Thank Goodness My Husband Chases Storms...? 4/27/14

I knew on Thursday that my trip home from Little Rock today might be dicey. I considered, very briefly, to come home last night to avoid the potential danger I could face driving up the Missouri/Kansas border to my home in Kansas City. That (would-be) 7-hour drive (6 hours for ol' Lead Foot here) was supposed to be smack-dab in the middle of the moderate risk area. Anyone who follows storms like my husband does (literally, he follows them, the fool), will tell you that moderate risk days are not to be trifled with. [ugh, dangling participle]

Mother Nature wasn't playing around today either. 

I made  the fortuitous, and educated, decision to leave Little Rock before nine this morning. I only drove through one moderate downpour, and had virtually no issues with rain otherwise, except leaving my gas cap off for 120 miles during said downpour . 

Around 1:30, my husband contacted me to ask where I was. "Lamar (MO)," I told him. 

"Don't stop," he replied. "There's a storm coming up behind you going about 60 miles per hour." 

"Not a problem. It'll never catch me!" 

(Please don't tell the cops, but my speed was between 83 and 88 miles per hour nearly the entire trip. I'm not bragging, and if my mother ever reads this, she will no doubt reprimand her 40 year-old daughter, but I am admitting my guilt. Like I said, please don't tell the highway patrol.)

I was right. I missed all the weather. I missed the tornadoes (plural) that ran along Highway 40 on which I had just sped, my satellite radio blasting, just a few hours prior. I missed the mayhem, the disaster, the lives lost, the property destroyed. 

And for that, I thank my crazy, adrenaline-riddled husband who chases storms and worries me constantly every spring. That dumbass (and I mean that lovingly) kept me from harm's way. Guess he wants to keep me around a little longer. 

Probably because he needed clean socks.

What Does a Writer Feel Like? 4/26/14

Today was a spectacular day. I met, spoke with, shook hands with, and ultimately became a fan of 7 different authors. As each one spoke, I felt myself lifting out of the body of a sometimes bitter high school teacher and settling into the writer I know I am. Highlights are as follows:

10:00am - Panel with Curtis Sittenfield, author of Prep, American Wife, and Sisterland, and Mona Simpson, author of Anywhere But Here and Casebook. Each spoke frankly about writing when trying to raise kids and have a "normal" life. Sittenfield seemed so down-to-earth, as if she would be the mom who reluctantly volunteers for able sales and PTA events because she feels guilty her kids are often under-represented in the social stratosphere of suburbia. Mona Simpson, whose children are older, is a professor whose students probably hang on every word. Of course, these are assumptions based on the panel discussion, but I can understand Sittenfield's balancing act as she tries to carve out time for her young children while sticking to publishing deadlines and book tours like she is on now. 

11:30am - Mary Beth Keane, author of Fever (fictionalized account of Typhoid Mary that I cannot wait to read) and Wiley Cash, author of This Dark Road to Mercy. Both authors are new to me. Unlike Simpson and Sittenfield, whose books I've read most of, these are two writers whose work has flown beneath my radar, but I attended the panel because both novels sounded interesting, and so did the blurb about the discussion on the festival website. I was enthralled. Absolutely enraptured with their discussion. Cash has a smart, Southern boy charm; Keane is intelligent, and I could tell she wasn't entirely comfortable with speaking before crowds. Fortunately, it wasn't a large one, and she warmed to our little audience quickly when talking about her book. One could tell she had much to say about class, about social mobility and construction in the Victorian Era, and how we are so quick to make villains out of people who, through no fault of their own, become public enemy number one. Cash's description of North Carolina and of his characters left me wanting more. When I handed my copy of his book to him to sign, I was terribly tongue-tied, but was able to squeak out my name and the correct spelling of it. Just a little literary crush. Nothing to see here. Move along. 

2:30pm - Panel of authors and editor of The Shoe Burnin', stories written by a group of Southern writers who gather annually to sit by the fire, burn shoes, and share stories. This was the most entertaining panel of the day, as married writers Joe Formichella and Suzanne Hudson, along with Shari Smith, discussed the inception of the book and musical CD that accompanies it. They spoke with humor about things great and small, and I became an instant fan. None of them had I ever heard of before today, but I will purposefully seek out their writings from now on. That Suzanne Hudson is a quietly dark writer with whom I feel the upmost literary and professional connection. She has just retired from teaching high school English and Spanish, and I could just tell we would have much in common discussing the problems of public education today. Her husband Joe kept the discussion light, and Shari Smith cracked us all up with her Southern flair for everything funny. Their stories could have gone on all day and I would have stayed until my bladder burst or my ears bled. 

I spent far too much money on books, and I need a new bookshelf to hold all of my autographed copies so I don't mistreat or lend them to others. I just couldn't! 

My reader's cup overfloweth, but my inkwell is freshly filled, and I am ready to get down and dirty with writing. Maybe one day I will be invited to be a panelist. That is my sincerest wish. Hopefully I won't have to wait until retirement. 

Arkansas Drivers Do Not Yield 4/25/14

Sweeping generalization, I know, but after being cut off mercilessly no fewer than 5 times between Conway and Little Rock (a span of about 25 highway miles, nearly all of which are currently under construction) by four semi trucks and one bright green Kia with no hubcaps and sporting the name Torres across the back windshield in a "Traditional Gothic" font (I looked that shit up), I can make this generalization with a slight bit of authority, however hyperbolic it may be. 

Despite the six-point-five hour drive, I made it to downtown Little Rock for the literary festival. As I write this, my forty year-old feet are propped up to bring the blood back into the reaches of my circulatory system and out of my ankles. That is a long-ass drive. 

The area around my downtown hotel is filled with people - thriving, one might say. I circled the block before arriving (because I honestly did not know where to park) and saw two restaurant patios full of almost middle-aged people like myself and baby boomers. (Technically, I realize I am middle-aged, but I still think of my parents when someone says the term, so give me a few more months to get used to it, OK?)

I am here on a quest of self-discovery. The festival is an excuse to step out of my comfort zone. I booked the hotel and pre-paid months ago so I couldn't back out. Last night and this morning, I probably would have had I not paid our hard-earned money on the reservation. 

My anxiety level is tremendously high - or it was this morning before I left and last night before I finally fell asleep. I know I have issues with crowds and with being by myself in a crowd and with doing things alone in general. A few years ago I had an anxiety attack trying to register at a Jazzercise convention. Too many other women around, too little air to breathe. I didn't make it into the convention room before I was out of breath and sweating as if I had just worked out with Judi Sheppard Missett herself. I went to my car and drove home from the hotel where it was held in tears. I lost money on the registration at the convention, and that pissed me off. 

Last summer I suffered one trying to find a parking spot to meet a friend for an outdoor Shakespearean play. I texted my friend, told her I was sick, and I went home instead of getting out of the car. I sobbed all the way to the house then, too. My husband consoled me, but I felt like a loser. Such simple tasks, and I couldn't do them. 

Turning forty probably wasn't the catalyst for this sudden desire to finally put on my big girl pants and do something on my own, but it certainly is a motivator. I am learning about anxiety, and my need to overcome it without medicating myself into the blue nothingness (as antidepressant drugs made me feel when I had postpartum depression years ago). I will conquer this shit, and I'm starting today. Now. 

I need to do this, to step out into the evening air in downtown Little Rock and see the sights, to taste what it has to offer. Only then can I get up again tomorrow and navigate the city streets to listen and learn from writers with more guts than I currently have with the hope of gaining some of my own. 

Fortunately, it is all within walking distance, and I won't have to deal with those crazy Arkansas drivers until Sunday.

Big Girl Trips 4/23/14

I haven't ever been on my own. Not really. I had roommates in college, a live-in boyfriend during and after (who eventually became my husband), and a baby a year after getting my degree. When baby daddy and I separated for a little while while we both got our shit together, I still had the baby almost every night, so I can confidently say that I have spent maybe a dozen nights alone in my life. 

What is an independent woman of 40 supposed to do when she wants to be alone - truly alone - for a few days? 

She takes a road trip by her ever-loving self, that's what. 

In fewer than two days, I will get in my car and drive away, far away, from my family and job. I will spend most of the daylight hours in the car, but when I arrive, I will check into a hotel, grab my laptop and my purse, and head outdoors to a literary festival. I'm going to go pick the brains of writers I've never heard of. I'm going to listen and soak up the literary genius and the hackneyed advice alike. I am going to sit in cafés, visit a presidential library, and write. No laundry, no dishes, no papers to grade. Just me, myself, and my thoughts...along with a few thousand other people attending the same festival. 

I will be on my own for the first time in 40 years, if only for a couple days, and I couldn't be more excited. 

Stay tuned...

Michelle Rhee and Her Sponsors Talk Out Their Asses

My coworker and friend invited me to hear Michelle Rhee upon the TFA graduate turned how-to-fix-American-schools writer and speaker's visit to Kansas City last week. It was to be held at the public library. At first, I thought, why the hell would I want to hear that woman talk out her ass? My next thought was, I've never heckled anyone before. This could be my only chance. What fun! So I decided to go. (Honestly, I wouldn't heckle anyone - not enough to get thrown out of a joint anyway.)

