Modern Day Robin Hoods

In my early days of matriculation at Boise State, I was a spectator in a conversation in which a student argued that we were at Boise State, not Harvard, “it's not like we were getting a great education.” The professor retorted, “Do you think they have secret books at ivy league schools that you can't get here?”

I believe that this is when I realized what an egalitarian thing education was. One can argue that the connections and reputation that Harvard provides will give a graduate a leg up, but, as everyone knows, you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes, after that, you better know something.

I've thought about this as an evolving concept since those freshman days, and I've realized that even the way we tell stories marks the importance of knowledge. As a child, I was taught that Columbus was convinced the earth was round, and that's why he sailed West to go East. His ground-breaking feat was not one of cultural subjugation, but of the proliferation of knowledge. True? Not true? It doesn't really matter. Columbus becomes a cultural hero because he's disseminating information. He's breaking through barriers. He's stealing information known only to the higher-ups and sharing it with all us plebeians.

I don't know what happened or when this changed, honestly it was probably some time around Scopes, but teachers became this thing to be ridiculed and criticized and not honored as the modern day Robin Hoods that they are.

Any steady-handed thief can steal from the rich and give to the poor, but only the best can learn, and without diminishing their own understanding, share that knowledge with others. I spent some time over the last few years trying to share what I know with others. It's difficult, exhausting, and often thankless, and I was teaching college students who were “choosing” to be in my classroom.

The Robin Hoods that I admire most are the men and women who chose, and continue to choose, sharing their knowledge with children. A Robin Hood that I admire and love most is my friend Kara. Kara Hood not only teaches with abandon (something I feel that many more teachers should do everyday), but she also does everything in her life with the same wild abandon. Her love for knowledge is so strong, that some days, I know there are new worlds to discover, and going West to get East was the smartest move ever made.

Another Anonymous Poem

For the dog and I and my little guy the carpet is our kingdom
and we fight over patches of sunlight to magic in,
sometimes to sleep, sometimes to grow giddy with warmth.
Toys are always grimey and one day you just accept it.

My son smells like spaghetti-os or milk or bath
and we sing to the dog and no one could ever tell us that the dog doesn’t love it,

doesn’t hear Aretha croon or Sesame Street jive
in a way that hypnotizes him to our moment and our happiness;
true commune between beasts, real joy amongst animals
communication and meaning that emerges from our mammal hearts and our family brains and gives little use to the perfect symbol world and the able infrastructure it has built.

The stairs my son can’t climb.
The books my son can’t read.
The hot but modest girl he can’t take to prom unless she loses some extraordinary bet. On a reality show. In a parallel universe.

No is an invention, not found in nature. The only reason my son ‘can’t’ is because he does differently.

And that’s not a can’t.

He can roll and crawl about our carpet kingdom where his best friend is a giant dog
that loves Aretha and lives for Sesame Street.
We keep the questions and can’ts at the door – the only thing that gets through there is the occasional pizza.
We won’t be disturbed, the dog and I and my little guy,
because we’re busy in his living room laboratory – inventing new ways to be.

An Anonymous Poem

Here's a really fantastic poem. To bad the author is anonymous, so I can't give any additional credit:

You want to know about the word retarded?
You want some Miley Cyrus Hillary Duff PSA or PC talk?
You want some millennial agreement on the words that aren’t cool?
let me make it real.
Let me make it hurt to feel that word.
Let me lay out the ignorance and the stupidity necessary
to form the lips around the r the t and the d
A thrown off statement in an undergrad class
An otherwise loved friend that doesn’t know the pain.
A nasal Jersey joke on a reality show.

The ugly history that made it ok.
The 1947, 1950, 1955, 1958, 1965, 1973 world;
the today
that said: your child is worthless.
your child is strange.
your child is a retard.

When all you know is the 9 months of joy and hope and promise,
and don’t you dare tell me any different when that beautiful girl arrives
So ready for love.
From us. From them. From the world.
And the first instruction to us so powerless in that perfect world
laying raw and weak in that faux sterile 1956 hospital bed
Is that the best thing to do -
no guilt, no attachment, no rejection,
of the stauts quo
is to get ready to get rid of her
Institutionalize her. Thought her mind is clearer than any would admit
and her body is more able than anyone will see.
You have social permission. To take that beautiful child. And place her on a planet reserved for those that don’t fit. And you get to feel okay about it.
And you don’t have a universe, a network of social support that says “you’re going to do it your way, and that’s what’s best for her” BECAUSE YOU ARE HER MOTHER AND YOU LOVE HER.

Instead the best thing you get is pitying eyes
for your burden.
And the worst thing you get is fear and disgust
for your perfect baby girl.

You want to forget something in the microwave and call yourself retarded?
You want to take away the legs of someone else, and say the same?
You want an easy word, when so many others will do the same job?
Without pain. Without indictment. Without ignorance.

Think of the world of beautiful souls that cannot roll that noun off of their lives.
Think of this word, this invention that has left them outside. On couches. In wheelchairs. In different classrooms.  In institutions. But always alone.
Always with the easy excuse to send them away when the strongest love (never given opportunity to be real) screams “are you fucking kidding me?”

Say the word retarded. No really, it’s okay.

Baby Giggles