On Children – or “Kids These Days”

It’s time for Jeff and James to write the blog, so buckle up as we dish the dirt on ZamFam ’25. But first, a poem:

_______________________

Your children are not your children.
    
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
    
They come through you but not from you,
    
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
    
For they have their own thoughts.
    
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
    
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
    
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
    
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
    

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
    
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
    
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
    
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

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This poem, by Lebanese poet Khalil Gibran, published in 1923 in his book The Prophet, has been on James’ mind a lot in the past three weeks as we have come to know these 18 unique and wonderful humans during our time in Zambezi.

As you have probably picked up, we have different styles when it comes to our accompaniment of the crew. Jeff tends more towards the side-eye, the incredulous stare, and the biting sarcastic response (e.g. “If ONLY we knew a Zambian who could answer that question!”), while James favours (yes, with a “u”) a bumbling, avuncular, “Well, perhaps you might consider trying this approach. If you like.” But we hope that our deep affection for these fine young people is in no doubt either to them or to you, their tribes. We thought we’d take a moment to share a few lines from Gibran, refracted through the lens of our experiences alongside your students these last few weeks.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts – There’s a tension in parenting (and education, too) between protecting our children/students from the wild world and pushing them towards the challenge and discomfort of experience that will help them to become more fully the people they can be, that will “sharpen” them, in the words of Javez, the taxi driver in Livingstone who ferried us to the Falls and to the airport. In many indigenous societies, learning is more about observation, experience, and application. Indeed, one impromptu encounter with a local here in Zambezi led to a demonstration of how he runs his fishing nets and a reminder that, “experience is the best teacher.” So much of life and instruction is more about course correction than the pre-feast at the Learning Table that characterizes the Western educational paradigm. Many of our students want the clear takeaways of their learning immediately, but that simply isn’t possible in many instances. We’ve both been trying to let the experience lead, knowing that it will take months or even years for the understanding and wisdom to emerge. We cannot give them our thoughts, but we can challenge their thoughts when those stand in the way of seeing the broader picture. We’ve had deep and passionate conversations about healthcare, white saviourism, language, gender roles, taboos, the history of Christian missionaries in this region, and so much more, and we hope they will continue these conversations with you on their return.

You may strive to be like them – While some of the ZamFam–some occasionally and some quite frequently–ask questions which they could probably answer for themselves if they had time to give it more thought, in general they have stepped up and leaned into the highly ambiguous flow of daily life and polychronic approach to time here. It’s been a while since we heard anyone say, “So-and-so was late for our appointment,” for example. In other words, they’ve adapted to their surroundings and quickly set aside their cultural training as they’ve sought to understand the community in which they are immersed. As much as we mentally (and actually) roll our eyes at times, we have both commented on the fact that we were barely a fraction as self-aware, generous of spirit, and accomplished at their age. Each day at lunchtime, we listen to one of them read their blog post, and then hear the comments that you, their parents and siblings and grandparents and friends and cheerleaders, post in response. We are constantly taken aback, as we know you have been, by the depth of their insights and the joy, compassion, and vulnerability they exhibit as they get to know each other and experience life in the community we are fortunate to be a part of for this brief time.

Their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow – Each evening after dinner we sit and reflect on the themes from our readings and the inevitable tensions our days’ experiences offer for our consideration. We imagine this ZamFam in the house of tomorrow, which we cannot visit, recalling memories from this time and pondering the beauty and humanity of the people they knew here, and questioning a world which allows such an unequal distribution of resources. We know from having combined for over four decades of work at Gonzaga that our students go on to do amazing work in the world (some of you seem to be prime examples!), and so we also know that the moments of young adulthood when we struggle with tensions and have to parse the complexities of life together, those moments accrete to inform the people we will become. We have no doubt that your already great Zags, will use this time in Zambia to continue becoming the fullest, richest versions of themselves. And, perhaps they will someday encourage their children, too, to seek out experiences beyond their comfort zones, and slowly create a world of gladness and stability.

Your children are not your children. – We have all been changed by this experience. At the very least, our understanding of humanity and human resilience has deepened. We have witnessed the strange become normal for us, and the normal become strange. When we meet, or when your children and friends return to you, we may not be able to articulate the full complexity of the experience, but we will be able to tell you about individuals we’ve met who welcomed us into their lives and laughed with us, or sometimes at us. We will be able to describe the simple joy of planting cabbage in Chipego’s garden and saying silent prayers that it will thrive in the sandy soil. The joy of being handed a newborn baby to weigh and saying a silent prayer that she, too, will fly swift and far. Indeed, in some small way, we hope that your children are, if ever-so-slightly, not the same young people you sent off to SeaTac last month.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. – Many of us see in our children a kind of fulfillment, or a circling back. We want to love them and help shape them and them set them off to a life full of vibrancy, wonder, awe, and joy. James (parent of three adult children) and Jeff (just back from video chatting with a newly minted teenager and a for-one-more-week-eight-year-old) know all too well that anyone who shakes their stick and complains about “kids these days” is likely someone who might not spend much time with young people. Are your Zags loud, sometimes a bit obnoxious, and generally a tad squeamish about spiders, bugs, and bats? Yep. But they’ve also astounded us with their respectful curiosity about others, their deep care for one another, their readiness for an uncomfortable conversation, their excitement for exchanging knowledge with people from vastly different backgrounds than their own, and their profound capacity for compassion. Hot take: If that’s what marks kids these days, Life may just have found its fulness.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. – Thank you, ZamFam parents, for encouraging your children to join the program when it would have been easier and more comforting to keep them close. As the above might suggest, we regularly find ourselves remarking on these students’ insightfulness, curiosity, and care, and we know very well how much of that comes from the embrace of supportive elders. Thank you for the sacrifices you have made, for raising these wonderful children, who have flown so swift and far. As parents, we too know the joy-pain of raising and letting go. And thank you for accompanying us through your appreciative and supportive comments. We feel like we have come to know El padre de Natalie, Brian, Coco, Ozzie and Ali, Elisa and so many more of you. And if you are reading but not commenting, please do: it means the world to know you’re here with us in spirit.

We are eager to continue learning alongside your Zags for the rest of this journey, so please stay tuned, as we hope to have a few special features in the midst of our regularly scheduled programming.

James Hunter, School of Education, Director MA, TESOL
Jeff Dodd, College of Arts and Sciences, English Department