By Garrett Hedman

Fireworks 1:
Who would have thought that I would ever be in Indianola, Mississippi, in the middle of Fletcher Park, listening to the legend himself, B.B. King, for his homecoming concert?

Last Friday, a group of four of us arrived at the concert at 7pm, only to find out (after asking several concert personnel) that B.B. King would not be playing until 10pm or 11pm. It all depended on when B.B. King wanted to play. Given his legendariness, the move was understandable.

To entertain us while we waited, there were some exceptionally talented opening bands, which allowed me to ease me itch to dance. I tried to pull a Collin from the Sasquatch Festival (youtube this guy), but needless to say, the crowd wasn’t one to break into a massive party. However, at one point, a friend from our group decided to line dance. I joined, a group of vibrant educators from the Institute of Southern Jewish Life joined, and a middle school dance crew from Mississippi began to dance with us. To say the least, I quickly learned dancing truly is a universal language.

After the country band had finished their set, we had some time to wait before the main performance, so three of us wanted to give some bubbles we bought earlier that day at a Dollar General to a family with a 5 and a 10 year old. With approval from the grandparents, we experimented with catching bubbles in our hands with dry and wet hands; we caught bubbles on our tongue (just imagine 5 of us running around all with our tongues out); and we had a teacher-staring contest. I lost to the five year old. This girl’s eyes cut right through my soul and her drooping mouth made me feel as if she couldn’t give a rip about how I felt. Half way through the stare, we heard a loud crack in the sky—fireworks. B.B. King was coming on stage, and I had already had a night to remember.

Fireworks 2:
I’ve never been a runner.

That is, I’ve never been a runner until a young man told me that he runs because he felt God put us on earth to play, to move, to live.

I’ve never been a racer.

That is, I’ve never been a racer until last Saturday when I participated in the Firecracker 5k to benefit St. Jude in Memphis, TN.

I’ve always been afraid of races mainly because of my lack of confidence and my inability to settle for average and be labeled by a clock as an average runner. Throwing those tainted thoughts aside, I went to Memphis to run a race with other Teach for America friends.

We went around sharing our goals for race times: 21min, 24min, 27min, me, oh uh, finish the race.

I was told that this was a race where you seed yourself, meaning you judge how fast the people are around and put yourself where you fit in. Or in other words, I judge others based on a three-axis scale: age, weight, and how runner-like people look. I placed myself toward in the back…still lacking confidence.

Soon after finding my place, I had a change of heart. It was the raising of the over-sized American Flag that started to change my perception on racing.

I was doing well after the first half a mile, finally finding my true place in the running pack, but then I saw a sprinkler. A family had left it out for the runners to go through and running through it was quite refreshing. Then I saw a family, with young boys out to cheer us on. Their cheers, gave me energy that I didn’t know I had. During that run, it seemed that the whole neighborhood had either come out to cheer us or left their sprinklers on to cool us down. I haven’t felt that supported, loved, and encouraged in such a long time. I was hauling!

I finished the race in a sprint, and joined the rest of the TFA corps members at the finish line. I felt alive. I had not only finished a 5k, but posted a time I could be proud of, 29:26min (9:30min/mi). Although I only got 47th place (out of 60) for people in my age group (21-25 year olds), the love I received just for participating was such a wonderful reward. I couldn’t help but think: I never thought I would complete a 9:30min/mi in a 5k, yet I did it. Is this how students feel after they are supported, encouraged, and pushed by a teacher?

After the race, another runner and myself drove down to Memphis to meet some friends at Charles Vergo’s Rendezvous in downtown Memphis. As she and I walked to dinner, I saw the fireworks from a Memphis Redbird baseball game reflect off a building. I could only smile.

Fireworks 3:
One arm was blue with white stars; the other arm was painted with red and white stripes; and I was sporting a cut-off flannel, red, white, and black. I’ve never felt more patriotic.

Somehow after the past two days, I was able to make it to a BBQ in my painted body that the town of Cleveland put on for Teach for America. As the night went on, I talked with some new Teach for America corps members. It still amazes me that three weeks into institute, I am still meeting new, wonderful faces.

Come firework time we sat around marveling at the sky above. The display was magnificent. My inner chemist wondered what life would be like as a firework engineer; my inner teacher wanted to teach students the reactions that take place when a firework explodes; and my inner me was just happy to be in that moment.

It’s not every year you get treated to three days of fireworks. Then again, it’s not every year you teach in the Mississippi Delta.