Candy From Babies

 "After, we'll meet back at the hideout and divvy up the loot."

"Yeah, those guy's will never know what hit 'em."

"Like takin' candy from a baby."

This is the kind of dialogue I imagine takes place during robberies. Taking things without asking is stealing, but this kind of talk is inexcusable. It's all too familiar and not up to the standards that their teachers taught them. Unless they were taking Forties Gangster Chat 101.

But in the real world, I continue to puzzle over the need for children at a public school to create any sort of elaborate scheme in which the only "loot" they end up with are bags of chips and some candy. They aren't looking for cash or jewelry, not even cell phones. They are after the junk that some teachers hand over as the tiniest recognition of being clever, polite, or simply able to follow the rules at school. 

To be clear, the rules at our school do not encourage groups of boys to climb into an open window and ransack the office of our child therapist. The nice lady who comes and takes our troubled youth to that same office to give them a place to talk about the world they endure and how about a nice snack on the way out? 

Unless the boys mentioned have burglarized the drawers and closets of that office and made off with all the snacks. 

I have written in this space a number of times about the relative ease with which one could break and enter a public school. There is no armed security. The response time to alarms that go off range in the hour range to the next day. In the case of the purloined treats, the investigation was conducted entirely on site by our principal and her ability to pick the third grader who would break first, then going after the fourth and fifth graders he gave up. 

Parents were called. Tears were shed. Not by all, but by some of the thieves. And that nagging thought that grownups have in these situations came ringing through once again: "If they would do this when they are nine and ten, what will they be doing once they hit middle school?"

Middle school has a way of hitting back. It's bigger. It's tougher. It's on the way to the big time. It would be a whole lot easier if the pretend world of being master thieves was an embarrassing memory of "when we was little." 

What a relief that would be. 

Sense Of Humors

 “Before I even arrive at the Oval Office, I will have the disastrous war between Russia and Ukraine settled. It will be settled quickly. Quickly. I will get the problem solved and I will get it solved in rapid order and it will take me no longer than one day. I know exactly what to say to each of them.”

“And before I even arrive at the Oval Office, shortly after I win the presidency, I will have the disastrous war between Russia and Ukraine settled.” 

 “So when I say ‘end it,’ I’m going to get a settlement very quickly. And I know both people, and you can get it very, very quickly. You can only do it through the presidency, but you control the money coming in, coming out. You can get that. I will have that settlement done within twenty-four hours.”

“Before I even arrive at the Oval Office, I will have the horrible war between Russia and Ukraine totally settled. I’ll have it done in twenty-four hours. I say that, and I would do that. That’s easy compared to some of the things – I’d get that done in twenty-four hours. I know them both. I know them both. As the Bible says, ‘Blessed are the peacemakers.’ See that? And I will be your peacemaker. I was your peacemaker.”

The preceding has been just a sample of the wit of the former game show host and adjudicated rapist. All of those quotes came from the campaign trail back in 2023. Just part of the dozens of references to the statements he now says were "in jest" about the bloody conflict in Ukraine. 

If you've been keeping track, one hundred of those twenty-four hour periods have passed and then some. Russia continues to pummel the sovereign nation of Ukraine, while Ukraine continues to fight back. This is in spite of the Court Jester's social media platform insistence, “I am not happy with the Russian strikes on KYIV. Not necessary, and very bad timing. Vladimir, STOP! 5000 soldiers a week are dying. Lets get the Peace Deal DONE!”

That one reads more like a joke. A deadly missile strike on Ukraine's capitol is referred to as "not necessary, and very bad timing." Stop it, you big orange clown. 

You're killing me. 

How Long?

 Very soon now this spot in Al Gore's Internet will celebrate its twentieth year of taking up space. 

Two decades of what was on my mind that morning. 

Twenty years of writing a daily account of what I believe, or at least pretend to believe. 

