how do you eat an elephant?

In September of the new school year, I'd go to each of the freshmen social studies class as one of the special ed teachers in the high school to give the kids a little song and dance about disabilities, make a few jokes, pass out candy... Generally, my only goal was that one of the popular girls would think it sweet to sit with my disabled students at lunch, thus followed by her popular girl friends, thus followed by the popular boys who want a piece of the popular girls, thus followed by anyone else in the school because they are all sheep with their popped collars and "Now That's What I Call Music" CD compilations.

Wait, that's needlessly harsh. Actually, all the kids I visited were great fun and receptive, and many, for no other reason than their own friendliness and acceptance of others, sat with my students at lunch blocks and even endured the less than discrete breast gazing of some of my male students.

But during these disability awareness talks, I'd open the floor to questions and the most clever question, the one that took the most deliberate stucturing of words for an appropriate response was the question, "What CAN'T your students do?"

"Well," says a sweating Mr. Tolentino, looking like a politician at a press conference fumbling for a response when he's presented with explicit photos of him and an underage male intern, " I actually don't know what my students can't do because I don't set limits on them. I never underestimate their potential."

And each time this question has been asked and I give that wholly unsatisfying and unhelpful answer, I wait for that one punk ass kid to raise his hand and say, "But you just told us some of the disabled students don't have the ability to speak or use sign language. So isn't that something they can't do? Could they drive cars? Could they go to college? Could they own a house, get married, raise kids, submit their taxes by April 15th without the aide of H & R Block?"

But no one ever raises his hand to challenge me. Why should they? This is the end of the class period. I've already eaten enough of their teacher's time and it's too late to open their text books to the chapter on the Fertile Crescent. I've done my job, no reason for the kids to drag it on anymore.

But if, perchance, one of them was inquisitive enough to mention this complete contradiction in my disability awareness talk, this is what I would have said:

"When all of you were growing up, hopefully your parents, elementary school teachers, coaches, clergy, everyone really, told you that you could be whatever you wanted to be when you grew up. 'Jimmy, if you want to, you could be President of the United States if you just follow your dreams.' So you were all probably told you could be Presidents of the United States because you are all precious little bodies and minds that only have to BELIEVE in your dreams to have them come true... as long as that's what you really want.
"How many of you still believe this? What are the chances that every single kid in this fresman year social studies classroom will become the President of the U.S. at some point in his or her life? What are the chances that anyone from this high school will ever become President?
"You could say, 'I don't want to be President. That's not my dream.' Sure. Fine. Let's take all the people who actually wanted to be President and were told when they were kids (and even adults) that if you try hard enough, you can be president. Michael Dukakis. Bob Dole. AL Gore. John Kerry. My knowledge of politics is admittedly poor, but I can bet you the list is even longer than that.
"So what's the point? If someone on the street asked me, 'Do you think any of those kids in Mrs. Cooper's 4th period freshmen World Civilizations class will ever become President?' I would, in the most logical parts of my mind, say, 'Nope.' Now does that mean that none of you can be President? Of course not. You were all born in the states, right? As long as you make it to 40 years old, I'm pretty sure those are the only two actual requirements. Is it likely you will be President? Hell no. Possible though? I guess.
"And so when you ask me what CAN'T my students do, I have to tell you 'I don't know because I've never set limits on them.' Same with you guys. Your teachers wouldn't dare say that you couldn't graduate high school or get into a college of your choice or work in any profession your little hearts desire. If a teacher did say that, he should be fired. We HAVE to live our lives in a constant and willful suspension of disbelief. We NEED to tell ourselves we can be things, do things, accomplish things that might seem impossible for us. That doesn't mean we are omnipotent and can do it all. But if you confuse 'a very small, insignificant, limit-approaching-zero chance' with 'impossible,' then you are doing everyone the grave disservice of never even trying.
"One more example before the bell rings. The survival rate for salmon fry from the time they hatch is preposterously low... something like the cliched 'one in a million.' Does that mean it's impossible for baby salmon to survive? Yeah, pretty damn close to it. But then again, if a few didn't make it past the herons, pesticides, frogs, and whatever else, then I wouldn't be enjoying the delicious baked salmon your wonderful high school cafeteria serves every Friday, which goes great with a side of seafood chowder and a dash of get me the hell out of here already. Class dismissed. Westwood High School Football Rules!"

Then they would clap for me or possibly raise me on their shoulders and carry me out to the field. But this never happened.

Why did I mention this? Oh, because biking cross country is sort of like that. Don't confuse it with running for president or trying to learn to talk if you have no verbal communication whatsoever. But it is a large and, at times, daunting project and anything that involves time and multiple steps--writing a novel, sewing a quilt, making a marriage work--has that aura of impossibility to it. So, as my karate sensei used to ask, how do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.