I didn’t choose education, education chose me
If you read the blog last week, you know I was geared up to present a 20x20 about education design at the University and College Designers Association’s Confluence Conference in Atlanta.
It was amazing, y’all. We got to hear from some incredible speakers, including Felix Oliha, Jeremy Slagle, Jason Craig, Mark Addison Smith, Jess Smart Smiley, Mike Jones, and Jessica Bellamy – just to name a few.
I learned more about designing for fundraising campaigns, finding inspiration everywhere, being more visually strategic with social media, and how infographics can provide more understanding for social justice movements.
Like I said, amazing.
But what I want to share this week is my why, my story, which will be a little more fleshed out here based on my 20x20 presentation.
What the heck is a 20x20?
It’s a 20-slide presentation, and you’re given 20 seconds to talk about each of the 20 slides. It could be about literally anything, and it helps if it’s more visual than text-heavy.
So what did you talk about?
I talked about what I know best: Me.
I talked about my really unique childhood, which was challenging but so rewarding.
I talked about why what we, as designers, do and why it matters.
I talked about neurodivergence.
I talked about a lot in the span of six minutes. And now, I’m sharing that story with you. So buckle up and enjoy!
A Life of Education and Inspiration
All good stories start long before we were born, and mine started in 1926.
This is my great-grandmother, Millie, on the right, with her brother, Russ. They were born at arguably the worst time in history and learned how to adapt economically throughout the 30s. In this picture, they were living in a tent because they couldn’t afford to live anywhere else.
Millie’s adaptation continued through her life. She found a religion that she was passionate about at the age of 14, met and married my great-grandfather, Bill, at 15, and had my grandfather, Billy, at 16. All the while, she was involved in her church and both wrote and designed studies for all ages and all nationalities, particularly interested in communicating to those of different backgrounds.
She loved children, and she always took time to patiently teach them, whether that was math, reading, religion, or, like in the photo above, where she’s teaching my mom how to bake her famous cookies (spoiler: it’s the Tollhouse recipe). She taught me that teaching and learning takes a great amount of patience, and that being quick to teach or learn leads to error.
Here, she teaches me the same recipe (my great-grandfather was not a great photographer, forgive him). The way she taught me – with patience, kindness, but firmness and dedication, is what first instilled in me a passion for learning. There is no doubt in my mind that without her being an inspiration, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
She single-handedly gave me a jumpstart to a career in writing and storytelling, from having me read chapter books before I started Kindergarten to learning how to type 60-80 words per minute. Here, I’m preparing for my first dissertation on why Blues Clues was superior to Teletubbies.
Millie was heavily involved in my life for a simple (yet complex) reason: My mom couldn’t be.
This is my mom and I at her college graduation. It was 1995 and she had just completed her bachelor of science in psychology at Middle Tennessee State University. She was severely struggling with post-partum depression, which she would continue to do for years. Through both experience and her studies, my mom taught me the importance of mental health.
Yes, my head has always been enormous, but that’s not the point.
While my mom struggled with her own mental health battles, she continued at MTSU in pursuing a Masters and Ed S in school psychology. While she was learning, I was attending classes with her and struggling with my own IEPs in school.
Spending time before Kindergarten with grandma was absolutely educational, but it put me at a disadvantage behaviorally. I had behavioral issues that required individual attention and, quite frankly, some of my teachers couldn’t handle it.
I get it.
They were expecting to work with a six-year-old, not a child who was already reading chapter books, failed to communicate with peers, and had a huge crush on Tom Brokaw. Thanks, Grandma!
While I was struggling in school, my mom was still pursuing her degrees and working full-time at the Traumatic Brain Injury program in Smyrna, Tennessee. Here, I learned so much about neurodivergence. I studied the sign language alphabet on the wall of her office, and I played with patients who were relearning everything.
We moved around a lot, and I learned more everywhere we went. In Portsmouth, Virginia, I learned how lack of funding to education perpetuates negative situations such as gang violence and accreditation loss.
We later moved to Alabama, where I’d learn even more about neurodivergence, systemic issues in education, and, unfortunately, the epidemic of school shootings as my mom lived through the Discovery Middle School shooting and its aftermath.
In high school, I began working in the special education summer school program as a teacher’s aide in Madison City Schools. I felt I knew a lot about the students, and I did. But I didn’t realize the effects that would have on me and my career.
There were countless kids who were nonverbal. And I was able to bond with a couple of them, but today I’m specifically mentioning one boy who we’ll call Remy. He was nonverbal and lived with autism. He struggled to communicate, to learn, to socialize. In a lot of ways I related to him. The first summer I met him, he was overstimulated pretty constantly and wouldn’t let anyone touch him. By the end of that first summer, after that kindness, patience, and diligence I learned from Millie, Remy would hold my hand and sit in my lap. That was huge.
After four summers together, Remy finally spoke. He would make eye contact with me, sing along with music, and play with classmates. He had come so far, and I was so proud. If you’ve had the opportunity to watch a child progress to a massive breakthrough, that alone will inspire you for life. '
And it did.
Throughout my time in the summer courses, I learned how to teach at a very basic level. I learned the impact of colors on learning; for example, yellow is the best color for retention of information, but it can be overstimulating if used in excess. This was a struggle for me personally, because I hate the color yellow. Now, I work somewhere where I use (and wear) the color daily.
My passions for art, education, and reading began to converge in college when I worked at the student newspaper. I’d never used design programs, but started to, and I realized the power of design in a state rampant with illiteracy. Those who can’t read still have a right to learn and still have a right to information. Infographics conveyed information even if reading levels were low. I was new at graphic design, but I was willing to learn.
And I’m still learning. I’m grateful to say I work with student workers who not only help with my workload, but teach me new things:
Anna taught me that it’s OK to be good at something and have a passion for something else. While a great graphic designer, she found her calling in photography and now works for NASA.
Caroline taught me that nothing is too serious and to have fun.
Sarah taught me countless tips and tricks on converting art to the digital world.
Each of them has helped me, and every day I encounter students that continue to inspire me. This is why we do what we do, so that they can succeed. As corny and repetitive as it sounds, it’s so that we can make the world a better place.
If it weren’t for Millie, where would I be? She passed in 2019, thankfully before the pandemic. But I think about her every day. Every time I need to think critically or problem solve, she’s there, guiding me through with strategy and logic.
Based on telling you I moved around as a kid, it shouldn’t surprise you to know my mom once again moved this summer to Washington State, and I had the opportunity to do so with her. We hit countless national parks like the Badlands here, and she will always be my greatest inspiration for her dedication, perseverance, willingness to take risks, and being the number one support of me and my weird brain.
So what the heck was the point of all of this? There’s a few. First, I hope that this will serve as a reminder to look for inspiration everywhere, because it is everywhere. Overwhelmingly so. Second, it’s self-gratifying, because I love the matriarchs of my family and I love to talk about my childhood experiences – they weren’t perfect, but they shaped me. And finally, I want to stress the importance of neurodivergence and humility. Because we can each learn from anyone, regardless of resources, background, or our weird brains.
