I made one mistake. I hired you.

While cleaning out the junk that is piling up in our house, I came across a manilla folder. The folder was stuffed with paper. It wasn’t labeled, so I had to open it to see what was inside. What I found took me back decades, elevated my heart rate and caused a pit to form in my gut.

Inside the folder was a stack of email exchanges between me and a former boss of mine.

I had printed off all the emails because a fellow employee complained to HR that my boss was verbally abusing me. Despite my refusal to cooperate at first, HR said I needed to hand over documentation showing his treatment of me.

This manilla folder was already in existence. I had already begun to save communication between us. I already had a log started on his abusive language.

Almost immediately, I came across an exchange about a story that aired the night before. He was not happy about it. I responded with documentation that we followed his orders. His response:

“I don’t make mistakes. (I take that back I made one in February 2002.)”

You see, he hired me in February of 2002.

Today, I sat at the table and stared at it. I was actually a bit frozen. Rereading the line over and over, I was transported to a time when I experienced screaming, insults and abuse.

However, reading my responses reminded me that, despite his barrage of insults, I was very strong. I may have spent many hours inside stall #4 of the first floor bathroom, sobbing, but my responses were calm and packed with facts he could not dispute. I was more resilient than I had remembered.

At the point he emailed about the one mistake he’d ever made, he had already promoted me. He gave me the responsibility of producing some of our network’s best talent. Shortly after that email, he promoted me again, to take over the evening shows.

Yet, today, as I stared at those words, I felt the old wounds. I was back in the years of verbal assaults I had endured.

HR sent him to anger management training after that. A couple of years later, I had moved into a different place in the company. I was told he had to go back into anger management. I could go on and on about why he was protected and uplifted while I had to make a new way for myself in order to find peace, but I don’t think that story would surprise any of you.

Just last week, my kid called from college. They recounted a lecture in their Econ class by a female professor. This professor was laying out the reasons why women cannot really complain about equality. She said the numbers tell a different story.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure it is better out there then when I was in the corporate world. I know it is better than when my Grandma was younger. However, equality is a tricky thing to measure.

When I was going through the years of verbal abuse, I found out that a man who was doing the exact same job as I was, but had fewer years experience, was making more money than I was. I know this because that man told me.

That was in 2003. We can do the math and even in the Econ world… that is not that long ago.

I know that Econ professor is trying to say that there has been growth and progress, but the fact of the matter is, we need to continue to acknowledge that women are still treated as being less than men.

How does equality tie into those insulting emails?

My documentation reminded me why I was such a huge target for him. I had two quotes written down inside all the notes of exchanges. I had emailed these quotes to my husband immediately after hearing them, because I knew I needed to remember them.

One was just after I told him about a female colleague who got a huge promotion. He rolled his eyes and said, “Of course, she is a woman.”

Later, I asked him how he felt about an upcoming change in management and what he said next is seared into my brain. I will always be able to hear his voice as he said: “——- is making a name for himself promoting minorities and women, and it’s going to be the demise of this company.”

I could not feel more invisible or insignificant as I did in that moment. Standing in front of a man who is telling me I am part of what will be a demise of the company. I had been promoted. At this point, I had built a team of the best producers I could find in the country. They were all minorities and/or women. I didn’t set out to build the team that way. I truly picked the best people. They just happened to also be the two things my own boss despised so much he thought we would all bring the company down.

You may be wondering: “Well, he hired and promoted you more than once, so….???”

I later found out that he was strongly encouraged to hire more women. He had a lot of men. I was shaken when I heard this. I am sure that is one reason why he aimed his attacks on me. I am sure that is why I had to work so hard to prove myself.

But, buried in that stack of emails, I also found two others that lifted me up and reminded me of my worth.

You see, when two men with which I worked, found out what my boss was really saying to me, they rallied. The pulled up emails they had sent to my boss during the process of hiring for the first position I had.

In those emails, both men listed out all the candidates. I was the only woman, but it became clear that I was also the top candidate in their eyes. They named off traits and parts of my experience that put me above the others.

These amazing colleagues wanted to remind me of my worth, of my talent. They wanted me to read words from two respected people about a woman they did not know and could only judge off a resume and interview. I will always treasure them for sharing the emails.

I will also always be reminded that there are supportive men out there, everywhere.

