09 Sep Freedom in Forgiveness
**The following experience contains racist and sexist language, abusive situations and other triggering points. Please read only if you have healthy support to handle emotions that might come up.**
I was having the most normal of conversations with the produce, as one “normally” does when visiting Sprouts.
Well, hello eggplants. You all seem to be looking extra lovely today and shiny, perfect for Bhaghan Bhurta or Eggplant Parmesan. Shall we go Desi or Italian tonight?
Oh, Cilantro – stunning as always. Pakistani it is!
As I was mentally calculating roti ingredients in the pantry at home, a voice boomed behind me.
“Didn’t you go to Eisenhower High School?”
This was a few weeks pre-Covid 19: no masks, no social distancing, no set boundaries.
Even though it’s been almost 20 years since I saw him last, the face hadn’t changed. I guess neither had I since he recognized me.
My heart rate increased, my chest felt tight and hot, my breath was confined to my esophagus and throat, my palms felt tingly and my feet imbalanced. If I had pearls, I would be clutching them. My sympathetic nervous system was in full-blown fight, flight or freeze. Within seconds I was in PTSD.
Breathe, breathe, breathe…deeper, deeper, deeper.
Yes, I knew the voice and face and character of the human in front of me. He called me “cunt” the last time we met, banging on my driver’s side window, spitting on the glass, verbally abusing me for getting him fired as a master teacher, all the while his wife stood by and watched with a scowl on her face…towards me.
Breathe, breathe, breathe…deeper, deeper, deeper.
“He was vile. He was also one of the most beloved
and respected educators in our school district.”
The man in front of me degraded women, minorities and every being in his path, calling them horrific names and claiming his right to do so – his power and privilege as a white male, and no one could stop him. He was vile. He was also one of the most beloved and respected educators in our school district. My friends (predominately male friends) worshipped him for his intelligence, wit and ability to connect.
At 23 years of age, I couldn’t believe my luck when I was chosen to be his student teacher. After all these years, after having his wife as a 7th grader for English, I was rewarded the opportunity to be taught by Mr. M. He was going to school me!
As Mr. M’s student teacher, I was preparing to teach a period of the day until I was confident enough to teach the full day. This process usually lasts two to three months. After two weeks, I was sobbing at the Dean of Education’s office while one of my professors held my hand.
During my short stint, Mr. M daily verbally abused students referring to them as “losers, gang bangers, low lifes, w*tb*cks, ch*nks, n*gg*rs…” as the student being bullied slid further and further down his seat. Mr. M also shared that he placed the girls with the “biggest breasts up front” so his day wasn’t “too boring.” On a few occasions, he spoke this way in front of three other male educators (one who I had as a junior high social studies teacher) and me. Not a person spoke up: none of the students (powerless in their positions) nor the other educators. At one point I started looking for hidden cameras thinking I was on Candid Camera, but this was happening – this was reality.
“So, Ms. Syed, are you ready to take off your rose-colored glasses?” he asked me during lunch break the day before I was supposed to start teaching his classes. “These students aren’t worth your time or energy,” he snickered.
My heart rate increased, my chest felt tight and hot, my breath was confined to my esophagus and throat, my palms felt tingly and my feet imbalanced. If I had pearls, I would be clutching them. My sympathetic nervous system was in full-blown fight, flight or freeze. Within seconds I was in PTSD.
“They are worth my time, Mr. M,” I confronted him in a total out-of-body experience. “You are not fit to be teaching,” I stammered.
He laughed and chills went up my spine. “Oh, you want to save these assholes? They aren’t worth saving!” he screamed. From across the room, spittle was spewing with his speech.
With shaky hands and burning tears welling up in my eyes, I began to pack my notepads, lunch bag, pencils, keys and all personal belongings into my backpack.
“I see you’ve given up!” he approached me. I could smell his after lunch breath edging closer and closer.
“Yes, I have,” came the quick response. “But not on the students – on you. You’re the asshole. Goodbye.”
