Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Dude. The FUTURE. "It comes soon enough."
I remember when I was a kid, two things amazed me and struck me as being things I would never have. The first was the telephone phone in Jake’s dad’s car in the movie Sixteen Candles, twisty cord and all. The second was Dick Tracy’s watch communicator. One seemed possible only for the very rich, and the other seemed like complete fantasy.
I have another memory from childhood, maybe 1983 or ‘84. My family was still living in South Texas at the time. My dad had taken me to some kind of tech show where an early computer was on display. I played some archaic computer game that had totally engrossed me. This was before Nintendo, and I think it’s what spurred my parents into getting us an Atari 2600. Anyway, later that evening, my dad called me into the living room where he was watching the news. Wouldn’t you know it? There I was on the TV, my back to the camera, playing on the computer. Yeah it was a memory that made an impression on me.
I have another memory from childhood, maybe 1983 or ‘84. My family was still living in South Texas at the time. My dad had taken me to some kind of tech show where an early computer was on display. I played some archaic computer game that had totally engrossed me. This was before Nintendo, and I think it’s what spurred my parents into getting us an Atari 2600. Anyway, later that evening, my dad called me into the living room where he was watching the news. Wouldn’t you know it? There I was on the TV, my back to the camera, playing on the computer. Yeah it was a memory that made an impression on me. Even still, the computer I played on at that convention seemed like an unattainable dream to me. I don’t think, even as young as I was, that I asked my parents if we could have one. I just intuitively knew that it would never happen. We never had lots of money. Indeed, although we had traded the Atari in for a Nintendo and later a Super Nintendo, our family didn’t get our first personal computer until over a decade later, in 1995, when my mom came home with a Pentium. I was already on my way out of high school by then. It was the days of AOL, and pay-by-the-minute connectivity, and chat rooms, keywords, screechy dialup noises. And it was thrilling.
Now the four-inch phone that I drop on a daily basis has 500 times the processing power of that Pentium. Everything is different. Remarkably so. Why do I go on about this? Well, I called this blog Something Incredible, and I find the rapid infiltration of computer technology into our lives absolutely incredible. It’s not only revolutionized daily communication and function, but it’s also revolutionized our expectations for revolutions!
“What’s next,” used to be a rhetorical response to some forward thrust in technical progress. Now it’s a real question that people ask while impatiently tapping their feet. Amazing inventions seem to become passé before a year is out. The physical manifestation of “What’s next” is the TED Conferences, where some of the most innovative minds present ideas, inventions, and projects-in-the-works to a host of gawkers, both at the conference and on the internet. These aren’t only technology-centered ideas, but it tends to lend itself toward technological innovation.
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The Huffington Post posted blog entry about John Underkoffler’s TED Conference presentation of a new user interface (UI) system, or the system in which a person interacts with a machine (like a computer). I didn’t know who John Underkoffler was before reading that blog, but I was familiar with his work: he was one of the science advisors for the movie Minority Report. Remember that one? Where Tom Cruise would interact with digital images that popped up in real space, rather than with a computer screen? Well, it seems Mr. Underkoffler wants to make that a little closer to reality.
I’m pretty geeky, so I think this whole thing is pretty cool. I mean, that UI was one of the most memorable things about Minority Report to me, even more so than the robot spider things. I remember sitting in the theater thinking, “damn, I want that!” Of course, the TED demonstration wasn’t exactly that, but it’s in baby stages—and we all know how fast these things can grow up.
One part of the demonstration that particularly interested me was an architecture example where he used an actual building model in tandem with a digital image. In this case the digital image was the model’s shadow, which he could alter by changing the digital position of the sun using a model clock. No computer screen—just a perfect melding of real geometric space and digital enhancement. This really stimulated my imagination as a teacher. Imagine similar techniques while teaching math or science?
Of course, I mostly just want to stand in a room and move images around in space with my hands like some kind of wacko dance. How fun would that be?
Monday, June 14, 2010
Life Changes and a Kangaroo
There is definitely an inverse relationship between the amount of spare time I have and how much writing I do for pleasure. The more free time, the less writing. People who know me well know that I have turned to writing as a form of therapy during difficult times. That’s why, when I have whined over the last several months about being underemployed, I have often heard, “Well, at least you have plenty of time to write!”
And you know what? It’s worked as a cheer-up line. “Yeah,” I would say, “I guess I do!” But, it would rarely happen. I did write a little bit: I started many short stories, but, as was pointed out to me in my bi-weekly writing group, I have failed to finish more than two of those. And I haven’t returned to those two for any kinds of revisions.
Now, the first day of my second week is almost over (don’t worry, I’m on my lunch break) and I have already noticed a major difference. Since last Monday, I have written eleven journal entries. The last entry date before then? August 24th! According to my journal, the last ten months didn’t exist. I am also writing my second blog entry after a four-month absence. In addition to that, I am revising the screenplay I write for Screen Frenzy in April. Maybe Adam is right—I need to be overworked in order to function properly. Ok, those weren’t his exact words, but it was something like that. Unemployment was grievously detrimental to my mental and emotional well-being, and I am very glad that it is over!
But enough of that! Many people have already heard, but over the last couple of weeks, we have had a nightly guest in the house. He is gentle and quiet, keeps mostly to himself, and only eats his own food. Overall, he is a decent roomie, although he can be a bit smelly. Also, he’s a marsupial.
His name is Melbourne and he’s a baby kangaroo! A joey, I should say. Laura’s boss recently acquired him for her Pets Rule show at Sea World. He is too young right now to stay at the park, so we’ve been keeping him at our house. He is still bottle-fed, and receives kangaroo formula every few hours. There’s not much to caring for a joey. In the wild, they spend most of their time in their mother’s pouch. Melbourne has a fuzzy synthetic pouch that approximates a real one. He instinctively knows that’s where he belongs. If you hold it out in front of him, he dives right in, head first. So that’s mostly what taking care of him entails: holding him, much like one would hold a human baby, while he sits in his pouch.
Melbourne has a little tent that acts as his home. He is happy to just sit in his pouch, in his tent, thinking kangaroo thoughts (which probably aren’t many, I have to say). Occasionally, he’ll want attention or to be held. He will let us know by making a strange kind of “ahem” sound, kind of like a mix between an ahem and a hack. When we hold him, he doesn’t do much other than look around or try to chew on our hair. He is also fond of using his hands to grab my face and try and bring himself closer so he can munch on my beard. It was cute at first. This behavior usually precedes bottle time.
Our dachshunds, Bell and Cheswick, show some curiosity, but mostly they are content to sit on the couch and watch television. Melbourne really hasn’t been much of a bother as a roommate. Of course, that would change if he were a full grown kangaroo. For now, he’s just a baby. Oh, we also have a pigeon named George, but he couldn’t care less about the kangaroo.
And you know what? It’s worked as a cheer-up line. “Yeah,” I would say, “I guess I do!” But, it would rarely happen. I did write a little bit: I started many short stories, but, as was pointed out to me in my bi-weekly writing group, I have failed to finish more than two of those. And I haven’t returned to those two for any kinds of revisions.