However, the ones who do not respect or value what women bring to the table do exist. We need to look out for each other the way that co-worker of mine did when she bravely told HR I was being verbally abused by my boss. She had nothing to gain and so much to lose by doing it.

Still, she chose to help me.

She chose to help me when I refused to help myself.

I do have a sidebar story that makes me smile each time it crosses my mind. I wanted to hire a woman who had very little experience. She had blown me away in our interview. I knew she didn’t have the skills yet, but I could clearly see she had “it”… that one thing that you can’t learn. The drive to succeed was strong. in her.

So, I tell my boss I want to hire her. He says no. He doesn’t think she has experience. He wants to see more candidates.

His boss called me in for an update on the candidates. I went to bat for this woman, hoping I could win with him. While he was more receptive, he also said no.

Neither wanted to hear about “it”. So, I offered this up: Make it part of my review (that affects my bonus) that she will be successful by our standards or I get dinged.

Fast forward to today: She is currently running a national network’s news division. You know why? She has “it” and now she also has experience.

Women… lift each other up. Support one another. Try as hard as you can to go to bat for each other.

And… to those men who also lift us up… THANK YOU!

Let’s prove that Econ professor right.

Now You’re Outraged?

If you open social media right now, you will most likely see something on child trafficking. A movie has created quite a bit of buzz online. Some people are celebrating its “Little Engine That Could” success story. Some are buying in to conspiracies that Disney was trying to keep the child trafficking line open.

A huge surprise to me is that most are saying, “We all need to be aware of the problem!” “You need to see this movie and see what is happening out there!”

I am shocked. You mean, people didn’t know children were being trafficked for sex? We didn’t know that about 460,000 children go missing every year? (Global Missing Children’s Network) We didn’t know about one million children are sold for sex across the globe? (Sunrise for Children)

Why didn’t most people know about this?

Because, most of the victims are from broken homes or poverty stricken areas. People don’t pay attention to them. It provides so much opportunity.

You see, predators prey on the weak. If there is no dad or mom at home… if there isn’t money for quality child care… if there is abuse in the home… The list is long.

I just watched the documentary on Jared Fogle. He is that Subway guy who is a convicted child sex offender.

He and his buddy were experts at preying on the weak. They groomed children to gain access.

Jared went further. He payed to specifically have sex with minors in Thailand. These are children who were kidnapped for sex trade.

That happened decades ago.

We found out about it in 2015.

While sex trafficking of women and children goes back to ancient times in our history, people actually started the political conversation in the early 1900s.

Yet, here we are, in 2023, posting on social media as if we are just now finding out about it through a movie.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful that people are starting to open their eyes, no matter the reason. It’s like #metoo. I was so disgusted by the outrage that came in 2006, when women have been enduring sexual abuse since the beginning of the human race. However, at least we are now taking about all of it now. I do not really care how people start caring about this issue, just that they do.

I just ask those who are promoting a movie to remember who really needs your money. You can find reputable groups that spend their money and resources directly on fighting human trafficking. Just two examples are Polaris Project and International Justice Mission.

I’m not sure where the millions of dollars the movie is making will go, but I do know the non-profits are actually working to do whatever they can to stop the problem.

Just one more thing on the topic of child sexual abuse. According to several studies, 90% of children who are sexually abused know their abuser.

I was exposed to all three men who sexually abused me as a child through someone I knew. The first one, from the time I was four to nine-years old, was my babysitter’s husband. The second abuser was the father of the girl I babysat. The third was a friend of a friend.

I am so thankful that society is getting more exposure to the abuses children have endured for centuries.

I am now hoping that the exposure leads to actual action. It’s fine to buy a box office ticket and tell everyone else to support the movie. I just really hope that turns into money and resources going to the places that actually work to fight the abuses, be it trafficking or abuse in children’s own homes.

I Am Perimenopausal and She Is Leaving

It is 2 a.m. I am lying in a puddle of sweat. I have to get up and change these clothes. I am exhausted and soaking wet.

Hours later, I am in the shower…. having a hot flash. The cooler water is helping, but not very much.

Moments later, everyone is buzzing about the kitchen area, getting ready for the day. My oldest says something about an application for a scholarship being due. I am reminded that she is months away from college.

I am now at school taking my class to lunch. I stand outside my door, waiting for them to quiet down so they can enter the hallway. I feel the heat in my chest. Oh no…. I’m going to break out in a sweat. Here comes a hot flash.

