A Boy Named "Honk"

Names are touchy things. Think of the bloodshed caused by the names Hatfield and McCoy. Recall the reason for the tragedy of the lovers Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet.  “A rose by any other word” ring a bell? What if Hamlet were not named after his murdered father? Would he have had the same intensity of filial obligation? It is odd and even unfair that something that can have such far reaching effects, such consequences of fate and free will, can be carried out with no input from the named at all.

Were I an expectant father, the question of a name would be a paralyzing contemplation. I would be overwhelmed by the immense ramifications of the name I gave to my child. Should the name have historical allusions? Should the name show some family tradition? Should the name be a reference to strength or peace or wisdom? Would an allusion to someone too well-known set my child up for unfair comparisons? Would my kid constantly feel an inadequacy as she tried to live up to a name like Athena? It’s an impossible problem to solve since nearly every name has some reference point somewhere. Even a name that seems entirely unique has to have been generated from some reference point in the parents’ brain: a combination of other names, a favorite food, a place, a random noise. Were I to name my child “Honk,” after a noise I heard while crossing the street on my way to the hospital, how could that child not take an auto trip, or even walk down a city street, without thinking about himself and his name. Narcissism would logically ensue. You see my problem: no matter what I might choose, all I can really bequeath to my child through his or her name is hang ups and resentment.

On top of all that, I would have to assume that any choice I made would have to be negotiated with the child’s mother. It then becomes a compromise, and who wants to spend his/her life saddled with a mark of compromise, a reminder of one or the other parent’s surrender, ultimately: weakness. Weakness for the sake of peace and harmony, of course, but weakness, nonetheless. (“What does your name represent,” Johnny’s teacher asks in grade school, during a well-intentioned class discussion on names and being proud to be one’s self. “Compromise,” Johnny sighs in response, since Mommy wanted to call him Jeremiah, but Daddy would have none of it. Doesn’t sound like a recipe for success, does it?) However, there is a possible solution to this issue for parents and children dealing with this silently awful and far-reaching situation.

Today is “Get a Different Name Day.” It’s one of those days that strikes me as a good idea, on the surface, in many respects, particularly for people with names that remind others of body parts, like Mulva, or anyone who is burdened by a compromised label. In one respect, “Get a Different Name Day” can be liberating and empowering since most of us carry the name we were given by our parents. A name we did not ask for. No disrespect to my own wonderful parents intended, but, while some may look upon the name they offer their children as a gift, I often wonder what the agenda behind my naming was. I was originally supposed to be called something entirely different from my current name, but my grandmother did not like it. As a result, I was given my father’s first name and a different middle name. So, I am labeled as I am as the end result of some sort of multi-generational power struggle.

Were I to take advantage of “Get a Different Name Day,” I might choose something more indicative of who I am, something that speaks to my strengths or personality. However, naming oneself is a dicey proposition--nearly as paralyzing as naming a tiny human that bears half of your own genetic material, for it bears some of the same pitfalls as giving yourself a nickname. It just doesn’t work to say to somebody, “Call me ‘Lightning’.” Even if you think you are a pretty fast runner, and even if everyone agrees that you are a very fast runner, and “Lightning” might even be a suitable nickname for you, suggesting your own nickname will only result in the following moniker: “Asshole.” It is simply common knowledge, a piece of primordial intelligence, something passed down from the proto-simians in the prehistoric trees: someone who solicits their own nickname is an asshole.

In that respect, “Get a Different Name Day” is a failure. It can only result in a world full of assholes, which is pretty much the world we already live in, now. And a good holiday should commemorate people who have changed the world for the better, or it should encourage us to do the same, which is why Columbus Day and Drive Without Your Headlights On Eve are shitty holidays.

Thus I find myself stuck between a rock and a hard place: empowerment at the cost of being an asshole, or a worn-out, ill-fitting label and a reputation in relative good standing. “Get a Different Name Day” implores me, and all of us, to take ownership of the most important thing we own. Something so important that John Proctor, in Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, chooses to die rather than lie about his allegiance with Satan because he would ruin his name, and he “shall never have another.” Too bad for him the Puritans did not have “Get a Different Name Day,” I guess. He didn’t even have a choice, but, for me, I’ll just stick with the compromise I am stuck with, and hope I still smell as sweet.

One Realization That Leads to Another

Today is the Feast of Epiphany, according to Western Christians. According to Wikipedia, the feast day commemorates not only the arrival of the Magi in Bethlehem, but the “revelation of God the Son as a human being in Jesus Christ.” I’ll buy the Magi’s arrival; it’s the manifestation of God part that stretches the date’s credibility. Not that there is anything wrong with it. It just isn’t for me.

The same Wikipedia page has a link to the page for “Epiphany (feeling).” Which credits James Joyce for possibly coining the usage of epiphany to mean “an experience of sudden and striking realization.” His stories in The Dubliners all involve characters coming to some realization that alters their view of themselves or the world around them. It is conceivable that large doses of beer and whiskey may have had something to do with those “striking realizations.” Interestingly, for me, anyway, the author of this particular page also equates William Burroughs’ Naked Lunch as a terminology of epiphany, as well. How do Christians feel about having a word so closely associated with the first big feast day of the year secularly implying “drug-influenced state(s)” and beer-soaked revelations? Then again, the Magi brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Frankincense and myrrh are both popular for use in incense, and we know who burns most of the incense, don’t we? Let’s just say many of us stop “burning incense” when we get out of college.

Perhaps, in a related vein, back in 1974, Tom Scholz was burning incense when he had an epiphany in his basement in 1974, and the song “More Than a Feeling” manifested itself in his mind. Boston, my favorite band EVER, released the song on their 1976 debut. I am certainly not trying to equate Tom Scholz with the Son of God. Nor am I implying that “More Than a Feeling” is a song of anything more than mild musical significance. It just happens to be where my mind took me on this particular intellectual exercise.

