I am so not a morning person. This is a well documented (family, friend and even professionally) fact. Now, when I say I am not a morning person, that means for the first 30 minutes to an hour after I wake from a deep sleep. The longer/deeper the sleep the longer the grouch period afterward. The only person I know who cannot seem to understand this idiosyncrasy of my personality is unfortunately the only person I live with, Nana.
Every morning as I try not to poke my eye out with my mascara brush she sticks her head in the bathroom, "do you want a cup of coffee?" Then she holds out the cup of coffee she has made to me. Now in the two years we have been together I have never drunk my coffee in the bathroom while trying to poke my eye out with mascara. Every morning she offers anyway. I try not to snap, some mornings more successfully than others.
Then I'll be looking for something (keys, phone, purse, shoes, etc.) and she asks over and over what it is, but because I am moving she can't hear me when I answer. This gets old fast as a routine. Clearly she wants to help, but all it does is slow me down.
Lastly she always manages to stand right in front of whatever it is I need to get to and her reflexes and ability to discern where I am heading are not really all that good. So I end up trying to get by and end up catching her from falling over in my rush instead.
The thing is, she means well and later in the day all this stuff is endearing and I try so hard to be loving and thoughtful and she hugs on me and says how glad she is she lives with me and in the morning I am such an ogre.
This morning I was running late. Those are the really special interactions. I'm racing around trying to get caught up and she's following me around asking how she can help. I tell her I've got it so she starts making suggestions, "Can I make you an egg?" "Can I pour you a milk?" "Do you have your lunch?" "Are you wearing shoes?" "Did you remember to put on a slip?" Then we got to my favorite, "Are you sure you want to wear that?" This from the woman who is wearing a pale pink sweater over a turtleneck over pajamas with long johns, orange sweat pants and food all over it. Not to mention pantless in the back yard! (see earlier post). So again, like too often I snapped.
I don't say much, and nothing to the effect that she shouldn't be here, just "Nana I've got it, leave me alone!" It's just she gets this hang dog look on her face and you would think I just killed her dog. Then she nods and says, "I know, mornings are not your best time." I swear I could just ..... Oh!
So now I feel like a jerk and I'm sure Nana will get the ice cream that she shouldn't really have tonight as a surprise. Oh well.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
When do I grow out of this?
On Monday nights I talk to a delightful young lady who I love like a little sister. Only last night I was a jerk and fell asleep and forgot to call. To be fair, it's a new tradition that we are developing to stay connected now that I live five hours away and she's just starting college this year. But even being a new thing, I still dropped the ball. Anyway...
So today I called her to tell her what a jerk I was. She just laughed and loved me anyway. We talked briefly about our days, what was going on in our lives and the most important subject, boys.
It's so funny, exhilarating and heartbreaking to listen to a young girl talk about boys. The hope in her voice, the excitement and the anticipation of what may or may not come. This is a beautiful, healthy, happy, brilliant and friendly young lady whom I know the magic will happen for sooner than later, so I'm not too worried about this for her overall in the end. It's wonderful to get to see though, even in an odd way the tribulations as much as the triumphs, because they are all part of the process and all very normal.
Anyway another teacher, a guy, overheard part of the conversation. He waited until I hung up and then did that staring waiting thing to find out who I was talking to and about what, but with out actually asking. I told him it was a good friend and that she had asked me about my romantic life (or lack there of) and he laughed and said that was all young people think about. I chuckled with him and went on with what I was doing. But then I started to think about it.
No, it's not just young people who think about it all the time. (Oh and by the way, both he and I are only thirty and I am most certainly not old yet!) Being single, I think about "it" a lot. When I am out and about I think to myself how it would be nice to have someone with me, holding my hand. When I am sad I think of how it would be nice to be held, and when I am happy I think how it would be nice to share that with someone. But I also am thinking about whether or not I paid the water bill, whether or not I reminded Nana to take a shower before she went to her doctor's appointment, whether or not I have fed the dogs today and most importantly did I put on deodorant this morning. So maybe it's more that there is less room to be filled with just the issue of that someone. More like the thoughts kind of float around over us just waiting for us to focus one them, but even when we don't they are still there.
Many of my friends are married. They spend a lot of time talking (and most likely thinking therefore) about their husbands/wives, children and family issues. Those conversations take the place of the "who I'm dating and where is this relationship going" conversations we used to have, but they are basically the same issues, being with the someone we so longed to find before. In their cases, the issues of marriage and family almost become more consuming than the issues outside, because the issues blur together in a lot of ways. A friend of mine came to school the other day, late from dropping off her son at daycare, because her husband is sick, and said to me, "I'm so busy and tired, I can't even remember if I put on my panties this morning!"
(TMI!!!!)
So I don't envy my young friend her moments and daydreams, I still have my own too, I just have to schedule time for them, or at lest not focus on them as much. And someday, she'll say to me as she rocks her children and walks around the house with some wonderfully perfect husband that I know she will have, "remember when all I thought about was some boy?" and I'll smile and say, "yeah, cause you never think about that stuff now."
Of course, that in itself is something I look forward to anyway.
So today I called her to tell her what a jerk I was. She just laughed and loved me anyway. We talked briefly about our days, what was going on in our lives and the most important subject, boys.
It's so funny, exhilarating and heartbreaking to listen to a young girl talk about boys. The hope in her voice, the excitement and the anticipation of what may or may not come. This is a beautiful, healthy, happy, brilliant and friendly young lady whom I know the magic will happen for sooner than later, so I'm not too worried about this for her overall in the end. It's wonderful to get to see though, even in an odd way the tribulations as much as the triumphs, because they are all part of the process and all very normal.
Anyway another teacher, a guy, overheard part of the conversation. He waited until I hung up and then did that staring waiting thing to find out who I was talking to and about what, but with out actually asking. I told him it was a good friend and that she had asked me about my romantic life (or lack there of) and he laughed and said that was all young people think about. I chuckled with him and went on with what I was doing. But then I started to think about it.
No, it's not just young people who think about it all the time. (Oh and by the way, both he and I are only thirty and I am most certainly not old yet!) Being single, I think about "it" a lot. When I am out and about I think to myself how it would be nice to have someone with me, holding my hand. When I am sad I think of how it would be nice to be held, and when I am happy I think how it would be nice to share that with someone. But I also am thinking about whether or not I paid the water bill, whether or not I reminded Nana to take a shower before she went to her doctor's appointment, whether or not I have fed the dogs today and most importantly did I put on deodorant this morning. So maybe it's more that there is less room to be filled with just the issue of that someone. More like the thoughts kind of float around over us just waiting for us to focus one them, but even when we don't they are still there.
Many of my friends are married. They spend a lot of time talking (and most likely thinking therefore) about their husbands/wives, children and family issues. Those conversations take the place of the "who I'm dating and where is this relationship going" conversations we used to have, but they are basically the same issues, being with the someone we so longed to find before. In their cases, the issues of marriage and family almost become more consuming than the issues outside, because the issues blur together in a lot of ways. A friend of mine came to school the other day, late from dropping off her son at daycare, because her husband is sick, and said to me, "I'm so busy and tired, I can't even remember if I put on my panties this morning!"
(TMI!!!!)
So I don't envy my young friend her moments and daydreams, I still have my own too, I just have to schedule time for them, or at lest not focus on them as much. And someday, she'll say to me as she rocks her children and walks around the house with some wonderfully perfect husband that I know she will have, "remember when all I thought about was some boy?" and I'll smile and say, "yeah, cause you never think about that stuff now."
Of course, that in itself is something I look forward to anyway.
Monday, March 13, 2006
A totally organic experience
So Nana and I are doing the Fat Flush Detox diet thing. What a headache. I mean, I'm sure we will feel better and all. I won't bore anyone with the details of what a toxic body looks like on the inside. Oh the horror of the description in the book. But going organic (just for 11 days) is time consuming and expensive!
Plus these organic people can be very touchy. One guy felt I had cut him off in the produce isle and threw a berkenstock at me! I explained that this was not how adults communicated. He flipped me off and pushed past. Guess he's still toxic.
Plus these organic people can be very touchy. One guy felt I had cut him off in the produce isle and threw a berkenstock at me! I explained that this was not how adults communicated. He flipped me off and pushed past. Guess he's still toxic.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Who came first, Sandy or Lee?
Have you ever noticed that people who are married are "older" than people who are not? My brother is three years younger than I am but now that he is married, he feels he is the older, wiser, sibling. This is terribly funny to me.
Lee was born one week before my 3rd birthday. For many years I was very frustrated because while I knew I was oler he had his birthday first. So I made my parents switch us to correct God's mistake. Then when I turned 8 I wanted to know why we didn't celebrate my birthday on the right day. My poor folks, they couldn't win.
Now, Lee is a married minister and I am an "old spinster school marm" as people occasionally joke when they think I can't hear them. He calls to check up on me. I remind him I am older. He just laughs and says very patronizinly "of course you are."
This is not in my head.
Oh well, I always wanted an older brother anyway, Lee will have to do.
Lee was born one week before my 3rd birthday. For many years I was very frustrated because while I knew I was oler he had his birthday first. So I made my parents switch us to correct God's mistake. Then when I turned 8 I wanted to know why we didn't celebrate my birthday on the right day. My poor folks, they couldn't win.
Now, Lee is a married minister and I am an "old spinster school marm" as people occasionally joke when they think I can't hear them. He calls to check up on me. I remind him I am older. He just laughs and says very patronizinly "of course you are."
This is not in my head.
Oh well, I always wanted an older brother anyway, Lee will have to do.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
No Pain, No Gain
When I was in college my first two years I was in NROTC and on the drill team. I worked out anywhere from 8 to 12 times a week, two hours a pop and was still behind everyone else in terms of strength and stamina. Then I did it because I needed the scholarship, enjoyed the camaraderie and also I was young and it was fun.
Now I am not so young, there is no gorgeous marine in front of me who I keep up with so I can enjoy that back view and a mean one behind me telling me to move my lazy butt. Mostly, I didn't miss that motivational marine behind me, so what have I done with my life(?), hired a person at my gym to fill the void. Three times a week for two hours I subject myself to what ever Greg tells me to do. Squats, push ups, treadmill, stair masters, presses, curls, lunges, anything you say, Greg. And I am paying this man my hard earned money to do this to me! I come home and fall asleep in my dinner that is barely warm because I was too starved to wait until I got it heated through!
Each time Greg askes me as we finish up how I feel. Yesterday I told him he'd know how I felt by how many pins he felt stick him when I got my hands on the voodoo doll I have at home with his face on it. He just laughed. I guess he's used to that. The other day he asked me to do something and I swore under my breath. He asked if that meant I wasn't going to do it. I answered, "Of course I'm going to do this, I'm paying you to make me do this. I just hate you for it." He laughed (he really is a great guy, supper nice and encouraging) and said, "I get that a lot."
I often feel that teaching is the most thankless job on earth. As teachers we have to find our own inner justification and peace with what we do or we would go nuts. However, I imagine now that being a trainer is worse. But I also figure he says a healthy body takes work and is not won by laziness. I also guess that holds true of his profession. If it was easy and everyone could stand being threatened with death and dismemberment for doing exactly what that person is paying you to do, everyone would be a trainer and everyone would be thin and healthy.
No Pain, No Gain.
Now I am not so young, there is no gorgeous marine in front of me who I keep up with so I can enjoy that back view and a mean one behind me telling me to move my lazy butt. Mostly, I didn't miss that motivational marine behind me, so what have I done with my life(?), hired a person at my gym to fill the void. Three times a week for two hours I subject myself to what ever Greg tells me to do. Squats, push ups, treadmill, stair masters, presses, curls, lunges, anything you say, Greg. And I am paying this man my hard earned money to do this to me! I come home and fall asleep in my dinner that is barely warm because I was too starved to wait until I got it heated through!
Each time Greg askes me as we finish up how I feel. Yesterday I told him he'd know how I felt by how many pins he felt stick him when I got my hands on the voodoo doll I have at home with his face on it. He just laughed. I guess he's used to that. The other day he asked me to do something and I swore under my breath. He asked if that meant I wasn't going to do it. I answered, "Of course I'm going to do this, I'm paying you to make me do this. I just hate you for it." He laughed (he really is a great guy, supper nice and encouraging) and said, "I get that a lot."
I often feel that teaching is the most thankless job on earth. As teachers we have to find our own inner justification and peace with what we do or we would go nuts. However, I imagine now that being a trainer is worse. But I also figure he says a healthy body takes work and is not won by laziness. I also guess that holds true of his profession. If it was easy and everyone could stand being threatened with death and dismemberment for doing exactly what that person is paying you to do, everyone would be a trainer and everyone would be thin and healthy.
No Pain, No Gain.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Piled Higher and Deeper
The nightmares are starting. Having come to the realization that I am not going to be able to escape getting a PhD I am now examining programs and schools. My hope had been to start this fall. Nope, I missed the entrance deadlines by two weeks. Now I have to wait a year. No two schools have the same program or program requirements. Some people seem to want blood and DNA sample and the promise of a first born... to get in. Once you are in the requirements get scarier. One English program requires that I have reading ability in two other languages. One (and maybe they weren't serious, but...) required that you contact, chronicle and be able to converse in Martian! Dad already has his PhD, sister in law married into family with one, brother intends to get his, so this is inevitable, I know. Worse, everyone I come in contact with insists I need to do this. The world needs me, they say, and it needs me with this title. I'm thinking maybe I need to found my own university, student and staff population of one and give myself an honorary degree. Then I can go teach coconuts on a deserted island how to talk. They'll call me Dr. Nuts.
This post is a result of lack of sleep from the PhD nightmares. I'll be fine in a couple of days...
This post is a result of lack of sleep from the PhD nightmares. I'll be fine in a couple of days...
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Speaking of Pants
I am fast approaching my limit on pant styles on kids at school today. The boys wear them too tight or too loose and low so I can see their bright colored boxers (or athletic shorts) over the top and the girls wear them tight and low so I can either see their midriff or even better the top of their thong. This is all against dress code, but often, to save time, teachers say, "Pull your pants up," "Pull your shirt down," "Put a sweatshirt/jacket/over shirt on." Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to teach I would just be writing referrals. Even then, my students just roll their eyes and as soon as they think I can't see them re-adjust to their preference.
Today I lost it. I told my kids that I had a right to feel comfortable in my own classroom and that if I wore clothes like that I would be fired and if they did again I would write them up and include sexual harassment as part of the charge. Further I went on to explain to them that while all jobs that were legal, and helped you make a living were as far as I was concerned, good jobs, that they should make a list of what most people considered good jobs and what people considered less favorable jobs and then spend some time looking at how people in those jobs dressed. They may find that the people who had their fashion sense were less likely to be found in the jobs they preferred to have. What did that say about the image they projected for themselves.
Lastly I told them that the only people I knew of who liked that style consistently on others were police officers because if people with pants that won't stay up try to run from a crime they often find the pants trip them up making it easier for the police to catch them.
Maybe I'm unreasonable. Maybe I have no fashion sense. Obviously there are differences with styles over time. My mother thought me wearing bangs shillacked up past my forehead was stupid and in hind-sight I agree. Nor do I wear that anymore. None of my teachers or the professionals I saw at the time wore that style either, so maybe these kids will grow out of it too... Hopefully. (The pant thing and frankly, the hoody thing that often goes with it...)
My mother allowed me to wear the stupid bangs, and I thought she was a decent mom in hindsight (and as a teacher) but I find myself frustrated that parents today let their kids leave the house dressed as they are (or in some cases as undressed). I worry that this makes me a hypocrite. I also know that the stupid bangs did not expose my underwear or any other more intimate part of my anatomy, otherwise my father would have stopped me (maybe even murdered me). So maybe there is a difference.
Sometimes I worry that maybe the problem is there are too few Dad's at home to say "My daughter will not display her underwear to her entire class!" and "I will not allow my daughter to date someone that displays his underwear and can barely keep his pants on publicly," or better still, "No son of mine will dress like that." Maybe parents in general don't care.
Or maybe they are hoping that their children will see the same thing I did when I left high school that the fad stuff only makes sense in high school where nothing else does.
Today I lost it. I told my kids that I had a right to feel comfortable in my own classroom and that if I wore clothes like that I would be fired and if they did again I would write them up and include sexual harassment as part of the charge. Further I went on to explain to them that while all jobs that were legal, and helped you make a living were as far as I was concerned, good jobs, that they should make a list of what most people considered good jobs and what people considered less favorable jobs and then spend some time looking at how people in those jobs dressed. They may find that the people who had their fashion sense were less likely to be found in the jobs they preferred to have. What did that say about the image they projected for themselves.
Lastly I told them that the only people I knew of who liked that style consistently on others were police officers because if people with pants that won't stay up try to run from a crime they often find the pants trip them up making it easier for the police to catch them.
Maybe I'm unreasonable. Maybe I have no fashion sense. Obviously there are differences with styles over time. My mother thought me wearing bangs shillacked up past my forehead was stupid and in hind-sight I agree. Nor do I wear that anymore. None of my teachers or the professionals I saw at the time wore that style either, so maybe these kids will grow out of it too... Hopefully. (The pant thing and frankly, the hoody thing that often goes with it...)
My mother allowed me to wear the stupid bangs, and I thought she was a decent mom in hindsight (and as a teacher) but I find myself frustrated that parents today let their kids leave the house dressed as they are (or in some cases as undressed). I worry that this makes me a hypocrite. I also know that the stupid bangs did not expose my underwear or any other more intimate part of my anatomy, otherwise my father would have stopped me (maybe even murdered me). So maybe there is a difference.
Sometimes I worry that maybe the problem is there are too few Dad's at home to say "My daughter will not display her underwear to her entire class!" and "I will not allow my daughter to date someone that displays his underwear and can barely keep his pants on publicly," or better still, "No son of mine will dress like that." Maybe parents in general don't care.
Or maybe they are hoping that their children will see the same thing I did when I left high school that the fad stuff only makes sense in high school where nothing else does.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Pantless in the back yard...
Saturday was a crazy day. I got the call at 8:30 AM from my co-worker and friend, Robin, that the talk that we had had the afternoon before in a kind of "possible" tone had become a "reality" and she was bringing her 3 year and 18 month old to spend the day with me while she delt with a wacky family situation.
Not that her family is all that different from mine and several other people's. The point is, her father in law is dying and her mother in law has become paranoid that her children are going to take all that she owns and leave her destitute and so last week she filed charges of trespassing and theft to keep them off her property. Robin and her husband have several vehicles and trailers (which thankfully they had the papers for) on the property and so on Saturday they hired a tow truck to do several shuttles to get all of it off. Not really a place for small children so they spent the day with Nana and me.
The three year old had a slight fever, wouldn't eat anything... Even if he said initially he would, wanted to watch movies that he then wouldn't look at but would scream and cry if I turned off and enjoyed whacking my dog on the head, oh, and is still in diapers. The 18 month old ate everything, ran laps around the van outside and babbled incoherently, constantly. They were both angels. Seriously. For kids their age they were very well behaved and showed all the ear marks of productive adults. Nana on the other hand, was really, well, let's just say she was Nanaism at her best that day.
I took the children out to play and told Nana to go to the bathroom while we were outside so she could have a little privacy. Then I asked her to come out and spell me for a few minutes so I could have the same luxury. Nana came out in her sweater, her hat, her coat, her cain, her shoes and socks and (drum roll please...) NO PANTS!!!!! I mean she had on underwear, bright blue as a matter of fact, but no pants. When I mentioned it to her. She insisted she had pants on. I went ahead and ran to the bathroom (with the fence and the position of our yard, no one could see her) and then came back where we argued about it for ten minute.
"Nana where are your pants?"
"I have pants on."
"No, Nana, no pants."
"Then what is holding on my Depends Pad?"
"Your panties. Where are your pants?"
"Well I thought you had to go potty and so I didn't have time to get new ones on."
"You came outside without your pants on!"
"The children won't remember and I'm still decent."
"Okay."
"Would you go put a shirt on over that tank top, you are obscene."
"This from the pantless woman in the back yard."
Later as the children were napping, she looked over at me and smiled.
"Aren't they precious?"
"Yeah, active, but cute."
"When did kids today get so smart?"
"Kid's today?"
"You and your brother were never as smart as these two. Are all kids like this?"
"Yeah, Nana. My brother and I were just stupid. That's why we both have master's degrees and are pursuing PhD's."
Truly, some of the more memorable Nana moments this year. When the kids went home, Nana hugged me and said,
"I know I said I wanted you to get married, but I'm glad you are not. It's nice to have you here all to myself. I can't ever leave you." Which is wonderful, terrifying and sweet all at the same time to hear.
We had the angels for 12 hours. It was a lot of fun. However, I was glad to give them back. Apparently Robin's odd family has nothing on mine. I figure now Robing owes me a day of seniorsitting. I'll send Nana with two pairs of pants.
