[Originally Published — February 2011]

On Survivor’s Guilt (Part II)

Huddled in the gloomy little cracks that memories inhabit

Iraqi F-16 missiles still look like Fireflies sans the tragic

They pass away the day I deactivate my whoa-is-me scars

Each one gets buried in the back yard with my pop’s incorrigible flaws

In tiny little graves marked only by my mother’s blistering blunders

Remembering beauty marks that weren’t really there, she stumbles

To remain for me, what I really don’t need

But a cold YooHoo and pill wrapped with a fine joke

Shariah nightmares, the beaten scares, the thrown lamps as timeless as shrapnel tears

Birthmarks don’t wound they bloom without injuries to your soul

Kindly watch your step

The silence isn’t finished being whole

Blemishes of defeat lay in the basement to stay safe

Today’s mistakes are in a lighted trophy case.

-A.Daneshzadeh, 2011

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I’ve wasted so much time forgetting that it is my response—as an educator— to the needs and tragedy that rains over the lives of my students, that makes all the difference one way or another, in their acquisition of basic skills, the development of critical thought, and the continued practice of being good people. “Fuck this bullshit, Mr. D, who needs logarithms?! I’m saying though, dude…I wish I could go back to the time when I was smart,” Jarod ( a young man I taught back at Aragon High School) says, staring at another unit exam D- grade in my Trig class. To be perfectly blunt, as an educator, I failed Jarod…and many like him.

But on the real tip, I want to say I wished the same thing as Jarod, that I wish we could do a time-freeze and kick myself back Marty McFly style to those days when neon fanny packs weren’t an accessory during Bay to Breakers, enjoying the insight bequeathed by NWA albums and In Living Color had to receive parental approval first, and someone was trying to teach you letter sounds, or sight word recognition, and how to put it all together.

“C’mon J-Money, you got this man, there is no going back…all I see is progress for you,” I do say to Jarod…and then I add one of those automated and vapid responses to fear found in the teenager of our species, “there is only going forward, and we can go forward. That time you miss is also in the future, and we can find the way there again.” Didn’t you hate it when adults dismissed you strategically like this?! Again, I failed.

I wonder if he knew it, yet.

Or maybe just this: “I wish I could go back to the time when I was smart,” is so completely not what I meant when I affirmed my belief in the theory of progressing Jarod’s aptitude during my Public Allies and TFA selection interviews but nevertheless, I managed to ignore the larger (and underlying) issue at hand. The issue was that once you’ve established a student’s trust –just as I did with Jarod who dared to reveal his rattled confidence—then you’re in this game called education for life, and in it for students not named Arash. Students that eventually burn you T.I. and Young Joc CD’s as thank you gifts for keeping them eligible to play hoops their senior year, students who will steal your favorite magic markers, students whose resolve reminds you how inspiring a Friday night at Stanford hospital can be—with a student accidentally shot while walking his sister home from school. You fail, when you forget that failure to acknowledge their progress, and distance traveled isn’t a realistic option.

What we think, or what we know, or what we believe, is in the end, of little consequence (unless you believe that The San Francisco 49ers are the greatest franchise in all of sports…then you’ve joined the only cause to fly a banner on your family van antenna, opa beeyotches!). No but sincerely, the only thing of consequence is what we do and with whom. Counter-intuitively, I’ve been reluctant to tell some really special folks in my life how much I appreciate them, or expose my battle with PTSD since the War, because I thought those moments of “deliberate weakness” would debase their faith in me as an independent mentor/a man/teacher…whatever. I’m sure now that someday the children in schools will study the history of the men who made war as we study an absurdity like the show Basketball Wives (I nominate the diva New York as an interpreter for them). Anyway, the students would be shocked at our lack of discourse and mind numbing levels of machismo, just as today we’re shocked with cannibalism and Rick Ross’s gainful employment or Florida voter tallies. Justice is what love looks like in public, and quite frankly, my grandfather is the reason why I’ve ever believed that I had enough love to do anything for anyone in the United States. “You know, Arash….all you have in your arsenal is all anyone has, a body and a voice…but an opportunity, that’s where you decide to wield power for those without opportunity,” Grandpa Amir told me. My life has been one opportunity after another….whether it’s deserved or not. To this end I ask, when do we decide that a fight is ours? I’ve always felt like I’ve simply gone into work forgetting why I’m there, no matter how much ammo I wore, there was always something critically missing, and it wasn’t my drawers. Often, it was my faith in myself.

The point to this epically long diatribe is that, everyone ( I don’t care how lucrative your job is and how well endowed you think you are), in some small sacred sanctuary of the self, is lacking confidence in something and is utterly nuts. I don’t believe that I’ve done anything more than act like a teacher, much less impart wisdom, so do I really deserve the responsibility and power that it holds? If my students knew that survival wouldn’t extend to them—that many of them would be locked up, pregnant, shot, or even deceased—would surviving have been enough for them? The irony here, is that I think surviving would have been more than enough. So why had I felt undeserving and guilty about being alive in the States for all those years?

The bottom line: we’re all nuts to a degree but the real signs someone ain’t right:

Walks without moving their arms.

Engages in passionate discourse about World of Warcraft at happy hour.

Often quotes from Gigli and Twilight Saga.

Is impressed with Ashton Kutcher (on any level).

Enjoys eating at Arby’s.

…unless this is you, I suggest you play to your strengths and do your best to help others along the way. What could be more rewarding in this life?