Friday, May 27, 2011

Maybe Next Year...

      The children entered the classroom wide-eyed and wondering.  They wondered about their teacher.  “Is she mean?  I hope she’s nice.”  They wondered about each other.  “Who’s the new kid?  Is Billy going to bother me for another year?”  They wondered about the challenges.  “Will this year be hard?  Easy?”  They wondered about themselves.  “Can I do it?  Will I fail or pass?”
      In spite of the questions the universal response as always was “This year will be different.  I will do better.”  Kids don’t go to school in the fall expecting to fail much less planning to do so.  School has a unique quality of annual freshness.  Like a sports season it has an annual beginning and end.  There is the hope-eternal pre-season potential for success.  Parents, teachers and students, much like Cubs’ fans, dream “This is the year we win the championship.”  Just as in sports only one kid rises to the top.   Unlike sports, however, there need not be winners and losers.  School is just that – school.  It is the perennial pre-season.  It is preparation for the future – adulthood outside of school.  Every student is a year older, hopefully a year wiser, and certainly a year closer to that future.  Their real championship game is yet in the distance.
      Kids don’t know that though.  The here and now of school is their life.  They live in the present.  They, like all of us, want a good life, a good school life.  They want to be “good,” but like their adult counterparts, they are beset with the challenges of living; and like the rest of us they don’t always overcome those challenges.  The issues of the larger world interrupt their school lives.  The present isn’t always quite what was expected.
      The school year is a long season challenging baseball and hockey to an almost interminable end.  There are hot and cold streaks, illnesses and injuries.  Kids lose their swing or rhythm.  There are the big games called tests and the pseudo-championship of the state exam; and today our schools are labeled winners or losers.  Sadly, at times so are the kids.  The end of the season awards assemblies recognize outstanding “players,” the final day of the season arrives, teachers and students pack up equipment and begin preparing for next year.
      The students have their scorecards.  Hope replaces the wondering.  “I hope next year’s teacher is nice.”  “Maybe Billy will move away this summer.”  “I hope next year will be easy.”  “I know I will do better next year.” They thank their teacher for lessons learned or unsatisfied with their performance, try to slip out un-noticed. 
      “Next year, you’ll see; I will be…”
      One of the wonders of school is that hope does spring eternal.           
      Maybe, next year…

Friday, May 13, 2011

McFictionary: Variations on “I Owe My Mother!”

For Mother’s Day a friend sent me a list of things learned from her mother called "I Owe My Mother."  I thought it might be a good McFictionary topic to share with you.


My mother taught me:
The McFictionary corollary:
1.    
TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE:  "If you're going to kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning."
TO DEPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE:
“If you’re going to kill each other, wait till after dinner.   I already set the table.”
2.   
RELIGION:  "You better pray that will come out of the carpet."
FREELIGION:  "You better pay for that to come out of the carpet."
3.   
TIME TRAVEL:  "If you don't straighten up, I'm going to knock you into the middle of next week!"
TIME RAVEL:  "If you don't straighten out, I’ll straighten you out right now!"
4.   
LOGIC:  "Because I said so, that’s why.”
BLOGIC: Posting “Because I said so, that’s why” on the web”
5.   
FORESIGHT:  "Be sure you wear clean underwear in case you're in an accident."
SORESIGHT:  Result of your accident and your forgetfulness
6.   
IRONY:  "Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about."
CRYRIONY: What you got when you kept on crying.
7.   
OSMOSIS:  "Shut your mouth and eat your supper."
BOSSMOSIS:  Saying “Shut your mouth and eat your supper” to your child
8.   
CONTORTIONISM:  "Will you look at that dirt on the back of your neck!"
MONTORTIONISM:  “Bob, will you look at that dirt on the back of your neck!"  ~Mrs. Marley  (Think about it)
9.   
STAMINA:  "You'll sit there until all that spinach is gone."
STAYMINA:  The ability to sit there until someone else eats the spinach
10. 
WEATHER:  "This room of yours looks as if a tornado went through it."
MERRIWEATHER:  Contented with the tornado motif in your room
11.  
BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION:  "Stop acting like your father!"
BEHAVIOR MODERNIFICATION:  “Stop acting like your other father.”
12. 
ENVY:  "There are millions of less fortunate children who don't have wonderful parents like you do.
GENVY:  “There are millions of less fortunate children who don’t have your genes.”

