I have always believed in fate. I wrote an essay in high school-- probably after reading some Shakespearean play-- that debated fate vs free will. My thesis was that it's not a debate at all, but an exercise in irony: we believe we have free will, and are making choices all along the way to control our own destiny, but in fact all those choices are predetermined, being guided by the hands of fate. I'm sad to say my teacher did not get it, at all-- but I'm sure my writing skills did not do justice to the task at hand, either. To be honest, I'm not sure I can communicate it right now, either, but that has never stopped me from trying.
But this is the way I've always felt about things. I was born in the greater Bangor area, but my dad got a promotion and we moved when I was 8. Time passes... and when I get to college, I meet up with a girl who was close with someone I was close with back in first grade. Whatever the reason, I was supposed to know her, and while I thought it was my choice to go to UMF, perhaps the universe had spent 10 years trying to find a way for our paths to cross again. After graduation, I had two job offers-- coastal and mountains. I chose mountains and proceeded down my less traveled path. One of my colleagues decided to pursue his administration certificate, and ended up interning in the very building on the coast that had offered me a job. And in all honesty, knowing that I would have met him either way is still a great comfort, as he died from cancer 12 years ago. Even me marrying WB-- we'd met in anatomy lab when I was a freshman and he a junior, but he was dating someone else. The universe reconnected us at Peru School a few years later, and that time it took.
This week, my bestfriend's mom was hospitalized for pneumonia. The norovirus going around is a particularly pesky one, so this news wasn't terribly shocking to me. The story came back that Pepere took her pulse, didn't like how low it was, and called 911. Bestfriend and I talked about this-- of course her pulse would go down as she was resting, that's the point, but he did the right thing for sure, so who cares what his reasoning was. He and I (fatefully?) were both on the team scheduled to visit a high school down the road from his parent's house, so we made arrangements to ride together and visit them after. As we were waiting for them to get home from being discharged (a way lengthier procedure than was necessary, but that's a different rant for another day) his brother stopped in and mentioned the "clippy thing Dad used to check her oxygen". My ears perked up: my asthmatic daughter learned at age 4 what the pulse/oxygen meter showed, and when the numbers were lower than 95 she was struggling for air. It turns out that last Tuesday-- 5 days before he used it-- Pepere picked one up just to have on hand. When he used it to read her pulse/ox levels-- not just her pulse-- he knew that she was in severe oxygen depletion, and rightly called 911.
How did he know 5 days before Memere even got sick that he'd need that simple little tool? What caused him to miss Mass (something Pepere never does) and check her oxygen levels? We'll never really know what caused him to make those little decisions, but there is no doubt in my mind that it's because it wasn't her time. Had Pepere not made any one of those choices, this story would probably be ending differently, but God took over and changed his path to ensure that the story played out to it's fated end.
As an aside, I know many people struggle with fate vs God's Will. For me, they are one and the same. I also believe that all religions stem from the same God, so no matter what you call him or what your specific belief system is, the same Being is running the show. Call Him God, Fate, Great Spirit-- heck, call him Zeus if you want-- but to me, all faiths lead to the same place.
I don't know why some of the things that happen in my life happen; I've long since stopped trying to understand it in the moment. Sometimes I get lucky enough to find out within a short time span, but most of the time I just trust that the universe knows what it's doing, and that someday it'll make sense to me.
I'm so glad you're still hanging around, Memere. I wasn't ready for you to go, either. I'm glad the Heavens agree.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Saturday, January 05, 2013
being there
On the list of stupidest things I've ever done, attending today's Nordic ski meet is at the top. The universe tried to talk me out of it, but I wasn't listening... but, I guess that's not surprising: I have been known to have a stubborn streak every now and again.
I had overslept-- woke up an hour late, with no time for breakfast or the deeply desired Dunkin stop. The meet was taking place at a school with athletic fields that are on three levels of hills-- I've been there before, and knew I'd need my boots to see anything. I couldn't get it on over the ace bandage, but I figured I could take that off and stuff my foot in when I got to the meet. I'm sure you've deduced by now that was some faulty logic.
And so, I put on the one boot and climbed the hills in my walking shoe.
I know. I could have turned around, and my son would have understood why. WB was with his middle school team at their meet at Sugarloaf, so I was the parent available to be there. It was his first high school meet, and I was 50 yards from being able to see him ski. Those of you who are parents will understand why I climbed that hill, stood by the fence and watched him leave the start line and enter the woods; balanced on one foot as the wind almost blew me over; and recognized his gait as he emerged from the woods the last time to swing around the lower field and climb the hill and ski by me towards his finish. I'd be lying if I said I didn't tear up watching him go by, or if I said it was only because my foot was starting to make it's displeasure known. But watching him ski-- seeing the confidence, dedication, and determination as he made his way around the course-- well, that's why I went, and why I stupidly climbed that hill.
I'd told him I'd be there but wouldn't stay long after, so I hoped he trusted in that fact. I cheered for him as he went by, but who knows if they really hear you or not? When I ran (stumbled? hobbled?) cross country in high school, I could only focus on finishing... but I knew, somewhere, at least one of my parents was there. After he finished, I tried to find where the team was, but I couldn't see them, and at that point I knew I was risking damage staying on that snowy hill. (As I was typing this post, in fact, he texted me-- he tried to get to me before I left, but couldn't reach me in time.) So far, he's unaware of the depth of my folly, and part of the reason for this post is so he might have a glimmer of understanding why I pushed the edge of my physical abilities to be there: I'm pretty sure he won't fully understand, though, until his oldest has his or her first high school meet.
Our job as parents is to be their personal cheering squad, following them around through their various events, giving them support. Sometimes it's advice, many times praise, and every so often a kick in the behind. In many ways, it's all about being there, watching them grow and mature and figure out who they're going to be as adults. As I said before, at least one of my parents was at each and every one of our events. I took it for granted as a kid that everyone had the same experience, but I know now that was never a safe assumption. If it is all possible, one of us will be at each of our kids events, too-- and if it's not, we'll line up someone else. Gramma (and Uncle Uncle) played that role the night of my surgery when Cheer Chick did her Christmas routine at their game. It matters to kids that someone is there watching them. It matters a lot.
Being there was worth the discomfort. I'm proud of you, buddy. Hope you had a good first meet.
I had overslept-- woke up an hour late, with no time for breakfast or the deeply desired Dunkin stop. The meet was taking place at a school with athletic fields that are on three levels of hills-- I've been there before, and knew I'd need my boots to see anything. I couldn't get it on over the ace bandage, but I figured I could take that off and stuff my foot in when I got to the meet. I'm sure you've deduced by now that was some faulty logic.
And so, I put on the one boot and climbed the hills in my walking shoe.
