On the Road Again

I spent a lot of this past summer on the road. I mean – A LOT. And, I’m not even counting the beautiful trip abroad that warrants its own entry.

Late in June we drove from Georgia to Iowa to spend some days finding a place to live here. In that trip, we went from Cedar Rapids to Iowa City to Des Moines to Iowa City to Cedar Rapids. Then back to Georgia. In July, we moved from Georgia to Iowa. In early August, we went from Iowa to Kentucky and back to pick up youngest son. The end of August found me on the road taking middle son to college in Pennsylvania; then, back home and back to work. 

Just today, as a function of my job, I put over two hundred miles on my car driving to two schools and to one of the agency facilities from which I work. 

Yes, I’ve seen lots of roads this summer.  You know what I’ve noticed? 

There’s construction out there. I believe the reports that our infrastructure is crumbling, but while it crumbles there are groups of men and women all over the nation trying to gird it up. Here’s the thing I noticed about construction and driving: I don’t mind waiting in construction traffic if work is actually being done. I understand the need for road cordoned off for no apparent reason until you approach the crew, and you note that the long stretch where nothing was being done is actually a buffer for people who are doing a job I would never want to do much less be able to do: repairing bridges and roads.

The same is true in life. There are times when we cordon off parts of our lives because we need to repair them.  We need to recover from a bad relationship; we quit dating. We need to nurture ourselves after a loss; we don’t go out much. We need to focus energy on building up a skill set; we go to the gym lots or garden lots or write lots. Precious else gets done when we shut down our roads to repair or build ourselves up. Eventually, though, our roads are repaired and they reopen.

The thing that pisses me off is when you’re driving down the road, as I was this past weekend, and the two lane highway becomes a one lane highway. There were cones tall and skinny and short and fat blocking three four-mile stretches on I-80 between Iowa City and Des Moines. I waited for it. 

I knew that workers need their space for safety. I also knew it was the weekend, and it was likely that there weren’t actually any workers, but I would see where they were shoring up the highways and byways that I had used so much this year. 

Nope.

There was no machinery. No workers. No sandy gravelly area where cement or asphalt would soon be poured and smoothed. Nothing. Just a blank, empty lane of a highway. No work being done. No activity whatsoever.

Have you ever met such people? They are shut down and tuned out. Whole avenues in their lives have been blocked off, but there’s no evidence of work being done. Everything appears usable. It seems like it all works.  But they have this shut-off area that may or may not ever reopen.

Such people are traveling through life, but perhaps not traveling well. Maybe they put up the cones for defense.  Maybe they guard their cones jealously, afraid others will trample them. Perhaps they put up the cones so long ago that they forgot all about them. 

I am thankful for the travels I had this summer. I am thankful that middle son drove most of them. (I miss you!) I am thankful for the travels I am having now. But more than all of that, I look around, and I realize while sometimes I’ve had cones up because things were being repaired, there have been time when the road has simply been closed – for no good reason. And, in those instances, I’m thankful for friends and family (you know who you are) who stopped their cars, got out, and helped me reopen those stretches of road.

The metaphor has gone a bit stale at this point, so I’ll leave you with this lyric from Rascal Flatts: “Life is a highway; I wanna ride it all night long. If you’re going my way, I wanna drive it all night long.”

Take down the unnecessary cones. Open up the possibilities. Use both lanes. Keep going.

Home

"Turns out they were right again . . . if it's true home is where the heart is, 

I guess now I'm homeless." 

That lyric has been haunting me over the past two months.  I have felt without a home for a while now.  The transition from Augusta to Cedar Rapids - from Georgia to Iowa - will perhaps be complete when the last box is unpacked (that will take a while!) or maybe once I've been here a year of seasons or maybe there is some other definition of adjustment that I am not thinking of at the moment.  

Change takes time.  I was out of town this weekend, and when the thought of going home flashed across my mind, it was not Cedar Rapids that my mind called up, it was Augusta.  I didn't realize it the first time, but the second time when discussing with my son when we would leave to go home, again, it was a flight image of Augusta that came to mind.

I start a new job tomorrow; when I think of that, an image of my old school grounds scampers through my mind.  I consciously know that I will be working in a different setting at a different set of tasks, but my mind has an ingrained image of work as that old setting.

A quick review: I moved to Augusta to be married.  When that reason no longer existed, I thought of leaving; however different reasons kept me in place. For a long time, I complained - even railed - about Augusta, Georgia, and the South. It was where I lived, but as  location, I never thought of Augusta as home until this past weekend.

In fact, my friends in Augusta can tell you that I have talked about being an outsider or not at home there in varying degrees over the years.  I probably mentioned it most in relation to lack of snow in the winter and high summer temperatures.  Even having lived there fourteen years, when someone asked where I was from, I would say that I lived in Augusta, but I was from Iowa.

Everyone has moments in life when you just feel foreign.  I had it when I first lived in the Soviet Union. The language, the culture, the KGB - it was all foreign.  When I first moved to Augusta, I remember hearing a conversation between a bricklayer and another man; I could not understand one word they were saying.  I asked what language they were speaking.  English.  Huh?  I have a degree in linguistics and have studied languages for the past 25 years.  I was in East Central Georgia, USA, and I could not understand the English being spoken.

It's not just language that will make you feel foreign.  Customs, foods, pace of life, even time zones can play a role on whether people feel comfortable or at home.  People choose their homes or move their homes or stay in their homes for so many reasons.  Whether you have stayed in one place your whole life or moved multiple times, as I have, where, really is your home?

There is a host of aphorisms to define home.  Where our story begins.  There's no place like it.  Where you can be yourself.  Where we love.  Where one starts from.

As I was packing and unpacking boxes and feeling homeless, I started thinking that my home is actually a patchwork.  I have squares from childhood, college, and beyond.  I'm just now realizing that, yes, Augusta is part - an integral part - of that patchwork of home.  Places and people around Augusta will always be home.

