Chapter 5
The practice of balance is a necessary, never-ending cycle. Acknowledging its importance is well worth circling back to, especially since it extends to each of us. No matter who we are or what we do, it goes beyond the realm of our individual responsibilities. A willingness to maintain the relational roles we have with other people, different people, is an essential trait to strive for. Removing our own agendas to acknowledge those of the “other” can be an excruciating exercise.
Though our 2010-11 class unit was given a healthy foundation of safety and acceptance, we were each faced with the daily challenge of encountering a wide array of constantly shifting dynamics. Things such as adapting to a new seating arrangement or work partner kept us on our toes throughout the year. These reminders from Mr. Eddie Gibbs had great benefits toward our overall perception of the learning process. The “work in progress” mentality could be one of enjoyment, not dread. Any worthwhile progress is, in fact, a process in and of itself. Welcoming others to experience it was something Mr. Gibbs did with open arms.
I can recall only a few temporary occasions where a student teacher would be around one of my past classes. In those cases, the student teacher would come a few days out of each week, for only brief periods of each day. The individuals would usually just sit in the corner to “observe” our main teacher’s classroom instruction. Their seemingly random schedule set-up would only last a week or two. After that, the student teacher would never be seen or heard from again, leaving me to wonder how those individuals ultimately panned out in the profession.
A lot can be said about any teacher who has been selected to take a prospective educator under their wing, no matter what the frame of time. Even more can be spoken about those who are responsible for the hands-on learning experience of not one, but two student teachers in the same year. Hosting one before the Christmas holiday, and another in the latter part of our year, Mr. Gibbs happened to fall into a seemingly unique category. Leveling him up even further and into a league of his own was the time he devoted to our student teachers. There was nothing random about their schedule, nor was there in regards to how it was filled.
“When I had a student teacher, it was important for me to be the best teacher I could be,” said Mr. Gibbs. He continued, “Although I tried to do that everyday, I did have to maintain a balance because I wanted them to see not only the good teaching, but the reason behind the good teaching.”
Entering our class on the same days and frame of time each week, the student teachers built a vital sense of continuity with the students. Such a thing could never be preserved with the usual “fly on the wall” observant approach.
Explaining the intentionality to avoid that, Mr. Gibbs remembered, “I always felt like it was important to incorporate them in a hurry. A lot of other teachers, when they have student teachers, they take the first week and they just have them sit at a table alone and watch what happens.” Forging yet another path of positive deviation, Mr. Gibbs continued, “I wanted them to dive in on the first day. Mainly because I wanted them to start building relationships and start learning students.”
Much can be said about the ways in which our class benefited from receiving our educational content from someone we were used to being around. At the same time, we still had no grasp of how much of a leap it was for the student teachers tasked with leading us through a lesson, especially with the Eddie Gibbs method.
Explaining it, he said, “I always listened to the lessons and I always wanted to make sure my student teachers were teaching you what you needed. One of the things I did with my student teachers that I took heat for, but I stood behind, was that, at the college level, they required a supervising teacher to look at the student teacher’s lesson plans, to go over them. I refused to do that. I would never do that with my student teachers.”
The “leap” I mentioned? It was one into a massive pool with an unknown distance to its bottom. Did any teaching hopefuls sink to that point? Well, I’ll let Mr. Gibbs take it from here …
“I’ve always believed the best way for you to learn to be a good teacher is to teach a bad lesson,” he said.
Sinking …
“You get in the middle of a lesson and you realize you’ve not prepared for it, or you’ve not thought your way through it, you learn really fast, ‘oh my lord, I should have done something else.’”
Sunk …
“So those bad lessons, to me, were better lessons, for the teacher, than the good lessons were. They were smooth, but you didn’t learn anything.”
Saved …
Playing the role of lifeguard, Mr. Gibbs would dive into the deep end at just the right time.
Making it a point to never let those learning opportunities be missed, he capped off his explanation of the exposure by saying, “I was always willing to debrief at the end of lessons, but I never preloaded before the lesson.”
