Too Soon

Next year I am told that the school year will begin almost two full weeks earlier than it does this year. This is not because of some arcane business about full moons or third Mondays or any other superstitious rot. I am in the education business, and the idea that we want to get our hands on those little minds as soon as possible has long been the secret desire of oh-so-many reformers. This whole summer vacation business was all about making kids available for the planting and the harvest. Send them back to school when the crops have begun to wither and dry.
The kids I teach are about as far removed from that reality as anyone could imagine. When I first came to the teaching  profession, I did so at a year-round school. That did not mean that the students were attending school year round. That was my job. They were still attending classes nine months each year. I took off a couple weeks each summer to celebrate my birthday and the Fourth of July. It was the way I was able to re-calibrate my personal clock and the way I could monitor the next phase of my tenure.
Year round school was a space issue. We didn't have enough seats for the kids who attended our school for them to all sit down at the same time, so we sent a group of them away for a month at a time. Then they would come back for three months until it was time for them to evacuate once again. Most of the teachers took these breaks along with their kids, but since I was the Computer Guy, I hung around to make sure that everyone got the tech training they deserved.
And then, we weren't a year round school anymore. Enrollment changed and charter schools opened and charter schools closed, and the science behind year round school was no longer necessary because we could now accommodate that certain number of students that made that concept an antiquated one.
And yet, here we are, trying to figure out how to shave off a few more days, weeks, hours from those halcyon moments we call summer. Going back to school before Labor Day makes a lot of our parents grumble, which is amusing since these are the same parents who sigh heavily when presented with the notion of hanging around with their kids for more than a weekend at a time. Generally, they warm to it, as most parents do. Turns out it's not such a bad thing to have junior  rattling about  the house during those warm months when the sun never seems to go down.
Alas, the sun has set on this summer, and  next year will cycle through even more quickly. I will try not  to miss a second of those lazy hazy days. Like I am right now.  

A Moving Story

Way back before I became a teacher and a blogger, I worked as a furniture installer. Modular office furniture, primarily. This meant that I spent a good deal of time in newer buildings and creating work spaces for employees who had yet to be hired. Or, in some instances, we were crafting new hives of cubicles for the drones to inhabit once they fled their old hive. New installations were the fun and magical part of the job. Unwrapping all that chrome and peeling the plastic sleeves off the office chairs that hadn't had their hydraulics diminished by thousands of absent-minded adjustments while waiting on hold. Wire management with no wires yet to be mismanaged. Panels whose fabric smelled every bit as clean as the fresh carpet upon which we trod. It was stirring.
But that wasn't the only part of the job. Living as we did in close proximity to a number of IBM satellite plants, I was often sent with a crew to repair or reassemble work stations that were being relocated in other offices or annexes or departments. What became clear to me very quickly was that IBM was happy to spend the money on not just us, the furniture installers, but an onsite crew of movers whose job was to roll boxes of personal effects and papers that needed to be taken out of the room before we came in to dismantle the desks, overheads, typing returns, lights and modesty panels. Once we had broken the furniture into its components, we would put them on four wheel dollies and roll them through the maze of hallways looking for the empty office into which we would reverse the process. Meanwhile, that crew of movers would head off to the snack bar, knowing that their next step was still some time in the future. They were in no rush. They understood this as part of the company culture. In the late eighties it was a simple enough assumption that IBM had this kind of money to burn. Why not? They were at the forefront of this computer revolution. Of course they could spare a few hundred dollars to have Bill's desk taken apart and moved to another corner of the building. I was pretty certain that I moved some of those same desks multiple times over the course of the three years I had the opportunity to be part of the migration. And all the while, those movers were hanging out, on the clock, in the snack bar. And the drone whose office we were navigating from one drab room to another was most certainly taking a personal day while all this mess got sorted out.
When I finished bolting the desk back together, we were off to the next one. Someone in housekeeping would give the movers a shout on their walkie talkie to let them know that it was safe to shove those boxes full of paperweights and rubber bands into their new home. Inevitably, it would be the following day that Mister or Missus Drone would reappear and begin the process of putting all those paper clips and sticky notes in just the right spot.
I knew it would be just a few weeks before we would be back. And the whole mess would start over again.
Job security.

