My conflict with Juniper’s teacher has been useful for shedding light on the often dark paths toward the ever-evolving real selves of my daughter and me. That the conflict involves one of my children is better yet, because conflicts involving one’s children rank among the highest for potential usefulness. As several of you have pointed out, it’s also helpful for her to watch and learn what is, and what is not, OK.

There was a time in my life when being right about something—being able to predict an outcome or a behavior in another person—was gratifying because I thought being right was a proof of my own rightness as a person. If I were mistaken or wrong about something, clearly I was a mistake. Over time, I had to realize that fallibility is part of being human; that omniscience is a Divine attribute, not a human one; and that I did not have to defend myself.

Monday when I met with Juniper’s new teacher, Mrs. Kelly, I discovered that I had accurately read the situation: Miss Brown had conveyed, more or less, that I was a problem parent who doesn’t support the classroom rules and procedures. The first words out of Mrs. Kelly’s mouth were that Miss Brown was a particular friend of hers, and that she didn’t know how she would be able to be any different than Miss Brown, because her classroom rules and procedures were “the same.” She said that if I had a problem with the way Miss Brown did things, I would also have a problem with the way she did things.

Of course, my heart sank to my toes when the meeting started with such tension. In spite of my disappointment and fear, I remained silent and calm outwardly, studying Mrs. Kelly’s face and listening to her with all possible respect. I said nothing in my own defense, because everything about her body language—her quick breaths, the firm line of her lips, the certainty in her voice—indicated that she was putting me in my place and was determined for me to stay there. So I stayed there, right where she seemed to need me.

I couldn’t be sure about Mrs. Kelly’s needs, though. Under stress, people regress, and the conflict had been stressful for me. Perhaps I was mistaken about Mrs. Kelly. Maybe I would return to externalizing old, unresolved complexes or conflicts and would use Mrs. Kelly to help me. I may not have seen things as they were with Miss Brown. I was thus determined to reality test to see who, exactly, was the patient here. Had this conflict come to me because I need external conflict, because I’m still unwilling to wrestle inwardly with what’s really bothering me?

I remained centered. I could only hear her words and try to make sense of them. I trusted that I’d have enough light for the dark path for each step, at least. I could follow my own path and I could follow God; I knew that much. Other than that, I also knew I was lost in a vast world, filled with many things that are too big for me.

As I sat and listened to Mrs. Kelly, I learned from her. In so many words, Mrs. Kelly warned me that if I were going to say ugly things about Miss Brown, I could not expect Mrs. Kelly’s friendship. But I know that people are usually afraid of conflict, because we sense that unknown and powerful things may fly at us from within and without. We may suddenly realize that we never had control. People may hurt us; life is difficult enough already. Mrs. Kelly was probably afraid, too.

Knowing all this, I felt compassion for Mrs. Kelly. But I couldn’t let my eagerness to get along with Mrs. Kelly cause me to compromise my commitment to my self, especially to the emerging parts of myself that God and I have been nurturing along lately. I knew that if Mrs. Kelly was as idealized and false as Miss Brown appears to be, she would need to see her friends in a certain light. Neurotic people paint others into a corner: others are good, or bad; smart, or stupid; kind or cruel. People cannot possibly be multi-faceted and all the colors of the rainbow, because the neurotic person needs objectified others who will help externalize all her conflicts. Others cannot therefore be any more real than the idealized self.

If Mrs. Kelly was terribly neurotic and Miss Brown her particular friend, then she would be unable to see anything Miss Brown had said or done as bad. Miss Brown would be all good; and I would have to take the place of the all-bad person. Since our meeting began with fear and hostility, I suspected that Mrs. Kelly was tempted to put me in the bad guy chair. I decided to do some reality testing and discover if Mrs. Kelly was simply feeling some anxiety, and whether Mrs. Kelly was as I’ve perceived her from past observations.

Mrs. Kelly is a smiley, cheerful older lady who is celebrating her 40^th wedding anniversary this year. She is Christian and she has three grown sons and several granddaughters. Her students love her. Even though I’ve never had a child in her class, she has always thrown me a cheerful wave and smile when I go to pick up our kids at school. Joy and spontaneity are hallmarks of consciousness and aliveness; I’ve thus perceived Mrs. Kelly as a probably real person, and as such had positive hopes for our school year together.

After about 15 minutes of talking, Mrs. Kelly seemed to calm herself. Perhaps my sitting there with folded hands and a relaxed attitude helped. One of the best things about being a mother and mental health professional is that I’ve been able to practice being a calming presence even when I’m not calm. I don’t always (or even typically) exude peace and calmness, but being able to fake it is a tool I have. The funny thing about faking calm and peace when feeling anything but calm and peace is that you can “fake it ‘til you make it,” as they say in 12-Step groups. And this is what happened during our meeting; we both did what we came to do, and we both calmed ourselves. Perhaps we even calmed one another.