This trial by fire was the ideal avenue to a reliance of trust between the supervising teacher, Mr. Gibbs, and our classroom’s student teacher. He surrendered all control by handing over the keys to those inexperienced, and initially unfamiliar, instructors. Mr. Gibbs wasted no time in eliminating both inhibiting aspects to a student teacher’s learning and teaching process. The barriers he knocked down for these new educators gave their personalities a chance to breathe. Our first student teacher, with us in the fall of 2010, had a keen understanding of this and made the most of it.
As things tend to do in a setting of work, especially one of trial and error for our student teachers, any moment of reprieve has immense value to morale. We naturally rely on hopeful thoughts to give us an alternate view of life with seemingly less complications. Using this way of thinking that fall of 2010 was our student teacher, who felt free to give Mr. Gibbs an open invitation to the personal motivations behind her efforts.
“When she first came, she told me her mom was going to come to her graduation and she was so excited. She talked about her own children and her husband but she always talked to me more about her parents and siblings.”
For everyone, there is always a “why” at the core of our dreams and desires. It was not long into our first student teacher’s stint for Mr. Eddie Gibbs to know of hers.
He remembered, “As we continued on through the semester, she would talk more and more about how much she looked forward to seeing them at her graduation and I would be excited for her.”
In order for those strenuous post-lesson sessions to be worth undertaking time and again, the conversation had to morph into an open dialogue of life outside the classroom. In addition to the initial representation of trust, in the form of handing over his class to her, Mr. Gibbs managed to build on that characterization as time went on. During any prolonged period, the full spectrum of life’s good, and not so good, qualities will usually reveal themselves. When they do so in the most abrupt ways, having a reliable confidant becomes a valuable resource.
“She came in a couple of weeks before graduation and said that her momma had just told her, frankly, that she was not coming and she was heartbroken. She was truly heartbroken.”
Any vulnerable moment can overpower us if we try to handle it alone. While our student teacher may have known she could retreat to at least one person, in Mr. Gibbs, nothing could have prepared her for his emotional, and soon logistical, capabilities.
“We had such a strong family and we had incorporated her as part of our family. There was no question about that. She belonged there.”
It was this belief that pushed Mr. Gibbs in his quest to right the wrong he had been made aware of. In the weeks leading up to the commencement ceremony at East Carolina University, Mr. Eddie Gibbs rolled up his sleeves and worked his magic.
“Because we had lived that family life with her, I went to the office and I called East Carolina and I said, ‘let me tell you a story,’ and I did. I told them a story about her, my students, and our school.”
Once again using his storytelling strong suit, Mr. Gibbs was not only educating, but advocating for a chance to extend our classroom values beyond our daily space.
Mr. Gibbs continued, “I said, ‘that woman’s family deserves to be there.’ They said, ‘but they’re not going to come.’ I said, ‘no, we are. We are her family and we are going to represent her family.’ I told them, ‘I need your help because I need my children to sit in that audience where the family will sit so that she can see that her family is there.’”
Weeks later - Commencement day - December 2010
There was no ideal way for a class of nine and ten year olds to anticipate the magnitude of the moment we would soon help create. It would not take long for us to find out after gathering in Mr. Gibbs’ class on a Friday morning in early December. Each wearing our “we are family” white t-shirt, proudly displaying our class photo for all to see, there was a strong sense of pride in the air. While I always thought those feelings came from knowing we were the only class taking a field trip that day, I can now realize there was something else behind them. Ultimately, we were on a mission. This was a business trip.
It turned out to be one of the longer class trips taken that school year. Though the campus of East Carolina University was just over a half-hour away from our school, the limiting speed of our activity bus added a bit more time to the trip. My classmates and I were certainly fine with this extra time away from school. I now know, with some experience in the professional world, that Mr. Gibbs and our teacher assistant bus driver were more than happy to get a change of scenery, themselves.
“Change” is an undersell when it comes to describing the environment our fourth grade class experienced that day. It would have been easy to be overstimulated by the hoopla surrounding us when we exited the bus. The levels of it rose continuously while approaching the arena, aligning perfectly with the angle Mr. Gibbs hoped to emphasize to us.
