Reflections – Joe Dennis

Ana Dabney

Scholar. Musician. Daughter

Hi, I’m Ana and I currently live in Decatur, Georgia. I’ve lived in Decatur since I was in first grade. I live with my mom named Andrea, dad named Paul, older sister named Alex, and my dog named Teddy. I really enjoy Decatur and living near the Atlanta area. The community is really beautiful and it is very walkable.

I am 15 years old and going into my sophmore year of high school at Decatur High School For me, getting adjusted to the high school environment wasn’t too difficult. But I am nervous for sophmore year because everyone says it’s the worst year of high school. On the topic of school, my favorite subjects are math (when I’m understanding what we’re learning) and english.

I really enjoy writing stories and letting my creative juices flow. I also really enjoy the research aspect of writing as well. The research is what really interested me in journalism and seeing the reporting being done on tv. On CNN, I really enjoy watching Erin Burnett and look up to her. I’m not exactly sure why I look up to her specifically, but watching her and other reporters on tv makes me want to do the same. They all look like they enjoy their job and I enjoy doing what they do (especially being in front of a camera). Unlike many aspiring journalists my age, I’m not on my school’s newspaper or yearbook team, but I am trying to get into a class which learns about film and eventually gets to contribute to writing our school’s Carpe Diem. This is only because that is really the only “newspaper” we have. Right now, I am exploring my options on what specific type of journalism interests me through this camp. I also did a few mentoring sessions with my aunt Kathy who is a journalist for the Cincinnati Herald. During these sessions, we talked about what I was interested in and introduced me to some material to help me look at what journalists do. For example, she told me what skills are vital for journalists to develop. These sessions have helped me realize that sharing interests with someone who you’re close to, especially when they’re an expert, is a privilege.

Other than writing and research, I really enjoy music. I play piano and have been since fourth grade. During covid, I was still having piano lessons off and on through facetime before switching to doing lessons on face time full time since my teacher moved. I am also involved in my school’s chorus and this year I auditioned for one of the top chorus classes, and I got into the one I auditioned for. I really enjoy singing and feel like during my freshman year I got out of my shell more and taking more risks during chorus. My quirky chorus director, Dr. ES is who to thank. I auditioned for All-State chorus, which was my first ever audition for anything, but I didn’t end up making it. Although I didn’t make it, it was still a great experience for me and I know what I need to work on to hopefully make it next year! I also do mixed martial arts and have been for almost two years. To name a few, during trainings we do kickboxing, sparring, and self defense. I am currently a brown belt and working towards my black belt. I’ve learned and grown a lot since I was a white belt. I’ve developed confidence, strength, and self defense skills.

Through all of my life experiences, I have learned what I think is the most important thing, I have learned to take as many opportunities as you can because there are people wishing they had what you have right now.

Democracy and Doughnuts

Like millions of Americans, I woke up today distraught to learn the election results.

After briefly absorbing the news, my first thought was, “Maybe I should get doughnuts this morning.”

I promised my 60 students I would get them doughnuts if we attained 70% completion on academic adviser evaluations. They missed the mark by nine points. Done deal. No doughnuts. You snooze. You lose.

However, I knew several of my students would be hurting this morning, feeling hopeless after the election. Maybe I should get them doughnuts anyway? Perhaps just mini doughnuts? Or maybe some doughnut holes? But then a random text came through from a former student — an alum with whom I haven’t chatted in several months — “You better get your students doughnuts today.”

It was settled. Doughnuts it is — full-size doughnuts. To be sure, I stopped at both Dunkin and Krispy Kreme. Six dozen doughnuts total (or “donuts” if they’re the Dunkin variety). It was the right call. Students immediately converged on my office, grabbing a donut and sharing their feelings. At one point seven students crowded into my office, expressing their fears, venting their frustrations, airing out their anger and cracking jokes about their impending doom.

I dismiss the notion that politics aren’t personal. If you were eavesdropping on my office this morning you’d hear an undocumented student fearing deportation, a gay student worried about losing their right to marry, a student anxious that her special-needs brother would lose his government assistance. These are all very legit concerns based on the future President’s agenda, and they are highly personal issues to these students.