Once Mrs. Kelly had finished talking and came to a resting place, she asked me if I had any questions or problems with her rules and procedures. I replied that I was familiar with her rules and procedures and had no problem with any of them. A look of surprise came over her face. “If that’s the case, then what was the problem with Miss Brown?” she asked.

“I don’t want to speak ill of Miss Brown, especially since she’s your friend,” I began.

Mrs. Kelly nodded her agreement, adding, “And I’m not likely to be any different than Miss Brown.”

“Well, Mrs. Kelly, I find that difficult to believe, because everything I’ve heard about you from other parents and from the children you teach is that you’re a very kind person,” I began.  ”I doubt you would ever call one of your students a failure in front of other students or to their parent’s face. But if you do, or if you decide to call my daughter names or otherwise belittle her even when she tries her best, or if you expect me to do her work, then we probably will have a problem. And if we have a problem like that, then I’ll save us all more grief and will withdraw Juniper from school and take her to where I know she can be taught. Because I do not want her spirit crushed this year at school. And I have the impression that you’re in the business of teaching your students and not crushing their spirits.”

Mrs. Kelly looked stunned. For a moment, she was speechless. I could almost see the mental wheels turning. “I’ve been teaching for 27 years,” she began, “and I’m confident I can teach Juniper.”

“I think you can, too, Mrs. Kelly. That’s why I asked that she be moved to your class,” I replied.

And then, keeping references to Miss Brown to a minimum, I told Mrs. Kelly my version of the story of the mobile and the story of the book report. I told her that I was more than willing to see Juniper receive failing grades on work, even if I considered the failing grades unfair. I told her that if Juniper received a yellow or red card at school, she would also receive them at home. School consequences extend to the home; we expect our children to respect their teachers and those in authority. We, the parents, will deal with unreasonable authority; that’s not the job of the child. Her face again registered surprise. It seems she may have expected something else from me.

As I explained these parts of myself to Mrs. Kelly, I saw her face soften and I noticed her smiling more. When Juniper entered the classroom, Mrs. Kelly became even softer and more loving. She spontaneously to me and said, “I love these children. If there were no children here, I’d never come back to work. I come because of them.” Watching Mrs. Kelly turn in the current of the present moment of our conversation, I knew I’d seen something true in Mrs. Kelly: she was real.

the predictability of the idealized

As I’ve explained before, idealized people are predictable to a large extent, while people who are real are so spontaneous and curious as to be often unpredictable. Life runs in a current, and those who are alive are similarly swept up by life’s eddies and swirls. This isn’t to suggest that they are victims of circumstance, but rather that they may consider or even demonstrate a wide range of responses in one situation. The idealized self, on the other hand, has a limited repertoire of responses and thus will be fairly predictable from circumstance to circumstance.

Our meeting began with Mrs. Kelly appearing defensive, somewhat anxious, and determined to put me in my place. I took the only relational chair she offered me at the outset, but I knew that I always have my own chair, the one I carry inwardly and sit in every day. No one can take my inner resting place from me. I can sit there all day, observing and resting, if I need to.

I do not have to fight for my life. In the past, when most of my real self was weak and my idealized self was strong and accomplished, I felt I had to fight to maintain the only strong tower I had to run to: the strong tower of my false self. Over many years of work, my real self finds her own refuge. No matter where another person tries to put me, I always know where I am. I think it’s Mary Englebright who says, “No matter where you go, there you are.”

After our meeting, Mrs. Kelly appeared relaxed and calm, and I appeared relaxed and calm. Juniper expressed joy at returning to school, and told Mrs. Kelly that she intended to do her best. “That’s all anyone can ask,” Mrs. Kelly replied. And I knew I had reason to hope that she meant it by the kind smile on her face.

the blessings of clarity

I never did receive a response to my email to the principal. Though I’ve felt somewhat foolish for sending it, I’m still glad I did. Part of the discomfort of becoming more real is living with the fact that things are no longer black and white, good and bad. They often just are. I may feel sympathetic toward myself and proud of myself at the same time that I feel somewhat silly and foolish. I find myself neither completely wonderful nor completely despicable. I’m human, I’m fallible, I make an ass of myself, and sometimes I do good.

