Red for Ed.

 

Red for Ed.

I am wearing my red converse sneakers, given as a birthday present when Ellie was a ninth grader, before she interviewed Noam Chomsky for her Pure Dissidence  underground school newspaper, back in the Old CHS, where my room had huge windows that opened, wood trim everywhere and not one, but two, real slate chalkboards. It might have been 2003.

My red sneakers are beat, battered, and frayed. They have walked thousands of miles, mostly around classrooms, nudging and encouraging writing and reading and focus. They have walked down empty hallways, hours after school let out for the day. They have walked back and forth from my house to school, day in, day out. I have worn them to graduation several times, where they peaked from beneath my black robes, suggesting that I am not formally dressed for the occasion, while we watch students walk across the stage. We cheer—some we always knew would go far; some we are surprised to see. The cycles and circles of our lives in education. They show their wear.

These red sneakers look like teachers on the second to the last staff meeting of the year. Tired. Frayed. But still in the game for one last push. They sag a bit in their chairs, drift off, dream of summer. Of bare feet, shoes resting by the door. After the meeting, we head back to our rooms where the late afternoon spring sunshine filters through our windows, to be sure that we are, if nothing else, Ready for Tomorrow.

Red sneakers evoke the Beat Poets, in all of the variations of their name. There is the beat of feet, walking through life; the Beatitudes of praise that we hear when we least expect it; Being beaten down, but not out. Still in the game.  As Jack Kerouac would say: Be in love with your life. It’s all you are going to get.

Red for Ed.