Not that her family is all that different from mine and several other people's. The point is, her father in law is dying and her mother in law has become paranoid that her children are going to take all that she owns and leave her destitute and so last week she filed charges of trespassing and theft to keep them off her property. Robin and her husband have several vehicles and trailers (which thankfully they had the papers for) on the property and so on Saturday they hired a tow truck to do several shuttles to get all of it off. Not really a place for small children so they spent the day with Nana and me.
The three year old had a slight fever, wouldn't eat anything... Even if he said initially he would, wanted to watch movies that he then wouldn't look at but would scream and cry if I turned off and enjoyed whacking my dog on the head, oh, and is still in diapers. The 18 month old ate everything, ran laps around the van outside and babbled incoherently, constantly. They were both angels. Seriously. For kids their age they were very well behaved and showed all the ear marks of productive adults. Nana on the other hand, was really, well, let's just say she was Nanaism at her best that day.
I took the children out to play and told Nana to go to the bathroom while we were outside so she could have a little privacy. Then I asked her to come out and spell me for a few minutes so I could have the same luxury. Nana came out in her sweater, her hat, her coat, her cain, her shoes and socks and (drum roll please...) NO PANTS!!!!! I mean she had on underwear, bright blue as a matter of fact, but no pants. When I mentioned it to her. She insisted she had pants on. I went ahead and ran to the bathroom (with the fence and the position of our yard, no one could see her) and then came back where we argued about it for ten minute.
"Nana where are your pants?"
"I have pants on."
"No, Nana, no pants."
"Then what is holding on my Depends Pad?"
"Your panties. Where are your pants?"
"Well I thought you had to go potty and so I didn't have time to get new ones on."
"You came outside without your pants on!"
"The children won't remember and I'm still decent."
"Okay."
"Would you go put a shirt on over that tank top, you are obscene."
"This from the pantless woman in the back yard."
Later as the children were napping, she looked over at me and smiled.
"Aren't they precious?"
"Yeah, active, but cute."
"When did kids today get so smart?"
"Kid's today?"
"You and your brother were never as smart as these two. Are all kids like this?"
"Yeah, Nana. My brother and I were just stupid. That's why we both have master's degrees and are pursuing PhD's."
Truly, some of the more memorable Nana moments this year. When the kids went home, Nana hugged me and said,
"I know I said I wanted you to get married, but I'm glad you are not. It's nice to have you here all to myself. I can't ever leave you." Which is wonderful, terrifying and sweet all at the same time to hear.
We had the angels for 12 hours. It was a lot of fun. However, I was glad to give them back. Apparently Robin's odd family has nothing on mine. I figure now Robing owes me a day of seniorsitting. I'll send Nana with two pairs of pants.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Living in Egypt
Denial is a powerful thing. It is also a very damaging and dangerous thing in education. Not necessarily just to the person in denial. Let me give you an example.
This year I have a student who is qualified as Special Education Service. However he also tests very high on academic aptitude tests, supposedly. According to his mother, who happens to be a doctor his official diagnosis is simply ADHD (that amazing catch all responsibility releaser of parents everywhere!... It is a genuine condition, but not to the degree and scope that people "use" it, and with few exceptions, definitely not something that should be medicated.) Having taught the kid and being in education for a while now, I'm pretty confident the kid at least is mildly autistic or possible a juvenile manic depressive. However, mother has told me and everyone else with this opinion (including other specialists, teachers, psychiatrists and physicians) is wrong and her son is brilliant and capable, he just needs a few "modifications" to augment an accelerated education program. Okay. This child does not get along with much of anybody, refuses to do homework on any kind of regular basis, often does not follow directions and is narcissistic to the point of classroom disruption. He is taking some mild medications for ADHD which do seem to help slightly. His mother has stated on several occasions that she is in charge of his medication. Whether she (as a physician) is actually prescribing her son's treatment or if she tells a college what to write for her this is completely medically unethical and only serves to prevent her son from getting the proper treatment and prevents us from teaching him effectively.
Today things got even better. Her son is in the lower majority math class. He has registered for next years' math classes. She e-mailed today to ask if he could be in the higher math as he is doing so well in his current class. This would be an excellerated honors program where students do two years of work in only one. It requires a lot of personal discipline, organization and the ability to take correction. She says he wants to take calculus eventually and go to Georgia Tech (Good luck, kid. No IEP's there and professor's aren't interested in your mother's opinion ... or even yours for that matter... in terms of what you can do, only what you actually do on your own, on time, correctly...). Now up to this point the denial is annoying, but not a problem. We can put him this class that she is deamnding and when he fails he's go back to the regular program. It might cost him an extra year of high school, but he's so socially immature it might be a good thing for him. The problem comes with the next half. The letter goes on to ask if seeing as so many of the kids in the math class her son is in are failing (typical of lower level math classes because that's where many underachievers and remedial students end up... Hence the lower math...) is it likely that her son's math teacher is simply a bad teacher. Further, said math teacher is a coach and doesn't that indicate a poor teacher to begin with? Now, I am neither a coach nor a math teacher, but I find this whole line of reasoning insulting. Her denial is now not only holding her own son back, it is being used to insult and degrade an excellent and dedicated teacher as well as a whole group of people (those who coach and teach). This woman even went so far as to suggest that she may call the school board and have this teacher "evaluated."
I can't wait for her kid to go to college. In three more years (or at this rate 4 or 5)!
My mom used to say that a person can fool themselves into thinking that a cow is a human as long as they want to. They may even find a few places that allow them to live as though it was true, but eventually they are going to run across a butcher and that's just the way it is. Several years ago I had a mother tell me that regardless of the evidence presented she did not believe her child was a thief and she would not accept any punishment of her child for that crime. I thought to myself, how nice for her, though I doubt that any judge, local or federal, will take her opinion into account before handing down a verdict or sentencing her child to prison for burglary. Further with her backing of the child, he is likely to remain unchanged in his ways until that interaction with the US legal system occurs. I feel sorry for whoever he will rob (and/or maim, injury or kill in the process). They will pay for that mother's denial.
I hope a teacher at my school doesn't end up paying for this mother's denial. The son may already be a lost cause.
This year I have a student who is qualified as Special Education Service. However he also tests very high on academic aptitude tests, supposedly. According to his mother, who happens to be a doctor his official diagnosis is simply ADHD (that amazing catch all responsibility releaser of parents everywhere!... It is a genuine condition, but not to the degree and scope that people "use" it, and with few exceptions, definitely not something that should be medicated.) Having taught the kid and being in education for a while now, I'm pretty confident the kid at least is mildly autistic or possible a juvenile manic depressive. However, mother has told me and everyone else with this opinion (including other specialists, teachers, psychiatrists and physicians) is wrong and her son is brilliant and capable, he just needs a few "modifications" to augment an accelerated education program. Okay. This child does not get along with much of anybody, refuses to do homework on any kind of regular basis, often does not follow directions and is narcissistic to the point of classroom disruption. He is taking some mild medications for ADHD which do seem to help slightly. His mother has stated on several occasions that she is in charge of his medication. Whether she (as a physician) is actually prescribing her son's treatment or if she tells a college what to write for her this is completely medically unethical and only serves to prevent her son from getting the proper treatment and prevents us from teaching him effectively.
Today things got even better. Her son is in the lower majority math class. He has registered for next years' math classes. She e-mailed today to ask if he could be in the higher math as he is doing so well in his current class. This would be an excellerated honors program where students do two years of work in only one. It requires a lot of personal discipline, organization and the ability to take correction. She says he wants to take calculus eventually and go to Georgia Tech (Good luck, kid. No IEP's there and professor's aren't interested in your mother's opinion ... or even yours for that matter... in terms of what you can do, only what you actually do on your own, on time, correctly...). Now up to this point the denial is annoying, but not a problem. We can put him this class that she is deamnding and when he fails he's go back to the regular program. It might cost him an extra year of high school, but he's so socially immature it might be a good thing for him. The problem comes with the next half. The letter goes on to ask if seeing as so many of the kids in the math class her son is in are failing (typical of lower level math classes because that's where many underachievers and remedial students end up... Hence the lower math...) is it likely that her son's math teacher is simply a bad teacher. Further, said math teacher is a coach and doesn't that indicate a poor teacher to begin with? Now, I am neither a coach nor a math teacher, but I find this whole line of reasoning insulting. Her denial is now not only holding her own son back, it is being used to insult and degrade an excellent and dedicated teacher as well as a whole group of people (those who coach and teach). This woman even went so far as to suggest that she may call the school board and have this teacher "evaluated."
I can't wait for her kid to go to college. In three more years (or at this rate 4 or 5)!
My mom used to say that a person can fool themselves into thinking that a cow is a human as long as they want to. They may even find a few places that allow them to live as though it was true, but eventually they are going to run across a butcher and that's just the way it is. Several years ago I had a mother tell me that regardless of the evidence presented she did not believe her child was a thief and she would not accept any punishment of her child for that crime. I thought to myself, how nice for her, though I doubt that any judge, local or federal, will take her opinion into account before handing down a verdict or sentencing her child to prison for burglary. Further with her backing of the child, he is likely to remain unchanged in his ways until that interaction with the US legal system occurs. I feel sorry for whoever he will rob (and/or maim, injury or kill in the process). They will pay for that mother's denial.
I hope a teacher at my school doesn't end up paying for this mother's denial. The son may already be a lost cause.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
To Relax...
I am planning a vacation. While this is not the first time, if it is actually accomplished (which it darn well better be!) it will be the first time I have pulled this off myself to any level of skill. I mean, travel a lot, visit family, go to conferences, but actual rompin' stompin' vacations are few and far between and until this one were always driven by my Dad. He took my family to Yosemite when we were in high school, on a cruise in college and London my fourth year as a teacher. Since then I have attempted to plan my own "vacations."
A dear friend of mine and I were going to go to London for a week in November. Cancelled in September for occupational conflict. We were going to go on a Cruise, I cancelled to facilitate surgery I never had. I did visit in Miami and it was nice, wonderful, but it wasn't the "vacation" I had dreamed I would take when I became an adult.
I always planned to travel the world. Go to London, Greece, Japan, Chile and all that stuff. I wanted to go on cruises, see fine restaurants, the pyramids and have brushes with greatness. Life is never that simple though. I mean still plan to travel, but there is this whole occupational mess and even worse, financing to deal with.
But this is the year. I am going on a cruise to Central America and the Caribbean. I am even going with a friend, though different than the originally planned companion. This is where things get complicated.