My home is
Tara's patio on a breezy Sunday evening, the smells of Shishir's cooking wafting over us;
Liberty's winter solstice party;
the horses that used to run behind our house in Harlem;
Jamie's garage while he grills, Carrie makes her killer onion rings in the kitchen, and we all drink beer;
a chat with Jennifer in the hallway;
our book club with more wine and food than books;
Iris mowing her yard in the mid-day summer heat;
closing Monterrey's with Erin;
the classroom and office and auditorium at my old school;
boot camp and Tracy's "slower than pond water" shouts;
a tour of Franklin's most recent art acquisitions;
Christmas Eve brunch at Katie's;
the purgatorial Kroger parking lot;
appetizers and long talks in Jan's kitchen -
Augusta is part of my home.

I am most in agreement with Tad Williams on the concept of home:  "Never make your home in a place.  Make a home for yourself inside your own head.  You'll find what you  need to furnish it - memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things.  That way it will go with you wherever you journey."

So, that song may need revision.  Because, if home is where the heart is, I'm not homeless - I have homes everywhere, including with my loves in Augusta.

Flying

The summer just flew by!  So many of us are thinking, if not saying that right now.  Friends who teach in Columbia county, Georgia are back at school today for pre-planning.  Other teacher friends will return next week.  Back to school sales have been happening since July 4.

Perhaps your summer has been and continues to be filled with cookouts, lake trips, and pool time.  You have attended weddings and family reunions.  Maybe time has flown this summer because someone you love is ill or friends have been in dire straits.  Home improvements, jobs, swimming lessons, and summer camps may have filled up your calendar.  Whatever the case, maybe you are like me - just now looking up and thinking "What? It can't be July 31."

When a writer takes a three month hiatus, you might think it is to go on retreat or participate in a workshop.  My unintended break ended up to be to:

 1.  Watch my middle son graduate
 2.  Travel to Italy and Austria
 3.  Resign my job in Georgia
 4.  Pack my house
 5.  Move to Iowa
 6.  Unpack into a new house
 7.  Start a new job
 8. Begin navigating a new town

In a sense, this has been both a retreat and a workshop.  I felt overwhelmed at times by the emotions of packing up fourteen years of life and love.  Saying goodbye to friends to move somewhere new is astonishingly difficult even in the digital age.

No one means to let time fly past, but it does.  Most of us talk about seizing the day, being mindful, making the most of every minute.  And we try.  And sometimes we succeed.

You may be like me - experiencing a big change over the course of a season.  Your season may not be shifting for a while.  Maybe the impending start of school dictates adjustments in your routine.

No matter when life shifts and changes, I am reminded of something I used to say to incoming freshmen:  "Remember that this is not a means to an end.  You don't do high school to get into college to go to grad school to get a good job to make money so that you can retire and grow old and die."

It really is the journey.

CCChanges...

“He who fails to plan is planning to fail.” –Winston Churchill

About ten days ago my middle son embarked on an improved diet.  He has modified his starch choices, upped his leafy greens, and diminished his sugar intake.  It’s a good, healthy modification.  He is the lone vegetarian in our house, and although I have never left him without supper or meatless alternatives, he has undertaken to make his own meals. 

One of the things he immediately realized is that he needed some help from me.  He told me what he was doing, and solicited my support – in the form of buying some groceries we don’t usually have on hand.  Almond milk.  Red quinoa.  He told me what he wanted, and I gave him my card to make the purchases.  He couldn’t find one thing, so he asked if I would try to find it next time I went to the store.  Done.  He thanked me and asked where I had found it.  I told him.  He was grateful.  No problem.  Happy to help.

About the second day of healthy eating plan, he was busy in the kitchen, and I was probably watching him drinking a diet coke.  He turned to me and said, “This isn’t that hard, but it does require planning.” 

Isn’t that how it is with change?  Most changes aren’t hard, but they do require planning.  And, they require support.  And communication.  A couple other situations have arisen in my life this spring that have brought this into focus in other ways.

Over the years in the workplace, I have noticed that those who effect the best changes are those who seek advice.  They consult experts; they examine various possibilities before launching a change – just like my son did his research prior to his modifications.

I have also noticed that positive change – anywhere – almost always involves garnering support from those around you.  If the change will affect the lives of others, it is wisest to ask them for their ideas and support – just as my son did before he began.  Had his proposals been outrageous or unhealthy, I would have objected and offered other ideas to help him achieve his goals.

Help is also a key component to making changes.  One can declare a change, but it is so much easier to make changes with the help of those who care about you at home, at the office, or at school.  If I were to just decree a change in my office, my colleague might go along with me.  But, if I consult her, get her input (especially since she has been there longer than I), consider her suggestions, my change might keep its form and my colleague would be on board with me; or, maybe, just maybe, my change would end up being modified and better for everyone.

One thing I noticed about son’s new meal choices is that while I did help him, he undertook the bulk of the work.  In the last seven days, he has made 20 of 21 meals.  Furthermore, he has cleaned up the preparation and consumption of these meals.  He has even gone above and beyond cleaning up extra from his brother’s and my meals. 

That’s what has really impressed me: he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.  He didn’t sit in the living room and proclaim what he wanted and expect me to hightail it to the store or prepare special foods.  He did not recline, saying, “Well, this will all work out because this is what I want, so get on board, Mom.”  He communicated, planned, and did the work.  If we want changes, we must be willing not only to work for them but also to plan. Just thinking about changing his eating habits won’t get him the results he wants.  Simply declaring a change, asking others for support without any discussion, and blindly hoping that change will work out does not succeed.

We check the forecast and buy seeds before we plant our gardens.  Schools spend five months or more planning graduation ceremonies.  Summer vacations are usually the subject of familial conversations and extensive research.  Offices don’t just hope for the best when the fiscal year turns over. 

Let’s all take a page from my son’s book – at home and at work.  Spring is the season for new beginnings.  Positive change doesn’t happen on its own; those new beginnings can only sprout from good ideas watered with the wisdom and support of those around us.

Bike Riding - It Isn't All Water

When I was in kindergarten or thereabouts, I was taught to ride a bicycle.  I do not write that I learned to ride a bike although I eventually did.  I was taught to ride a bike. I did not particularly have any inclination to learn this skill at the time; I was told I had to. For some reason it was required. I have the idea that my teacher was my dad, but I have a suspicion that my mom was also involved. 