Later in the day, I walk into my home. Finally, time to decompress. I get a text.

“Mom, remind me that we need to submit the application.”

I’m cooking dinner just a couple hours later. I walk into the dining room. What am I doing in here? I stand for a moment and start to drift in my thoughts. Moments later, I realize I am just standing there. I do not know what I am doing in the dining room. Brain fog has set in.

Our oldest comes home for dinner. As a family, we sit. We catch each other up on the day, but most of the conversation centers around some controversy out there in the real world.

We submit her application.

She says she is going to bed. Wait! It’s 8:30. She’s tired. She goes upstairs. I’ve seen her for about one hour today.

That is one hour more than I will see her most days starting this fall.

I pass out … into a deep sleep … within a half hour of her going upstairs.

I wake up in the middle of the night. I am wide awake now. My sleep pattern stinks.

This is a typical day for me now.

Nature has cruelly set up this timing. How is it that mothers are entering the extreme roller coaster of perimenopause while their children are leaving the nest?

My mood swings are intense. My fuse is short. I cry on a moment’s notice.

Of course she wants to leave… I am a mess.

Who cares that her wanting to leave has nothing to do with me? She is leaving to expand her world, to live out new experiences, to grow.

My emotions tell me she hates me while I’m angry at her for leaving her socks on the floor.

Nature plays this really mean trick on mothers. Right when we are in a phase of life that engulfs us in emotion and physical agony…. our children are leaving.

I could handle this so much better if I wasn’t drenched in sweat, on the brink of crying while forgetting why I walked into this room.

Stuck in the in-between

My daughter thinks she has strep. She would know. She has had it a lot. I need to make an appointment for her.

Four hundred and 79 miles away, my mom is waiting to start her iodine radiation therapy for thyroid cancer. The process has been such a mess, I am now her contact for all things medical. She had surgery. She complained of discomfort in her throat for weeks after the surgery. The doctors dismissed her. When it was time to start radiation, they did a scan. There was still part of her thyroid in her vocal cords. The doctors were wrong. Their error cost us 3 more months of waiting for the treatment she needs.

I need to call the doctor for my daughter and get an appointment.

I am on hold with my mom’s doctors up to 2 hours total a day.

I don’t get an appointment for my daughter. We can’t get in.

It is the day before Thanksgiving. I’m am down to the final hours of getting anything accomplished.

**********************************************************************************

I typed this all when it was happening to remember the huge amount of stress I was under during the last quarter of 2022. I often like to come out the other side and look back at what I survived.

Fast forward to today: My mom had her second surgery and received her iodine radiation therapy. However, that took her down even more than anticipated. I continued my daily calls to her doctor to find out what we could do. Out of respect for her, I won’t share the details, but to give you an idea… I thought I was going to lose my mom late last year.

I worked night and day to find someone who could fill my shoes hundreds of miles away. I found a woman to drive her to appointments. I even hired her to take Grandma to her hair appointments a few times.

I called a different doctor of mom’s and got better answers. She started on meds that helped her come back a bit. Hours and hours… days and days… weeks and weeks… months and months of trying not to fail as a daughter.

Then, the woman I hired turned out to be an opportunist… so I’m back to where I started, except that the doctor’s office has found some solutions for me in the meantime. It truly takes a village.

Oh yeah, and through all that I was dealing with an injury to my knee. I had fallen out of a raised booth and it had been more than a month with no improvement on my knee. My husband finally talked me into calling an orthopedic surgeon. I am a great multitasker, but that felt like the third most urgent thing at the moment. I was walking just fine. It turned out I also needed medical intervention.

My daughter seemed better in a week from that first illness, but has been sick multiple times since Thanksgiving.

So, three generations of women, me stuck in the middle, are in need of some medical help at the same time and I seem to be the one in charge.

Me? In charge! Ha!

Millions have been through this same situation…. stuck in the in-between. Many taking care of children and parents.

Millions more will face it soon.

According to the Pew Research Institution, “nearly half (47%) of adults in their 40s and 50s have a parent age 65 or older and are either raising a young child or financially supporting a grown child (age 18 or older). And about one-in-seven middle-aged adults (15%) is providing financial support to both an aging parent and a child.”

No one should be surprised. My mom’s generation is called the Baby Boomers for a reason.