He's a boy. Now by modern society standards, as we are both well past the age of consent this is of no consequence to anyone else, but in my world this is a bit odd. Then again I live on a mountain with 800 boys all summer each year and no big, right? Friend and I are just friends, no possibility of anything else and we both have similar religious and moral beliefs, but figure we can change clothes in the bathroom. I figured my very conservative Dad would go apoplectic. No. "Have a good time, tell him I said hi!" Should I be insulted that Dad assumed no seduction? Or worse that friend could handle it if I made the pass? Not going down that rabbit hole today!
Anyway. It's 11 days. We get to see Mayan ruins and I have it on good authority there are no plays I have to direct. What will I do with myself? This will be so nice, simple, not complicated.
Then friend calls. "Make sure you bring one nice dress." he says. "you mean like cocktail or what?" "Nice." he says. Okay. Now I am obsessing about clothes. Which means I am also obsessing about weight. This could get ugly.
Okay, now I have to lose 20 lbs by the time I hit the port in New York or I won't feel good about myself on the cruise. Terrific.
Worse, friend is in the Air Force. A Dentist, actually. He told me to call him to confirm itinerary and to leave a message at office. He laughed and said I could say I was a Colonel. I laughed and explained that as a Navy Brat who bleeds blue and gold I would rather have my teeth pulled out with dull salad tongs. So when I called I said I was Lt. Cmdr. His office mates ambushed him.
"Why is some Navy chick calling you to confirm completion?"
"It was a joke about the rank, just a friend."
"Is this a date?"
"No, just the girl I'm going on an 11 day cruise with."
I have never met these people he works with, never will and now I obsess over what or who they think I am.
Gracious! I need a vacation! Oh wait, that always gets complicated....
A dear friend of mine and I were going to go to London for a week in November. Cancelled in September for occupational conflict. We were going to go on a Cruise, I cancelled to facilitate surgery I never had. I did visit in Miami and it was nice, wonderful, but it wasn't the "vacation" I had dreamed I would take when I became an adult.
I always planned to travel the world. Go to London, Greece, Japan, Chile and all that stuff. I wanted to go on cruises, see fine restaurants, the pyramids and have brushes with greatness. Life is never that simple though. I mean still plan to travel, but there is this whole occupational mess and even worse, financing to deal with.
But this is the year. I am going on a cruise to Central America and the Caribbean. I am even going with a friend, though different than the originally planned companion. This is where things get complicated.
He's a boy. Now by modern society standards, as we are both well past the age of consent this is of no consequence to anyone else, but in my world this is a bit odd. Then again I live on a mountain with 800 boys all summer each year and no big, right? Friend and I are just friends, no possibility of anything else and we both have similar religious and moral beliefs, but figure we can change clothes in the bathroom. I figured my very conservative Dad would go apoplectic. No. "Have a good time, tell him I said hi!" Should I be insulted that Dad assumed no seduction? Or worse that friend could handle it if I made the pass? Not going down that rabbit hole today!
Anyway. It's 11 days. We get to see Mayan ruins and I have it on good authority there are no plays I have to direct. What will I do with myself? This will be so nice, simple, not complicated.
Then friend calls. "Make sure you bring one nice dress." he says. "you mean like cocktail or what?" "Nice." he says. Okay. Now I am obsessing about clothes. Which means I am also obsessing about weight. This could get ugly.
Okay, now I have to lose 20 lbs by the time I hit the port in New York or I won't feel good about myself on the cruise. Terrific.
Worse, friend is in the Air Force. A Dentist, actually. He told me to call him to confirm itinerary and to leave a message at office. He laughed and said I could say I was a Colonel. I laughed and explained that as a Navy Brat who bleeds blue and gold I would rather have my teeth pulled out with dull salad tongs. So when I called I said I was Lt. Cmdr. His office mates ambushed him.
"Why is some Navy chick calling you to confirm completion?"
"It was a joke about the rank, just a friend."
"Is this a date?"
"No, just the girl I'm going on an 11 day cruise with."
I have never met these people he works with, never will and now I obsess over what or who they think I am.
Gracious! I need a vacation! Oh wait, that always gets complicated....
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Don't Drink the Water...
My life, lately, has become full of pregnant people. This is actually a rather disturbing trend, really. All these women who work with me, go to church with me and e-mail me want to tell me all about, or have me feel or have me come to a shower for their baby. Just to sum up work...
Robin: She's my team teacher. Wonderful lady and great friend. This is her third. She tried to keep it a secret, actually, from everybody. Other than her husband and her doctor I was the first to know, and only cause I guessed. There are still many who don't know, including her parents and parents in law. The baby is due in July. She is already showing and people still haven't figured it out. It's kind of funny. The only thing is that since she got pregnant I haven't felt right. Seriously, my migraines are worse and the other day I got nauseous. I mean I KNOW I am not pregnant (Jesus already being born and all) so I have to say that this is totally not fair. If I'm going to have to feel like this I should at least get a baby when it's all over. Then I could quit dieting and feel good about gaining weight!
Hillary: She is my co-producer on 9th grade drama. This is her first. She's friends with Robin too, but hasn't figured Robin's secret out which is funny seeing as they have very close due dates. She is going to kill Robin for keeping it quiet so long and then she is going to kill me for knowing before her. Robin doesn't want her to know because she doesn't want to hear the "Oh! We get to be pregnant together!" speech... Not that I blame her.
Karen: She is my administrator and this is her second. She thinks Hillary is cute and Robin is crazy. Of course she's further along then both and keeps having to leave school for appointments and such. Having a pregnant administrator sucks. Worse, she occasionally cries. This is not a good quality in an assistant principal. It makes for strange parent teacher conferences.
There are others, but those are just some examples. Worse they are all my age and so a big part of me is jealous. Though, Nana and the dogs are plenty and I think kids ought to have two parents and well, now's just not a good time. I told my Dad that if I wanted to spend more time with my mother all I had to do was get pregnant and she'd move here. He laughed and said "She's get there just in time for the funeral. Don't even think about it." Isn't he funny? Even if I was married it would be hard for him. I mean I'm his little girl and 12 year olds shouldn't have children... (He says when I turn 45 he'll start thinking of me at 16.)
Either way, for now, especially at school, bottled water all the way...
Robin: She's my team teacher. Wonderful lady and great friend. This is her third. She tried to keep it a secret, actually, from everybody. Other than her husband and her doctor I was the first to know, and only cause I guessed. There are still many who don't know, including her parents and parents in law. The baby is due in July. She is already showing and people still haven't figured it out. It's kind of funny. The only thing is that since she got pregnant I haven't felt right. Seriously, my migraines are worse and the other day I got nauseous. I mean I KNOW I am not pregnant (Jesus already being born and all) so I have to say that this is totally not fair. If I'm going to have to feel like this I should at least get a baby when it's all over. Then I could quit dieting and feel good about gaining weight!
Hillary: She is my co-producer on 9th grade drama. This is her first. She's friends with Robin too, but hasn't figured Robin's secret out which is funny seeing as they have very close due dates. She is going to kill Robin for keeping it quiet so long and then she is going to kill me for knowing before her. Robin doesn't want her to know because she doesn't want to hear the "Oh! We get to be pregnant together!" speech... Not that I blame her.
Karen: She is my administrator and this is her second. She thinks Hillary is cute and Robin is crazy. Of course she's further along then both and keeps having to leave school for appointments and such. Having a pregnant administrator sucks. Worse, she occasionally cries. This is not a good quality in an assistant principal. It makes for strange parent teacher conferences.
There are others, but those are just some examples. Worse they are all my age and so a big part of me is jealous. Though, Nana and the dogs are plenty and I think kids ought to have two parents and well, now's just not a good time. I told my Dad that if I wanted to spend more time with my mother all I had to do was get pregnant and she'd move here. He laughed and said "She's get there just in time for the funeral. Don't even think about it." Isn't he funny? Even if I was married it would be hard for him. I mean I'm his little girl and 12 year olds shouldn't have children... (He says when I turn 45 he'll start thinking of me at 16.)
Either way, for now, especially at school, bottled water all the way...
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Growing Up
So yesterday I took the plunge and started putting together plans for retirement. 30 years from now, I might add... Figuring out how much I need to put in each year to get out what I want in thirty years for the last thirty years of my life. It's humbling and amazing to see the math work. All those numbers, all this planning and it all determines whether I eat peanut butter everynight for dinner when I retire or filet mignon.
I never wanted to think about that stuff before. When I was in my 20's I felt too young, but I knew I would have to consider it eventually. Now watching Nana and helping her with her finances I know how important it all is. I feel really grown up today.
By the way, this whole interest/compound interest thing is awesome. I mean I hate math, but I could play with this all day!
I never wanted to think about that stuff before. When I was in my 20's I felt too young, but I knew I would have to consider it eventually. Now watching Nana and helping her with her finances I know how important it all is. I feel really grown up today.
By the way, this whole interest/compound interest thing is awesome. I mean I hate math, but I could play with this all day!
Monday, February 27, 2006
The Play is the thing...
One down, one to go. The church play wrapped up this weekend. These things always amaze me in the end. You pull your hair, nash your teeth, bargain with God and in the end they all work out and the only thing anyone ever remembers is that it was wonderful... But I am not everyone. These are the things I will remember.
Huge Pink Castles! When I sat down with "the artist" she asked me what color The King's Castle should be. I said, "something warm, not grey, maybe like a brick mauve or purplely red. I just don't want it to be cold grey stone, that is so austere." She showed me paint samples of light turquoise, dark turquoise, and a dark mauve pink. I said, "Perfect!" The base paint for all of this was a bright Barbie Doll Pink. The Mauve ended up being the detail color for drawing the outline of the bricks. There was little to no turquoise and everything else was PINK! For two weeks I waited for the pastor to hand us our hat for hosing down his pulpit with pepto bismol. In the end no one cared and it looked very whimsical...
"It's about the process..." Over and over I kept being told by the higher ups that the most important part of this whole thing was the process that we go through to produce it and that the product was secondary. But if as the writer and director if I actually approached it from that standpoint, the product is guaranteed to suck and then what difference does the process make? I mean if the process is more important than the product and the product is lousy doesn't that also mean the process was lousy? Or what about the "process" for those who pay to see the show? Is that fair? Didn't Paul say we are to run as though to win the race? While I agreed that what we gain from the process is the bigger treasure than the applause, the point of doing a play (even in church) is not simply the process...