My friend got an email from the KC Public Library stating that the event had unexpectedly received more than 1,000 responses, so if we wanted to get a seat, we needed to arrive early. As teachers, we know what this means. Turns out, two hours early did the trick. We were two of the first ticket recipients and behind no more than 50 people when we arrived back after eating a delicious dinner at Mixx. (Free advertising, Mixx! I could really use a complementary sandwich!)

If you've never been to the KC Public Library, Plaza Branch, you should go. That place is gorgeous, and full of my favorite things in the world. In fact, I want to be cremated and my ashes blown through the ventilation system in the library so my dust falls upon millions of books. Mmmmkay?

Anywho...

The line was full of KCMO teachers who had banded together through their teachers association to hear (and maybe heckle, too) Ms. Rhee talk about her experiences in teaching (not many), as chancellor of the DC schools (short-lived and controversial), and her new book. (No free advertising for Rhee here. I don't need a copy of her book, thanks.) She was announced briefly with humor by Henry Fortunto and then interviewed by Crosby Kemper III. You can actually watch the video here
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxgwhyfNyaY&feature=youtu.be to see for yourself.

The event was free to the public. I wouldn't have gone otherwise. I wondered - at least until I got to the foot of the stairs and saw the "suits" with "literature" on a table across from the reception area (where they were serving wine with felafel & hummus) - where the money for her talk came from. Classy, I thought. Must be some fancy dandies putting out this spread. Those fancy dandies are members of the organization called Show-Me Institute, and they were handing out (or standing by while guests mulled over) the numerous handouts they brought, most of which were full-color and multi-page booklets written in 14+ font with pictures and graphics the elderly could read and someone with a sixth grade education could understand but not likely question. Before the "show" began, I read a few of these pamphlets and annotated in their margins my many questions about the content.

The Show-Me Institute's primary goal, according to their website, is to improve "the quality of life for all citizens of Missouri by advancing sensible, well-researched solutions to state and local policy issue." Sounds like a good thing, yes? Of course! They claim to be "rooted in the American tradition of free markets and individual liberty," and are considered a publicly funded charitable organization, or a 501(c)3. Much of the literature handed out re: eduaction (as a teacher of literature, it's very hard for me to lump these types of writings in with the classic ideal of literature, but I digress) is written in first person by one of the organization's staff members James V. Shuls.

Mr. Shuls, like Michelle Rhee, has limited experience in the classroom. He is educated in Southwest Missouri with a bachelors and a masters degree in elementary education and is a PhD candidate in educational policy at University of Arkansas. He taught for four years in SWMO, which is a year longer than Ms. Rhee taught, so he's got that going for him. He is now a staff researcher and "scholar" who uses anecdotal evidence as much as he uses statistical evidence. In his essay "Why We Need School Choice" he uses his children's public education experiences in learning math differently than he was taught and differently than he understood, to prove his children's teachers and their administrator, and the district's methodology was wrong. He cautions his readers that public schools are teaching what they consider "deeper understanding" but they are not teaching them to solve real world problems using a real world approach. Now, I can understand and sympathize with that sentiment as a parent. Every once in a while, my kids bring home something I don't understand. The process is foreign to me, and I wax philosophical about back when I was young and so on. I also understand the frustration when, as a parent, you want what is best for your kids but it doesn't seem like their teachers have the same ideas about what is best. His own limited experience as an elementary teacher certainly makes him more knowledgeable about instruction, but his entire essay is based on the idea that because their way is different, it's wrong. The examples he uses in this essay, the graphics showing the problem-solving techniques his children were learning (or, apparently not learning well) at school show a method of grouping much like my own children experienced in their early elementary days. He makes the point that the teacher wouldn't allow his child to use standard mathematical form of "stacking" numbers used when solving an addition word problem. This method is meant to give the students a visual representation and to increase their analytical problem solving skills so as to apply those same skills when solving more complicated problems. It's a step in a long process, and something parents in my generation didn't learn in school back in the day. As an educator, I know when to step back and allow my kids' teachers to do what is necessary to teach the standards as they see fit, and if I have a question or a concern, I voice it, but I expect the teacher to do what he/she feels is best in his/her professional opinion. I trust the professional of an elementary classroom because that educator has been trained to teach that level.

Another of Mr. Shul's essays is entitled "The Salary Straightjacket: The Pitfalls of Paying All Teachers the Same" and is one of the key components of many school reformers' arguments for merit pay and competitive market-based salaries. In this essay, Mr. Shuls argues that traditional salary schedules that promote experience and education "fail to reward teachers based on their quality" and "fail to recognize that teaching different subjects and grade levels requires different skill sets and that those particular skill sets are in varying demand in the marketplace." What Shuls fails to realize is that teaching is not a market-based industry. It is a public service whereby education students are taught the skill sets of teaching, a very specific skill set indeed. Ask anyone who has quit teaching after a year or a few years on the job. It is a difficult job no matter what one teaches. Varying salaries based on competition in the marketplace is not the answer. He claims that "simply raising salaries for all teachers" would not solve the problem of attracting more and better qualified teachers to the profession. He uses his own tabulation of average salaries of teachers of varying subjects and concluded that STEM (science, technical, engineering and math) teachers, on average, actually make LESS than teachers of other subjects. He states that his information comes from DESE (the Missouri Department of Elementary and Secondary Education), but when using his documented sources, no information for these subjects is given. The data he has "tabulated" is not well documented, or not correctly documented. Furthermore, given the challenges of teaching in today's political and public school climates, STEM teachers may not last as long, thereby earning less because they have options that many other subjects' teachers do not have. As a chemistry teacher, for example, the options for getting a non-public education job are greater than that of an English teacher or an elementary teacher. Plus, he admits that coaching and extra curricular salaries are not accounted for, but then questions why coaches should be paid more at all (what?!?!). In other essays, he argues for private school vouchers and scrutinizes the Common Core State Standards because proponents of these standards use the term "deeper meaning" (to which he refers to his previous essay regarding his kids' learning of math and the teacher's use of the same terminology). Mr. Shuls is part of a group who wants to demonize public schools and all they do so that tax dollars can subsidize their kids' private education (because public schools just aren't good enough but they don't want to pay high dollar for private schools).

Essentially, the group who brought Michelle Rhee to Kansas City has a role to play in Missouri politics. There's a group like the Show-Me Institute in every state that works hard to bend the ears of politicians so that their agenda of bringing about vouchers and charter schools owned and operated by corporations (but which have little oversight by those who oversee public education). They want to privatize education in our country in order to create a steeper divide between the haves and have-nots. Michell Rhee, with her pithy comments and witty retorts, her platitudes about how we should give parents choices in who educates their children, all points to the same thing: we want our kids in better schools where they don't have to sit next to the poor, behaviorally challenged, special ed kid and learn things like tolerance and how a democratic society actually should work. We want our kids to be in top-rated schools where special ed kids don't even get chosen to attend, but we don't want to have to pay for it, and we don't want our tax dollars to go anywhere else but to our own kids' schools - the ones who can say no to "problem" children or children with needs unlike our own kids'.

Rhee commented more than once that unless we (the audience members) were willing to send our kids to schools with "ineffective teachers" (oh, I just love that phrase), then the schools had every right to evaluate and dismiss such "ineffective teachers" without prejudice. She argues for no teacher tenure so that administrators can "get rid of" teachers who "fail" their kids. Like so many listening attentively to this sort of politically-charged hyperbole, she actually believes that there is a national crisis (and to hear her and others like her talk, you'd think it was of epic proportions) of bad teachers out there, and that those teachers, instead of being supported and given a chance to improve, which is what tenure actually does (but I'll get to that later), should be fired at will. With this mentality, no teacher would ever make it past his or her first year!

Teaching is a skill unlike any other. It is one that must be honed with practice, good leadership, good mentoring, and support from administrators and parents. In an ideal world, teachers would be held up in such high regard that teacher training would include a paid stipend for a year spent co-teaching with an experienced teacher followed by another year (or two) of co-teaching with full salary. Like an apprenticeship, teachers would learn from other highly qualified teachers. However, we have programs like Teach for America and districts like KCMO who hire people with no experience, no student teaching, and little education in education to teach the most vulnerable and needy students: our inner city kids. These teachers are often placed in charter schools or low-performing schools to replace teachers who have been involuntarily reassigned or terminated due to budget cuts. Because an inexperienced teacher makes FAR less money than an experienced one, they save the district a bundle, yet the results are less than favorable most often. Many teachers in TFA, for example, quit teaching altogether after their required years of service or they find jobs in suburban districts, leaving the most vulnerable population in need of more teachers to fill their spots; and the cycle begins again.

Teacher turnover is at an all-time high, and that is a problem for districts and for kids. What so many of these so-called reformers fail to recognize is that teaching is not for everyone, and not just anyone can do it well. Yes, there are ineffective teachers out there. How many? Not half the number these reformers would have us believe. Probably not even a quarter. What they really want is to avoid paying teacher salaries with tax dollars, just as some of these same people want to end many public services - or at least de-fund them to the point where privatization is necessary. This is the capitalist's dream. Ending teacher "tenure" is high on their agenda, too.

