Summer is here, and my brain is fried. As a teacher, my “year” followed the school calendar, not the Gregorian staple everyone else uses.
When June arrived, I had my end-of-year rituals of reflection, preparation and celebration. Even though I’ve been out of the classroom for a few years, I still see myself as a teacher — it’s an identity as much as an occupation. And so the rituals continue.
As soon as I arrived home from the last day of school, I’d unplug my phone (I’m showing my age here), open a container of Ben & Jerry’s, and read a book. Nothing, and I mean nothing, was allowed to interrupt me and my book. The world would cease to exist, and instead I’d immerse myself in a heavy tome that couldn’t compete with lesson plans and grading duties during cooler months.
I still look forward to that book all year long. It renews me and marks the beginning of a few months of heady freedom.
My family has a tradition of making solstice candles. The day before the solstice, we dig a hole in Mother Earth. We melt wax, color it vibrantly, scent it with our favorite oils (shout out to patchouli and bergamot!), and use chopsticks to hold the wick in place. The pouring is my favorite part.
Actually, as a native Chicagoan, my favorite part was finding the perfect hiding place on the shores of Lake Michigan so that we could leave the candles for all of the solstice, and then dig them up the day after. Bonus fun if we forgot where we hid them. The hunt was the best.
Why am I blathering on about candles and the tilt of the Earth?
Because this ritual is important.
We burn the candles from the autumn to spring equinoxes, and burn a special one on the winter solstice. In this way, we are bringing brightness and light into the dark.
And that, readers, sums up how I’m feeling now: I long for a metaphorical solstice candle to bring light into what feels like a dark moment for people living with disabilities.
Health care is uncertain. School closures are coming. There still isn’t enough funding for special education.
So many reasons to build a blanket fort and spend a week binging Netflix.
My dampened affect can’t linger indefinitely. The world is not what I want it to be, and thus my reflections include asking myself some deliberate questions. How can I grow this year? How can I give? How can I go from strength to strength?
Mother Teresa taught us to change the world through concentric circles with ourselves at the center, and each circle is a wider group of people. As a special education advocate, I’ll be working to highlight and connect my readers, and myself, with more community organizations going forward.
Fred Rogers famously taught us to look to the helpers of the world. Sensory Tool House, the Thurston County Developmental Disabilities Coalition, and Colleague.ai, are just a few helpers I’ve spotlighted (or will spotlight) this year. There are so many others, and I feel honored to share their stories with you. Add your suggestions in the comments!
Finally, I’m also hoping that school districts will share their celebrations with us. I know that there are amazing and wonderful things happening inside those big doors, and I’d like to share them with all of you.
Special education isn’t all struggle and angst and noncompliance. It is also inclusion and learning and growing ... and light. Being a part of a child’s growth is an enormous, soul-enriching joy, and this has been missing from Ideas on Education.
If you know of an organization or event that celebrates education and/or children with learning needs, please share in the comments. Consider it a gift, a solstice candle for when the new school year begins, the days are shorter, and we may need a bit of a pick-me-up.
This column is written by Shannon Sankstone, she is an Olympia-based special education advocate and the owner of Advocacy Unlocked. She may be reached at ShannonSankstone@theJOLTnews.com.
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