Now, the first day of my second week is almost over (don’t worry, I’m on my lunch break) and I have already noticed a major difference. Since last Monday, I have written eleven journal entries. The last entry date before then? August 24th! According to my journal, the last ten months didn’t exist. I am also writing my second blog entry after a four-month absence. In addition to that, I am revising the screenplay I write for Screen Frenzy in April. Maybe Adam is right—I need to be overworked in order to function properly. Ok, those weren’t his exact words, but it was something like that. Unemployment was grievously detrimental to my mental and emotional well-being, and I am very glad that it is over!
But enough of that! Many people have already heard, but over the last couple of weeks, we have had a nightly guest in the house. He is gentle and quiet, keeps mostly to himself, and only eats his own food. Overall, he is a decent roomie, although he can be a bit smelly. Also, he’s a marsupial.
His name is Melbourne and he’s a baby kangaroo! A joey, I should say. Laura’s boss recently acquired him for her Pets Rule show at Sea World. He is too young right now to stay at the park, so we’ve been keeping him at our house. He is still bottle-fed, and receives kangaroo formula every few hours. There’s not much to caring for a joey. In the wild, they spend most of their time in their mother’s pouch. Melbourne has a fuzzy synthetic pouch that approximates a real one. He instinctively knows that’s where he belongs. If you hold it out in front of him, he dives right in, head first. So that’s mostly what taking care of him entails: holding him, much like one would hold a human baby, while he sits in his pouch.
Melbourne has a little tent that acts as his home. He is happy to just sit in his pouch, in his tent, thinking kangaroo thoughts (which probably aren’t many, I have to say). Occasionally, he’ll want attention or to be held. He will let us know by making a strange kind of “ahem” sound, kind of like a mix between an ahem and a hack. When we hold him, he doesn’t do much other than look around or try to chew on our hair. He is also fond of using his hands to grab my face and try and bring himself closer so he can munch on my beard. It was cute at first. This behavior usually precedes bottle time.
Our dachshunds, Bell and Cheswick, show some curiosity, but mostly they are content to sit on the couch and watch television. Melbourne really hasn’t been much of a bother as a roommate. Of course, that would change if he were a full grown kangaroo. For now, he’s just a baby. Oh, we also have a pigeon named George, but he couldn’t care less about the kangaroo.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Para Mi Abuela
Update: I spoke with my father on the phone. According to him, my grandmother experienced a very calm, peaceful passing earlier this afternoon. It was dignified, in one of the best hospitals in the country. Not bad for a little old Mexican woman from Hidalgo, Texas. More than can be said for many people.
She has requested cremation, so she can be buried in the future with her husband, my grandfather, Luis Ramirez.
______________________________________________________________________________
For the past couple of days, I’ve been composing a short blog about a kangaroo. It was going to be a funny and (hopefully) interesting revitalization of this dormant website. I am putting it on hold, however, because my grandmother Telby Ramirez is in a hospital in Maryland. From what I’ve been able to gather from voice-and-e-mails, things do not look good.
I am experiencing the initial disconnect with reality that comes from news like this. I have experienced it before. I don’t know what else to say about this right now, other than to repost something I wrote about my grandparents, and specifically my grandmother, nearly four years ago. I’m going to do that now. I hope many people read it, because it speaks a lot about my family, my grandmother, and, I think, life in general.
Friday, November 24, 2006
No cotton for Thanksgiving!
A fair early content warning: I may use the phrase “lo and behold” a lot in this blog. Very Biblical.
Ok, I probably won’t be using that a lot here, but my grandfather sure uses it one hell of a lot in his speech. As you may or may not have guessed, this entry is inspired by this year’s Thanksgiving holiday. Anyone who knows me knows that I spend less time thinking about my family than I probably should. And that goes for my immediate family, let alone my extended family. My parents moved us to Maryland from Texas before I started the sixth grade. By the time I reached the end of high school, I wanted to do mostly my own thing. I did a lot of traveling, met a lot of new people, and lived in a lot of different places. Visiting the bloodline back in the grand ole’ state of Texas, which, by the by, I can’t stand, never held priority for me. As a result, my family and I have become relative strangers to one another.
Is this something I regret? Well, I don’t know. But, after years of insincere Thanksgivings where I half-heartedly spouted off a list of things I was grateful for to anyone who actually asked, I have finally come to one where I can really feel thankful at the end of the day. And lo and behold, it was because of my grandfather.
A word about Luis Ramirez, my venerable grandfather on my mother’s side: he is a smart-aleck Mexican, a history buff, a joker, and a foul-mouthed curmudgeon. Excepting the Mexican part, I think a lot of people see some of these qualities in their own grandfathers. One thing I always knew and never appreciated so much as I did these last two days was this: his undeniable ability to talk one’s ear off.
We got into great conversations about history and war and politics and all of that nonsense, but what really got to me were the stories about my own family. I could probably write a book eventually; I’ll have to get him to spill his guts while I have a recorder around next time, but I’ll share one thing here.
I hadn’t known that my grandparents both picked cotton on the Rio Grande during the depression. Being the smart-ass that Grandfather Luis is, he asked me bluntly in his accented English: “How many pounds of cotton per day do you think your ‘Uela (abbreviated “abuela,” or “grandmother”) pulled?” No one likes showing his or her ignorance, so I just said “I don’t know.” But that’s not good enough for Luis, oooohhhh no! “Take a guess!” he said, “I want to see what you know about your grandmother.”
Well shit, I was stuck. I tried to be smart about it—estimate. I knew that one piece of cotton is very light, a few grams maybe. It would take a whole hell of a lot of them to make one pound. Maybe it was a trick question—I guessed low. “Ten?” This was met with a cackle of derisive laughter.
“Guess again!”
“Thirty?”
“Oy, mi’hito, is that all you think of your grandmother?”
“Well shit,” I say, in his own foul language, “how the hell many was it?”
“Would you believe one thousand?”
I didn’t believe it, and I told him so. He grabbed me by the wrist and took me to the guest room where ‘uela was putting together her puzzle (she just completed it after four days). He asked her how many pounds of cotton she used to pull, and she said without hesitating for a second: “One thousand. By three o’clock.” That’s it. I believed it. I had to; I know my grandmother. She was eleven or twelve years of age at the time. I am still in shock, even as I type this. They had to pull the bulbs, drag them on a contraption that hung behind them back to a scale, weigh it, dump it, and go back for more. Back and forth, back and forth, bending over and pulling cotton for several hours. I asked ‘Uelo (abbreviated “abuelo,” or “grandfather, but you already knew that I’m sure) how much he picked. “Oh,” he said, “never more than one hundred pounds in a day. Got 50 cents for it, too.” She showed him up.
I wish I had a tape recorder these last couple of days. I do plan on getting a lot more out of him though; I would like to commit these stories to real paper. Stay tuned. In any case, that is what I’m thankful for. I’m thankful to have heard some stories and finally gained genuine interest in where I came from. I always had it to some extent, but never to the point to where I was excited to seek the information out. I’m also thankful to my smart-assed Grandfather Luis and Grandmother Telby (‘Uela and ‘Uelo, if you will) for using so much breath on telling great stories, even though those stories overused lo and behold. Thank you!
