Mud, mud. I love Sue

Mud. Mud. I love mud. I’m absolutely positively wild about mud. Can’t go around it. Got to go through it. Beautiful, fabulous, super duper mud. 

When I think mud, I think of my friend Sue.  Whether I’m squishing, squashing, walking, running, or singing the mud song in class with a bunch of kindergartners, there’s always Sue. 

Sue was the music teacher at my old school. I call it my old school but it’s really my heart school my love school my beloved school. I hated that school. I loved it more than anything, too. Loved the kids and the families and loved some but not all of the staff. Super duper loved Sue. 

Sue was a music teacher, but she was so much more than that. She was a music savant. She was a champion of children. She railed against injustice, especially the injustice she saw in terms of music curriculum and student behaviors. She knew music and knew kids. She knew music was more than tapping out notes and singing simple songs. Music was pounding on a table, tapping your feet, immersion, a merging of body and soul. 

Her spirit animal  was Animal, the muppet drummer. Sue played every instrument – drums, organ,  piano, flute, guitar, waste baskets, everything. She was zany and crazy and  saw all of us as tiny beings in a much bigger picture.  When I was sick she’d perform reiki on me, rubbing her hands together then placing warm palms on my back to break up the congestion in my lungs.

 

She was French Canadian and Native American.  She adored her mother, who died from cancer when Sue was just a young girl. Sue abhorred addiction but not the addict, unless they were violent. She had no patience for anyone who hurt anyone else.  Sue believed in forgiveness but also believed that not everything should be forgiven.

Sue loved her job even as it got more difficult, as demands to conform to lesser music standards than she held were placed upon her, as she was blamed when students who were physically violent in other classrooms were physically violent in her own. 

She had severe health issues her entire adult life. She was a cancer survivor, lived with rheumatoid arthritis that often reduced her to wearing braces or using a wheelchair, and had a severely compromised immune system.

As the years went by, school admin had no problem assigning her to work in rooms on the third floor of a century old building with one undependable elevator.  The last few years of her career, Sue endured bullying bosses who had no idea the magic she could work in her classroom. Had no idea of the lives she saved just by being there to listen to a child who had no one else to turn to, or a child who found their life’s calling in music through her. 

When I think mud, I remember Sue, especially our weekly school sing-a-longs. Scream-a-longs, she called them.  In our school’s heyday, over 800 kids would be packed in our auditorium and every single child would join in to sing “Mud,” “Pizza Hut,” and so many other songs, silly and serious. During the sing-a-long following 9/11, we all cried, kids and adults, as we sang the National Anthem, “Proud to be an American,” God Bless America.” All led by Sue and her electric piano.

Student behaviors escalated over the years, our school’s population dropped to nearly half what it was. Admin bullying of teachers became a thing. The building hemorrhaged experienced, talented staff who chose to take jobs in schools with fewer behavior issues, where teachers felt valued too. Sue stayed. She loved the kids. They were her life.

Eventually, Sue couldn’t take it anymore. Though she hoped to stay teaching a few more years, until at least her mid-60s, her stress level was beyond anything her body could handle.

The exact day she retired, Sue got the news that her body was riddled with cancer. Less than a month later, she passed.  In the days before she passed, she radiated a sparkling, silver aura. Even the universe knew that Sue was a gift.

Life is messy. Mud is too. I love mud. And when I see it, like Pavlov’s dog and that bell, my reaction is automatic: I start singing the Mud song, and I remember Sue, beautiful, fabulous, super duper Sue.  I remember other things too.  The emotional slaying of innocents is never acceptable. And like Sue, I hope karma takes its toll. 

Nanowrimo day #3 prompt: mud