But the country voted. And the majority voted for a candidate whose policies, if enacted, will definitely impact these students. I can’t do anything about that. But as these seven were gathered in my office, I realized in that moment I could be the most important person in their lives. I can listen. I can hug. I can emphathize. I can show them that they matter, regardless of where they were born, who they love or the color of their skin.

By demonstrating Christlike love, I can have a direct impact on the people around me, regardless of the hate surrounding them. Of course that doesn’t mean I’m stopping my fight against sexism, racism, nativism and heterosexism — that will be especially important in the years to come. But for now the best thing I can do for those feeling hopeless is to create a safe environment for them, and let them know I genuinely care.

And maybe occasionally, provide them doughnuts.

I asked God to find me

Originally published Feb. 18, 2021 as a Lenten Devotional on oconeestreetumc.org

Deuteronomy 1:31
“There you saw how the Lord your God carried you, as a father carries his son, all the way you went until you reached this place.”

Footprints (author undetermined)
An elderly man, who had lived his life and left this world to go and meet his Maker asked the Lord a question.

“As I’m looking down on the paths I’ve trod, I see two sets of footprints on the easy paths.

But down the rocky roads I see only one set of footprints.

“Tell me, Lord, why did you let me go down all those hard paths alone?”

The Lord smiled and simply replied, “Oh, my son, you’ve got that all wrong!

I carried you over those hard paths.”

It had already been a long week, even though we were only two days into it. I had not been connecting with the most important people in my life, and was already overwhelmed with work, family, church and baseball commitments.

I woke up yesterday to find my work calendar was filled with back-to-back-to-back-to-back meetings, the earliest of which I was already running late for.

Both my personal and work inbox were littered with requests for action items that needed to be finished immediately.

Somehow, I received more than a dozen texts in the span of six hours between 2-8 a.m.

My youngest children were relentlessly arguing. My dog was incessantly barking. And Carla was gone.

I rushed out of the house and into my car, only to find my eldest child left me a near-empty tank.

And halfway through my 50-mile trek to work, the check engine light popped on.

Every mountainous twist on HWY-441 brought fantasies of driving off the cliff. As someone who has learned to successfully live with clinical depression (through decades of therapy), I knew the path I was headed down was dangerous.

I asked God to find me.

The next eight hours were a blur. I know I successfully taught a class. I was told I impressed a VIP from the governor’s office in one of my morning meetings. I even received a “thank you” email from the parents of a prospective student to whom I apparently spoke with around noon. I managed to successfully lead a very long and potentially contentious faculty meeting. And in between everything, I somehow finished multiple reports that have been sitting on my invisible “to-do” list for weeks.

It was after 4, and I was eager to drive back to Athens to announce the opening day baseball game for Clarke Central and watch Jaydon get his first opening day start with varsity. I’ve announced several sporting events in my lifetime, but this one was special — I never imagined I would have an opportunity to introduce my child in a game.

First pitch was scheduled for 5:55, so I had plenty of time. Walking to my car, I checked my text messages for the first time since the morning. A message at 10:38 a.m. from coach read, “Game moved to 5 p.m. and will be a doubleheader.”

Surprisingly, this did not impact me like my morning did. I accepted that I would be late. I was sad that I would likely miss his first at-bat, but knew there were several other competent parents who knew how to talk into a microphone and do the job for me.

When I arrived at the Clarke Central baseball field, I rushed into the press box and as luck would have it, the first batter I got to announce was, “right fielder, #8, JAYDON DENNIS.”

It gave me goosebumps. And I watched with great pride as Jaydon beat out a grounder up the middle, stole 2^nd and 3^rdbase, and eventually scored the first run of the season for the Gladiators, as the team swept Oglethorpe County.

As I reflected on my day, I remembered asking God to find me. God not only found me, but carried me throughout the day, and dropped me off at one of the most memorable moments of my life.

Prayer: God, thank you for finding me. Thank you for carrying me when I was struggling to walk. Thank you for gently setting me down to fully experience the goodness of life.

