The Funeral of I Can't

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From the SFI dboard...

Donna's fourth grade classroom looked like many others I
had seen in the past. The teacher's desk was in front and
faced the students. The bulletin board featured student
work. In most respects it appeared to be a typically
traditional elementary classroom. Yet something seemed
different that day I entered it for the first time.

My job was to make classroom visitations and encourage
implementation of a training program that focused on
language arts ideas that would empower students to feel
good about themselves and take charge of their lives. Donna
was one of the volunteer teachers who participated in this
project.

I took an empty seat in the back of the room and watched.
All the students were working on a task, filling a sheet of
notebook paper with thoughts and ideas. The ten-year-old
student next to me was filling her page with "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 was half full and she showed
no signs of letting up. She worked on with determination
and persistence. I walked down the row glancing at
student's papers. Everyone was writing sentences,
describing things they couldn't do.

By this time the activity engaged my curiosity, so I
decided to check with the teacher to see what was going on
but I noticed she too was busy writing. I felt it best not
to interrupt. "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."

Thwarted in my efforts to determine why students and
teacher were dwelling on the negative instead of writing
the more positive "I Can" statements, I returned to my seat
and continued my observations.

Students wrote for another ten minutes. They were then
instructed to fold the papers in half and bring them to the
front. They placed their "I Can't" statements into an empty
shoe box. Then Donna added hers. She put the lid on the
box, tucked it under her arm and headed out the door and
down the hall.

Students followed the teacher. I followed the students.
Halfway down the hallway Donna entered the custodian's
room, rummaged around and came out with a shovel. Shovel in
one hand, shoe box in the other, Donna marched the students
out of the school to the farthest corner of the playground.
There they began to dig. They were going to bury their "I
Can'ts"!

The digging took over ten minutes because most of the
fourth graders wanted a turn. The box of "I Can'ts" was
placed in a position at the bottom of the hole and then
quickly covered with dirt. Thirty-one 10 and 11 year-olds
stood around the freshly dug grave site. At this point
Donna announced, "Boys and girls, please join hands and bow
your heads." They quickly formed a circle around the grave,
creating a bond with their hands.

They lowered their heads and waited. Donna delivered the
eulogy.

"Friends, we are gathered here today to honor the memory of
'I Can't.' While he was with us here on earth, he touched
the lives of everyone, some more than others. We have
provided 'I Can't' with a final resting place and a
headstone that contains his epitaph. His is survived by his
brothers and sisters, 'I Can', 'I Will', and 'I'm Going to
Right Away'. They are not as well known as their famous
relative and are certainly not as strong and powerful yet.
Perhaps some day, with your help, they will make an even
bigger mark on the world. May 'I Can't' rest in peace and
may everyone present pick up their lives and move forward
in his absence. Amen."

As I listened I realized that these students would never
forget this day. Writing "I Can'ts", burying them and
hearing the eulogy. That was a major effort on this part of
the teacher. And she wasn't done yet.

She turned the students around, marched them back into the
classroom and held a wake. They celebrated the passing of
"I Can't" with cookies, popcorn and fruit juices. As part
of the celebration, Donna cut a large tombstone from
butcher paper. She wrote the words "I Can't" at the top and
put RIP in the middle. The date was added at the bottom.
The paper tombstone hung in Donna's classroom for the
remainder of the year.

On those rare occasions when a student forgot and said, "I
Can't", Donna simply pointed to the RIP sign. The student
then remembered that "I Can't" was dead and chose to
rephrase 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 as years later, I still envision that
fourth grade class laying to rest, "I Can't".

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