The Boundaries Between Us

Home is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in.

Robert Frost

A few weeks ago, I got a message from a former student–now a professor at BYU—telling me that he had been chosen for the prestigious Frieda Olga Wunderly Award*, given to faculty members in the College of Humanities “who continue her legacy of excellence and innovation in the classroom”. I had never heard of Ms. Wunderly, but I was not in the least surprised that Associate Professor of Linguistics Jacob D. Rawlins had been honored. Even in high school, he had been an original thinker — entertaining, thoughtful, and pretty dang adventurous. He invited me to the lecture, so I went.

Professor Jake (it’s pretty hard for me to think of him as an adult, even though it’s been 30 + years) centered his lecture on academic boundaries—their causes and consequences, but his words seemed to apply to a whole passel of boundaries I’ve encountered in my life, a couple of which come immediately to mind.

Before I became a teacher, I volunteered with the PTA. I clearly remember being invited by a school administrator (because I was the PTA president) to some kind of district conference on how to implement school improvement plans. When I showed up on Thursday, I was just a mom in the audience, ignored by every professional in the room. That afternoon, I got a call from a neighbor, an administrator for a middle school in Jordan District, who had just had an English teacher resign the week before school started. He admitted to being pretty desperate. Did I want a job teaching English? I talked it over with my husband, called the administrator back, and said, “yes”.

But by the time I got to the second day of the conference, apparently word had spread. Suddenly, I had moved from the parent side of the education equation (clearly lacking any credibility in the eyes of the administrators around me) to the professional side (one of us—whatever that meant?). There was a striking difference between how I was treated on Thursday and how I was treated on Friday. And to be honest, I never really figured it out. Wasn’t I still the nice mom who cared deeply about her kids’ education? And shouldn’t everybody who cares, both parents and educators, be part of a team supporting students? But even 25 years later, when I retired, the boundary was still far too clearly defined by some members on both sides.

Professor Jake mentioned in his excellent lecture that often one of the purposes of boundaries is to determine “who is like us and who is not”. Son #1 takes some amount of glee in that definition because he’s tall and delights in using that height to unnerve fellow rec basketball players at every opportunity. But, of course, he knows they all love the same sport, so how different are they really?

I have a long-time friend who called me about 40 years ago, chuckling over a conversation she’d just had with her four-year-old daughter. Her little blond, blue-eyed child came running in with her playmate, the neighbor’s little girl, one afternoon. “Mom! Mom!” she shouted. “Guess what, my friend and I are just alike!”

“Really,” said my former neighbor. “How is that?”

“Well, we are both four. And we both have a brother. And we both love ice cream. And our houses are next door to each other. And we both are going to kindergarten next year!”

“Sounds like you’re right,” her mom agreed. “You are just alike.”

The fact that one was black and one was white had no impact whatsoever on those little girls. They hadn’t even noticed. And therein was Professor Jake’s final suggestion about boundaries—sometimes boundaries are most productive when they are “dissolved” because the participants on both sides discover that as the lines between their boundaries blur, their common ground benefits everyone.

That has certainly proved true for a woman I met 10 or so years ago when my husband and I were missionaries in a Latter-Day Saint Spanish branch. According to many political pundits, there should have been ½ a dozen boundaries between us. She was Latina; I was white. She barely had a high school education; I had a master’s degree. She was a night custodian at West Jordan City Hall (not to mention a couple of other part-time jobs); I was a high school teacher. She spoke utilitarian English; I had read most of Shakespeare’s 38 plays.

But in spite of our differences, we became fast friends. Why? When we met, we both had sons who had recently had a set of twins. We shared having spent occasional nights helping feed and change, and rock two babies so their parents could sleep. We laughed as our grandchildren took their first wobbly steps, and we worried when both sets came down with respiratory viruses. Our twins are about 12 years old now. She and I don’t see each other often–usually when I’ve been at some meeting or other at City Hall, but when we do cross paths, we pull out our phones and share pictures of some of the most important people in each of our lives.

Professor Jake is right. There is strength in discovering that the boundaries which separate us are often of far less consequence than the similarities which bind us. It’s worth the trouble to look beyond the lines of territory, politics, religion, economics, or even age. When we discover that our hearts speak the same language, all the other boundary lines between us may lose significance, and we draw strength from our shared harmony.

*If you are interested in Professor Rawlins’ lecture, see jacob rawlins frieda olga wunderly lecture on YouTube.