"Oh Please, how can I help?" said the prop manager. She tended to be a bit late at first, but she provided a lot of supplies. The she disappeared for a week. The day of church preview she showed up 2 minutes after performance started with none of the things we needed and blinking like she was hung over. She wanted us (based on her actions) to coo and fuss over her because she had dragged herself to church. Then she shows up 15 minutes late the night of dress rehearsal and says, "oh, give me just ten minutes, and I'll make those things we talked about for the set..." Disappears for almost an hour. I find her making something that won't fit with the set, is not useful and is not even finished. "Nevermind, I tell her. Just organize the props please." "Okay." Nothing happens. The day of the performance she shows up early, all sweet and helpful. "I am so sorry I dropped the ball. What do you need?" We do the whole live and learn speech. Then I aske her, "I need all the props organized and I need roofs for the town set." "Done." She organized all the props and then stepped out for just a second to grab some dinner. She came back two hours later. There were no roofs on the town in either production. Oddly enough she slipped my mind when I thanked people on stage at the last performance. She was offended.
When I was a little girl and I used to sing, my Dad would come up behind my, pop me on the back of the head and say, "you are not Amy Grant, don't sing like her, sing like yourself." Unfortunately I am not allowed to hit other people's children. This child insisted on screwing up his face, closing his eyes and "belting" out his lyrics while pulling his hand back in a fist and bending one knee. This strained and messed up his vocals, not to mention he tended to mess up his words or forget them all together. His mom was my music director and she insisted that he was amazing, needed to sing and was doing a terrific job. Eventually we just turned his mic off during the performance and moved him to the side in the choreography. Great actor though, when he remembered his lines. His mom said he had been on Broadway as a young child...
As the children danced on stage for the final song I looked back over my shoulder and saw that the spot light operators were doing the same dance moves in the back of the sanctuary.
The play was wonderful. The kids did a great job. I learned a lot about the process.
One down, one to go... Oh Romeo, Romeo!
Huge Pink Castles! When I sat down with "the artist" she asked me what color The King's Castle should be. I said, "something warm, not grey, maybe like a brick mauve or purplely red. I just don't want it to be cold grey stone, that is so austere." She showed me paint samples of light turquoise, dark turquoise, and a dark mauve pink. I said, "Perfect!" The base paint for all of this was a bright Barbie Doll Pink. The Mauve ended up being the detail color for drawing the outline of the bricks. There was little to no turquoise and everything else was PINK! For two weeks I waited for the pastor to hand us our hat for hosing down his pulpit with pepto bismol. In the end no one cared and it looked very whimsical...
"It's about the process..." Over and over I kept being told by the higher ups that the most important part of this whole thing was the process that we go through to produce it and that the product was secondary. But if as the writer and director if I actually approached it from that standpoint, the product is guaranteed to suck and then what difference does the process make? I mean if the process is more important than the product and the product is lousy doesn't that also mean the process was lousy? Or what about the "process" for those who pay to see the show? Is that fair? Didn't Paul say we are to run as though to win the race? While I agreed that what we gain from the process is the bigger treasure than the applause, the point of doing a play (even in church) is not simply the process...
"Oh Please, how can I help?" said the prop manager. She tended to be a bit late at first, but she provided a lot of supplies. The she disappeared for a week. The day of church preview she showed up 2 minutes after performance started with none of the things we needed and blinking like she was hung over. She wanted us (based on her actions) to coo and fuss over her because she had dragged herself to church. Then she shows up 15 minutes late the night of dress rehearsal and says, "oh, give me just ten minutes, and I'll make those things we talked about for the set..." Disappears for almost an hour. I find her making something that won't fit with the set, is not useful and is not even finished. "Nevermind, I tell her. Just organize the props please." "Okay." Nothing happens. The day of the performance she shows up early, all sweet and helpful. "I am so sorry I dropped the ball. What do you need?" We do the whole live and learn speech. Then I aske her, "I need all the props organized and I need roofs for the town set." "Done." She organized all the props and then stepped out for just a second to grab some dinner. She came back two hours later. There were no roofs on the town in either production. Oddly enough she slipped my mind when I thanked people on stage at the last performance. She was offended.
When I was a little girl and I used to sing, my Dad would come up behind my, pop me on the back of the head and say, "you are not Amy Grant, don't sing like her, sing like yourself." Unfortunately I am not allowed to hit other people's children. This child insisted on screwing up his face, closing his eyes and "belting" out his lyrics while pulling his hand back in a fist and bending one knee. This strained and messed up his vocals, not to mention he tended to mess up his words or forget them all together. His mom was my music director and she insisted that he was amazing, needed to sing and was doing a terrific job. Eventually we just turned his mic off during the performance and moved him to the side in the choreography. Great actor though, when he remembered his lines. His mom said he had been on Broadway as a young child...
As the children danced on stage for the final song I looked back over my shoulder and saw that the spot light operators were doing the same dance moves in the back of the sanctuary.
The play was wonderful. The kids did a great job. I learned a lot about the process.
One down, one to go... Oh Romeo, Romeo!
Friday, February 24, 2006
Overloaded
This is one of my least favorite seasons in education. This is the month that the dreaded registration for next year happens and this is the time when I see what our children are really made of.
I've been teaching 9th grade English for five semesters, now. Each year 9th graders have to make the decision about which pre-AP (sort of like gifted/honors) classes they want to take sophomore year as prerequisite to the actual AP classes they will take junior and senior year. Now, to my way of thinking, I would take every Pre-AP I was eligible for and then all my options would be open on the AP front. I might even find that I could do more than I thought I could and really excel in the whole AP thing. Course rigor is a major factor in scholarship selection and colleges do look at what classes you took in comparison to GPA.
Not my students though. "I don't want to overload myself [by taking more than one pre-AP or even any pre-AP's at all]". "I already have to read one book over the summer for another class, I don't want to have to read two." "I don't like that subject." What a bunch of lazy bums! These are bright kids and they are punting on their opportunities so they can have more time for TV, IM'ing and most important of all, sports.
There is another pet peeve of mine. Sports are important and so is team dynamic. I would never say otherwise, but sports ahead of school is always a bad idea. There is less than a 1/2% chance that any of them will make a living in athletics, but there is a 100% chance that an education will improve their earning potential and career advancement. Where should their priority be? Why would parents support their child in the "take it easy now so you can do less later in life" theory of education?
Speaking of, there's another thing to this. I encourage and support a kid getting into the more rigorous program and then Mom calls and says, "Little Billy and I decided together that he shouldn't do this. Please don't force/encourage him to." Does she really want me to say to her, "You're right. Your child is too weak/slow/stupid to handle this. I was wrong to have faith in his ability or want to see him excel." Why bother getting him gifted recognition in school? Why bother putting him on the college track at all? Though, God help me if I give this kid a "B" on anything. "Don't you recognize my child's brilliance when you see it?" Not is you don't!
This whole attitude with parents and kids is becoming pervasive and even ridiculous in other things too. I had a young man (12) tell me last night at the dress rehearsal for the play that debuts tonight, "I just don't think I can sit still that long on stage for this scene, can I have something to play with while I'm on stage?" Think about that for a minute and tell me if you would have told him that it was okay to use his game boy (on top of this it's a play set in the middle ages!).
The part that scares me most is someday these kids are going to be my doctors, lawyers, teachers, business people, pilots, mechanics, you name it. My future does not feel secure today...
I'm moving to Australia when I retire.
I've been teaching 9th grade English for five semesters, now. Each year 9th graders have to make the decision about which pre-AP (sort of like gifted/honors) classes they want to take sophomore year as prerequisite to the actual AP classes they will take junior and senior year. Now, to my way of thinking, I would take every Pre-AP I was eligible for and then all my options would be open on the AP front. I might even find that I could do more than I thought I could and really excel in the whole AP thing. Course rigor is a major factor in scholarship selection and colleges do look at what classes you took in comparison to GPA.
Not my students though. "I don't want to overload myself [by taking more than one pre-AP or even any pre-AP's at all]". "I already have to read one book over the summer for another class, I don't want to have to read two." "I don't like that subject." What a bunch of lazy bums! These are bright kids and they are punting on their opportunities so they can have more time for TV, IM'ing and most important of all, sports.
There is another pet peeve of mine. Sports are important and so is team dynamic. I would never say otherwise, but sports ahead of school is always a bad idea. There is less than a 1/2% chance that any of them will make a living in athletics, but there is a 100% chance that an education will improve their earning potential and career advancement. Where should their priority be? Why would parents support their child in the "take it easy now so you can do less later in life" theory of education?
Speaking of, there's another thing to this. I encourage and support a kid getting into the more rigorous program and then Mom calls and says, "Little Billy and I decided together that he shouldn't do this. Please don't force/encourage him to." Does she really want me to say to her, "You're right. Your child is too weak/slow/stupid to handle this. I was wrong to have faith in his ability or want to see him excel." Why bother getting him gifted recognition in school? Why bother putting him on the college track at all? Though, God help me if I give this kid a "B" on anything. "Don't you recognize my child's brilliance when you see it?" Not is you don't!
This whole attitude with parents and kids is becoming pervasive and even ridiculous in other things too. I had a young man (12) tell me last night at the dress rehearsal for the play that debuts tonight, "I just don't think I can sit still that long on stage for this scene, can I have something to play with while I'm on stage?" Think about that for a minute and tell me if you would have told him that it was okay to use his game boy (on top of this it's a play set in the middle ages!).
The part that scares me most is someday these kids are going to be my doctors, lawyers, teachers, business people, pilots, mechanics, you name it. My future does not feel secure today...
I'm moving to Australia when I retire.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Unlucky
People are amazing. The way we view the occurrences of our lives astounds me. I listened to a child explain away the fact that they had done none of the things they had been told to do for the past month. All the reasons were given with calm, patient rationality. None of the reasons were connected, but they were all perfectly reasonable excuses for not doing their homework... According to them anyway... When I asked if they realized that all of these problems were connected to poor choices and poor planning they looked me dead in the eye and said, sweet as pie, "I just have bad luck."
Two summers ago when I was working at boy scout camp as a field medic a 10 year old boy came in to see me with a rather interesting injury. He explained the entire situation to me, with the coda, "I just have bad luck." Let me explain the circumstances.