But in retrospect, I can say that I’ve been able to see what was coming, and I’ve been a pretty good judge of the situation and people involved. I’ve learned a lot through this tedious situation, but most especially what I’ve learned is that it’s painful to be conscious. Through the clear eye, one sees just how needy human beings are. I suspect that many people don’t want to come to consciousness, because consciousness may in fact drive them toward faith, and people don’t want to be that vulnerable. Better, they think, to rely on themselves and fashion larger and larger idols.

I prefer the clear eye, even with the pain, uncertainty, and understanding of my own smallness clarity gives. With such clarity have come compassion and freedom. I am free to love others as myself, free from grudges and hatred, and free to offer the only gift I have, which is myself.

In the midst of my anxiety over Miss Brown and Juniper’s school placement, I dreamed of a baby. Many other figures and symbols also occurred in this dream, but the essential message of my dream was that the baby needed to be cared for.

As a companion to Kerenyi’s paper, “The Primordial Child in Primordial Times,” Jung wrote a study called “The Psychology of the Child Archetype.” Both theorists viewed the infant or child as a significant motif in mythology and in dreams and other manifestations of the unconscious. The child symbol may appear in a variety of forms, such as an elf, dwarf, infant, pearl, flower, chalice, or golden egg. He may have dark skin, brown or golden skin, or appear among stars or with some other fantastic symbol. He may represent what is forgotten in us, and indicate that we are growing ever nearer to the truth in our journey; he also represents futurity and potentiality, even if at first blush he seems to be retrospective.

“The child,” Jung wrote, “paves the way for a future change of personality” (164). When the child appears alongside other symbols or archetypes, such as animals, the Mother, the Father, etc., it may indicate that a union or cooperation of unconscious elements in the psyche is required for further progress. It could also indicate, on the other hand, that one part of the psyche is in danger of overpowering emerging and essential contents.

In my dream, a dog and a baby appeared equally balanced in the arms of a mother. The dog appearing alongside a human infant is an interesting image. The dog is an animal with limited potential that lives by instinct, whereas the human infant has god-like potentialities. Together, they suggest that something happening in the dreamer’s life threatens the dreamer’s potentiality. The dream may be warning me of the possibility that I could err, consciously, in favor of instinct or survival, when the answer to my current problem may require putting the dog where it belongs and taking care of the baby.

Last Friday morning, I met with the principal at Juniper’s school. The principal was experiencing significant personal crisis at the time, and the compassion I felt for her led me to give her the option of hearing all the details from me, or of taking at face value the summary given her by the vice-principal before making her decision about transferring Juniper out of Miss Brown’s class. The principal wanted only a synopsis, and said she would talk with the other fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Kelly, about the transfer. Several hours later, she called to let me know that Juniper would be moved, but that I would have to meet with Mrs. Kelly beforehand and be told her classroom rules and procedures.

After arranging a meeting with Mrs. Kelly for this afternoon, I began to wonder why I was the one jumping through hoops to have my daughter transferred, when Miss Brown had behaved badly in spite of her professional responsibilities. It felt like I was being punished, or Juniper and I together were being punished, in spite of the fact that Miss Brown carried a hefty weight of responsibility, too. What sort of a consequence was Miss Brown experiencing, if any?

But I dismissed those particular feelings and questions, in favor of my feelings of gratitude: Juniper would be allowed to change classes. I would not have to withdraw her from school and enroll her in another school, or home school her. Like a dog grateful for any scrap from the table, I was wagging my tail and drooling because Authority had given me what I needed. My self that needs time this year—time to write, read, research and ponder—would survive because I did not have to home school. And so, I went to tail-wagging and took what was offered me. My inner dog was satisfied.

The next night I dreamed the dream of the dog and the baby. The story and the other elements in the dream had me waking up short of breath and upset. Thank God, the psyche He created comes complete with its own system of checks and balances. We do not need a pocket analyst when we can use our brains, our spirits, and the care of God to waft us toward awareness. How grateful I am for that awareness, and for the dreams and other emblems of God’s love that keep me accountable to Him and to my Self!

So, the baby was in danger of neglect because I was honoring a dog as equal with her. This should never be. The dog is important to the function and survival of the whole, but one doesn’t stay stuck at Dog Stage. No, one moves on. One incorporates Dog, but one becomes fully human. So, what does nurturing and caring for the baby—for the emergent content—look like? This was the puzzle the dream gave me to solve.

For me the current manifestation of new life and potential is “speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects” (Ephesians 4:15). It takes a long time to be able to recognize objective Truth, and longer still to be able to speak it in love. The hardest task of all, for most, is to learn to speak the truth because of love for one’s own self. One may love another person enough to risk speaking truth for that person’s sake; but to speak truth for one’s own sake? How dangerous this can be, for it may suggest self-absorption or narcissism, hubris or myopia. We may have to overcome our own orphan’s hearts, love our unloved selves, or simply risk appearing not to be Nice. There are pitfalls to speaking the truth because of love for oneself.