What is teacher tenure, though? In many states - most states - teachers receive tenure after a probationary period of somewhere between 3 and 5 years, typically. During one's probationary period, if a teacher is doing a poor job, he/she is given job targets or, like in my district, placed on "intensive evaluation," which is a way for an administrator to look closely at what's going wrong and help the teacher find ways in which to correct or improve in that area. If, at the end of the year or the evaluation cycle, the teacher does not improve, the administrator has the right to not renew that teacher's contract. If the teacher is tenured, a similar process is followed, but more documentation is required. Unlike critics would have the public believe, it's actually not that difficult in this state, or many others, to terminate a teacher's position IF that teacher truly is ineffective or insubordinate. What tenure does is protect a teacher from the arbitrary whims of the administrator or the district to fire at will. It requires proof that the teacher is ineffective. There are, of course, exceptions like when a teacher is doing something illegal or unbecoming of his/her position as a teacher that can call for immediate dismissal. Tenure doesn't protect someone like Cameron Diaz' character in Bad Teacher or Jack Black's character in School of Rock.

When organizations like the Show-Me Institute get involved in public education policy, it spells b-a-d n-e-w-s for schools and for students in impoverished areas. When their chief goal is to advance "policies that protect and promote free-market capitalism and unleash the energies of a free people to make (their) state a better place for all" and they attempt to do so by promoting homeschooling, private school vouchers, charter schools, and removing "low-performing (teachers) from the classroom," through intimidation and false, unsupported rhetoric, it is a lose-lose situation for all. These are the same people who want to end corporate income tax because these taxes "damage" the economy, and they believe in trickle-down economics (austerity). They are the same group who lobby full-time for the repeal of the Affordable Care Act and fight to end subsidies for alternative energy and to privatize public employees' pensions.In a nutshell, they want more for themselves and less for others.

I'm not sure if Michelle Rhee knows or even cares who sponsored her "discussion" with the public. Her answers to the audience's questions boiled down to the same sound bites she's been giving for the last few years, and when pressed, she often reduced her answers to the same, tired, platitudes she gave in her talk with Crosby Kemper III (who, by the way, is the Chairmen of the Board of Directors for the Show-Me Institute). While she was personable and perky, she pandered. She tried to make a room full of public educators (and a sprinkling of uncomfortable-looking legislators and tea party members of KC society in the front rows) believe that she was on our side, that she believed in public education when she cannot possibly believe in it if she believes vouchers are a viable solution. She also claimed from the onset that she was, is, and always will be a democrat, which was a thinly-veiled attempt to win the majority of her audience over (or at least make us think she is one of us) so as to possibly prevent too much heckling.

I have to hand it to the audience though. While her supporters were seemingly in the minority in that room, we behaved exceptionally well for people who could see the enemy before us (and with no protective barrier to keep her safe). We acted like professionals, which is what we are. We are trained to teach, we take our jobs very seriously, and we are effective at being teachers, counselors, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, and the biggest advocates of children who come from all walks of life, who survive some of the most horrible childhoods, who suffer from medical, mental, and learning disabilities, who come hungry, cold and tired, and we do this because we love those kids. We have hope in their futures. We care about what they learn and how they learn it. We want the very best for every kid that walks through our classroom doors. So Michelle Rhee can keep talking out her ass about her short tenure as a teacher (did I say that it was only 3 years?) and her short career as the chancellor of a disorganized, ineffective district which was later proven to have falsified test scores under Rhee's leadership, a scandal she claims was "not widespread." She can pretend that she is one of us all she wants, too, but we know she is no friend of public education. She is no friend to kids whose parents cannot afford to place them in private schools who don't have to accept kids with low test scores or learning disabilities. She can promote her book and her Teachers First initiative that brings her a boatload of money through speaking engagements and signings and reap the rewards of a career based on rhetoric and no substance, on the politicization of public school funding, and on the demonization of teachers all she wants. We have been fighting this war for a very long time; and there are more us than of her. We have heart. We have belief. We have the strength to outlast any false prophets of privatization. We will win, but we have to let our voices be heard loudly, and we have to tell the truth about education without fear. We are the way to a better society. The kids we teach now will be the leaders of tomorrow, and we can give them heart, belief, and strength to do what is right for the next generation, too.

That is all.

Goodness Sucks

Our boys truly tested my strength as a mother and as a good person. So many times I've had to choose to do the right thing when I might have otherwise chosen my own selfish wants had it not been for the four sets of brown eyes watching my every move. Ask any parent of a musical child: elementary and middle school concerts are painful. We go to be there for our kids, to show our support for them and their classmates who have worked hard to bring us the joy of music. B and I reluctantly attend every concert, every fundraiser, every game in which our teenage son carries that cumbersome sousaphone while marching in step with his band. We sigh ever time an event comes up, but we show up. We sincerely congratulate them and his mates for a job well done. While the bleachers numb our buns and cause excruciating sciatic pain, we endure for our sons. They are our world, and I believe they know this.

Tonight I witnessed a side effect of our constant, if sometimes challenging, love. Our eldest was faced with a moral dilemma. He chose what was right over his own desires. He didn't like it, but he made the right choice without a guilt trip from me. I didn't have to tell him what was right; he knew. He grumbled and tried to take his cake and eat it too, but realized he had to make the decision to do what his conscience dictated. I am terribly proud of that bratty, moody, infuriating teenager. It sucks being good, but that's what makes life worth it. Every once in a while our parenting is highlighted in a positive way. Today, we won the gold.

Teaching Today

After two snow days this week, which followed two last week, I am reminded why I still teach, even though I truly do not enjoy it any longer: vacation days and snow days. No other job provides the simultaneous excitement when both the kids and mom have a day off in the middle of the week due to this beautiful crystallized water falling from the sky.

This realization that I have to go back tomorrow and endure another day of teaching, that I need to grade those papers that I didn't touch while at home or lesson plans I didn't work on but read and wrote and played game apps and watched movies instead, makes me seriously consider a sick day. Why not? I've got something like 29 saved up.

The problem isn't the papers or the lesson plans, or even the kids. It's the fact that I want to inspire but I'm told to stick to the standards, to teach only the prescribed curriculum. If I teach exactly what the kids will be tested, I'll be a good little teacher whose evaluations will reflect a genuine aptitude for teaching.



The author of _The Little Prince_, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, once wisely stated, "If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea." And yet...

Teachers are told to show the kids how to collect the wood, to assign them tasks that prove they know how to hammer correctly, how to sand adequately, and how to wax well enough to pass the waxing test. We get kids who know how to complete tasks, but we don't have kids who feel inspired to want to do them. Has anyone ever thought, "Hmm, maybe what we are teaching them isn't inspiring. Maybe what we are teaching is, in fact, effing boring"? I have. Every day for the last 13 years. Ever since my own kids started school, too. Even more so since then.

I love teaching novels. Not because I love the stories (although I do), but because we can talk about big ideas. The curriculum tells me I should be teaching the students about literary devices and elements of fiction, which is all good and fine and whatever IF I want a bunch of drones who know what a theme is and can pick it out of a lineup. However, they aren't inspired by that! Talk to them about why people believe what they believe, why we think the way we think, and why a character is so damn annoying (yes, Holden Caulfield, I'm talking to you!), and you get kids who are inspired to want to know more. Do they have to read every word of the novel to get that? No. Do they want to? More do than don't.

I use a circus analogy all the time with my kids (the school ones and the home ones), and I believed it had served me well over the years. We (the ring leaders) ask the kids to jump through various hoops throughout their educational careers. We start with really big hoops like writing one's name or adding two single-digit numbers. As the years go on, the hoops get more difficult to get through, but there is still that "reward" of passing another level (grade) so they can move on to a series of even more difficult hoops. Many get bored, just like a large cat would. The whip has to be cracked, and they have to feel a tiny bit threatened in order to get back in line with the others. That's why we have grades and GPAs. They don't want to get to the end and it all be for naught, do they?

When my students get bored, I remind them about the hoops in life and in school. We have to get through this one so we are closer to the prize. I've been such a sage to give such grand advice... Except now I am going to call BS on myself.

Who wants to jump through a bunch of hoops only to face more hoops? That sounds awful! No wonder student apathy is so great in schools like mine. What's the point in getting an education today only to face the idea of poverty if one doesn't go get more education? And don't stop there, because the other guy has an advanced degree. Better get that, too. For what? A low-level management job in a corporation that could lay you off the next day because they care more about the bottom line than the livelihood of their employees, and there is a dozen more like you waiting to get their feet in the door?

But I digress...

I can't inspire kids any longer with aspirations of more education to get a good job. Our country doesn't value hard work anymore. It values the almighty dollar. University administrators do not care about the students but about their parents' wallets. And school boards don't care about the students' well being or their love of learning; they care about how much money they can get from the state (who wants to kill public schools, mind you) and how to reduce the budget as much as possible by reducing the number of teachers, all the while tying those teachers' salaries to test scores of the students who don't care because they aren't inspired.

Aw, man. This is bleak. I think I need a vacation.

So what is the solution? Like a damn drone, I'll continue to jump through my own hoops to reach that golden prize: retirement. And, hopefully, if I'm still young and healthy enough to enjoy it, I'll get the chance to be inspired myself.