She has requested cremation, so she can be buried in the future with her husband, my grandfather, Luis Ramirez.
______________________________________________________________________________
For the past couple of days, I’ve been composing a short blog about a kangaroo. It was going to be a funny and (hopefully) interesting revitalization of this dormant website. I am putting it on hold, however, because my grandmother Telby Ramirez is in a hospital in Maryland. From what I’ve been able to gather from voice-and-e-mails, things do not look good.
I am experiencing the initial disconnect with reality that comes from news like this. I have experienced it before. I don’t know what else to say about this right now, other than to repost something I wrote about my grandparents, and specifically my grandmother, nearly four years ago. I’m going to do that now. I hope many people read it, because it speaks a lot about my family, my grandmother, and, I think, life in general.
Friday, November 24, 2006
No cotton for Thanksgiving!
A fair early content warning: I may use the phrase “lo and behold” a lot in this blog. Very Biblical.
Ok, I probably won’t be using that a lot here, but my grandfather sure uses it one hell of a lot in his speech. As you may or may not have guessed, this entry is inspired by this year’s Thanksgiving holiday. Anyone who knows me knows that I spend less time thinking about my family than I probably should. And that goes for my immediate family, let alone my extended family. My parents moved us to Maryland from Texas before I started the sixth grade. By the time I reached the end of high school, I wanted to do mostly my own thing. I did a lot of traveling, met a lot of new people, and lived in a lot of different places. Visiting the bloodline back in the grand ole’ state of Texas, which, by the by, I can’t stand, never held priority for me. As a result, my family and I have become relative strangers to one another.
Is this something I regret? Well, I don’t know. But, after years of insincere Thanksgivings where I half-heartedly spouted off a list of things I was grateful for to anyone who actually asked, I have finally come to one where I can really feel thankful at the end of the day. And lo and behold, it was because of my grandfather.
A word about Luis Ramirez, my venerable grandfather on my mother’s side: he is a smart-aleck Mexican, a history buff, a joker, and a foul-mouthed curmudgeon. Excepting the Mexican part, I think a lot of people see some of these qualities in their own grandfathers. One thing I always knew and never appreciated so much as I did these last two days was this: his undeniable ability to talk one’s ear off.
We got into great conversations about history and war and politics and all of that nonsense, but what really got to me were the stories about my own family. I could probably write a book eventually; I’ll have to get him to spill his guts while I have a recorder around next time, but I’ll share one thing here.
I hadn’t known that my grandparents both picked cotton on the Rio Grande during the depression. Being the smart-ass that Grandfather Luis is, he asked me bluntly in his accented English: “How many pounds of cotton per day do you think your ‘Uela (abbreviated “abuela,” or “grandmother”) pulled?” No one likes showing his or her ignorance, so I just said “I don’t know.” But that’s not good enough for Luis, oooohhhh no! “Take a guess!” he said, “I want to see what you know about your grandmother.”
Well shit, I was stuck. I tried to be smart about it—estimate. I knew that one piece of cotton is very light, a few grams maybe. It would take a whole hell of a lot of them to make one pound. Maybe it was a trick question—I guessed low. “Ten?” This was met with a cackle of derisive laughter.
“Guess again!”
“Thirty?”
“Oy, mi’hito, is that all you think of your grandmother?”
“Well shit,” I say, in his own foul language, “how the hell many was it?”
“Would you believe one thousand?”
I didn’t believe it, and I told him so. He grabbed me by the wrist and took me to the guest room where ‘uela was putting together her puzzle (she just completed it after four days). He asked her how many pounds of cotton she used to pull, and she said without hesitating for a second: “One thousand. By three o’clock.” That’s it. I believed it. I had to; I know my grandmother. She was eleven or twelve years of age at the time. I am still in shock, even as I type this. They had to pull the bulbs, drag them on a contraption that hung behind them back to a scale, weigh it, dump it, and go back for more. Back and forth, back and forth, bending over and pulling cotton for several hours. I asked ‘Uelo (abbreviated “abuelo,” or “grandfather, but you already knew that I’m sure) how much he picked. “Oh,” he said, “never more than one hundred pounds in a day. Got 50 cents for it, too.” She showed him up.
I wish I had a tape recorder these last couple of days. I do plan on getting a lot more out of him though; I would like to commit these stories to real paper. Stay tuned. In any case, that is what I’m thankful for. I’m thankful to have heard some stories and finally gained genuine interest in where I came from. I always had it to some extent, but never to the point to where I was excited to seek the information out. I’m also thankful to my smart-assed Grandfather Luis and Grandmother Telby (‘Uela and ‘Uelo, if you will) for using so much breath on telling great stories, even though those stories overused lo and behold. Thank you!
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Teaching Kids Where They Are
Sometimes I wonder whether or not epiphanies are recognizable as such at the time they happen. A couple of years ago, I was visiting with my friends Melissa and Graeme in Philadelphia. I got there late in the evening, having hopped on the Chinatown bus after work, so we went out for late dinner and beer before retiring to their apartment where a Wii was waiting. I'm fairly certain the game that Graeme selected to play was Super Smash Bros. Now, I like video games, but I am far from keeping current with them. I think my brain is still in the late 90s generation of games for the most part. Super Smash Bros was a visual and auditory cacophony of rapid-fire changes in depth perception, flying colors, scene alterations, and movement. In short, I couldn't tell what the Hell was happening on the screen--much less control my character. They kicked my butt. This was something I remarked on for the entire 10 minutes I spent attempting to play the game. In response, Melissa made one of her snide jokes:
"This is why so many kids have ADD now."
I laughed at that at the time, but I can't help but think she was on to something there. It was definitely an epiphany that spurred the interest in educational technology that has influenced my past work in the classroom and my present work as an educational technology trainer. Now, of course I don't think that video games cause ADD, but I do believe that kids who grow up with this generation of light speed entertainment can become accustomed to it. This phenomenon has come under a great amount of scrutiny in the pedagogical community, which has invented its inevitable labels for people who were born after 1992, the most recognizable being "digital natives." This term refers to children who have never known a world without the internet, video games, cell phones, DVDs, GPS--all things that have sped up our lives. These devices provide instant gratification, and anything less feels unacceptable.
I try to think about teachers who use a chalkboard to attempt to communicate concepts to kids who are used to Google, Wikipedia, IMDB, etcetera for finding information.
For these students, teachers need to be able to adapt to a changing world.
There is a growing number of studies that suggest developing brains that are consistently exposed to digital media actually develop differently. This makes me think again about playing Super Smash Bros with Melissa and Graeme in Philadelphia. The hand-eye coordination, as well as the reaction time and problem solving required for modern video games require a good amount of brain power, yet I'm certain that most young kids who are borderline illiterate would have no problem mastering them.
The other side of this coin, however, are the number of kids who actually don't receive the same exposure to digital media that others do. When I had my own classroom in a school in which the demographic was comprised of a lower socioeconomic bracket, half or more of my students came from a home that had no computer. There are counter arguments out there that these students make the term "digital native" a misleading one. I worry about these particular students even more, however, because the initial disadvantage they already experience expands even further. Their digital native counterparts will have greater skills and experiences in an increasingly digital world. It's another layer in the case of have and have nots. For both types of students, I believe teachers should strive to integrate technology in the conveyance of knowledge and skills. The haves need the engagement and the have nots need the exposure, just to name the most basic of reasons.