I know. I could have turned around, and my son would have understood why. WB was with his middle school team at their meet at Sugarloaf, so I was the parent available to be there. It was his first high school meet, and I was 50 yards from being able to see him ski. Those of you who are parents will understand why I climbed that hill, stood by the fence and watched him leave the start line and enter the woods; balanced on one foot as the wind almost blew me over; and recognized his gait as he emerged from the woods the last time to swing around the lower field and climb the hill and ski by me towards his finish. I'd be lying if I said I didn't tear up watching him go by, or if I said it was only because my foot was starting to make it's displeasure known. But watching him ski-- seeing the confidence, dedication, and determination as he made his way around the course-- well, that's why I went, and why I stupidly climbed that hill.
I'd told him I'd be there but wouldn't stay long after, so I hoped he trusted in that fact. I cheered for him as he went by, but who knows if they really hear you or not? When I ran (stumbled? hobbled?) cross country in high school, I could only focus on finishing... but I knew, somewhere, at least one of my parents was there. After he finished, I tried to find where the team was, but I couldn't see them, and at that point I knew I was risking damage staying on that snowy hill. (As I was typing this post, in fact, he texted me-- he tried to get to me before I left, but couldn't reach me in time.) So far, he's unaware of the depth of my folly, and part of the reason for this post is so he might have a glimmer of understanding why I pushed the edge of my physical abilities to be there: I'm pretty sure he won't fully understand, though, until his oldest has his or her first high school meet.
Our job as parents is to be their personal cheering squad, following them around through their various events, giving them support. Sometimes it's advice, many times praise, and every so often a kick in the behind. In many ways, it's all about being there, watching them grow and mature and figure out who they're going to be as adults. As I said before, at least one of my parents was at each and every one of our events. I took it for granted as a kid that everyone had the same experience, but I know now that was never a safe assumption. If it is all possible, one of us will be at each of our kids events, too-- and if it's not, we'll line up someone else. Gramma (and Uncle Uncle) played that role the night of my surgery when Cheer Chick did her Christmas routine at their game. It matters to kids that someone is there watching them. It matters a lot.
Being there was worth the discomfort. I'm proud of you, buddy. Hope you had a good first meet.
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
2013 is being brought to you by the letter W
I'm not usually one to bid a fond farewell to the year gone by, but this year is one I'm glad to leave in my dust. It was really the Year of the Doctor: I started in January with an ovarian torsion caused by a pesky cyst, tests for which revealed I also had gallstones. So, in February I had my gallbladder removed, just 17 days after losing half my left ovary. Originally I had planned on getting my second foot repaired in May-- right after the recital. I could not bare the thought of a 3rd surgery in 5 months-- nor could I have another week-plus absence from this group of sunshines. But.... 2 surgeries plus other random maladies rack up the deductible points pretty quickly, so it made sense to do it before the new year. And so, 2 weeks ago I went under the knife again. If I could resolve to do such things, trust me, staying out of surgical suites would be on my list every year.
Last year my resolutions were simple ones-- only 2 of them, really. Write more, and be aware of other's struggles and don't make them worse. I did pretty well on the former... but regular readers of this sad blog should show that I did horribly at the former.
But all this is just avoiding the subject. What am I resolving to do this year? As I said in the title, there's a W theme. I feel like Bert from Sesame Street... except instead of talking about lightbulbs and lampposts I'm talking about visiting Weld on a regular basis, writing more, and walking again. I also want to keep focus on my photography, but I haven't found the W connector for that yet. Hmm... maybe... a women's photography club? A friend of mine said she and some other friends were talking about starting such a thing, so maybe that's the link.
So here's to you, 2013. Let's stop meeting in hospitals and doctor's offices, ok?
Last year my resolutions were simple ones-- only 2 of them, really. Write more, and be aware of other's struggles and don't make them worse. I did pretty well on the former... but regular readers of this sad blog should show that I did horribly at the former.
But all this is just avoiding the subject. What am I resolving to do this year? As I said in the title, there's a W theme. I feel like Bert from Sesame Street... except instead of talking about lightbulbs and lampposts I'm talking about visiting Weld on a regular basis, writing more, and walking again. I also want to keep focus on my photography, but I haven't found the W connector for that yet. Hmm... maybe... a women's photography club? A friend of mine said she and some other friends were talking about starting such a thing, so maybe that's the link.
So here's to you, 2013. Let's stop meeting in hospitals and doctor's offices, ok?
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
sorrow
I haven't talked much about the Sandy Hook school shooting, mostly because I can't. It makes no sense to me, in much the same way that I couldn't process what happened at Columbine High or at Virginia Tech. This is not to say I'm not affected by this shooting, or any of the other tragedies. I can't imagine anyone not being affected. But I can't make sense of it. No one can.
The fighting between outraged politicians, though, is disgusting. Turning the debate towards school safety or gun laws is avoiding the issue. Our schools are incredibly safe and are staffed with caring, dedicated individuals. But life is unpredictable, and sometimes horrible things happen. But to discuss the shortfalls is to intimate we could have predicted this attack and therefore prevented it. In the end, I think that is what disgusts me most about all the news reports and FaceBook memes floating around: the idea that this was predictable and preventable, any more than any other tragedy is.
I pray for the families affected and all of Newton. I pray for everyone who has lost someone dear to them, regardless of how publicly.
The fighting between outraged politicians, though, is disgusting. Turning the debate towards school safety or gun laws is avoiding the issue. Our schools are incredibly safe and are staffed with caring, dedicated individuals. But life is unpredictable, and sometimes horrible things happen. But to discuss the shortfalls is to intimate we could have predicted this attack and therefore prevented it. In the end, I think that is what disgusts me most about all the news reports and FaceBook memes floating around: the idea that this was predictable and preventable, any more than any other tragedy is.
I pray for the families affected and all of Newton. I pray for everyone who has lost someone dear to them, regardless of how publicly.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Magi, Dickvale style
For Devon, on that memorable Christmas Eve in 2002. There are edits I'd make to this today, but since this is how I read it to her, this is how it remains.
I know you are all familiar with O Henry's telling of the sacrifices we make for those we love (if you haven't heard it again tonight, be patient...). That story is one of my favorite stories of all time, Christmas or otherwise. I love the variations on that story as well-- especially Bert trading his paperclip collection with Mr. Hooper for a soap dish for Rubber Duckie, while Ernie gave Rubber Duckie away in exchange for a cigar box for Bert's paperclips. Children's programming being what it is, Mr. Hooper, who was Jewish, arrived Christmas Eve in Bert and Ernie's apartment to return their treasures to them, free of charge. All is right on Sesame Street again. Love is alive.
I had the honor of witnessing a very real reenactment of this classic tale. As you all know by now, I took it upon myself to inform as many friends as I could about the shinny new washing machine now sitting in the other room. The responses were overwhelming. They came fast, they came furious, they came overflowing with emotional and financial support. Many responded by saying "let me know if you don't achieve the goal"; more than a few came with disclaimers saying "I wish I could send more...". In a week's time we had paid for the washing machine. Money is still trickling in. It's a tangible way of telling Nick and Devon how much they mean to us, individually and as a group. You can't put a price tag on a life, but you can on major appliances.