Bully

Conversation with my husband via text messaging after he has been at the dentist for a dental cleaning and hasn't returned for more than an hour & a half.

Me: Are your teeth exceptionally dirty?
B: No... I have issues
Me: I know that. Particular to your teeth this time?
B: Glad to know my pain amuses you.
Me: I always feel its best to laugh at the pain of others since it's so difficult to do at one's own.
B: Bully for you. I meant you are a bully.
Me: I know. It's ok though. I've been through sensitivity training. Got a D-. That's passing.

Not a Fan

I'm not sure if I'm truly a "fan" of anything or anyone if we go by traditional definitions of the word fan, that is. I will not follow a band around the country. I do not try to get front row seats so I can potentially be so "lucky" as to catch something the lead singer throws off the stage (like his influenza because what he threw was his sweat and spit). I don't go to book signings often even though I have my favorite authors; in fact, I rarely know when they come into town. I don't attempt to get tickets to ballgames when my favorite teams are playing. In fact, although I attended and graduated from KU and like their basketball team above all others, I never went to one game while I was there. Except for one Midnight Madness, which I left just before the team was announced because it was too crowded and loud and hot, I never set foot in Allen Field House in the 3 years I spent at the university. I celebrate their wins now with a smile and perhaps a little post on social media to announce "my" team's superiority. In the few times I've been in the presence of famous actors, I've never asked for an autograph or been so nervous I couldn't speak.

Here's the thing: I don't like fanfare. I am not comfortable in large, large groups where people are excited and excitable. I get a little panicky when surrounded by too much hoopla. I once tried to attend an all-day Jazzercise event (don't judge) because I thought I wanted to be an instructor. I signed in and then stood in the hotel conference room lobby for about 20 minutes with well over 100 other women, all who were eagerly awaiting the opening of the doors to catch a glimpse of one of the founders of the company. There were several mini booths in the lobby, some with items to purchase like "Jazzertogs" and healthy snacks and cookbooks, some with information about becoming an instructor, and some with women selling their own brands of fitness-related items and clothes. As it got closer and closer to the awaited time at which they would throw open the doors to the large conference room and begin the giant exercise class, I moved closer and closer to the exit. Women screeched as the doors opened, and I saw the stage in the front of the room with special lighting and a giant screen so the people in the back of the room could see the instructors, too. When I saw the stampede into the conference room, I turned around and walked out the door to my car. I didn't fit into this scene. I wasn't excited to see someone just because she helped find one of the most revered exercise franchises in the country. Really, I wasn't. I just wanted to become an instructor, and this is where the local instructor who had encouraged me told me to go.

Perhaps it was a mix of a little social anxiety and claustrophobia, but I looked at the others' excited faces, heard their squeals of delight and their joyous chatter - their true fanatic behavior - and I realized I wasn't one of them.

I've met a few celebrities, too. While it was really cool (and still is) to tell people, impressionable ones, that Adam Sandler was at my brother's wedding, and I got to have a conversation with him more than once at the reception, I didn't feel at the time that it was all that big of a deal. I mean, he's just a guy who makes funny movies and who spent time on one of my favorite TV shows (SNL). He grew up like any other kid. He farts just like anyone else, and his wife probably doesn't laugh every time he fluffs the covers. When we left the reception, we rode down in the elevator with him and his wife as well as his good friend and fellow actor Allen Covert and his wife. The elevator stopped to let more people in on another floor, and three teenaged girls stopped dead in their tracks when they saw who was inside. Their eyes grew huge, and one said, "You're - you're - you're that guy from the movies. Oh. My. God!!!" She squeaked, her friends squeaked, and I felt very uncomfortable for the Sandlers. They must get that everywhere they go, and I don't understand it. He's a chill guy, and he took their excitability with good humor, posing for a couple shots while we finished our elevator ride to the hotel lobby in Vegas. I don't know if I would be able to handle that sort of attention with such cool, and I'm sure he has days when he would rather stay at home than to have to deal with it. It's no wonder some celebrities would prefer to be called names by the paparazzi and entertainment media than to have to put on an appreciative smile every time they walk out of their house.

Celebrity just doesn't do it for me. I don't idolize anyone living or dead. I don't feel like anyone is any more special than the next guy. I'm no more special than my neighbor, and President Kennedy was no more special than him either. The difference between "us" and "them" is the amount of attention we get. And what is attention? It's simply other people looking one's way for a while until something else catches the eye.

Some reading this are going to think I'm lying, that I am a fan of certain people, and perhaps their sort of right. I do *love* Dave Grohl, and I did make it a point to go to his concert last year, and I was excited to go, and I enjoyed it immensely. But I sat at a comfortable distance, away from the floor and all the crazed fans. I jammed to the art and the artists. They were beautiful.

I appreciate art and the artist, but I am not fanatical about it. Perhaps I'm broken, too practical for any sort of fun, but I think fanatical behavior of any kind is just plain ridiculous. I'm happy when my team wins, but it doesn't make or break my day, week, month, year. I don't take special pains to see that game or watch that movie on opening day. I'm sensible to a fault.

DBAD Day

Caution: Strong language. May not be suitable for sensitive audiences.

I know many of my friends are of differing political persuasions and from many, many different walks of life. Some enjoy reading about issues plaguing the system, and some do not, and that's cool. However, when we ignore the fact that much of our political machine is run by greedy sonsofbitches who are only looking out for themselves and their own wealth, it should piss us off, no matter how much we like to go on about our lives as if everything is peachy and what happens in political arenas don't really affect us much.

We all have our own agendas. I wish my car's oil light came on BEFORE catastrophic engine failure, and I'm going to write to the company to tell them that this is something that needs to be addressed in future models so the consumer doesn't have to shell out nearly 5 grand for a used engine. But I digress... We all want what is best for our OWN family and ourselves, and we are right to do so. On the other hand, we live in communities, in towns, in cities, school districts, counties, states, countries, continents, and on earth. We share a common bond with every human being on this planet. What is good for US (ourselves and/or our families) may not be what is good for others, and can actually make others suffer.

For example: those who believe we should not be taxed for public welfare or who think school vouchers are necessary for one's OWN kids to get a good education are selfish. There, I said it. Selfish, selfish, selfish. When you complain that the school system in your area is terrible but you don't want to pay taxes or vote for public school supporting candidates to help those schools out... REALLY? Do you see the direct correlation? When you claim that welfare for the poor is just teaching "them" to be lazy, in some cases you might be right, but for those who have been fired, laid off from a corporation or school during budget cuts, all the while execs get their bonuses, and school boards vote to increase the superintendent's benefits while firing teachers, you are supporting greed.

I have friends who are very conservative financially and socially, but what never ceases to amaze me is that those who want fiscal responsibility typically vote Republican. Do they ignore the trillions spent on military campaigns (and I don't mean to say supporting military men & women, because there is a distinct contrast between that and military campaigns, i.e. wars. But we'll get to that later) at the expense of public programs to ensure people have the help they need when and if they need it? Do they ignore the bailouts of major financial institutions just before our last prez left office? Those banks (Citi, BoA, etc.) took OUR tax money because THEY made risky business moves AND cheated the public out of money with mortgages and fraudulent equity programs before they started going bankrupt. The real kicker is that those CEOs and execs on the boards STILL got multimillion dollar bonuses. THIS is financial responsibility? And these are the same people who say they shouldn't pay more taxes. No, they can rob us blind, get government bailouts with our taxes, but god forbid they shell out a little more to help the general good.

And what about military families? How many vets struggle with medical issues for the rest of their lives and get sub-par treatment because the richest of the rich in this country control the money and the elections? How many military families are struggling to make ends meet because what was promised is not quite the reality? If we want to say we "support" our military, we HAVE to pay taxes. Otherwise, those who fight for us when we need it are lost to a system that has forgotten their service. That's shameful.

Those who are socially conservative... let's call a spade a spade here. You're probably a faithful person who considers yourself a Christian or a "believer" or whatever. Hey, I'm cool with you even though I don't believe the same thing. What I'm not cool with, however, is bigotry labeled as "Christian Values." That's bullshit. You think gays shouldn't marry. Don't marry one. That simple. You think abortion is wrong? Don't have one. Period. But stop voting for candidates who say they're going to legislate based on those values. Just because they say it, doesn't mean they believe it. They stand more to gain if they don't, but they'll get elected by people based on those hot-button items because the public foolishly believes the candidates share their values. Open your eyes and see that THESE are NOT the kinds of things that should be legislated. Freedom to act based on one's OWN values is democracy, not legislating what OTHERS are free to do. Just because your bible says it's good to have slaves doesn't mean it is. Just because your holy book (not everyone's holy book, but yours) says (in the old testament) that homosexuality is wrong doesn't mean it IS. Social values evolve, as has the bible. The new testament doesn't mention stoning a woman to death because she isn't a virgin on her wedding day, but do you want to legislate that, too?

Now, please, my faithful friends, don't get your panties in a wad. I'm not speaking to many of you, because most of you have read up on the difference between the new and old testament. I'm talking to the ones who blindly follow the asshats who protest true freedom based on some archaic book written at a time when controlling the populace was necessary because they didn't have the science to explain all the weird shit that was happening, like storms and sunrises and phases of the moon; and by true freedom, I'm referring to the above comment about democracy. Freedom to choose what we want as long as it doesn't hurt others.