Thank you Anthony Huges for the image! Read his blog here!
It should be kept in mind that technology is not the magic answer to our struggles with public education. Best teaching practices for reading and math skills are just as critical as they always were, if not more so. Here is a decent Huffington Post blog with some suggestions to promote reading for children who are digital natives. It is worth reading, especially if you are a parent, and I'm glad it includes electronic reading devices as one of the suggestions. Technology shouldn't replace traditional school-taught skills, it's role in the classroom is to provide an authentic learning environment that emulates the real world and offers meaningful learning opportunities for students.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Sententia
I had an epiphany 13 days ago when I was writing my reflective blog on the year 2009. New Year's Day is a dangerous holiday--and not in the oops-I-drank-too-much-why-am-I-waking-up-in-the-driveway kind of way, but more in a locus-of-control kind of way. People celebrate New Year's because of the hope that the following year just has to be better than whatever garbage has come before. I realized this potentially puts too much power in the hands of an imaginary human construct. The year 2010, of course, won't make up for anything because it's just an invented measurement of the passage of time. Bad things will continue to happen, as well as good things. What things will you choose to focus on? It's very much a matter of perspective, which is really what I want to talk more about.
A few weeks back, I became aware of a job opportunity through the company I do contract training for. The job is challenging, is something I believe in, and is a great fit for me. There was just one problem: it requires a lot of driving around the Los Angeles region, at least two hours north of where I live. This seemed like an impossible obstacle to overcome. I just moved to San Diego with little desire to relocate again, and I have no car right now. I didn't say I couldn't do the job because I wanted it so badly, but I didn't say yes either because I didn't think it was possible.
Then my parents came to visit and gave me a little outside perspective. They seemed to think it was doable and discussed various options with me that would help make it work. The more I talked about it and thought about it, the more possible and exciting it seemed. I rented a black Dodge Caliber and drove it all over the area to get to know it a lot better. Yesterday, I drove to Irvine to formally interview for the position. Four interviewers were present, and I had worked with two of them in the past. I have enjoyed working with everyone I have met in the company, so it was a comfortable and productive meeting, conducted more like a conversation. Overall, I think it went well. I am certainly confident that I can do the best work for them.
What really interests me is the huge difference a slight shift in perspective made. I know that if my parents hadn't happened to be here to share their view I would likely have said to myself, "it sounds great, but it's just too far." Right now, I'm still wondering why that would have been my view, why I didn't have the confidence in myself to just go for it.
Now I guess I should clarify that, as of this writing, I don't know whether or not I have the job. Whatever happens, I know that I got the interview because I have impressed people with the work I have done as a contracted trainer, and I was able to do that work because of the hard work I put in as a teacher in Baltimore. Both back east and here in San Diego, I have had an incredible amount of support from coworkers and bosses. And if they do give me the job? I'm going to kick butt at it!
Even if they decide not to give the job to me, I know that it's not due to any lack of qualification on my part. That will sustain me through any future job searches I may have to endure. Negative things will continue to happen try to make us forget anything positive. They are good at that. Don't let them.
A few weeks back, I became aware of a job opportunity through the company I do contract training for. The job is challenging, is something I believe in, and is a great fit for me. There was just one problem: it requires a lot of driving around the Los Angeles region, at least two hours north of where I live. This seemed like an impossible obstacle to overcome. I just moved to San Diego with little desire to relocate again, and I have no car right now. I didn't say I couldn't do the job because I wanted it so badly, but I didn't say yes either because I didn't think it was possible.
Then my parents came to visit and gave me a little outside perspective. They seemed to think it was doable and discussed various options with me that would help make it work. The more I talked about it and thought about it, the more possible and exciting it seemed. I rented a black Dodge Caliber and drove it all over the area to get to know it a lot better. Yesterday, I drove to Irvine to formally interview for the position. Four interviewers were present, and I had worked with two of them in the past. I have enjoyed working with everyone I have met in the company, so it was a comfortable and productive meeting, conducted more like a conversation. Overall, I think it went well. I am certainly confident that I can do the best work for them.
What really interests me is the huge difference a slight shift in perspective made. I know that if my parents hadn't happened to be here to share their view I would likely have said to myself, "it sounds great, but it's just too far." Right now, I'm still wondering why that would have been my view, why I didn't have the confidence in myself to just go for it.
Now I guess I should clarify that, as of this writing, I don't know whether or not I have the job. Whatever happens, I know that I got the interview because I have impressed people with the work I have done as a contracted trainer, and I was able to do that work because of the hard work I put in as a teacher in Baltimore. Both back east and here in San Diego, I have had an incredible amount of support from coworkers and bosses. And if they do give me the job? I'm going to kick butt at it!
Even if they decide not to give the job to me, I know that it's not due to any lack of qualification on my part. That will sustain me through any future job searches I may have to endure. Negative things will continue to happen try to make us forget anything positive. They are good at that. Don't let them.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
2010: An Odyssey (not in space, though)
I woke up this morning to a wonderful new-year themed Facebook note written by my friend Erin. In the note, she referred to the year 2009 as the year of transitions. This particularly resonated with me. It has been a difficult year for many people, whether due to the economy or more personal reasons. For myself, the idea of a transition year brings comfort because my troubles become reduced to the simple growing pains of change and growth. The negative aspects of 2009 have caused me to make the mistake of forgetting the positive. I believe it will help me to remember my year.
2009 has flown by. I started it working as a third grade teacher in Baltimore, living with two very close friends in Hampden. In June, following the end of the school year, I moved almost 3000 miles across the country to San Diego, California. For the better part of a year, I had been involved in a serious, long-distance relationship with my girlfriend Laura. I moved to be with her.
I remember getting the news that there was a hiring freeze for San Diego teachers. It was April, two months before my move. I was very unhappy about it, but not surprised, considering the state of the economy--particularly in California. Thankfully, my former administration gave me the recommendations I needed to land a job training teachers in technology-curriculum integration. It is a fantastic job and almost perfect, but I am contacted and work can be scarce.
Still, October and the first part of November were just busy enough to pay my bills. That makes me luckier than some. It's really been the last two months that have caused me to lose sight of the positive. Not having work or friends has provided many days of sitting alone and feeling hopeless. Add to this the death of my little dog Ratchett and the feelings of despair become amplified to the point of distortion, which is really what I need to take from all of this. My negative outlook is distorted, lacking proper perspective.
This blog is intended to help me gain that perspective, and I am filled with gratitude for anybody who takes the time to read or send me an email about it. In the meantime, I will try to remember something that happened on February. I was visiting Laura in San Diego, with a late Sunday flight scheduled to get me back in time for work. When the time came to fly back, I learned that school was going to be closed due to inclement weather. I was hoping that my flight would be canceled or delayed because I didn't want to leave my girlfriend.
As it turned out, my flight status was unchanged, but I decided to change it anyway--even though it was an extra charge of 175 dollars. All for a single extra day that we spent lounging around and going to get dinner at Shakespeare's Pub. It was perfect, though, and an excellent memory. From the dread 2009. So yeah. Life has some pretty great things to offer. I hope 2010 is filled with great things for all of you.