While it was amazing to receive checks for $50 or $100, the most incredible ones were the small ones. High school and college kids donating what they had. But the one I still can't think about without crying came from our very own magi. She showed up at my house one morning before work, and said "I'm giving you all the cash in my wallet It's what I told myself I would do, so here it is.". She stood next to me, gave me a few bills, and proceeded to empter her change purse. It totaled $2.68. I know this was as much as she could afford to give-- to be honest, it was more than she could afford. " Some of my best childhood memories have Nick and Devon in them..."
Christmas is about love. I believe in the poer of love, and in the goodness of people. Whether you gave hundereds of dollars or $2.68, you gave it out of love, and my life-- our lifes-- will be forever changed for witnessing it. In a wold of selfishness, in a time where extra money doesn't exist, our mailbox has been filled with generosity. What do you give to the most giving people you know? You give love, in whatever form it takes.
Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are the wisest. Everywhere they are the wisest. They are the magi.
I know you are all familiar with O Henry's telling of the sacrifices we make for those we love (if you haven't heard it again tonight, be patient...). That story is one of my favorite stories of all time, Christmas or otherwise. I love the variations on that story as well-- especially Bert trading his paperclip collection with Mr. Hooper for a soap dish for Rubber Duckie, while Ernie gave Rubber Duckie away in exchange for a cigar box for Bert's paperclips. Children's programming being what it is, Mr. Hooper, who was Jewish, arrived Christmas Eve in Bert and Ernie's apartment to return their treasures to them, free of charge. All is right on Sesame Street again. Love is alive.
I had the honor of witnessing a very real reenactment of this classic tale. As you all know by now, I took it upon myself to inform as many friends as I could about the shinny new washing machine now sitting in the other room. The responses were overwhelming. They came fast, they came furious, they came overflowing with emotional and financial support. Many responded by saying "let me know if you don't achieve the goal"; more than a few came with disclaimers saying "I wish I could send more...". In a week's time we had paid for the washing machine. Money is still trickling in. It's a tangible way of telling Nick and Devon how much they mean to us, individually and as a group. You can't put a price tag on a life, but you can on major appliances.
While it was amazing to receive checks for $50 or $100, the most incredible ones were the small ones. High school and college kids donating what they had. But the one I still can't think about without crying came from our very own magi. She showed up at my house one morning before work, and said "I'm giving you all the cash in my wallet It's what I told myself I would do, so here it is.". She stood next to me, gave me a few bills, and proceeded to empter her change purse. It totaled $2.68. I know this was as much as she could afford to give-- to be honest, it was more than she could afford. " Some of my best childhood memories have Nick and Devon in them..."
Christmas is about love. I believe in the poer of love, and in the goodness of people. Whether you gave hundereds of dollars or $2.68, you gave it out of love, and my life-- our lifes-- will be forever changed for witnessing it. In a wold of selfishness, in a time where extra money doesn't exist, our mailbox has been filled with generosity. What do you give to the most giving people you know? You give love, in whatever form it takes.
Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are the wisest. Everywhere they are the wisest. They are the magi.
the blessings of traditions
I am lucky to have stumbled into living and working in an amazing community. I came here mostly because my best friend from college had been hired here, and why not move to a place where you know people already? When I got here, I had no idea that I would become surrounded by an incredible community of like minded individuals. Talk about cashing in on some good karma...
One of the traditions we stumbled into is Christmas Eve readings. This was a Farm tradition, Nick, Devon, Kaiya and Caitlin at first, but one year they opened their home to all their friends. I can't now remember the first year we were invited, but we have spent every Eve with these people since sometime in the mid 90s. It's a classic Dickvale event-- delicious, gourmet pot luck and lots of great conversation and laughter. But it ends differently than all the others: starting from youngest to oldest, everyone has a chance to read a Christmas tale of their choosing. Over the years we've been graced with The Grinch, tag team readings of The Polar Express, various excerpts from A Christmas Carol, and many others. Devon would read King John's Christmas by A. A. Milne, and someone would read Gift of the Magi. The final reading was A Child's Christmas in Wales, read to us by Nicky himself. These nights were as powerful as any Christmas Eve service I've ever attended-- love, acceptance, and peace flowed through the walls, surrounding us all in a surreal comfort that follows us still.
Unfortunately, life marches on, and not always in a pleasant way. It's been 10 years since we shared a Christmas Eve with Devon. I remember that night like it was yesterday: the room was filled with friends and family, kids and adults of all ages. She had been fighting cancer for awhile, and we had lived our very own Magi experience that holiday season when A. bought her a replacement washing machine on faith that the money would come through. It did, and then some. I read something of my own creation that night, explaining how this 'young wench' hijacked Nicky's email list and said we were gathering money to help with the laundry. It was my retelling of the O. Henry classic, and how I got through that reading I'll never know--to read my own words to and about one of the kindest, most generous people I have ever been blessed to know-- well, let's just say it was a watershed moment for this fledgling writer and leave it at that. I think about that night often, remember my seat near the door and how the Christmas lights blurred as my eyes filled. And I remember Devon's smile as I finished...
Last night we were at a different home further out Dickvale, but the love was the same. The kids are older, and some of the faces have changed. Nicky and company spend the holiday at K's home in VT so the grandchildren don't have to worry about Santa's ability to find the right chimney. But as I looked around the room last night, I could see that this tradition is a part of all of us, and has extended well beyond those first years at the Farm. Even though she is no longer here on Earth, I could hear Dev reading along with WB "...and oh, Father Christmas, my blessings on you fall, for bringing him a big, red, India rubber ball!"
My blessings to you all, whatever your traditions. Hold them close, and treasure them, because you know not what the future will bring. Twenty years ago I moved to Peru, stumbling by luck into the perfect place for me to build my life. Kind people welcomed me into their world and allowed me to introduce them to some other people already important to me. My worlds of love have collided and overlapped ever since. It's almost like we live in Bedford Falls, with Tiny Tim a member of FPES. Our Christmas is not the biggest or the grandest, but it is exactly what I look forward to doing every year: gathering with friends, sharing good food, great conversation, and giving and receiving so much love.
Merry Christmas, to all of you. I have a Wonderful Life, and am surrounded by Magi every day. I am very blessed.
One of the traditions we stumbled into is Christmas Eve readings. This was a Farm tradition, Nick, Devon, Kaiya and Caitlin at first, but one year they opened their home to all their friends. I can't now remember the first year we were invited, but we have spent every Eve with these people since sometime in the mid 90s. It's a classic Dickvale event-- delicious, gourmet pot luck and lots of great conversation and laughter. But it ends differently than all the others: starting from youngest to oldest, everyone has a chance to read a Christmas tale of their choosing. Over the years we've been graced with The Grinch, tag team readings of The Polar Express, various excerpts from A Christmas Carol, and many others. Devon would read King John's Christmas by A. A. Milne, and someone would read Gift of the Magi. The final reading was A Child's Christmas in Wales, read to us by Nicky himself. These nights were as powerful as any Christmas Eve service I've ever attended-- love, acceptance, and peace flowed through the walls, surrounding us all in a surreal comfort that follows us still.
