Showing posts with label old business. Show all posts
Showing posts with label old business. Show all posts

Sunday, July 1, 2018

multiple choice

A.
...but What You Do doesn’t fit into these boxes


the head gardener said from across her desk
which is larger than mine which is larger
than my students’.  It does give her some respect --
she’s almost at the top of the school-desk
chain, after all.


I mean, I know I’m just grounds maintenance
-sometimes-
and even need boxes
-occasionally-
But mostly, I’m the one who lets the Portulaca grow.


What I Do doesn’t fit into those boxes


It began so hopefully.


I took a seat, noticed the books that lined the shelves
behind her by authors I didn’t necessarily agree with.
Still don’t, filled as they are with all those foolish
lists and diagrams and charts.


And boxes.  
She opened my file, and with it the End-of-Year Conversation --


“You’re the best teacher I’ve got, you know
that don’t you?”
I mumbled some uni-syllables in some un-rememberable
order: “Wow. No. Um. Yes. Well. Oh. Um. Thanks.”
and considered (not too guiltily, I must confess),
the Pay-for-Performance payout I would get.


… but What You Do doesn’t fit into these boxes

B.  
You see, you and me, we can’t have a real relationship
if your job is to judge me, compare me to my friends,
and by those boxes that you checked
during a half-dozen ten-minute “Spot Observations” --


determine my salary.
Even you don’t like doing it, I get that, please don’t
tell me.  Even within an argument essay,
that's a pretty lame attempt at pathos.

C.
It’s all irrelevant anyway --
there will never be enough money
for us all to be Exemplary.


Race to the Top means someone’s at the bottom --
competition in our world sows even more doubt
and insecurity than we already know.


We are all the lettuce of the parable --
who need more water and less sun and certainly
less blame for not growing well.


D.
And what seeds are we really sowing?
Do we truly believe that the re-seeded Portulaca will bloom
in the cracks of our neighborhood sidewalks?
Or should we weed them out?
Rev up the Weed Eater and lop off their little blooming heads
to make things more tidy?

Don’t judge me for how many blossoms
there are, or how many seeds take root --
because some will never find their way under the concrete to the light
and others have been blown so far away
and planted themselves in places where
the woman holding the garden hose speaks another language.


E.
Schools are not Businesses
Students are not Consumers
Knowledge is not a Product



F.
You wanna know what our schools really need?


We need Professional Development we seek out ourselves
and you pay for it, and we convince all our colleagues
to come along because it will make us all Exemplary,
Racing to the Top as if we were holding hands
in a long line of Red Rover Red Rover
and we’re going to hold so tight that noone we call over
will ever be able to break through.


And we really don’t care if we get more money
for how tight we hold hands or
when our name gets called or
if we break through and get to bring someone over
to our side.   We’re the ones who would rather be
happy than rich and you know it --
and you’ve taken advantage of it for far too long


We need more men.  More people of color.
We will get neither if the seeds
of funding and fairness
don’t find a place to grow

We need accountability -- of course we do.
We would be the first to admit this.   
We strive every single goddamn day to be
accountable to our students -- and ourselves.


But it’s hard, because there’s no box for
Makes Moments of Joy or  
Uses Love to Impart Knowledge, or
Demonstrates Authenticity


And even if there were, there would still
be a gardener, looking out the kitchen window
comparing us to our fellow flowers
in the window box


We need our own mentor texts
(red ones and yellow ones and even some purple ones)
to cross-pollinate with the convictions of youth
and create a whole new, fearless hue.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

america vs. afghanistan: a non-survival story

I read The Sewing Circles of Herat last year. Hosted book club at my house. My husband and boys dressed up like Pashtuns and served us all tea.
At the same time, NEWSPEAK! was calling for real-life survival stories.

The confluence of those two influences led me to write the following words (with minor revisions) just over a year ago:

I have survived 12 years of marriage to a short-tempered squirrel-shooter who grew up in Afghanistan as the son of a diplomat.
I have not survived marriage to a short-tempered Afghan tribal warrior.

I survived English Lit 101, strolling through campus to class with a backpack full of books, paper, and pens.
I have not survived reading James Joyce knowing I could be hanged for doing so, having smuggled in books, paper, and pens under sewing materials in my handbag.

I survived the reelection of George Bush in 2004 when we thought the world would end.
I have not survived a military coup in which two of my cousins, my brother, and my uncle were all captured, tortured, and murdered.

I survived a body cast for four months when I was one, hot and itchy and immobile.
I have not survived years as a woman in a burqa, hot and itchy and invisible.

I survived two pregnancies and two natural childbirths.
I have not survived a bloody miscarriage in a war-torn country.

I have survived my boys playing war games with guns and swords in the backyard.
I have not survived my boys being given Kalishnikovs on their 5th birthdays.

I survived my father leaving my mother for his secretary when I was four years old.
I have not survived my father being dragged by his feet down the hallway by a dozen men with rifles, never to see him again.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

i love oregon, part III


Gatke Hall, home of the MAT program.
Willamette University
Salem, Oregon

The excuse I used to take a mini-vacation to Oregon was that there was an MAT reunion at Willamette University, where I received my Master of Arts in Teaching degree in 1992. Two of my favorite and most influential professors were going to be there. I wanted to look them in the eyes and say, "Thank you." Not simply for their instruction, but for creating an exceptional program that turned out not just teachers, but thoughtful, intelligent, creative leaders.

