Bayou

Bayou

Sunday, March 13, 2016

The End of the Starfish Story

Before I began this journey and at many points along it, I have taken comfort in the "starfish story:. The fable goes something like this:

A man was walking along a beach the morning after a big storm that had washed thousands of starfish onto the beach, where they remained in danger of drying out in the sun. As the man walked, he came across a little girl who was, one by one, picking up starfish and throwing them back into the ocean. Puzzled, he said to the girl, "Young lady, what are you doing? There are are thousands of starfish and miles of beach. Don't you realize you'll never make a difference?" The girl thought for a moment before leaning over the pick up another starfish. Looking at the starfish, then at the man, she said "It makes a difference to this one," and threw the starfish out to sea.

Many times this year the starfish story has helped me in my weakest moments. When my students do poorly on a test, when a political change hinders progress, when a national tragedy or crisis resonates within the walls of my classroom, I take heart in the idea that even if I'm not making much of a dent in systemic poverty and racism, maybe I'm making a difference to a handful of students, maybe just to one. For a long time that was enough, the loosely moored hope that my presence here has a small but tangible net-positive effect.

But as time has gone on the starfish story has changed for me. Maybe the analogy was good at first, but it's grown more distant the longer I've spent teaching. In August, I was just like that girl. I pounded away relentlessly at my mission and believed whole-heartedly that I was making a difference. By November, outside forces made me question whether my actions really mattered, but I looked at the man on the beach and threw back another starfish, chugging along down the beach. In January an unexpected gust knocked me over, but I got back up and made my best effort to throw back the next starfish, perhaps a little bruised but no less determined.

Now it is March, three quarters of the year has gone and time is running out for my starfish. I look at the starfish in my hands and am struck by the weight of it. This starfish is no longer just another sea creature. This starfish, it has a name. It has a story. It has hopes and dreams and plans. And this starfish, it has shared all of them with me. I love this starfish, and all of my other starfishes, too. I look at the starfish, heavy in my hands with the weight of the storm it has been through and I notice for the first time how tired my arm is and just how far away the ocean looks. I throw the starfish and, like many of the starfish I have already thrown, it lands just short of the safety of the waves. I walk out and pick up the starfish, remind it that I love it, and toss it again towards the sea. 

I am tired and my throws keep coming up short, but I have to keep trying, because so many things have changed in the last year, but one has not: These starfish, these kids, deserve better.

2 comments:

  1. “Do not depend on the hope of results. You may have to face the fact that your work will be apparently worthless and even achieve no result at all, if not perhaps results opposite to what you expect. As you get used to this idea, you start more and more to concentrate not on the results, but on the value, the rightness, the truth of the work itself." (Thomas Merton)

    Your work is full of value, truth and rightness, Nicole. Keep on trucking. I am grateful for you.

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