13. 
ANTICIPATION:  "Just wait until we get home."
TANTICIPATION:  Knowing what you’d get when you got home
14. 
RECEIVING:  "You are going to get it when you get home!"
DECEIVING:  You didn’t get it when you got home
15. 
MEDICAL SCIENCE:  "If you don't stop crossing your eyes, they are going to freeze that way."
MEDICINAL SCIENCE:  “If you don’t stop rolling your eyes, you are going to get it when you get home.”
16. 
HUMOR:  When that mower cuts off your toes, don't come running to me.
PHUMOR:  “When your feet stink, don’t come running to me.”
17. 
GENETICS:  "You're just like your father."
GERENETICS:  “You’re just like your old father.”

18. 
ROOTS:  "Shut that door behind you. You think you born in a barn?"
ROOTSBEER: “Shut that door behind you. Were you born in a brewery?”
19. 
WISDOM:  "When you get to be my age, you'll understand."
WHIZDOM:  “When you get to be my age, you’ll understand going to the bathroom a lot.”
20.
JUSTICE:  "One day you'll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you!"
JUST-ICED:  Having kids that turned out just like me.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Lessons from an Old-fashioned Mother


Background:
     Mom was born in 1915 in DuBois, PA. She and Dad eloped on her birthday in 1936.  They were married for 68 years.  She was an artist, interior decorator, and administrator of a retirement home. 
     On retiring they moved to Arizona. After a year of boredom as a gift shop clerk, she opened another art and decorating business.  She took up carving until her hands no longer responded.  Her art adorns homes of family and friends, and her hand-carved Santas appear at Christmas to celebrate a life of giving.  She loved to sing, and sang old hymns from memory until her final days.
     Mom was a woman of strong beliefs, firm principles and wonderful talents.   
Faith:
     She was clear in her faith; she died without questions. During a discussion with my Dad about beliefs and world religion, Mom appeared befuddled. When I asked her what she thought, seemingly out of context, she said, “I just know.” She lived unquestionably in the light of Christ.
Cleanliness and Courtesy: 
      “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”  She repeated that lesson to Jack and me.  Mom forbade us to get dirty.  It was a lesson we did not embrace.  Maybe, that is why Jack still digs into greasy car engines and I dig in the dirt.  “We also were forbidden to:
     Run up (or down) the stairs;
     Wear hats at the table or have elbows on it;
     Wear hats inside at all for that matter; and
     Interrupt anyone, particularly adults.
Modesty and Industriousness:
    Jack: Mom wouldn’t go to church without gloves and a hat or at least a scarf.
     Michael: Mom was modest to the point of appearing shy.  Her talents far exceeded her self-appraisal.  She sold her art at craft-value, demurred to friends’ accolades, and always found something amiss with her own cooking.  If asked, she would likely say that she was an underachiever when in fact she was exceptional.
   Janie, my friend/sister: Louise was never was idle.  She always had a project, was reading a book or was learning something new.  Whatever she learned there was some little thing she figured out that made the product better than the teacher’s. I once made a dress for myself and applied her instructions.  Everyone wanted to know where I had learned to 'set in' a sleeve like that. I proudly told them, but she never would.
Frugality: 
   Michael:  Mom was a Scotswoman.  She maximized anything and saved everything.  At Christmas, she would decorate only the lids of boxes so they could be reused.  Later she would receive a gift she had wrapped and remark how nice the wrapping was having forgotten it was hers. 
   Jack:  She would rather re-cane a chair than hire someone, re-upholster furniture than buy new, make slipcovers, hook a rug, paint brickwork, or any number of things her fingers knew how to do. Her attitudes and skills were like her faith; she just knew.
Stewardship:  
   Doug: Grandma’s home was immaculate: a place for everything and everything in its place.  Everything matched.  The plates matched the placemats, furniture matched the drapes, and I think even the toilet lid matched the tissue box. 
   Michael: Decorating was her passion.  Our house was under constant renewal.
     “Frank, don’t you think the house would look better without that clunky front porch.”  “Frank, don’t you think it would be better if the door was where the window is and the window… Those seem like standard remodeling challenges, but we lived in a duplex.  Whatever she wanted, she had to convince our neighbor to do the same thing.  She was a persuasive woman because the porches came off, and the doors swapped places with the windows.
Hospitality: 
   Michael:  Mom loved to entertain.  There were the bridge years when the ladies would gather for an afternoon of cards.  She put inordinate preparation into what I thought was just a card game.  For Mom there was a proper way to do everything.  How many Shanty Irish kids in the coal-mining towns of Pennsylvania grew up with napkin rings on the table? 
   Doug: My grandparents came to visit each winter until I was eight.  While I have memories of their “Snow Bird” lifestyle, most began after they moved to Arizona. 
     Grandma’s house was spotless, but I never had the feeling that my brother and I weren’t allowed to make ourselves at home.  I don’t remember a time when we were not allowed to spread toys, books, or games out anywhere we wanted.  I also remember picking up our messes before creating any new ones. I spent nights there and never felt like a guest.  Those feelings of love and acceptance were not limited to childhood.
     I like to think that I was not an exceptionally challenging teenager.  I did experiment with different styles of hair and dress.  I probably got that gene from my father.  But in the years I saw my grandmother, never did I feel that she thought less of me or judged me.  Each time I visited, whether I had a new earring or hair to my shoulders, or wore an army jacket with peace symbols pinned to it, she would greet me with a smile, a hug, and a kiss on the cheek.  As important as cleanliness and tidiness were to her, having her family was more important.  
   Michael: Mom was a great cook though prone to experimentation, often on guests.  Most of us do not think sauerkraut and carrots in Jell-O is a very good idea; but I can tell you she made fruit cake that even the most cynical of you would enjoy.
   Janie:  She loved the beach. Once she was so anxious to get there that she forgot the boiling eggs and had to scrub them off the ceiling when she returned home.  I enjoyed the story because she made few mistakes, but she laughed at herself when she told of them. 
Laughter and golf:
   Drew:  I am selfishly thankful that Grandma lived such a long life because I got to know, appreciate and love her as an adult in ways that I never could have as a child.
     I am surprised the sound of her laughter interrupts my memories because I expected her reserved manner would be the more lasting impression.  I hear her distinctive laugh, chuckling gently with “Oh dear” or “Well I’ll be” slipped in for grandmotherly measure.
     My other lasting image is of conversation. The scene was always the same: we sat in their front room.  She listened joyously and undistracted; or only slightly distracted if on a Sunday one of her golfers was in contention.  She shared stories and pictures of cousins, uncles or friends she loved and cared about.  She was proud of her family and friends, and I was proud to be among them. The idea of quiet conversation doesn’t sound extraordinary, but it was part of a relationship unique to any others I had. I know others shared these times with her as well though they heard the exploits of Andrew and Douglas.  Those threads of conversation kept us connected to family that we didn’t often see or had only briefly met.  We were connected through Grandma and her joys.
     I think that she is in a place where she has good conversation and laughter, I hope there’s some good golf there, too.
Old-fashioned:
   Jack: If I were to sum up Mom’s life in a word, it would be old-fashioned. Mom had old-fashioned values. Mom believed:
God comes first, family next;
good manners are always important;
youngsters should respect their elders;
one should always speak well of others;
it is important to finish every task;
we should be creative, industrious, and honest; and
     we are to honor the “Golden Rule.”
     Mom just knew.
   Michael: Oh, that we all would know so well.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