Many are even in my situation: the only child of a single parent with the other parent so far out of the picture, I can’t picture his face.

Add to that the fact that some family members have been less than supportive. They’ve been down right condescending and rude.

Given that I am one of millions, I am sure there are so many of you who have gone through something so similar, you think I’m telling your story.

The only reason I am telling my story is to make sure you all know: You are not alone.

I’m still not out of the aftermath of Q4 2022. I feel as though I am banging into walls every day, unable to live up to my potential. The tears flow freely down my face.

All we can do as we sit stuck in the in-between is our best. When we are giving our parents and our children our best, we do have to realize, we have the potential to fail somewhere.

I can’t fail my mom. I can’t fail my children. I won’t.

This is just the reality in the in-between.

You Are Not Stealing Our Joy

Listen up, mean people: You are not allowed to steal joy. You don’t have that power. So, stop trying. Stop putting a dark cloud over our days.

“We are these atoms that swirl together, into organelles and then organs… I’m skipping over other things that happen in between…. anyway, the atoms and organs are all compact in this meat … uh, skin… flopping around this rock in this great big universe. Why waste any time being mean? Why can’t we chill and be happy? It’s not hard to just be. You just be. It takes way too much energy to be negative and mean. Just chill.” —my 15 year old daughter.

She is spot on.

As she says, we’re all just flopping around on this big rock. Life already throws obstacles to joy in our path at lightning speed.

Then, you mean people get into the mix.

For those of you out there who find yourself Pisstified…..

Hold on, let me explain. Pisstified is a new word I learned today from my friend, Brenda. It means you are equal parts pissed and mystified by something. I happen to be Pisstified by some mean girls today….. but as I was saying…

Those of you who are pisstified, I want to talk with you now.

I think we all remember when we were younger and someone would tease, or worse, bully us. Grown-ups always said, “They’re unhappy, so they want you to be unhappy.”

Well, I don’t care anymore. I used to care, but mean people won that battle. They tore that part down. Now, I’m mad.

My friend, Melissa, taught me about circles. No, not circle circles… I learned about those in school. She taught me about circles of people who get your joy.

You have that inner circle, the people you care about that care about you. They are your family, your framily, your loved ones… the ones that get to have your energy. Then, that outer “friendly acquaintances” circle. They matter to you. You matter to them. They can have some energy from time to time.

Then, there is that outside circle. This is that group that would never come to your aid. They do not care about you or your feelings.

They do not get your joy. Melissa taught me that and reminds me of it every time someone is trying to steal it.

Back to the mean people:

I want you to know, I feel for you. I don’t understand at all how you can spend all your time tearing others down. I truly cannot fathom spending one second hurting someone else on purpose, with no remorse. To be that dark in your heart… it is sad.

Despite that, I want the rest of us to get serious about stopping this trend of abuse.

When I was in my 20s, I had a boss tell me “Shit flows downhill.”.

Really?!?

Not only is that gross, it is archaic and wrong. I vowed that day that if I ever became a boss, I would not let the shit flow past me.

I am proud to say, I never have. I’ve had to give bad news to my staff. I’ve had to reprimand employees. I’ve had to tell people they were laid off thanks to corporate cuts.

I have never been mean to a person on purpose for any reason, but especially not because a different person was mean to me, so I need to “pass it on”.

As many of you may know, I grew up in a world of abuse. I live my life trying to make up for that feeling of terror. I crave safety in real love. I need an embarrassing amount of positive attention in an effort to bring light to that darkness.

Yet, there are people out there trying to keep it dark. It’s like I’m walking around with a candle that smells like gardenias and vanilla and they are following me, trying to blow it out. It is really annoying.

Oh, that reminds me of a picture I have in my bathroom of a lighthouse. It says, “You can’t light the way for others without also lighting your own path.”

When you reach out to help others, you will be rewarded as well. I bet the same is true for that negativity you give others. It’s bound to weigh you down.

Another fun fact you may know about me is I went to Oprah Winfrey’s School of Survival. It appeared on my TV in the afternoons. She taught me that your experiences do not make you who you are. Ultimately, you have a choice on whether to be positive and kind or not.

So, I’m going to end this declaration against you mean people stealing our joy with these words:

“I know for sure that in the final analysis of our lives — when the to-do lists are no more, when the frenzy is finished, when our e-mail inboxes are empty — the only thing that will have any lasting value is whether we’ve loved others and whether they’ve loved us.” -Oprah

P.S. I do care a lot about hurt people who hurt others. I want them to no longer be hurt. I just want people they hurt to no longer be hurt as well.