Maybe more significantly, today is also the birthday of Jeanne d’Arc, according to some sources. Being an inveterate skeptic, I suspect that her birthday is more than likely not on January 6. It just seems too coincidental that the day that the (arguably) second most famous Christian martyr (sorry John, the Baptist) was born on the same day as the manifestation of the first most famous martyr as a human being. Then again, if one negates the manifestation of the Son of God thing (see paragraph one), Joanie’s birthday is a bit easier to swallow. At any rate, Joan was a fascinating young woman--most likely delusional, but fascinating nonetheless. And without her inspiring and tragic tale, we would not have one of the most beautiful silent films ever (The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)) nor one of the best-known Smiths songs (“Big Mouth Strikes Again”). Granted one might argue that the Smiths couldn’t have written that song without the invention of the Walkman, either. You might also argue that they might have written the song even without the allusion to Joan (or a Walkman), but that just wouldn’t be the same song, would it. At any rate, wouldn't it be sad if the Smiths were most well-known simply for "Girlfriend in a Coma." Seriously.

Most unfortunately, however, today is the final day of Winter Break for kiddos in this neck of the woods. Tomorrow, we will be back to shaping young minds. And I hope to find more time to keep up with this blog, albeit with a new focus. Instead of Central Standard's traditional, unfocused, hard to maintain ramble from random thought to random thought, I hope to focus on today's tone of edification and the loose division of fact and opinion to create a regular discussion of topical current and historical events.  If anyone has any ideas for topics, leave a shout in the comments.

Thanks for stopping by!

The Tradition Continues

The annual writing endeavor known as National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) begins in less than eight days. I have been a participant in NaNoWriMo, with varying levels of success, since 2006.  Each year I look forward to writing, and, each year, I appreciate the extrinsic motivation to write. I have actually “completed” a novel twice in the past six years, which, compared to many participants, is not a great average.  However, I always assuage any feelings of literary inadequacy by reminding myself of my busy life; my dedication to my job, which takes more time than most would like; and anything else that I can use to justify not giving adequate time to feed my writing jones.

When I first started doing NaNoWriMo, a friend of mind sort of scoffed, saying it was impossible to write a novel in one month.  She was right, of course.  You don’t just sit down on November 1, start hammering away at a keyboard, and get up on November 30 with a completed novel on your hard drive.  But it is possible to write a first draft of a novel in a month.  At the very least, it is possible to write a collection of 50,000 or more words (the length of a short novel) in a month.  What one does with it after that is up to him or her.

After my first NaNoWriMo experience, in 2006, I felt an amazing sense of accomplishment, having dashed off (over a month…maybe not dashed off, but anyway…) the longest piece of cohesive writing I had ever done, short of my Master’s thesis.  In many ways, it was more of a challenge (and more cohesive) than my Master’s thesis.  However, I knew when I was done that I had a creature with a host of warts.  There were unresolved plot points, random digressions, fake chapters, all in the name of getting finished.  When forcing myself to produce words, only thinking about getting something on the page, completing my goal for the night, the week, the month, I let logic and any idea of an end result go.  It was far more important to get the novel written than it was to make sure it was in something close to a polished state.  That is what drafting is.  The experience of participating in this madness reminds me of what the writing process really is, and it helps me, I believe, be a better writing coach to my students.

It is one of the hardest things to do with young writers, getting them to forget about the end product and to just write. It is understandable. I am asking them to engage in a certain action to perform a particular task.  They know that I will be evaluating their published draft.  It will be consumed, weighed, assessed, and assigned a value.  This is an A, this a B, and so on.  It is school writing.  But their best writing always comes from some other, more personal place.  After all, I don’t enjoy NaNoWriMo because my draft will be evaluated at the end.  Hell, no one has even seen either of the novel drafts I have written in the last six years.  Not even a paragraph. But, I want them to engage in the writing process without the goal in mind. (It is perhaps more accurate to say “the goal they set for themselves,” since, really, my goal is not to assess them—I would rather never put a grade on another paper again as long as I live. My goal is to have them learn, through experience, how to effectively communicate their ideas through writing. It is only a necessity of the system of education we have that that learning is expected to have a letter assigned to it that more or less reflects student learning and standing when compared to standards and (don’t tell anybody) other students. After all, why have class rank if you are not comparing students to each other…but I digress.)

It really is a kind of Zen exercise, writing without the goal in mind.  Once a student sits down with a vision of what an essay should be, it influences every choice they make, and it is nearly impossible for them to write honestly about what is important to them, or at least what is worthwhile to them to say. And who can blame them for considering the end before they even imagine their beginnings? So, I try to build assignments in such a way that students can arrive at topics that are meaningful to them by giving them choice and open-ended prompts. I try to constantly remind them not to worry about questions like “How do I start this essay?” Frustratingly for them, my most common answer to such a question is, “You start by writing.” Or, “Start at the beginning.” There are always those kids so wrapped up in the rubric or their grade that it takes a short conference on strategies for introductions.  And, honestly, I hate having that conversation.  What I really want students to do is to just sit down and start making that music that I love to hear, the tick tack tick of the keyboard being exercised.

For that is how the process begins, not by writing an awesome attention getting sentence that takes a student twenty-five minutes to write and agonize over and edit and rewrite and delete and start again.  After a class period, she might have a really excellent pair of sentences, but she hasn’t really been writing.  Not really. She’s been practicing building sentences, or fitting her words into a structure that she thinks is what writing should be.  What I would like her to realize is that writing is messy, that first drafts always suck, that you can’t write a novel in a month, but you can have a hell of a time grinding out a first draft.

