The Mystery of Life and Death According to Me

I try to wear as many hats that fit and live up to any title that may be given to me when I am in Belize - including the less flattering ones. "Persistant mujer gringa" even has a hint of positivity and possibility. However, it is the title of "child whisperer" that tickles me most.

Yesterday, as I walked through town, I was reminded of how much I love this place. I sometimes think that when I am back in South Dakota, I may romanticize my feelings for the island and its people. Nope.  It's real. I am most alive here. The abundance of blue - skies to sea - make me want to physically be better. I eat smartly with an abundance of fruits and fish. I love the sweat that I get exercising in the Caribbean heat. And, as Audrey Hepburn said, "Happy girls are prettiest."  May I dare to say that I feel pretty here.

It is the refection of the people, especially, the children that make me happy. It took me 5 hours to walk 4 miles - it was a little like HyVee before a snowstorm. Administering hugs, admiring growth spurts, and exchanging news takes time. My favorite is when a students says, "Miss Kim!  When did you get home?"

As I walked by the high school, I saw many of my students, who are now freshmen, leaving for the day.  One of my girls was sitting on a dock holding hands with a boy. She saw me and went to wave. Quickly, she decided to turn away knowing that explaining him was not how she wanted to begin her weekend. Braces, inches and a sense of cool had all found their way to my first Holy Cross graduate class.

I do not take for granted the respect and love these kids give me.  It didn't come overnight either. I had to earn the right to be part of their lives.  There is a lot to be said for showing up on a regular basis. I am reminded of an experience that happened to me last May.

Because I always have children with me - holding my hand, asking to carry my bag, on the back or basket of my bike - many adults think I am either a child psychologist or some type of social worker. Belize has its issues like any other country or community. A feeling of abandonment is palpable with some children. A lack of respectable father figures combined with less than superior health care creates some of the void, Also, it is not uncommon for a parent - mother or father - to leave a child behind in order to make a living elsewhere.  Then, there are senseless acts.

Tristen is a the 5 year old son of a friend of mine on the island. He comes from a wonderful and loving family of present men and strong women.  In May, his uncle and Godfather was shot and killed by a random thug in the middle of town. As with any family, it tore them to pieces.  This family reminds me a lot of my own.  We don't miss each other's events. Weekend get togethers are probable.  In short, this entire extended family is tight.

Tristen's mother asked me to talk to him. He had been unconsolable since the shooting, and she thinks it would help if I spend some time with him.

Ummm....what? She knows that I am just a teacher - 26 years of high schoolers and university students doesn't amount to any sort of degree in analysis. This is the second time she has done this.  The first was when she plopped a 9 year old on me whose father had died the night before (she did not know that my own father had died just one month earlier). Ethan, that boy, taught me more about grace than any words I could think of to console his heart. Knowing that I probably had something to learn here again, I reluctantly agreed.

Tristen was angry. Some of it - I am sure - was mirroring the mourning of his relatives. They were vocal in asking for justice and calling out those who witnessed the act and didn't react. It turned out, that a lot off Tristen's anger was pure fear of the unknown.

I had his mother and him meet me at the beach. She said, "Spend time with Miss Kim today.  She is a nice lady with boys too," before jumping in her cart and burning sand.

First of all, I hate the word "nice." Nice is not going to answer this boy's questions or reason him into happiness. Secondly, I may have raised boys, but that, by no means, makes me any sort of expert.  Ask my sons, they will tell you that growing up with me was a daily lesson in foibles and faith.

Tristen and I splashed around a bit until I finally said, "I am sorry about your uncle." He responded stoically, "They killed him."  Yeah. Sigh. Where do you go from there?  I decided to forgo the obvious and just dive right in to one the most difficult of subject for any human.

I asked, "Where is Jeffery now?" He looked at me like I was the dumbest American he had ever met. "He was dead in the street and now he is in the ground." Fair enough.

At that moment, I realized that I had a few Magic Sponge Capsules rolling around in the bottom of my backpack. I bring a lot of these little toys as they are super small and easy to tote, and the kids seem to dig them. This toy looks like a large pill. When you place it in the water, the hard plastic shell dissolves and a small sponge character emerges - they are anything from safari animals to dinosaurs. You never know what you are going to get.

I took one out and explained that Jeffery is like the Magic Capsule.  Our bodies - head, torso, hands, and skin - are just the shell of the person, and yes, in the ground we don't see that anymore. However, there is a surprise - his spirit - that is stronger than the shell, and it will emerge. The spirit is so big and mysterious that it and can stay with us in our hearts and go to heaven. I had no idea where I was going with this. I just trusted that the Holy Spirit had a plan.

I said, "Let's see if it works!" We took the toy and buried it in the sand close enough to the water so that the tide was hitting is softly.  We found a stick and marked it just like a tombstone.  Then we just sat there on the beach watching the stick. I was mentally preparing for having to perform my best Mary Magdalene impersonation when we go to find the little creature later and discover that an under tide had moved it. I certainly was not holding my breath waiting for any angel to show up and give me hand.

As we sat there on the dock, watching, with our feet in the water, I should expected his next question. "What is a spirit?"

Oh, Norman Greenbaum, where art thou? Google it.

I continued blindly, "Tristen, what is your very favorite fish in the ocean?"

"The shark," he stated as confidently as if I had asked him his name. He went on to tell me everything - and I mean everything - he knew about sharks. The kid was a Belizean encyclopedia. I, personally, am a stingray girl, but I respect a 5 year old's right to chose.

What came out of my mouth next, would make any theologian cringe, "Only part of your heart stops working when you die. That part that moves your blood around so you can be alive with your family.  The other part of your heart lives forever in Heaven with God.  So, all the love that Jeffery has for you and his family, all the funny stories he told you, and even all the things you did with him stay alive in his heart."

That sounded pretty good, but could I leave it at that?  Oh, no.  I just kept talking, "and every time you see a shark, they are there to remind you of all those things.  Jeffery is like the biggest shark you have ever seen. He gets to float with the beauty of God, like a shark floats in the beautiful sea. He never has to worry, or feel sad, or get angry or be frightened because he is a shark."

Yep. That is the mystery of life and death according to Kim Bartling. You are welcome, and I am sorry.

I knew I was out of material so suggested we check on the "spirit capsule."  The toy had shifted, just like my shaky spiritual explanation.

As always, the Holy Spirit did have my back.  True to its promise on the back of the Magic Sponge Capsule package the shell had disappeared. What was let loose was a bright yellow sponge shark.

Europeans Coming - Belizeans Going

It's Not What You Know; It's Who You Know.

(This is dedicated to every student I have ever taught.  If nothing, I hope I introduced you to the importance of networking, being kind, taking risks and a lifetime love of learning).

Name dropping. It has always been a delicate balance between wanting to share what you know and where you have been and the Midwest sensibility of no one really cares.

A year before I quit my life where I worked under others, one of my superiors called me to his office. He wanted me to know that "many" of my colleagues were tired of hearing about my friendships with political individuals such as the mayor and governor. I have to say that I did appreciate his choice of the simple adjective pronoun "many" during this occasion.  In the past, when he found something on which to reprimand me, he was typically fond of using the phrase, "a parade of people have voiced a concern," when - in fact - it was a disgruntled freshmen girl who - for someone reason - he gave audience.

Here is what happened. I had been asked by The Good Shepherd Center of Sioux Falls to give the address for their spring luncheon. As a non-profit that focuses on the homeless community, they wanted me to share my story of Valerie, the "baglady" I befriended in NYC and relocated to South Dakota.  It was to be a brief 20 minute presentation and - I thought - in a private environment with their board of directors. When I arrived, I discovered that is was a much larger event. All three television stations were there, the audience included over 150 people and the Governor of South Dakota was going to introduce me. As a professional public speaker today, I learned my lesson on not doing better research on my engagements.

I excused myself, stepped out, made some quick edits and prayed for support. Here's the revised opening, "Greetings and thank you for having me here today.  I must confess that I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. Last Friday, I was honored to have written and co-hosted the Sioux Falls Night of the Arts program with our fine mayor. Today, the governor is my warm-up man.  I am totally expecting to return to my office and have a voice message from President Obama asking what my calendar looks like next Friday."  It got a laugh.

That afternoon, at rehearsal, I shared my miscalculation and response to my small cast.  Again, it got a laugh. I never repeated it. On Monday, I was called into the office; "many" had complained about my bragging of knowing the mayor and the governor. I was assured that nobody cares who I know. Evidently, one of my students thought my story was funny enough to share. Another professor overheard it and beelined to administration. She became "many."

Over the years and as a theatre director and woman on faith, I have traveled to many places to learn and grow as an academic. Upon returning from a university sabbatical, I begged to present a colloquium on my discoveries while working in the New York theatre scene. It never happened.  When the mission group of 19 university students - that I led - returned from Belize, we asked to present on how God moved our feet, hands and hearts. It never happened.

The calendar was never open to this storyteller. Some may say that I talk too much and giving me a platform to do so, just encourages my enthusiasm and makes others uncomfortable. I hope that this oppressive attitude made me a better teacher and advisor. When students would return from a semester abroad or from studying at the film institute or from their concert trip to Italy, etc, I invited them to present to their peers. Their travels and tales inspired us all and fanned the flame of wanting to see more, do more, know more.

My father never wanted to hear about my trips or work in places like New York or Belize either. I believe it was because if he affirmed the stories, it made those places real. If they were real, I may move there. This was his unspoken fear.  He just wanted me near. This I understood. However, why others chose to rain on the parade of one's adventures instead celebrating their experiences is something I will never understand.