The first, John Tenny, made me buy my first computer in 1991. It was one of the requirements of the program. He insisted on a Macintosh LC. I remember that all the elementary schools still had Apple IIe's at that time. I borrowed $4,000 from the Federal Government Student Loan Program to purchase it! I thought my mother would die.

John was a rare bird. We thought it strange that this "old guy" (when you're 24, anyone over 30 seems ancient) was not only embracing computers, but evangelizing about them. Sometimes we thought he was a bit nuts, but his enthusiasm, combined with our discoveries of what was possible, ultimately won us over. We were using lesson plan templates, a grading program, and learning to make spreadsheets and data graphs (in color!) long before any of our contemporaries. Oh my did we MAT students ever impress our cooperating teachers!

John Tenny saw the future. And although his prediction that Macintosh would forever rule the world of education eventually came to an end, his vision of the potential of the computer to connect people would serve us well into the world of email and blogging. Yet with all his love of technology, one of his favorite phrases, and one I always remember in a crisis, was "There's a low-tech answer to every high-tech question."

The other, Rich Biffle, taught Classroom Management. It wasn't about discipline, but about how to arrange desks, distribute materials, build a community of learners, and then, if need be, deal proactively with any issues that might arise. He reminded us every day that our calling was noble and sacred.

Rich taught with a style and grace and compassion I had never before encountered in a college professor. I still repeat two of his oft-spoken mantras to anyone who I think might appreciate them. The first and most important thing he preached was that we could do anything we wanted within our four walls as long as we learned how to "finesse the system". This phrase has lived in my radical teacher soul for the past 15 years, and served me well on in so many instances. The second phrase, still so timely, is this: "There is nothing so unequal as the equal treatment of unequals." Yeah, think about it. For awhile.

I was one of the last ones remaining after the luncheon, talking with them about old times and new ventures.

John is developing new software for educators.
Rich is teaching at the University of Hilo in Hawaii.

After saying thank you and before saying good-bye, I asked if they would be so kind as to take a picture with me. I fished my camera out of my bag, turned it on, and the blue screen read "battery empty" and the damn thing beeped the most horrendous ear-shattering beep. I wanted to cry. Luckily, there was another couple still milling about who had a camera and were taking photos, so I asked them if they would please, please, please take a photo and email it to me. It arrived in my inbox today.



Good teachers, I mean really good teachers, stay with us forever. My husband and I have both had the experience of students who have contacted us from their futures to express some sort of gratitude. It's usually for something so simple and forgotten as placing a book in a hand or sowing the seed of an idea. If you know one of those teachers, please hunt them down and tell them a story. Say thank you. Let them know it mattered.

And you don't need a $4,000 computer to do it.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

not just another day

Today is a rather auspicious day, equidistant between two points:

One year ago today
and
One year from today

It's my blog's birthday. I've been anticipating it for the past week. Or two. I mean, what does one do for one's blog after it circumnavigates the sun for a year? Bake it a cake? Give it a new template?


Carry its home (my beloved imac) around a sun candle, a la the Montessori tradition, while telling stories about it?




I want to do something special- I've always been partial to birthdays, remarkable moments that they are. It has always seemed to me that we don't celebrate them like we should. Birthdays, as you will note if you have been paying any attention at all to this blog, have always figured prominently.

To make another trip AROUND THE SUN is no small feat.



Do other people feel this way about their blogs, as if they are an ethereal, yet actual, entity? Something you think about when you should be thinking about something else? A good friend whom you depend upon? A third party in a relationship perhaps? I'm concerned I might be losing my mind. I'm a Capricorn, married to a Capricorn, and my blog is a Capricorn too, and I'm wondering-- just what is the prognosis for a Capricorn threesome?!

Anyway, in honor of my blog's birthday, I have decided to give it something that we all wish we could have in this life: a vacation. At least three weeks. But first, I am going to post a host of photos/events that I meant to post at various times during the past year. Old business, as it were. Time to get on with new business.

To protest the St. Patrick's Day parade being moved from Old Colorado City to downtown, the 24th street gang decided to make its own:


I read Peter Pan to the boys and became enamored with the Lost Boys and Neverland, and especially Tinkerbell. I discovered my brother drives around with her on his dashboard:


My friend Jene is writing a book. It's complicated to explain, but I helped her with some mid-life "research" by going to dance clubs and strip bars with her. I'll let you know when the book comes out. Here I am just before we left for Denver to go to The Church:


Some things bloomed, eventually, despite the odds against them:

My brother and I went to Oregon in October. We visited our mother's cubby and spent some time on the coast with our father, where I got to show my new tattoo its home:




Bennett with the camera. I have a gazillion of these, which I never know about until I upload my photos; they fascinate me. Here are just a few:







One of my co-workers received this letter, telling her that she had to pay a $25 "fee" to the Colorado Dept. of Human Services, because, get this, she is a single mom who received over $500 in child support last year! WTF!?


The boys wanted to hang this poster over their window because there was no space for it anywhere in their room. I said no. They did it anyway. It's beautiful, and it made me think: What if we turned science into stained glass?



It ain't the Olympics, but I won a gold medal in the giant slalom race at Ski Cooper. There were only three women in my age category, but hey, I smoked 'em all! G and B also finished gold and bronze, respectively. This day marked a first: Grant's time was better than mine.... it's the beginning of the end! I wanted to write something about the zen of ski racing, but that'll have to wait:



So there you have it.... I'll see you all in a few weeks. Until then, send me your bookshelf photos!