The Power of Words... continues

Wow! We had a terrific discussion in Creative Writing class today. I started it off with a journal “Blogs… Have you read some? What were they about? What do you write about? Do you think blogs can be useful or not, and why or why not?”

It did not take long for the shower of arrows to ensue…

We don’t all take care of our parents, just some of us.

You made us sound like we’re stupid and can’t write.

Children don’t see their first flush toilet at the school; they see it at the clinic or the hospital.

We talk to our friends, to our family, to our moms.

… and on it went. A group of students opened up with questions and comments while others looked on, avidly, even shifting in their desks to get a better view of me and my replies. When the questions turned to topics from the comments on the “The Power of Words” blog, I simply said that I could not and would not defend others’ remarks, letting them know that I posted every comment made – no edits, no preferential treatment. I explained that I could only stand by my blog post.

I told them that I had ordered actual composition books for them to start using as personal journals (they should be here next week). I think that asking them to blog on topics about which they are passionate is too much to ask. It’s too public of a forum at this stage.

One student asked me if I intended to write a book. “Yes, “ I answered, explaining that I’ve already written one book (unpublished, as of yet) and have every intention of writing more. That’s what I want to be when I grow up, after all, a writer (one who can actually support themselves by writing). I explained that I have 43 years worth of stories to tell, not just stories from the past seven months.

To assume that this 43, almost 44, year old just showed up in their classroom, green and without a background is a wrong assumption. I have first-hand experience with sexual, emotional, and physical abuse. I taught in south Louisiana during Hurricane Katrina. I have had students in my classroom who were plucked off of rooftops in New Orleans and were now sleeping on a bare mattress on the floor of a local church, with no knowledge of where the rest of their family was, or if they were even alive. I have had a student who volunteered in the Katrina cleanup effort and saw “too much” and then committed suicide because he couldn’t handle what he saw. I have had the son of a convicted serial killer, sitting on death row, in my classroom. I’ve taught on a reservation where teens died in alcohol-related car accidents. I’ve had a student bring her baby to class because she had no childcare but wanted to graduate from high school. I’ve coached Swimming, Basketball, and DDF (Drama, Debate, Forensics). I’ve lived in six states, taught in three, and moved more times than I care to count. I have been through more than one custody battle, successfully, and raised my two daughters for almost 13 years on my own. I’ve had three stepfathers, two of which were wicked men, at least in my eyes, and that’s the biggest reason I chose not to remarry while raising my kids.

I have a lifetime of stories to tell, and it’s not over yet! I told them that they’d never meet a less judgmental, more open-minded, tolerant person. I told them not to be afraid of the truth. I told them how much I value their opinions and points of view. I even told them the story of a 9^th grade student I had in Homer who did a persuasive speech on how bad single parenting is for kids (obviously from a conservative/traditional family). She was visibly shaking as she got up to give that speech, knowing my background as a single parent. Yet, she stood her ground, gave that speech, and earned every bit of an ‘A.’ I earned her trust that day.

Once I unloaded this synopsis to my students, they opened up. “You never told us that before,” they said.

I didn’t think I had to. Now, it’s their turn.

The Power of Words

A 17 year old girl from our village committed suicide in a neighboring village this past weekend. Two of her siblings are students in our high school.

Alaska has the highest teen suicide rate in the nation at 33 per 100,000. That may not sound like much to you, but think about this statistic… The southwest region of Alaska (where I live right now) has a rate of 130 per 100,000, almost four times the state average.  Here’s one for ya - 31% of kids in Alaska live in a household where no parent has full-time year-round employment (I’m willing to bet that number is much higher out here in the villages). I couldn’t find statistics for it, but I would estimate that at least 80% of my students come from homes where English is the second language. As far as school goes, 99% of my students are functioning below grade level, most are significantly below (2-8 grades below). To put that in perspective, I have 17 year old 6^th graders in my 10^th grade World Literature class.

I pulled all of this information together to try and make some sense of the teen suicide issue and I’ve come up with a theory.  I think that their lack of language skills transfers in to a lack of communication skills.  The lack of communication skills leads to bottled up feelings. The bottled up feelings lead to depression which leads to suicide.

This is a unique population of teens. They live in a village that speaks Yupik but is located in the United States, an English speaking country. It’s the only place in the entire country that I’ve ever been where the encroaching western civilization is avidly trying to let the natives preserve their culture. It’s a bubble (I almost feel like I’m part of some anthropological experiment some days). However, the bubble is nearly impossible to maintain with the advent of cell phones, satellite TV, and IPods. These teens haul water from the river to their homes while listening to their IPods. They have GPS monitors on their dogsleds. They watch Gossip Girl on their big screen TV, but take showers at school (because they don’t have running water at home). Many of them have only ever seen a flush toilet at the school.

