Month: January 2017
Sins of Omission
One of the things I like best about being Catholic is, ironically enough, confession. At first, it was a problematic concept for me. The idea of telling someone where you’ve fallen short is always an uncomfortable exercise, and for someone who grew up thinking, like many Protestants, that if it’s Catholic, it must be wrong (of the devil, even), my first time in confession was initially a little awkward. But having such a conversation — and any good confession involves conversation — left me feeling lighter, more alert.
It’s not just the confession that helps, though. The preparation for it, the examination of one’s conscience, forces me to look at my own actions with a critical eye, and critical examination of one’s life is always beneficial.
I find, though, that I tend to focus more on sins of commission than sins omission. I suppose it’s easier to remember things I did than to recall about the things I didn’t do. If I didn’t do them, I likely didn’t think about them, making it tricky to recall them.
Helping with the Zurek
The little man, helping as always.
Snowy Sunday
Even after a second day of sledding, this time in even colder weather, the Boy was ready for a bit of ice cream.
If only he could get it out…
First Snow 2017
Like most snow storms in the South, this one was the talk of news and neighbors for almost a week before it hit. The possibility of snow grew into the certainty of snow, and the depth of that certain snow increased as well. By the time I went to bed, meteorologists were predicting six inches for our area. That's like three feet of snow in northern climes -- something of note.
The kids grew increasingly excited as the projected storm's intensity promised to be greater and greater. E was squealing on a regular basis Friday night with excitement about the impending snow.
What we got in our area was somewhat more restrained, though. Probably an inch, maybe an inch and a half, of icy, hard snow greeted us this morning. The Boy was ready to go, though.
"I'm going to eat half a bagel for breakfast, then get dressed, then check the street, then go to R's house." By nine, he was out. Shortly after that, the Girl joined him. Shortly after that, the neighborhood joined them.
In the afternoon, with such a gorgeous blue sky, we had to go for a walk, and with the roads clearing, we decided to go to Conestee Park. Wearing his gum boots, the Boy had to walk through as many puddles as possible, and both of the kids had to grab, fling, kick, and toss every bit of snow possible. The result: two wet, tired kids. Exhausted.
Until we arrived back at the house and saw the neighborhood kids sledding. Amazing what that will do for one's energy.
The Neighbors, Redux
Some years ago, I wrote about a house we'd discovered under construction in the Asheville area. It's on the market now, for just over $10 million. The Trulia listing reads:
An elegant French chateau constructed of 3" thick limestone and the utmost quality styled for today. A complete Roman Spa, entertainment area with card room, kitchen, pool, wine tasting room and theater entertain guests and owners regally. Formal rooms abound including a very special oak bar. There are 4 full kitchens, 4 garages, HVAC is water furnace.
A blatant attempt to make one's own Biltmore, the house is certainly huge: at 15,000 square feet, though, it's not even 1/10 of Biltmore's 175,000 square feet.
Twenty Years Ago Today
The dinner was infinite. Every two hours or so they brought out another course. And there were snacks on the tables at all times. We had cutlet for the main course followed later by meat and rice; the egg-roll-type things were served with barszcz; cold cuts stayed on the table all evening, too. And of course there was vodka. The seventy some odd bottles R made certainly did not go to waste.
There was a most interesting traditional dance. E began waltzing with R, then someone would approach them, clap, and cut in. Whenever someone was done dancing with E, he/she/they (often couples danced with E, making a strange circle) headed over to where R was. After dropping money into a hat held by some lady, the shook R’s hand and took a shot which R had poured.
During the dance the band would often stop playing and whoever was dancing with E would make up a verse, often belting it out while another sang the slightly out of tune harmony so common to this area. One lady must have taken six or more verses.
After this was completed, the crowd grabbed E and R and tossed them up and down. R had quite a frightful expression the entire time. It looked like a blast to me, but R solemnly informed me, “It’s dangerous! I could have smashed my head on the floor or the ceiling!”