This child had a wrist cast on his right hand. He was right handed. In boy scouts in order to be able to buy and/or posses a knife the scout must pass a series of instruction called a toting chip. This young man started his week by lying to his scoutmaster so that he could falsify his toting chip. He immediately raced down to the trading post and using money he was supposed to use for his class supplies bought the biggest, sharpest knife they had. Then while in fishing merit badge class, instead of doing what he was supposed to be doing, fishing, he caught baby frogs and put them in a coke bottle (now empty of the coke his mom told him he wasn't supposed to drink). Then he screwed the cap on and holding the top of the bottle with his casted, dominant hand he began jabbing to the top of the bottle with his brand new knife using his left, non-dominant hand. Now recognize he was driving this knife into a bottle top not much bigger than a quarter and the knife it self at the widest cross section is wider than said cap. When he "unluckily" drove the knife through the webbing between his thumb and forefinger of his right hand (the only part not covered by his cast) he yanked it back out started screaming and tore off into my med-lodge waving his hand over his head, spraying blood everywhere and screaming. He was woozy from blood loss by the time I got him calmed down enough to quit racing around screaming, get a compress on his hand, examine the damage and then get him in a car to the ER (by the way, this means I literally had to chase him around my clinic with him spraying blood and screaming, until another person came to help me and just as we cornered him he started to faint and I caught him. He was lethargic for a few minutes which is when I examined him and got a compress on his hand. He either fainted from the blood issue or more likely the screaming.) After 8 stitches, he called his mom and demanded to go home because it was "no fun here."
Yeah, he was one "unlucky" kid.
Two summers ago when I was working at boy scout camp as a field medic a 10 year old boy came in to see me with a rather interesting injury. He explained the entire situation to me, with the coda, "I just have bad luck." Let me explain the circumstances.
This child had a wrist cast on his right hand. He was right handed. In boy scouts in order to be able to buy and/or posses a knife the scout must pass a series of instruction called a toting chip. This young man started his week by lying to his scoutmaster so that he could falsify his toting chip. He immediately raced down to the trading post and using money he was supposed to use for his class supplies bought the biggest, sharpest knife they had. Then while in fishing merit badge class, instead of doing what he was supposed to be doing, fishing, he caught baby frogs and put them in a coke bottle (now empty of the coke his mom told him he wasn't supposed to drink). Then he screwed the cap on and holding the top of the bottle with his casted, dominant hand he began jabbing to the top of the bottle with his brand new knife using his left, non-dominant hand. Now recognize he was driving this knife into a bottle top not much bigger than a quarter and the knife it self at the widest cross section is wider than said cap. When he "unluckily" drove the knife through the webbing between his thumb and forefinger of his right hand (the only part not covered by his cast) he yanked it back out started screaming and tore off into my med-lodge waving his hand over his head, spraying blood everywhere and screaming. He was woozy from blood loss by the time I got him calmed down enough to quit racing around screaming, get a compress on his hand, examine the damage and then get him in a car to the ER (by the way, this means I literally had to chase him around my clinic with him spraying blood and screaming, until another person came to help me and just as we cornered him he started to faint and I caught him. He was lethargic for a few minutes which is when I examined him and got a compress on his hand. He either fainted from the blood issue or more likely the screaming.) After 8 stitches, he called his mom and demanded to go home because it was "no fun here."
Yeah, he was one "unlucky" kid.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Puppies, Pit Bulls and Cocker Spaniels
Yesterday I went to the meeting that was my punishment for having an opinion contrary to the flow of traffic at work. That's another blog. This one is about the puppies that were in the room next to mine for the veterinary class.
Oh they were so cute! One was an eight week old, glossy black cocker spaniel. So beautiful and sweet. The other was a seven week old pit bull. His name was Romeo. Absolutely adorable. There in lies the problem.
I abhor pit bulls. As an EMT I have seen people mauled by these things. They are dangerous and vicious. A friend of mine, a police officer, was terribly injured by one when it jumped through a screen and attacked him, and that was the dogs second offense. These things are a menace.
Then there is the part of me that has trained dogs and thinks that it is a matter of socialization and that people that get pitts tend to emphasize their bad qualities making them dangerous dogs. If trained correctly maybe they stay as sweet as this puppy licking my ear. I looked at this sweet puppy and I could see how someone could let something that dangerous into their house, because they are cute and sweet as puppies. I wonder if because it is being so well socialized in this class if this puppy will be friendly? Even if it wasn't would I have trouble recognizing that because I held it as a puppy?
For a split second I wondered if serial killers are cute as children (yes, stupid question, I know) and further if they might not have been serial killers with different parents/raising.
Then I put the puppy down and went to play with the Cocker Spaniel again before I went back to my boring meeting.
I will never own a Pit Bull.
Oh they were so cute! One was an eight week old, glossy black cocker spaniel. So beautiful and sweet. The other was a seven week old pit bull. His name was Romeo. Absolutely adorable. There in lies the problem.
I abhor pit bulls. As an EMT I have seen people mauled by these things. They are dangerous and vicious. A friend of mine, a police officer, was terribly injured by one when it jumped through a screen and attacked him, and that was the dogs second offense. These things are a menace.
Then there is the part of me that has trained dogs and thinks that it is a matter of socialization and that people that get pitts tend to emphasize their bad qualities making them dangerous dogs. If trained correctly maybe they stay as sweet as this puppy licking my ear. I looked at this sweet puppy and I could see how someone could let something that dangerous into their house, because they are cute and sweet as puppies. I wonder if because it is being so well socialized in this class if this puppy will be friendly? Even if it wasn't would I have trouble recognizing that because I held it as a puppy?
For a split second I wondered if serial killers are cute as children (yes, stupid question, I know) and further if they might not have been serial killers with different parents/raising.
Then I put the puppy down and went to play with the Cocker Spaniel again before I went back to my boring meeting.
I will never own a Pit Bull.
Friday, February 17, 2006
I'll get you my pretty and your little dog too!
So I was writing on the board today and a student asked me if it was hard being a teacher and having people judge you by your handwriting on the board all the time. I said not nearly as hard as being judged on my inability to keep my opinion to myself.
I loath standardized tests. I think they are useful and necessary measures, but I do not think they should rule education the way they do. Further I think that the people that write them are demented. Sometimes I think these people get together, throw back a lot of beers and say, how can we be as confusing as possible and make teachers/students nuts? This is not to be confused with the people who say, how can we write a test that looks hard, but is very easy and we can then take credit for raising academic standards?
Anyway, we had a recent battery of these monsters and they were of a new "breed." I made the mistake of specifically and in detail explaining to me administrator why these tests were flawed. Now, supposedly, he likes me. (And I admire him more than any other administrator I've ever worked with). He showed his faith in my by having me represent our entire high school at a Board of Education Meeting to discuss what to do about these tests in the future, the letter we want to mail to the state and better preparing our kids. This means I have to find a sub, rework my lesson plans, grade work I could have supervised in class and spend time with the administrator I like least in my career (she is in charge of testing for the county and she had her own platinum broom with cat affixed and wart to match...).
Like I said, in the future I will keep my mouth shut!
I loath standardized tests. I think they are useful and necessary measures, but I do not think they should rule education the way they do. Further I think that the people that write them are demented. Sometimes I think these people get together, throw back a lot of beers and say, how can we be as confusing as possible and make teachers/students nuts? This is not to be confused with the people who say, how can we write a test that looks hard, but is very easy and we can then take credit for raising academic standards?
Anyway, we had a recent battery of these monsters and they were of a new "breed." I made the mistake of specifically and in detail explaining to me administrator why these tests were flawed. Now, supposedly, he likes me. (And I admire him more than any other administrator I've ever worked with). He showed his faith in my by having me represent our entire high school at a Board of Education Meeting to discuss what to do about these tests in the future, the letter we want to mail to the state and better preparing our kids. This means I have to find a sub, rework my lesson plans, grade work I could have supervised in class and spend time with the administrator I like least in my career (she is in charge of testing for the county and she had her own platinum broom with cat affixed and wart to match...).
Like I said, in the future I will keep my mouth shut!
Monday, February 13, 2006
Leaving the Pity Party
Sometime ago I had a conversation with a friend on IM that amounted to the fact that everyone I know who lived with me or was planning to live with me gets married within 18 months of that arrangement, most within one year. (There has only been one exception to this in the past 11 instances, and that friend came back and tried again and is now happily married.) She hypothesized that God was trying to bless me but I kept moving around and he would miss and hit those close to me instead. I asked her if she was saying God throws like a girl.
Some days it is easy to sit around and feel sorry for myself. Everybody can find a reason to feel sorry for themselves if they want to. Yesterday I had about decided it was a good day to wallow in self pity. The icing was a conversation I had with Nana.
"Well hello there Mary Sunshine" She says to me.
"Nana, I'm not Mary Sunshine, that's what you call Lindsey (the young woman who helps me with Nana sometimes)"
"That's right. You're Mary Grumpy." (Writing cannot express the smug grin on her face when she said this.)
"Thanks, Nana, I love you too."
Later that day someone asked me how I was getting on with Nana and the other things I had going on in my life. Because it is the socially appropriate thing to do, I said "fine." The sweet old lady pressed further and so I started explaining how good things were and even went on as to why and by the time I realized what I was saying I also realized how true everything I was saying was. I am so very blessed and I have so much to be thankful for. I thanked the delightful woman for asking after my troubles and such and she gave me a wise smile and winked. Ten bucks says she knew I was throwing a pity party and threw me the bone to help me bail myself out. Worse, I wonder if Nana called he and this is an old woman conspiracy. Either way I am thankful.
Some days it is easy to sit around and feel sorry for myself. Everybody can find a reason to feel sorry for themselves if they want to. Yesterday I had about decided it was a good day to wallow in self pity. The icing was a conversation I had with Nana.
"Well hello there Mary Sunshine" She says to me.
"Nana, I'm not Mary Sunshine, that's what you call Lindsey (the young woman who helps me with Nana sometimes)"
"That's right. You're Mary Grumpy." (Writing cannot express the smug grin on her face when she said this.)
"Thanks, Nana, I love you too."
Later that day someone asked me how I was getting on with Nana and the other things I had going on in my life. Because it is the socially appropriate thing to do, I said "fine." The sweet old lady pressed further and so I started explaining how good things were and even went on as to why and by the time I realized what I was saying I also realized how true everything I was saying was. I am so very blessed and I have so much to be thankful for. I thanked the delightful woman for asking after my troubles and such and she gave me a wise smile and winked. Ten bucks says she knew I was throwing a pity party and threw me the bone to help me bail myself out. Worse, I wonder if Nana called he and this is an old woman conspiracy. Either way I am thankful.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Welcome to Planet Panic
Yep, we must be at almost two weeks to go on the church play, because I am panicking! Let's see, the sets which should be nearly finished are barely started, the actors are not off script yet, we only now agreed to have a matinee on Sunday after the performance Friday, the set parts that are finished are OMG! PINK!!!! Hopefully the head pastor is secure enough in his masculinity to preach with Barbie Palace behind him for the next three Sundays. Oh, did I mention the youth pastor (and this is a youth play) announced his resignation and relocation to Oregon last night! So now I also have sobbing drippy actors who aren't sure they want to help raise money for a mission trip they may no longer go on because the youth minister may no longer be the one leading it. I am panicking now!
