One humane subtle act can make a lifetime difference for another. Reflectionistic memories bring me to one in the passing of a music teacher of my youth. His name is Ken Noreen.
Not only a teacher, Mr. Noreen was a parabolist. We called him Uncle Kenny, but not to his face. We also had a high respect for him that only showed while at attention as his baton rose. The rest of the time we were ignorant all-knowing teens wrapped up in our own drama.
As my feet have walked a bit further, I reflect while attending his celebration of life and see a man who knew satisfaction in life was in giving to others. Listening to his family, friends, and (like me) his previous students, it was apparent it was a life well lived. Quiet chaos was his mantra mixed divine security in knowing who he was.
So, Mr. Noreen, here is my story of how you changed my life.
Proverbial outwardness would assume my youth was without strife. This is a lie we tell ourselves seeing the shell of humanity. In reality it was filled with issues beyond my control until I decided to take control at barely 17 and left when pain overtook the tolerance. I was lucky, I was given the opportunity to live with a friend, whose parents became my foster parents so I could graduate. I had supportive friends, and through the chaos of dysfunction I hid myself in school.
Before my escape, I spent most of my time at school. Any group I could activity participate in and not be at home I was first to sign up. I love learning and thrived in education. This included music. Between drama, music and sports I masked the pain through active participation. My friend group and identity surrounded these activities. They were my family.
By senior year I was in three different music classes. I was also a teacher’s assistant for Mr. Noreen. My fervor for escape allowed me to enjoy a casual schedule senior year. My other classes were drama and English. The break of studying for the more difficult classes were in my purview as I applied and was accepted to colleges.
Throughout senior year I struggled between two realities. The joy of the family which I now lived, with angsts of being 17 surrounded by activities and friends. On the flip side, being in fear and pain of the past while being stalked by a step father who made my life hell. I learned too soon how to carry keys in my hand to fight off an attacker, while watching any corners or dark spaces for potential harm. Outward joy mixed with inward fear very few saw, because I hid it deep in the somatic soul of my being. I buried it to be happy and filed it away any chance I got.
The band room was my family living room. I didn’t even use a locker as I kept all my belongings in Mr. Noreen’s office. I learned production skills by being his assistant. Because he wasn’t just a teacher. He was in charge of entertainment coordination for some of Seattle’s major sports teams, He also ran a successful travel business. I aided in all the tasks he needed.
In front of me was a good adult who trusted me with important tasks and duties. My survival perfectionist spirit made me reliable. He was kind, funny, and always respectful. To me this was foreign. When faced with actual normal adults I wan’t sure how to respond. Can I trust it? When is the dysfunction going to start?
So I stayed guarded, safe, and distant. This mask made me look like a leader, a professional, and a task master. It festered the false reality that work makes you who you are, and no mistakes are allowed. An unattainable goal. Yet I did it to the best of my ability.
Senior year is now, with more seasoned eyes, a blur. What I do remember is safety in that band room, a precious commodity I still treasure. What I also remember is the moment Mr. Noreen stepped up and changed my future for the better.
I was one of those kids who got all A’s and never really had to study. In the zeitgeist of high school I had completed all of my classes and was basically coasting to graduation. The ceremony was in June and around April I got called in the vice principal’s office. This wan’t normal.
I was told that a credit error had occurred and I was missing one core class and would not be able to graduate. In shock, I asked how this could have happened. I don’t remember the details but rather the feelings. I was told I wouldn’t be able to walk. I left defeated.
In all that I had endured to this point, being brave to leave my household, being blessed to have a foster family and finish school, being safe in my senior bubble with friends and a boyfriend while being accepted to a prestigious college. Getting good grades, working a job while doing sports, drama, all-state band and more.
And all I could think of is, what the hell did I ever do to you, universe?!
Obviously upset, I returned to the band office in tears. When I’m mad I cry. Noreen asked me what was wrong. It all spilled out. Everything mentioned above. He didn’t say a word. That was ok as I had said them all. The last thing I said in deafening dramatic fashion, “Am I ever going to get break?!??”
He left the room. I was embarrassed to be so vulnerable. Imperfect.
About an hour later the VP called me back in. Great. What news now?
He told me it was taken care of. He didn’t explain but mentioned a clerical error. I was used to gaslighting so didn’t believe it at first, wondered if it was ever true, and accepted the fact that I was going to be able to graduate on time and go to college.
What I didn’t know until years later was Noreen was responsible. He went into the VP office and said to do whatever the hell they had to do to make sure I graduated. The details don’t matter, the quiet force of Noreen does.
Without my knowledge or acknowledgement he saw a girl who needed help and he did it. A perhaps small gesture or everyday occurrence for him changed the course of my life. I’ll never know because of his willingness to be a person of character and step in when no-one else could have.
Grandiose small acts of kindness may seem trivial, but you will never know what your participation in making someone’s life better means to them. They may never know it. That is okay. Knowing it made a difference does. And Noreen, you made a difference in mine.
As I sat at his celebration of life, I heard story after story similar to mine. Perhaps not in circumstance but in outcome. Noreen was there, making a difference and changing the world for better one kid at a time. He did it for years. The impact is unimaginable.
Perhaps some reading my accolades have their own Noreen moment. Or perhaps spark a memory of that one teacher who made a difference. Ken Noreen didn’t just teach how to read notes off the page. He taught how the rhythm of life ebbs and flows through how one is treated, given a chance, and heard. He listened carefully and always reminded us the rests were just as important as the notes. The balance.
I thank you, Uncle Kenny, for living life out loud. By giving to others while maintaining priorities. It took me longer than most to understand life isn’t about what you do. It’s who you are and who you bring along the way. This truth improves the planet, while having high standards and expectations in abilities. People will always rise to meet them. And when they don’t, releasing them with grace is ok while stopping at Dick’s Drive In to grab a root beer float.
You, sir, were one of my first examples of a safe adult. The lessons stuck. Some of your stories didn’t apply until they were needed. And being brave through fear is always a quest worth taking. Telling the stories and depositing them into our lives was the lesson you knew we mostly needed.
Thank you, Mr. Noreen, for daring to teach off the page.
If you would like to know more about the life and history of Ken Noreen:
Deb Said What? 