Fear of Swimming. Or is it Sinking?

After sending my mom the link for this blog, she immediately replied, supportive as ever. I had mentioned wishing I could more clearly remember being three, and this wasn't hard for her--a memory that has physical proof that time has gone by and probably of bratty little girl:

"When you were three, you were living in a fantasy land of Dorothy [from the Wizard of Oz]. You had Julie as your friend, and you loved to wear pink. You were telling [little brother] Dane how it was, as well as telling me a few things. You loved books and little figurines and your blond hair. Your life was pretty great, probably more so than some/most of your students, but you loved learning, and we cheered each little accomplishment. Is this helping at all?"

Mom, as usual, you are so helpful. As the scenery has changed in my life, whether it be going to college, abroad or a new job, I seem to have moments where I am dunked into a bucket of cold water where I come out seeing clear: I have been blessed. I have grown up with love, hope and faith instilled in every action, every decision, any dream. If I jump into pool, chances are I'll want to learn to swim, even if I feel complete fear; the option of sinking never outshone the success in simply trying. I thank my parents, community, teachers and friends.
Now I have a class of students who, for one reason or another, might not be cheered for every little accomplishment. Life is rough; when one is hungry or jobless or homeless or in jail or working two jobs, singing the ABCs or practicing shapes or counting or singing or pretending might seem annoying or might slip between the cracks of tough cards that are dealt. I point no fingers except to poverty and traditions of a system and, most apparent, a hurricane. The children here are parts of families that had to move a few times, stay in trailers, move here for the cheap rent or construction/re-opening fast-food jobs or that, in the midst of the storm, just got started too early or with a sudden loss of resources. There isn't always time or money or undoubted faith or worth-it optimism to encourage, teach or practice what many other parents would consider vital to a toddler's upbringing.
I therefore see fear in faces that are too young to show that type of fear--the type that considers failure or disappointment. Older students I tutor throw standardized tests on the floor because they "can't." I have one pre-school student who already makes up excuses if he is called to the board. "Oh, there is something in my eye," he'll say as he avoids eye contact and any other response. My goal became, no matter if we got up to 20 when counting or recognizing the letters of the week, to talk about which things I was proud of for every student. To find multiple ways of encouraging every student and making each child feel learning is always possible, safe and loved. That is the most important. Even if that means saying, "I love the way you tried to clean up your friend's milk, but next time let's use a napkin instead of your own, long hair. But aren't you a great friend?" And, when the teacher does it enough, the students started to believe in their friends, and that is the best. We all cried, "yoooouuuuu did it!" for students completing a pattern or ordering smallest to largest. Encouragement instills in us something I maybe I have taken for granted.
I just finished Randy Pausch's The Last Lecture. (Read it.) He was a man fighting pancreatic cancer, knowing he was about to leave a wife and three children. As he collected advice from friends who grew up with parents who died, he was told the most important thing he could do was to somehow make sure his kids know every day, through thick and thin, they are loved.
I wish unfaltering belief in someone was a physical thing, something we could give someone to keep in his/her pocket so that, years down the road, when there is doubt and fear and failure looming, we could unfold the belief someone has in us, and it would fight like Alice's Vorpal sword.
Ever since the storm, there has been an enforcement within my community of knowing how to swim. It is part of the students' day to be bussed to another school with a pool for lessons. But the children at my school are scared of the water. Like, really scared of it. They know how it envelopes houses, cars, pets, toys, family members. And there sometimes isn't enough encouragement that says, "you can do it." Doubt and past experiences weigh heavily. It is not that they are scared of swimming, though. They are just more familiar with the fear of sinking. And they deserve for that perspective to change.