If you want to ride your motorcycle down the highway at 70 miles an hour without a helmet and you're old enough to make that decision (your prefrontal lobe is fully developed and you can make rational decisions based on facts and statistics), by all means, go for it. I don't think I'll try it, but if you think it's a good idea, I'm not going to stop you. If you think it's fine to drink until your liver explodes, more power to ya. If you get knocked up by some douchebag who isn't going to be there for you or the kid, and you already have enough bills to pay without adding to your burden, get that abortion if you want it. It doesn't hurt me or the rest of society. In fact, you're less likely to become a burden on society if you do choose the abortion over having that child when you can't afford it. (And before I hear an argument for adoption, I just want to remind everyone of the hundreds of thousands of children above the age of 2 out there in the foster care system who need a home - don't argue that a woman should put a baby up for adoption instead of aborting a fetus when all those KIDS are in need of a home and the state pays for them... out of your tax dollar, by the way.)

This election in November isn't about which candidate wins or loses, it's about the American people winning or losing. Neither the Dems or GOP are without fault, to be sure. I don't particularly like the president's education policy (nor his secretary of Ed's track record), but I also don't want someone who thinks public education should be scrapped in favor of vouchers and corporate-sponsored charter schools with no regard for the true quality of education of their students. Taxes are about the greater good, whether you use the services or not (but you do, every single day). It's not socialism, it's about not being a dick to your fellow human beings. It's about looking out for more than just your own. It's about being a good person, whether you are one because it's right or because you hope to win the afterlife lottery one day.

My message: Don't be a dick. Stand up for humanity, not greed and selfishness. Pay taxes because it's the right thing to do for the general good, and DEMAND that the wealthier people and corporations pay MORE because they can afford it, and they earn their money on the backs of you and I.

God & Christmas & All that Crap

OK, so maybe I won't win any friends with a title like that one, but it's how I feel this time of year.

Struggling with the whole to Christmas or not to Christmas, that is the question quandary has been my modus operandi for years, ever since becoming a parent, really. At this time of year, I see my kids' friends celebrate with their families, hear them talk about their trees and lights and wish lists, and I think, am I short-changing my kids because we don't believe in a god? For a few years, we did the tree, lights, stockings and presents thing. The kids liked it, but no one was super excited about it. It was all about the loot. They wanted stuff, and I was fine with that, but I just didn't really see the need for all the pomp & circumstance of trimming and decking. The Martha Stewart K-Mart tree, along with all the decorations and lights, are tucked safely in the attic where they've spent every day since my youngest was about four, maybe five. I think, perhaps, preschool was the last Christmas we had here.

There are some sentimental emotions tied up in those items. I have some nice decorations I got from my family over the years, as well as some cute ornaments I bought when the boys were wee ones - Baby's First Christmas, Eeyore and Pooh, etc. - but all that stuff, that Christmas-y stuff, doesn't really mean much. I can look at pictures of the boys and remember their first Christmases, not that the day ever meant anything. I'd rather look at their birthday pictures or Halloween photos when they were dressed up as their favorite characters or ghouls. But two plastic tubs of red and green decorations are really quite meaningless.

I think the parts of Christmas that bother me the most are what those things represent. The commercialism, the consumerism, the conspicuous flaunting of money and wealth that Americans pretend to have, only to buy their way further into debt between November and December. It's always startling to me the craziness on the day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday is the WORST day of the year! Who thought up the concept of selling off all their shit the day after Thanksgiving, a day of familial gluttony, at slashed prices for the holiday season? Whose idea was it to begin this trend of cutthroat consumerism on a day we should all be out jogging or sleeping off our "sinful" behavior of the day before?

My sister, who is the retail queen - not because of her shopping prowess, although that's arguable, but because she has this amazing gift of salesmanship that I cannot begin to understand - posted a comment to a status update where I bash retail establishments for their un-Christian-like behavior. She was a little offended that I disliked retail so much as to disparage their commercialism during December. In my defense, it was a Kia commercial that said every time a Kia is sold, "an angel gets its wings." Gross, yes? In her defense, though, she's right. America is based on consumerism. She wouldn't have a job if December sales weren't stellar. That's really sad to me, though. Really, really sad. The basis of this economy hinges on the hope that Americans will buy more shit than they need, buy shit they don't need, and buy shit others don't need in the hopes that the shit will fulfill someone's Christmas wish! WTF??? 

I go back, then, to the origins of my December dismay. If Christmas is meaningless to me because I don't believe in the premise that Jesus is the savior, that God's word is the only word, blah, blah, blah, then why the flying figs do I feel guilty that my kids don't get to participate in the pagan pageantry that is the Christmas tree and all its trimmings?

I guess it boils down to the fact that we, as parents, alienate them from their friends' yuletide celebrations and keep them from what seems to be the birthright of most American school children, especially here in the good ole God-fearing Midwest.

A few years ago my boys were playing with the neighbors during winter break. I love our neighbors, but what one of their kids said to mine really pissed me off. I believe their son was about 9 or 10 at the time, and Christmas was brought up among the three boys. They were probably comparing notes about video games or something, who knows? When my kids said we don't believe in God, the little dear said, "If you don't believe, you don't receive." Now, there's a poetic thing to say. My eldest, who actually understood the concept, just shrugged & came home.

Yesterday, the youngest's friend popped over for a visit. Upon looking around the living room, he asked, "Where is your tree?"

My youngest simply replied, "We don't celebrate Christmas."

"Why not?"

He knows we don't believe in god. He chose, however, not to get into the whole religion discussion, so he chose a simpler version. "We don't believe in Santa Claus."

The friend replied, "Well, I don't either, but we still have a tree!"

I had to laugh, but inside I do feel bad. My kids are different from most of their friends. They have never been to church - well, not really anyway - nor been baptized. They don't celebrate Christmas or Easter. They get "weirded out" when we go to my family's homes or reunions and people pray before meals. (Aiden asked me last year after a Thanksgiving meal with my dad's family, "What the heck was that, Mom?") The boys don't have much to go on when it comes to comparative religions, while my husband and I can discuss the highlights of Lutheranism, Catholicism and Methodism. We have a basis for our contempt, but they do not. They simply do what we do, just like my husband and I did what our parents did when we were kids. We have had discussions with them, however, about religion, faith and belief. My oldest, at age 14, believes in a sort of reincarnation. I'm cool with that. At 14, I, too, had hopes that one day I might come back as a dog or a kitten - anything but a lowly human! But at 14, I also knew I didn't believe in a god of any kind.

Being different, for me, has never been a problem. I sort of relish the idea of being an outsider sometimes. The irony is often quite sweet. I'm an atheist in the Bible Belt, a liberal in a notoriously red state. My friends understand me... or tolerate me, perhaps. My friend M. thinks I'm "too political," and I probably am. Especially when I question others' beliefs. Maybe I'm too convinced of my own righteousness to understand when others aren't as convinced as I.

Case in point: a few weeks ago that same friend was talking about her daughter's CCD classes (for non-Catholics, these are the torturous classes kids have to take before their First Holy Communion or their "conversion" into the Catholic faith). Her daughter is a wonderful little second grader,a sprightly, precocious little waif whom I adore. Anyway, E. and her mom were sitting at CCD listening to the teacher (a nun? I don't know) talking about who shares God's love. The "discussion" went something like this (and if I'm getting this wrong, I hope M. will correct me):

Teacher: Who does God love?
Student 1: Everybody?
Teacher: Not everybody.
Student 2: Christians?
T: Not all Christians.
S3: Catholics?
T: Not all Catholics.
S4: Catholics who confess their sins?

... and so on.

M. commented on just how "un-Christian" this whole thing was, and how she hated that her beautiful (that's my adjective) daughter had to sit through that.

So... not being able to keep my devil's advocate mouth shut (I do love that expression, "devil's advocate"!), I asked, (sic) "Why do you take her then? If it's so awful, why go?" 

I was hoping not to offend, but to merely question the intentions of someone who I know is against MOST of what the Catholic faith teaches, especially about God's love and birth control. She didn't seem too offended, but I knew I was possibly hitting a little below the belt. For that, I feel bad, but I desperately want to know why people continue to follow a faith, or pretend to, when they don't agree with the tenets of that faith.

Her answer was something I didn't expect. We went back and forth a bit before she gave it, but it basically came down to taking her daughter through this traditional Catholic ritual for the loot she'd (her daughter) get from family.

And so we come full-circle. It's all about the mo-ney, mo-ney, mo-ney.

But, here's the thing. I don't disparage her for that at all. On the contrary, I feel like this is what it all comes down to. Her daughter will get some nice bling, a little cash-in-hand, and maybe some to put back for college later. She'll get the spoils of those that expect her to grow up to be a good little Catholic school girl (oh, don't get me started on that!). She'll be a member of one of the most self-righteous institutions in history, but she really doesn't have to believe in it. Her parents certainly don't follow the church's teachings (sorry if I'm outing you, M. & R.). They're good people, honest and hard-working, generous and sweet. They aren't self-righteous or indignant about their beliefs. They take the whole religion thing in stride. (They have to; they're friends of mine!) So do I agree with what they're doing with their daughter? Eh. Maybe, maybe not. Not my place to do so. I just remember my own foray into the world of Catholicism and wonder if maybe they'd be better off letting her try on some other faiths after she's got her loot.