One Gift for Christmas

Lights are up everywhere. Holiday music is playing in cars and stores and homes. Traditions are waking up and bringing loved ones together. ‘Tis the season of wonder and love.

Except not for all….

This week, a man was found dead in Memphis. It appears he died from the weather. With temps and windchills plunging below zero degrees, it is not safe outside.

The thing is, we have warming centers set up around the city. Volunteers are stepping up to provide a place to stay safe in this weather. I read a post on Facebook from a guy who is working at one of the centers. He said there were not a lot of people there. You can guess one of two things and only one guess is the probable one. The first guess is very few people need the help this year. The more probable one is many aren’t seeking the help they need.

With the cold and snow that swept into the south this week, I’m transported to my past Christmases in Illinois. We all float through memories this time of year. Holidays are ripe for emotion and connection. Many of you have wonderful memories of this time of year. Even some of us that grew up in depths of darkness have beautiful memories from this time of year.

Those memories are what would, most likely, force me to find help if I needed it this year. They give me the one thing I wish for everyone to have. The one gift…

Hope.

You see, I don’t know the man who died in Memphis this week. I definitely don’t know his story. The only thing I have to go on is the belief that if he had hope, he would have found his way to a warming center. Whether that hope comes from past memories and experiences or a current intervention from a stranger, hope gives us the strength to charge on, no matter the connection.

Hope does not give us tools to survive. Hope does not build a home. Hope does not pay the bills. Hope does not bring us loved ones.

However, hope gives us the power to try to get all those things. It tells us things are possible. Hope opens a path to survival if that path is available.

I can’t remember a time in my life that I was without hope. It was a gift given to me by my grandparents. They had absolutely NO idea they gave that gift to me, but if not for them, I’m not sure I would have searched for a better life.

When you are trained by evil men that your body is theirs for the taking and when that lesson starts at 4 years of age, you shouldn’t have hope. I don’t think so, anyway. When you are 14 and a friend gives you over to a man in his 20s so he can rape you in a strange home, hope should not be an option. When your father was willingly absent your entire life, you should actually lose all hope in men all together.

However, I was given Marian and John Monser.

Marian was born in 1920 and John was born about a year later. They both went to a private university where they ended up meeting. He eventually went off to war. She found herself, newly married, pregnant and without her husband by her side. They went on to have four kids and move throughout the Midwest for years. They landed back in Marian’s hometown of Peoria, IL before I was born. They were of the generation of self-reliance, hard-work and no-nonsense family life. Hugs and kisses weren’t central to their lives. However, they loved in different ways, with expectations being their center.

Marian’s tough love and high expectations snapped me out of any self-pity I may have started to develop if given the chance. She had no idea what her little granddaughter was enduring in the world. Her ignorance of my abuse gave her the power to unknowingly lift me up out of possible despair. Had she known that I was being sexually assaulted every time I went to my babysitters, would she have approached me differently? I know it may seem insane to read my question, because I could have been rescued! However, I wonder if her lack of knowledge is why she charged on the path of making me independent, strong and unwilling to feel sorry for myself.

John’s love was different. My Grandfather was a complicated man. Even typing this, I laugh! Complicated is putting it mildly. If I wrap others’ experiences with him into my story, it would darken my experience. I choose to only focus on his relationship with me, because how he treated me set me on a path of self-assurance. He gave me the expectation that my life would turn out better than my current situation at the ages of 4, 5, 6 and beyond. He never asked me what I wanted to do in life. He just knew and expected that I was going to be successful.

If you can picture a young girl with blond curly hair sitting next to an older gentleman with a gruff face and demeanor, both with a bowl of blueberries sprinkled with sugar and splashed with milk, sharing a silence that said that little girl is safe, then you can imagine how my Grandpa always made me feel. We shared a love for that blueberry dish, for the cookies hidden in the bread drawer, for the Cubs, for the Bears and for yelling at TVs when things weren’t going our way. He had no idea that his mere presence made me feel safe. All I had to do was sit next to him and I was wrapped in a hope even he didn’t seem to have.

Marian and John had high expectations of how I should behave. They had high expectations of what I had to do in the world. They had high expectations of what my future was going to look like. They had high expectations that I was going to be ok.

