WordSisters

Tag: Teaching

  • She Did

    On the day of our sale, when the buyer signed and I knew—really knew—that our home was sold, I felt the pressure of years gathering in my chest. Tears burst out.

    I was standing in the kitchen of our RV when the weight of it hit me.

    I was not four years old, or eight, or ten, or a teenager. My twenties were behind me.

    My survival had become a life. A home. A marriage. Children raised in safety. Love sustained over decades.

    How did this girl who came from dirt, chaos, filth, take care of a home for thirty years?

    How did this girl, who knew nothing about how to keep a relationship together, stay married for twenty-eight years?

    How did this girl, who was so abused, not abuse her children? Not allow them to be abused? Not raise a hand to them?

    How did this girl, who was not raised by love, raise with love?

    How did this girl insist that her children learn how to protect themselves? That they had a duty to protect themselves?

    How did this girl, whose body belonged to everyone else, keep her soul her own?

    She lived through their abuse, their dislike, their disdain, their ridicule, their name-calling. She lived through it.

    Slowly, steadily, methodically, she took the next step. And then another.

    She built a life the same way she healed—one small choice at a time.

    Her saving grace was realizing she could finally say:

    No more.

    I don’t need you.

    I don’t need to mother you.

    I don’t need to be your keeper.

    I don’t need to be needed by you.

    I am enough by myself.

    And then she began to see possibility. To see life.

    Jody.

    A relationship that mattered. One worth fighting for.

    She learned to communicate. To apologize. To stay when staying was hard. To work things out.

    Her healing continued because that responsibility belonged to her. No more giving up her thoughts. No more giving up her right to decide what was right for her.

    She would decide.

    She would become her own best friend. Her own witness. She would build a relationship with her spirit, with her soul.

    Thirty years later, standing between what was and what will be, she understands something fully:

    They did not get to decide who she would become.

    She did.

    The little girl who survived became the woman who lived.

    Tae Kwon Do, a family affair

  • In Honor of Those Who Teach

    Marquette University’s development rep wanted to visit (aka ask for a donation). On a hot summer day Samantha Adler and I sat down with iced drinks to chat about education before the pitch. First, we circled topics searching for things we had in common beyond my alma mater and valuing education. We wandered into talking about growing up in small towns.

    She grew up in Monticello, Indiana, the same small town as my husband. She had attended Meadowlawn Elementary. I mentioned my mother-in-law spent decades there as a third-grade teacher.

    Samantha asked for her name. 

    “Mrs. Kraack.”

    Her eyes got wide. “Mrs. Kraack! She read to us after she retired.”

    “That would be her.”

    “She was amazing. She made me want to read.”

    There we sat, two strangers across a table, connected by the kind of educator who could make small children want to read.

    “I read Winnie the Pooh books to my children, and I do all the voices like Mrs. Kraack. I haven’t thought of her for so long. This is amazing.”

    We both had goosebumps while sharing Mrs. Kraack stories. I told her truthfully that this opportunity to talk about my mother-in-law was a wonderful gift. 

    Helen Kraack taught at least a thousand elementary school children during her career. She was on her third generation of students in some families. Teaching was not a job for her, but a mission. She worked hard to be sure every third grader leaving her classroom could read, manage their time, know how to be kind to others, and dream of their futures.

    How do you measure the success of teachers like Mrs. Kraack? Many tried when she received an Indiana Shining Star for Excellence in Teaching, when she retired, when she passed. Stories about kids who went to college, who became professionals, who held leadership positions, won awards. 

    Then there are untold stories about little girls like Samatha who learned to love reading while listening to Mrs. Kraack. A girl who would earn a full scholarship to St. Mary’s College and develop a career making college possible for other kids. A mother who reads Winnie-the-Pooh books to her children. 

    Many thanks to all who enter classrooms this school year or teach in other ways. Know that even on your most lackluster days, your influence may brighten a child’s day and well outlive you. There are people who have your backs and wish you all the best. 

    Emily Kraack Chad and Helen Kraack

    “Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.”
    ― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh