I Believe in the Special Sauce

In the 1950s NPR began a radio program inviting people from across the nation to submit essays about the core values and personal philosophies that guided their lives. Last April, the program returned to the air waves. On June 26th, I heard my very first "This I Believe" essay reading. I am not sure what I was doing - driving in Pittsburgh, I believe - but the power of the reading resounded with me. Oscar-winning producer Brian Grazer confidently boasted of his belief of "Disrupting My Comfort Zone." A few weeks later, skateboarding wonderman, Tony Hawk, urged listeners to do as he did and "Do What You Love." Synthesizing and reflecting upon these two listening experiences together, I find that my life is a literal representation of both.

Two years ago, I took not just a step but a leap out of my comfort zone. Growing up and attending college in rural Pennsylvania certainly did not provide any context for teaching in urban St. Louis. If Mr. Grazer would not have disrupted his comfort zone, movie fans around the globe would not have be blessed with his productions and he would not, as he puts it, grow. If I would not have disrupted my comfort zone, I would not be doing what I love. I might not have discovered it, either.

Thankfully, I did. Because I did, I met Miss Tomieka Mack and her classmates at E.H. Lyle Academy. Because I continue to disrupt my comfort zone and continue to fight for educational equity despite the appeal of escaping to a less controversial, less political career path, I get to do what I love and build relationships with some pretty incredible kids along the way.

Today, a colleague of mine had to substitute day five at Oakland Tech due to a scheduling conflict at my other school. When I returned to our office and inquired about her experience, the first thing she said was "They totally missed you." She continued the flattery by informing me that they asked where I was more than 25 times and requested to do the affirmation pledge they grumble about on a daily basis, and that Oscar did not seem to want to pay attention to her or have much to do with her. (This is the same Oscar who cuts to the front of the line to shake my hand and greet me each morning.) Later this afternoon, the aforementioned and pictured Miss Tomieka Mack graced me with an after-school phone call. There were questions about my "new life" and requests to visit soon, updates about her new teachers, most of whom are "not you, Miss G" and reassurrance that she would continue to use the SAT words I taught her last year. "I told my new homeroom teacher, Miss Han, that I asked the rest of the class to be quiet because I did not want them to exacerbate the disruption of her learning environment," she told me.

After I got home and started to plan the start of my extended weekend, I divulged the day's conversations to a friend. As is typical when I explain the quickly-founded relationships with students, he asked "I understand the former student missing you, but how can you get kids to miss you in five days?" "Magic," I replied.

He pressed the issue, insisting that it is not magic, asking if I devloped a plan with teachers or Teach For America friends, finally concluding that it must be me.

Humbly, I admit that it is. It's my Special Sauce.

There is no clarity surrounding the time or place of my last dance with the Big Mac (and I'm hopeful there is no copyright infringment in using the term "special sauce"), but I absolutely remember my favorite part and the only reason I would ever again consume the 7.8 ounce, 560 calorie wonder burger. It's the special sauce.

Even when following the recipe from McMenu: McDonald's Do-It-Yourself, nothing is just like it. Even if the burger is juicier than summer-ripe watermelon, the white-flour enriched bun is softer than a newborn baby's bottom, and the pickles make your lips pucker up tighter than your first kiss, if the sauce is not a part of the $2.90 package, it just is not special.

Human beings are all gifted and blessed with talents in different ways. My best friend Kelly knows the name of every muscle, tendon, ligament and bone in the body, and she can treat every athletic injury from a strained hamstring to tenosynovitis at least six different ways. Being able to make her athletes feel comfortable and maintain a the possibility of victory despite injury is her special sauce. My sister spends hours and hours every single day combining chemicals in the effort of creating some sort of reaction to cure some sort of illness (the terms and goal maintain a foreign citizenship despite numerous explanations). Never losing sight of the possibility that a cure is possible despite many failed attempts is hers. Brian Grazer's special sauce spices up each time he disrupts his comfort zone. Tony Hawk defies convention and lives through his.

My own Special Sauce flavors my interactions, my connections, my ability to build relationships with other people.

I may not be a Big Mac, and I certainly will never be a Oscar-winning movie producer, but I can convince a 14-year-old to jump a line to shake my hand. I can influence 25 of them to want to say a list or random affirmations. I can bring a smile to the face of a young woman who claims she's meaner than mean. I can garner the respect of students and get attention in a single utterance. I can persuade a young woman ridiculously fearful of falling and breaking a bone into ice skating. I can bring joy and laughter simply by being my odd, goofy, absolutely abnormal self, and I can make a group of high school freshmen miss me after just four days. It might not be mayo based, but that's my Special Sauce.