Happy New Year, friends!
2009 has flown by. I started it working as a third grade teacher in Baltimore, living with two very close friends in Hampden. In June, following the end of the school year, I moved almost 3000 miles across the country to San Diego, California. For the better part of a year, I had been involved in a serious, long-distance relationship with my girlfriend Laura. I moved to be with her.
I remember getting the news that there was a hiring freeze for San Diego teachers. It was April, two months before my move. I was very unhappy about it, but not surprised, considering the state of the economy--particularly in California. Thankfully, my former administration gave me the recommendations I needed to land a job training teachers in technology-curriculum integration. It is a fantastic job and almost perfect, but I am contacted and work can be scarce.
Still, October and the first part of November were just busy enough to pay my bills. That makes me luckier than some. It's really been the last two months that have caused me to lose sight of the positive. Not having work or friends has provided many days of sitting alone and feeling hopeless. Add to this the death of my little dog Ratchett and the feelings of despair become amplified to the point of distortion, which is really what I need to take from all of this. My negative outlook is distorted, lacking proper perspective.
This blog is intended to help me gain that perspective, and I am filled with gratitude for anybody who takes the time to read or send me an email about it. In the meantime, I will try to remember something that happened on February. I was visiting Laura in San Diego, with a late Sunday flight scheduled to get me back in time for work. When the time came to fly back, I learned that school was going to be closed due to inclement weather. I was hoping that my flight would be canceled or delayed because I didn't want to leave my girlfriend.
As it turned out, my flight status was unchanged, but I decided to change it anyway--even though it was an extra charge of 175 dollars. All for a single extra day that we spent lounging around and going to get dinner at Shakespeare's Pub. It was perfect, though, and an excellent memory. From the dread 2009. So yeah. Life has some pretty great things to offer. I hope 2010 is filled with great things for all of you.
Happy New Year, friends!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Click, whirrrrr . . . kill?
Have you seen this guy?
(photo from www.dailymail.co.uk)
His name is Ishiguro Hiroshi, and he is one of Japan's leading robotics experts. I have a sneaking suspicion that being a leading expert of robotics in Japan automatically gives that person the world title. In this photo, he has his arm around his android counterpart creation. This android has been designed by Ishiguro to respond to and mimic human behavior. I know more than a few people who would feel unsettled just looking at this picture. I know I am speaking in generalities, but it really doesn't seem like the Japanese get the same uncomfortable feelings toward robots.
I recently saw an episode of Vanguard called "Japan: Robot Nation," in which the observation was made that Japan has a very comfortable relationship with robots. This was partially attributed to the Japanese cultural trait of attributing personality to inanimate objects. Some allusions to Japanese pop culture was also made that I think have a lot to do with it. After all, look at these guys:
I am not thinking about all of this because of the Japanese, though; they are merely a source of comparison. No, it's on my mind because of the discomfort I have witnessed in Americans toward the same things that are getting Japan so excited. Again, I know I am speaking in generalities, but it appears to me that the USA, despite being a technologically-integrated society, still harbors some cultural technophobia. I've experienced this in conversations about things like the androids Ishiguro Hiroshi has created, as well as in the feelings of some of the teachers who I've trained to use classroom interactive technology.
For the last few months, this has been my primary occupation. I've noticed an interesting spectrum of interest from training participants:
1. excitement about the new opportunities this technology affords teachers
2. anxiety about learning to use the technology
and, on the radical other end of the spectrum,
3. fear about the unknown.
There have only been a few of that last group, but they are the most vocal and irrational. Recently, I had a teacher continuously interrupt my presentation in order to express how this is just the start of a dehumanizing of society. This was not just one time, this was several, and there was real fear in those words. This fear stemmed from a complete misunderstanding of what knowledge I was attempting to impart, and, as the training continued, it was clear that nothing was getting through to that teacher.
But right now even that is not what got me thinking about this subject. No, what got me thinking about it right now is something that just happened to while sitting in a coffee shop. I have the January 2010 issue of National Geographic with me. The cover story is entitled "Merging Man and Machine: The Bionic Age." I encourage anyone to check the article out. The cover itself is a close-up of a bionic prosthetic arm. I had actually finished the article a couple of days ago, but the cover caught the eye of a woman at the table next to mine.
"What is that all about," she asked, indicating the cover of my magazine.
"Oh, they talk to all these people who have had accidents and received bionic body parts."
"Really?"
"Yeah, it's pretty amazing actually. They actually connect the bionic parts to nerve endings, so people control their mechanical parts by thinking about their actions, just like with regular limbs."
"They can do that?"
"I guess so. It's still experimental. The article says it's changed their lives, though."
"I don't know, that seems real creepy to me. I don't think I like that at all."
I don't really think I gave a response to that, but for some reason it surprised me. I think the things in that article are extremely exciting. One quadriplegic man was able to feed himself for the first time in 15 years. Another woman who lost her arm in an accident can make a sandwich just as if she had both hands, controlling her bionic limb with brain impulses. The quality of life for both these people has been dramatically improved with the development of this technology, yet it causes apprehension in some people. Is this the same as the fear that I've seed in my trainings or the discomfort with Ishiguro's androids? I have no idea, but it makes me very curious. I wonder about American technophobia and whether or not pop culture plays a part in this, as well. Compare the earlier Japanese robot icons with some American ones:
Hal 9000
Maybe all of these observations are totally unfounded, but I think it's worth talking about a little bit. Whatever our feelings, from excitement to apprehension, about technology, there is no getting around how quickly and completely it is changing the way we live and the way we grow. Hopefully, we can adapt to a changing world without letting fear cripple us.
Check out the poll to show how you feel about this subject.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Let's start again.
It has been my intention to continue writing one of the two blogs I have already started. Both of those blogs were created with old work-or-school related email addresses and have been unavailable to me. Of course, this is mostly just an excuse as I could probably find some way of switching email addresses, but I couldn't be bothered. One of them needed a change-of-address form faxed in--forget that noise.
The other blog was more oriented around my former position as a classroom teacher. Now that I am no longer teaching, I feel like an impostor using an education blog. So now I am creating a new blog. I can put it off no longer. For posterity's sake, I am posting some of my former blog entries on this blog. I did that first, so they would appear below this one. In order to stem confusion, I also posted the date on which they were originally composed.
Since moving here, I was lucky to work as a trainer for an educational technology company called Promethean. Since I had experience using Promethean products in my classroom and helped with professional development at my old school, I got the recommendations necessary to land me the job. Unfortunately, it is contracted and the workload is feast or famine. Lately, famine has been the word. While the depleted bank account is definitely difficult to endure, it's the lack of busy days that has really stunted me. I don't know whether or not I'm experiencing depression, but I am definitely have had the lethargy and lack of motivation symptomatic of that ailment. So many days have passed where I am too out of it to do anything or even realize the hours are ticking by. This is a huge reason I need to attempt to keep up with a blog. I need to give my days some substance.