Joe and I went out for a walk this morning to take some pictures. He did a lot this weekend to help me with my new camera. I feel much more confident in my picture-taking ability now.
Journal entry from my first Polish wedding
Crossing
Dear Terrence,
I know some of the materials — most of the materials — I give you are merely crossing your desk. I stand here at the hole punch, making three even holes in these Frayer diagrams, preparing them for a long and lustrous life in your binder, but I understand that this paper, like so many others, simply won’t make it there. You don’t have a pencil most days, and you often can’t remember your password to use our Moodle installation, so how can I expect you to keep up with a single sheet of paper? I just punch the holes out of habit, I suppose.
Yet it’s not asking that much. I’ve told you things like this before, but the only really significant thing that separates you from the kids in the “smart” class is not intelligence but habits. I have students in that class, Terrence, that can produce materials I gave them at the beginning of the year. I can say, “Get out the graphic organizer we used for project X because we’re going to add some things to it and reuse it for this project.” And a fair number of them — a majority, I would say — can produce the material in question. That’s why they’re in that class. They’re not smarter than you. They care to be organized, and they are, therefore, simply more organized than you.
For you, though, the materials just cross your desk and often end up in the floor. It’s like so many things in your life . Even your housing situation seems to be just crossing the arc of your life: you don’t speak of living somewhere, only staying. So with so many things in flux in your life, its little wonder that this too is in flux. It seems like yet another example of non-curriculum skills we need to be teaching you, but in the age of testing, testing, testing, it just seems to fall through the cracks for all of us as you guys are crossing through our classrooms on your way to the future. Perhaps we all just need to cross ourselves and try harder.
A bit cross with myself and with you, as well as frustrated,
Your Teacher
Gone
The Boy was playing CandyLand with K, and after he'd won the first game, he was eager to play another.
"I'm going to win again!" he proclaimed, and for a moment, it looked as if he were going to do just that. He shot ahead with double color after double color. Then K drew the gum drop and zoomed ahead.
"Oh, I'll never win!" he proclaimed, frustrated.
"Yes, but you might draw another candy piece and move ahead, or Mama might draw the candy cane when you're way past it and have to go back many, many spaces," I reasoned. But as I often remind The Girl, there's no reasoning with a four-year-old. He continued playing a bit halfheartedly. He drew a candy piece eventually, but K had shot so far ahead by then that his chances of winning really and truly were gone.
And with that loss, his desire to play was gone as well.
I remembered the whole time they played the new buzzword in education: grit. It's really nothing more than perseverance in the face of difficulty and setback, but educators and researchers in education like new jargon. (I suspect it's mainly from the latter.) And so "grit" is thrown around in education blogs and educator gatherings quite often these days. It was rewarding to see The Boy showing some of this perseverance. It took a good bit of encouragement, but he finished the game, learned the lesson (?), and we had a nice close to the afternoon.
The next night, The Boy and I are working with Legos. I was building a jail for him, and he was building a mystery. Not having a plan, he found the process a little slow-going and frustrating.
"I just can't get it," he fussed as he couldn't get two pieces joined. He threw them down, and for just a moment, I thought the chances of a relaxing evening of Lego-ing were gone. But just for a moment. Seeing everything as a teaching opportunity -- or at least trying to -- I showed him how to get the pieces together, then pulled them apart and had him try again.
"I got it!"
Two opportunities to teach that could have disappeared but didn't. The trick for me, though, is to transfer that to my students. Everything can be a moment to teach, a learning opportunity, for the at-risk kids in my charge. They lack social skills, patience, anger management methods, volume control, grit (there it is again), a growth mindset (another edu-speak jargon term that's hot now). Every teaching moment can't bloom -- I'd never get to the curriculum some days. The balance must be there, but there's so much they need before they're gone off to high school...
Inspired by the Daily Post’s prompt of the day: Gone.
Tree Lighting
Didn’t ever post this, I think.