Their high expectations gave me hope.

This time of year, presents are flying back and forth. Traditions are pouring out of kitchens and living rooms. People are exchanging love in the air with each laugh. All of this can embed folks with hope they need to get through the times when all of these things are absent.

Unfortunately, not everyone has these things. Not everyone has a Marian and John.

So, today, as my mind transports me back to the Monsers’ formal family room, I wish for the largest gift I ever received there to spread out to everyone who needs it.

I only want one gift for Christmas: For everyone to have hope.

Every time I close the door

The bell rings!

Halls are filled with shouts and energy that has been pent up for the past 55 minutes.

It is a moment to decompress, reset and get ready for the next class.

The bell rings again… here we go…

I walk inside the class, pull the door handle to close the door …

It swings silently…

and… click!

I enter into a new world.

“Hi everyone!”

“HIIIII Mrs. Morrise!”

“How are you?”

“Goooooood!”

Every time I close the door, I enter into a new ecosystem, a new personality, a little society all its own.

The classroom is filled with 20-30 new faces, new stories, new energies.

On the first day of school, we are all figuring each other out.

By the time we get to the last, we are a family holding a new set of memories. We have inside jokes. We created memories. We will now forever be “that class”.

In a typical school day I close the door 7 times. Seven clicks shut out the world. Seven clicks shut in our unique little group.

I have one set of 7 clicks on Monday and Tuesday and a different set of 7 clicks on Wednesday through Friday.

In total, I am part of 11 different ecosystems.

This one works very well together, with its inside jokes.

That one has more energy than can be absorbed and often comes out in fits of wandering and talking.

The other one is packed, wall to wall, yet in sync enough to feel as though it is a very small class. A member of that family moved away in the 3rd quarter and we all still miss him so!

Oh, and that one… well, that one requires great restraint as you work to stop the gossip and questions about this person or that.

Then there is that one… the one that stole my heart.

We come together for 180 days. That’s it. Yet, those 180 days are packed with relationship starting experiences. I will miss these kids terribly. They will move on to another set of classes for another set of 180 days. I will teach a new set of ecosystems for that same 180 days.

And, around and around it goes.

I stood in front of my homeroom last month during testing. They were all concentrating on the questions and all I could do was watch and be quiet. My eyes would tear up as I thought I wouldn’t ever have them like this again. They would visit. Some would keep in touch… but it won’t ever again be this little special homeroom family.

Today, my little ecosystem that can’t sit still or stay quiet long enough for instructions was especially bouncy. I stood and looked at them for a bit. One of them said, “Guys! Mrs. Morrise wants us to be quiet.”

I responded, “Yes, that would be great, but what I was really doing just now was thinking how much I’m going to miss you all!”

“Oh, haha! We never would have thought that, as crazy as we are!”

“Sure,” I said. “You can be crazy, but so can I. I am so proud of all the work you have done this year.”

(Misty eyes… me… not them)

They didn’t notice. They had moved back into the competition we were having with our final STEM project.

Working in a school is such a unique experience. Every 10 months, you reset. You pour love and knowledge into these ecosystems, and then you say goodbye.

And, it’s completely normal.

Another school year is coming to an end. I’m preparing to close my classroom door for the summer.

And, I will never forget the moments we collected during 10 months, in 11 different ecosystems….

…. every time I closed the door.

A Bag of Tomatoes

The bell is ringing. The halls are full of students bursting to talk to their friends after working on assignments for the past 50 minutes. The hustle is laced with greetings hollered at friends and teachers: “Hey, Mrs. Morrise!” The scene is a bit chaotic, but with a release of happy and a few minutes to exhale.

This is class change.

In any given day, I interact with hundreds of students. Some, I’ve known for years. Others, I’ve known months. Some are in my class for almost an hour at a time. Others are not in my classes, but interact with me daily.

Teachers get every version of every child. Something happened on the bus or at home or in the hall. They are excited or sad or worried.

An ecosystem of personalities, ages and backgrounds all comes together throughout a school year. It will be completely different next year, but this year will forever be a part of all of our memories and some of our stories.

Shared experiences are found all over the building that is built with cinder block and tile. Warmth and laughter soften the lines and fill the halls.

