toddlers

th-1

When I was in the Master’s Leadership program, the professor asked: What’s the most important thing about a person?

Though I loved this professor, I knew he was wily. Two brave students attempted an answer, only to be told they were incorrect. The professor walked to podium, cleared his throat, and we knew we were about to learn a very important lesson. Ladies and Gentleman the MOST important thing about a person is his/her name! A name that distinguishes him/her from “you,” “kid,” “son,” or “ma’am.” As an educator you must value people’s names, whether they be teachers, students, and parents. You’ll be surprised by how much they respect you. A lesson I’ve not forgotten.

Know I have the utmost respect for migrant workers and am most grateful for their service. I’m certainly not going to pick lettuce, avocados, nor apples as my career. Even at my grandparents’ farm years ago, men wandered up the lane to help with haying season and combining wheat and oats.

I am appalled at the separation of children from their migrant families. I am appalled the US government is spending millions to house these children. But I am most appalled we do not know these children’s names. Really? WTF? And now, the government is going to spend millions to identify them via DNA testing. Hmm. In this technological age, it was not considered to identify them first–through photograph, finger print, or number? These are children–some toddlers. I can’t imagine their terror.

people-id-solutions Unfortunately, this is just another example of mbsp–management by the seat of the pants. No one seems to understand the consequences of a decision until they’re faced with reality. Decisions are whimsical, often retaliatory to garner votes. Certainly, none of the recent decisions can be viewed as thoughtful. (Just wait. The tariff position is about to decimate American farmers.)

Yes, I’m a teacher. Yes, I’m a child advocate. Yes, I would gladly open my home, my extra beds, and my kitchen to six children. And yes, I would know each of them by name.

A view of inside US CBP detention facility shows children at Rio Grande Valley Centralized Processing Center in Texas

2238large

While this comes as no surprise to those who know me well, I’ve proudly raised two very articulate daughters. Oranges don’t fall far from the proverbial orange tree. As an older mother, I had no tolerance for baby talk. Yes, I put up with “Dada,” and “Mama,” but when I spoke to each of them it wasn’t in baby talk. My kids went to the restroom, not the potty. I expected them to rise to some semblance of my vocabulary, not me drop down to theirs.

Of course, as they matured and their vocabulary grew, so did their argumentative skills. Yes, on many occasions, I rued I’d taught them to be so forthright. But my most devastating moment occurred when my youngest was sixteen months old. She had had a very sleepless night, ran a low grade fever, and was so lethargic she didn’t even want to watch Sesame Street. As she laid in my lap, she rubbed her ear. “Does your ear hurt, princess?”

“No. I want juice.”

Juice, it was. But juice didn’t solve the ear problem, as she rubbed her lobe. Stupid Sue. Get up off the sofa and call the pediatrician. She’s running a fever; she has an ear infection.

Thankfully, the office wasn’t jammed with sick kiddos, and we were quickly ushered into an exam room. The group practice doc that day was the “Patch Adams” of the pediatrician group. He danced around the room, swinging his stethoscope, and took my kid’s temperature–a shade past 100 degrees. “I need to look in your ears with my fancy light, cutie pie.”

“No!”

“Cutie pie, this won’t hurt; I promise. What’s wrong with your ear?”

Unknown

Emphatic, loud, clear answer: “‘Pider in my ear.”

I was horrified. The doc looked at me like I was an unfit mother. My dreams of winning the Mother of the Year award waltzed away. The diagnosis–ear infection. Cured with an antibiotic. Yet, twenty-six years later, I still don’t know what prompted her response. Suggestions?

Dr. Suze Espouses

The Name Game: Migrant Children

Spider in my Ear