And then, she can go back and excise the dead weight, add in some detail, shore up a shaky foundation.  I have been slowly revising an ancient draft for six years. Of course, one might say, a student doesn’t have six years.  That’s true.  But we aren’t asking him to revise 50,000 words. 

Sometimes, one of my kiddos gets it.  Sometimes, like today, I say, “Start at the beginning,” and she does. And, as she works her way through that mess that she is slapping down on the page, I watch her struggling. But I can tell she is not struggling with the writing. She is struggling with the natural tendency to fix something and with the tendency to ask me if a paragraph or a choice she has made is “alright.” I sense that she really wants to, but she doesn’t.  That’s when I know that she really is engaging with the first stage of the writing process.

Which is exactly what I will be doing, again, when all the little ghouls and goblins wake up on All Saints Day and realize they have eaten way too many Butterfingers the night before.  I will be engaging in the first stage of the writing process, and, if I am lucky, when the last of the turkey and stuffing leftovers are consumed and Santa Claus has strolled down Fifth Avenue once again, I just might have another massively problematic first draft that will take me a lifetime to fix.

By the way, if you are interested in joining me on this fabulously maddening writing adventure, go to the Office of Letters and Light website and look me up, my username is underdog30.  

And at the End of the First Quarter...

The last week of first quarter begins tomorrow.  It is always amazing how quickly the time goes by.  One minute it’s August and you are nodding off during a professional development session that seems painfully familiar to something you talked about at the last professional development session you went to, and the next minute it’s October and you have three weeks worth of grading to complete in seven days.  As this milepost approaches, it is a fine time to check and see how the year is progressing.

To this point, my classes are going wonderfully.  My freshmen are great kids.  They are attentive, funny, and curious on most mornings. And, even when they are not at the top of their game, they usually do very little to make things more difficult for themselves or me. That counts for a great deal in my world.  My sophomores--more numerous and spirited--are still pretty good students.  They too are engaged, interesting, and curious.  A recent class chat about their own use of language and about a New York Times article on the President’s use of language was a really rich discussion. My sophomores are particularly social, and I am trying to use that strength of theirs by giving them more discussion-based lessons.  So far, I like it, they like it, and it really encourages them to think about things (score!).

Yearbook, always a work in progress, seems to be getting itself off the ground after a slow start.  I have some real go-getters (and a few sloths) who are shining right now.  I will do all I can to keep them doing what they do (and nudging the sloths to action).  I am encouraged.

In general, my “I’m okay, you’re okay” philosophy is serving me well.  I am seriously busy all the time, but that has always been the case.  I only occasionally feel like I am going to completely lose my shit because I have three weeks of grading to do in seven days, but that has also always been the case.  I do not feel as if I am particularly being put upon any more than in the past (okay, maybe a little bit--but it's okay).  However, I do feel (for the most part) calm and happy, which is a really great headspace to be in, but (again) no real change from the past.  Truth be told, I still get overwrought while watching sporting events, but that is no change from the past, either.

So, I find myself asking myself, what is the benefit of this whole “okay” thing anyway?  Well, it is probably like the Romney-Ryan tax cut plan: it is too complicated to explain the math. Suffice it to say that I anticipated that this year would involve a lot of stress-management challenges (and it has involved them), and I hoped that being aware of them, prepared for them, and accepting of them would make them less stressful. So far, so good.

Here I am, feeling pretty good, but as I type this I see, just at the edge of my periphery, a folder full of papers that compose a mere quarter of what lies before me to be assessed.  And, so, I will leave off this particular entry to tackle that job, for before me looms a distraction from my professional responsibilities, as my beloved and oft-maligned Baltimore Orioles face the dreaded New York Yankees in the MLB Divisional Playoffs.  Yes, that’s right, the playoffs. After fifteen years.

How can I not be okay?

Pumpkin and the Janitor: The Story of a Flightless Victim and a Forgotten One

This morning’s Lincoln Journal Star reported an incident of adolescent hi-jinx this morning in Gretna, NE.  Apparently, a trio of young men placed an emu in the commons of the local high school ten days ago. Understandably, this caused quite a ruckus when the janitor found it the next morning.

Now, I have never encountered a six-foot emu in a school commons area. As a matter of fact, I have only encountered an emu of any size when each of us was standing on opposite sides of a fence.  And, for all I know, that emu could have been an ostrich. So, I can only imagine what the unnamed janitor did when he opened the doors of the commons and saw a bird staring him down from across the feather-and-feces-strewn room. If he were smart, he gently closed the door, walked out to his car, drove to the nearest open bar, and had a shot or two. Then, were he still using his brains, he would have called Animal Control.  I am not advocating drinking as a way to steel one’s courage or cope with one’s situation; one has to suspect that, when Animal Control receives a call about an emu in Gretna High School, the operator’s first question will be, “Have you been drinking, sir?” Why not temper the news by being able to live up to someone’s expectations, especially since the janitor’s were surely not met that morning?

However it was performed, after a bit of a struggle in which our emu (real name: “Pumpkin”) was lacerated on his neck, the bird was apprehended and is now living at a company that puts on wildlife shows for schools and parties. Most likely, Pumpkin spends his days in the pasture wondering how his once-promising life came to this: a six-foot, flightless circus clown.

For Pumpkin once lived the life of the proverbial Riley, living in Iowa, killing chickens, and most likely scaring the hell out of the kids who foisted upon him the less-than-masculine, far-from-noble name of Pumpkin.  But, as the article informs us, the Iowegians put Pumpkin on Craigslist for thirty bucks, and some Gretna boys came a-calling.  When they told the emu’s owner that they were buying it for a friend who raised emu, he took a shine to the boys and let Pumpkin go for free, which was probably good for him to do, since the boys then proceeded to drive the emu over the state line with the intention of causing mischief.  This might be considered illegal animal trafficking, and the previous owner might have been implicated.  As it stands, he appears to be out of the woods.

