The joke is as old as homework. It’s been passed down from generation to generation. It’s part of our collective conscience; it’s rooted in school culture. “My dog ate my homework.” Code for “I didn’t do my homework.” We nod. We laugh. We know.

But, what if we don’t know? What if it really did eat it? I mean lots of dogs, lots of homework…it is possible. Ya never know. And that’s worth considering. And, even if it’s unlikely that a canine actually made a meal out of last night’s assignment, we never really know. Turns out, that there’s a lot we may not know. I didn’t know.

I didn’t know I’d find an email this morning from one of my students from 8:00 PM last night telling me she just got kicked out of her house, fretting over not being able to finish her presentation, worrying that she wouldn’t even be able to get to school, wondering where she was going to spend the night.

Suddenly, my class, my assignment seems small. Really small. In fact, it seems nothing at all compared to the bigger lessons, the bigger consequences at hand in this young lady’s life. At this moment, I am not worried about the assignment. I am worried about her. With only a few days left in the year, will I even see her again? I don’t know, which makes me wonder, what else don’t I know?

In this instance, she let me know. But as I think back on instances near and far, I wonder how often I didn’t know. I mean really know. A younger Sy, didn’t buy. Even a story like this, I may have thought it a dramatized, pathos-infused “dog story.” Fortunately, I have become what I believe is a better person, trading my cynicism for empathy–because I may never really know the whole story. So, I default now with empathy and flexibility. I have to own my view–right or wrong. And if I am wrong, I would rather it be from a place of empathy and flexibility, not cynicism or rigidity.

The dog ate the homework, or not. If so, then let them do it. Dogs do things, and it’s conceivable that it did really happen. If not, then still let them do it. It’s a missing assignment. It’s not a personal affront to us. It’s not a sure sign of one being destined to now live a life of irresponsibility. It’s a missing assignment. And how we react is everything. And, importantly, our response is our choice. We can choose flexibility. We can choose rigidity. After all, it seems we are responsible for the excuse. If not for fear of punishment, then kids would not have had to create it in the first place.

I have to make a choice. I have to put my head together with this young lady to figure out what we are going to do. And instead of my considering what I am going to do to her, I will go into the conversation with the mindset of what I am going to do for her. And then, once we’ve decided, that will be the path we follow.

But what about the other kids? What about the other kids who got their work done on time? Is that fair? What about them? Did they get kicked out of their home? If they had, I would have brokered them the same deal, or at least the same response: empathy, for no two situations are the same. Rigidity in the name of fairness is a farce. It is often sold as a high-minded, righteous response out of consideration of others. Please. Fairness is born of empathy, and it is considerate of all, for it recognizes not that all are the same but rather that all are different, and we need to respond accordingly.

The other kids? The other kids won’t know what I decide. It’s not their business. It’s not their learning. It’s not their life. It’s hers. I just happen to be in the same class as her. I showed up on her schedule, and in a year, we have shared time and space. How she lives in, learns from, and leaves that space is largely up to me. And that adds some weight to the choices I make. As such, I have to live with my choices. And though it wasn’t always so, I have learned I like living with my empathetic mistakes better than my cynical ones.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…scrambling to get presentations done.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.