A Man Is Dead

   A man is dead.  Yes.  Killed?  Yes.  Assassinated?  Yes.  A casualty of war?  Possibly.  Murdered?  That depends on your point of view.  A criminal?  Yes.  An evil man?  Yes.  Killed as act of revenge?  For some, likely.  Deserving of killing?  People in this country think so.  Our leaders think so; they put the “hit” out on him.
   A man is dead, and Americans cheered.  As a nation we celebrated his assassination.  People flocked to the streets, to Times Square, Ground Zero and the White House.  Soldiers and civilians alike waved American flags and sang the national anthem.  When the President reported the event 45,000 spectators at the Mets-Phillies game in Philadelphia spontaneously began to chant “USA, USA…”  People watched the news late into the night and partied in response.  Millions expressed their glee at the death of “Public Enemy #1.”
   Was it closure for the families of the victims, the people of New York, Langley, Shanksville or our nation?  I hope so, but I would be surprised if that were the case.  Did his death end the threats of terrorism?  No.  Is the war over?  No.  Are the troops on their way home?  No.  Was justice served?  Many, if not most would say yes.  Is this American justice?   No.  Does it matter to most Americans?  Probably not.  Even the ACLU website was mute on the subject.
   Two facts are clear: Osama bin Laden is dead and Americans cheered.  I struggle with this.  I understand cheering the end of war.  Americans cheered VE-Day, VJ-Day and the end of the Korean and Viet Nam conflicts.  At the end of WWII the New York Daily Mirror headline read “VE-DAY! PUBLIC HOLIDAY TODAY AND TOMORROW – OFFICIAL” and the Stars and Stripes’ ran “VICTORY Nazis Reveal Surrender To Western Allies, Russia.” In contrast Monday’s New York Daily News headline read “ROT IN HELL!”  The New York Post ran “GOT HIM! Vengeance at last! US nails the bastard.”
   Applauding the conclusion of a decade long manhunt is understandable.  Commending the perseverance of the American military and the courage of the Navy Seals is fitting.  Celebrating victory in battle is almost expected, but is still not the same as celebrating the end of hostilities.  Leaders around the world congratulated President Obama and hailed the conclusion of the hunt for bin Laden.  There has been joy expressed from across the globe.  I, too, am grateful that this phase of the war on terror has ended, but I cannot cheer anyone’s death, not even Osama bin Laden.  I cannot applaud vengeance, and as a Christian I would not wish Hell on anyone.  The jubilant reaction of our citizens to a killing saddens me.  The mass expression of hate is at best unbecoming to a nation founded on Judeo-Christian principles.
   Speaking for the Vatican, Father Federico Lombardi said, “Osama bin Laden, as everyone knows, had the grave responsibility of having spread division and hate among people, causing the deaths of an innumerable number of people and exploiting religion for these purposes.”  He said that while Christians “do not rejoice” over a death it serves to remind them of “each person’s responsibility before God and men” and this “would not be an occasion for more hate but for peace.   Lombardi’s reminders counsel us walk the walk we talk.
   An evil man is dead.  May we rest in peace and let God be the judge of Mr. bin Laden’s soul.                   

