Lighting the Torch of a Village Teacher

Lighting the Torch of a Village Auntie

I have been thinking in terms of neurodiversity and diversity in general in the classroom over the past few days since I witnessed a major meltdown. I have been working with students in a blended classroom for several days over the past two weeks, and there are kids aged 9-11 years old in the classroom. We have students with autism, ADHD, and Tourette’s as well as students who exhibit varying degrees of mental illness or social anxiety. My own boyfriend has autism, a mild form that may have previously been called Asperger’s syndrome when that terminology was still afloat, and I may have some form of neurodivergence myself. However, I have remained undiagnosed and do not care to diagnose myself one way or another. I suffered the ill effects of mental illness and the treatment of that’s as far as I’ll go into the poking and prodding of who I am and what makes me tick. I get to decide that now.

I cannot pretend that I believe that people who have letters tacked to the back of their names are the ones that I trust most with these kids’ futures. That is not to say that I do not believe that they are at the forefront of understanding the nature, causes, and efficacies of various ways of handling troublesome behaviors associated with these diagnoses. None of what they say should be thrown out the window at all. In fact, I believe that I most likely have a lot to learn from them if I would like to work with children. However, I firmly believe that my best teachers are the children themselves.

My niece Serenity is one of my greatest teachers. I met her earlier this year on the day that she was born, February 1, 2023. It was the first time I held a newborn baby in my arms, and I felt how precious, vulnerable, and honest she was instantaneously. That’s how we’re all born. Imagine that? I recall that there were two beds in the hospital room. Her mom Lupita was lying on the bed that was farthest from the door. I waited my turn as the baby’s true aunt Rebecca held her and almost lost her breath from being in so much awe of her. I was too from the moment I saw her, and when I got the opportunity to hold her in my arms, I peered down at her sweet face and settled down with her on the opposite bed. “My niece, my Serenity. It’s Ok, it’s alright. I’ll protect you,” I thought. There were other visitors waiting to see her too so Lupita told us we had to go.

Not wanting to go - yet knowing I must, I acquiesced quickly, a little too quickly - nay, almost immediately, as if I were a soldier having been issued a military order by his commander. I suppose that I saw it as ripping off a bandaid. There was no avoiding my departure from that peaceful space of gazing into those beautiful eyes so I might as well have had it over with. I sat up from the bed so abruptly, that to my dismay I heard that calm, serene baby cry for the first time. So I slowly sat back down and told her with the utmost sincerity and apology in my voice, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re ok.” Her mom and her aunt, sisters, both laughed at me. She eased up and stopped crying though, and I could see that she understood me, even if she couldn’t comprehend my words. That is a moment in life that I will never forget because it forever changed me.

I left that hospital with only a vague sense of who I would become and what my new relationship with this child would be, but I knew I’d never be the same. I’d help her mother, her grandmother, her aunts and uncle, and I would be in her life for as long as I can. The question was, who would I be? I’d already flirted with the idea of working with kids through my FoodCorps application. Although I was ultimately not selected for a position as a service member, I still found my life changed by the choice to work with kids. First, I became a nanny, then a substitute teacher.

While it seems that I am relatively new to working with kids, I am actually not. The reason that Serenity will call me Auntie is because it was a title that was earned. As the best friend of her grandmother for a decade and a half, I babysat her mom, her aunt, and her uncle (may he rest in peace) when they were kids and got some valuable experience with teenagers through her other uncle and aunt who were a bit older. I was not a disciplinarian, take-charge kind of person. I played with these kids, I taught these kids, and I loved them as much as you can love a child who is not your own. Birthdays, holidays, car breakdowns, you name it - I was there. Toys were bought, meals were made, projects for school were facilitated, etc. I picked up and dropped off some of them to and from school some days. The older ones came to me with issues they weren’t yet ready to talk to their mom about, and I would help them without telling them what they should do - because I always realized it wasn’t my call. At first I thought, maybe it was their mom’s? However, as they all got older, I realized that regardless of consequences, parental included, the choices were theirs. All I could give them was a willing ear, an open mind, a word of advice, and as many questions as I could for them to see the situation from as many angles as possible without judging them.

So I picked up the title of Auntie. So what? It’s just a title; it doesn't change anything, Kristi. That’s right it is, and it doesn’t. I am still the same me, only different because I’ve realized something about myself. The nature of an aunt, what is it? In some cultures, an auntie is an older adult, specifically one that has an active hand in raising you. In the past, there were villages of aunties. Now it completely depends on what family you’re lucky enough to be born into. Think about it. Who raised you? Was it your mom, your dad, your older siblings, your grandparents, your aunts and uncles, your neighbors, your classmates, or all of the above?

And what happens when they stop? What happens when they die before you’re ready to handle life on your own, orphaned as an adult as I was? At what point, do you begin to raise yourself and to stay risen just as you are for everyone to see? Maybe you’re just a tumbleweed blowing in the wind, or maybe beneath those dusty old eyes, you’re a wild rose who has finally boomed in the desert after all?

The way I see it is that we should never stop growing, stop asking that basic question of who we are and desire to be, and to not be afraid to be it. As a village auntie, I want to see all these young seeds flourish and grow in a garden of possibilities for our future, and there’s no better way to do it than integration. We must teach our kids that we are one people with many names. Different flowers, one garden, one human race from which we all spring in brightest glory - and that means we must also recognize that in fellow seedlings and work together to create our future.

As a village auntie, you hand me delicate seedlings, and I help you tend the garden. What blossoms is up to both of us - and ultimately the seeds themselves.

What can we grow together? And in what ways can we grow, together?