This coincides pretty directly with the twenty-eight years my wife and I have spent living in our house. The one we bought. The one that has undergone a seemingly never-ending series of adjustments and improvements since we carted all our worldly possessions halfway across the city to barely fill the rooms in anticipation of our son, who would only be a couple weeks away. Much to our collective chagrin. 

On that day we were aided and abetted in the handling of our belongings by a number of people. Perhaps no one more than my younger brother who was willing to come along on this escapade even though he should have been celebrating his thirty-second birthday. 

This past week, my younger brother celebrated his sixtieth birthday. Just as I felt the need to reevaluate the term "little brother" when he grew to be a head taller than me, I feel now that "younger brother" is not the most accurate term to describe a sixty year old man. I get the math and all, but the relative distinction of being able to get his own AARP membership seems to suggest that none of us is getting any younger. 

Which brings me to the other chunk of twenty-eight years: My teaching career. My son. My house. My time in the classroom. Twenty-eight trips around the sun, just from slightly different starting point on the orbit. I felt this most keenly when recently I had a district tech come out to look at a couple of machines in my computer lab because they seemed to have leapt from my experience and pay grade. Of course, once the tech showed up, both computers had gone back to their own safe and sane operation. This gave me an opportunity to introduce myself to this new district employee. I went down a brief laundry list of the eras in which I have taught technology, beginning with a room full of Mac LCIIs and a couple tractor feed printers. We did a lot of KidPix and Oregon Trail in those days. 

It took me a few minutes of describing my journey through those twenty-eight years before it occurred to me that this person to whom I was talking was most likely not alive during a portion of the events I was unfolding. 

I tell stories about how things used to be. About how I wish things were. And about all the people and things I encounter along the way. Until someone tells me to stop.  

Bad Dream

 I guess that I shouldn't be surprised that the goof that wants to close up the Department of Education is continuing his efforts to make my job more difficult. 

The Tariff King made an executive order that struck down the work being done to limit the disparity between races when it comes to school suspensions. That order is modestly titled, "Reinstating Common Sense School Discipline Policies." The preamble goes a little like this: "The Federal Government will no longer tolerate known risks to children’s safety and well-being in the classroom that result from the application of school discipline based on discriminatory and unlawful 'equity' ideology."

If you didn't flinch a little at the phrase "discriminatory and unlawful 'equity' ideology," you might not want to read any further. 

I am one of those bleeding hearts who has experienced the reform of equity ideology and seen the effects. The positive effects. The work being done to shift from punitive discipline to restorative justice in our nation's classrooms has not been easy. The idea that there are "bad kids" flies in the face of everything that I have experienced as a teacher, parent, and a kid myself. It was my father who, back in the earliest years of conscious parenting used to announce that "there are no bad kids, just bad behavior." This coming from the man who helped raise me and my brothers carries some weight. 

How we treat those kids is the key. If they show up in our schools and neighborhoods as damaged goods, it becomes increasingly likely that they will adopt that persona. If we close one eye to the dangers of reinstituting this "color blind" approach ordered by a convicted felon, we run the risk of pushing kids farther away from the education they so desperately need to try and escape their circumstances. 

Let's not pretend for a moment that this is the racist pendulum swinging back after years of trying to correct the inequity that exists in our nation's schools. In our nation. Giving those backward enough to believe that somehow our kids will be "safe" because we "get rid of" the ones who are causing the trouble aren't looking at what the trouble really is. 

Imagine a world where orange people were looked upon with fear and derision. Instead, let's look at the content of their character. 

We can dream, can't we. 

Am I Blue?

 Maybe it's not arrogance. 

Maybe it's ignorance. 

The suggestion has been made, for some time now, that the former game show host and convicted felon cannot read. Those who know him best sometimes suggest that "he doesn't care to read." Little things like memos. And the United States Constitution. This might be why he could sit there with an orange craggy face and insist that he had no familiarity with Project 2025. Because he had not read it. 

Not because he didn't.

Because he couldn't. 

