Why I loved...and hated the circus.
This week we celebrated my mom’s birthday! She’s lived a long and adventurous life and if she were to ever write her story down, it would probably end up being a guide for how to live a life of love, kindness, and service to others. She is the embodiment of unconditional love. The kind of love you can test, challenge, push against, and sometimes even run from, but never fully escape. And believe me, I tested it plenty! But no matter how far I pushed the limits, I could never truly doubt how much she loved me. She told me every day. Sometimes three to seventeen times a day. My mom made sure she met her affection quota daily. Hugs, kisses, constant reminders that me and my siblings were loved. That’s what I remember most about her as a kid. We didn’t have all the latest greatest gadgets, toys, and sugar cereals, but even with limited finances, my parents found a way to have memorable moments with us.
One of those ways was taking us to the circus every year when it came to town. It was a big deal. The lions, the clowns, the trapeze artists…I loved all of it. We all did. And no, we didn’t get popcorn or cotton candy. You had better have eaten before we left the house! They got us through the gates. That was the gift.
But there was one part of the circus I didn’t love, the grand finale.
The man being shot out of the cannon. It was the noise more than anything. The loud bang. The suddenness of it. The first time it happened, I had no idea it was coming. I screamed from the shock of it. And every year after that, I’d go and enjoy the whole show, until I saw them start to wheel out that cannon. That’s when the anxiety would kick in. I’d beg my parents to leave. “Please,” I’d say, crying. “I don’t want to hear the noise!” But we came as a family, and we were going to leave as a family. So every year, when that moment came, my mom would pull me close. She’d cradle me in her arms, cover my ears with her hands, kiss me on the forehead, and whisper, “It’s going to be okay. It’ll be over in a second.” Then…BOOM!!! I’d jump in terror, but she was right. It passed. And everything was okay.
I didn’t realize it then, but that memory would stay with me for life. That scene became one of the clearest representations of what it means to be cared for and how powerful it is to be held and reassured in the middle of something scary. She didn’t try to talk me out of my fear. She didn’t mock me for it (that was my brother’s job). She just showed up with presence and calm and protection.
I remember the last year we all went to the circus together. We got to the end of all the acts, all the clowns, all the tightrope walkers, all the lions and lion tamers, and it was time for the grand finale. As usual, I went into panic mode. And I remember my mom tenderly holding my hands, looking lovingly into my eyes, and saying, “Son…you’re married with two children. It’s time to get over the circus cannon!”
Just kidding! But I’m sure if I was still scared of circus cannons to this day, she’d hold me and tell me everything would be okay. That’s how my mom loved us and she still does. It shaped the way I parented my own two children. I’ve done my best to meet their affection quota daily. And even though they’re older now, I still want to be the one who covers their ears and reminds them it’s going to be okay.
If a young person doesn’t feel safe and secure, how can we expect them to learn and grow? How many students show up to school mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted from the circumstances they experience outside (and inside) of school every day? And then we punish them for not having their homework done (Is it presumptuous to call it “homework” when many students don’t have a place that looks or feels like home?), they fail a test, or they struggle to focus or stay awake in class.
I was interviewed recently and I talked about the importance of food, housing, hygiene, and emotional security in order for young people to thrive and flourish in school. But just having a pantry at school where young people can get something to eat or grab some toothpaste or deodorant isn’t enough. Band-aids are important and helpful, but they don’t get to the root. As educators and providers we need to have serious conversations and ideation sessions on what we can do and what our role is, both formally and informally, to ensure our students have a firm foundation when it comes to being safe and secure.
What we know is that as the great Dr. Carl Bell said, “Risk factors are not predictive factors because of protective factors.” If you are an adult that genuinely cares about young people, you are a protective factor. Research shows that if a young person has a significant connection to a non-parental and non-judgmental caring adult, the chances of them successfully navigating their adolescent years increase tremendously!
What gives me hope is that as I travel across the country and around the world I meet so many non-parental and non-judgmental caring adults who are standing in the gap for our young people. We even created a resource that can be used to build and develop those important relationships. Please download, use, and share with others as you see fit.
And here's a super quick video of an interview I did a couple years ago in California where I was able to share how young people can thrive, even in the midst of their trauma. Please watch, reflect, and share this video with your network!
As always, thank you so much for the work you do,
but most importantly for the person you are.
Also don't forget to share this to your socials!
I love you because I am you!