Kuya Egor was a cool dude

Kuya Egor with baby Matthew.
Kuya Egor with little Jaydon.
Kuya Egor with baby Jackson.
Kuya Egor with little Matthew.
Kuya Egor with baby Maddie and Matthew.
Kuya Egor with Ate Regie, Mikki and Layuh (Mikki’s fiancee).
Kuya Egor with the family (2016).

Kuya Egor died last week, one of thousands of victims of coronavirus.

My Kuya Egor was a really cool dude.

Growing up as child in a first-generation American Filipino family, it seemed I was meeting a new family member at every gathering — and there were A LOT of family gatherings throughout the year. When I first met Kuya Egor, who had recently married my Ate Regie, I instantly fell in love with him. It was the late 1980s and much to the dismay of my parents, I was getting into the “heavy metal” music of the era and simultaneously was discovering my passion for radio, and like every Chicago boy was a huge fan of Michael Jordan. Kuya Egor talked to me about music, popular Chicago morning man Jonathan Brandmeier and the Chicago Bulls, and I knew this was one cool dude. He always made a point to check in on me at family gatherings, offering advice and encouraging me to pursue my dreams. I didn’t think much about it then, but now I realize how much that meant to me.

Being a cool dude, it’s not surprising that Kuya Egor made our supersized Christmas gatherings extra fun. I always enjoyed going to the home of Kuya Egor, Ate Regie and my supercool cousin Mikki. As karaoke was booming in the Philippines (to this day, the karaoke capital of the world … at least according to an episode of The Amazing Race), Kuya brought karaoke into the family, etching it into family tradition. When it was my turn, he would always have a Guns N’ Roses or Bon Jovi track that he purchased just for me. Kuya Egor was also very generous with his gifts, and would frequently attach a $2 bill to gifts for kids. A highlight of the adult white elephant gift exchange was finding Kuya’s gift, because we knew there was a good chance of some extra cash hidden in there. And for the kids, he would literally make it rain money into the living room from the upstairs loft in his home.

My favorite memory happened when I was “around 21” and my Kuya Bong was visiting from Switzerland. At Kuya Egor’s house, we met up with Ninong Ver and Manong Jun — and we all drank whisky until the next morning. That was the moment when I crossed the threshold to become one of the “Filipino men” of the family. I don’t remember much about that night, but I swear for the first time I started to understand Tagalog!

Although my interactions with Kuya Egor grew less and less over the years as I moved to Georgia, he always reconnected with me when I went back home. And he was the first member of my extended family to visit us in Georgia, dropping by for a visit en route to taking his family to Disney.

Looking back for photos of Kuya, it’s not surprising that the only ones I can find (besides shots of the whole family) are ones of him interacting with my kids as they were growing up. Jaydon, Jackson and Matthew instantly connected with him, as is evidenced in the photos.

That’s not surprising, because Kuya Egor was a really cool dude.

Anna

I looked at my class roster today, and cried.

There was one less name than there was yesterday. And although I barely knew the student taken off my list of students, it crippled me emotionally.

I love getting to know my students. It’s why I became a teacher. It’s why I choose to teach at a small college. By the end of the semester, I get to know all my students — some more than others, but a little about each person. And they learn a little about me. But I’ll never get that chance with Anna.

I met Anna three times, to be precise: summer orientation, fall orientation and in the first meeting of the freshman experience class I teach. That means I called her name three times, and she responded each time, either by saying “Here,” but more likely by simply raising her hand.

I take that simple process for granted. When I call a student’s name, most will usually be present. There’s always some absences, but I never worry about the missing student. Whether they’re legitimately missing class or just skipping it, they always come back.

But Anna, who’s still on the class roster I printed out at the beginning of the semester, will never come back. Of course, I could print out the new roster with her name removed, but that doesn’t seem right. She didn’t drop the class. She didn’t change majors. She didn’t fail.

She died on her way to class. Tragically killed by another driver who hit her car head-on after crossing the center line on a busy highway.

She’s no longer on my class roster. She’s not on my list of advisees. Her seat will be empty in my classroom. But even though I never got to know Anna, I get this sense that I’ll never forget her.