We lived in a small town, and our house was fortuitously across the street from a small church with a small paved parking lot that had a small patch of gravel near it with a small bit of grass beyond that. There was a significant bump riding into the lot from the street.

As I was coerced into learning this skill, a parent held on to the back of the white banana seat of the purple two-wheeler with a white basket decorated with colorful plastic flowers, and as soon as said parent decided I’d mastered balance, parent would let go, and I would promptly fall over.  My recollection is that the parent(s) in question got fed up and told me to stay in the parking lot until I could ride the bike. 

I did.  I don’t remember how long it took, but I learned to balance, to avoid the gravel patch, not to go careening into the grass, and I may have even pulled the lever on the handlebar bell a few times.  Soon, I abandoned the parking lot for the street, up and down, to my friend Melinda’s house.

David Foster Wallace gave the commencement address at Kenyon College in 2005 in which he asserted that our monotonous adult lives all depend upon how we view that monotony.  We have the choice, he asserted, to be annoyed, or we can simply see our daily experiences, like a grocery store or a traffic jam, as “water” – the stuff daily life is made of.  And, he further suggested that we have the choice of how we view the water.  We can view people and the annoyances of life in any number of ways, and it is incumbent upon us to consciously choose how we encounter life. 

True enough.  However, I would go on to say, that one needs to view life, its people, and its situations for what they are; not everything is water.  There is gravel, heavy traffic, and big bumps.  It's not all the same.

Some of life’s experiences involve people making you do things you don’t really want to do.  We all have tasks that we must do on a daily basis at the behest of others.  Riding the bike.  We can whine or bitch about it, but adult life demands that we do some things that we just plain don’t want to do.  If we are lucky, we have parents or mentors who teach us to balance as we are getting started.

As we are riding that daily life bike, we may encounter paved patches.  We can manage quite well on these.  Some of us may find our patches a little small and strike out to find larger patches to navigate.  Still, no matter how big your paved road of daily tasks is, there are always some gravel spots.  Those must be ridden on or around.  The grass beyond must be respected.

Thinking that all the roads we are riding on are the same, might just land us unconscious on the side of the road with a concussion.  Navigating daily adult life is more than just saying “this is water” and making a conscious effort to encounter life thoughtfully.  This navigation also demands that we recognize our surroundings for what they are, keep our balance, and steer as needed. 

Once we get the hang of the riding and navigating, we can, occasionally, ring our handlebar bell.  The analogy is stretching bit, but my point comes down to this:  it’s not all water.  There are basic tasks, annoying people, extreme stresses, and things to be swerved around.  It behooves us to see what we are riding on.  It’s not all water, and if we acknowledge the people or situations for what they really are, then, perhaps we become expert riders.  

SMH at all the BFFs

When we lived in Trenton, my Best Friend Melinda lived a few houses down, and a few more houses down from her lived my arch nemesis: Rhonda.  Capital letters for that title because in those days, we girls had one Best Friend.  It was an honorific saved for the girl to whom you told all your secrets, had over for sleepovers, wrote notes to, ran through the sprinkler with and, if you were lucky, who had a handsome older brother you could secretly crush on. Having a Best Friend was an important social marker – probably THE social marker of girlhood.

One sunny day it came to my attention that Melinda and Rhonda were playing Barbies in Rhonda’s driveway.  Horrified that my Best Friend might be making a new Best Friend, my six-year old brain told me that the best way to deal with this snub was to ride my bike up and down the street past the criminal in order to register my dissatisfaction with my Best Friend.  Of course, if Melinda saw me, she would rush over to play with me. 

Today, on social media, I have noticed a proliferation of BFF posts.  Several acquaintances of mine post pictures proudly proclaiming, “I love my BFF!”  Such pictures are posted more often than I had sleepovers back in Trenton.  Here’s the thing: in each picture – it’s a different person!  My acquaintance + a different person each time = BFF.  Having a BFF in every social media picture seems to be THE social marker of 2014. But, how is it that BFF has devolved to a moniker for everyone?

Best Friend was a title not to be taken lightly.  Add the “Forever” component to that title, and it seems even more exclusive to me. In any case, the idea that everyone in your Face Book photos or who follows you on Pinterest is a BFF has gotten stuck in my craw. These people are not all BFFs; some aren’t even friends.  Let’s face it: we all have “followers” whom we don’t know at all and “friends” whom we struggle to recall.

Let’s strive for precision in language.  Is everyone really your BFF?  Best Friend Forever seems so permanent, and we all know that life ebbs and flows; moves happen, things change, and a Melinda can turn into a Rhonda or the other way round faster than we think.  So, it seems to me that labeling everyone we have a margarita and a selfie with as BFF is a linguistic extreme.  Will the guy who cuts me off in traffic then become a WEF (Worst Enemy Forever)?  

I’d like to think I don’t have any arch nemeses anymore; however, I do have some dear friends.  They are all important to me despite the fact - or perhaps because of the fact -  that I don’t use the BFF label.  A deep breath and a true appreciation for the varied roles that all of our real friends, neighbors, colleagues, and acquaintances play in our lives is more valuable than the latest “Love my BFF” shots because at the end of the day, how we think about and label the people in our lives is actually pretty important.

Airplanes and Drinks

I have been absent.  For a month to the day.  I’d like to say that I’ve been off doing wonderful things and being fascinating, but that would be a stretch of the truth.  I have had some experiences that got me thinking, judging, and thinking about judging.

During my hiatus, I had an airplane trip which included a layover in the early morning.  As I sat in a sports bar-turned-half-breakfast-joint having toast and diet coke, the question occurred to me:  what kind of people drink hard liquor at eight in the morning?  Evidently, quite a few on this particular day.

A ten dollar pint well before noon? Sure!  A low ball of Jack with eggs?  Why not?  Tequila with a breakfast burrito?  Absolutely.  Is this how people live or is all common sense and perception of propriety suspended when one steps into an airport? 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m the first to have a noontime margarita by the pool on a mid-June Saturday or a brunch mimosa on any given Sunday, but hard liquor at eight in the morning seems excessive.