Describing it, Mr. Gibbs explained, “Think about the kids in your class. How many of those kids likely would not have ever had the opportunity to even step foot on a college campus, let alone attend a college graduation?”
Looking back, Mr. Gibbs understands how this single aspect of our experience was worth the effort of making the rare scenario, a class of elementary students at a college graduation, come to fruition.
“So, at least I had instilled something in them,” said Mr. Gibbs, “whether they had the opportunity later in life to pursue it, or took the opportunity, at least I gave them something that they had never had, because that was a big deal for y’all.”
For us, yes, but even more so for the individual we were there to support. Our student teacher could officially eliminate the “student” part of her title after the commencement ceremony. From our seats in the arena’s upper section, our young eyes were put to the test when trying to spot our special graduate and were glued to her when she was eventually found among the sea of caps and gowns.
Mr. Gibbs recalled, “She had no idea that we were coming. She had no idea until that morning.”
That morning after the ceremony, I must add. Of course, she had no way of knowing to look for our class in the stands. Those who did know of his grand gesture were our graduate’s husband and kids seated on the opposite side of our class. We saw them waving at her and wished they could have pointed in our direction to make our presence known. I can now say I am glad the secret was kept alive as long as possible, as it built even more anticipation and created space for the most sincere impact.
“It was hard for me because I’m an individual who wears my emotions on my sleeve. I’m very timid when it comes to that,” Mr. Gibbs reflected. “And when I laid eyes on her, and I saw the pride in my children, of how good it was to you all.”
When all the graduate names had been called and the ceremony came to an end, we were told to remain put in our seats. Many of the other attendees offered a curious glance in our direction as they filed out of the arena. But our patience was running thin and their spurts of attention did nothing but increase our restlessness. Ultimately, however, after what felt like an eternity, our newly official teaching graduate, with her family at the lead, turned the corner and gave us a glance of her own. The lack of surprise she exuded was on the verge of disinterest, yet none of us were bashful enough to not yell for her attention. It forced a sudden halt in her movement past our section. Slowly turning to face our anxiously smiling, waving, and now standing class members, the building wave of emotion was finally ready to crash.
Her expression of surprise told us everything she was unable to verbally say. The look of genuine joy was representative of deep feelings we were not yet mature enough to know. Our understanding went as far as she’s clearly happy … and because of that, so are we. Over time, we had established a comfortability to freely express genuine sentiment. My classmates and I were given the proof to know that a specific space was not required for this, only specific people.
This was not only a mere teacher and student connection, it was simply one between a group of human beings. For a group of elementary school students, it requires a lot to humanize adults in positions of authority. The “student” title of our graduate was never one we harked on beyond the initial introduction. All we knew was that she was our superior instructor, even when she was the one being instructed. This “leg up” position creates some noteworthy distance for younger students. It becomes difficult to imagine a teacher, no matter what kind, as anything other than their higher status in our classroom and school. Yet what holds even greater weight than an authoritative chain is the power of someone overcome with feelings of gratitude. When it comes to the basic human experiences we each have to eventually face, everyone is on an equal plane.
Our graduate had clearly gone through a lot, more than any of us, even Mr. Gibbs, would ever know about. The length of our provided relief was not something we could control. No matter how long it lasted for her, the experience’s entirety would remain with my classmates and I.
Regarding the day’s staying power, Mr. Gibbs could say the same thing for himself when he noted, “It was great, even for me. My lessons were as big that day as those for my students.”
Those lessons for us came down to one common theme worth repeating, which Mr. Eddie Gibbs did by adding, “You all learned something about family that day. You all also learned about college, about graduating from college, about how many people were there and how important it is.”
While there was still nearly an entire decade before we could officially take those educational steps to the college level, we had a glimpse of possibilities in a world outside our school walls. Mr. Eddie Gibbs would make sure not to let much time pass before venturing out beyond the usual point of limitation. To him, there clearly was no such thing. When it came to the pursuit of service to others, every method was on the table. Having just witnessed the high level of emotional complexity from our first expedition, our class had the confidence to go out once more and make it happen again.
