My Middle Child

I just got off the phone with John, my middle child, a manchild of 21 who called to tell me he starts his secondary education student teaching this week.

"I'm petrified," he said.

I never taught secondary school, but I taught elementary school for one year a long, long time ago, so I know he's right to be petrified.

"You should be," I said.

I believe he's up to the challenge and I tell him that, too. I hope he believes me.

John is my most empathetic child; he cried when watching A Muppet Christmas Tale and one of the muppets was thrown into a snowbank. When he was born I took one look at his fingers stretched out against the blanket and knew I had given birth to a musician. He's a drummer whose fingers are never still; he's always beating out a complicated rhythm that I suspect mirrors the beating of his heart.

My hope for him is that his empathy will enable him to reach his students in a rich and genuine way; my fear is that his empathy will overwhelm him. May the rhythms of his heart calm him and bring him courage to face the challenges to come.