Perhaps the contention of travel must be assuaged by spirits? That might have been the case for Midge –who sat next to me berating her husband loudly.  Annoyance hovered between them just above the carry-on emblazoned with her name.  I don’t know where they were going, but I learned that they just arrived into the airport; they had not been traveling internationally in some irritated fashion, but they were clearly tense.  I wondered if alcohol would be a part of the solution to their tension.  Even if it wasn’t, the combination of breakfast drinks and anger had all the makings of a long day for them.

A couple at the bar were three beers and one shot in each – before nine.  Perhaps they were on the way to a reunion?  A funeral? Or some other highly-charged event so this early morning pub stop helps them escape themselves, the impending crush of family, and the resurrection of childhood’s injustices and favoritisms?

Lest you think I’m sitting in self-righteous judgement, I was reminded of Shannon, Ireland where I arrived at what was – to me – cocktail & snack time, but what was locally known as breakfast time.  I had a pint and a sausage with friends.   No self-recriminations at all.  I might have had a second pint.  Perhaps there was a 47 year-old Irish woman watching our group and wondering much the same that I was wondering last week.

But, that day I was in Charlotte.  Midge and husband have come past security to wait for a delayed flight.  Same for the bar couple. (Yes, I was eavesdropping.)  There were no international semi-rational-time-change-jet-lag excuses.  Do these people go by bars on their ways to work?  Do they take a shot after dropping off the kids at school?  After morning Zumba? 

I want to write “I’m not judging,” but the fact of the matter is I was judging.  Taking a step back, I realize that I don’t care when or what people drink.  Just because I did not deem morning drinking appropriate for myself that morning, does not mean it is wrong.  Extend that into the world, and I think we all might be able to learn a lesson:  just because something isn’t for you, doesn’t make it capital W wrong. 

College major?  Whatever excites you.  Religious beliefs?  Personal choice.  Political inclinations?  Think for yourself.  Children or no?  It’s up to you.  A drink in the morning at the Charlotte airport?  Your call. 

I’d like to think I was judging the effect of travel, airport bars, and freedom, but that’s not the truth.  I was judging the people and their motivations.  It doesn't matter where you are or what you are doing, the personal choices that you make are just that – personal.  After all, once you take off your shoes and get felt up by security, the world truly is your oyster (shooter). 

I think I need to take Rumi’s travel suggestion to heart:  “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field, I will meet you there.”  Won’t you join me?

Cheers.

Down in the Slumps.

Have you ever had a slump?  The kind where nothing is quite right but you should keep sweeping the floors and making the beds. The kind of slump that tempts you to lie in bed most of the morning playing Candy Crush and hating yourself?  The kind of slump that keeps dishes in the sink a day too long? These slumps encourage multiple pizza nights and one or twelve too many glasses of wine. 

You know, when really what you want to do is anything other than what you have to do but you can’t really put your finger on what you have to do or what the alternatives might be.  The papers pile up and nothing tastes good.  Maybe you get a cavity or an ingrown toenail.  It’s a stale cracker time. You might even find yourself wishing for some kind of minor non-life threatening and non-expensive catastrophe.  Just enough to jar you.  To get you going.  To wake you up. 

You’ve become a zombie.  Well, not you perhaps, but I did.  It was the midwinter for me.  The unexpected ice storm that, despite its beauty and the fact that we did not lose power, seemed so out of place in Georgia may have played a role.  Perhaps having to monitor my youngest child’s homework in a way that I never did with the older two got to me.  It has been the mid-winter of my discontent to be sure.

Don’t get me wrong:  I got up.  I went to work.  I returned phone calls and bathed (not simultaneously).  But, I just wasn’t feeling it.  Neither was my family.  We moped together.  We discovered that the family that mopes together gets on each other’s nerves. 

Perhaps you have had too many inches (feet?) of snow and too frequent subzero temperatures to really shake the blues.  No sun for days?  You know what they say:  all clouds and no vitamin D leads to … unfinished clichés and too much wine drinking.  So, what’s a person to do? 

Take an exotic vacation around the world?  Go on a silent, spiritual retreat?  Out to eat with friends?  The movies?  Stay in bed until being there actually becomes aversion therapy that kicks you up and out and back into life?  Who knows.  Sometimes we just have down times. 

Despite what all the magazine covers want you to believe, it is perfectly normal to not feel normal.  You don’t always have to rearrange your closet or freshen up winter with a colorful pillow or add sparkle to dinner with a splash of citrus or start an energizing workout. 

You can just order pizza and watch Netflix.  It’s okay.

Our tendency, as driven Americans, is to berate ourselves if we are not at the top of our game all the time. No time like the present to start something new or find a new cause or just cheer up. Feeling down?  Chin up! Press on. Put on a happy face!  I disagree. 

It seems to me that if we spend time berating ourselves while we are in a slump we get even slumpier. If you are hating yourself for being in the funk, then how can you expect to get out of it?  We are kicking ourselves while we are down.  We treat ourselves so badly – worse than we ever would treat a friend who was feeling down. 

We really should practice mindfulness even and especially in the slumps.  Explore your slump – feel its walls, explore its caverns, listen to its sighs.  Take a deep breath of the slumpy air – taste it.  Wallow in the pond of slumpiness; dunk your head in it.

It will end.

Then, you’ll keep going – on your own schedule and in your own time.  The snow will stop falling.  The temperatures will warm up.  Candy Crush will become mind numbingly boring. The cat will need food.  You will move to the next phase.  And, just maybe - if you have been in a mindful slump, you move forward – and you are a new person with a better understanding of your life and yourself.

Just Another Brick in the Wall

There is a hullaballoo in my home state this week – well, it’s actually been going on for some time.  A school district has adopted a Standards Based Grading (SBG) system, and parents are outraged.  In return, teachers are defensive.  Outraged + defensive = never good.  I have read some of the news articles, the summary of the SBG that the district has adopted, some tweets from both sides, and I have some suggestions for everyone when it comes to school district or teacher practices or student performance.  

