As much as I enjoy teaching, I know my limitations: I could never teach kindergarten. Sure, I can do it for fifty minutes at a time when they come to my computer lab and I have a room full of lights and sounds to distract them from all the tiny details of life for which they are so endlessly curious. Not to mention that they have the attention span of a kindergartener. Like kittens and puppies, their relative cuteness keeps them from being completely annoying, but the poking and prodding and squeals of "I gotta use it!" in the middle of what I would normally consider a riveting lecture on the importance of the letters S and T overwhelm me at times.
Not so with the men and women who teach our youngest every day. Many of those kids come to our schools without the leg up of a year or two of preschool. Hands and feet to yourself might as well be calculus for some of them, and oh by the way could you begin their formal math and language arts training while you're at it? Saints, that's what these people are.
I met one of our resident saints on the way in the other morning. She was carrying a goldfish in a plastic cup. She told me, as if it were my concern, "I had to buy another fish." That was sufficient for me, but she continued."I gave the kids a fish as a reward. They were so excited. They named him Nemo." A sigh. I knew where this was heading. "I came in last week and Nemo was floating at the top of the - I told the kids that I had to take Nemo home and clean the tank."
Hands and feet to yourself is a great start. The circle of life will have to wait.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Physics Of A Weekend Away
We had this little family vacation. Just a weekend away. We went to the mountains to hang around in a cabin with some friends and play in the snow. It was, and has been for ten years, an exercise in potential energy for me. I learned about this concept way back in high school, when I was still capable of absorbing new information. It has a lot to do with that Newton guy who believed that an object at rest tended to stay at rest, unless acted upon by an outside force. Only in my case, I tend to stay at home unless acted upon by my wife. I will most gladly pursue as little activity as I can get away with on any given weekend, until that moment that the pendulum has reached its furthest point from equilibrium. It was time to get up off the couch and interact with the world.
But first we had to drive. We drove for more than two hours, which took me neatly out of my comfort zone and put me squarely in a place where I had visited several times before, but had to lug bags of groceries and changes of clothes in order to achieve a relative level of calm. My little family had their own room. It was our oasis in the frozen Sierra. I never even bothered to fully unpack my bag because I knew that it would soon be Sunday, and we would head back down those same stairs and load everything back into the car and drive again.
Only this time we would be heading in the opposite direction. We would be going home. This is often the time that my wife takes advantage of that corollary that suggests that an object in motion tends to stay in motion by asking me about the next trip. But I knew that when I got there, I would need to take those carelessly wadded socks and sweatshirts and put them into the laundry. It's part of the deal. We weren't gone long enough to have to wash the clothes we took, and we are still not wealthy enough to simply leave the clothes that we dragged along in the drawers for the next unsuspecting guest.
And we brought home a bonus: Instead of groceries, we lugged a plastic bag full of compost, generated by four families and their teenaged offspring. The load felt lighter, and we were headed downhill. Still, I felt tired as the miles rolled by. I knew the next day would a return to pattern. All of that kinetic energy would be turned once again into potential. Another potential vacation. But not until I get some rest first.
But first we had to drive. We drove for more than two hours, which took me neatly out of my comfort zone and put me squarely in a place where I had visited several times before, but had to lug bags of groceries and changes of clothes in order to achieve a relative level of calm. My little family had their own room. It was our oasis in the frozen Sierra. I never even bothered to fully unpack my bag because I knew that it would soon be Sunday, and we would head back down those same stairs and load everything back into the car and drive again.
Only this time we would be heading in the opposite direction. We would be going home. This is often the time that my wife takes advantage of that corollary that suggests that an object in motion tends to stay in motion by asking me about the next trip. But I knew that when I got there, I would need to take those carelessly wadded socks and sweatshirts and put them into the laundry. It's part of the deal. We weren't gone long enough to have to wash the clothes we took, and we are still not wealthy enough to simply leave the clothes that we dragged along in the drawers for the next unsuspecting guest.