The boys, however, are not. They have been charged with criminal trespassing and animal cruelty. Their fate hangs in the balance.

It is too bad that these young men, thinking at first to release Pumpkin onto the football field, found the door to their school unlocked.  Would it have been less cruel to leave the bird outside?  It is also too bad that this seemingly “harmless” prank is being punished with criminal charges.  After all, there was a time when these boys would simply have become part of small town lore, like the guy who carried a goat to the top of the water tower in Columbia, Missouri, and tied it up overnight thirty or so years ago.  Is it necessary to mar the record of these three youngsters for what they have done?  Some might say yes, the kids need to learn the lesson that no creature should be treated poorly.  After all, the experience of being carted over state lines, locked up in a school overnight, and apprehended by armed officers in the morning (I am assuming) most likely caused an amount of trauma on this creature that was entirely unnecessary.  This is true.  However, I think maybe having them volunteer at an animal shelter or some sort of experiential punishment might be better, without any need of the courts or legal authorities.

And, really, what about the janitor?  He’s been traumatized—perhaps worst of all.  Not a day will pass from here forward, when he doesn’t have at least a mild flashback as he unlocks a door.  What will be in room 123?  A boa constrictor? A velociraptor? A grizzly bear?  What will lurk in the gymnasium’s darkened corners?  Sasquatch?  A zombie?  The Loch Ness monster?  What restitution does he deserve? He is truly the forgotten victim.

Finally, what about all of the people in the Lincoln area, reading this tragic story and the effect this TRIO of boys has had on man and beast alike, who finish the story on the back of the A section, and then return to the headline, which they quizzically remember as: “Emu in school lands 6 in trouble”? Once again, it looks like the media is not telling the whole story: what about the other three kiddos?

Okay, Then

Again, it's been a long time. How is it that so much water passes under the bridge?  No matter.  It's passed.  It's gone. Eyes front.

A lot has changed since last I was here.  First, it appears that Blogger has been sucked up by the Google monster.  It took me several minutes just to figure out how to get into my blog.  It might look the same on the outside, but it is much changed in the innards.  I'll figure it out.  I suppose most of the changes have been for the better (although, I suspect that more bugs and surveillance-type widgets are floating around in there, now, keeping track of me and you and everyone we know).

A friend of mine, the new author of the new blog Charlie and His Human, emailed me recently asking to link to my blogs.  I said yes, but I warned him that it had been a long time since last I posted.  And, just like a year ago, when outside voices plucked my writerly heart strings and stirred me to resurrect Central Standard, I was moved to consider this neglected aspect of my former habitry. (I am fully aware that "writerly" and "habitry" are not actual words, but I like how they sound, so I am keeping them.  After all, if the writer can not coin a word, who can?)

So, here I am again.  I might give you a summarized version of the last year, but, like I said earlier: eyes front.  Let me tell you about what I like to call my new philosophy for the new school year.  I call it the "Okay" philosophy.  What it basically entails is a concerted effort to limit my carping, complaining, and other unhealthy behaviors.  I have never been much of a negative person.  I don't complain much, but I do it enough that I am aware that it is a drain on my energy and my attitude.

It started over the summer when I read a tweet (Yes, I am a Twitter-er.  Follow me (I hate even typing that.) @Reda_AT.) from a fellow teacher that read something to the effect of: complaining at work steals from time you could be dedicating to your kids.  To a mildly cynical person such as myself, my first reaction was: shut up.  But, the more I though about it, the more sense it made to me.  After all, why am I in this business of teaching anyway?  The money? No. The short hours? Ha ha...no. I'm in it because it makes me feel good to know that I am trying my best to make the world a better place by trying my best to teach kids to be better communicators, thinkers, citizens, and human beings. It's important work, and I should dedicate as much of my self as I can to doing that job to the best of my ability (my predilection for making up words like "habitry" notwithstanding).

With that in mind, I have decided that where work is concerned, when I am asked to do something by administrators, department heads, etc., my reaction will be "okay."  And, then, I will do it to the best of my ability.  When asked how things are going, my response will be "okay." And I will try to develop that response with something positive that has happened on that day.  Now, I understand that not everything we are asked to do by administrators and others has a direct positive effect on students, but the genesis of the idea that they are trying to put in place most likely came from that "what's best for kids" place.  And I know that just saying I'm okay doesn't have a direct effect on my students.  However, if I can maintain an attitude of positivity, how might that affect my classes?  And, more importantly, how much better might be the quality of all of my work, if it is being accomplished by a content, positive person?  I have to think that the effect of that might be pretty powerful.

And, of course, I know that I can't be something I am not.  I will not be some sort of Pollyanna, happy doofus, walking around with rainbows coming out of every orifice. I have never been that kind of person.  As a matter of fact, ironically, that sort of person kind of makes me ill.  I will have a bad day or two, and I will let slip a negative word to someone, somewhere at work.  I am sure I already have.  But, I have, thus far, been able to keep this sort of positive, peaceful attitude going for three weeks, already.  As a result, I am still tired, still working ten hours a day, still behind with grading and planning.  But, this year more than any other, that's okay.

Challenges

One day of school (Freshmen Day doesn't really count), and already a few challenges. Apparently, my yearbook staff will be expected to gather a grand photographic record of the 2011-2012 school year with a total of four cameras (all of various models, with various degrees of quality, wear, etc.). That isn't going to cut it. So, what do I do, having no money in the budget and probably not having anything available from the district (their money is already spent resupplying after the fire)? Well, for one, I am hoping several students will be able to use personal cameras. The digital interfaces would be the same (i.e., USB), so we could still upload them to the server. But, I am curious as to how the situation came to be as dire as this. No finger-pointing, here, however.