Unfortunately, life marches on, and not always in a pleasant way. It's been 10 years since we shared a Christmas Eve with Devon. I remember that night like it was yesterday: the room was filled with friends and family, kids and adults of all ages. She had been fighting cancer for awhile, and we had lived our very own Magi experience that holiday season when A. bought her a replacement washing machine on faith that the money would come through. It did, and then some. I read something of my own creation that night, explaining how this 'young wench' hijacked Nicky's email list and said we were gathering money to help with the laundry. It was my retelling of the O. Henry classic, and how I got through that reading I'll never know--to read my own words to and about one of the kindest, most generous people I have ever been blessed to know-- well, let's just say it was a watershed moment for this fledgling writer and leave it at that. I think about that night often, remember my seat near the door and how the Christmas lights blurred as my eyes filled. And I remember Devon's smile as I finished...
Last night we were at a different home further out Dickvale, but the love was the same. The kids are older, and some of the faces have changed. Nicky and company spend the holiday at K's home in VT so the grandchildren don't have to worry about Santa's ability to find the right chimney. But as I looked around the room last night, I could see that this tradition is a part of all of us, and has extended well beyond those first years at the Farm. Even though she is no longer here on Earth, I could hear Dev reading along with WB "...and oh, Father Christmas, my blessings on you fall, for bringing him a big, red, India rubber ball!"
My blessings to you all, whatever your traditions. Hold them close, and treasure them, because you know not what the future will bring. Twenty years ago I moved to Peru, stumbling by luck into the perfect place for me to build my life. Kind people welcomed me into their world and allowed me to introduce them to some other people already important to me. My worlds of love have collided and overlapped ever since. It's almost like we live in Bedford Falls, with Tiny Tim a member of FPES. Our Christmas is not the biggest or the grandest, but it is exactly what I look forward to doing every year: gathering with friends, sharing good food, great conversation, and giving and receiving so much love.
Merry Christmas, to all of you. I have a Wonderful Life, and am surrounded by Magi every day. I am very blessed.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
preaching to the choir
I stumbled upon The Minds of Kids blog somehow-- probably something WB posted along the way. This post makes tons of sense to me, and probably to you, as I think all my readers drink the same kool-aid as I do.
In all the professional development in which I take part, teachers consistently say that standardized testing holds us back. It's hard to encourage kids to explore ideas when you have to make sure you expose them to X material before the testing dates roll around. And between giving the universal screeners 3 times a year for math and reading and preparing for and giving the mandated state tests for math, reading, and science once a year, a significant amount of class time is lost to testing.
Teachers notice that students (in general) are not good at thinking for themselves. We know it's an issue... and yet the very tools we use to prove that point are the ones holding us back from making a change and improving the situation. To say my head spins regularly is an understatement.
I've said lately that I hope I'm still teaching when gay boys can have out relationships the way lesbian girls can now (and very much could not when I was a student myself). I also hope I am still teaching when we leave standardized testing behind and focus on learning and thinking instead.
In all the professional development in which I take part, teachers consistently say that standardized testing holds us back. It's hard to encourage kids to explore ideas when you have to make sure you expose them to X material before the testing dates roll around. And between giving the universal screeners 3 times a year for math and reading and preparing for and giving the mandated state tests for math, reading, and science once a year, a significant amount of class time is lost to testing.
Teachers notice that students (in general) are not good at thinking for themselves. We know it's an issue... and yet the very tools we use to prove that point are the ones holding us back from making a change and improving the situation. To say my head spins regularly is an understatement.
I've said lately that I hope I'm still teaching when gay boys can have out relationships the way lesbian girls can now (and very much could not when I was a student myself). I also hope I am still teaching when we leave standardized testing behind and focus on learning and thinking instead.
Saturday, October 06, 2012
failure is not an option-- it's required
I've been thinking a lot about mistakes lately. As a culture, I'm not
so sure we have a healthy relationship with making mistakes. Think
about it-- what happens when you screw up at work, or your kid messes up
at school? It feels like someone dropped a bomb on your soul, and it
often takes time to climb out of that hole. And yet... no learning comes
without a mistake being corrected. So which attitude is the right one?
Can we even define 'right' in this situation? I mean, I don't want my students to fail classes in
order to learn the material... but if they know it all and don't make
some mistakes, what's the point of spending time on it?
That is the spiral I've been circling through for a while now. And so far, it's taken me 4 days to write this post, which is still not getting to the heart of the matter for me.
As with everything that matters in life, this is not a black and white issue.
The challenge is figuring out which mistakes are helpful-- which help you grow as a person, an employee, a learner, a spouse-- and which are just plain old 'stupid' mistakes that send you backwards. It turns out, unsurprisingly, that intent matters. Did you intend to fail, or were you trying to succeed but missed a key concept along the way? Have you made this mistake in the past and failed to learn from it? Or all those other times you screwed up, were you not ready to learn it but now that switch in your brain gets flipped? Someone says it takes 30 times of doing something for it to be a habit, and little kids have to fall down 100 times before they learn how to stay up. So why do we expect perfection from then on out?
Another little musing of mine is what we do once the mistake is made. We're big on punishment-- suspension, jail time, a letter in the proverbial office file-- but not nearly focused enough on restitution. This leads in with my 'natural consequences' rant-- if my kid refuses to eat what we have for lunch, they're going to be hungry. They'll have to decide which is worse-- the hunger pains at 3 PM or the texture of squash. A simple, non-judgemental consequence that follows a choice made by a texture sensitive person. But the idea that I'd not feed them lunch to punish them for breaking the living room window? That just makes no sense to me, and seems like it might lead to a bit of anger that we'll have to then deal with later.* And we still have a broken window that needs to be cleaned up and replaced.
*To date, neither of my children has been denied food (far from it, those spoiled darlings) nor have any windows been harmed, in the writing of this post or otherwise.
As I'm sure you've surmised, I am a fan of the 'you break it, you bought it' school of parenting. You jumped in the mud puddle and got your new shoes all muddy? Get cleaning. Broke a window? Now seems like the perfect moment to learn how to clean up broken glass. So losing your license for drinking and driving? I'm all for it. Getting jail time for refusing to believe you've lost your right to drive? You bet, because clearly you're a risk to someone else innocently driving down the road. Suspensions from school because you're a danger to other kids works for me. Suspensions because you skipped a detention which you were given because you skipped class? I can't even fathom how crazy that is.
There's so much about mistakes and the ensuing learning that should come from making them tied up in our schools, but we can't get to the heart of it. Between the fear of being labeled one of the 'lowest performing schools', or needing a CIPs (Continual Improvement Plan, I think) plan, or having your school average national test score printed in the local paper (which might not be the worst thing ever now, since newspapers are dying out... but the internet sure isn't...) there's a lot of motivation to downplay mistakes. Schools lose federal funding when they land in one of these naughty categories, and less funding only leads to bigger problems.
