Halloween 2019
Month: October 2019
Halloween Preparation
L baked cupcakes for the party we’ll be going to tomorrow evening.
The Boy and I made the jack-o-lantern.
Then the kids played Go Fish, even during a bathroom break…
Free Monday
Today was a teacher workday, one of three that we are able to take off without worry. Exchange days, they’re called. If we’ve gone to meetings and such after school, we use those hours toward the time we would have ordinarily spent in school. I didn’t have those hours, so I took a personal day.
E and I spent the morning working on the large tree that had fallen in the drainage ditch — which we call a creek — that runs behind our house. I knew that if we didn’t, the first big rain storm would cause flooding.
I didn’t realize how much of the tree was under brush and vines that I’m assuming it took down with itself as it fell. We cleared all that away so we could get to the tree, and we cut and removed as much as we could with just two of us.
E is of an age that he actually is starting to be helpful. I can pull on a large tangle of vines and have him cut the critical vines that are keeping everything locked and immobile. He can bring tools to me, help pull things up out of creekbeds, offer helpful commentary on the whole process.
Once we got that done and ate some lunch, we spent the afternoon at Denver Downs — fun with hay, ropes, and corn…
Sunday
The Boy had been waiting to work on his project.
We’d been waiting for the tree to fall.
Final Soccer Game
Looking for a Place
Everyone is looking for a place. I see it every day as a teacher of eighth-graders who try on different roles throughout the year and toy with various career goals as the months roll by. Today, we tried to help them a bit by providing a career day — probably close to fifty professionals came in to talk to kids about what their jobs entail, what they require, how they’re rewarding, how they’re frustrating. A little bit of everything.
We guided our homeroom classes through three sessions, and my homeroom’s second session was with a police detective. It quickly stopped being about potential jobs and transformed into a “… ever … ?” session. Have you ever shot someone? (No, but I’ve pointed my gun at someone.) Do criminals ever leave notes like in movies? (No, but we’ve investigated some guy who was harassing females by leaving weird notes under their windshield wipers.) Have you ever been in a car chase? (Yes, but he was intoxicated and our top speed was 38 miles per hour.) Do you ever question people in those rooms with the windows that look like a mirror? (No, our interrogation room has cameras, and any officer in the building can watch the interrogation from his or her computer.) The vet and waterworks specialist didn’t get a third of the questions.
The Girl is looking for her own place as well, specifically a place to improve her volleyball skills in the off-season. We as parents thought this would be fairly simple; we thought she’d get into any club she tried out for. After all, she played for her school, which went undefeated and won the final championship tournament. She’ll have her pick. So why waste time trying out for more than one? We never thought about the obvious: clubs that have their regulars will choose their regulars over newcomers. And so this afternoon, I got an email:
Thank you for attending tryouts for X’s 2019-20 club season. We had a record number of players trying out this year, so unfortunately we were not able to place everyone on a team. We are sorry to say that your daughter has not been selected for a X team.
I sent it to K. She texted back the obvious: “She’ll be devastated.” And she was. And we felt like terrible parents because we didn’t do the research, didn’t do the thinking. “And now all the other teams have finished tryouts — what are we going to do?”
I was angry because I thought, “If she doesn’t have the requisite skills, how is she going to get them if you don’t let her on your freaking team?!”
It turned out, though, that two teams had make-up tryouts. One was at six this evening. We learned this at 5:05. So off we went.
The club owner said at the end that every girl will get some kind of offer: “If your daughter wants to play volleyball, wants to learn volleyball, we want to help.” Already, I liked the team.
Evening Walk With the Kids
Rest
It took weeks, no months, longer than we expected, perhaps we could say longer than it should have taken. Miscommunication, delays, mistakes. More delays. More mistakes. It’s odd: had it been any other business, I would have reacted differently, we all would have most likely, but for some reason, we found we had more patience with a mortuary. Why is that? I don’t know.
I do know that Papa finally feels some closure, he said.
Tuesday
Today’s the last day of the first quarter. It’s been the same as every year: I feel like the first quarter is dragging and suddenly, we have a couple of weeks left. Once that feeling of the year speeding by settles in, I feel like the year goes by in a blink. We’re in that period of work-break-work-break that always makes the first semester seem shorter than the second. In a few days, we have two days for fall break. Then we have three weeks before Thanksgiving. That’s followed by another three weeks before Christmas. And then a few more breaks in January and February before everything dries up and we’re all dying for any kind of break at all. March and April seem endless. And it’s just October and I’m already thinking about the end of the year…
That means the Girl’s birthday is approaching — officially a teenager, with all the joys and challenges (i.e., challenges to authority) that entails. And all the changes in relationships that entails — the pulling away that I know is coming, is already manifesting itself, that I worry is something I’m doing wrong while simultaneously reassuring myself that it’s normal behavior for this age, that I acted like that at this age, that my parents and I survived it as will the Girl, K, and I (and E — don’t forget about the effect it has on him) will live through it.
Still, I find myself thinking, “How can it be ten years ago that she looked like this? It just feels like a couple…”
Reunion
We took Papa back to the old country for a family reunion this afternoon, driving on backroads so rough that I thought we must have somehow teleported to Poland in the mid-90s. It was just the boys; the girls had volleyball tryouts and exam prep to complete today. So off the three of us went to meet with family we hadn’t seen in years.
Reunion
The last time we went to this particular family reunion was seven years ago. L was younger than the Boy is now, and the Boy wasn’t. Nana was still able to travel, and several relatives who lived in the area still lived in the area.