First, my credentials:  twenty-one years in education in three states in suburban and urban schools, in public and independent education; a mother of three: one who was top ten percent of his class and whose homework I might have checked once in kindergarten; one who is a solid student who takes on way too much but does it all well by saving much until the last minute or forming study groups; and, one who is diagnosed ADHD and just this week has begun passing middle school math. 

Second, a guiding principle that I have used my whole career as both a teacher and a parent:  the teacher is the expert on the material and instruction and the parent is the expert on the child.  Together, we educate the child.

Third:  Slogans don't help anyone, and every education-related analogy breaks down quickly.

Whether you are a parent, teacher, or student, I implore you to consider these basic ideas when you have conversations with the other constituents in education.

***************

Sticking Point:  Parents demand changes to a classroom, building, or district policy.  Teachers want to tell parents to get out of their classrooms.

Parents:  You have been through school.  Going to school does not make you a teacher, just as going to a doctor’s office does not make you a doctor.  Communicate your concerns clearly and politely.  Then, listen to the teacher’s/principal’s/superintendent’s response.

Teachers:  You have been specifically trained to educate.  Your job is not just to teach the students, but you must also teach the parents and community about what you are doing in your classroom and why.  Communicate clearly, consistently, and continually with all of your constituents.

Students:  Tell the truth about what the teachers do and say.  Also, tell the truth about your own work ethic and attitude toward the class or school in general.  

Sticking Point:  Parents feel there are too few or too many opportunities to re-take a test or to turn in late homework without penalty.

Parents:  If there is an allowance for a re-take or a do-over, this does not mean your child will fail in the workplace and end up selling crack on the street.  Education is all about do-overs.  (Anyone ever re-take Calc II in college?  How about Organic Chem?  Think about it.)

Teachers:  Students should be allowed to do-over some but getting to do-over everything is unrealistic.  Let students earn back a certain percentage of points missed; let them show you what they know.  Remember, homework is practice and assessments are chances to allow your students to show you what they know.

Students:  Study. Try. Pay attention.  In many classes in many schools it takes real effort to fail. Get to work.  Go for help if you’re lost.  Start a study group. 

Sticking Point:  Teachers don’t like the district grading scale  - or – Parents don’t like a teacher’s grading scale.  Different people want an A-F scale, others want 100-0 scale, others want a 1-4 scale. 

Parents:  It does not matter what grading scale is used.  If the students know it from the outset of the class, they can rise or fall to the occasion.

Teachers:  Be fair and consistent in your grading.  Know your grading scale (wherever it came from).  Remember that everything you do must have a reason, including your grading rubrics. 

Students:  Don’t pretend you never read the syllabus.  Most teachers read it aloud to you and had you and your parents sign it.  If you are ever confused about the grading or you think something has been mismarked – go in after school, privately to talk to the teacher.  Do not try to haggle out your grade during class.

Sticking Point:  Parents are upset because some homework isn’t graded or weighted as they feel it should be.

Parents:  Some homework is practice of what was presented in class.  Sometimes such homework simply earns a “check.”  Just like in life – sometimes you just do the laundry because you have to, not because you are getting a reward for washing everyone’s dirty socks.

Teachers:  All homework, even the “check” homework, should be meaningful and geared towards mastery of the material at hand.  Explain from the outset of the class what kind of homework is just for a “check.”

Students:  Do all homework.

Sticking Point:  Teachers offer some, too much, or too little extra credit.  Parents are upset at whichever way that pendulum is swinging.

Parents:  Extra credit or bonus isn’t bad – it offers students a chance to go above and beyond the basics.  Do you leave an extra tip at a restaurant for a server who goes above and beyond?   Encourage your child to do extra credit.

Teachers:  Offer extra credit fairly and to everyone. Make sure it is asking for “above and beyond” knowledge or skills, not the basics that everyone should be learning. Don’t offer it too often or students will become dependent on it.

Students:  Do all extra credit.

Sticking Point:  Parents talk teachers down at home; students adopt a negative attitude toward the teacher or class. 

Parents:  Do not disparage the teachers or district or school in front of your child.  If you have a concern about a teacher or classroom, take it to the teacher or classroom.  This is especially important if your children are in elementary school.  Your attitude towards your child’s school will largely determine her attitude toward her school.  If you slip up and criticize in front of your student, walk the student through your thought process.  Something like this:  “Well, I don’t see why Mrs. Jones grades that way; it’s ridiculous.” (student hears this)  “But, I’m not sure I know all the facts, and I’m not a teacher.  I do want to understand what is happening here.  I need to learn more.”  Then go learn more and get back with the student.

Teachers:  Teach.  Teach the materials.  Be prepared.  Know what you are doing. Always care - even on the days when you are utterly exhausted. Make your copies the day before you need them.  Teach. Guide the students in learning the material.  Prepare, teach, talk, and grade above reproach.

Students:  Learn.  Try.  It might be hard.  It might not be your favorite thing, but your job is to learn.  All the subjects.

Sticking Point:  “Colleges won’t like it if our teacher/school/district does this!”

Parents:  Colleges don’t like or dislike anything (except grade inflation, but they can spot that a mile away.)  Colleges simply need to be informed – they do not and should not hold sway over what should be done in secondary education.

Teachers:  This is especially for high school teachers:  remember that it all counts for your students.  Whether students are going to college or into a training program or into the work force, your job is to help them be the best prepared they can be.  And, their grades should always reflect that.

Students:  School can be dumb, boring, and ridiculous.  School can also be interesting, challenging, and mind-blowing.  A lot of it is your attitude.  We usually find what we are looking for whether at school or not.

 ***************

Finally, remember that oftentimes conversations about education can feel awfully personal.  If a parent complains about a teacher, most often it isn’t personal against the teacher -  it is personal that the parent is worrying about the child.  If a teacher complains about a parent, it is not personal against the parent – it is personal about the achievement of the student.  If a student complains about a parent or a teacher, it is because the student likely has not developed the discernment to see all angles of what is happening.  (That’s a nice way of saying students are self-centered.)  Because so many precious people are involved these education conversations feel personal. 