And we brought home a bonus: Instead of groceries, we lugged a plastic bag full of compost, generated by four families and their teenaged offspring. The load felt lighter, and we were headed downhill. Still, I felt tired as the miles rolled by. I knew the next day would a return to pattern. All of that kinetic energy would be turned once again into potential. Another potential vacation. But not until I get some rest first.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
For Ever
I watched my son and his friend, up to their teenaged chins in snow, carrying on for quite a while. They discussed. They argued. They laughed and agreed again. During this time, they continued to move great chunks of ice and snow from the hole they were making in the drifts behind the cabin where we were staying. It was not the first fort they had constructed together, and it probably won't be the last, but in that quiet moment as the two of them set back about their work, I felt a twinge of jealousy.
I have built my share of forts, by myself and with others. I have made forts with my son. I have been on that very same hillside, tossing shovel after shovel full of cold, wet snow around in an attempt to generate a place to relax after a tough sled run, or a hole into which one could evade a fusillade of enemy projectiles. I didn't envy the fort. I envied the friendship.
When I was growing up, I never had a best friend without strings attached. The kid who lived down the street from me was mine via the coincidence of our neighborhood. He came into my life as a matter of course. His house was on the way to the elementary school we both would be attending. For all those years, it never occurred to me that I might have done better taking my chances on the open market, rather than suffer the extended verbal abuse that I foolishly surrendered to. It never occurred to me that there might be something better, just a couple of blocks over.
Of course, the circumstances that brought my son and his best friend together were not radically different from the way I was thrown together with mine. They were tossed into a childcare mix that proved convenient for the parents. It was a happy bit of luck that turned this association into a relationship that is still thriving as it meanders into its second decade. By the time I no longer had to rely on company to get me to school, high school, I had finally begun to figure out what I needed for a friend.
And in that moment when my past and my son's present began to coalesce, I realized that I didn't need to be jealous at all. The forts and snow adventures of my youth were shared with my brothers. They were the friends I had been forgetting.
I have built my share of forts, by myself and with others. I have made forts with my son. I have been on that very same hillside, tossing shovel after shovel full of cold, wet snow around in an attempt to generate a place to relax after a tough sled run, or a hole into which one could evade a fusillade of enemy projectiles. I didn't envy the fort. I envied the friendship.
When I was growing up, I never had a best friend without strings attached. The kid who lived down the street from me was mine via the coincidence of our neighborhood. He came into my life as a matter of course. His house was on the way to the elementary school we both would be attending. For all those years, it never occurred to me that I might have done better taking my chances on the open market, rather than suffer the extended verbal abuse that I foolishly surrendered to. It never occurred to me that there might be something better, just a couple of blocks over.
Of course, the circumstances that brought my son and his best friend together were not radically different from the way I was thrown together with mine. They were tossed into a childcare mix that proved convenient for the parents. It was a happy bit of luck that turned this association into a relationship that is still thriving as it meanders into its second decade. By the time I no longer had to rely on company to get me to school, high school, I had finally begun to figure out what I needed for a friend.
And in that moment when my past and my son's present began to coalesce, I realized that I didn't need to be jealous at all. The forts and snow adventures of my youth were shared with my brothers. They were the friends I had been forgetting.
Monday, January 28, 2013
A Disturbance In The Force
It's not a real big disturbance. Not like when they blew up Alderaan. Ouch. This was more like a wave you might feel on the opposite side of a cantina in Mos Eisley when Greedo walked in. If ;you made it past those first few sentences, then you probably already know that J.J. Abrams has been contracted to direct the next Star Wars film. I can say "next" because, after years of having to explain which "first" Star Wars movie I was referencing, when everyone knows that Episode IV: A New Hope is number one, while number four in the series calls itself number one. Mister Abrams will be in charge of number seven. Lucky number seven.
No pressure. Just the desires and expectations of two generations of geeks who know what THX-1138 was, and have lengthy discussions about why it's important that Han shot first. Sure, there are millions of dollars at stake. Billions, probably. But those dollars will exist with or without pleasing the nerds who are busily imagining how the guy who rebooted the Star Trek series could possibly do the same for what is, for some, the sacred text. And what about Harrison Ford? How could he be coaxed back into that black vest one more time? Will Princess Leia be in space rehab by now? Will Mark Hamill be able to parlay all this attention into a sequel to Corvette Summer?