We don't have to go all the way back to my own Catechism, but if we did, it wouldn't be pleasant. I questioned the nun a little too forthrightly. At age 8, I didn't understand the Bible and the way it was being translated. I wondered why sane people believed that some dude died & came back to life three days later, and how the hell could they explain the making of man from dirt and woman from dirt's rib! These people knew there was no Santa Claus and no tooth fairy, right? They didn't think the Easter bunny was real, did they? So how on earth did they think I was going to believe some cockamamie story about the son of God, who I couldn't see, mind you, saving the world - or at least the good Catholics - from a million years of fire and brimstone? That seemed a little too far-fetched for me, and I think I might have said so, if not in so many words.

And the white dress? White patent leather shoes with frilly socks? A flippin' veil???? Are you kidding me? I felt more like the bride of Frankenstein than a miniature bride of God. <shudder>

OK, so childhood trauma notwithstanding, I think I have a tough time in December for the hypocrisy (and, people, it's blatant) of the holidays. The commercialism, the consumerism, the damage to the environment from all the effin' lights... it's too much for me. I know I sound like Scrooge, but the spirit of the holiday season is going to have to work a little harder if it wants this girl to feel festive. And that, my friends, would be a friggin' miracle. 

Taboo

This isn't something I readily talk about (hence the title), but I'm compelled to do so tonight. Truthfully, the compulsion has been eating at me for about a week. You see, last Friday was an anniversary of sorts. For 17 years I've been vague and secretive about something that deeply altered my life then and continues to impact me daily.

<Note: I've been staring at this first paragraph for about 10 minutes now trying to think of how to come out with it. Fuck it. Here goes.>

I have a story to tell, and it's difficult to begin without giving back story. Honestly, the best of writers could somehow flashback effectively or edit for days and days to get just the right combination of words and sentences, but this is a blog, so I don't have the time nor space.

During my sophomore year of college I met a guy and fell in love. He's not the guy I married; we'll just get that out of the way first thing. I met the love of my life a few months later. In fact, my hubby and I wouldn't start dating until over a year after we met.

But I digress.

S. was probably the cutest guy my 20 year-old self had ever seen. Dark hair, blue eyes, beautiful teeth in a broad and seductive smile, but more than that, the worn jeans, faded t-shirt & hiking boots-wearing ruggedness about him made me weak in the knees.  It was 1993, and I had a crush on Eddie Vedder, Johnny Depp (the "21 Jump Street" variety), Chris Cornell, and The Edge (U2). (See a "type" here?) He didn't play an instrument or sing in a band, but in my head he was a rock star. Four years older than me, a working man on the campus where I was studying literature and majoring in pheromones, he was the friend of a last-minute roommate met through the UDK's apartment ads. By proximity, we began a FWB relationship that would last more than 2 years. (If you don't understand the acronym, ask someone under 45.)

I was strung along like a puppet through those years. Though, to be fair, he did not likely recognize (consciously) the emotional turmoil this arrangement caused my tender heart. (How my heart got to be so tender is another story altogether, to be saved for another day.) I was quick to please, but reluctant to share too much of myself. We didn't talk about our feelings for one another (there weren't supposed to be any), and we didn't make long-term plans (at least not with one another). It was ideal... for someone who was happy passing the time while looking for something (someone) better.

Less than a year into our quasi-relationship, we did something foolish. I knew immediately that our carelessness would require much sacrifice...on my part.

<See, here's where my brain is telling me to be vague, but my inner writer is telling me to go balls-to-the-wall honest.>

Friday, August 12, 1994: one singular sperm met a singular egg & hit it off - too well. Like I said, I knew it immediately. I didn't sleep at all that night & drove 180+ miles the next day to see my childhood friend Steph, with whom I tearfully confided. She was able to calm me down a little by reminding me that I wouldn't - COULDN'T - know anything for a couple weeks, so go back to school, put it out of my mind, and get on with my life... and, by the way, end it with this jerk. (I loved her brutally honest foresight!)

August 23, 1994: Not quite two weeks in, but I had felt puny & cruddy for a few days, and I knew. I knew. The Wal-Mart pharmacy had them in 2-packs, but on my limited pet shop income I reasoned I'd only needed one test to prove what I obviously knew. I didn't waste time when I arrived home. I barely even read the instructions. It wasn't rocket science, for goodness sake.

I cried silently as I watched one and then (more quickly than I anticipated) two lines appear. It was not a surprise, but that confirmation was so heart-breaking. At the same time, this was the first time I'd ever felt so exhilarated. This was new territory for me. A baby? His baby? Overwhelming would be like saying the war in Afghanistan is a little squabble.

I don't remember the days following much. I was already back in my classes, this time as a junior with the light at the end of the educational tunnel appearing closer and closer. I know I probably cried and talked incessently with Ellen and Steph, probably to the point of exhaustion for them both, but I really didn't know what to do. I wanted to keep this baby, plain and simple. I didn't want to tell S. because I was afraid of his reaction. We didn't have too many deep conversations - not about things that applied to any sort of "us," that is - so I didn't even know how to broach the subject with him. It had to be done. I wasn't going to start some soap-opera drama crap when secrets of this magnitude are kept and revealed years later to an unsuspecting father. We were friends and shared many other friends. He worked on the campus where I'd likely soon be waddling. Besides, I'm just not that kind of girl.

Sunday, August 28, 1994: I swallow every ounce of courage to call him and ask him if I can come over. Our relationship didn't typically work that way - I usually waited for him to call me (wouldn't want to seem desparate or anything, right?). I'm sure he was a little weirded out by my call, and he was distracted when I got to his apartment, as if he were trying to get out of there as soon as I arrived. I followed him around the place with my eyes as he skitted about, trying to find a hat or some other inconsequential item. I think he knew something to make him uncomfortable was brewing. I finally said it, just blurted it out. "I'm pregnant." He stopped in his tracks (pretty much the result I was expecting).

I think he questioned whether it was his. I hardly flinched. I may have been a fool, but I was never stupid. I understood this to be the question out of most men's mouth when not married or securely committed to a girl making this claim. Par for the course. I don't remember details of the conversation, except the repeated words, "I can't" and "I don't want" and "I won't." Of course I cried in front of him - something I'd never, ever done, something that humiliated me more than the fact that I was pregnant with an unwanted child. I left feeling a sense of deep sadness and horrifying shame. Before this point, I hadn't really considered anything but bringing up his baby, either with him or without. But the other words that I remember bouncing around the room like a lead and rubber-filled balloon were, "get rid of" and "take care of."

I called Planned Parenthood the next day, and on Friday, September 9, 1994, I took care of it. Without his financial, physical, or emotional help. My mom took me and consoled me the best she could after, assuring me that it was for the best, to think of my future. I didn't talk to him for about two months. I couldn't. It was fine, though. I no longer lived with his friend, and I made a point of avoiding social gatherings he'd likely attend. I devoted myself to school and to not feeling like there was a million pieces of me on the floor waiting to be swept up and tossed out.

This is no sort of cautionary tale. I am, have always been, and will always be a supporter of and fighter for the right for women to make their own biological decisions. The cluster of cells that had formed after conception looked exactly like a cluster of cells. Those cells didn't have a heart, a brain, or a central nervous system. I write this because I never have before. Not since a cryptic poem for a creative writing class anyway. (I wish I could find that darn thing!) It's cathartic in a way, but it's also frightening for me. I'm afraid of the backlash of something so darn personal. Besides, I teach teens, and there are probably more than a few who will deal with an unexpected pregnancy at least once in their lives. I do not tell this story to them - nor would I ever. I don't expect any of them to read it either. I hope they don't.

Here's the other reason I write: I'm trying to wrap my brain around this and my current infertility. My mind can't help but jump to the obvious connection. I ended one pregnancy on purpose; I got rid of the first of the 3 children I wanted to have. What if this would have been the daughter I have always wanted? Oh, the thoughts that invade my mind! Self-punishment is putting it mildly. I know this is irrational. I know it is.

But here's the real kicker. I'm "friends" with S. on facebook now. This is a fairly recent development - less than a year, I think? Last fall he and his wife had their first baby. A daughter.

A daughter.

Last week was his birthday, and at 41, he commented that he felt old and that maybe he should have done this whole parenting thing 10 years ago.

I want to yell, How about 17 years ago, asshole?!?!

But I won't. I don't. Instead I write about it. Consequences be damned. I'm 37 years old, and I want to own my past without my ear next to the phone waiting for it to give me a booty call at 2am. I don't hate him. I couldn't really ever hate him. I hurt, but it was my decision. The woulda, coulda, shoulda is a stupid game we play in our heads, and it's such a self-loathing practice. I am not only this decision. I am a million great decisions and this one is one of the few that I sometimes question but also know in my heart to be the catalyst for the awesome decisions I made thereafter and the perfect brown-eyed results that fill my life with more happiness than I ever expected.

