Pouring Music From a Cup

               Elizabeth Massie, writer, who studied English and science at James Maddison University, posted this on Facebook recently. It’s a beautiful sentiment, but one that comes with a very, very high price to the teacher. I spent a career trying to teach kids to question and to think for themselves, to think critically. Sadly, through no fault of their own, most were immune to the concept because they had been raised to accept dogma as truth. Many thought I was trying to cause trouble, and only a handful took the reins of their own lives and rode on to their wonderful destinies. A number of them are friends of mine on Facebook. A small reward, but a reward just the same.   The best teachers I have known in my life, both as a student and as a teacher myself, were far more intelligent than I was: they were naturally curious, thoughtful, and always questioning. They were readers and explorers, of the world and of the mind...

          I first tried to write— I mean, tried to write as if I were a sage, someone outside myself —when I heard Jim Morrison’s “End of the Night.” I was twelve years old. This was a catalytic event  for me because hearing Jim’s voice and hearing him use words that I had never heard before or in ways and combinations I had never encountered before meant that I too could go into places I didn’t know existed. Dark places. Places my parents and teachers wouldn’t think to go and wouldn’t want me to go.      Why was this important to me? I don’t know. Anymore than I know why it was so important to me to start growing my hair long. Part of it, I suppose, was to identify with the hippies, the rebels of our culture. In a way, I imagine I wanted to “get back at” those who had made fun of me or snubbed me. It was my way of saying, “you can’t hurt me, but I can hurt you.” Not physically, necessarily, but scare you.      What wound ...