"The purity of a person's heart can be quickly measured by how they regard animals."
-Anonymous
I have absolutely never liked animals. I won't even pretend to like them. Somewhere in my farthest memories, I may have thought a penguin was cute. However, that's about the extent of my animal appreciation.
Allow me a moment to share how I have come face to face with a few of God's more interesting creatures...and I do mean interesting.
For every child I have, there is a dog or iguana or guinea pig that I must pretend to adore. There are the endless stories of how they went against all odds, climbed a tree, and caught hold of their kitty cat just before it danced off the end of a branch. I recall the shuddering astonishment the day I announced, "I do not like animals. I am scared of animals. We will not bring animals in for show and tell." Gut wrenching moans and faces drawn into question marks filled the classroom when I puncuated my animal speech by saying, "By the way, I do not and will never own a pet either." With that, the room fell silent and the pet topic was packed away with all of the other things that would never enter the classroom on my watch. All good things come to end, and that's exactly what happened to me 5 months after my animal sermon.
I got a new student. That can upset the apple cart on any given day, but what if the new student crashes the party by daring to mention...PETS??!!?? Oh, he was innocent--I'll give him that much. He had no idea that my heart could shift into overdrive at the mere mention of animals. Talk about the heebie-jeebies!! Finally, his annoying discussion of the blasted beasts evolved into the forbidden question. "Ms. Pollock, can I bring my turtles, Mr. T and Killer in for show and tell?" My reply was that I would have to get back to him. After all, turtles do carry a variety of diseases that would instantly place everyone involved in immediate medical danger. Would you want to tell all those parents that we had an outbreak of Salmonella? Right. So, he didn't mention Mr. T and Killer the rest of the week--we were headed for the weekend and I could already see us gliding right through Friday without any surprises, shocks, or Salmonella.
I ushered in Friday by greeting my students right outside the classroom door. One by one, they filed in, neglecting to hug me or shake my hand as was the custom. I was beginning to feel just a little bit overlooked and unloved. Quietly, they crept into the room and inquisitively watched my every move. My new student was the caboose that day. He chugged around the corner carrying an aquarium--an aquarium WITHOUT a lid and inhabited by turtles. I felt my throat closing up. My eyes started watering. I wanted to run and hide under my desk. He had disregarded my request to get back to him on the topic of turtles. So, I did what anyone else in my shoes would have done. I dropped my arms, took three steps back, and allowed my student to enter the classroom...turtles and all.
I decided to get the worst over and allow him to show the turtles first thing. That way, we could tuck the aquarium away on the shelf--out of sight, out of mind. The events that unfolded in the next fifteen minutes helped chisel away some of the ice I had built up in my heart for animals. Kurtis was transformed into a different child as he handled his turtles with kid gloves. His megaphone mouth and bouncing body were replaced with a gentle whisper and calculated movements. He demonstrated how Mr. T would pull Killer in a "car." The car was a rollerskate that he had rigged up to look like a vehicle. He had spent countless hours perfecting the turtle show. I touched the turtle's shell. It was a mosaic of intriguing shapes--an obstacle course for the human eye. I searched Kurtis at that moment. His eyes beamed with awe and wonder. He sat, paralyzed, as the turtles rounded the final lap of their parade. Kurtis was proud, confident, and calm. God's provision gave Kurtis moments of peace from his attention deficit problems. The turtles filled in the lonliness during the countless hours of waiting for dad to get home.
Several weeks later, I was conferencing with Hunter. We were trying to come to a consensus on a positive consequence for demonstrating self-control and finishing homework. After many minutes of brainstorming, we hadn't reached a decision. Suddenly, Hunter rushed toward me like a bolt of lightening! He zig-zagged past chairs until he reached his destination: my desk. Hunter proudly declared, "Ms. Pollock, Ms. Pollock, I know what my reward can be!! I can bring my dog, Big Man in to visit the class!!" As his mocha-colored eyes peered straight to my soul, I was torn. "Fine. The dog can come, but only for a short visit and it must be at the very end of the day," I proudly declared. Eventually, I added the following conditions: dad or mom must bring Big Man to school, he must be on a suitable leash, the dog must be gentle and have received all shots, and the dog must be potty-trained and clean. In my mind, I confidently considered the likely prospect that mom and dad would blow the plan by being unwilling to bring the dog to school. I was feeling "large and in charge" at the end of that day.
