Can I Have a Magic Potato?

I don't know about you, but I've got the end of the year blues. A couple of weeks ago I had one of my last classes with my 8th graders. I decided to order a few pizzas and sit on the front lawn with them to just chat with them about their last three years in middle school. They asked some tough questions about the Church, faith, and morality, and I did my best to answer them. But the question that hit me the most was this one:

Can I have a magic potato?

I could feel a tear forming in my eye as I looked at this 14-year old who I've known since she was in elementary school. I've seen her go from being a shy 2nd grader attached to her dad's hip to a sweet middle schooler with braces. Maybe it won't make sense to you, but it was such a joy to hear her remember one of my first responses with these kids.

You see, even though I teach faith formation, I'm not a trained teacher. I don't have a fancy Masters degree saying that I'm certified to pass on any kind of knowledge. When I first started this job, I questioned how I could possibly manage a classroom. There were a lot of struggles in trying to wrangle a classroom of 15-25 adolescents, until I discovered my secret weapon: the magic potato. When these kids were in the 6th grade, I remember I was in the middle of teaching a lesson on salvation history, and the kids were just rowdy. And then I found something that worked: A magic potato.

In my most "big girl" voice, I said, "If you guys pay attention for the rest of class, I'll pick someone who will win a magic potato."

'Til this day, I don't know why that worked. But it did. From that point on for the rest of the year, all I had to do was offer a magic potato as a control mechanism. But somewhere in the middle of 7th grade, they stopped asking about the magic potato and started asking real questions.

I often cite Bishop Robert Barron and what he calls the "Via Pulchritudinis," leading people to goodness and the Truth through beauty. I used that concept as a guide on how I would teach these kids. I think back to lessons on saints, and on Church architecture. and what makes art beautiful. I think about how those lessons led them to ask questions about the Trinity and Creation and the Eucharist. I realized they didn't ask about the magic potato anymore because they didn't need the magic potato.

You see, the magic potato, to these middle schoolers was something beautiful. What can possibly be beautiful about a brown, dimpled tuber? In all honesty, I'm not so sure. You'd have to ask them. Maybe it symbolized something deeper. (I hope it symbolized something deeper.) But what I do know is that the magic potato led them to pay attention to the actual lesson. And as long as that lesson contained truth, their God-given wonder and natural curiosity kicked in. They wanted to know more. By the end of my time with them, they had something higher than beauty - they were grasping on to the truth. And I'm proud of them for that.

As I compare those sweet baby faces to the young people marching on to high school, I see youth who I am confident to send off to the next chapter of their lives. At the same time, I still want to hover over them and make sure they'll be ok and that they'll be safe from bullies, persecutors, and temptations. But I know that I can't do that. Instead, my hope is that wherever they are, they'll find beauty that leads them to goodness and truth.

***And also, I have to add in a disclaimer that I, in no way, taught these kids all by myself. I'm so proud of and thankful for their stellar teacher, Joe Brazeau, who volunteered with us for 15 years and has decided to "retire" from middle school faith formation. Tan you, too, to all the other peeps who spent time ministering to these kids, including Fr. Dan Steele and all of the high schoolers who gave their time and energy to these kiddos. Praise God for our faithful servants!***