And so on. J.J. Abrams has quite the resume already. He's a little like Dan Fouts. A great quarterback, but he never played in the Super Bowl. Now he does color commentary for ABC and talks about his glory days. He's even in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. What if he had played in a Super Bowl and lost? Would he still have a bust in Canton? If J.J. turns out something more on the Phantom Menace side of things, he might have to go back to his booth at Comic-Con. Or maybe the Empire really will Strike Back.
I can dream, can't I?
No pressure. Just the desires and expectations of two generations of geeks who know what THX-1138 was, and have lengthy discussions about why it's important that Han shot first. Sure, there are millions of dollars at stake. Billions, probably. But those dollars will exist with or without pleasing the nerds who are busily imagining how the guy who rebooted the Star Trek series could possibly do the same for what is, for some, the sacred text. And what about Harrison Ford? How could he be coaxed back into that black vest one more time? Will Princess Leia be in space rehab by now? Will Mark Hamill be able to parlay all this attention into a sequel to Corvette Summer?
And so on. J.J. Abrams has quite the resume already. He's a little like Dan Fouts. A great quarterback, but he never played in the Super Bowl. Now he does color commentary for ABC and talks about his glory days. He's even in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. What if he had played in a Super Bowl and lost? Would he still have a bust in Canton? If J.J. turns out something more on the Phantom Menace side of things, he might have to go back to his booth at Comic-Con. Or maybe the Empire really will Strike Back.
I can dream, can't I?
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Hey Officer Friendly!
The school police in Fontana, California are not going to let themselves be caught in the crossfire. The school district purchased fourteen LE6940 rifles last fall, and took delivery a week before the shooting in Newtown, Connecticut. Officers spent their Christmas break undergoing forty hours of training on these fancy new guns. And to think I spent that time hanging around the house with my family.
Fontana school police Chief Billy Green said he used money from fingerprinting fees to purchase the guns for fourteen thousand dollars after identifying a "critical vulnerability" in his force's ability to protect students. The officers, who already wear sidearms, wouldn't be able to stop a shooter like the one in Connecticut, he said Wednesday.
Fontana school police Chief Billy Green said he used money from fingerprinting fees to purchase the guns for fourteen thousand dollars after identifying a "critical vulnerability" in his force's ability to protect students. The officers, who already wear sidearms, wouldn't be able to stop a shooter like the one in Connecticut, he said Wednesday.
"They're not walking around
telling kids, 'Hurry up and get to class' with a gun around their neck,"
the chief said. "Parents need to know that if there was a shooter on
their child's campus that was equipped with body armor or a rifle, we
would be limited in our ability to stop that threat to their children." That might get your everyday tardy student to start considering body armor, however.
There were some who wondered if spending fourteen thousand dollars on assault weapons was a wise expenditure in a district that recently saved millions by restructuring guidance services. Of course, the price is right. For every kid who falls through the cracks and doesn't get the counseling he or she needs, the friendly folks in Fontana have a way to correct the problem. If necessary.
Now hurry up and get to class.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
The Slime From Your Video
At this point in my life, as a participating American, you might think that I would be rooting for the success of all U.S. businesses. I would like to believe it's me that is putting the "us" back into U.S. Not so with Blockbuster Video. As I have written here many times, my career as a video store manager was cut short by the ubiquitous appearance, seemingly overnight, of this rental chain on every available parcel of land across this great land of ours. There was a time when you could make your way across a city by stopping first at a Blockbuster, then at a Starbucks, then repeat the pattern until you hit the outskirts of town. The "superstore" that plopped down in the middle of Boulder in those latter years of the twentieth century put a nice office furniture sized hole in my dreams to live out my days renting "Top Gun" to the masses and answering the musical question: "What'snewthat'sgoodthat'sinthatIhaven'tseen?"
In the next few weeks, Blockbuster will close hundreds of stores, and thousands of employees will lose their jobs. Now that companies like Netflix have all but eliminated the need for that periodically arduous trip to the video store, the need for each block to have a buster has diminished. Soon there will be only five hundred of these relics left. Dish Network, which would much rather have you push a button in your living room to rent your family's weekend entertainment, bought the lumbering giant back in 2010, after it went into bankruptcy. The fact that it has taken another two years for the axe to fall on the rest of the brick and mortar establishments speaks more to nostalgia than to a solid business plan.