Sometimes, we step outside and see one of those faces in the real world. She doesn’t belong there in your mind, yet there she is… all four feet of her, holding a bag of Roma tomatoes, shouting your name out as if you were a celebrity, her face bright with surprise.

Like so many other grocery runs, I ran into a student the other day from the school where I teach. She isn’t my direct student, but I’ve helped her from time to time and exchanged some of those hellos in those class changes.

Yet, in this moment, she is standing there, with this bag of tomatoes that looks to match her in weight and size. Just a few brief words exchanged before a man with a soft face, half covered by a mask, and kind eyes turns to see the stranger talking to his daughter.

“She’s a teacher!”

“Hi, I’m Mrs. Morrise, a teacher at West.”

“Oh, so nice to meet you. Is she doing ok there? Doing well?”

“Oh, yes! She is doing so well! Such a joy.”

Smiles exchanged.. a glint in her eye… pride in his… and then we say our goodbyes.

You see, there is debate over education, testing, masks, on-line school, being able to form meaningful relationships during a pandemic….

And… then… there are moments… so many of them… that add up to something special. The connections that cannot be measured.

To read all the commentary, you would think all gloom and doom fill schools right now. I’m not going to lie… it is tough inside those walls. Today, I described it as running through mud.

However, moments exist daily that make my heart skip. Those moments when I lock eyes with my students to say “Good morning!” or when all I have to do is say their name and they know to stop doing whatever it is that is disrupting the day.

Moments, like the anticipation of hearing how something went, fill our days.

“Did you bring a picture of those guinea pigs?”

“Oh, yes! Can I show you a video of them? One is screaming in it!”

Or, the casual conversations that end up sticking with you.

“Mrs. Morrise, who do you want to see in the Super Bowl?”

“The Chiefs, because a former sportscaster of mine loves them and the 49ers because we just visited San Francisco and we fell in love with that city.”

“Oh, you choose from the heart. (patting his upper chest) You go for the emotional picks.”

“Yep. It may not be the smartest way to choose, but it is how I roll.”

“It’s good to roll from the heart, Mrs. Morrise.”

(misty eyes)

While I sit here tonight, wondering how many more days of struggle we can all sustain, I know this…

I’m going to continue to “roll from the heart”, thankful that my student reminded me it is a good way to go.

Now, I need to find out about that bag of tomatoes….

“It was inevitable, Mom.”

Those were the words said by my 16-year old daughter three hours after a shooter entered our local Kroger, killed one woman and shot 13 others, before taking his own life.

Just a few hours after the shocking tragedy rocked our little suburb, she was sad, but matter-of-fact about it. As we sat in her car, waiting the necessary 30 minutes after her allergy shot, I started the conversation by asking her how she felt.

“It was inevitable, Mom. We knew it would happen.”

When I said, “You never think it really will.”…

…. she said, “Well, we do, kids my age do… You grew up in a time when mass shootings were unheard of, or at least rare. We have never known a world without mass shootings happening all the time. We assume it will happen close to us in our lifetimes.”

I slowly shook my head, knowing what she said was so true and feeling an unbelievable sadness that she and her little sister lived this reality.

When we got home, I asked her sister how she felt. She first said it was so sad, but then shrugged and said, “If leaders aren’t going to do something about guns, then what should we expect? We have always had mass shootings, and nothing happens.”

We are living in this sad reality, stuck holding on to an archaic translation of a line in the Constitution, watching people take deadly weapons into crowded places, taking some lives, shattering others, and yet, we do nothing meaningful.

While my daughters spoke the sad truth, our governor responded to questions about the recently enacted “permitless carry” law that went into affect in our state July 1st, with these words:

“[The] constitutional carry bill applies to law-abiding citizens. What happened yesterday was criminal activity, violent criminal gun activity, and those are separate issues.”

I read this to my 14-year old child. Even she saw the problem with this statement.

I want to be clear that we don’t yet know if this new law helped the shooter in the Kroger shooting. We do know it didn’t hurt him.

I’m not sure when real action will be taken to keep people safe. I’m not going to claim to know all the answers.

I do know that when my 14-year old and I went to a different grocery store in a different town, she walked out with a confession:

“That was harder than I thought it was going to be. I was nervous it would happen in there.”

Schools, stores, venues… it can happen anywhere.

Doing nothing, or making it easier to get deadly weapons, does not seem to move us in a safer direction.