I paused on my way downstairs this morning as I pondered the question of what it means to care for my inner ‘baby’ in this situation with Juniper’s school. I directed it inwardly, casting about my small light, asking myself what it meant. And then I offered my question as a prayer: What does it mean to care for the baby in this situation? What has God been nurturing in me, and what had I been ready to abandon for survival? What was I counting as exactly equal in value to the survival I can buy with mere instinctive behavior?

My own instinctive behavior, the one that helped me survive in the past, is the habitual behavior of the hoop-jumper: make yourself useful, do the right thing, Just Do It (like Nike). I have, however, moved beyond mere survival. But under stress, people regress, and much was at risk in the situation. The problem with Miss Brown put the entire year I had planned at risk, a year that actually included time for myself: My Self.  I was in danger of compromising my Self in a situation that didn’t call for that level of compromise.

So. There I was this morning, poised on the stairs as the eastern light flooded our entry, asking myself what it meant to care for the baby in this situation. What had been bothering me was that I was required to attend a meeting with Mrs. Kelly and be oriented to her rules and procedures before Juniper would be allowed back at school. The implication was that Juniper had done something wrong, whereas I had been the one who had voluntarily withdrawn her from Miss Brown’s class after letting the school know exactly why. Yet Juniper had to remain home today because I had not been indoctrinated.

To me, it appeared thus: If I do not make the mobile, Juniper fails the assignment; if I do not make sure she reads the right book, Juniper fails the book report; if I do not sit meekly at the table and have the rules taught to me, Juniper is not allowed to attend school. The real problem here is not Juniper. The real problem is me. I am the problem they are trying to solve. This is what I saw with great clarity. And I do know the rules at school, because I have read the blessed Handbook, I have signed contracts, I substitute teach at the school, and with my husband I attended several parent orientations. The problem here has nothing to do with my knowing the rules and procedures. I am not sure what the real problem is according to the principal, Miss Brown, and Mrs. Kelly. That may not even be my business, and it may not be a problem I can help solve. The only real problem for me is caring for the baby of my own emergent good stuff.

I suddenly saw with great clarity what caring for the baby of emergent content meant for me in this situation. I must nurture and protect my ability to speak the truth through love for my own Self. And so I emailed the principal, and I said this:

Dear Principal, Thank you again for agreeing to move Juniper to Mrs. Kelly’s class. I’ll be meeting with Mrs. Kelly this afternoon about her classroom policies and rules, as you instructed. However, I wanted to say that I have some concerns about whether I’ve given the impression that Juniper and I can’t follow the rules or don’t understand procedures. It feels like Juniper is being punished for having a mother who will advocate for her in the face of a teacher who acts inappropriately. Juniper has now missed three days of school because we were not about to send her to the classroom of a teacher who labels a child out of frustration and helps that child to begin to develop a self-image of “failure” and inepteness when formerly this has been a joyful, competent student.

What consequence has Miss Brown received while we sit at home, feeling that we’ve been disallowed from attending school when I have never even hinted that I wanted or expected any exception made to any rule?  Having Juniper forced to stay home until *I* am oriented feels very much like punishment for being a competent parent.

If you or anyone else at the school sees it differently, I’d appreciate clarification.

Even as I sent the email, I had mixed feelings: feelings of joy that I had cared for the baby, but also feeling sorry for the principal, who (believe you me) doesn’t really need a headache like me on her hands. Why were the tables suddenly turned and my child penalized for my uppity behavior? Had Miss Brown been criticizing behind our backs? Had my own emails been my downfall? Was the school covering its butt? Was Mrs. Kelly concerned about my making trouble? Or had the principal actually heard me when I’d said that the majority of the practical problems I’d had with Miss Brown could have been solved with better communication about expectations?

While I’d like to know the answers to these questions, and would like to understand the school’s perspective, understanding is not essential to nurturing my real self. All that was needed was for me to be willing to say that I have concerns; that I feel punished; that I see myself as doing what is right for my child; and that I saw my child endangered in that school; and also that I question how our reputation as parents may have suffered because we made the decisions we made. And that I’d like to know the school’s perspective, if they will offer one.