It is one of life's great ironies that the profession and setting - the one that affects us individually and societally - seems so incredibly personal.  People - adults and students alike - make so much more out of educational conflict than is needed.  So, parents, teachers, students, when you have a problem with something at school: step back, take a breath, count to ten, and really articulate the issue and address it.  It’s really not personal – it’s education.

Ice Storms and Earthquakes: Why Words Matter

The state of Georgia and other points south of the Mason-Dixon have had an uncharacteristic number of wintry encounters in the last month.  We had about three days of surprisingly cold weather, coupled with a few inches of snow. SNOWMAGEDDON paralyzed traffic in Atlanta and in parts of Alabama.  This past week we had some ice and snow that led to downed trees, lost power, and displacement of the population. It was...(drumroll)...ICEMAGEDDON. It was scary.  It was inconvenient.  It was not the end of the world.  Neither of these events were cause for the proliferation of  “-mageddons” that I have seen and heard. 

Not every meteorological anomaly constitutes the end of the world.  Exaggerating is certainly a part of everyday lexicon, but that doesn’t mean it’s healthy.  After surviving a plane crash and parachuting into the ocean, Mrs. Incredible (aka Elastigirl from the movie The Incredibles), instructs her children: “…both of you will get a grip or else I’ll ground you for a month.”  We could do with some more people who have a grip.  But, we all lose control of what we actually mean and just say things, right?  Especially in the heat of the moment.  I have heard and been guilty of such extremes in every day speech since the New Year.  To wit:

Example One:

Son #2: “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse, a hippo, and four puppies.”  He had pasta and was satiated.

Example Two: 

Me: “Son, I have told you a million times not to have toys in the kitchen. Not a million times, but it sometimes sure feels like it.

Most of life is just living.  It’s just snow.  It’s just a tree branch (or ten).  It’s a hunger pang.  We seem to have become so bored and complacent in regular life that we need to exaggerate to give meaning to regular happenings.  Normal things can be meaningful, even important without crazed invented language.  Sure, snow in Georgia isn’t usual, but it isn’t Snowmageddon either.  This linguistic phenomenon crept out of social media and into mainstream journalism. A certain amount of serious concern is in order when things go awry, and when this does happen, we certainly get a large dose of perspective, don’t we? 

Then, just as some power was restored, the ice began to melt, and people settled in to watch the Men’s Figure Skating Finals, we had an earthquake.  The quake had an epicenter in Edgefield, South Carolina that was felt distinctly at my home, 28 miles away.  And, by some reports, it was felt from Florida to North Carolina to Alabama; it was 4.4 on the Richter scale.  Youngest son thought it was the coolest thing ever.  High school students were talking about losing their quakerginity.

Um, what?  This is a perverse use of neologism + hyperbole to talk about what is happening. The “–maggedons” had taught their offspring well. Granted, teens have long been notorious for calling everything “awesome” or “epic.”  Unfortunately, there are repercussions from such exaggeration.  If so many things are amazing, then nothing is amazing.  

The movie Notting Hill was unremarkable as a romantic comedy, but the main character, William and his flat mate Spike share barbs, reminding each other to keep things in perspective:

Spike:  Hi, hey, you couldn’t help me with an incredibly important decision, could you?

William: This is important in comparison to let’s say whether they should cancel the third world debt?

Spike:  That's right.  I'm at last going out on a date with the great Janine, and I just want to be sure I pick the right t-shirt.            

Perspective is important.  This is the film where I believe I lost my Hugh Grantaginity, and I didn’t actually remember the main story line, but I did remember the perspective checks that these friends toss at each other.  Words matter and perspective matters and the words we choose for the things that happen around us matter. It is the language that we use that frames our outlook.  Our outlook helps define our resilience in the face of unusual and commonplace events alike.  How we use language defines our interpretations of daily routines and world events.

Can you imagine reading a history book if everything that happened had to have a nickname or the suffix  “-mageddon”?  It was an awesome negotiationmageddon in Yalta where Stalin, Churchill, and Roosevelt all lost their meetingaginity as they discussed the epic future of the post-warmageddon world. Huh?  It seems that in the past we were able to frame events more appropriately.  The Yalta Conference was certainly important, but it was not equivalent to the Rapture.

Our world may have many things going wrong; we will encounter events that require preparation. We will be caught unprepared.  However, we simply need to deal with things, appropriately and with correctly corresponding language.  Snow – even in ill-prepared southern states – is not the end of the world.  Likewise falling branches. Below zero temperatures in the Midwest don’t constitute the Second Coming, and a heat wave in the summer doesn’t mean the mouth of hell is yawning open to swallow us whole. Power loss for three or more days is not fun, for sure; maybe is a challenge; it’s disheartening and worrisome.  That’s it.

William:  (about not being able to find his glasses) It’s one of life’s real cruelties.

Spike:  That’s compared to like earthquakes in the Far East or testicular cancer, yeah?

I don’t advocate that we go around always forcing ourselves and others to realize how much worse others have it than we do.  However, a balanced view of the relative importance of the events in one’s life is really an asset, and having accurate vocabulary to discuss one’s mindset is important, too.  Frightening and bad things do happen.  But, as Mrs. Incredible orders, “I’ll tell you what we’re not going to do: panic.”   To their credit, most people around here did not panic as snow and ice rolled through.  Most people prepared and dealt with the cards that nature handed out.  Many people reached out and helped friends and strangers alike.  It was not epic; it was not awesome; it was not amazing.  What was it then? 

Quite simply, it was inspiring.    

Ice: Storm and Cubes

Ice is dangerous.  It can down power lines.  It can crack hearts.  It can leave people stranded without warmth in cold temperatures.  It can break tree limbs that break fences and cars and roofs.  Growing up in the Midwest, snowstorms were normal; ice storms were to be feared – even more so down south.