What possesses me to volunteer for this stuff? "You need a director for the youth mission play? Sure I'll do, heck, I'll even write it!" So now I am a teacher, pet owner, senior care giver, un-published novelist, high school drama coach (we have auditions for that production today!) and youth mission play writer, director and executive producer. I will have to send I miss you cards to my pillow so it doesn't forget me. Why do I do this to myself?
What possesses me to volunteer for this stuff? "You need a director for the youth mission play? Sure I'll do, heck, I'll even write it!" So now I am a teacher, pet owner, senior care giver, un-published novelist, high school drama coach (we have auditions for that production today!) and youth mission play writer, director and executive producer. I will have to send I miss you cards to my pillow so it doesn't forget me. Why do I do this to myself?
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Nana'isms
Nana is a major part of my life. She is 81 and has lived with me now for two years. She came to me along with her dog, Piper, who is a littermate to my Roo, both Shelties.
She was born in the 20's, lived through the Depression in rural Massachusetts, went to Nursing School and then (even though it is not what women did back then) moved out of her parents house and moved by herself to Ohio where they desperately needed pediatric nurses and nurse instructors. There she met my grandfather a warhero college student and they lived happily ever after. Sort of. He passed away over 20 years ago, and though she was in her early sixties and could have hung it up, she kept going.
She stayed in the same house that had held their marriage and their children all those years. Only she made some changes. She got all new furniture, white carpet (can you imagine!), a water bed and bought bright flowered shirts with bright pink suspenders (well endowed women should never wear suspenders!). She began to travel, visit friends, family and she also continued to care for her parents, still in Massachusetts who lived to be in their late 90's. She continued to "talk" to her husband, her "Daley."
Four years ago, she went to live with her daughter, my mother. That didn't work so well for various reasons. So, (to be fair) against my mother's wishes, Nana and I decided she should come live with me instead. Understand this decision was made in about 24 hours, while I was visiting Mom and Nana and while my mother was "trapped" in a hospital room. I went from swinging 28 year old single, living the high life in Atlanta to being a single mother of an 81 year old (and her dog) and guilty (according to mom) of "seniornapping."
Now, Mom and I are close again and we both agree that this was for the best. I have adjusted as has Nana to the new living situation. My dog has accepted the fact that she has to share her house with her baby brother. My students have learned to listen to stories of Nana. Most importantly I have found a joy unlike any I could have dreamed and never before imagined.
Everybody likes Nana. One day at church, a friend said to me, "She is so cute!" and I laughed and said, "yeah, just like a puppy." Not really, but it is funny to hear people. Nana makes friends with everyone. When she gets her hair done each week, the other beauticians come and sit in the chairs around her and talk to her, listening and laughing with her. The nurses at her doctor's office fight over who gets to do her chart. Even my students, when I bring her to school one or two days out of the year (usually if she has a doctor's appointment in the afternoon and I don't have time to go home to get her first) the kids all stop in the hall to talk to her. Students who never speak to me and I would swear hate me. They know Nana and want to say hi. Then they brag to others about meeting her. What's worse is other teachers on staff do the same thing...
There are Nana'isms in my life.
(Said to her nurse in the doc's office) "My arms are ugly, and they look awful in those spaghetti strap nightgowns that you have to wear for your husband, but my husband died so I don't have to anymore."
(Said to me as I was walking out the door with a date) "Sister, (she calls me sister) be sure and lock the door when you leave. I'd hate for someone to break in and rape me, 'cause I'm all dried up!"
"The dogs have been having a good day, playing and running. Only I don't think Piper knows Roo is his sister."
(Said to a good male friend of mine at dinner) "Have you been to Sandy's house? Oh, you should come back, now that I live there, it doesn't look like that anymore."
(Said to a date as we were on the way out the door) "Don't you worry, if you want to marry my sister, I'm gonna move out. One woman from our family in your house is enough. And she's the prettier of the two of us..." (Oddly enough that was our first and last date...)
(When she couldn't find her glasses that were in her pocket) "Daley, someone has taken my glasses, come read this to me!"
Those are really just the first ones I thought of. There are so many more. People come to my house just to listen to her.
I hope I grow up to be just like her.
She was born in the 20's, lived through the Depression in rural Massachusetts, went to Nursing School and then (even though it is not what women did back then) moved out of her parents house and moved by herself to Ohio where they desperately needed pediatric nurses and nurse instructors. There she met my grandfather a warhero college student and they lived happily ever after. Sort of. He passed away over 20 years ago, and though she was in her early sixties and could have hung it up, she kept going.
She stayed in the same house that had held their marriage and their children all those years. Only she made some changes. She got all new furniture, white carpet (can you imagine!), a water bed and bought bright flowered shirts with bright pink suspenders (well endowed women should never wear suspenders!). She began to travel, visit friends, family and she also continued to care for her parents, still in Massachusetts who lived to be in their late 90's. She continued to "talk" to her husband, her "Daley."
Four years ago, she went to live with her daughter, my mother. That didn't work so well for various reasons. So, (to be fair) against my mother's wishes, Nana and I decided she should come live with me instead. Understand this decision was made in about 24 hours, while I was visiting Mom and Nana and while my mother was "trapped" in a hospital room. I went from swinging 28 year old single, living the high life in Atlanta to being a single mother of an 81 year old (and her dog) and guilty (according to mom) of "seniornapping."
Now, Mom and I are close again and we both agree that this was for the best. I have adjusted as has Nana to the new living situation. My dog has accepted the fact that she has to share her house with her baby brother. My students have learned to listen to stories of Nana. Most importantly I have found a joy unlike any I could have dreamed and never before imagined.
Everybody likes Nana. One day at church, a friend said to me, "She is so cute!" and I laughed and said, "yeah, just like a puppy." Not really, but it is funny to hear people. Nana makes friends with everyone. When she gets her hair done each week, the other beauticians come and sit in the chairs around her and talk to her, listening and laughing with her. The nurses at her doctor's office fight over who gets to do her chart. Even my students, when I bring her to school one or two days out of the year (usually if she has a doctor's appointment in the afternoon and I don't have time to go home to get her first) the kids all stop in the hall to talk to her. Students who never speak to me and I would swear hate me. They know Nana and want to say hi. Then they brag to others about meeting her. What's worse is other teachers on staff do the same thing...
There are Nana'isms in my life.
(Said to her nurse in the doc's office) "My arms are ugly, and they look awful in those spaghetti strap nightgowns that you have to wear for your husband, but my husband died so I don't have to anymore."
(Said to me as I was walking out the door with a date) "Sister, (she calls me sister) be sure and lock the door when you leave. I'd hate for someone to break in and rape me, 'cause I'm all dried up!"
"The dogs have been having a good day, playing and running. Only I don't think Piper knows Roo is his sister."
(Said to a good male friend of mine at dinner) "Have you been to Sandy's house? Oh, you should come back, now that I live there, it doesn't look like that anymore."
(Said to a date as we were on the way out the door) "Don't you worry, if you want to marry my sister, I'm gonna move out. One woman from our family in your house is enough. And she's the prettier of the two of us..." (Oddly enough that was our first and last date...)
(When she couldn't find her glasses that were in her pocket) "Daley, someone has taken my glasses, come read this to me!"
Those are really just the first ones I thought of. There are so many more. People come to my house just to listen to her.
I hope I grow up to be just like her.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Purple Planets!
Today as an assignment my students had to create their own planet. They had to explain it's physical details as well as the people on it, animals, plants, culture and civilization. They all rolled their eyes at me, sighed and began to write. Some of them are really getting into it now. I love watching them work. It's like their brains are on fire and the smoke is thought!
On my planet there is no tilt, so day and night are always the same equal length all year long. There are seasons, but they are very short and so you get to enjoy the sensations of Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter for about a month and then the season moves on. This makes you appreciate each one more and enjoy it while it is there. Plus, if you miss it, it is only three months till you get it again. All plants have beautiful bright fragrant flowers that bloom an entire season (month) and there is a pretty varied time of growth (some even in the winter) so there are always flowers everywhere and the air is full of the perfume. No Britany Spears or Estee Lauder needed. The sentient beings are rich, royal purples, all shades. With bright green eyes that are luminescent. The sing and dance and no one wears clothes except in the winter.
I think my planet sound like it has potential. I think I need to visit it again soon. One of my students asked if she could go live on her planet. It is made of chocolate. I might visit hers on the way to mine.
Sometimes I worry about kids today and their ability to create. I still worry, but seeing all the planets today makes me excited about the worlds I might get to visit someday.
OK, my headache is still here, and throbbing, but either I feel better or the flashing lights and piercing whine has gotten to me. My principal said I can go at noon, when I finish my curricular obligations. I think that might be a good thing.
The sooner I can sleep this off, the sooner I can go back to that purple planet!
On my planet there is no tilt, so day and night are always the same equal length all year long. There are seasons, but they are very short and so you get to enjoy the sensations of Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter for about a month and then the season moves on. This makes you appreciate each one more and enjoy it while it is there. Plus, if you miss it, it is only three months till you get it again. All plants have beautiful bright fragrant flowers that bloom an entire season (month) and there is a pretty varied time of growth (some even in the winter) so there are always flowers everywhere and the air is full of the perfume. No Britany Spears or Estee Lauder needed. The sentient beings are rich, royal purples, all shades. With bright green eyes that are luminescent. The sing and dance and no one wears clothes except in the winter.
I think my planet sound like it has potential. I think I need to visit it again soon. One of my students asked if she could go live on her planet. It is made of chocolate. I might visit hers on the way to mine.
Sometimes I worry about kids today and their ability to create. I still worry, but seeing all the planets today makes me excited about the worlds I might get to visit someday.
OK, my headache is still here, and throbbing, but either I feel better or the flashing lights and piercing whine has gotten to me. My principal said I can go at noon, when I finish my curricular obligations. I think that might be a good thing.
The sooner I can sleep this off, the sooner I can go back to that purple planet!