My second challenge came when my editor, a highly reliable girl who is a good writer and a conscientious worker had to resign. Her class schedule forced her to drop the yearbook class in order to take an honors anatomy class. If she can't be in class, she can't be the editor. I understand why she has to step down, but it still stinks. As a result, I need to switch editors. This is not so big a deal this early in the year (and we haven't gotten a whole lot done yet, anyway), but I don't like having to switch editors, at all. There are too many issues to go into here, but it is not an easy process, especially in a class where I am only familiar with about three of the kids.

Oh, well. I expected this year to be a challenge. However, like most challenges, I didn't expect these. And, also like most challenges, I didn't expect them now. I guess that's why they are challenges.

Already Busy

And so here is how it most likely will be for a while: dashed off communiques between work and sleep.

First day for freshmen today, followed by open house meant getting home at eight. Currently, I am sitting on the sofa waiting for Monkey to bring me some leftover pizza. In an hour it's off to bed so I can get ready for tomorrow.

I will let you know about anything exciting. Currently number one on the excitement meter is this bit of news: CLICK ME!

Until next time...

The Daily Affirmation (via Washington Irving?)

I had this thought this week, one among many--most of which I spare you (like the one about unmoored epiphanies--when you feel like you've made some momentous realization about life, but you have know idea what it is or what it is about...ever had that happen to ya?)--in which I realized that I am a living example of an original American icon. I sat at my desk, completely frustrated by a couple of my young charges, and realized that I was no different than any Norman Rockwell-one-room-schoolhouse-teacher frustrated by some over-active child with a frog in his overalls. It was actually a comforting thought.

Granted, the modern world has worked its magic on the school room, altering into a subject-specific, grade-specific, high stakes, wired, "scientifically"-conducted marketplace of instruction. We have tests to prepare for, legal obligations to meet, federal-, state- and district-determined mandates to achieve. We have industrially-oriented schools, churning students through hour by hour on a bell system, churning students through year by year with a nail-bitingly scrutinized graduation rate to meet. We have funding that is determined by attendance, achievement, economics, and a host of other governmentally-concocted variables. So, a school room of the 21st Century is nothing like its early-20th Century counterpart.

However, people don't really change that much, no matter how many bells and whistles you attach to them. Much of the time, the classroom dynamic is determined by a passel of kiddos trying to get out of working and a teacher trying to convince those kiddos to get something done. There are fewer frogs involved, fewer switches involved (both improvements), and chalk boards have mostly become white boards, but in the end, some days I feel like Ichabod Crane surrounded by a bunch of wild little Dutchmen playing crack the whip.

So, why is this a good thing? Because, it makes me feel like a part of something so much larger than myself, or my school, or even my city or country. It makes feel a part of history. Even as a small part, a part that will most likely have no real space in the historical record, I feel comfort in the perpetuation of, perhaps, the greatest development of American democracy, the public school.

I will spare you the political blah, blah, blah. I hate it when schools are turned into political tools by the political tools. I just wanted to tell you that this week, I know exactly why I get out of bed to go to work every morning.

Overcommitted. Is There Another Way to Be?

Recently, I was offered the opportunity to write curriculum for an online learning company. It sounded like a good gig, and they asked me during the summer, so I agreed to contract on for a unit or two. Of course, by the time the ball really got rolling on this project, we were into the school year. Needless to say, it has been hard to find time to get the extra work done.

I am not really worried about it, yet. I have about 9% of the work done, and about eight weeks to do it. As far as my regular school work, I am staying out in front of my planning by about a week, and I have a back log of only three days on my grading (really, that is nothing). So, right now, I am managing.

However, in two weeks, it's time for mid-quarter grades, already! This means I have to make sure that I have some meaningful grades in my grade book by then. Perhaps meaningful is the wrong word. What I mean is, I need to make sure that I have assigned and graded an adequate amount of student work to show a true reflection of student achievement (or lack thereof). Really, this just means I have to assign one more writing assignment in one more class. But, that one assignment might be the tipping point.

The way I figure this, I need to create a topic and a quarter per week for the online folks, and grade at least five sections of writing assignments per week as well. This is extremely doable, and will not add any real extra time to my school work load (which is already 60-plus hours a week). It will add time to my workload, in general, as I steal hours from somewhere to work on the online stuff.

And here is where the problems begin to start, since tomorrow ushers in another season of NFL football. Will I be stealing hours in front of the TV, in order to generate contracted curriculum? Maybe. More likely, I will be in the basement, tapping away at my laptop, while the games play on the TV. Unfortunately, that means the only place for me to steal some time from somewhere is to put a moratorium on yard work. As long as the grass stays brown and the leaves don't fall, I guess that will work out.

Zoinks!

The Good Kind of Tired

After a full week, it seems like we are in full-on school mode. I am pretty beat, today, after a summer of not really pushing myself everyday, the grind of the "waking at 5 and working til 5" week caught up with me about Wednesday.

After Monday, I felt awesome. The day had gone really well, I had accomplished everything that I had planned to accomplish, I was remembering my students' names (mostly) and beginning to make and strengthen connections, I didn't turn the wrong way when I got to the bottom of the stairwell on my way out of school (like I had done every day the week before). It was a good day. Even Tuesday, while not as perfect as Monday, due to my lack of experience with freshmen (truly, the squirrels of the high school world), left me feeling pretty amped. But, by Wednesday, my tail was hanging kind of low. While walking the dogs that evening, I decided I wasn't going to make it to my regular basketball game. I was just too tired. And yesterday, I came home from work and proceeded to fall asleep on the couch for a half an hour.

So, it will take a week or two to build up my stamina again, I guess. But, still, a lot is going well. I am really on top of things as far as planning goes. I am doing a better job of being more explicit about the class objectives with my kiddos. I am leaving work knowing that I am totally prepared for the next day (whereas I am usually fairly prepared and I leave a few things to run off or create in the mornings). Granted, this is just the eighth day of school. It's easy to keep it together for a week. Check back with me in October. But, while I am physically tired, I feel more in control and more sure of myself than I ever have before as a teacher. It's sort of scary. You know, in a good way.