Chapter 6
The holiday season build up is a time filled with great anticipation in any school system. These feelings are usually built around the period of time both students and teachers have had their sights on since the first days of school … Christmas break. It serves as the ever-important incentive to keep moving forward, especially in the latter parts of fall. As the weather cools and leaves die out, the motivations and overall spirit of any teacher or student can have the same fate. Also at risk, once the blessed break period begins, is the loss of hard-earned momentum. No matter how strong its bonds may be, every class will naturally face the results of losing a habitual routine.
Before we could even think of such things, or even the ensuing break itself, there was still much to do in the weeks leading up to that period. As you by now could probably guess, Mr. Eddie Gibbs has never been one to waste any moment. If two or more were gathered in his classroom, you better believe something was on the agenda. A prime example of this came during a unique circumstance in our school year. This occurred around the same “final stretch” period before Christmas break, on a day that was naturally supposed to be a “break” for teachers, students, and many other working individuals in society.
It was all thanks to the aforementioned hurricane from a few months before. While we were used to some make-up days every so often, usually resulting from a minor inclement weather cancellation, our prolonged period away from school had extended beyond the calendar’s allotted make–up days. Those on the calendar would usually replace a few teacher workdays here and there, but those off-days usually came as more of a surprise to the students. It is safe to say that we did not have them circled as something to look forward to, unlike our teachers.
Long story short, we had to go to school on a Saturday. Granted, it was just a half-day, but half a Saturday. “Is this even legal?” must have crossed my mind a few times in the lead up to the pain-filled early weekend morning rise. While the wound of inconvenience did sting, its cut was nowhere as deep as those of many other students. Theirs was one with a much longer recovery time. For members of Mr. Gibbs’ class, the healing process was underway from the moment we walked into his classroom. Though impacted by them, we were unfazed by the outside circumstances beyond our control. We have to be at school on an early Saturday morning? Challenge accepted.
Our class would prove to be up for the task because we had no real reason not to be. I mean, we were up anyway, why not make the most of it? The quick, easy answer is that Mr. Eddie Gibbs was not going to have it any other way. The more introspective reasoning is entirely atmospheric. It may have been odd to arrive at school and walk its halls on a Saturday morning, but everything was right in the world upon reaching my destination. The day of week was of no concern whatsoever. What quickly reverted to the top position of our list of priorities was whether we had enough time to complete the morning’s assigned tasks. By the end of it, some, not necessarily myself, were wishing for more time beyond the half-day schedule.
Mr. Gibbs had risen every aspect of our being there to higher, more consequential altitudes than any other class. Granted, it did seem as though the students in those surrounding classrooms had it made that morning. We did not withhold our envy whenever we caught a glimpse of them killing time. Sharing it with Mr. Gibbs, he accepted our short-sighted views and graciously gifted us with his more imaginative ones.
We were fortunate to be there. It was a privilege to learn on a Saturday. Mr. Gibbs fed us with the “glass half-full” vantage point that he fostered in every conceivable situation. Learning, no matter what time or day it may have been, was never something to take for granted. There was always a hint of beauty to be found in the less appealing nature of struggle. Time and again, the cracked doors of understanding would open wider, eventually with enough room for our entire class to fit through and thrive. It is widely agreed that increased knowledge naturally leads to more understanding about a targeted subject matter. Mr. Gibbs knew that just simply sticking to our curriculum’s required material would only have temporary benefits. A test score was just one single indication of a student’s progression. In the grand scheme of things, it is a relatively small and forgettable sign of success.
Mr. Gibbs let it be known that a system of grades was just one singular part of life. There was a real world outside of our school walls, just waiting for some source of positive impact. Though we had created one our own within his classroom, what good would it be if we just stayed put? By keeping others from witnessing the principles we worked to put forth each day, we ourselves would be kept from their true permanence. Our commencement ceremony trip proved how it was possible to enhance our class outreach efforts. It has always been a common expectation for students to receive things from school trip experiences. But based on our recent adventure, we understood how the learning process could be boosted by giving.