My first teaching job was in Arlington, South Dakota - population under 1,000. I taught sophomore - senior English and speech.  I was the oral interp coach, the one act play and musical director and the cheerleading coach. I applied for the job hoping to be the basketball, cross-country, or track coach, but upon learning I had seen a play, they changed my obligations.  Lowell Gilbertson, the principal, was tough. He was hard on this me and the entire young faculty that he assembled in the late 80's.

My second year, I was frustrated with my lack of experience with play direction, so I applied for a couple of days off to attend a one-act play festival at a nearby college. He denied the request. I was quite upset. I said,"You just want to keep me stupid so I stay here forever!" I felt terrible afterwards as I loved teaching in that little town; I didn't mean to show disrespect to the community, students or him. In fact, I still believe all teachers should begin in a small school because you must learn how to do it all!  That rural school taught me what teaching should look like.

Years later at a college basketball game, I ran into Lowell, Principal Gilbertson, at the "confession stand" as my children always called it. I could not hug him hard enough. His initial tough love lessons could be found in every one of my classrooms since leaving his small school. He reminded me of the day I was so angry and (as he remembered it) stormed his office. Through our laughter, I apologized. He responded, "There is no need.  You were absolutely right. You were hungry for knowledge, and I knew we were going to lose you. I have watched you all these years, and that hunger has served you and your students well. It has been a joy to watch your journey."  At his memorial - for a death that came way too early - I reminded us all that he had a great gift to create educational leaders. Of that young faculty in the late 1980's of approximately 15 people, many of us went on to be college professors and educational administrators. We have Lowell Gilbertson to thank.

Today, as I am on another trip with my sister, I am reminded about how much I love to learn. Specifically, as I write this, I am am on the corner of Chartes and Toulouse in New Orleans' French Quarter enjoying a cup of corn and crab chowder watching the world go by from a upstairs veranda. Just down Toulouse is Hotel Maison de Ville, where Tennessee William's finished "A Streetcar Named Desire" in his favorite Room #9.

My dad always said that I would be happiest if I could figure out a way to have someone pay me to go to school the rest of my life.  Simply, I am most productive as a teacher and artist when I am learning. In history, a patron of the arts was one paid by royalty for their creation of art. A poet, playwright, or musician could "do their thing" all day being subsidized by the court as long as the art itself was dedicated to the royal individual. Let's bring that relationship back. Hey Sanford Health Systems, Citibank or Vern Eide Motors, looking for an artist in residence?  I know a girl.....

So, here I am in New Orleans soaking in the sounds of blues and jazz and the spirits of historical ghosts, and feeling the need to finally purge my stories of elbow rubbing, amazing teachers/mentors, lovefests, and totally true tales. The following names won't be recognizable to everyone; but whether you are a television junkie, movie buff, music enthusiast, theatre geek, sports fan or book lover, there will be at least one name you recognize.  Some of my stories are brief encounters and others are friendships that last to this day; most are pretty funny.  All of them have had a hand in molding all of the "me's" but especially me as a teacher.

However, remember, these are my truths. After reading one of my stories about growing up in his house, my father made a grunt and said, "Well, if that is the way you remember it...." before he walked away. This is the way I remember it.

Michele Pawk
Neil LaBute
Raul Esparza
Mel Brooks
Tom Stoppard
John Stewart
Edward Albee
Idina Menzel
Kevin Spacey
Slava Dolgatchev
Mario Fratti
Rachel Maddow
Steve Buschemi
John Malkavich
Branford Marsallius
Alan Cumming
Robert Cohen
Arthur Miller
Gabby Sibode
Liza Minnelli
Mike Nichols
Julie Taymour
Woody Harrelson
Kathleen Chalfant
Anne Bogart
Sutton Foster
James Earl Jones
Phillips Seymour Hoffman
Joan Jett
Dick Cavett
Tony Danza
Tom Brokow
Sam Rockwell
Douglas Hughes
Lou Diamond Phillips
Jane Fonda
Eve Ensler
Roger Ebert
Aidan Quinn
Cherry Jones
Seann William Scott
Chris Noth
Laura Linney
Emily Mann
Paula Vogel
Romulus Linney
Terrence McNalley
Alphonso Soriano
Joe Torre
Tracy Scott Wilson
Tracey Letts
Lee Blessing
Deborah Copaken Kogan
Amy Bloom
Ed Helms
Christopher Durang
Joyce Carol Oats
Gabriel Barre
Paulie Shore
Michael McGowan
Jarrod Emick
The women of "The View."
Many who are regulars on Law and Order including Bruce McVittie, Lucy Martin and JoAnn Merlin

I am currently proud to be watching a couple from the cast of Wapato - the show I assistant directed in New York that are shining on Orange is the New Black - Kaipo Swabb and Dale Soules

If you are reading this and remember one that this middle aged brain has forgotten, please remind me. I am also hopeful that the list will grow as I will never be done traveling and learning.