Safeway Parking Lot

Comparing apples to oranges is not a new idea, but what if the guy doing the comparing happens to be one great big Tangerine? A frustrated "President" Trump lashed out at reporters the other day, asserting that "George Washington was a slave owner." With his next breath, he asked we can assume rhetorically, "Was George Washington a slave owner?" The answer, just in case, is "Yes." George Washington was a slave owner, as was the next target of his tirade, Thomas Jefferson. So, his orangey-ness wants to know, if we start tearing down statues of slave owners, are we going to knock George and Tom off their pedestals?
A pretty keen argument if you're getting drunk in the Safeway parking lot with your buds on a Friday night. But this is the President of the United States making these wild swings of mood and taste. He's ignoring simple facts of the matter, like the community of Charlottesville had decided to remove the statue and it was a group of protesters from outside that descended on that college town and decided they wanted to argue the matter. If someone in the District of Columbia could get enough signatures on a petition to change the name of the monuments to reflect more culturally sensitive individuals, then we might have some quid pro quo.
As it stands, this was the desperate flailing of a drowning man. A man so mired in his own fear and loathing that he can no longer distinguish right from wrong. The thugs that dropped by the University of Virginia were there to incite. They were not there to discuss. They showed up armed and ready for battle. This is not, in spite of our current "President's" vision of the world, how we conduct business in the United States. What the Nazis did was stand outside a crowded movie house and shout "Fire!" as they lit a match. If they had shown up and stood there in the dark with their Tiki torches smoldering and chests puffed out without their racist epithets and hateful propaganda, they might have kept their permit and walked home the next day.
That's not why they came. They came to kick at the hornet's nest and then blame the hornets for being angry. Just like our "President." Thinking people from across the globe watched him melt down as he did yet another turnabout when someone asked him why he couldn't be a little more succinct about what was wrong with the events of the past weekend. He couldn't do it. Instead he went for that Safeway parking lot argument and made everyone of the pinheads who spewed their venom in the name of White Supremacy feel vindicated. By the President of the United States. Just under seventy years before the Civil War, George Washington wrote in his will that he wanted to emancipate the slaves he held on his farm at Mount Vernon. Not exactly an abolitionist, but still pretty forward thinking for a gentleman of his time. Thomas Jefferson wrote legislation as far back as 1778 to abolish slavery. Was there hypocrisy in his maintaining his own plantation slaves? Yes. the kind of conflict that was unclear back before we elected our first President.
Now we're on number forty-five. You'd think he would know better.
You'd think that he would think.
Alas.

Fly On The Wall

"Okay. Let's go over it again."
"Right. There's lots of blame on all sides."
"No, no, no. It's got to be more specific."
"There's a bunch of bad hombres out there."
"I think we might want to avoid vernacular, sir."
"Hate is bad. I can say that, can't I?"
"Well sure, but I think it would be best if we..."
"And we as a nation don't like hate. Of any kind."
"Well, yes."
"It's sad."
"Yes it is, but let's try and get back to -"
"I know, I know. More specific."
"Yes. If you would."
"Okay. Haters be hatin' and we won't let that happen."
"Nice start, but what about naming some of the groups or organizations?"
"Like CNN?"
"Not today."
"Obstructionist Democrats?"
"Fascists?"
"Who?"
"Nazis."
"I thought Captain America took care of them."
"That was a movie, sir."
"Great one, too. Maybe we could get that Steve Rogers to drop by the White House."
"Yes. We'll see what we can do about that. Now about your statement."
"You want me to say Nazis are bad?"
"Yes. And the KKK?"
"KKK?"
"The Klan. The Ku Klux Klan."
"But if ai call them out, won't that make them mad at me?"
"There are a lot of angry people who need to be reassured."
"Like that's my job?"
"Well. Yes."
"Okay. What do I have to say?"
"You should say that we as Americans will not allow these groups, the KKK, neo-Nazis, white supremacists.to bring their repugnant -"
"Oooo. Repugnant. Can I use that?"
"Yes sir."
"But if I call out all those groups -"
"Yes?"
"Who will I be left with?"

Lessons We Learn

Actions have consequences. My son got a speeding ticket Monday. He was rushing to work and was pulled over, given a summons and was an extra fifteen minutes late to work for his trouble. To his credit, he called his parents to let us know what had happened and that he was going to work a couple of shifts to get back to even. Leaving a few minutes early for work next time might be a solution that would be more cost-effective. And safe. He did that all by himself.
Okay. Not exactly by himself. I'm sure he could hear the voices of his mom and dad in his head before he ever called, because that's the person he has become.
I wonder what Peter Cvjetanovic's parents think about their son. Peter is twenty years old, and he spent a part of his summer vacation from the University of Nevada attending a rally in Charlottesville, Virginia. That rally in Charlottesville, Virginia. His face became easily recognized in a photo that was spread far and wide on social media. There he is, carrying a Tiki torch, and screaming angrily into the night. He is shoulder to shoulder with a number of other young white men who had come to the University of Virginia campus to share their views about the removal of a statue of Robert E. Lee. At the top of his lungs. 
Later, when journalists tracked down this face of the white nationalists, he said he was surprised that people see him as "an angry racist." Interesting, since the photo shows him in a highly agitated state amid a group of people whose views might best be described as racist. “I came to this march for the message that white European culture has a right to be here just like every other culture. It is not perfect; there are flaws to it, of course. However I do believe that the replacement of the statue will be the slow replacement of white heritage within the United States and the people who fought and defended and built their homeland. Robert E Lee is a great example of that. He wasn’t a perfect man, but I want to honor and respect what he stood for during his time.”
It makes me wonder just what sort of history courses Mister Cvjetanovic has audited at the University of Nevada. What does he understand about what Robert E. Lee stood for during his time? Maybe a letter he wrote in response to then President Franklin Pierce might shed some light. In it, he concludes, "Is it not strange that the descendants of those Pilgrim Fathers who crossed the Atlantic to preserve their own freedom have always proved the most intolerant of the spiritual liberty of others?" Coupled with his assurance that slaves were most certainly better off here in America, it does make you wonder what honor and respect we owe him, exactly. 
The statue is not a relic of the Confederacy. It was commissioned in 1917 and completed in 1924. It is a monument to another place and time. I don't know if Peter and his young friends fully comprehend that, and how culture and history move together through time. “As a white nationalist, I care for all people. We all deserve a future for our children and for our culture. White nationalists aren’t all hateful; we just want to preserve what we have.”
My son is going to pay his ticket. He'll probably have to do some online traffic school. I confess that I'm a little surprised that it's taken this long for him learn the lesson about speeding, but I'm proud to see him evolving. 
I wonder how Peter's parents feel. 