It Only Took Twenty Years

When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school,
It's a wonder I can think at all.
And though my lack of education hasn't hurt me none,
I can read the writing on the wall.
--Paul Simon, "Kodachrome"

The school stuff (after just a few days) is already catching up with me. Thus my silence this past week. But, I've got my room set up, I've figured out how to get from the car to my room in a direct manner, I can find a bathroom (when I need one), the main office (and my mailbox), the commons, my department offices, the auditorium, and the media center. I haven't visited the second or third floor, but I might wander up there tomorrow. Needless to say, I am doing what I need to do to be ready for next week. Except for actually planning my classes, but anyway....

I am teaching in a new school this year. After three years at my old school, budget constraints forced them to cut my position. Lucky for me, I landed a new job in the same district. So, I have plenty of familiar things to make the transition easier to negotiate. I don't want you to think that this is going to be an easy change for me, but, the more I think on it, the more I figure that it's really not change, so much as it is the continuation of a life trend that began a long time ago.

The biggest change, at least this week, is meeting all of my new colleagues. Having taught at two other schools with faculties of over one hundred people, I know that that may take years, and I may very well retire without meeting everyone. So far, however, so good. I, at least, know my department colleagues by sight, and I could recall all of their names, if you made me. So, you know, that's good.

Another change involves the schedule. My previous school was on a block schedule. Four ninety-minute classes a day. I taught three classes each day, with one plan period, and my class rosters changed every semester. Now, I'll be on a seven period, fifty minute, schedule, with two plan periods. I will generally keep my classes for the entire school year. Actually, this change is not a problem. Prior to moving to Lincoln, I taught a schedule just like this. I won't have much trouble re-adjusting.

Within those five classes, I have two new assignments, this year, English 9 and Composition. This will provide me with countless hours of work to do, so I am grateful for that. I know I will have plenty of assistance in preparing those classes from colleagues who currently teach (and have taught) those classes. I know from experience that teaching a new class is always a bit more stressful than teaching a course you have taught before. Of course, I haven't actually had the pleasure of teaching the same course for more than three years in a row, yet, so I really don't know what it's like to be totally comfortable with a course. I think you need a few more chances to completely screw things up before you get it down pat. Then again, maybe you never get it down pat.

Overall, I am approaching this change with calm. There will be, I am sure, moments of panic, days of doubt, episodes of worry. I may even find myself slumped in a corner at the end of a Friday or two. But, that would happen no matter what. It's teaching, after all. I will continue, as always, to go with the flow.

But I find that my adult life (and I have more than enough years on this side of the divide to call it a representative sample) totally vindicates my youthful resistance to life planning (which I know I've mentioned before). After all, how can you make a five year plan when you find yourself changing things (by choice or otherwise) every three or four years?

Being What You Are

What are you? Are you more prone to identify yourself by some familial relationship (mother, father, brother, sister, aunt), or are you more likely to identify yourself by your profession (teacher, chef, truck driver, manager)? Are you the thing you practice (writer, musician, quilter), or the thing you have nearly perfected (scrap booker, reader, gardener)? Are you all of these things?

Well, of course, you are. That's probably the easiest set of related questions you might ponder today. We all identify ourselves in multiple ways. One of the earliest activities I do with my kiddos is to have them self-identify. They can find it hard, at first, to discover the words to describe themselves. Many use simple adjectives, but, more often, they use labels that correspond to sports, hobbies, and familial connections. It can sometimes be very telling how a person chooses to describe him/her self.

I had an opportunity to describe myself, this weekend. Meeting new people is always a chance to refine how you identify yourself, isn't it? (Or as James would say, "Init?") So, in meeting new people, the chance to define myself as a "musician" and a "writer" came up. In both instances, I was hesitant to do so. My first tag for myself is definitely, "teacher." It is no surprise that I define myself primarily through my work. It is either nature or nurture, but I get that from family...it goes way back. Following that would be "husband." Third might be "dog owner," since that is a pretty big part of my life right now. Maybe I throw in "baseball fan," or "coffee drinker," or "closet Libertarian," at this point, but "writer" and "musician" come way down the list, if they make it at all.

My reticence to self-identify as a writer led to a discussion of what defines a writer. After all, here I am, right now, writing. Thus, I am a writer, right? Well, yes. What is a writer? A person who writes. Do I write? Yes. So, what's the problem? Right.

Same for musician (but, if I had to only choose a label between "writer" and "musician," I am going "writer" every time...I at least feel like a competent writer...I am not a very competent musician). I play music, therefore I am a musician.

But, is there some other aspect of it that causes me this pause when I have to claim a membership in the writer's club? I suppose it is a need to have some one else lend legitimacy to what I am doing. Here I sit at a desk full of folders of my own products. But very few of those creations have been seen by anyone. A few poems sent out (years ago), some even published. A play that was given a public reading. But, most of it is here with me, and, most likely, here it will stay. Writing isn't my means of making a living, and, as I mentioned earlier, that is the primary way that I identify myself. Until I am regularly (or sufficiently) paid to write, I will not be a writer. The more I think about it, the less I like how that sounds.

In a review of Daniel Johnston's newest release, Douglas Wolk said, "There is no valid excuse for not making your art in a world where Daniel Johnston managed to do what he did." I am really taking that to heart. Surely, however, it begs the question of whether art without an audience is art, at all. Which, in a way, is the same thing as the tree falling in the forest. And, again, presupposes that others legitimize you. And I want to get away from that. So, for the sake of my own argument (and personal growth, perhaps), I am going to say that art without an audience, while denying the world an experience, is still art. David is still David when the lights go out at the Academy.