The graduation trip just so happened to coincide with the lead up to our prized holiday break. In the time we needed it most, there was an obvious sign of revived energy to push us forward. We found ourselves facing another opportune moment to unleash our enhanced spirit of generosity. There was not a whole lot of distance we needed to cover for this. In fact, Mr. Gibbs’ class from the previous year did not go any further than our school’s parking lot.
During that same time, my third grade year, I made an observation that would soon come full circle for me in fourth grade. My third grade classroom just so happened to be right across the hall from where Mr. Gibbs was located, before moving to his new space the following year. Aside from getting some snippets of his distinctively dominating voice that could pierce through any wall or closed door, the happenings of his students were always on full display. It’s not out of the ordinary for the outside of an elementary classroom to become a rotation for the various, often creative, work of students. The same thing could be said for Mr. Gibbs’ former classroom, but there was one exceptional exhibit that caught my eye.
The collage of photos nearly covered his classroom door and many others were spread out on the coinciding wall, alongside other handmade Christmas decor. Taking a closer look at the display, I noticed the students from his class were wearing Santa hats and other festive attire in the photos. They were standing outside of our school, in the parking lot’s designated drop-off/pick-up area. In their hands were wrapped plates and to-go covered dishes, none of which were for them to keep. With their arms extended out, a group of individuals were lined up and happily waiting to receive the items.
I loved how the collection of photographs told the story of that moment as it unfolded. Assisted by a few others who had driven them to our school, the noticeably older people were shown gathered outside of the van transportation. Other shots captured a closer look at the exchange between the students and senior citizens, whose priceless expression of gratitude and pure joy was evident in the collage of photos. Just as clear to me was the rarity of what the photos represented. Amid the typical red and green Christmas decorations, seen outside of most classes in our halls, Mr. Gibbs made sure to include the true meaning behind the season as a whole.
It was my first hint at one of the many rarities of an all-encompassing philosophical approach to being in Mr. Gibbs’ class. My choice to linger around the hallway that day went beyond extended time away from my own classroom. I can safely say I was both intrigued and hopeful to know more about this outlying endeavor his class had taken part in. Though I did not then know of my eventual place in his future class, the hopes I had would be fully realized the following year. It was then, fresh off our trip to the big university campus, Mr. Gibbs sought to expand on his previous year’s holiday giving. Proving ourselves capable of handling a late scheduled, county line crossing adventure, it gave him every reason to seek out another one.
Mr. Gibbs explained, “I found out that the senior citizens at the community center in Vanceboro got meals on wheels everyday, except the week of Christmas, they did not get any meals on wheels, so they had no food.”
When the upcoming plans were announced to our class, I harkened back to those images he had posted on his door. Hearing the new and improved agenda we would be taking part in accomplishing, I know the images from our year would be a bit different than the last. This time around there would be no van needed to transport the underprivileged elderly individuals anywhere. They would need to do nothing but stay right where they were, as we would be going to them.
“They were seniors who likely wouldn’t even come face to face with another living human being on Christmas. They were alone,” noted Mr. Gibbs. “So that’s when we took up money, saved money, and I made food, we made bags, froze it, and we took it to the community center and we had a little party with them. We gave them that food so they would have five days worth of meals.”
The Vanceboro Community Center was less than three miles from our school grounds, yet the build up was one of a long distance journey. It was like the one each of us, as a group of nine and ten-year-olds, took to grasp the latest trip’s purpose. Attendance at a graduation ceremony was not something out of the ordinary, even if we were the only class there. We knew someone who was graduating, so we showed our support. Easy enough. In the minds of those in our class, that was all the equation entailed. Obviously, as covered in the narrative of this year, there were deeper factors at play. We would be quick to learn how the same complex ingredients were associated with our next class endeavor. Mr. Eddie Gibbs was our guide to show how those same components had a generational impact on his own upbringing and those who helped raise him.