I would love to get to a point where I don't have to grade kids in class. This is part of what appeals to me about standards based learning-- when you demonstrate you have met a certain standard (communicating your ideas to an audience, let's say) there is no judgement about whether you did it 97% right, or 78%, or 42%. You did it, or you're still working on it. What holds me back, however, is that we are always comparing. Do you may have met the standard, but Susie over there exceeded the standard... and just like that, we're back in the comparison business. Customized learning is the newest buzz in education, and there are parts of that philosophy that I embrace wholeheartedly. If the standard is persuasive writing, why can't Johnny show it by creating a commercial, Mary by writing the standard essay, and Susie by presenting a speech? You might say that Johnny then doesn't have to write anything, but creating a script for a commercial is writing, and may be more relevant to him than a 5 page essay. I'm on board with that, 100%, because I think the 'student failures' that come out of that model are more on line with mistakes we can learn from, and in the end, they succeed when they finish whatever project they're doing.
At the end of the day, I want us to learn from our mistakes. All of us, whether we're the movie star who keeps getting busted for drug and alcohol use, the politician who makes a shady side deal, the teacher who spells something wrong on a note that goes home, or the student who doesn't like to write. None of us like our dirty laundry aired in public, so it's never fun to say "Hey, look at how stupid I am by what I just did wrong!" But sometimes that's what it takes to learn from what happened and move forward.
That is the spiral I've been circling through for a while now. And so far, it's taken me 4 days to write this post, which is still not getting to the heart of the matter for me.
As with everything that matters in life, this is not a black and white issue.
The challenge is figuring out which mistakes are helpful-- which help you grow as a person, an employee, a learner, a spouse-- and which are just plain old 'stupid' mistakes that send you backwards. It turns out, unsurprisingly, that intent matters. Did you intend to fail, or were you trying to succeed but missed a key concept along the way? Have you made this mistake in the past and failed to learn from it? Or all those other times you screwed up, were you not ready to learn it but now that switch in your brain gets flipped? Someone says it takes 30 times of doing something for it to be a habit, and little kids have to fall down 100 times before they learn how to stay up. So why do we expect perfection from then on out?
Another little musing of mine is what we do once the mistake is made. We're big on punishment-- suspension, jail time, a letter in the proverbial office file-- but not nearly focused enough on restitution. This leads in with my 'natural consequences' rant-- if my kid refuses to eat what we have for lunch, they're going to be hungry. They'll have to decide which is worse-- the hunger pains at 3 PM or the texture of squash. A simple, non-judgemental consequence that follows a choice made by a texture sensitive person. But the idea that I'd not feed them lunch to punish them for breaking the living room window? That just makes no sense to me, and seems like it might lead to a bit of anger that we'll have to then deal with later.* And we still have a broken window that needs to be cleaned up and replaced.
*To date, neither of my children has been denied food (far from it, those spoiled darlings) nor have any windows been harmed, in the writing of this post or otherwise.
As I'm sure you've surmised, I am a fan of the 'you break it, you bought it' school of parenting. You jumped in the mud puddle and got your new shoes all muddy? Get cleaning. Broke a window? Now seems like the perfect moment to learn how to clean up broken glass. So losing your license for drinking and driving? I'm all for it. Getting jail time for refusing to believe you've lost your right to drive? You bet, because clearly you're a risk to someone else innocently driving down the road. Suspensions from school because you're a danger to other kids works for me. Suspensions because you skipped a detention which you were given because you skipped class? I can't even fathom how crazy that is.
There's so much about mistakes and the ensuing learning that should come from making them tied up in our schools, but we can't get to the heart of it. Between the fear of being labeled one of the 'lowest performing schools', or needing a CIPs (Continual Improvement Plan, I think) plan, or having your school average national test score printed in the local paper (which might not be the worst thing ever now, since newspapers are dying out... but the internet sure isn't...) there's a lot of motivation to downplay mistakes. Schools lose federal funding when they land in one of these naughty categories, and less funding only leads to bigger problems.
I would love to get to a point where I don't have to grade kids in class. This is part of what appeals to me about standards based learning-- when you demonstrate you have met a certain standard (communicating your ideas to an audience, let's say) there is no judgement about whether you did it 97% right, or 78%, or 42%. You did it, or you're still working on it. What holds me back, however, is that we are always comparing. Do you may have met the standard, but Susie over there exceeded the standard... and just like that, we're back in the comparison business. Customized learning is the newest buzz in education, and there are parts of that philosophy that I embrace wholeheartedly. If the standard is persuasive writing, why can't Johnny show it by creating a commercial, Mary by writing the standard essay, and Susie by presenting a speech? You might say that Johnny then doesn't have to write anything, but creating a script for a commercial is writing, and may be more relevant to him than a 5 page essay. I'm on board with that, 100%, because I think the 'student failures' that come out of that model are more on line with mistakes we can learn from, and in the end, they succeed when they finish whatever project they're doing.
At the end of the day, I want us to learn from our mistakes. All of us, whether we're the movie star who keeps getting busted for drug and alcohol use, the politician who makes a shady side deal, the teacher who spells something wrong on a note that goes home, or the student who doesn't like to write. None of us like our dirty laundry aired in public, so it's never fun to say "Hey, look at how stupid I am by what I just did wrong!" But sometimes that's what it takes to learn from what happened and move forward.
Friday, October 05, 2012
coloring outside the bubble
Today was a district workshop day. I did not go into education wanting to spend my day sitting in an auditorium or cafeteria with adults only, so I will admit up front to these not being my favorite days. PD* (jargon, baby... we all make our fun in the way that is best for us...) is important in all professions, however, so I find my way to get something out of the day.
*professional development
We were shown a slide of our district proficient/not proficient scores for math and reading data, I think for last year. The slide was scary-- as kids got older, their proficiencies dropped, at least according to the NECAPs or SATs.
I got a bit of my math geek on (again, we all find our own forms of entertainment. I like doing math without a calculator. What about it?) and figured out the percentages by hand. Even if you didn’t do that, it was obvious that about 67% of our elementary students are proficient, and about 33% aren’t yet; middle schoolers are about 50-50%; and high school has more kids not proficient than are.
We were then asked to figure out why, and the hope (strongly implied from the presentors) was we would see this was reason to change our instruction practices. MCL, here we come!
But wait... what if the problem isn't with the test takers, but the tests themselves?
I saw more fault with the disconnect between how we teach kids today, and how we then assess them. We have kids engaged in conversation in classrooms, working in groups and engaging in authentic learning. When is the last time you saw an AUTHENTIC SAT section? (And how authentic can anything be for a 17 year old at 8 AM on a Saturday morning, other than the back of their eyelids?) The tests we use do not line up with how we teach kids-- and the further you get from elementary school, the worse that disconnect becomes.