In the meantime, Video Station, the independent store that served as our main non-chain competition for all those years, continues to live on in Boulder. Though they will be moving to smaller digs on the outskirts of town, they have outlasted the chains, and maintain a selection that exceeds anything offered by streaming services, with a knowledgeable staff that will most likely feel the downsizing pinch with the change in location. I will shed no tears for the corporation that once diminished my dreams, but I do feel bad for all those blue polo-shirt-wearing drones who will now have to look for work at Best Buy. The Blockbuster is dead, long live the Video Station.
In the next few weeks, Blockbuster will close hundreds of stores, and thousands of employees will lose their jobs. Now that companies like Netflix have all but eliminated the need for that periodically arduous trip to the video store, the need for each block to have a buster has diminished. Soon there will be only five hundred of these relics left. Dish Network, which would much rather have you push a button in your living room to rent your family's weekend entertainment, bought the lumbering giant back in 2010, after it went into bankruptcy. The fact that it has taken another two years for the axe to fall on the rest of the brick and mortar establishments speaks more to nostalgia than to a solid business plan.
In the meantime, Video Station, the independent store that served as our main non-chain competition for all those years, continues to live on in Boulder. Though they will be moving to smaller digs on the outskirts of town, they have outlasted the chains, and maintain a selection that exceeds anything offered by streaming services, with a knowledgeable staff that will most likely feel the downsizing pinch with the change in location. I will shed no tears for the corporation that once diminished my dreams, but I do feel bad for all those blue polo-shirt-wearing drones who will now have to look for work at Best Buy. The Blockbuster is dead, long live the Video Station.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Puca
The challenges of being an adult are vast and expansive, almost as difficult as those facing a child. That is why I'm encouraging us all to consider the Manti Te’o option of having an imaginary friend. If you're unfamiliar with Mister Te'o, he is the former Notre Dame linebacker who was the runner-up for this year's Heisman Trophy. He also helped his team, the Fighting Irish, to an undefeated regular season and a shot at the National Championship of college football. He also had an invisible girlfriend.
Maybe it says something about the stresses of big-time college football, or the quality of the education available at Notre Dame, but carrying on a relationship for three years with a person who only existed in the thin film of reality known as the Internet doesn't sound completely on the level. Unless, as I have suggested, this was done purely for the purposes of generating security in an otherwise dangerous and discouraging world. I quote the Atlanta Rhythm Section: "Imaginary lovers/Never turn you down/When all the others turn you away/They're around."
You're away from home. You're isolated from your friends and family. Your sole focus is on keeping your scholarship. A voice calls out in the night: "Hi, I'm Lennay." Did I mention that this is a kid who is going to a Catholic school? Sometimes imaginary is better than the reality. No sin in imagination, right?
Which brings us to Lance Armstrong. Why didn't he go the imaginary friend route? Perhaps, since the rest of his real friends have been thrown under the bus by the machine that was his competitive drive to be the best. If only he had told Oprah that a six foot three inch tall rabbit gave him the drugs.
Maybe it says something about the stresses of big-time college football, or the quality of the education available at Notre Dame, but carrying on a relationship for three years with a person who only existed in the thin film of reality known as the Internet doesn't sound completely on the level. Unless, as I have suggested, this was done purely for the purposes of generating security in an otherwise dangerous and discouraging world. I quote the Atlanta Rhythm Section: "Imaginary lovers/Never turn you down/When all the others turn you away/They're around."
You're away from home. You're isolated from your friends and family. Your sole focus is on keeping your scholarship. A voice calls out in the night: "Hi, I'm Lennay." Did I mention that this is a kid who is going to a Catholic school? Sometimes imaginary is better than the reality. No sin in imagination, right?
Which brings us to Lance Armstrong. Why didn't he go the imaginary friend route? Perhaps, since the rest of his real friends have been thrown under the bus by the machine that was his competitive drive to be the best. If only he had told Oprah that a six foot three inch tall rabbit gave him the drugs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