I'm OK. You're OK.

I have been looking forward to and dreading this night for the past week. My gal pals and I haven't gotten together as a group for months, and we needed a Girls' Night like nobody's business. Two in our group have had babies in the past 4 months, so it's been difficult, to say the least, for all of us to hang. Three of us also share a friend in common whose 5 week-old baby died of SIDS about 6 weeks ago. We wanted her to join us, too.

I don't have to tell anyone who has been reading this blog the past 8 months of my desire and disappointment regarding babies. One of the reasons I haven't written much for the past few months is because that's what I do when I'm on the brink. I turn inward and I don't let a whole lot of people in. I've all but shut out all of my closest friends, save my husband. I don't talk about my pain because it's just too much to put into words sometimes. And then I feel guilty for having such selfish thoughts, as if I had the power to harness them! HA!

So when we planned for this little get-together, it was understood that the babies and children of most would have to be in attendance. The only way we could all show up on the same date and at the same time was if we brought our kids.

While I have wanted to hang out with the girls for the longest time (it's kind of hard to get girl time in a house full of boys), I have been suffering little moments of anxiety about this night since we set the date. I didn't know if I could sit in a room with two babies and hold back my tears.

However, no one is as strong as our friend Lindsey. She lost her son Max less than 2 months ago, yet she came. She held the 6 week-old son of our friend Jeane, a little guy who is just one week older than Max was when they found him in his crib. I know it was immensely difficult for her to do that, to watch all of us oohing and awing over these infants, and to not lose her shit. I cannot tell you how much respect I have for her, and how much she puts things into perspective for me.

I'm not going to wallow - or, at least I'm going to try - in my self pity anymore. No, I'm not going to be able to have another baby the way I wanted to have one in the time I wanted. I don't know what, if anything, I will do, but I'm going to take a lesson from Lindsey. I'm not going to avoid people with babies; I'm going to embrace them like I embraced, cuddled, held, fed, burped, and rocked Stella and Eli tonight.

A Call to Arms, Parents

I don't usually get too controversial here, because I know once I send something down the interweb tubes, it's out there forever and ever, but I have to comment on an article in today's USA Today (a paper I do not read regularly, but the article to which I will be referring was recommended by my mother who does).

http://www.usatoday.com/news/opinion/forum/2011-06-20-Parents-key-in-education_n.htm

Go ahead. I'll go get a drink while you read it. It's pretty short, so no need to hurry on my part. I'm going to add ice and maybe pet the dog in the interim as well.

Ok, so now that you've perused it, you can agree or disagree. I welcome your comments, but first I have to add mine.

Aside from the wonderful examples of students the author has taught in the past and their career paths, marriage choices, etc., I think the article makes some very valid points. The first, of course, is that our school boards, our government, and the so-called reformers will not admit that the issue of successful educational strides have very, very little to do with the classroom teacher.

Like Mr. Welsh, I would love to say I had so much power! Imagine the possibilities if all teachers could "reach" every student in every class every day of every year! Like Hillary Swank and Michelle Pfiefer rolled up in one steroid-dipped joint, man! We'd be on fire!

The truth is, I have very little influence in my students' education. It's true. I see them a few hours a week and compete with their other classes, their friends, their video games, their sports and after-school activities, and their ever-present cell phones. I am merely the tiniest blip on their radar screens. Elementary teachers have less competition, and probably a little more impact, but guaranteed they're competing as well. It's a losing battle for many of us, and we accept that. It's a bruised ego we must endure when we go home at night sometimes thinking, I just don't understand why they don't take my class seriously or why can't they just do the work? But, we grow to understand this competition is fixed. It was never fair.

That's where the parents come in, ladies and gentlemen. They are either on our team or the enemy's. The kids who have parents on our side will ensure their children have the basics they need to succeed in class, but they also provide the teachers with additional arsenal. They give their kids experiences outside their home, neighborhoods, and communities. They take their kids to museums and give them an outlet to express themselves creatively and actively. These parents also understand the importance of being active in their kids' educational lives. They don't sit passively by and watch as their kids struggle or succeed. They provide tutors when needed. They look for resources that will help their kids grow and get better.

Now, like Mr. Welsh stated, this type of parenting is not reserved for the privileged. It is not the wealthy or the college-educated parents who are the only ones able to play in this game. No! Any parent can be an advocate for his or her child's education and show that child why it's important to learn. They don't even have to say, "It's important to read, son." or "An education is necessary, dear." No. It's by deed. Take your son or daughter to a game (little league or pro), to be exposed to sports and outlets for their energy; to an art museum, art show, or art fair (there are free shows/fairs/museums) so you can talk about why the artist chose that color or subject or to discuss which painting you like best and why; to a nature preserve to talk about insects and plants and the environment and biology; to the grocery store to show consumerism and advertising and nutrition; to a play to see something performed live instead of edited for television; on a road trip across the state to learn about history and culture outside their neighborhood. These activities (among so many others) help acculturate our youth. They give the school a fighting chance, too.

Besides giving children experiences, we need to teach them how to live in a civilized society. Working in a semi-suburban school (some of our kids are downright urban, aight?), teachers at my school see every day the effects of parents neglecting that seemingly simple task. It seems so brainless on our part, too. Like, why wouldn't you teach your kid manners? But, we all too often try our best to teach students that it is NOT OK to talk when the teacher is instructing, that it is socially unacceptable to interrupt someone with your voice  or your actions while they have the floor, that it is not fine to yell or cuss in the middle of class, that it is not alright to answer a cell phone any time they want no matter what's going on around them. I'm sorry to say this, but it isn't just our "urban" kids who are guilty of not knowing the rules of middle-class society. Many of our suburban kids do not understand these rules either. It's not a matter of how much money mom or dad pull in, it's a matter of what they've been taught at home through direct instruction or modeled behavior.

Parents of my generation, I'm sad to say, have not made a good show of it. Many of Gen-X's leaders have befriended their kids instead of taking the tougher job of parenting them. They've taken their kids to get tattoos and piercings at the same time they're getting them. I'm thinking now of a little gal I coached this year whose mother had a "tattoo party" at her house and encouraged her 15 year-old to get a giant butterfly on the back of her shoulder, even though she would have to cover it every time she wore her cheerleading uniform. Does this make the mother a bad parent? NO!!! Not at all. But through her actions, she has opened the floodgates for accepting and encouraging certain behaviors. What is wrong with limits when kids are young? No, daughter, I am getting a tattoo today, but because you're young and not fully developed physically, emotionally, or psychologically, you need to wait until you're a few years older to get one, too, because who knows? You might not want to be permanently marked when you're a little older. What's difficult about that? Oh! A whiny, pouty, "I hate you" response from a 15 year-old? Darn.

I digress. Parents are the first teachers. We've heard that expression again and again. What we teach our own kids in word AND (especially) in deed has much more of an impact than any school teacher will have. If we teach them that education is important, they will more likely think so, too, even if they complain about their homework and snarl or slam the door when we make them turn off the electronic devices in order to (gasp!) study.

And let's not kid ourselves, OK? If our teachers had that much influence on us, I'd be a mother of 8 kids with the same initials (Mr. Bauer) who travels to Greece every break to see my stud of a boyfriend (Ms. Johnson), drinks heavily on and off the clock (protecting that teacher's name), and wears crazy knee-high socks with every outfit (Mrs. Grant). I will say this, however, about my awesome teachers: their influences ARE present when I teach my own students. Their influences are felt every time I write (thank you Mr. Bauer, Mrs. Estes, Mrs. Camp, Ms. Johnson) and read (thank you, Mrs. Huntress, Mrs. Denney, Mrs. Davis). I think my teachers in all the schools I ever attended, in all three districts, were tops!

But the best educators I had, those that taught me to be somebody, to take my education seriously, to persevere when I wanted to give up, that school wasn't social time but my job, were my parents and my older sister. Shout out! If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be able to sit through a graduation ceremony every single year or an in-service meeting every quarter, bored to tears, but still able to listen attentively to the speaker instead of reading a magazine, talking to my neighbors or texting. I wouldn't work hard for my accomplishments rather than expect them to be handed to me. I wouldn't enjoy reading the paper or watching the news. I wouldn't be able to be curious about the world around me. Wouldn't that be sad?

So, parents, it's up to us, not to our kids' teachers and their schools, to ensure our kids get a good "education" before they, too, become parents. Their teachers are facilitators for their learning. The foundations for that education are built at home. When we send our children to school, whether it's to Mrs. Penny's Preschool or the University of I'm Gonna Be Filthy Rich Someday, we have to ensure they are ready to learn, are able to learn, and are willing to learn. Hell, it might even be nice if we teach them to enjoy it, too (but that's probably a little much, huh?).

Collaboration with the Like-Minded

I love summer. As a teacher, I just love, L-O-V-E, summer.

Most would think because I have "3 months off" every year, of COURSE I love summer. However, that is not why (nor is that statement is at all true for any teacher worth his salt, but I won't get into that).