I've joined a writing group to help perk me up a bit. We have had three meetings and, so far, it's given me something to look forward to. I have also considered volunteering with some organization. There's one in downtown San Diego where I can tutor adults who can't read. I think I would enjoy that. I also need to get another job, or at least a supplemental one. The search has failed to yield anything promising; in fact, it's been dreadful. Of course, I don't need to tell that to anyone else who is also trying to find work right now.
In the meantime, hopefully I can deliver on my promise to myself to contribute to this blog. I feel better even now, having gotten this much out in the open.
On a last note, I did want to draw attention to my having retained the title of my old blog. The reason for the title is in direct opposition to my feelings of frustration. I will post my old greeting, as well. Look for more optimistic entries in the future!
The blog and education: exploring the possibilities (originally posted 2/24/2009)
One of the assignments I have in the class I am taking is to identify and explain how an educator can use blogging as a tool to teach one of the learning objectives listed in the Maryland Voluntary State Curriculum (VSC). The VSC (technically and thankfully involuntary) is a comprehensive list of skills and concepts that students K through 12 need to master before graduating high school, according to the state of Maryland. While scouring the multitude of learning outcomes, which are available to browse on www.mdk12.org, I came across a writing standard that perhaps sounds easier to teach than it really is. It is listed as follows:
Grade 3, Standard 4.0: Writing
Topic A: Writing
Indicator 4: Identify how language choices in writing and speaking affect thoughts and feelings
Objectives
a. Select words appropriate for audience, situation, or purpose
b. Acquire and use new vocabulary
c. Consider the effect of word choices on the audience
I tried to narrow this search down to one objective, I really did, but this one stuck out at me for a couple of reasons. First of all, It concerns the use of language or word choice, a writing trait that my students struggle with daily. It is important to note what is nicely stated in objective a: that the use of language will vary tremendously depending on who the author targets as readers, on what the situation is, and on what the author wants the reader to understand from the writing. This idea that one can completely change the meaning or force of communication via the choice of words is critical, and it is one that many students have a difficult time understanding.
As I write this blog, ABC News is analyzing the speech that President Obama just finished addressing to Congress and the nation. I am happy to note that, as I sit here trying to compose my thoughts on word choice, the analysts are pointing out how this speech is different from recent speeches because of word choice. In recent speeches, the president advocated the signing of the new stimulus package because failure to act would create a “national catastrophe.” In tonight’s speech, he said that failure to act would keep the economy “stumbling along for another decade.” Both examples are bad, to be sure, but the former seems far more dire than the latter. Tonight’s speech was designed to be more optimistic, more hopeful.
I decided to go off on that tangent for a real reason. It provides an authentic, important example of the power of word choice. That very authenticity is what is needed to teach our students this skill. They need to interact with their peers through (dare I say?) rigorous, thought-provoking written discourse. They need to experience first-hand how the choice of words can cause enlightenment or, on the other side of the spectrum, misinterpretation. Objective c, the effect of word choice on one’s audience, comes to mind here. It is with this that I think blogging can be an instrumental tool.
The blog offers a forum for the common person to make him or herself heard like never before. It is usually free of charge and can be read by the world at large. This can be a powerful motivator for students to write, and to do their best writing. Blog posts can then be discussed in class. Did the audience understand what was meant to be written? Was there any misinterpretation? What word choices could be used to make one’s point come across more clearly or forcefully? Student blogging, coupled with active classroom discussion, can teach this particular VSC standard very effectively.
Absolute Drainage (originally posted 7/13/2008)
Sometimes things happen at the worst possible times. At close to 12:15pm on Tuesday, July the 8th, the principal of my school walked into my classroom to see how things were going. It wasn't the total disaster that it could have been. Some of the students were out of their seats, but most of them were engaged in Mathematics centers that I have set up around the room. It was a bad time for him to walk in because, without his knowledge (and without, at the time, my own knowledge) my body was in the room, but I was nowhere to be found. Truth be told, I actually have very little memory of this, or any other part of the day, actually happening. July 8th was, for me, only a day of severe abdominal pain and blurred, drifting vision. If I try to recall that day at the time my principal walked in to visit me, it's like watching a home movie that was filmed by a gorilla—with the camera strapped to its head.
As it turns out, I was severely dehydrated and ended up in the hospital with saline fluid (Gatorade in a bag, according to the doctor) dripping into me intravenously. I don't know who else has had this experience, but it is both the worst and best feeling I can think of. Dehydration is the ultimate in shitty feelings—NOTHING works right and everything hurts. This goes for the brain, as well, so functions such as speech, vision, walking in a straight line—they are all impaired. To make matters worse, there was nausea involved, which really bugs me because the absolute last thing my body needs to do when faced with an internal drought is expel more bodily fluids.
It is the nausea, actually, when I was at last attended to by the doctor, that began the happy feelings. In order to inhibit the nausea, you see, I was given a sedative to relax my stomach muscles. The story goes like this: I was delirious already, and when I am in extraordinary amounts of discomfort I tend to fight it with humor. I wish I could remember exactly what I had said, but when the doctor who gave me the nausea-inhibiting shot came to stick me in the hindquarters with it, I said something that got us both laughing. Then, after I got the shot, she couldn't find the place she had stuck me to cover with a band-aid. I guess I didn't bleed at all, but that didn't stop her from poking around to try and make some blood bead up. The sedative started working around this time and I couldn't keep from giggling like a maniac—enough to make another doctor enter the room to inform us that we were having "too much fun" in there. She eventually gave up looking, evidently deciding that I didn't need a band-aid if I wasn't bleeding.
The goofy nausea medicine is one thing, but getting all juiced up again with that saline-solution IV is something else entirely. It is not a good or relieving feeling, exactly, but in a strange way I could tell that my body was very gradually being replenished with what it desperately needed. Combined with being drugged up, the world melted away leaving only the drip, drip, drip of the the saline solution from the IV bag into the tube. I needed two bags of that stuff, and I lay there for two hours, in one position, just watching those rhythmic drips for the entire time.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
This sounds like it could be the most dull thing imaginable—watching the proverbial paint dry, but at the time it was fascinating, like I was watching the sunrise on some distant world. That's what it was: unworldly. Of course, I was out of my freaking mind.
Now, this isn't the first time this has happened. It actually happened back in March for the first time, at an even more inconvenient time. I was giving the Maryland School Assessment (MSA) standardized test to my students. For those who don't know, third grade is the first grade of this type of testing in the state of Maryland. Therefore, it was my students' first experience with it and they needed me there to give it and put them at ease. It couldn't have been too good for them to see their poor teacher nearly pass out in front of the class. The dehydration then was far worse than it was this time. Even so, I am worried about the repeat offense. The doctors suggested that it could be stress related, which is just great. There's not much they can do in an emergency situation other than hydrate me, so I need to see my doctor. I have an appointment after school this Tuesday. Blah.
I have been starting and failing to complete blog entries about my summer school class and the curriculum, but my thoughts continually arrive at that hospital visit five days ago. Hopefully, I will be able to discuss my class soon. They really are an interesting little bunch. Until then, I need to get working on some of these other projects I have lying around. I hope this entry wasn't too muddled. Let me know if it was!
