Issue link: http://educator.cta.org/i/1500904
favorite song: "Institutionalized," by Suicidal Tendencies. "ey stuck me in an institution/Said it was the only solution/To give me the needed professional help/To protect me from the enemy — myself." A strange way to spend the night with your family, singing our punk rock hymns late into the night. He wanted to go out with a bang, so we had a party for the Seahawks/49er game on Veteran's Day. The Niners lost in overtime, a classic game. We decorated the house with a Christmas theme, and he gave my children their Christmas presents early. My brother passed later that night. He was 45. Before he left us, my brother wanted to teach my kids as many lessons as he could. Ryan taught my kids about electrical cir- cuits. He made us a dart gun out of PVC pipe, paper and a nail. We had hours of fun spearing distant objects with our home- made darts. He could still drive a nail through a piece of wood at 10 feet at that point, even if he couldn't sit up. Ryan was obsessed with cooking. Our prison correspondence consisted of much recipe-swapping. He wanted to pass down his technique. He was a great cook, but he had a special concoction for us to try. Spe- cifically, he wanted to teach my kids how to make spread. The recipe is simple enough: ramen, Hot Cheetos, beans, tortillas and whatever else you have on hand. It's a basic recipe with room for many variations, a culinary jazz concert. Ryan paid to have a feast of spread from the little money he had. My kids learned how to make it. All you do is boil up ramen, smash up Hot Cheetos, and serve it in a tortilla. You can add whatever you want to it: boiled eggs, beans, cheese. It's like a stone soup but with more sodium. The spread came with a lesson; consequently, now they could feed a bunch of hungry people for a few dollars. Spread is filling and has an interesting flavor. It's gooey, spicy and crunchy. You can adjust the texture and flavor profile by adding more Cheetos. e lesson? Stretch what you have as far as you can and feed as many of your loved ones as possible so nobody goes hungry. Make the most out of nothing. at was pre-Covid. My brother's death weighed heavily on my father, who had health problems of his own. Dad fought his own losing struggle against a different disease. One day his hip was out of the socket and he was supposed to get that fixed. Sixty or so days later, after a brutal, hopeless struggle, he died alone, with only hospital staff around him. We had palliative care meetings that were eerily similar to the meetings we had with my brother's care team; a deja vu of death. We discussed end-of-life scenarios and paperwork, final wishes and DNRs, feeding tubes and pain management. My dad kept his sense of humor until the end, until I wasn't allowed to hear his jokes anymore. In his hospital room we shared a last laugh. I told him I loved him and that we were going to get him out of there as soon as we could. "We'll beat this thing Dad. We'll have you out of here in no time." "My confidence man," he said. en they transferred him to a hospital in a different town that wouldn't allow visitors. I didn't get to talk to him on the phone; I couldn't visit the hospital due to Covid policies. I just waited for the inevitable final phone call to tell me that "Billy Boy," aka my father, had died. I got the call a few minutes before I started my teaching day. I stood outside of my class and my surviving brother told me that the fight was over. Death had won. Again. When my brother died I was able to take a few days off of work for bereavement, but this time I struggled through to the end of the day, trying to hide my grief beneath the on-stage personality of a school- teacher. I thought it would be easier this time, I really did. e first day back at school after my brother's death I broke down in tears in front of my senior class and had to leave the room for a few minutes. I told them they were the first non-family humans I had seen for a week, and they respectfully gave me space and offered condolences. High schoolers can be ver y supportive. My community was also supportive and I give thanks for them. When I told my landlord about my brother's struggles, my landlord gave me another important lesson. He said, "you're getting a real education now." We were in a state of pandemic limbo and it all seems like a bad dream now. It wasn't even clear how many people could be invited to the funeral due to Covid restrictions; Covid didn't kill my father but it stole him from me. My dad had a habit of calling me out, even when it came to something as simple as sampling an ancient pickled egg. One Saturday morning a decade ago, as my children played in his backyard, I spilled my guts about how hard my first year of teaching was going: stabbings, arrests, theft, mayhem. I was fresh from the Ivory Tower, trying to adjust to life teaching at a court school. As I vented, he replied, "Somebody's got to do it, son. ose kids need a teacher too." I think about that when I have a hard time at work. ere has to be somebody to help the kids who have nothing. Somebody's got to do it. To sum it up, find a way to celebrate in life. Teach youth a skill like making something out of nothing with spread. Tell them that somebody's got to do it. Try new foods. Always savor the moments you have with loved ones. Make the most out of noth- ing. Sing. Write your sorrows away. O n t h e f i n a l d a y o f t h e s c h o o l y e a r, I t e l l m y s e n i o r c l a ss e s : " We l c o m e t o y o u r f i r st l a st d ay of h i g h s c h o o l . Treasure this day." "The recipe is simple: ramen, Hot Cheetos, beans, tortillas and whatever else you have on hand. [It has] room for many variation — a culinary jazz concert." 50 cta.org CTA & You