My most recent clue to this lack of reading ability comes from last Saturday's gathering of world leaders saying farewell to the recently departed Pope. If you look at a photo of the event, it is ridiculously easy to spot the adjudicated rapist and twice-impeached "president" of the United States. He's the one in blue. Not a dark midnight shade of blue, but rather the kind of blue that you would wear in front of a crowd if you were going to "dance" to a Village People song. Not the traditional black that the rest of the crowd at the memorial service in Saint Peter's Square seemed to favor.

Because they had read the invitation. 

Even Melania managed to pull it together and wear something fashionable but subdued. 

Because she can read. 

But not our former game show host. After insisting that he be given a seat in the front row of mourners, after having argued with Pope Francis for years, the King of Tariffs dressed all in sapphire and stood out like a big fat sore thumb. Oblivious. 

Waiting for someone to cue up YMCA. 

Glitch

 Convicted felons and serial liars should not be allowed to hold public office. 

They should be in jail. 

This was the message sent to a concerned citizenry this past week when former United States Representative George Santos was sentenced to eighty-seven months for what Judge Joanna Seybert referred to as "flagrant thievery." Careful readers may also notice that I used the term "former" to describe the end of a political career, rather than its continuation. 

Mister Santos cried when the sentence was handed down. The sentence came down in spite of the letter he wrote to Judge Seybert. A letter that read, in part: “Every sunrise since that plea has carried the same realization: I did this, me. I am responsible. But saying I’m sorry doesn’t require me to sit quietly while these prosecutors try to drop an anvil on my head.”

It should be noted here for the sake of accuracy that at no time was an actual anvil employed in some Tom and Jerry-like example of justice. This was a punishment meted out to make a point: an "arrogant fraudster" like the former congressman should not be allowed to skate free with a slap on the wrist. George was just the sixth member of the United States Congress to be expelled in our nation's history. Lying to bolster his unlikely rise to political fame, including fraud and identity theft, was a crime that George admitted to, believing perhaps that he would receive a lighter sentence. 

George received the maximum. 

Meanwhile, there are other convicted felons who have done much worse things out there in a world that is being shaped by their actions. Some convicted felons have not only been voted out of office, but by some strange twist of fate found their way back to the same place where they caught and sat in stony silence as judges have recounted their crimes. Only to be let loose on what can only be referred to as a glitch in the system. 

This glitch needs to be fixed. This glitch needs to be sent to prison. 

Full stop. 

Those Days

 I don't remember hating school. 

I can remember being anxious about going to school. 

I don't remember faking being sick.

I can remember exaggerating my symptoms to get an extra day of ginger ale and crackers in bed. 

These days I work in a business that is built around kids not hating school. I don't want kids coming to school when they are truly "infirma," but attendance on Mondays and Fridays suggest that maybe moms and dads aren't as inquisitive as to their children's health as my mom was. 

On the one hand, we have a funding issue in which the filled seats help fund our school. Coercing kids who don't have a strong urge to be one of those seat fillers to show up for recess with their friends is a real thing. Finding the reason not to hate school is the challenge. 

On the other hand, since that's what the metaphor insists, there is the responsibility to keep the customer satisfied. If being at school has become drudgery, it could be that competing with the world of TikTok and all things found on cell phones is not a fair challenge. 

To wit: During a week of standardized testing that is done primarily on school Chromebooks, I chose to open up the vaults a bit when classes came to the computer lab for their regularly scheduled Media Arts Class. I told them that I had no specific plan for them and that they could choose from one of the dozens of applications found on our school's web sign-in page. This came as a direct response to the number of requests I field over the course of a year being asked if we could do this instead of that. 

Given this wide berth, most of the kids went after those things that had been out of rotation for most of the year. They found things to enjoy. To work at. But in each class, there were at least a few voices of dissent: "Can't we do YouTube?" Not on the menu. "Can't we do Kahoot?" Not on the menu. 

If you give a mouse a cookie, they'll want to stay in bed and have crackers and ginger ale brought to them. 

While they stare at YouTube.