There is no doubt that we need to change our teaching, and we need to keep evolving to meet the needs of our learners. But we also need to change our tests to reflect what we’re asking of those learners. Right now we’re doing EXACTLY what we know is bad practice-- we assess kids in ways that do not match up with how we taught the material. And by ‘we’, I mean State and Federal DOEs. We all know that our kids know more than they are able to show on standardized testing, and until we can change how we’re being assessed, we will never hit the target.
[Teachers out there-- can I get a what what?]
*professional development
We were shown a slide of our district proficient/not proficient scores for math and reading data, I think for last year. The slide was scary-- as kids got older, their proficiencies dropped, at least according to the NECAPs or SATs.
I got a bit of my math geek on (again, we all find our own forms of entertainment. I like doing math without a calculator. What about it?) and figured out the percentages by hand. Even if you didn’t do that, it was obvious that about 67% of our elementary students are proficient, and about 33% aren’t yet; middle schoolers are about 50-50%; and high school has more kids not proficient than are.
We were then asked to figure out why, and the hope (strongly implied from the presentors) was we would see this was reason to change our instruction practices. MCL, here we come!
But wait... what if the problem isn't with the test takers, but the tests themselves?
I saw more fault with the disconnect between how we teach kids today, and how we then assess them. We have kids engaged in conversation in classrooms, working in groups and engaging in authentic learning. When is the last time you saw an AUTHENTIC SAT section? (And how authentic can anything be for a 17 year old at 8 AM on a Saturday morning, other than the back of their eyelids?) The tests we use do not line up with how we teach kids-- and the further you get from elementary school, the worse that disconnect becomes.
There is no doubt that we need to change our teaching, and we need to keep evolving to meet the needs of our learners. But we also need to change our tests to reflect what we’re asking of those learners. Right now we’re doing EXACTLY what we know is bad practice-- we assess kids in ways that do not match up with how we taught the material. And by ‘we’, I mean State and Federal DOEs. We all know that our kids know more than they are able to show on standardized testing, and until we can change how we’re being assessed, we will never hit the target.
[Teachers out there-- can I get a what what?]
Monday, September 03, 2012
It was 20 years ago today
(Ok, well, not today, but you know how I am with song lyrics...)
It was, however, 20 years ago that I came to town. Fresh out of college and ready to make my mark on the world, it was only natural that I'd choose a town of 1500 people and work in a small, independent k-8 school with 225 or so students-- I mean, that screams me, right?
It turns out to be about the best decision I've ever made. Granted, when one takes the road less traveled, it's hard to know what the other path may have lead one to. (Apologies to Mr. Frost for removing his poetry from the sentiment.) I have met more amazing people in this little community, and have relationships with people that sustain me through every situation. I met WB* working at that school. I got married while working at that school, and resigned my position in order to live my dream of being a stay home mom. We moved to town so our kids would get to go to that school. That school is no longer open as a school-- which is another story for another day-- but it is fast becoming a vibrant community center. We don't have town sewer, or garbage pick up, or even a full time police or fire department, but what we do have is worth much more: we have neighbors and friends who are in it together.
This place is our home, in every meaning of the word.I know we will always be 'from away', but I think we've been accepted regardless. This is where our children will tell people they are from-- and then have to explain what towns it is near because no one from outside of Western Maine will ever know where this place is. It's not Camelot or Brigadoon... but some days, when I cross the little wooden bridge to our property, I do feel like I'm in a magical world that only the lucky ones get to see.
So here's to another 20 years... and, if luck is on my side, another 20 after that.
*Truth be told, we'd met at college, but it didn't take. He was dating someone else, and I was just a little freshman in his section of science lab. He claims he remembers me, but I don't blame him for not-- I looked like Velma from Scooby Do, and was just as dorky.
It was, however, 20 years ago that I came to town. Fresh out of college and ready to make my mark on the world, it was only natural that I'd choose a town of 1500 people and work in a small, independent k-8 school with 225 or so students-- I mean, that screams me, right?
It turns out to be about the best decision I've ever made. Granted, when one takes the road less traveled, it's hard to know what the other path may have lead one to. (Apologies to Mr. Frost for removing his poetry from the sentiment.) I have met more amazing people in this little community, and have relationships with people that sustain me through every situation. I met WB* working at that school. I got married while working at that school, and resigned my position in order to live my dream of being a stay home mom. We moved to town so our kids would get to go to that school. That school is no longer open as a school-- which is another story for another day-- but it is fast becoming a vibrant community center. We don't have town sewer, or garbage pick up, or even a full time police or fire department, but what we do have is worth much more: we have neighbors and friends who are in it together.
This place is our home, in every meaning of the word.I know we will always be 'from away', but I think we've been accepted regardless. This is where our children will tell people they are from-- and then have to explain what towns it is near because no one from outside of Western Maine will ever know where this place is. It's not Camelot or Brigadoon... but some days, when I cross the little wooden bridge to our property, I do feel like I'm in a magical world that only the lucky ones get to see.
So here's to another 20 years... and, if luck is on my side, another 20 after that.
*Truth be told, we'd met at college, but it didn't take. He was dating someone else, and I was just a little freshman in his section of science lab. He claims he remembers me, but I don't blame him for not-- I looked like Velma from Scooby Do, and was just as dorky.
Saturday, September 01, 2012
time warp
... and just like that, we're back to school.
It truly feels like summer didn't happen. I know it did. I have thousands (yes, literally) of pictures saying we had 10 weeks off. And yet, my desk is still buried in haphazard piles, my mental to do list is a mile long, and I'm already falling behind on what needed my full attention 10 minutes ago. How does this happen? How are things so crazy all. the. time?
I am still committed to finding a balance between work and home, frantic and relaxed. Although I haven't found it yet, I'm pretty sure I'll settle into a routine before long. Until then, I'm actually writing lists (I have never ever been a list girl, and I can't imagine there will ever be check boxes on any list I create). And laughing. And remembering to breathe. It's all I can do.
It truly feels like summer didn't happen. I know it did. I have thousands (yes, literally) of pictures saying we had 10 weeks off. And yet, my desk is still buried in haphazard piles, my mental to do list is a mile long, and I'm already falling behind on what needed my full attention 10 minutes ago. How does this happen? How are things so crazy all. the. time?
I am still committed to finding a balance between work and home, frantic and relaxed. Although I haven't found it yet, I'm pretty sure I'll settle into a routine before long. Until then, I'm actually writing lists (I have never ever been a list girl, and I can't imagine there will ever be check boxes on any list I create). And laughing. And remembering to breathe. It's all I can do.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Daddy : hammock :: Mumma : pool
Today I floated in my pool. I left the house at 7:15 AM (which for me is early to be up, never mind motivating) and went to a school meeting. After that I headed off to do a portfolio review for some homeschoolers, and then I stopped and checked in on my inlaws on the way home. All of these things are good things-- I'm happy to be able to do so much, and I enjoy being around so many people. But I am also learning that it is important to savor the downtime...