Since writing my email, I’ve known that I did the right thing for my ever-evolving Self; but I also feel embarrassed and even somewhat silly. My ego is in there, elbowing me in the ribs, suggesting that I am making a mountain out of a mole hill, “it’s not that big a deal,” and “there you go again.” My ego likes me to think that my Real Self isn’t worth the same sort of effort and care that I invest in the Real Selves of my children and others I love. But the fact is that my Real Self is worth every effort that can and must be expended in the care and nurture of emerging beings. She is a wonder and glory, a unique light in the universe that, when functioning properly, might give glory to God.

I don’t know how speaking the truth in love can help me grow up in all aspects unto the Emergent One who is our pattern for being fully human yet fully divine. I only know that it is part of the way that we all must take, and I’m learning as I stumble along. Writing this last email to the principal felt scary, and I also feel scared about meeting with Mrs. Kelly this afternoon, for I have no ideas about her, yet fear she may have many about me. I fear I may compulsively defend myself, although I know in my heart that there is no need. I will have to watch myself so that I don’t regress to needlessly archaic behaviors simply because I feel afraid. I have to care for the baby, and only a competent person can do that.

Competence is required, even though I often see and experience myself as “smaller than small,” as Jung would say, not much to look at and without much to offer. I am barely up to schooling my children and dealing with fourth grade teachers. But for some reason, my smallness seems so endearingly human to me today. However I may appear, I feel like one who is bearing a naked infant in my arms, with nothing to protect her other than my own arms. So vulnerable. So new.

So beloved, in spite of having nothing to offer but herself.

References

Jung, C. G. (1969). The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. R. F. C. Hull, Trans. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Photos by Chinua.

If I’d had a crown at home, I would have put it on my daughter Juniper’s head and sent her to school yesterday, for Wednesday her teacher told her that she is the Queen of Blurts. Lacking the crown, however, I clearly could not send the Queen of Blurts to school improperly attired. And so she has remained at home since then, a benevolent monarch organizing a kingdom of wayward Chihuahuas and peaceable baby dolls.

Her teacher, the irascible Miss Brown of recent report, sent Juniper home Wednesday with a yellow card signifying less than stellar behavior. The comment on Juniper’s agenda explaining the yellow card said merely, “blurt alert.”

“You blurted?” I asked.

“Yes,” Juniper admitted, hanging her head.

“Let me guess,” I continued. “You raised your hand, but Miss Brown didn’t call on you, so you blurted out the answer.” Juniper agreed; that’s what had happened. Children are that way: they like to please, they blurt their answers. We train them not to blurt.

Later that evening, Juniper told her dad that she was the only blurting child who had received a yellow card. Distressed about this, she went to Miss Brown and asked why she, of all the blurters, had received the lone yellow card. “I didn’t think I was blurting that much,” Juniper tearfully explained.

“You must have short-term memory loss,” Miss Brown replied, “because you’re the Queen of Blurts.”

I think I went cross-eyed at this point of Juniper’s narrative, as she re-told her tale of woe at the dinner table.

The Case of the Derelict Book Report

Later that night, I received an email from Miss Brown; the yellow card for blurting was not the entire story. The email informed me that Juniper, Queen of Blurts would also receive a failing grade on the book report she had turned in one day early, the book report I had personally approved as ‘perfect.’ It seems that Juniper had read and written a book report on a Nancy Drew title that was not on Miss Brown’s approved reading list. Regular readers will recall that at the beginning of the school year, Miss Brown gave parents a 12-page guide to fourth grade book reports, which included a list of all approved books.

Last week, Juniper had taken her book report draft to school and had it rejected by Miss Brown, who said that Juniper needed to “finish coloring” the book report cover and to “add more on the summary.” She had said nothing about the choice of the book. This week, however, though the book report was perfect, the book itself was wrong. Miss Brown and I had failed to check the book list to discover whether the book Juniper read was, in fact, on the approved reading list. Miss Brown and I had erroneously approved the book choice in the draft stage; yet Miss Brown had decided to fail Juniper anyway. I saw once more Miss Brown’s pattern of failing only the student for the combined errors of adults also at fault. I began to see that Miss Brown is a person who must have her way at any cost, even at the expense of a child. Miss Brown is showing us who she is. And as Maya Angelou has said, “If someone shows you who they are, believe them.”

The case of the lost self

There is a certain sort of wonky person who is not mentally ill or personality disordered, but nevertheless wonky. Psychoanalysts call them neurotics. Freud believed that repressed, unconscious thoughts, desires, conflicts, or memories always struggle to break free into consciousness. The struggle between the unconscious contents, which want to manifest, and the ego, which wants to remain comfortably unconscious, causes anxiety. Too much of this sort of anxiety results in neurotic behaviors, which are thus either a direct expression of this anxiety, or an attempt to defend against the anxiety.