For those wanting their 2nd amendment rights to protect yourself, you know that you could get a permit legally and get a gun. You know looser gun laws are not necessary for you law-abiding citizens.

Most people I know that want changes to gun laws do not want gun rights taken away. We want training, universal background checks, waiting periods… we want mental health to be addressed… we want to DO SOMETHING.

I hope that my children’s generation will be able to come together and figure out real solutions. I hope they can find a way to take care of the mentally ill… of those who need mental health support… and also make deadly weapons harder to get.

However, I hate that I’m putting my hope on them. It seems we are leaving a lot for them to clean up.

And, in the meantime, they will continue to shrug off something that we all find shocking… because their reality is:

This happens all the time and our leaders do nothing about it.

It’s inevitable.

Two Paths, Both Well-Traveled

Do you ever have regrets?

Not the “I wish I wouldn’t have eaten that brownie.” type. I mean the big ones.

• The one that got away

• The house you sold for a bigger one

• The job you passed up

I work pretty hard to avoid regrets. I’m not saying I’ve always made the correct decisions in life. What I mean is when I make that decision, I tell myself I have thought it out and I am making the best one for the time.

This summer, I came up to a fork in the road. At almost the same time, I was offered a chance to teach or to go back to my first love.

No, not him

Broadcast news

So I came to a fork in the road, with both paths well-traveled.

The stars aligned. All the signs popped up to go back home.

• My mentor was close to the TV boss’s boss.

• A former boss of mine worked in the same company and swung the door to this television station wide open for me.

• The general manager and I were supposed to meet for a half hour, hour tops. We met for 2 hours and could have kept going.

• The woman who would be my boss and I had similar philosophies, common people.

I was ready to do it! My daughters and husband were supporting the move.

It was going to be tough. I was not going to be home much. I would go back to giving up days off, vacations, weekends. It was no teaching schedule. I would start missing out on my kids’ lives again.

However, I was feeling this incredible pull.

When the News Director asked me to review a show, I didn’t limit myself to that… I reviewed an entire day! I gave feedback on 2 shows. A lot of worked needed to be done. A lot It didn’t scare me away. In fact, I wanted it more.

I shared my feedback on the shows with my mentor.

“Am I crazy to do this?” I asked.

“You and me, Kim. We run to the fire.” He replied.

Yes. For people like us, the challenge is life. This station was rebuilding and I wanted to help put up the structure. I was getting excited.

As I started to consider actually jumping back in, a huge announcement came.

My boss at the middle school was leaving. Then, my other supervisor was leaving.

The signs all said, “Go back to news. You belong there.”

I do. I do belong there. I love the raw energy of a newsroom. The drive to win and watching it all unfold on a night of pure craziness.

Decisions made in seconds.

But then…

The signs started to change.

I truly can’t describe the shift, but it happened quite suddenly.

• The new boss at school reached out … to every single one of us… individually.

• A teacher I adore said she was going to be teaching with me.

• Things weren’t going quickly enough with the news job and I didn’t want to leave the school in a difficult position.

I started to imagine life in the new classroom. The interaction with the students, watching them light up when they learn something cool and roll their eyes when I make an incredibly funny joke (haha!).

I saw myself back in the halls with my colleagues sharing the successes and helping each other out when we struggle.

In many ways, the buzz of a school leaves me just as pumped up as a newsroom.

• I love the feeling at class change.
• I like that moment just after morning announcements, when the day is just about to begin.
• I love when a student wears a shirt because of a conversation you all had one day last week.
• I love when students interrupt because they understood what you said and they want to compare it to something else.
• I love when a student brings in a picture of a sandwich you talked about last week, because he and his family decided to try it.

The signs toward staying at school were growing bigger. I was feeling a pull to stay put, to build another year of memories with students.

Most importantly, my girls kept needing me for things I knew I wouldn’t be able to do if I went back home to television. I am not ready to not be there for them.

If anyone reading this is in broadcast news, a police officer, EMT, fire fighter, emergency nurse or doctor… any job that can call you 24/7/365… well, you know.

You can’t always pick when you are there for your kids and family.

I may belong in a newsroom, but for so many reasons, I also belong in a classroom.

I don’t think I will have regrets, because I love being in a classroom so very much… but… I may have regrets.

However, just like when I walked away from The Weather Channel, I know I will rather regret walking away from news than regret not being there for my girls when they need me.

That is not a regret with which I can live.