DailySusan Humor Blog

WHY DO TREES WHISPER?

For he shall deliver the needy when he crieth;
the poor also, and him that hath no helper.
-- Psalm 72:12

There’s a hubbub in the Omaha area about whether there is “equity” in our public schools. The big center-city district, the Omaha Public Schools, wants to consume most of its three richer, whiter suburban neighboring districts. It has far more poverty, absenteeism and dropouts, and far worse test scores. And it’s screaming for help.

But the ‘burbs are screaming back. Soccer moms are putting up yard signs urging the urban oppressors to keep their greedy mitts off their schools. Bean counters are pointing out that OPS already spends far more on disadvantaged pupils than on other kids. Inner-city private schools do a better job with almost 100% minority and low-income populations, and spend less, too. More money’s not the answer, they contend.

It’s the Clash of the Titans, as the superintendents battle at public forums and in the paper. Then they return to their home turfs to rouse the footsoldiers in this big, ugly class war, with emotional rallies and stirring letters to their partisans. At night they must sock down the Maalox and count the days to their retirement on a full pension with annuities, all taxpayer-provided, of course.

Meanwhile, the politicians are busily throwing out proposed solutions, each one costlier, more chaotic and more micromanaging than the next.

But I can’t stop thinking about a boy I met years ago in a writing workshop for the Boys and Girls Club in inner-city Omaha. It’s for kids like him that I’m seeking a better way.

He taught me that poverty doesn’t define children, and shouldn’t keep them from their dreams, if we can help it.

And we can.

The kids in my workshop, most all minorities, were about 13. They were at risk for gangs and drugs, from some of the toughest home situations in the state. But they had academic potential. I had volunteered to help them with their writing.

First, I had them write about whatever they wanted. Their spelling, grammar and punctuation were horrible. I don’t think there was a single error-free sentence. All they wrote about was the NBA, NFL and “doent taek druggs.”

Sheesh. This was hopeless. I called them up individually, circled their misspellings, and pointed to the dictionary.

They gasped. Turns out their teachers in the Omaha Public Schools never pointed out their writing errors or made them fix them. No wonder they couldn’t write!

One by one, they brought their corrected papers back. I praised them. They beamed.

Hmm. Maybe they aren’t hopeless. Maybe they just haven’t been taught right.

Next, I asked the kids to pose any question they wanted, and answer it creatively.

We were sitting under some cottonwoods, grand, old trees that never grow in the matchy-poo suburbs. There’s wealth and beauty in the inner city, too . . . if you look.

That’s when this kid amazed me.

His question: “Why do trees whisper?”

His answer: there’s a tree named Bob, and he’s a terrible gossip, and the other trees don’t want him to know their business, so when you hear leaves rustling in the wind, it’s them whispering. . . .

Now I was the one gasping. It was creative. It was funny. It was wonderful. His writing conventions were a “D,” but his ideas were “A++.”

Goosebumps! I went from pitying these kids . . . to believing in them.

I told him he had a God-given talent. I hope he can still feel my hug: “You’re going to be somebody someday.”

I made a promise that day to do everything I could to help disadvantaged kids get a better education. That’s why I’m always harping on it. They don’t need more money. They don’t need more integration. They need the old 3 R’s, and they need them now.

They already have everything else they need: imagination, people who believe in them, and God on their side.

Let’s be like those trees: quiet down and stand tall . . . put our heads together . . . ask God to whisper to our hearts . . . and together, dream up a better way.