As it turns out, I was severely dehydrated and ended up in the hospital with saline fluid (Gatorade in a bag, according to the doctor) dripping into me intravenously. I don't know who else has had this experience, but it is both the worst and best feeling I can think of. Dehydration is the ultimate in shitty feelings—NOTHING works right and everything hurts. This goes for the brain, as well, so functions such as speech, vision, walking in a straight line—they are all impaired. To make matters worse, there was nausea involved, which really bugs me because the absolute last thing my body needs to do when faced with an internal drought is expel more bodily fluids.
It is the nausea, actually, when I was at last attended to by the doctor, that began the happy feelings. In order to inhibit the nausea, you see, I was given a sedative to relax my stomach muscles. The story goes like this: I was delirious already, and when I am in extraordinary amounts of discomfort I tend to fight it with humor. I wish I could remember exactly what I had said, but when the doctor who gave me the nausea-inhibiting shot came to stick me in the hindquarters with it, I said something that got us both laughing. Then, after I got the shot, she couldn't find the place she had stuck me to cover with a band-aid. I guess I didn't bleed at all, but that didn't stop her from poking around to try and make some blood bead up. The sedative started working around this time and I couldn't keep from giggling like a maniac—enough to make another doctor enter the room to inform us that we were having "too much fun" in there. She eventually gave up looking, evidently deciding that I didn't need a band-aid if I wasn't bleeding.
The goofy nausea medicine is one thing, but getting all juiced up again with that saline-solution IV is something else entirely. It is not a good or relieving feeling, exactly, but in a strange way I could tell that my body was very gradually being replenished with what it desperately needed. Combined with being drugged up, the world melted away leaving only the drip, drip, drip of the the saline solution from the IV bag into the tube. I needed two bags of that stuff, and I lay there for two hours, in one position, just watching those rhythmic drips for the entire time.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
This sounds like it could be the most dull thing imaginable—watching the proverbial paint dry, but at the time it was fascinating, like I was watching the sunrise on some distant world. That's what it was: unworldly. Of course, I was out of my freaking mind.
Now, this isn't the first time this has happened. It actually happened back in March for the first time, at an even more inconvenient time. I was giving the Maryland School Assessment (MSA) standardized test to my students. For those who don't know, third grade is the first grade of this type of testing in the state of Maryland. Therefore, it was my students' first experience with it and they needed me there to give it and put them at ease. It couldn't have been too good for them to see their poor teacher nearly pass out in front of the class. The dehydration then was far worse than it was this time. Even so, I am worried about the repeat offense. The doctors suggested that it could be stress related, which is just great. There's not much they can do in an emergency situation other than hydrate me, so I need to see my doctor. I have an appointment after school this Tuesday. Blah.
I have been starting and failing to complete blog entries about my summer school class and the curriculum, but my thoughts continually arrive at that hospital visit five days ago. Hopefully, I will be able to discuss my class soon. They really are an interesting little bunch. Until then, I need to get working on some of these other projects I have lying around. I hope this entry wasn't too muddled. Let me know if it was!
Training Day, or "How I Learned to Escape to My Happy Place" (originally posted 6/26/2008)
It has begun. Today I went to a professional development seminar intended to familiarize us with the Reading and Language Arts programs that we will be implementing during the five weeks of the summer program. Those of you reading who are teachers know what I am talking about when I say just how painful one of these things can be. For those of you who aren't teachers, imagine yourselves sitting in a large room full of other teachers where the comfort level is just barely above excruciating. The speaker, usually a representative of whatever publisher manufactured the latest revolutionary educational program that your school system decided to shell out the big bucks for, invariably decided to deliver the seminar as if to a class of second-graders, rather than to a room full of adults (presumably to model "correct" teaching for us incompetents). Often the speaker is barely audible or inarticulate. Generally, the audience is asked to participate in numerous and tedious activities that make what should be a thirty minute presentation three hours long.
Three.
Hours.
Long.
Today's training took that scenario to a staggering level. It took place in the auditorium of a high school gym. The sales representative (that's right, a sales representative) who went through the components of our reading program spoke in such a way that we only heard every second word—moving several rows closer made no difference. Everything that we could make out suggested that a better training would consist of us sitting in our own classrooms and reading the materials ourselves. It was at some point halfway through (or at least it could have been halfway through; it's impossible to tell) that a group of teachers from one particular school realized that they had an earlier version of the program that didn't include some of the features that the speaker was talking about. This caused considerable confusion among both the audience and the speaker, who obviously had not prepared for this. I wish I could say how they solved the problem, because some of my colleagues and I just got distracted and chatted about how we would be using this program in our school, with our very limited three-hour time slot.
That wasn't the end, however. After sitting around in idleness for a while, a second speaker talked about two other, completely different, parts of the Language Arts program. She was a resource teacher, and, as such, a far better speaker. We could actually hear her. Unfortunately, the size and scope of the program left us far more confused as to what we were actually supposed to be teaching when school starts on Monday. It goes something like this: we were shown a comprehensive program that explicitly states a three-hour time slot. Well, in our school we are doing both Math and Language Arts, so that gives us—after getting kids settled and feeding them, among other time-consuming issues—maybe an hour to fit in that three-hour program. How this is going to happen, I don't know. We left there with more questions than answers, which I guess we'll have to get addressed tomorrow.
I'm getting the feeling that this is a very confused entry with no real flow. That is because my brain is still reeling from sitting in that gym all morning after three hours of sleep and listening to utter nonsense. Also, I am drinking some Gatorade that tastes vaguely of nail polish remover. I apologize if I sound scatterbrained.
I will put an end to this entry with a simple request: if anyone knows any head-clearing or stress-relieving techniques that I can try between now and Monday, please let me know via comments. Thanks!
Three.
Hours.
Long.
Today's training took that scenario to a staggering level. It took place in the auditorium of a high school gym. The sales representative (that's right, a sales representative) who went through the components of our reading program spoke in such a way that we only heard every second word—moving several rows closer made no difference. Everything that we could make out suggested that a better training would consist of us sitting in our own classrooms and reading the materials ourselves. It was at some point halfway through (or at least it could have been halfway through; it's impossible to tell) that a group of teachers from one particular school realized that they had an earlier version of the program that didn't include some of the features that the speaker was talking about. This caused considerable confusion among both the audience and the speaker, who obviously had not prepared for this. I wish I could say how they solved the problem, because some of my colleagues and I just got distracted and chatted about how we would be using this program in our school, with our very limited three-hour time slot.
That wasn't the end, however. After sitting around in idleness for a while, a second speaker talked about two other, completely different, parts of the Language Arts program. She was a resource teacher, and, as such, a far better speaker. We could actually hear her. Unfortunately, the size and scope of the program left us far more confused as to what we were actually supposed to be teaching when school starts on Monday. It goes something like this: we were shown a comprehensive program that explicitly states a three-hour time slot. Well, in our school we are doing both Math and Language Arts, so that gives us—after getting kids settled and feeding them, among other time-consuming issues—maybe an hour to fit in that three-hour program. How this is going to happen, I don't know. We left there with more questions than answers, which I guess we'll have to get addressed tomorrow.
