Month: April 2013
Predictable
Of course the internet connection at home goes completely haywire when finally we have a chance to Skype with K for more than ten minutes before school.
Effort
Dear Terrence,
There’s really only one thing that’s required to pass my class: effort. There’s really only one thing required to be successful in life: effort. There’s really only one thing necessary for happiness: effort. There’s really only one recipe for healthy relationships: effort. There’s really only one path to riches of any sort, be they fiscal, emotional, intrapersonal: effort.
Yet you don’t tend to put forth any at all. I have to fight with you to keep your head up. I have to fight with you to keep a pencil in your hand. I have to fight with you some days even to look at the paper you’re working on.
“You won’t be able to do this in high school and pass,” I explain one day. “Certainly not college. And you won’t last a second on any job with this level of effort.”
“I know,” you respond. You say you’ll put forth effort in high school.
But you’ve created for yourself a habit that will be difficult to break. You certainly won’t be able to do it all at once, “cold turkey.” You’ll need to set milestones and achieve them, moving the goal line a little further back each time. And you have to begin now: high school will be too late. You’ll get so far behind so quickly, and you’ll reach an age at which you can make the decision for yourself about continuing your education, that I’m afraid you’ll just drop out.
And then what?
Concerned,
Your Teacher in Room 302
Gathering Clouds
We’ve had a mysterious leak in our basement every time we’ve had significant rainfall. It can be a torrential downpour or a simple three-day gentle drenching: the results are the same. Well, that makes it sound like it’s happened several times. It’s only happened twice. We think it’s coming from the deck flashing: I suspect it’s like so many other things in the house: poorly installed.
With forecasters saying a huge — absolutely mind-blowingly large — storm is on the way, duct tape appears and we compromise on a quick fix. Or rather a quick temporary fix.
The storm clouds build, darken, and spit a little rain, but nothing terribly significant. Perhaps it was all in vain?
I hope not — a good shower to wash the pollen from everything would be just about perfect.
Handful of Hair
Dear Teresa,
I cannot imagine what it’s like to feel the kind of uncontrolled rage you felt today. To be so out of control, so boiling with rage, that you don’t pay attention to who is around and whom you are swinging at that you strike not one but two teachers — that would terrify me. I would be afraid about what I might do to those around me, to those whom I love, to those with whom I work. And yet afterward, you were so calm, so matter-of-fact about it.
“That girl said such and such,” you explained as I escorted you down the hall to the office, “and so I,” and your arms began swinging wildly in imitation of how you initiated the fight.
It scares me to think of what your life might be like if this is your reaction to something as petty as a literal “he said that you said” situation. Gossip brings out violence in you? What a miserable life you’ll have, then, if you can’t foster at least some slight self-control.
Worried,
Your Teacher
Tabula Rasa
Dear Terrence,
I handed out report cards today along with the notices to your parents about which classes some of you guys are failing for the year. Of course we only include the core academic classes in that list: English, science, math, and social studies. You’re failing all four.
Why?
I think we all know, but you provided eloquently ironic commentary on this when I asked you guys to do your quarterly grade assessment. Three simple questions:
- What are your grades like?
- Are your grades what you expected? Why are/aren’t they like you expected?
- What specific actions can you take to change this for the fourth quarter?
When I took up the papers, yours was blank. Just your name in the corner. Nothing else.
This has your modus operandi throughout the school year. When I ask you about it, you always respond the same: “It’s hard. I don’t get it.” Surely you can’t say the same thing about this, though. Surely you understand this. It’s simple. But it’s hard: self-reflection, honest self-reflection, always is.
As I was thinking about today’s letter to you, I was helping my daughter with her homework. She gets monthly homework tables, and she’s trying to get the whole month done in a single week. Today she had to do the following:
Remember your 3-D shapes. Draw a sphere, cylinder, cube, cone, and pyramid. List something around your house that is shaped like each one.
“Daddy!” she exclaimed, “I can’t do pyramids!”
We looked online, found a drawing of a pyramid, talked about the lighter and darker lines, and she said, “Okay, I can try.”
That’s all you need to do. I’m not looking for perfection; no teacher is looking for perfection. We just need effort. You just need effort, because you’re creating such dangerous habits for yourself with this chronic underachieving.
If I could, I’d sit by you all the time, like I sat by my daughter, but I can’t. No one can. It’s the tragedy and beauty of growing up.
With hope,
Your Teacher
Just the Two of Us
A Sunday morning that begins like this is likely to end as a somewhat sad Sunday. Not enough baggage for the whole family. Someone's staying. In this case, the Girl and I as K and the Boy head to Poland.
We try to make the best of the morning. There's more tadpoling -- it's a new term for us -- and some experimentation.
We try our hand at making a dam, but it is only moderately successful. The child in me begins scheming how we could reinforce the dam, make it more nearly water tight, soon enough the Girl loses interest and we begin looking for flowers.
Some day. Some day, we'll build that dam.