So, yes, I am a writer. I mean, in a way, this whole self-doubt thing is silly, considering that I spend 190 days a year telling kids who hate to write that they ARE writers. And I believe it, but, I wonder if I might be saying the word in a different way. Yes, they are writers, but David Mitchell, he's a WRITER. I don't know. But, if I am, I am doing them a disservice. Because Johnny Grumplepants in the third row and John Irving both do it the same way. One might be better at it. One might be more experienced. But, the act of writing is the act of writing, and when I write, I am a writer, dammit.

A Bike Commute Quandary

Monday, after the morning gully washer had passed, after some R and R with the dogs, after soccer, lunch, and other trivial pursuits, I decided to pedal my wait out to my new work environment to see what the best way to bike there might be. Perusals of maps determined that it was possible to get from here to there using commuter trails, rather than on road routes, but the situation on the ground is always a little different than it is on the map, ain't it?

My new place of business is in the opposite diagonal corner of town, and at least twice as far. That alone will be a change that I am not looking forward to. In CoMO, my commute was ten minutes (on a bike). I was literally, around the corner from work. My last position here in Lincoln was about twenty-five minutes. I knew that I was looking at at least forty-five minutes of ride time, but I needed to know what kind of ride it was going to be.

In order to stay on trails, I had to ride away from my destination in order to pick up the trail that would take me the way I wanted to go. As far as I can figure it, there really isn't an equally safe, more direct way to go, so I am spending the extra time to ensure my own well-being. This trail, however, basically becomes a wide sidewalk just before it passes a major thoroughfare, leaving me to wait for the crosswalk. This is the same as waiting for a light, so no problem there, but I don't like riding on the sidewalk. That's not a trail, in my opinion, but I understand the dual-use idea makes all trails walks of some sort. I guess I just need to get over it.

Once over the major thoroughfare, the "trail" winds its way along a newly developed (and still being constructed) road with a trail beside it. At this point, the first trail connects to the second trail that takes me in an easterly direction (before that I was headed north-west), however, on the ground, the trails are not marked at all. There are the occasional arrows on the ground, but at this point on this ride, those arrows were few and far between. By the time I came (for the second time) to another major thoroughfare (one I would be crossing in the opposite direction from the one I had already crossed it earlier), I didn't know if I was on the trail, or just riding on a random sidewalk.

I looked to the south and realized I had been on a random sidewalk. There, a giant yellow sign with a bike on it indicated the trail crossing. Ironically, from a safety standpoint, there is no light at the trail crossing, but there is one at the random sidewalk...hmmmmm. I crossed at the trail and continued on my way.

My detours not withstanding, this was a nice trail. Wide, clearly marked, and lacking much in the way of hills. There were quite a few road crossings, but most of the roads were residential and not busy. I made my way east, until I came to another weird intersection and found myself crossing 66th Street. I was looking for 63rd. I must have missed it.

I rode up 66th, looking for a place to backtrack, and when I did, I easily found 63rd. My powers of subtraction are impeccable...up to three digits. I also noticed an apartment complex I had already pedaled through and marked that as a short cut back to my trail, since, now, I was leaving the trail and heading straight out 63rd.

I had to cross a few busy streets along this last leg, but nothing too hairy. A few hills on this little street were tough, especially in the heat of the day, but I managed. Once I arrived at my school, I had been traveling (not counting for back tracks, detours, water breaks, etc.) for exactly one hour. That's a long haul to make every day.

The ride back was quicker by about eight minutes, since I had a better idea of where I was going, but a fifty-two minute commute is one I don't know if I can make everyday. I don't know, yet. But, right now, I am leaning toward biking twice a week. Of course, I really enjoy biking to work, so I may just go all in. But a one hour ride, for me to be mentally ready for school everyday at first bell, means I have strive to be in the saddle at 5:45 every morning (which realistically means 6). That's awfully early, my friends.

--bike image taken from Biking Buck

Sitting Still

In 2006, Monkey and I spent part of June in Maine. In 2007, Monkey and I spent part of June moving from CoMO to Lincoln. In 2008, Monkey and I spent part of Jun in Italy. Last year, Monkey and I spent part of June in OCMD. This year, we aren't going anywhere.

For the most, we are staying put this month due to our new puppy. We will be heading to Colorado at the end of July, but, right now, we think he's a little too young to be left in the care of someone else (especially if he'd be around strange dogs). This is, after all, his formative period, and we wanted to be here to form him, of course.

It's fine by me to be keeping close to home. I find plenty on the old homestead to keep me busy, including reading (of which I have done too little, so far). Add to that that World Cup eating up anywhere from an hour to six of any given day, I am perfectly content to be here.

In a way, however, I am traveling. After three years teaching at my school, my position was cut due to budget tightening. As a result, I spent several weeks this past semester interviewing with other schools in the district who, due to transfers, resignations, retirements, etc., had openings. Lucky for me, a high school position was available, and I was offered it. So, I am moving to a new school next year. I am still in the LPS district, so I keep all of my seniority and such, but I still had to pack everything up and store it here until I can get into my new location.

It is frustrating to lose a position for such arbitrary reasons, but I feel fortunate that I didn't get laid off and left to fend for a new job in a completely new district. That would have really been tough. I am, to some extent, looking forward to the excitement of a new school and new classes.

Yet, staying in one job for a while wouldn't have been bad, either. That seems to be something I haven't done for a long time. And, now that I think about it, the last time I was in the same job for a long time (ten plus years), I kind of grew to hate it.

Post-a-licious January Continues!

Yet another post, making January the busiest month of the year, so far!

Today was somehow an awesome day. The portended freezing rain never materialized, due to the lack of freezing temps (funny how that happens). As a result, I didn't have to scrape my windows for the first time in at least four weeks (except for those days when I didn't have to scrape my window because I didn't have to go anywhere...to be honest, I have had quite a few of those the last several weeks).