And so I did. One of my school year resolutions (similar to New Year resolutions, but following the agrarian school calendar schedule that has been the center of my life since... well... 1975) is to include mental down time every day. On the last real day of summer vacation (the rest is just a weekend), floating in my pool while soaking up sunshine seemed the perfect tribute to the passing of summer break and the welcoming of school year.
And so I did. One of my school year resolutions (similar to New Year resolutions, but following the agrarian school calendar schedule that has been the center of my life since... well... 1975) is to include mental down time every day. On the last real day of summer vacation (the rest is just a weekend), floating in my pool while soaking up sunshine seemed the perfect tribute to the passing of summer break and the welcoming of school year.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
sigh
So many posts running through my head, but no energy left at the end of the day.
I'm hoping to eventually write posts again, such as
*I swear I was a homesteader in a past life.
*15 people. 1 structure. Tons of laughs.
*Growing up and growing older.
*Winter is coming.
*What I did on my summer vacation.
Let's see if I get to any of it.
I'm hoping to eventually write posts again, such as
*I swear I was a homesteader in a past life.
*15 people. 1 structure. Tons of laughs.
*Growing up and growing older.
*Winter is coming.
*What I did on my summer vacation.
Let's see if I get to any of it.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
thoughts on homelessness
Tell Them Who I Am, by Elliot Liebow, is the story of life in a homeless woman's shelter in DC in the 80s. I'm drawn to this topic for some reason. Last year I read The Girl's Guide to Homelessness, by Brianna Karp. Both are these are memoirs, although Liebow's is a third person observation while Karp tells her story in true memoir style. Both books make the point that homelessness is real, and difficult, and that the system often times works against you.
Both these books come at the problem from different angles-- Liebow's describes what I most often think of as a homeless experience-- walking the streets during the day, waiting for the church run shelter to open-- while Karp was living in a camper in a Wal*Mart parking lot. Both of these descriptions show women living on the edge of the poverty line... and one small bit of misfortune sends you crashing into the abyss. Many of the women Liebow encountered had jobs (unless anyone at work discovered that they had no home, and then they often seemed to end up suddenly unemployed) but they worked for minimum wage. And minimum wage is not enough, especially if you don't have anyone with whom to share expenses.
The other point that was very obvious after reading both books is how important a true support system is to anyone being able to weather a rough spell. Having family and true friends who are not also living at poverty level makes a huge difference, but having anyone at all can be the difference between making it and not.
So what does this mean for me? I am unbelievably lucky, and I know it. I have everything I need-- plenty of it, in fact-- and so much of what I want. I have shelter, a variety of food, warmth, clothes for all types of weather, a savings account, good credit, and a great job with incredible benefits. I get plenty of sick days, to use for me and should I need to care for my family. I am eligible for family leave should I need it. And I have friends and family who are not only able to help in a long term emergency situation, but who would also do so willingly. Happily. I live relatively free from violence, and have never experienced war of any kind first hand. My heavens, I live a good life.
Last night Portland voted down a proposal banning pan handling in the medians. The police felt it was it's not safe for drivers or the pan handlers... but advocates for people who are homeless called them out (I think accurately) as a way to push these people out of view. Truly, I'm impressed with the vote, but why can't we focus on a world where no one needs to beg for money in the first place?
I hope to do more to link students with the resources and connections they need when they graduate. Make no mistake-- I'm not just talking about Sunshines here. Yes, I have taught kids who are homeless, but I'm not naive enough to think there aren't others I've encountered who were not in my program. Luckily, the kids I've encountered so far have had places to go and people willing and able to help them. I pray that is always the case, and that everyone is able to have a place to call home.
Both these books come at the problem from different angles-- Liebow's describes what I most often think of as a homeless experience-- walking the streets during the day, waiting for the church run shelter to open-- while Karp was living in a camper in a Wal*Mart parking lot. Both of these descriptions show women living on the edge of the poverty line... and one small bit of misfortune sends you crashing into the abyss. Many of the women Liebow encountered had jobs (unless anyone at work discovered that they had no home, and then they often seemed to end up suddenly unemployed) but they worked for minimum wage. And minimum wage is not enough, especially if you don't have anyone with whom to share expenses.
The other point that was very obvious after reading both books is how important a true support system is to anyone being able to weather a rough spell. Having family and true friends who are not also living at poverty level makes a huge difference, but having anyone at all can be the difference between making it and not.
So what does this mean for me? I am unbelievably lucky, and I know it. I have everything I need-- plenty of it, in fact-- and so much of what I want. I have shelter, a variety of food, warmth, clothes for all types of weather, a savings account, good credit, and a great job with incredible benefits. I get plenty of sick days, to use for me and should I need to care for my family. I am eligible for family leave should I need it. And I have friends and family who are not only able to help in a long term emergency situation, but who would also do so willingly. Happily. I live relatively free from violence, and have never experienced war of any kind first hand. My heavens, I live a good life.
Last night Portland voted down a proposal banning pan handling in the medians. The police felt it was it's not safe for drivers or the pan handlers... but advocates for people who are homeless called them out (I think accurately) as a way to push these people out of view. Truly, I'm impressed with the vote, but why can't we focus on a world where no one needs to beg for money in the first place?
I hope to do more to link students with the resources and connections they need when they graduate. Make no mistake-- I'm not just talking about Sunshines here. Yes, I have taught kids who are homeless, but I'm not naive enough to think there aren't others I've encountered who were not in my program. Luckily, the kids I've encountered so far have had places to go and people willing and able to help them. I pray that is always the case, and that everyone is able to have a place to call home.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Monday, July 02, 2012
{moments}
Life got away from me... here are a few of the highlights from the end of the year.
I hope to be better about blogging this summer. Time will tell, I guess.
losers and winners
There are many reasons to love July. As a teacher, July means a full month to focus on my family and recharge my own batteries. It is freedom to think about what I want to change in my classroom next year without having to implement said changes tomorrow. It means soaking up hot, lazy days, Frederick style, and store away for those cold winter days that are coming.
But July also means the best sports season of the year. As I type, I'm switching between Wimbledon and the Tour de France. Later today we'll watch more Olympic trials. Yesterday we watched the European Cup final match. We don't plan our lives around television shows... except during the Fortnight.
There's been heavy chatter by the swimming announcers about how Michael Phelps hates to lose. He loves to win, but he hates to lose. Yea, yea, whatever... I hear it as the filler it's meant to be between heats, trying to keep the audience on the edge of their seats. But watching Federer struggle in the first set of the Round of 16, that concept of hating to lose resonated. Federer took the first medical time out I think I've seen him take (which the announcers repeated multiple times, just to be sure we knew what a big deal that was). His opponent-- a name I don't know off the top of my head-- recognized his weakness, and seemed to be capitalizing on it. Federer was down 5-6 in the first set. Ok, I thought, here we go...
