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I can't


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Reaching more than 32,500 subscribers in 107 countries, this is...

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HeroicStories #266: 31 December 2001 http://www.HeroicStories.com

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I Can't Story Editor:

By Terry Galan Joyce Schowalter, Ontario, Canada

Donna had volunteered her fourth-grade class to participate in a

program to empower students to take charge of their lives. My job was to

help implement the program. On my first visit to her classroom I took a

seat in the back. All students were filling a sheet of notebook paper

with ideas. The 10-year-old next to me was writing "I Can'ts" -- "I

can't kick the soccer ball past second base. I can't do long division

with more than three numerals. I can't get Debbie to like me." Her page

half full, she showed no signs of letting up. I walked, glancing at

student papers. Everyone described "I Can't" versus "I Can".

Curious why they dwelt on the negative, I decided to ask Donna -- but

she, too, was busy writing. "I can't get John's mother to come for a

teacher conference. I can't get my daughter to put gas in the car. I

can't get Alan to use words instead of fists." Still curious, I returned

to my seat.

Students wrote another 10 minutes, then were instructed to fold their

papers in half and put them into an empty shoe box. Donna added hers,

put the lid on the box, tucked it under her arm, and headed down the

hall.

Students followed teacher. I followed students. Halfway down the

hall, Donna got a shovel from the custodian's room. Then she marched the

students to the farthest corner of the playground.

Digging took ten minutes because most of the fourth-graders wanted a

turn. The box of "I Can'ts" was placed in the hole and covered with

dirt. Thirty-one 10- and 11-year-olds stood around the grave. Donna

announced, "Please join hands and bow your heads." They formed a circle,

lowered heads and waited.

Donna delivered the eulogy. "Friends, we gather today to honour the

memory of 'I Can't.' While with us here on earth, he touched everyone's

lives, some more than others. We have provided 'I Can't' with a final

resting place. He is survived by 'I Can', 'I Will', and 'I'm Going to

Right Away'. They are not as well known as their relative -- but with

your help, perhaps they will make a greater mark on the world. May

everyone here pick up their lives and move forward in his absence."

Back in the classroom Donna held a wake. They celebrated the passing

of "I Can't" with cookies, popcorn and fruit juice. Donna cut a large

tombstone from butcher paper. She wrote "I Can't" at the top, RIP in the

middle, the date at the bottom, and posted it on the wall. On rare

occasions when a student forgot and said, "I Can't", Donna simply

pointed to the RIP sign. The student remembered "I Can't" was dead --

and rephrased the statement.

I wasn't one of Donna's students. She was one of mine. Yet that day I

learned an enduring lesson from her. Years later, I still envision that

fourth grade class laying "I Can't" to rest.

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