchboxes and binders and phones left in seats, and refereed numberless squabbles and spats. Children are exactly the same as everyone else, they demand to be heard and treated seriously and spoken to by name-and the correct name and pronunciation, too, mind you. Everyone likes to be asked how the day went, or to be congratulated on a particular success or milestone.
In other words, I feel like I've worked for that little THE that they put before my name....
But in a deeper sense, I have to be grateful once again for grace, for unearned joy, for unlooked-for moments of connectedness, for random smiles and happiness. Like anything else in my life, my plans tend to fall to over-planning, to entitled expectation, and to deflated outcomes. Love and grace and art and beauty come all in a rush, subject to God's time rather than to my own, to kairos rather than chronos. It is when I am least expecting it that the moment of glory and thrilling realization alights like a bird in a tree branch.
I sure wasn't expecting that recognition when my classmate referred to me as THE Mr. Barber.
But it sure felt wonderful.
That is why I gladly roll out of bed bleary-eyed at 5 AM 9 months of the year to go drive a school bus. With no air conditioner.
Everyone has moments when everything suddenly feels worth it, and it is absolutely critical that I hold onto those memories to sustain me through the broken times when everything goes sour. The day when the Jr. High band students broke their instruments out as we headed out of the school parking lot, and flute and violin and trombone and French horn joined together in an impromptu concert? Yeah, that one will stand out for a loooooong time...
-Peace,
THE Mr. Barber
In other words, I feel like I've worked for that little THE that they put before my name....
But in a deeper sense, I have to be grateful once again for grace, for unearned joy, for unlooked-for moments of connectedness, for random smiles and happiness. Like anything else in my life, my plans tend to fall to over-planning, to entitled expectation, and to deflated outcomes. Love and grace and art and beauty come all in a rush, subject to God's time rather than to my own, to kairos rather than chronos. It is when I am least expecting it that the moment of glory and thrilling realization alights like a bird in a tree branch.
I sure wasn't expecting that recognition when my classmate referred to me as THE Mr. Barber.
But it sure felt wonderful.
That is why I gladly roll out of bed bleary-eyed at 5 AM 9 months of the year to go drive a school bus. With no air conditioner.
Everyone has moments when everything suddenly feels worth it, and it is absolutely critical that I hold onto those memories to sustain me through the broken times when everything goes sour. The day when the Jr. High band students broke their instruments out as we headed out of the school parking lot, and flute and violin and trombone and French horn joined together in an impromptu concert? Yeah, that one will stand out for a loooooong time...
-Peace,
THE Mr. Barber