The next day dawned and I felt fairly certain that mom and dad weren't going to really agree to bring the dog to school. I whisked into school without a care in the world. Low and behold, at 2:15, I got a call from the office saying that I had visitors. I told them to bring it on. Hunter's mom approached the door first and we motioned them to come in. I could have never prepared myself for the sight that I had when Hunter's dad entered, holding the dog's leash. I was overtaken by the calmness and beauty of the dog. In a strange way, Big Man reminded me of my grandfather--strong yet gentle. The dog's eyes were filled with a certain wisdom, and it showered me with contentment and peace. Ironically, the dog only had three legs. Hunter proceeded to share the story of how Big Man was injured when a car hit him. Also, Hunter had perfected 6 or 7 doggie tricks with the brawny Boxer. I chose the seat next to Big Man and affectionately stroked the dog as Hunter proudly shared. That day, I learned that Hunter could start something and finish it. He had demonstrated self-control and perseverance while training his dog.
With only twenty days of school left, I thought I was probably finished hosting "Animal Clinic." But, wouldn't you know a 5th grader was in the wings waiting to prove me wrong? Yesterday, Kasey approached my desk. He reminded me of a tiny pebble skipping across the water on a warm summer day. His smile indicated he had classic news to share with me. He whispered, "Ms. Pollock, guess what I found last night?" Kasey's a pure country boy so the list of options was endless. After several bum guesses, he offered the answer: a baby opposum. His story detailed how the moma had been shot and the baby had been left defenseless to face the harsh elements of the Kentucky woods. Furthermore, he shared how he was nursing the baby opposum with an eye dropper. I told him how proud I was of him and wished him luck on keeping the baby alive.
He started to walk away, but he turned back around. His baseball cap was cocked a little sideways and his hands were shoved in his pockets. Then, the question came. "My dad doesn't work today. He could bring Squirrely Girl in during our morning break." I replied, "Kasey, I don't know if that is a good idea. They have very sharp teeth and we do not know what the baby has been exposed to." Kasey's head dropped. I recalled how his parents had suddenly divorced last summer, how his best friend's father had died during combat in Iraq, and how his mom and dad shuffle him back and forth at their convenience. Something came over me, and I found myself giving the go ahead for him to make the phone call.
Squirrely Girl showed up in a tiny shoebox. She was wrapped in a washcloth and the eye dropper rested in the corner. The opossum lay in the box, breathing hard and fast--eyes still sealed shut. Kasey cautiously held the baby up for each student to catch a glimpse. Miraculously, the tiny creature calmed down and stopped breathing so hard. I stood back from the scene. Kasey's eyes welled up with tears when his dad said he had to leave. Kasey reminded me how important it is for all creatures to have a mom. He said, "Sometimes, I kind of feel like that opossum. Especially when my mom is with her boyfriend." Kasey explained that it just isn't right when you can't even count on your mom. Throughout the day, Kasey talked to me about Squirrely Girl and how he was just about in the same boat--he feels abandoned. For the first time this year, Kasey fell into my arms and hugged me. That was my thanks for allowing his "baby" to visit school.
My year has been about so much more than teaching. I have seen students stumble and fall, but I have also been there to rejoice when they got back on their two feet and took off again. I can understand now why animals are so important. I have witnessed the high level of respect Kurtis, Hunter, and Kasey have for animals. I have seen the purity in their hearts for God's living creatures. I am a better teacher and person for having loved not only my three students, but the creatures they dared to bring to school. [Copyrighted, 2007, TNTNKY]
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