Mentored Research Conference

The Dean of the McKay School of Education

Dr. Gordon Gibb, my thesis Chair 

I presented at BYU's Mentored Research Conference and by some miracle won an award.  There was money attached, which was a lovely surprise, but more than anything I was happy to see that people have interest in my research.   Also, my thesis has been defended, the oral exam passed, and now I'm just anxiously preparing for another trip to India next month.   If I have my way, I'll be at these places in this order:

http://www.pathway-india.com/

http://www.lorven.org/

http://www.karunahome.org/

Transcribing, Coding, and Drafting

I've finished transcribing, coding, and developing themes for my research...I've even just about finished drafting my lovely opus altogether, aside from the discussion bit.  So that's marvelous.  I imagine I sort of flew through the transcribing, coding, and drafting because of how interesting and exciting the work became.  I wrote just as much as my literature review contains, but it seemed to take one tenth of the time to write the results as the literature review because I just loved every voice I listened to, every word I read before paraphrasing, and I loved to witness the true results emerge through my coding, theme-developing, and paraphrasing of my informants beautiful words.  Throughout initial interviewing I remembered thinking, "How are all of these responses going to work together?  How will this be cohesive?  And how can I possibly report such complex ideas and findings?"  At the early stages of research, all of the observations and interviews felt muddled and somehow unrelated.  It was as if my eyes could only see what was directly one-inch in front of me at times, and coming home to my room at night was stressful as I tried to make it all relate in a meaningful way.  However, making it relate was simple, really, in the end, because now--having the perspective of retrospect and having a near complete experience of actually living among my population--I have the ability to paint a picture from this perspective of retrospect, this perspective of outside looking in, but when I look in, I'm in there too with them. 

Well the point is, thus far I've really enjoyed writing the results.  I've really, really enjoyed it.  And this experience at large has changed the way I teach and behave as a somewhat sane, ordinary human being (just kidding?) to a different, friendlier color.  I approach difficult situations with more ease, gratitude, and actually a bit of thrill, because everything I approached in India was difficult, whether it be teaching situations, training situations, or simply solving logistical problems threaded in my life there.  Most of all though, my understanding of universal, unconditional love is more powerful, firm, and everlasting than it's ever been.  Throughout each answer to my queries in the interviews there are traces of Buddhist love and compassion, which are really just human love and compassion.  Even though some of the things I witnessed and some responses were less than ideal, they were real, and there was always something human in them.  

I analyze and critique little and big parts of my professional practice and personal conduct daily and more thoroughly as a result of my thesis study.  Because it is a case study describing special education practices among a unique population, I was able to see inner-workings, designs, and purposes for practices that are already in motion in America, and the lack thereof among my population, as well as the results from the lack thereof.  And because of this sight, I am better able and faster to change practices for improvement, and with an added measure of reason.  After training the staff at Karuna Home and seeing drastic changes in such a short amount of time as a result, I became more "sold" on the research-based practices I've been implementing in my classes all this time.  With all of this considered, I think the most unique part of my research is that I was able to see a school running based on very few research-based findings, and the teachers' and administrators' concerns and complaints as a result, all of which served as a baseline for further research, but also evidence of need for research-based practices and most of all: continual professional development.  The staff at Karuna thirsted for knowledge unlike any other group of professionals I have ever encountered.  They didn't attend trainings or approach conversations with me begrudgingly, in fact they came more prepared than I did oftentimes: always early or on time with something to write with and on, and objectives, assessments, and what little forms of curriculum they did have in hand.  Every experience with them was humbling because of the gratitude and excitement I felt at them finally receiving answers to their questions and finally receiving an intervention idea to at least try.  Aside from having this new perspective on special education and the practices chosen therein, I am a changed being from living among the Tibetan Buddhist refugee teachers, students, administrators, caretakers, physiotherapists, sweepers, gatekeepers, cooks, and so on, and every day strive to recreate certain elements of what I saw and felt in those classrooms, the dining hall, the dorms, the community outings, and especially the playground.  Special education at Karuna Home may have its shortcomings, but one definite strength is the continual expressions of love and compassion between all who share the teaching experiences.  

From my experience there, I've learned to really love the practices I have and have increased my desire to develop, alter, and improve strategies all the time.  I've also learned to approach professional development with added seriousness and with an attitude of "I must learn something here, even if the presenter didn't intend for such," because in other areas of the world--of the country, of the state--people are starving for such an opportunity.  The professionals deserve it, but above everything the children deserve it.  This was something seen throughout all observations and interviews: the children deserve to reach their highest potentials with continual improvement of curriculum and instruction and professional practice, and all teachers at Karuna Home want this for their students.  But again, more than anything my desire to express love and concern to all I encounter in teaching situations and human situations floats to my consciousness more now than ever before, and so too have my actions increased.