As I sit here trees in our neighborhood are melting off the ice storm that is rumored to have ruined at least a third of Augusta’s tree population.  With the exception of a damaged fence and a few branches, our house and yard have remained unscathed.  And, thanks to living in a subdivision across from the substation and in which the power lines are all underground, we have been warm and happy and entertained the past two days.  And, as one guy at the grocery store said today, “Y’all, next Friday we won’t even remember this – it’s gonna be 78 – we’ll all be in flip-flops.”  He’s right.  We will have few long-lasting effects other than being even better prepared next time. 

However, the day before the ice rolled through here, another kind of storm hit -- small, personalized storm. It was the kind of storm that reminds you just how cruel and petty some people can be.  It was the kind of mini-storm that left no broken fences or car wrecks. It was subtle.  There were no icicles or damaged plants after this storm came by.  The fallout from this storm, however, will be longer lasting.

Earlier this week, a divorced dad that insisted his son spend a certain afternoon “with him” for the dad’s birthday.  The son initially didn’t want to go, but agreed because of the festivities and the birthday.  He was cajoled into going because it was the right thing to do – you know, Dad’s birthday and all.  Once the evening came, the son saw his dad for about ten minutes, and then the dad left the son with grandmother, telling the son he was going to a birthday celebration with his wife and kids.  The son was not invited. Son returned home defeated, angry, and hungry.  He had not had any supper because he thought he was going to the birthday dinner.  Despite his initial resistance to the event, he had gotten excited to see this part of his family. He felt included and happy.  But, his dad stopped by grandmother’s house, said a quick hi, and took off, leaving him behind; it was a small, personal ice storm that will have unfortunate lasting effects. 

We all have the capability to create an personal ice storm for someone else.  I vividly remember about six years ago when I was totally fed up with a student's excuses.  She came in to talk to me, and I just couldn't be kind.  I wasn't understanding.  I didn't say it out loud, but she knew that I was mad.  I froze her out.  After a class or two, I realized that not only had I given her the cold shoulder, but I could actually feel the lingering coldness of our encounter.  Before the end of the day, I had found her, apologized, listened to her, and been forgiven.  It was a slippery patch for sure, and I can tell you I've had more than one.  Haven't you?

There is a kind of ice that can grow in people’s lives.  It is a callousness that some people seem to be born with.  Maybe it is covetousness – saying “I’m so jealous” more often than “I’m so happy for you.”  It might be a desire to hoard instead of being generous. It is a self-centeredness that some cultivate as a defense against the world.  Perhaps it’s being so self-involved you omit someone from your birthday dinner. It might show up as hostility towards an innocuous but slightly annoying neighbor. It is an anger that is the result of unfortunate circumstances.  This ice has many manifestations.  We all have moments of ice in our lives, but as our communities do after winter storms, we really should try to learn from them.  From time to time we should take inventory and make sure we aren’t turning too cold when it comes to the things that really matter.

If we can learn anything from the big ice storm, it is that we need to recognize the bits of ice and slippery patches in every day life.  Everyone has a few cubes lurking around – so, instead of stock piling and letting such coldness overtake our interactions or lives, how about if we gather them all up and make drinks, get together, relax, and enjoy each other's company?

Frozen margaritas, anyone?

Sochi, Soviets, and Spectacles

I love the Olympic Games.  Not the get-up-at-three-in-the-morning-to-watch-women’s-hockey love, but the I-will-tune-in-each-night-and-actually-read-the-sports-section love.  As with other games, there is plenty of rumor, innuendo, and political talk swirling around the Sochi Games.  This happens every year – think China’s human rights record; think 1936 Munich; think 2002 Salt Lake City bribing inquiry.  Still, thanks to the athletes, the Olympic spirit overcomes almost all negativity to allow the competition and camaraderie to shine most brightly by the closing ceremonies.

I have been following the Sochi games with a pointed interest.  The #sochiproblems on Twitter took up thirty minutes of my time yesterday afternoon.  If even half of those problems are real, my response is:  yep, that’s Russia.  Russia is its own thing.  I know.  I lived there.  More precisely, I lived in Soviet Russia in 1990 and 1991.  Russia is Russia.  There’s no real way to describe it. 

Last night the announcers at the opening ceremonies tried to summarize Russia with banalities about the number of time zones and how long it takes to fly from one side to the other.  The opening performance was an overview of Russian history.  Wow.  That’s quite an undertaking for a country that seems to still have some hotel issues: yellow water (normal for Russia, but don’t drink it) and toilet flushing delays (normal – just be patient).

The opening ceremony spectacle was fine – albeit overreaching in trying to summarize Russia’s vast history into twenty or so minutes.  The thing knocked me off the couch was, as the post-World War II Soviet period was being depicted, an announcer commented that it was “ok to be nostalgic for Soviet times.”

What?  Nostalgic for repression?  Disappeared family members?  Forced labor? Communal apartments?  Midnight arrests?  Paranoia?  Food shortages?  Maybe he was referring to the forced order that defined the appearance of Soviet life?  I’m hoping that whoever that announcer was instantly – or at least eventually – regretted that comment.  I’m trusting that the announcer was simply filled with an over-romanticism of all things Russian and Soviet, given the setting and performance. 

We do have a tendency to do that.  Things in the past were somehow easier, cleaner, more stable, or better – weren’t they?  It’s not true.  Things in the past were muddled, confusing, challenging, happy, and scary. Just like they are today. We also do this: things will be better, calmer, happier, more stable in the future when I just_____ (fill in the blank).  Having the blank filled in does not guarantee no more flat tires or no more burnt pizza crust – it simply denotes that the thing in the blank will have happened. 

Mindfulness.  Living in the moment.  The present is a gift.  Use whatever cliché you want to, but one of the main successes of living is doing just that:  living.  Now.  Recognize and honor the past, but leave it alone.  Have goals and dreams for the future.  But live. Now.  Psychologists suggest that romanticizing the past might mean that the present is unhappy and the future is scary.  Certainly that is true in international politics.  Things change over time – for the better and the worse.  But, there’s no point in bemoaning and dramatizing such shifts, personally or globally.  We all must adjust.  The Russian people have been doing just this for millennia, and they will continue doing so, just as we all will.  The question is: how will we do it?

Will we be overly nostalgic for times that had their own ups and downs? 