The next few hours were a blur: a call from the empty teacher’s lounge to Damon to get his advice. A dejected drive to the University of Redlands where I sat with the Dean of Education and my advisor relaying all that transpired over the course of two weeks. Notes were scribbled on paper. A discussion of will I be okay. The dean contacted human resources at the school district where Mr. M taught. A few days later, I was told that Mr. M cannot be let go but he will never work as a master teacher again.
The dean and advisor mentioned something about that took courage on my part. I closed the book on this saga and never spoke of it again until therapy, 20 years after it occurred, a few years ago.
Sprouts, produce, bliss…PTSD.
“Do you remember me?” he inquired.
Breathe, breathe, breathe…I am an emotionally healthy adult. I can see this through. I have everything in me that I need. With my feet planted firmly on the ground, my body in full alignment connecting to Something deep within me…
“Of course I remember you,” I spoke, as Something within me expanded, opened and made space for the moment.
“Did you have me for English while in high school?” he leaned in, peered directly into my eyes, trying to recognize the person he thought he knew. But she wasn’t there. I stood in her place: a loving being with compassion for the human in front of me. No hate, no anger – pure grace.
“No, a matter of fact, I never had you as a student,” I proceeded. “However, I did have your wife in junior high,” swiftly I guided the topic off me onto them. (In Star Wars this maneuver is called the Jedi mind trick.)
Mrs. M, who until then had been standing behind Mr. M all along, peeked over his shoulder as I continued to share her impacts on my learning, guiding me to work harder, and supporting me; one of the few teachers whose influence carried me into teaching and writing. What a gift that I was given: to acknowledge Mrs. M’s influence on my life 33 years later. I asked about their two daughters. Mrs. M responded while Mr. M fidgeted. He still hadn’t recognized me fully.
“Well, I must have had an influence on you, too!” he chuckled looking for validation and praise. “I taught for…we’re doing exceedingly well…the 90s stock markets…but we still live in the ghetto…home is paid off” he just kept talking, seeking attention, looking for someone outside of himself to say “I see you, you matter, you’re enough.”
One of my favorite gifts from one of my favorite humans.
Meanwhile, Mrs. M beamed from ear-to-ear – both of them hungry to be seen and heard: Lost children who had found their way into someone else’s memory. My memory.
And, I was there. But not the version of me that stood before him 20 years earlier. A version he did not – maybe could not – recognize.
I listened to his story. I witnessed. I heard his truth with an open heart, understanding and empathy from a place of forgiveness.
“Forgiveness never relinquished her promise to make things better,
but I haven’t sought her until recently.”
Even greater than the experience with Mr. and Mrs. M, has been the ally of forgiveness. Behind every lesson, forgiveness has reached out her hand in marriage, promising peace, safety and love from the Divine, God, Everything. Forgiveness never relinquished her promise to make things better, but I haven’t sought her until recently. For my personal story the victim’s grip was too seductive for me to even actualize a reality where I was in power of the response, where I was aligned to the Universal energies of peace and contentment, where I was chosen not to suffer but to surrender. Me? Me. Me!
I have fully forgiven myself for not responding sooner than two weeks into student teaching to evil speech and behavior; I have fully forgiven myself for that and so much more because I didn’t know better. I wasn’t role-modeled self-grace so how could I possibly create it as a pathway? I could not until now, and it’s a practice that I will cultivate over and over again, until my last breath.
Numerous times I have been asked – nay, been called upon, as many of you I am sure have been, to face a person, situation, task that takes your breath away, you leave your body for some time, because the fear is too great, the risk too much, the pain too present, and the forgiveness not enough. I am here to tell you that there are certain things in this life that are abundant and infinite: love, grace, compassion, empathy, forgiveness, and YOU. You are enough. You are worthy. You are love in human form. Not a person, situation, or experience can take that from you. As soon as you align to the Power that IS, you can forgive: Forgive yourself for not knowing better or doing better. Practice it again and again and again until the only truth that remains is God’s infinite Love for you – for us all.
Breathe, breathe, breathe…
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