One of my favorite books about neurosis and the struggle to manifest the real self is Karen Horney’s Neurosis and Human Growth, first published in 1950. Horney explains that under favorable conditions, the human personality grows toward wholeness and development of its own self. Babies who are wanted and loved, and who have psychologically healthy parents, will start out with newborn selves and continue on psychological paths that are their own, developing into robustly unique and whole individuals.

But when people grow up under unfavorable circumstances-and who does not?-they become progressively alienated from their real selves. By definition, each of us is at least somewhat neurotic. But some people become more and more alienated from themselves, turning away from the rejected real self in favor of a fortified, protective false self. The materials for this fortress come from popular opinion about what is and is not acceptable. Because popular opinion is by nature shallow, such people abandon more and more depth in favor of an idealized image that will deliver perfection. Based on a “rigid system of inner dictates,” this idealized self has attributes that the anxiety-ridden neurotic feels “he has, could have, or should have” (Horney 13). Because the real self is unwanted, unacceptable, or unloved, the necessity of the idealized self arises and its maintenance becomes essential. The individual creates an imagined self with unlimited powers and claims.

Whereas the real self has hopes, the idealized self has claims, expectations, and demands. The neurotic person expects to get what he demands, and his demands are reasonable-according to him. When others stand in the way of the neurotic’s idealized self, God help them. The outcome is entirely predictable: the idealized self will put others to shame, inflict suffering upon them, or destroy them until superiority is achieved.

One hallmark of the neurotic, then, is his need to prevail. He is rigid, uncooperative when pushed, unyielding, and vengeful. He may prevail through his own style-passive, nice, angry, incompetently-but he will get his way.

Because the neurotic needs supremacy, he is indifferent to truth, whether about himself, others, or facts. When conflict arises, he has to prevail. When frustrated, his emotional reactions are out of proportion to the actual conflict and may include panic, depression, despair, and “rage at the self and others” (Horney 31).

the clue in the idol

Because of Miss Brown’s behavior over the past few weeks, I’ve suspected that I’m not dealing with the real Miss Brown. Rather, the invasion of the body snatchers has occurred and someone gone and done snatched Miss Brown’s Real Self. In her place is the sad but scary Miss Brown Idol.

Just in case I was mistaken about Miss Brown, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt last week, giving her another chance to prove herself. Though it felt like a risk, it was an educated risk, because idealized selves are entirely predictable, whereas real selves are not. When in conflict, the idealized self will always react in its own favor and will do whatever it must to triumph. I would never be able to win against the Miss Brown Idol. I would soon know the truth about Miss Brown.

This week Miss Brown’s vindictive triumph occurred. In one fell swoop she yellow carded Juniper, gave her a title, and failed her for work her mother had deemed ‘perfect’ according to the fourth grade book report grading rubric supplied by none other than Miss Brown. Unfortunately, the facts don’t matter to the Miss Brown Idol. There is only one “perfect” in the Miss Brown Idol universe, and that’s the perfection of the Miss Brown Idol.

Do you see how this works? How, when coming up against body-snatched false selves, one cannot “win”? The goal is rarely to “win” or prevail in such cases, for one pays the highest price to prevail, if need be, when in contest against an idealized self. Rather, one must know when to surrender-for, as Maya Angelou says, “surrender, in its place, is as honorable as resistance, especially if one has no choice.”

And so Miss Brown has gotten her way. She has triumphed over us, and has been able to fail Juniper on three major assignments in as many weeks. She has gotten away with her meanness toward our daughter. But she hasn’t gotten our daughter. The Queen of Blurts has stayed home the past two days, pending the outcome of my meeting with the principal this morning. Though we’ve requested that Juniper be moved to the other fourth grade class at her school, I don’t know whether they will be able to do this for us or not. But we have other options. We can send her to our daughter Ivy’s fourth grade class at another school, or we can home school her again.

The secret of the unknown outcome

A week ago I put myself and my child into the hands of the vice principal, Miss Brown, and God, and the outcome has not been what I’d hoped for. It has been, however, what I feared, because the way Miss Brown has handled herself in relation to Juniper has said a lot to me about what sort of limitations Miss Brown has.

This week, we are at the mercy of the school principal, the other fourth grade teacher, and God. I continue to hope that Juniper can attend school with her siblings and thrive there. But one doesn’t always get what one wants; and as a family our value is to sacrifice family ease and comfort in favor of the nurture and care of real selves.

We have Juniper’s back. She ain’t perfect, but she’s all she’s got. And that’s good enough for us.

References

Horney, Karen. Neurosis and Human Growth. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1991.