Giveaway

It happens every so often: Kids from my school see me outside the confines of my classroom, playground or sidewalk in front, and they stare in wonder. This can be as minuscule a deviation as the distance up the hill from my school, riding my bike: "Hey! It's Mister Caven!" For many this sight is on par with a sighting of Big Foot, and since Sasquatch are pretty scarce on the streets of Oakland, I will have to do as a curiosity.
Still, I was surprised by the amount of awe I was able to arouse in the faces of my elementary schoolers when  they came across me standing at a table at the city's big Back To School Rally. I was there to hand out copies of my wife's book, The Bullying Antidote, and to act as the face of a parent and teacher. I was spreading the word: Zorgos. That's the name of the super power that my wife and her mother discovered and wanted to share with our community. The Back To School Rally was a great place to do just that.
In that great milling throng of humanity, every so often, I familiar face would pop up. Invariably with the same surprised look. "Mister Caven?"
Yup. That's me. I tend to appear at or around the start of school each year and dissipate once summer has come. Think of me as your Autumnal Groundhog. I saw my shadow, so it's back to school with you. Oh, and please, take a book to share with your parents.
I took my job very seriously. I made a point of putting a book in anybody's hand with whom I made eye contact. It's a free book, and it has lots of great words in it. I'm standing here in the August sunshine letting you know about it. Come on. Take a chance.
I joked with a number of people about how I was anxious to have my basement free of the pallet of boxes full of books that had been there waiting for such an event. There was a true and serious side to this, primarily since these books were doing absolutely no good to anyone locked up beneath my house. Sharing them with the parents, teachers, and students of Oakland seems like a much better deal.
And now I have room for that antique coffee grinder collection I have always dreamed about.
"Mister Caven, do you really have a collection of antique coffee grinders?"
Well, once I return to my hole in the ground, I'll have to check that out.

Rally 'Round The Flag, Boys!

It's a pretty easy thing to claim white supremacy in a town where whites make up just a little under seventy percent of the population. Like Charlottesville, Virginia. Congratulations, you win. Not satisfied with this statistical edge, however, a rally was put together to protest the potential removal of a statue of Robert E. Lee from a park there. Organizers called their get-together "Unite The Right," probably in reference to their politics, not their actual correctness. The white nationalists who are concerned that their history and their heroes are being cast aside like so many pigeon-dung-infused chunks of granite. Come to think of it, getting rid of a statue is a pretty big endeavor and probably involves heavy equipment.
So what did these guys have in mind? Laying down in front of the bulldozers? Chaining themselves to the crane that would lift their stony hero from his perch? They found themselves surrounding a statue of Thomas Jefferson Saturday night. My suspicion is that the light of their Home Depot Tiki torches didn't allow them to distinguish the author of the Declaration of Independence from the leader of the Confederate Army during our nation's Civil War.
And now it's probably time to mention the frequency that the Confederate Flag gets displayed alongside the flag of Nazi Germany. What do they have in common? Well, both of these nations lost their wars, and fell into - how shall I say it? - disfavor. A bunch of young men screaming at the top of their lungs surrounded by symbols of historical losers sends a very sad message. All that anger comes from somewhere. As I have often reminded us all, Denis Leary once made a list of all the things his five year old hates: "Naps. End of list." His point was that hate is something you have to learn. It doesn't just spring forth organically. All that hate that brought people from both sides came from a great big pool of fear. A lake. An ocean. The thought of losing the position at the top of the pecking order is horrifying to many. The thought of never being allowed that opportunity is just as horrifying for those who have not been allowed to breathe free.
Hence the Tiki torches and the yelling and screaming. The governor of Virginia called for a state of emergency to deal with the violence that has erupted in the wake of Uniting the Right. Oh, and the fondness these guys have for that freedom of assembly doesn't stop there. It continues on to the glorious Second Amendment, which brought a whole lot of guns to the show. Lob some tear gas, baseball bats, and elevated tension, and you've got yourself an emergency.
All of which doubles back on the continuing whirl of our political landscape. Some seven thousand miles away, a very scary young man leading a country now emboldened by their nascent nuclear weapons capability is wondering if it's worth wasting a missile on us. We seem to be perfectly capable of beating ourselves to a bloody pulp. Over a statue. I hope they don't do anything drastic until they figure out which one they really want to tear down.