Where else in the United States can someone over the age of 21 be arrested for possession of alcohol? Where else in the United States can someone’s entire team of sled dogs be shot, while on their chains, by a cop to whom they are probably related and never see justice served? Where else in the United States are teachers the highest paid people for 400 miles? Where else in the United States? The questions go on and on.

If these teens choose college or a career outside of their village, the distance that they will put between themselves and their families is monumental. Not only physical distance, but cultural distance as well. The families are tightly knit. Even with the high rates of alcohol and sexual abuse, these families are tight.

These kids have more issues than anyone can imagine. They take care of their parents, their siblings, and even their own children all while trying to pass state standardized tests in school.

One very unique characteristic about this population is their quiet demeanor. Talking is not valued in the Yupik culture, listening is. There are no talent shows, cheerleaders, or pep rallies at our school. Most students barely speak above an audible whisper in class. Socratic Seminars are an outright impossibility in a literature class. Group work is minimal and contrived. Because talking is not valued, writing is not valued either. People with too many words to share are Gussacks (whites). When teens don’t talk and don’t write, they don’t have an outlet for their feelings.

I’ve been trying to get my Creative Writing students to start blogging. It’s definitely been like pulling teeth. They write a sentence or two. They don’t know how to put their feelings down in words. I’m not sure if it’s an environmental block or part of their genetic make-up. Whatever it is, I intend to keep pushing the boundaries of their comfort levels. They are superficial writers. … But, I have an idea. I think that if I can teach them how to express their feelings and write about what’s going on around them, it will be sort of like letting the steam out of a pressure cooker. Maybe it will lift some of the hopelessness and depression that leads to such a high rate of teen suicide. If they could just learn to express themselves, they could experience the satisfaction of being heard. Isn’t that all any of us ever want? Just to be heard?

Perhaps it would also make the transition easier for those who go off to college or find careers outside of the village. If they had the tools for communicating with family members left behind, the distance wouldn’t feel so great. By learning effective communication skills, they could let their stories be known – stories about the lawlessness and injustice that they encounter on a daily basis, stories about living a subsistence lifestyle in the 21^st century, stories about struggle and survival. I feel almost as if this is a “lost” race out here that the rest of the country knows little about. It’s high time to get the word out.

inDEPENDENCE

I'm 43. I've been divorced for almost 12 years. My daughters are 20 and 16, so you could say that I've raised them on my own (their dad is "not around"). Most people would describe me as independent. Heck, I have described myself as independent. I thought that moving off of the road system to rural Alaska would cement my independence. However, this... place. This... bush Alaska place has taught me the difference between being independent and being isolated. I'm not sure isolation is even the right word for it. Solitude? Reclusion? Aloneness? Am I isolated, or am I detached, segregated, sequestered? I'm not sure that there's a precise word for my current state. None of them seem to hit the nail on the head.

Whatever it is, it's definitely NOT independent. I am far from being autonomous, self-sufficient, and unaided as the term independent implies. Quite the opposite. I rely heavily on daily contact with friends and family and often give them lists of supplies to send to me. It seems that most bush grocery delivery companies insist on sending items in bulk quantities. I'm just not sure that I need 28 jars of spaghetti sauce or a case of green beans.

Recent care package from Vicki.

So, I receive care packages from family and friends, fairly regularly. Thank goodness for flat rate Priority shipping! My friend, Vicki, once packed 50 pounds worth of goods in their large box, shipping it to me for $14.95. They told her at the post office that if that had been mailed Parcel Post (cheapest available and takes 3-5 weeks to get here), it would have cost over $50. She has sent me several boxes filled with things like bread flour and flax seed (items I can't get at the Native Store), even the fixin's for Frito Pie (canned Wolf brand Chili and fritos). She's also sent me boxes filled with her own DVDs to watch! When I finished, I sent them back to her ($14.95 to watch 20 movies is a pretty good deal).

Another friend, Amy from Homer, has shipped locally roasted KBay Decaf Coffee to me, because I'm spoiled and love it. My dad has gone shopping for colored thread that I needed for sewing and sent it along with homemade Chex Mix (I don't know if the Native Store has Chex cereal, but if they do, I'm sure it's at least $8/box), and even the fixin's to make Taco Soup (a can of this and a can of that, along with taco seasoning and ranch dressing mixes).

Life here is hard, but it would be much harder without the help from my family and friends. However, it does make me uncomfortable to rely on people. It always has. I don't like to ask for help, and seldom do. I've installed ceiling fans and brick flooring, painted entire houses, bought and sold houses, and even shipped 40 tubs of household items to the bush without ever asking another soul for help. I do things myself. I take care of myself. I'm independent... or... at least, I used to be.