Our daughter’s fourth grade teacher recently became a “stone of stumbling and rock of offense” to us, giving us the gift and challenge of conflict. I don’t blame Miss Brown, although I see some facts about her behavior and think I understand the tenor of her words. Miss Brown’s life work so far has been teaching. She has many years experience and I’ve observed more good qualities in her than bad. I respect a lot about Miss Brown, and I see too that Miss Brown hasn’t been as fortunate as I, forged in the crucible of marriage and mothering. In short, I have compassion for Miss Brown because I see her struggle. But my compassion only goes so far. I am raising a daughter, here, and I see part of my role to protect my child’s spirit and personality intact.

After Miss Brown rejected the second school project in a week, I sent her an email. I like emails because they document what’s happening and our school administrators read them, too. I don’t mind having an audience for my mothering now that I’m old enough to withstand judgments, criticisms, and the unabashed awe that sometimes come my way. People don’t know what to make of me, and I like that. I don’t know what to make of myself, so I’m happy that I’m congruent.

I write notes to the teacher much as I blog. I’m sure that some teachers quail in their boots when they receive notes from me. My note to Miss Brown said in part:

Miss Brown, it’s not acceptable to us to have our child sent home with two failures in a day based on a subjective standard that is not clearly spelled out in your assignment material. “Reading the book” and “follows the rules of grammer, punctuation, and capitalization” and “spelling” are quantifiable. But “effectively accomplishes the task… as listed” and “Effectively demonstrates knowledge and understanding of the book” are subjective, especially when there is no list qualifying the child’s accomplishments. [. . .] requiring some poorly-defined, subjective standard that now has Juniper feeling the failure when she has above average intelligence and enthusiasm is simply not acceptable to us.

My husband and I would like to get some resolution and a working plan for proceeding this year. Please, let’s do that together. We would certainly welcome the involvement of any of the administration if you feel it’s necessary; otherwise, I look forward to hearing from you about our concerns.

This note resulted in an apology from Miss Brown, which read in part:

When Juniper brought her book report to me, I did not mean to make her feel like her work was being rejected.  I wanted her to finish the coloring and work some more on the summary.  She had very little on the summary of the book.  She admitted that she had rushed. 

As for the mobile, I may have been a little hard on her.  I did tell them in the directions I gave to them orally to not use all paper items.  I probably should have spent more time looking at it and discussing it with her.  I was probably too blunt.  Please excuse me.  It was a very challenging day yesterday.   I will discuss this with her today and see if I can help her some.

I considered this a good apology. Miss Brown is human and has bad days, too. She may take her bad days out on her students; any parent who thinks this doesn’t happen or is surprised about human behavior from a school teacher probably ought to examine his or her expectations about human beings.

what is truth?

One of the most interesting lines in the Bible, in my opinion, is when Pontius Pilate asks Jesus, “What is truth?” Reading Miss Brown’s note helped me to see that we had a problem of agreement about what was true. Miss Brown’s wrote that Juniper “admitted that she had rushed.” I personally witnessed my daughter’s work of more than an hour on her mobile. For a fourth grader, she put what I consider a great deal of time and effort into it. And yet, in the face of authority, my daughter quailed and “admitted that she had rushed.” What Miss Brown had asked was, “You rushed through this, didn’t you?” And my daughter had answered, “Yes.”

This is how the image of the false self comes to be: We see ourselves seeing ourselves, and we are who we think we are until others arise and tell us that reality isn’t what we perceive, but that reality is what they say it is. This happens in school, but it also happens in families and in the larger culture. In fact, I’ve seen it most often happen at home first, in that early seedbed of personhood, the mother-child dyad, and take root and flourish as it is nurtured by teachers, peers, professors, bosses, and later on by husbands and even children. We are always subject to the pressure of the Other. We are always at risk of abandoning ourselves in favor of others who are more powerful than we. Children are especially vulnerable.

Knowing Juniper’s childish vulnerability, I spoke with her about this, asking her what she considers a “good effort,” and what our standard has been within the family. She readily described a sustained, attentive effort of over 30 minutes as a “good effort.” When I pointed out that she had spent over an hour on her mobile, the light of comprehension came across her face; she saw at once that she had made a good enough effort. She saw, too, that only outcomes determined “good effort” in Miss Brown’s classroom. And I helped her to see the value of thinking carefully before speaking.