No, summer for me, albeit a break from the traditional day-to-day grind of teaching, means learning. It's finally MY turn to learn something other than 160+ student names, learning styles, and temperaments. I get to talk to adults for hours on-end, discussing strategies, theories, practices, and even horror stories of our time in the trenches of public education. I get to learn about how different districts implement their policies and how other teachers devise ways of subversively breaking the rules to ensure their kids actually learn something, too. I learn tricks of the trade, my friends, and their is nothing more valuable in my teacher tool box than the ideas I get from other educators.

This week I attended the Baker University Summer Conference for Educators. It was two days of classes, a wonderful keynote speaker, and collaboration at its finest. The wonderful thing about Baker is their forward approach to education. They have instructors who also never quit learning, ensuring that they have the best research, the best theories, and the best practices to pass along. Not only that, but their instructors love to learn more from their students! At a conference like this one, it is likely that one would find more of a consortium of ideas rather than a lecture series.

I met some fabulous people, too. Stacy and Rachael from Baldwin High School are a dynamic duo. I have been a little jealous of Baldwin City's high school teachers for a long while. They have so many offerings for classes in their English department, and they have the benefit of being close to both Baker AND KU (and other forward thinkers). It puts our huge district to shame. Today I also met Joe, an administrator from Wellington. We shared common contacts (many of my cousins attended Wellington High) as well as great ideas regarding our practices in the classroom. He took some of my ideas to share with his staff, and I'm taking some of his to share with my department.

I am looking forward to the next conference in a month, and then the 4-day AP institute at the end of July. I have so much to sift through from the past two days, though, so I'll be plenty busy until then. It's my turn to be the student for a while, and I just love it!

Update: A Story of a Family (working title)

I've mostly made edits today. Not a lot of additional story line nor character development, but the typical English teacher I-can't-stand-for-my-verb-tenses-to-be-inconsistent stuff.

Lemme give you a little run-down. Let's see if your curiosity is piqued at all.

The story follows 3 generations: Maggie, her nephew Joe, and Joe's daughter Meg. I employ flashback throughout the entire novel - the stories run simultaneously, really.

Maggie is 15 in 1941. She lives on a Kansas wheat farm with her hard-working parents, a German Catholic family with only enough money to "get by" since their lives were hit hard in the Great Depression when Maggie and her 2 older sisters were small. One of the most exciting events in their lives is the annual county fair where the girls enter baked goods and livestock in competitions, and where they can "let loose" for an evening. Maggie meets a young man at the fair, a hired man who travels with the amusements. He woos her for two nights and leaves. A few months later, she realizes she is pregnant and is sent by her mother to have the baby at her eldest sister's house where the community & her father will not find out. Maggie must give the baby up for adoption before she can return to her family. While she is under the care of her sister and brother-in-law, she bonds strongly with one of the couple's children, a sickly little boy named Josiah (Joe). She cares for him tenderly and gives him the affection he lacks from his parents.

Flash forward to 1970. Joe is about 30 years old and has a young wife. He has graduated college, thanks to his Aunt Maggie's tutelage and financial support, with a degree in pharmacy, and is able to buy his own pharmacy after a decade of working tirelessly to earn enough money. He becomes a community success story, and when he has a daughter of his own (in the late '70s), he names her Margaret after his aunt. When the pharmacy comes into hard times in the mid '80s, Joe allows a partner to buy out 49% of the store to keep it up and running.

Meg is a curious and precocious young girl who is devoted to her dad and her great-aunt. She loves to spend time with both, and often writes about them in short stories. As a young adult she grows to wonder about a mysterious illness overtaking her father and about the hushed history of her great-aunt Maggie.


And that's all I'm going to say about that...


There's some great plot twists that I don't want to give away just yet, but this is the bare bones of it. Would you open it if it were a book in your hands?

Iiiii'm Ready!

Spongebob's little mantra is swimming in my head right now as I revisit an old novel I began a couple years ago. It is one of those epic multi-generational projects I must get exactly right before I publish. I think it was that daunting concept that scared me into halting the project before I had written 2 full chapters. Granted, there are so far more than 4 mini-chapters as I break up each full chapter by generation.

After reading (and editing a few minor issues like syntax & dates) what I've written so far, I am a little ashamed I put it away for so long. It's not half bad. I'm actually sort of proud of its poetic descriptions and the width & breadth of the storyline. I have an outline (which is something I neglected in the last story I began, and probably a major force behind halting that project as well), and I hadn't realized just how much I had planned.

So off to write again, kiddies. Less time on Facebook (maybe) and reading others' writing (although I will not stop that, believe me), and more time on developing these wonderful characters again. Wish me luck.

Ever Feel Less Than?

Less than...

Less than perfect.
Less than excellent.
Less than great.
Less than good.
Less than alright.
Less than eh.
Less than nothing?

Yeah. That was my evening yesterday.

I have been so proud, so excited, and so ready to take on this promotion at school. I have worked my butt off for 12 years to earn my stripes there. I've been through 4 principals, countless assistant principals, 2 department chairs, and more colleagues than I can count. I've gone from being the youngest member of my department of 19 people to one of the "seasoned veterans" in a shrinking department of 10. I have earned a Master's degree, several awards, served on many committees, coached, sponsored, and attended so many conferences it'd make your head spin.

Now I have a chance to lead my department, to organize and support my fellow English teachers, to make decisions about scheduling and budgeting and curriculum, to help my colleagues become better teachers, but I have always felt less than nothing when a certain, nameless, person enters the room. I do not what I've ever done to deserve the amount of disrespect and disdain with which this woman gives me, but I have tried to prove my competence - nay! my excellence! - to my bosses and my peers for 12 years, and I just don't know what it would take to earn her respect.

Part of me doesn't want to care. Lie. All of me doesn't want to care, but all of me does. I am not a big enough person (yeah, keep the short jokes to yourself) to not care what people think of me. I'm insecure in many ways, but professionally I am usually totally secure. But not when she's in the room. I don't get a hello. I don't get a nod. When I ask a question, I get nothing but a terse do-not-bother-me-you-peon reply.

The whole situation yesterday made me reflect more about how I treat people. I know there are people in my life who for one reason or another grate on my nerves. I usually just let them be, but I don't think I'm ever outwardly rude or show absolute intolerance when they're sharing the same air. Do I? I'm usually pretty darn friendly, to be honest. In fact, there are so few people who truly irritate me that I don't think I hardly even think about it much.

So, yeah, it's her problem, right? She's the one with the issue - not me, right? Not everyone has to like me, right? I don't care if everyone likes me so much as I feel like I've earned the right to have a little more consideration than what I get. I'm damn good at what I do. I've got more talent in my pinkie finger for working with kids than many people will ever realize. I am friggen' smart, too. I am an awesome diplomat - most of the time. Yeah, yeah. I feel like Stuart Smally here. My daily affirmations... "And doggone it, people like me."

So screw anyone who doesn't think I'm the shiznit, right? Yeah. Tell me that when I have to be in the same room with this person the next time.

Vicarious Living

I'm over the moon for my brother and his wife Jen who had their first baby two days ago. I've seen a couple pictures, and this kid is going to be a heart breaker! OK, he already is.

Babies have been on the mind for quite some time (DUH!), and so this little bundle of sweet-smelling, soft, cuddly love is making me physically ache.

Brian commented the other day I would like to go out to California and steal that baby, but I replied, "No, I couldn't do that to someone I love. I would only steal a stranger's baby." We both shared a little chuckle, but I'm beginning to think there's a tiny part of me that just might! It's that same little speck of crazy in me that wants the world to bend to my every whim.

For now, I'm going to live vicariously through my sister-in-law and brother's new-found parenthood. I'm going to love that swaddled little man with all my heart and promise never, ever, EVER to steal him. He's got the best mommy on earth anyway; he needs her.

Caught the Bug

It's decided. I think. I need approximately $28k to do it, though. That's a little more than half my salary. It's more than most people without a college education make in a year. It's more than I would pay to replace my car with a newer model (but just barely).

Making a baby is making me work harder than ever to build my bank account.

I got a promotion at work this week. I will be the head of the English department starting next year, so I'll be in charge of about a dozen other teachers, their schedules, evaluations, curriculum implementation, bookkeeping, and SO many other responsibilities I don't even know about yet. Yikes. Unfortunately, I'll be taking a pay cut.

Because I cannot handle both this new job AND cheerleading, I have to say goodbye to my girls. This makes me sad... sort of. I'll miss some of the best young ladies I've ever met, but I won't miss the drama and the crazy basketball schedule from December to March.

So now I've caught the writing bug. I'm determined to finish the book I've started and to work harder at sharing my work with my friends - especially my "reader" friends. I don't expect to write a best-seller right out of the gate, but that's where my friends can help me. I value those honest opinions, the critiques and the suggestions. Most of all, I need encouragement. I have never finished more than a short story because I am so damn critical of myself.

So far I've published a short story and the first 6 chapters of my novel in progress. I'm editing as I go, so what I need most is answers to problems I foresee:

1. Are my characters and setting consistent?
2. Is the back-and-forth of the timeline confusing or does it work?
3. What is missing - details the reader needs that I am not hitting?

Any suggestions or constructive criticism is valued more than you could know, so please check out my other blog, entitled "Scribblings." You'll have to read the older posts first to get the full story.

Thank you, friends. I hope you'll enjoy what I've written so far. My plan is to post at least a chapter a week.