You would think that I might be in a grumpy sort of mood, since the anticipated freezing rain might have led to an inclement weather day, had it happened. You would be wrong. Oh, sure, a little voice in my head (one of the gremlins?) was hoping, as I turned off the alarm, that when I checked the school website the red banner would indicate that we could go back to bed. But that was a little voice, barely perceptible, really.

After all, today was the start of third term. Why wouldn't I be eager to start a new schedule, with new classes? Why wouldn't I be eager to meet all my new charges? Well, I kind of was...but you know how I feel about meeting new people, so my attitude was a little tempered that way. At any rate, tempered attitude, or not, I was pretty excited to get a new start going. And I really didn't want to start this term immediately up against the same eight ball we'd ended the last one on. We've had enough weather-related closings.

Already, we are extending two weeks worth of school days in February an additional 36 minutes to make up for one last day. Is that the stupidest thing I have ever heard? Well, it's not the stupidest, but...it doesn't matter. We have a legal obligation to be holding on to our kiddos for a requisite number of days. Even if those days are elapsed one minute at a time, legally, we are covered. But, we're not lawyers, you say? We're teachers? Right, but I don't think one teacher had a hand in making that decision, but...that's right...I digress.

So, without turning this into a blow by blow recount of my day, things just went really well. It's still early, so take this with a grain of salt, but my kiddos seem pretty cool. A few handfuls, as always, but they seem pretty solid. Of course, we shall see, right? It has only been one day. But, it was a good day. Maybe the best I have had in a while. That's nothing to take lightly.

Oh, whatever shall tomorrow bring?

The Mathematics of Gremlins: A - A = 0; A - (-A) = 2A (where A = What the Hell Did I Do Today?)

Mr. Horrible? Mr. Horrible?
There's a phone call for Mr. Horrible.
--They Might Be Giants, "Someone Keeps Moving My Chair"

Did you ever have one of those days when you worked for ten hours or so, and, when you looked around at the end of the day, you seemed to have accomplished not one thing? That was my day. We start our second semester on Wednesday, so today was a workday. I had one section of finals left to grade, which I didn't even look at until I got home this evening (I just finished them), and I had planning to do for the upcoming term. But, honestly, the most obviously productive thing I did today was make coffee, and that was done by 7:45!

I guess I just chalk today up to one of those bizarre time warps, where things happen at a pace that seems normal to the person inside the time warp, but where things are actually happening at a much slower pace. However, if that were the case, and I were moving that slowly, I imagine that I would be really tired, right now. It's hard to move directly and slowly for an extended period of time (and I am talking about eight hours of almost perpetual movement (at least of the arms)). But, I am not tired...at least not overtired.

So, what is it? What happened today? Perhaps, as often happens on these "work days," a troupe of gremlins imperceptibly undid everything that I had done almost immediately after I had done it, today. That would leave me with a sense of doing something, but having nothing to show for it. Hmmmm...that MUST be it.

Unless you have any suggestions.

***Twilight Zone still from The Stygian Port

A Hot Frozen Mess

So, it's ten below here, colder than yesterday, and the third day that our school district has canceled classes due to the most recent weather unpleasantness. For those keeping score, this is the second three day stretch this school year. For you mathematically challenged readers, that is six inclement weather days, which is one more than our calendar can absorb. As well, finals are supposed to begin next week.

This creates several problems, the most pressing of which is the finals issue. A decision is expected to be made by noon today concerning what the end of the semester schedule will be. Will we simply conduct next week as if this week never happened? Will we push back the end of the semester one full week? And, if we do that, will we still take MLK, Jr. Day off, or no? I am guessing no, but anyway.... I suppose that we will just go with what we have, spend three days next week cramming in a few things, and have exams on Thursday and Friday. After all, there are a host of other contingencies affected by a change in schedule that are even more boring than what I am already talking about, so moving the calendar seems like a CF waiting to happen.

The other big hairy deal is the extension of the school year. Will we add days at the end? Most likely. But, we could also extend a few school days, or add in a Saturday class meeting or two. It really doesn't matter what they do, honestly. It's kind of stupid, really. It's just a legal issue: students have to be in class for so many days/hours per school year. Hell, let's add one minute to each class, and, in half a school year, we'll have made up for that extra day. Does that mean students have received one extra day of instruction? Of course not. Does that really matter? Well, no, not really. Okay, maybe I am being a little bit cynical, here. Maybe. A little bit.

Whatever the district does to resolve our issues, everything is kind of hosed. Sure, we'll get done what needs to get done. We'll have our finals. Our kids will get their grades. It will all work out. But boy is this causing some serious stress around here.

And, we still have at least eight more weeks of potentially bad weather to make it through. Wow!

Weather Related Closings

So, here I sit in my comfortable sun room chair, at 9:44 am, tapping away on my laptop, instead of preparing for second block. Why, you might ask? Because we have been granted our fourth snow day of the school year, due to forecasts of day long snow, heavy winds, and ridiculously low temperatures. The highs for the next two days are at or near 0 (yes, that's right: HIGHS). As we hitch and start our way toward the end of the semester, these snow days become somewhat of a hindrance to smooth operations, but I'll take them. The only problem is, with so much of winter yet to go, one more day off puts us at the limit. After that, we have to make up the missed time somehow. That usually means extending the school year. And those days are hard ones to get through for everybody.

Ahhhh, Freedom (Albeit Temporarily)

Technically, I am on break. Actually, I am sitting in my classroom waiting for a student to finish a make up quiz. But, in the next ten minutes or so, I am tearing out of here!

Just thought you'd want to know that I had survived in one relatively healthy and sane piece.

I'll be shouting at you again soon.