Miss Brown commented that in her directions she had told the children  “to not use all paper items.” She also failed Juniper’s project because it was “all paper.” But was it? No indeed, for the paper clips Juniper used were made of metal. Like many people who seek to support their own perspective at the expense of others, Miss Brown’s vision was skewed. There’s a proverb that says, “to the crooked eye, all things are crooked; but to the straight of vision, all things are straight.” Another proverb says, “one man’s case seems just until another comes and examines him.” The psychological corallary is that people see what they want, need, or expect to see, and dismiss or ignore conflicting information. As parents and pilgrims, we must learn to see clearly, and then we must help others to see clearly, too—others who are willing.

Miss Brown’s statement of fact, that the mobile had been “all paper,” was not accurate. But her statement was quite accurate at showing me some facts about Miss Brown. Her statement taught me that the teacher is a person who is willing to overlook facts to support her subjective standards. She’s willing to fail and label a child because she will not fail and label herself. When confronted with facts, Miss Brown brought out her own arsenal of facts that were not facts at all. Because her weapons of warfare were invisible, I knew that my real enemy was invisible as well. Miss Brown couldn’t see herself, and did not want to see herself. There’s nothing I can do about that, and if I continue to tussle with Miss Brown, I will lose the fight, because every power in the universe can and will be summoned to support an idealized Self, whereas the real self needs nothing but itself and God. The idealized self needs everything else.

the false versus the true self

The idealized self is very sure of itself, but not so the real self. One of my favorite Buddhist questions is, “Are you sure?” We’ve found in our family that, whenever we ask one another, “Are you sure,” very often the answer is, “No, I’m not sure.” But we catch one another acting as though we’re completely sure. And we laugh about it when we find one another out. We all do it; but it’s so lovely to have others watching our ways and helping us along.

The idealized self is judgmental because of its certainty. But passing judgment on others is a dangerous business because we so often are poor judges of anything, most especially of ourselves. This must be why Jesus instructed:

Do not judge lest you be judged. For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you. And why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, “Let me take the speck out of your eye,” and behold, the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye. (Matthew 7:1-5).

asking for help

I remembered Jesus’ words the day I squared off against Miss Brown, standing there as she told me my child was the only child who had failed. I knew that I couldn’t beat Miss Brown, and that I needed the help of an administrator. So I got that help. I went to the vice principal in charge of administering such things, a mother who has a Ph.D. in education and has worked many years as an administrator. I first asked about moving Juniper to another class, which the vice principal was more than willing to do. In fact, she seemed to assume that this was my first choice, even though I clearly stated that I needed her advice and was willing to do what she thought was best. I asked her to tell me about situations in which children are moved, and situations in which they are not, and what she’s learned about moving children.

I learned a lot from the vice principal that day, but as I left I knew that she probaby assumed I wanted my child moved. I thought I’d better underscore my dedication to the Christian values we all shared, and my need for guidance via email, so when I returned home I emailed Miss Brown and the vice principal, and I said:

Miss Brown, I’m sorry our conversation about the mobiles this morning didn’t go very well. I did speak with Dr. Andrews, who will be discussing with you and the other fourth grade teacher what may work best for all of us. I rely on all of you to help us navigate the waters of fourth grade. As well, I trust God to “work all things together for good to those who love Him and are called according to His purpose,” which is who we are.

Mostly I wanted to write and say that in general I respect you, your many years of teaching experience, and your love and dedication to your students, including Juniper. I’m confident that we can resolve this situation with good will, whether that means Juniper going to the other fourth grade class, or remaining in yours.

It’s a blessing and comfort to me that you and I do share many of the same values and we both want the best for Juniper. I see your effort and care, and will continue to hold you in high regard. I hope you’ll forgive me my maternal quirks. I have as many of them as I have children.

a decision is reached

Late that afternoon, I spoke with the vice principal when I picked up my children at school. She had met with Miss Brown, who was emotional and weepy, but they had decided to keep Juniper in her class. Miss Brown would get another chance to redeem herself, and I would have to continue to work with the teacher who told me that my child was the only child in her class who had failed.

When I returned home, I told my husband what had happened. He smiled wryly and said, “That’s not the easier outcome, is it?” We laughed, because of course it was not. It would have felt so much better to be able to direct my energy toward building a new relationship with the kinder, gentler, older other fourth grade teacher with her smiley face and her many happy students. But I had been willing to yield, and peaceable, knowing that I don’t know everything and that perhaps my daughter had landed in Miss Brown’s class for a higher purpose. If I am mindful of my daughter’s spirit, might not God help us all to grow as human beings through our conflict and differences, if we try to actively walk out our Christian faith?

I hope so. But I’ll admit that many times since last week, I’ve questioned my decision. Though I prayed and trusted God over this, I still ended up in the hands of others.

It’s funny how the hands of God are so often made of flesh and blood.