Friday, April 29, 2011

An Unexpected Vacation


Time on my hands
Arrived unexpected,
Vacation forced
By thoughts disconnected.
Time for repose,
Or those chores to be done,
Honey-do lists 
And errands to run?
Days in idle
Productivity weaned;
Old books to read
New ideas to be gleaned.
Thinking, musing,
Pouncing on pondering,
Mind’s gymnastics,
Creative wandering?
Z-z-z engulfed me
Mid-morn to afternoon;
Back to routines
Could not get here too soon.
Time upon time
Through desultory days
Work thoughts and I
Quickly parted our ways.
Not my idea
This unearned vacation,
A beastly thing,
An awful creation.
Spill beans I must
That my leisure ad hoc
Was no more than
Simply this writer’s block.

Fine Lines and Pebbles

   There is a fine line between on vacation, in retirement and working for oneself.  If you are retired, how do you know when you are vacation?  When does the “weekend” start?  When you work for yourself and take time for personal tasks, do you need to record “comp” time?  This is very confusing to a recently retired househusband and fledgling writer.
   Fifty years ago I listed my ambition in my high school yearbook as “To never have to work.”  My father took great exception with that statement.  He focused on the word “never” and chided me for professing a rather dilatant approach to life.  To the contrary my emphasis was on “have to.”  That was a fine line between never have to work and never have to work.  Growing up as the son of lifelong working parents, I could not imagine ever not working.  The thought of retirement was both foreign and frightening.  Work defined life as I knew it then; it still does.
  I learned early on that if I was to not have to work, I better want to work; and to do so I would need work I liked.  Now, don’t get me wrong. As a career teacher there were certainly days I fretted about if not rued the thought of the challenges before me.  At the same time I knew them as challenges, not problems.  I value highly the years I spent with kids and the opportunities I had to influence their lives.  The line between challenge and problem can be fine indeed, but I wanted those challenges.  I wanted to go to work. 
   The idea of opportunity may be what delineates challenges from problems.  I had an opportunity to make a difference in children’s lives.  Their problems became my challenges.  The opportunity to make a difference is what I consider noble about work.  Obviously, we work to support and sustain our lives, but beyond that what keeps us working? 
   I read recently that my job in life is not to “change the world” but to “help make it a better place.”  That is another fine line, and it may be simply a matter of attitude.   For years after I burned out from the savior of the world work scene, I dropped out, hid out and resisted helping anyone or anything beyond my little corner of the planet.  I re-emerged only to find a quiet place to ply my trade focusing on the here and now of my role as one teacher in one school in a small, backwater district in the middle of Phoenix.  Yet, discontentment lingered in my ego; I longed for wanting one more opportunity to throw a pebble into the pond and see how many ripples I could make.  
   “How many ripples I could make,” that was the rub.  My focus was on myself, not on how God could use me to make a difference.  The difference between being the one to toss the pebble and being the pebble is a fine line to discern.  It is a matter of attitude and a matter of purpose.
   In my chosen endeavor I am challenged by writing for profit and writing to make a difference.  I am challenged by my self-proclaimed role as social commenter.  I am challenged by sustaining a voice that offers insight from my half-century of adult experience and one that proclaims a holier-than-thou attitude.  I am challenged by writer’s block stemming from questions of “Who am I to be doing this, writing this, asking these questions, and challenging others.”  I am challenged by the fine line between being the one to toss the pebble and being the pebble. 
   Changing the world is an onerous responsibility, and it is not my place.  Helping make the world a better place seems do-able.  The very idea of “helping” means I don’t have to do this alone.  Daily as we all do, I encounter opportunities to help make the world better for someone.  I offer my thoughts only in that vein.
  I have been away from this milieu all too long; I have fretted and fumed about my station in life and the direction I should take.  My focus was on the one tossing not the pebble.  The ripples will occur; the only question regards my role in making them.  To be the one to toss the pebble is to maintain the illusion of control.  To be the pebble is to admit I am to be tossed about.  I draw the line, however fine, only by my attitude and my faith in the One doing the tossing.
   I am back.
   I had to be led back, but here I am.
   Thanks for being here with me.