Just Say No
This past weekend emphasized just how crazy my life can get. On Saturday I spent 2 hours doing boyscout camp interviews, an hour getting lunch for set painters, 3 hours at church painting the set for the play in two weeks, 2 hours doing errands for "Nana" (81 year old pistol) including getting her bi weekly manicure (otherwise she bites her nails and her hands hurt) an hour and a half cleaning up around the house and forty five minutes brushing shelties in an ever useless effort to turn the tide in this war on dog hair. Sunday there was church, play rehearsal, more errands and company for the super bowl.
This morning I got up with the most delightful headache. I can't tell if it is tension (from shoulders) dehydration (from too much sugar, salt and caffeine from superbowl food), sinus or just standard stress. I'm trying to think of something for my students to do to day that is quiet, self perpetuating and doesn't require me to think or outright teach today. My team teacher wants to know why I came in today if the headache is this bad.
That's a good question. All of the crazy this weekend is stuff I have volunteered for. I even came up with some of it and then volunteered to do it. As a teacher I tell my students to "Just Say No!" No Drugs, No Sex, No Booze, No Skipping, No Crime. I think I need to remember to tell them to say no to over extension too.
Just Say No!
This morning I got up with the most delightful headache. I can't tell if it is tension (from shoulders) dehydration (from too much sugar, salt and caffeine from superbowl food), sinus or just standard stress. I'm trying to think of something for my students to do to day that is quiet, self perpetuating and doesn't require me to think or outright teach today. My team teacher wants to know why I came in today if the headache is this bad.
That's a good question. All of the crazy this weekend is stuff I have volunteered for. I even came up with some of it and then volunteered to do it. As a teacher I tell my students to "Just Say No!" No Drugs, No Sex, No Booze, No Skipping, No Crime. I think I need to remember to tell them to say no to over extension too.
Just Say No!
Friday, February 03, 2006
You mean I have to remember what I read?
My fifth grade teacher (who is now a retired elementary school principal) once told my parents that I was an exasperating child. I was the first child she had ever had to discourage from reading. I was not even allowed to bring a free reading book into class unless it was free reading time and I wasn't allowed to have my Lit book unless it was Lit time or my History book unless it was history time. Looking back as a teacher myself, I can't imagine how frustrating and frankly annoying I must have been to my teachers. Mostly, once I learned something in class and mastered it to my own satisfaction I was no longer concerned about whether or not anyone else knew I had mastered the concept/ability.
My Mom's therapist (yes I drove my parents insane too) asked her why anyone would choose to create such an inwardly directed child like me as our lives tend to be very difficult. When my mother told me that I decided her therapist was a mean old quack. Now I teach kids and I see the problem.
Back then, I learned what I wanted to, when I wanted to, to the level I wanted to and then I read the rest of the time. Books were my best friends. If I started a book I had to finish it, even if I didn't care for it. I consumed them, none of this chapter a night stuff for me, no sir! My parents couldn't even send me to my room as punishment, I would just go and read. So at 10 I had time outs where I had to sit in a chair with (OMG!) No Book!
Now my students are like that. They learn what they want to learn, when they want to learn it to the level they figure they need it and then they tune me out. They just don't happen to be interested in reading afterwards.
The point of all this is
1) There is a teacher's curse version of The Parent's curse, "Someday I hope you teach students just like you!"
2) We just spent 30 minutes doing a reading lesson (9th grade English) and I asked a student (who was sitting at his seat drawing as he had completed reading) what he had just read and he gave me the most exasperated sigh and said,
"You mean I have to remember what I read? You only said I had to read the story, not remember!"
Mrs. Blackshear, please accept my most humble apology for my behavior in 5th grade.
My Mom's therapist (yes I drove my parents insane too) asked her why anyone would choose to create such an inwardly directed child like me as our lives tend to be very difficult. When my mother told me that I decided her therapist was a mean old quack. Now I teach kids and I see the problem.
Back then, I learned what I wanted to, when I wanted to, to the level I wanted to and then I read the rest of the time. Books were my best friends. If I started a book I had to finish it, even if I didn't care for it. I consumed them, none of this chapter a night stuff for me, no sir! My parents couldn't even send me to my room as punishment, I would just go and read. So at 10 I had time outs where I had to sit in a chair with (OMG!) No Book!
Now my students are like that. They learn what they want to learn, when they want to learn it to the level they figure they need it and then they tune me out. They just don't happen to be interested in reading afterwards.
The point of all this is
1) There is a teacher's curse version of The Parent's curse, "Someday I hope you teach students just like you!"
2) We just spent 30 minutes doing a reading lesson (9th grade English) and I asked a student (who was sitting at his seat drawing as he had completed reading) what he had just read and he gave me the most exasperated sigh and said,
"You mean I have to remember what I read? You only said I had to read the story, not remember!"
Mrs. Blackshear, please accept my most humble apology for my behavior in 5th grade.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Killing with Kindness
Goodness. I was frustrated this afternoon. Mostly frustrated with myself I guess. The behavior of my student(s) was wrong and someone got hurt. I learned something about myself too. It is easy to be angry about things that happen to people you care more/most about and to disregard and be unaware about bad things happening to those you care least for.
Kids are cruel, but to be fair we all are. We just are less honest about it, I think. It's funny. I was a youth minister in graduate school and I quickly learned that I could point out any flaw in a child or parishioner if I simply tacked on the term, "bless their heart."
"He is such a little terror, bless his heart."
"She is so unco-ordinated, bless her heart."
"I'm sure he didn't mean to lie, cheat and steal, bless his heart."
I caught on to my own use of the phrase when I heard another, sweet, dear, Christian soul mention to another mother next to her how truly ugly one of their friends' daughters was, bless her heart. How many times did I couch an insult that way? I resolved then to change.
When I caught myself chuckling at the idea of a mean kid (who is still just a kid, and may have reasons behind his behavior, may grow out of it, or may have never had a better example) having something awful happen to him that I found monumentally upsetting when it actually happened to a well behaved child, I realized I was still "blessing their hearts."
Yes, Lord. I heard you. Please bless my heart and help me change.
Kids are cruel, but to be fair we all are. We just are less honest about it, I think. It's funny. I was a youth minister in graduate school and I quickly learned that I could point out any flaw in a child or parishioner if I simply tacked on the term, "bless their heart."
"He is such a little terror, bless his heart."
"She is so unco-ordinated, bless her heart."
"I'm sure he didn't mean to lie, cheat and steal, bless his heart."
I caught on to my own use of the phrase when I heard another, sweet, dear, Christian soul mention to another mother next to her how truly ugly one of their friends' daughters was, bless her heart. How many times did I couch an insult that way? I resolved then to change.
When I caught myself chuckling at the idea of a mean kid (who is still just a kid, and may have reasons behind his behavior, may grow out of it, or may have never had a better example) having something awful happen to him that I found monumentally upsetting when it actually happened to a well behaved child, I realized I was still "blessing their hearts."
Yes, Lord. I heard you. Please bless my heart and help me change.
Isn't it funny
Being a teacher I feel very confidant in the following statement. There is no group of people on earth meaner than children. I mean vile, malicious, cruelty. Can you imagine! I teach ninth graders. Normally I adore them, as much as anyone can anyway. This week, I loath them.
One of my students decided it would be "funny" to urinate in a team-mate's water bottle and watch him drink it. Sufficed to say one really delightful child spent a day in tears and was mortified and the other was given the maximum suspension allowed by county policy and has most likely been black balled (with good reason) from team sports at our school for some time.
The victim of this crime (and crime is the correct word, if I were his parents I'd press criminal charges) is an all around good kid. I mean no one is perfect, but this kid is sweet, smart, hard working and polite and not in the annoying, cloying, Eddie Haskell way either. Just a genuine good kid. The perpetrator in this admits that his behavior was completely unprovoked. He did it simply because he thought it would be "funny." He is a teacher's kid by the way. The celebrated son at the tale end of five (count 'em) adorable daughters. His parents must be so proud. His suspension guarantees that he will fail this semester as he only passed 75% of his classes last semester and that was just barely. He only managed that much so he could play sports, which as I just said have been removed as an option for some time.
Here's the thing. Originally we thought someone else had done this awful thing. A really cocky, down-right narsassitic kid none of us cares for much. I was discussing the incident with the coach after the correct criminal had been caught and I commented that I could have at least understood why the cocky kid would have been targeted, but not the kid that ended up being hurt. The coach laughed (and I chuckled myself) and said, "yeah if this had happened to him, it would still be wrong, but it would be funny." He walked off to finish the suspension proceedings and I stood there in the echo of our "joke."
That kind of behavior should never be funny. No one ever deserves it. There is no explanation or excuse for that kind of thing. How can I classify that as wrong, teach it as wrong and then find a way that it is funny? Should I teach my students that beating, rape and murder are wrong, but if it happens to a convicted felon, most specifically a child molester, it's poetic justice, okay or even just a bit funny?
Maybe kids are cruel because they simply haven't learned the qualifiers that we adults apply.
One of my students decided it would be "funny" to urinate in a team-mate's water bottle and watch him drink it. Sufficed to say one really delightful child spent a day in tears and was mortified and the other was given the maximum suspension allowed by county policy and has most likely been black balled (with good reason) from team sports at our school for some time.
The victim of this crime (and crime is the correct word, if I were his parents I'd press criminal charges) is an all around good kid. I mean no one is perfect, but this kid is sweet, smart, hard working and polite and not in the annoying, cloying, Eddie Haskell way either. Just a genuine good kid. The perpetrator in this admits that his behavior was completely unprovoked. He did it simply because he thought it would be "funny." He is a teacher's kid by the way. The celebrated son at the tale end of five (count 'em) adorable daughters. His parents must be so proud. His suspension guarantees that he will fail this semester as he only passed 75% of his classes last semester and that was just barely. He only managed that much so he could play sports, which as I just said have been removed as an option for some time.
Here's the thing. Originally we thought someone else had done this awful thing. A really cocky, down-right narsassitic kid none of us cares for much. I was discussing the incident with the coach after the correct criminal had been caught and I commented that I could have at least understood why the cocky kid would have been targeted, but not the kid that ended up being hurt. The coach laughed (and I chuckled myself) and said, "yeah if this had happened to him, it would still be wrong, but it would be funny." He walked off to finish the suspension proceedings and I stood there in the echo of our "joke."
That kind of behavior should never be funny. No one ever deserves it. There is no explanation or excuse for that kind of thing. How can I classify that as wrong, teach it as wrong and then find a way that it is funny? Should I teach my students that beating, rape and murder are wrong, but if it happens to a convicted felon, most specifically a child molester, it's poetic justice, okay or even just a bit funny?
Maybe kids are cruel because they simply haven't learned the qualifiers that we adults apply.
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