This is it

Again, not about Michael Jackson.

Welp, you guessed it.  I don’t wanna go home.

I’ve spent every night these last 4 or 5 nights saying good bye to people I honestly love from the bottom of my heart, spirit, mind, and whatever other entity I have to love with.  These people were strangers to me three months ago, but now they're dear friends, which is problematic because they life in India! Here I am thinking, “Please don’t send me back to America, please,” when before back in June I thought, “Only 63 more days….only 62 more days….only 61 more days…” and so on.  Now I only have regret for those first few weeks about not taking greater advantage of my surroundings and wealth of blessings right before my eyes.

Today before lunch all of the staff and students gathered in the dining hall while I was presented with an award on behalf of  the founders of Karuna Home  for my volunteer work.  I felt simply grateful and happy until taking a group photo after which students one by one walked to me, some crying, most laughing, smiling and yelling, saying “Thank you” as they hugged me and shook my hand.  At this point I totally lost it by submitting to my emotions and crying publicly.   As I walked the corridors and classrooms of Karuna today, I touched each pillar and each face of the students’.  I gave kisses and hugs liberally and cried randomly as I would turn a corner, or hear a particular student’s voice.  On one of my walks down the corridor a sweet nun (my dear friend now) said to me, “Isn’t it nice to cry for something good?” It certainly is.  

Oddly enough, when I was waving from the car window to the teachers and students with whatever was left from the tears I had in my head, I felt so much pain at looking at the teachers’ eyes.  I took my time and circularly scanned each of their faces and hands and thought, “These faces and hands do such good work in the world.  I love these faces and hands.”  I really do.  I scanned their faces and took pictures in my heart that I will treasure always.  One teacher was holding on gently to a rambunctious student, smiling deep into my heart while she waved goodbye.  Another teacher laughed and cried and waved her hand like a butterflies wings with a twinge of bitter joy.  Another teacher simply stood alongside with his hands held together smiling silently.  Another teacher stood beside a pillar far away from the crowd blowing me kisses and signing, “I love you” as tears fell down from her gorgeous eyes.  Another teacher held a student’s hand and laughed, yet frowned as she said the words, “Good bye” and “Thank you.”  I can’t remember all of the staff’s faces perfectly, but I can tell you this: they had peace in their eyes.  I am choosing to remember the peace and gratitude that I witnessed instead of lamenting about the fact that I won’t be seeing these people for a long time, or possibly ever.  It's far too painful to dwell on such a fact because these people gave me a gift I can’t ever repay with any amount of teacher trainings or boxes of supplies: they gave me unconditional love and examples of true compassion and tenderness toward the human condition.  This I am grateful for (Yoda?).

The teachers use the behavioral strategies I taught in the trainings.  They actively engage in the teaching methods I taught.  These teachers even are using the data sheets and new objective format that I trained on, and they do it effortlessly.  One particular teacher often calls out to me from her classroom as I walk the corridors and says, “BB, come to my room, just one second!” I skip into her room with excitement to hear her next question and to see her progress.  She asks detailed questions about taking data, fading prompts, etc., and then she puts the knowledge into practice.  I could have never dreamed that my coming to India would result in anything that resembles what I’ve just described.  This same teacher has proven her diligence over and over again in other observations as well, as she uses positive behavioral supports like a champion, and without reservation!  She looks so natural in action.  All of the teachers look so natural in action.  All of the teachers approach me with specific pedagogical questions daily, and they arrange with me times to discuss questions.  I know it’s been said before, but this has just absolutely floored me time and time again.  These teachers who work tirelessly six days a week from 8 until 4:30 are approaching me for additional training.  Such humility and determination.  Never have I seen something like this in all my life.

The last moments in the classrooms today were spent sitting cross legged on the ground in my favorite chuba watching the students draw.  I sat among them watching their drawings progress, slapping my thigh repetitively saying, “Dang it!” as tears relentlessly gushed out of my face.  One teacher laughed and took a picture telling me to save some tears for later while the other teacher scolded her and said to put my attention elsewhere.  During this I noticed that two other teachers in the classroom were decorating the letters I wrote them with the art supplies and silently they wept.  I was surprised, yet grateful to see their love.

Well the car was started and the children were grabbing my hand yelling “Good bye!” and “Thank you!” and I continued crying, of course, while holding their hands with one of my hands and supporting my tired lonely head with my other hand against my chin.  It was a murky picture I took with my eyes today of the teachers’ faces, but it was a rainy, murky, loving, living picture I took that is etched into my heart forever. 

Thank you, Karuna Home.  Thank you, Rinpoche.  Thank you, Geshe La.  Thank you, teachers.  Thank you, physiotherapists.  Thank you, family and friends.  And thank you, students.  I love you and will think of you often and practice what you taught me as well.