I'm getting the feeling that this is a very confused entry with no real flow. That is because my brain is still reeling from sitting in that gym all morning after three hours of sleep and listening to utter nonsense. Also, I am drinking some Gatorade that tastes vaguely of nail polish remover. I apologize if I sound scatterbrained.
I will put an end to this entry with a simple request: if anyone knows any head-clearing or stress-relieving techniques that I can try between now and Monday, please let me know via comments. Thanks!
UnAmerican Idle (originially posted 6/23/2008)
Summer Vacation. Everyone tells me to enjoy it. Unfortunately, it doesn't take much for me to get bored.
If I am not somehow occupied—physically, mentally, psychologically, however—my brain starts to encumber any attempts at simple and idle rest or relaxation by bombarding me with memories, thoughts, old quotations, images, songs, movements, movies, monsters, gods, books, articles, poems, ruminations, and any number of phenomena ranging from the banal to the bizarre that my synaptic responses—fatigued with tedium—can invent to thrust upon me. Television is a potential distraction for my gray matter. I try to occupy my brain with channel surfing in much the same way as some parents use the idiot box to occupy their children in order to allow them time to do the dishes. Unfortunately, unless there is a marathon of Mythbusters or Dirty Jobs on, my brain is not easily fooled by the limitations of my broadcast options. So, I look elsewhere for occupation.
If I concentrate really, really hard, I can focus the influx of random synaptical illusions flooding my brain into something constructive. I can't help but picture a funnel collecting an ocean of thoughts in one end and projecting a tiny beam of creative energy out the other end. Since my summer officially began last Monday, I have finished the script for the first chapter of a graphic novel I've been working on, I've listed ideas and themes for a children's book that I'd like to begin soon, I've finished my journal (which reminds me that I need to buy another one), I've read two books, I've walked all over my lovely city, and I've started this blog.
I have also tried to get out to see friends who I rarely get to see during the hectic school year. A couple of close friends of mine were kind enough to invite me to their house in York, Pennsylvania for two days last week. I got to finally meet their new son Cooper:
He is probably the happiest baby I've ever met, and that is actually saying a lot (I've met many babies). I am pretty happy with how much fun we had together. His parents were happy, too, because they got to get some other stuff done while I watched him. Cooper, by the by, is named after the character of Special Agent Dale Cooper from the early nineties television show Twin Peaks. Awesome.
I have two-and-a-half more days of this complete idleness before I start preparations to teach at my school's summer program on Thursday. I know it is probably annoying for some of you who are reading this to hear me complain of having days off. I do hear a lot of friends say, "must be nice . . ." Is it unAmerican of me not to want to sit around on my ass doing absolutely nothing? Maybe; maybe not. Either way, I am actually looking forward to standing in front of a classroom of students again in one week.
I have two-and-a-half more days of this complete idleness before I start preparations to teach at my school's summer program on Thursday. I know it is probably annoying for some of you who are reading this to hear me complain of having days off. I do hear a lot of friends say, "must be nice . . ." Is it unAmerican of me not to want to sit around on my ass doing absolutely nothing? Maybe; maybe not. Either way, I am actually looking forward to standing in front of a classroom of students again in one week.
To Start with a Story (originally posted 6/17/2008)
Every story needs a beginning. Well this beginning is going to have a story. I enjoy shaking things up like that. This is the first entry of my new blog.
This is the true story of a small moment involving one of my students. We'll call her Mary.
This moment took up a few short minutes in one very long day, yet it kept me energized and motivated for late-night grading and planning. Mary is a very kind girl. That seems like a simple sentence, but it holds a lot of meaning. She is selfless and considerate—polite without being boring. She thinks of others before herself, a quality seen all too rarely within my school walls. This is made more notable because her life is no cakewalk. Alcoholism and other forms of abuse are no stranger to her family. She has seen and spoken of things that, by rights, she shouldn't have ever experienced as an eight-year-old girl. She is also homeless, and the time between meals is often far too long.
That's a lot of exposition, but I wanted to show the resilience of a young girl who can remain an amiable human being in the face of adversity.
On April 24th, Mary came up to me as I was getting students lined up to go to one of their Specials classes; I believe it was Physical Education. She handed me a piece of paper, folded in fourths, and told me that it was a gift for me. I accepted it without opening it and continued to transition my class to the gym.
Upon returning to my classroom to make the most of my planning period, I took the folded paper from my pocket and opened it. It was a drawing:
This is the true story of a small moment involving one of my students. We'll call her Mary.
This moment took up a few short minutes in one very long day, yet it kept me energized and motivated for late-night grading and planning. Mary is a very kind girl. That seems like a simple sentence, but it holds a lot of meaning. She is selfless and considerate—polite without being boring. She thinks of others before herself, a quality seen all too rarely within my school walls. This is made more notable because her life is no cakewalk. Alcoholism and other forms of abuse are no stranger to her family. She has seen and spoken of things that, by rights, she shouldn't have ever experienced as an eight-year-old girl. She is also homeless, and the time between meals is often far too long.
That's a lot of exposition, but I wanted to show the resilience of a young girl who can remain an amiable human being in the face of adversity.
On April 24th, Mary came up to me as I was getting students lined up to go to one of their Specials classes; I believe it was Physical Education. She handed me a piece of paper, folded in fourths, and told me that it was a gift for me. I accepted it without opening it and continued to transition my class to the gym.
Upon returning to my classroom to make the most of my planning period, I took the folded paper from my pocket and opened it. It was a drawing:
I borrowed her from P.E. so I would have some time to talk to her, and I took her to a semi-private corner of the office. The administrative assistants were busy at their desks and paid us little attention. I approached the topic on eggshells.
"I got your drawing. It looks like you spent a lot of time on it! How were you feeling when you drew it?"
"I was just thinking."
"You are very thoughtful. What were you thinking about?"
"I was thinking about taming something. I was thinking about the Prince's responsibility."
Here is where I have to explain myself. When I took this position, I was excited to spend some time reading great books to my students. The book I was reading at this time was Antoine de Saint Exupéry's The Little Prince. It's one of my favorite books. For those who don't know, one of the themes of The Little Prince is rediscovering the uniqueness and wonder inherent in the seemingly ordinary. It's a return to childhood thinking, a way to infuse oneself with vitality of spirit. The little prince in the story did this by taming, and being tamed by, a rose on his home asteroid.
Every day, as I read this layered story that has meant much to me since I was a child, I hoped that my students felt something similar. They definitely enjoyed the story, but sometimes it is hard to tell exactly how they are receiving a message. My thrill at having discovered the true intent of Mary's drawing was immediate, and I hope not overly apparent.
"Oh, is this the flower in our story?"
"Yeah, it's the prince's flower!"
What I thought was a tombstone was the jar the prince had placed over the rose to keep her safe. The fresh grave was merely the brown of the prince's home asteroid. I thanked Mary for her drawing and sent her back to P.E.
This moment made me face the impact that negative elements have on me. Why did I instantly interpret Mary's drawing so morbidly? I learn as much or more from my students as they learn from me. Their lessons also seem infinitely more relevant to the human condition than the curriculum that focuses on robotic testing. Mary reminds me to look for the positive—I hope I can live up to this lesson. Thankfully, every time I now look at the drawing I see only a rose lovingly protected by a glass jar.
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