Might we look anxiously ahead in our planner to try to control what waits around the corner?

Or, perhaps, we might just want to enjoy and participate in the spectacle that is life. 

What Two Inches of Snow Can Do

The news down this way has almost melted.  We have a little bit of a snowboy trying to hang on in our front yard, but after 65 degrees this afternoon, he will be gone.  In relation to the southern snowstorm, there have been articles written this week about: politicians’ lack of common sense and general incompetence; teachers’ dedication and kindness to stranded students; southerners’ lack of driving skills; and, those who cared for and reached out to those who were stranded.

It’s funny to me how people want to blame politicians for the weather and its fall out.  Atlanta experienced an unfortunately timed wintry mix earlier this week; we in Augusta were waiting and hoping for a few flakes to play in.  No matter when the winter arrived, I fail to see how the governor or other politicians are to blame.  It was a matter of bad timing on the part of the gods of weather, businesses, government, and schools.  Of course, wherever you may live, it is probably de rigueur to blame others for whatever inconvenient or scary occurrences people encounter.  How about a little less of blame-mongering and a little more of: well, this is life?

New reporters’ surprise at teachers’ dedication always surprises me.  Teachers stayed overnight at schools with stranded students in and around Atlanta this past week.  Of course they did.  That’s the kind of people the majority of teachers are.  I’m annoyed that our society still marginalizes and vilifies teachers in so many subtle ways.  Teachers are not people whose work days end at 3:30 and who want summers off.  Teachers do so much more than anyone thinks they do, and they are continually on call for staying overnight in a snow storm or bolting their doors against school intruders.  I fail to understand why positive news stories about teachers are more surprising than the negative ones.  I guess it goes back to the old saying, “If teachers walked on water, the headline would read ‘Teachers refuse to swim.’”

I have lived in the South for almost fourteen years.  It is true that many southerners have no idea how to drive in the snow or on ice.  The reason for that would be (drumroll): the winters are mild down this way.  There’s very little ice and snow.  But really, who cares?  How is this observation an indictment of southern people?  It’s not.  I lived for 33 years in the Midwest and there are plenty of people up that way who careen off ice covered roads and end up in ditches when snow falls.  Really, it is those folks who should be shamed (if, in fact, anyone should be) about poor winter driving skills.  It is always harder to do something that you have little experience with – how about a little compassion?

Also, littering newsfeeds and feel-good story slots were the tales of those who housed strangers, who brought hot chocolate to the bumper-to-bumper interstate, who put their four-wheel drive vehicles to use.  Not a few of my southern friends touted such acts as “southern hospitality.”  I beg to differ.  Such acts are noble, kind, caring, but they have nothing to do with “southern hospitality.”  Such acts are borne of the thought patterns and generosity of human beings, regardless of where they grew up or currently reside.  Not everyone thinks to go out of his way to help others, but to be sure, there is no more or no less of such “hospitality” in the South than anywhere else.  Human beings have the capacity for great and small acts of kindness, and the snow reminded us of that this week.

Two inches of snow brought out the best in people around Atlanta.  Two inches of snow brought out some idiocy in our news commentators.  Two inches of snow caused a major city to shut down.  But, two inches of snow might just serve to remind us to embrace all parts of life, even the inconvenient ones; to remember that human beings are often decent and generous; and, to recall that we all are really linked in so many more ways that we care to admit. 

A Funny Thing Happened: On Justin, Violence, and Memes

I was told to “lighten up” today.  Indeed, there are things about which I may need to lighten up, but let me tell you about one that I do not need to lighten up about.

We all know that Justin Bieber was arrested on various charges this past week.  There has been a meme circulating on social media that has Justin’s mug shot with the lyric “as long as you love me” superimposed.  On the other half of the meme there is a picture of a menacing looking man in the same type of orange jumpsuit that Justin is wearing with the words, “Oh, I’m gonna love you.” 

I am not going to apologize for not liking and for objecting to sexual violence or, in this meme’s case, implied sexual violence jokes.  This isn’t funny.  Justin may have lots of problems; he may be a pseudo-musician; he may be an over privileged punk who is running amuck.  He is a celebrity, yes, but more than that he is a human being.  And, like any other human being, he does not deserve to be the victim of sexual assault.  Whatever you think of him, I bet if you stop and think for one second, you will agree that while he needs to answer for breaking the law, he certainly doesn’t deserve sexual violence.  Put your best friend’s, your brother’s, your cousin’s, your son’s picture in there instead of Justin’s – still laughing?  By posting and giggling about this kind of post, you are conceding that sexual violence should serve as part of a punishment for running afoul of the law.  

If your response to that last sentence is anything like “Well, yeah, too bad, that punk deserves what he gets” or “It’s all in good fun.”  Then, I suppose you think if a woman dresses in a certain way she deserves to be raped.  That’s funny, right?  How about if a young woman on a college campus drinks too much, does she “deserve” a sexual assault?  Hilarious. Did you know that “[seven] percent of male students [have] admitted to committing or attempting rape, and nearly two-thirds of them said they had done so multiple times — six on average”?  Are you laughing?

The situations are different, but the implication is the same: if a person does certain things, then he or she deserves sexual violence.  If a celebrity breaks the law, he should answer for that just as anyone else should.  Does he deserve to be raped or otherwise violated in prison?  According to a 2012 Justice Department study, “nearly one of every 10 state prisoners is sexually victimized during confinement.”  (Cited article.)  Is that really funny?

Rather coincidentally, this meme was posted on the same day that President Obama created a task force to make a study of sexual violence on college campuses and gave that task force 90 days for the study and to “to recommend best practices for colleges to prevent or respond to assaults, and to check that they are complying with existing legal obligations.” (You can read about this task force here.)

Sexual assault is a problem among all populations – women, men, gay, straight; and, in all areas – rural, urban, suburban, college campuses.  I would posit that the president can create as many task forces as he likes and review as many best practices as he wants, but that will change precious little when there are significant segments of America that thinks sexual violence is just what happens in prison, or just what happens when a girl gets drunk at college, or is just that funny. 

Nope, I’m not going to lighten up about this.

I am not laughing.