If that had been me out there, Malisse would have beat me. Which is why it would never have been me out there-- because I don't hate to lose so desperately that I'll do whatever it takes to win. When I "ran" cross country in high school (quotes necessary because I wasn't running as much as walking with a hop in between steps. 10 minute miles are not that impressive.) I let people pass me, if they cared to. I could hear them coming up behind me, and if someone was behind me, they were probably in last place. I could hear them thinking "I'm not going to finish DFL today..." and I really just didn't care. My job was to finish, not to finish high in the standings.
But Federer is clearly not me, and he obviously hates losing. He won the game, and then the tiebreaker. He's up 1 set to nil in a rain delay (and that's a whole other announcer rant-- why go into a delay when you can close the roof over Centre Court?) and I have to believe he will win this game, whatever it does to his body. Because he hates to lose. Aha, young grasshopper... it is all starting to make sense now.
So I'll stay here on the couch, watching all these elite athletes abuse their bodies to feed their need to be the best. Not their best, as with I am content, but THE best. And be thankful that they think that way, because it's so fun to watch on these hot July days...
But July also means the best sports season of the year. As I type, I'm switching between Wimbledon and the Tour de France. Later today we'll watch more Olympic trials. Yesterday we watched the European Cup final match. We don't plan our lives around television shows... except during the Fortnight.
There's been heavy chatter by the swimming announcers about how Michael Phelps hates to lose. He loves to win, but he hates to lose. Yea, yea, whatever... I hear it as the filler it's meant to be between heats, trying to keep the audience on the edge of their seats. But watching Federer struggle in the first set of the Round of 16, that concept of hating to lose resonated. Federer took the first medical time out I think I've seen him take (which the announcers repeated multiple times, just to be sure we knew what a big deal that was). His opponent-- a name I don't know off the top of my head-- recognized his weakness, and seemed to be capitalizing on it. Federer was down 5-6 in the first set. Ok, I thought, here we go...
If that had been me out there, Malisse would have beat me. Which is why it would never have been me out there-- because I don't hate to lose so desperately that I'll do whatever it takes to win. When I "ran" cross country in high school (quotes necessary because I wasn't running as much as walking with a hop in between steps. 10 minute miles are not that impressive.) I let people pass me, if they cared to. I could hear them coming up behind me, and if someone was behind me, they were probably in last place. I could hear them thinking "I'm not going to finish DFL today..." and I really just didn't care. My job was to finish, not to finish high in the standings.
But Federer is clearly not me, and he obviously hates losing. He won the game, and then the tiebreaker. He's up 1 set to nil in a rain delay (and that's a whole other announcer rant-- why go into a delay when you can close the roof over Centre Court?) and I have to believe he will win this game, whatever it does to his body. Because he hates to lose. Aha, young grasshopper... it is all starting to make sense now.
So I'll stay here on the couch, watching all these elite athletes abuse their bodies to feed their need to be the best. Not their best, as with I am content, but THE best. And be thankful that they think that way, because it's so fun to watch on these hot July days...
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
Everclear
Yesterday afternoon, I came home to find my child worried about what turned out to be a misunderstanding. It was a relatively quick fix-- about 30 minutes, all told-- but we were all bothered by it. In my attempt to let it go, I posted lyrics. Posting lyrics is my standard cover-- I can say what I need to say, but it's not always obvious why.
A few hours later, we learned of the suicide of one of our students. We started the year with a tragic car accident, and are ending it with this. To say we are overwhelmed and emotionally spent... well, I'm so overwhelmed and spent that I can't finish that thought.
None of us saw this coming. He was on our track team, so I knew him. Good kid. Great smile. Couldn't always make practice, but there are a million reasons for that. I could see in his eyes that there was a story, but he had good friends... and so I never took it any further. Until yesterday. And now... that story will never be told.
As you know, a big part of my job is to teach resilience: why do some people overcome and others give in? And how do you teach that inner strength, that absolute belief that you can overcome anything? Not just anything, but everything? Such confidence is elusive, but essential. I spend my days sharing as much love as I can, and I pray that it is enough. Most days it is.
So, let me say it again: they cannot hurt you unless you let them. Please-- whatever is going on-- don't let it ruin you. And if you are in a place where you don't believe that in your core... let someone else guide you to a place where you do. Hang on for dear life if you must-- we've got you. I promise, you are not alone. Life is sometimes hard (so many of my sunshines know that better than I) but it is so worth it. Running away from the edge of the cliff is harder than letting yourself fall or getting pushed over it, but running gives you strength. And strength is often what gets you through.
They cannot hurt you unless you let them. Don't let them.
A few hours later, we learned of the suicide of one of our students. We started the year with a tragic car accident, and are ending it with this. To say we are overwhelmed and emotionally spent... well, I'm so overwhelmed and spent that I can't finish that thought.
None of us saw this coming. He was on our track team, so I knew him. Good kid. Great smile. Couldn't always make practice, but there are a million reasons for that. I could see in his eyes that there was a story, but he had good friends... and so I never took it any further. Until yesterday. And now... that story will never be told.
As you know, a big part of my job is to teach resilience: why do some people overcome and others give in? And how do you teach that inner strength, that absolute belief that you can overcome anything? Not just anything, but everything? Such confidence is elusive, but essential. I spend my days sharing as much love as I can, and I pray that it is enough. Most days it is.
So, let me say it again: they cannot hurt you unless you let them. Please-- whatever is going on-- don't let it ruin you. And if you are in a place where you don't believe that in your core... let someone else guide you to a place where you do. Hang on for dear life if you must-- we've got you. I promise, you are not alone. Life is sometimes hard (so many of my sunshines know that better than I) but it is so worth it. Running away from the edge of the cliff is harder than letting yourself fall or getting pushed over it, but running gives you strength. And strength is often what gets you through.
They cannot hurt you unless you let them. Don't let them.
Monday, May 28, 2012
At the corner of Writer's Block and Starting Over...
I've been quiet on the ole' blog lately, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about why. Even trying to write this post about why I'm not writing is proving to be a struggle. Mostly I think I have so much swirling in my head-- budgets and successes and failures and 8th grade ceremonies and what will next year bring? and sports schedules and menu planning and is everyone ok?-- that to try to write one sentence means I have to find a way to stop the swirling. But that would take energy I don't have, and so, instead, I don't write. Not logical, but real.
I do have some things to say, and perhaps part of what I'm struggling with is the confidentiality of the other poor folk who share my life. Perhaps it is time to say goodbye to this blog and start 2 new ones-- one for the no harm content, and one super private one for those topics that I need to process in my extroverted way but without the extroversion piece. But then I'd have to lock that second one down, and I'm not so good at that, either. See how I got to the original solution in the first place?
So, my obvious wide spread audience, I need some help. What say you?
I do have some things to say, and perhaps part of what I'm struggling with is the confidentiality of the other poor folk who share my life. Perhaps it is time to say goodbye to this blog and start 2 new ones-- one for the no harm content, and one super private one for those topics that I need to process in my extroverted way but without the extroversion piece. But then I'd have to lock that second one down, and I'm not so good at that, either. See how I got to the original solution in the first place?
So, my obvious wide spread audience, I need some help. What say you?
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)