What is it?

If you said I held an acorn, you wouldn't be wrong, but you wouldn't be completely right. Some might say this is a shell holding the potential of a mighty oak tree. Some might say it is a nut, some might look at it and see a craft idea. Some might see a source of protein - the deer, squirrels, and wild hogs still eat what the Native Americans used to grind for flour. Some farmers might look at the abundance and together with other natural signs predict a heavy snow for the upcoming winter. To the scientist, it is classified as the seed belonging to the genus Quercus. To say it's just an acorn is to miss the entire point.

If someone limited what I hold to one thing that they understood, then they will be secluded to a world of singular perspective. Truth like any diamond of value is found in the multifaceted sides that require us to work together to build understanding.

In the classroom, during Socratic seminars, I never let a student stop at the answer, "It's relative to a person's perspective." This mode of thinking stems back to Modernism from the 1920s. The philosophical approach of each person holding the truth as they see it places us squarely in the center of I for individual or isolation. This is not the characteristic of a scholar seeking excellence. This is the empty statement of one who doesn't wish to be challenged or to put effort into listening.

When all my children are home and we gather around the dinner table, we eventually start the topic of, "Remember when...." Invariably someone will say that is not how they remember whatever the event was. Each family member, though present at the same event, experienced a unique moment that shaped their perspective. The truth of what happened exists, but not in just one person's memory of the moment. As a family we need to listen to each other and try to understand where the other perspective sprouted from. Did it come from a moment of rejection or humiliation? Did the perspective come from a feeling of humor or being rewarded? The pursuit of what really happened should grow from a desire to love and know our family members better.

What do I hold in my hand? I hold a moment after leaving the Farmers Market on a sunny Saturday. I had just met two former students - one recent and one from years ago, gotten a hug from a friend, met another coworker, and enjoyed trying to find peaches. The sun's dappled light danced through the leaves, which were still green. It was early September. When I looked down and spied the tiniest cap, thoughts of a fairy swelled my heart to believe I could still be a child again just for a moment. Compelled, I stopped to pick it up, admire the potential, and kept it safe like a secret promise between me and Autumn. I needed to be sure I didn't lose whatever it was that I held.