“When my momma was a little girl, her daddy was a marginal parent at best. He had some issues. He had to go into the VA hospital for some injury he got in the war and back in those days there were no social services and ways to help families,” Mr. Gibbs explained, “So, it fell on my grandmother because her own family could not help her financially.”
Such burdens led to the painful realities that all members of a family, no matter how young, must eventually be aware of.
Mr. Gibbs continued, “Christmas time was coming and my grandma sat my uncle and my momma down and said ‘I just have to tell you, this year there just can’t be a normal Christmas. There won’t be toys. I just can’t do that. I’m just trying to pay the bills.’”
Before the adolescent phase of embarrassment sets in to have its fullest effect, there is a natural openness of a child that knows nothing other than blunt honesty.
“My momma, as a little girl, went to school and was doing what little girls do on the school bus. She told somebody that they were not going to have Christmas. She wasn’t mad, she was just a kid who loved her momma and was just telling the truth.”
The cycle of sharing this information continued its progression well after the school bus made its final stop.
“That other child went home and told her momma what mine had said,” Mr. Gibbs recounted. “Christmas Eve day soon came around and on my grandmother’s front porch, a church had covered her front porch with toys and food for her family.”
Mr. Gibbs paused for a moment before continuing. When he did, his voice began to break while saying, “As a child, my momma was affected by that, but as my mother, she was also affected by that.”
Clearly, Mr. Gibbs was also affected and willing to submit to the tenderhearted qualities of his heart. Developing them was his close association to the returned acts of service by his loved ones.
He shared, “Every year at Christmas, in our house, there was always a stranger with our family. Somebody who didn’t have a family or somebody who was in need. We treated them like they belonged to us.”
With full commitment, Mr. Gibbs made the choice to take ownership of where he invested his resources. It yet again proved how the gravitational pull to service could be born out of first receiving it.
“It was my personal way of giving back to my community, and showing love to my momma, because she would come help me cook all the food that we froze for you all to give away.”
For our class members, the wide spectrum of our own family privilege was nonexistent when we arrived at the community center that day. All that mattered was the perspective shifting appreciation for what all of us did have … each other.
“A lot of the things I have done this whole time has directly gone back to my own love and experiences with my own family,” said Mr. Gibbs, who had yet again incorporated that ever-present trait of love to enhance our latest experience as a class.
From the moment we arrived, there was a steadiness to the room’s uplifted spirit. It was clear the mood was there just below the surface, desperately waiting to grow again. We had no way of anticipating how the presence of some fresh faces was all it took to revive it with new life. The respite from a cycle of their mundane routine had an instantaneous impact on everyone involved, ourselves included. There was no need for the usual reruns of daytime television to pass their time. Helping fill it was not an agenda with temporary distractions, but a focus on the long-lasting impact of positivity. We would have fallen short if we were only there to help fend off a few days of hunger. Mr. Gibbs was clear in his understanding of how there was an even greater appetite for something far beyond what food could fix.
This “something” was not one major thing, but a combination of many, seemingly small, acts of care and attention. Basic arts and crafts, Mr. Gibbs’ narration of some Christmas-themed story books, Christmas carols, and a room full of smiling faces, was a transformative recipe of fulfillment. By the end of our time at the community center, I was not entirely sure whether our mission had been accomplished. With no direct comment of “you provided joy to a place where, before you came, there was none,” which, as a nine year old, I probably would have needed, Mr. Gibbs was there to reinforce things for us.
“I am so proud of you all,” is what I will never forget him saying when we arrived back at school.
He had expressed such sentiments before, just as recently as the graduation ceremony trip weeks earlier. But there was an unmistaken sign and sound of greater depth with this particular expression of pride. His watering eyes, and soft, but still firm, voice, combined to create a gateway to comprehending the importance of that day. Nothing beyond those words could have better explained his own close association to the act of serving others. The class’ tie-in to that process had officially been double knotted and securely fastened.
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