“I am the vine; you are the branches. 
If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much;
apart from me you can do nothing.”  
~ John 15:5 (NIV)

Monday, April 11, 2011

(T)Axes to Grind





     The list above was taken from “545 People” by Charlie Reese, a retired reporter for the Orlando Sentinel.  The 545 includes the members of congress, the President and the Supreme Court – those to whom he attributes responsibility for enacting the list into law for the remaining 300,000,000 of us.
     Reese states that even with these taxes we are still in the red; we have a huge deficit.  That got me to thinking. “What would be our government’s natural response?”  More taxes, of course; that would get us out of the red.  More is always better. The problem then becomes what possibly is left to tax?  This is a daunting task given the laundry list of taxes already enacted, but I am sure the IRS is up to it.
     The following are proposed taxes from a White Paper circulated inside IRi$, the Internal Revenue idea Service: (Note the small “i” in IRi$; all ideas in IRi$ are small because no one takes credit for them.)
     IRi$ Proposal 10040. Sec. A: The Baby Tax.  Tax babies; the more you have the higher the tax.  Some religious groups that have high birth rates might object, but there is always someone objecting to new taxes anyway.  IRi$ has thick skin. There’s a thought; maybe we could tax people based on the thickness of their skin.  Probably not, there are too many thin-skinned people in the country.
     IRi$ Proposal 10040. Sec. B: The Baby Tax.  If we can have a graduated income tax, we can have a graduated baby tax based on numbers of babies born; we could also graduate the tax based on weight similar to vehicle taxes in some states.  We will get our friends in the medical community to prove that heavier babies come from healthier moms who are more able to support the baby so they are more able to pay increased taxes.  This might work. 
     We will appoint a committee, or better yet a task force to spend tens of millions of dollars to assess the merit of the idea.  We better use the word “feasibility” instead because the merit of the idea wouldn’t stand the scrutiny of a task force and more importantly wouldn’t cost enough to determine.  Maybe our task force could consult the Chinese; they have dealt with this baby population thing.  We certainly would need to take a junket to China for first hand observations and consultations.  That would only cost a few million, but we would get some terrific pictures of the Great Wall.
     IRi$ Proposal 10040. Sec. C: The Oxygen Tax.  Tax the air.  We will develop a scale of annual oxygen intake based on body mass.  Everyone will need to have a body mass examination conducted by government.  We don’t have enough resources to do that so we will outsource it to our friends in the insurance industry and the medical community.  An inordinate number of people in the country already are overweight and will have high body mass ratios so the tax will earn maximum dollars. 
     IRi$ Proposal 10040. Sec. C: The Oxygen Tax. Subsection O2. We can apply a penalty to people who have to use oxygen assistance equipment.  Given the number of smokers in the country that population is bound to increase geometrically returning even more dollars.  By Jove we should be out of debt in no time. 
     IRi$ Proposal 10040. Sec. D: The Tree Tax. We can apply a penalty for planting trees that increase the oxygen supply thus limiting the need for oxygen assistance equipment reducing the creation of jobs in that industry.
     IRi$ Proposal 10040. Sec. E: The Forest Industry Tax Incentive. We can apply an incentive for harvesting more trees, or better yet like the farmers’ Crop Reduction Program we can create programs for not planting trees, the SMOG incentive (Save More Oxygen Guarantee).  It will be cheaper than price supports.  Given this concept, think of what we might do for the fossil fuel industries and tobacco industry.
     We better stop at this point because we might be raking in so much money that the government would be in the black and have to begin returning tax dollars to the citizens. Silly me, that isn’t a problem.  The government would just have more to spend.
     You can finish this on your own; i am sure you have more great ideas for taxable goods and services. i need to go finish my preparing my taxes. 
          T minus 5.