Teens from that reunion are now married, likely with children. Some of them might have even been there. For me, most of them were unknown faces. Many of them were from Papa’s father’s brothers’ families, and I had seen them only a handful of times in my life.
Still, many of them — the older family — knew me, of course, and came to talk to me.
“How’s your dad doing?” was the common question. They asked Papa as well. His answer was never wavering: “I’m hanging in there.”
Tossing with Papa
Big Brother
We got access today to some new software intended to help us rein in students’ abuse of Chromebooks. Basically, it enables all teachers to become Big Brother to students: we can see every single thing they do, block sites, shut down tabs, lock computers — the whole deal short of turning off the computer remotely. Since it’s based on time of day and rosters, I see the activity of students in, say, my fifth-period class whether or not they’re in the room: if they’re on the computer, I see it.
So when I saw one of my students who was serving in-school suspension on YouTube, I closed the tab. When he started searching for Louis Vuitton shoes, I closed that down.
When he started searching for it again, I locked his computer with the message, “You won’t be able to afford those shoes if you don’t have a good job. You’ll have difficulty getting a good job if you don’t get a good education.” After a few minutes, I unlocked his computer, and he went back to luxury shoe searches. I locked it again, leaving it locked until the end of the session.
Another student who was in the room with him was talking about how this kid’s computer kept getting locked up. “He was so mad,” this kid told his friend.
If this were a kid who normally did his work, I probably would have just ignored it. If I hadn’t just gotten access to the software (and the class hadn’t been taking a test), I probably wouldn’t have noticed it as I wouldn’t have been on the computer and wouldn’t have had the program open. Then again, if he hadn’t been in ISS, he would have been in my room, taking the test.
If, if, if…
Braces
The Girl got braces today. She wasn’t happy. Neither was our bank account. But such is life for us all…
Family Sunday
It was a dreary, rainy day today, but none of the adults were complaining. Far from it: it’s been so long since we’ve had any rain that I wouldn’t have minded if it rained all day long. But E was sad: we’d planned on going to the zoo since the morning because, according to the forecast, the rain was supposed to stop after lunch. It didn’t, so we didn’t.
Instead, we stayed inside and played Peanut Butter and X — can’t remember the other half. Maybe cabbage? It’s basically the card game BS. It’s a silly game that a seven-year-old can understand, though he doesn’t understand the nuance.
“Now I have to lie!” he proclaimed at one point.
“Now we know that you don’t have what you’re going to say you have,” L laughed.
“Now don’t give him a hard time,” I chided.
“Now I don’t want to play!” E fussed.
We talked him down from his frustration and continued, even managing to make it fun again.
Afterward, I decided it was about time to teach L how to play hearts. We played an open hand with three people so I could show them how to play, but I was doubtful from the outset that the Boy would be able to keep up.
In the evening, we expanded our circle, playing a full game (i.e., four people) by adding K and Papa to the mix. After four hands, we were all virtually tied. Probably the perfect way to end.
Loss
The Boy was the goalie when it happened — the break, through the pack that always orbits the ball, past the last defenders who have spent most of the year looking on, that left the Boy basically one-on-one with the attacker.
From the moment the break started, I fear for the worst. And a few short seconds later, there it was. The first goal of the game. The only goal of the game. The team’s first loss. With E manning the goal.
I knew he would be distraught about it. “I’m no good at defense,” he declared.
The question is, will this affect his love for the game? Can we help him move past it? How long will this bother him? These were the thoughts I rehearsed on the way back to the house.
By the time we got home, there was no real mention of it. No mention of it for the rest of the day. But what about Tuesday, when it’s time to go to soccer practice?
Bethal Bash 2019
Perfection
Lena’s team went undefeated this year, including winning the championship tournament tonight.
So Mean
Conversation One
“He knocked me down, and I stayed calm. I didn’t even say, ‘Why do you have to be so mean?'”
The Boy and I were on our way back home, and he was explaining some adventure or other that he’d had during recess. He’s taken to playing soccer then, and he’s often telling me about what happened during the game.
“Why would you have said, ‘Why do you have to be so mean?'” I asked.
“Well, I didn’t say it.”
“But why would you have said it? Why are you specifically pointing out to me why you didn’t say it?” I suspected it was because someone had said that to him at some point.
“Well, I was playing soccer the other day with X” (I can’t remember the name) “and I tried to sweep the ball away from him. I didn’t mean to, but I knocked him down. He just jumped up and screamed, ‘Why do you have to be so mean!?'”
It’s usually the Boy on the receiving end of such things, and I’m always trying to help him see the other point of view: perhaps it was an accident. “Oh, no, Daddy, it wasn’t an accident,” he usually insists. So I asked him, “Did you tell him you didn’t mean to?”
“I tried to,” he explained with a frustrated edge in his voice. “I said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to knock you down,’ but he just walked away from me and ignored me.”
Sometimes, I feel like the Boy can’t win: even when he’s the (accidental) aggressor, it somehow ends with him feeling like a victim.
Conversation Two
On the way to soccer practice the evening, the Boy brought up Frida Kahlo. One of his multi-age class groups (they’re called “houses”) is named after her. “Do you know who she was?” he asked.
“Was she the Mexican painter?” I asked, thinking of the uni-brow painter who did so many self-portraits.
“Mexican? I thought she was German,” he replied quizzically.
I’m not up on painters, so I just suggested that perhaps I was thinking of someone else. “Was she friends with Trotsky?” I asked, knowing the response.
“Who was Trotsky?”
Who indeed.
“A generally bad man,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because he was responsible for the deaths of many thousands of people.”
He thought about it for a moment then asked, “Were they innocent or did they deserve to be shot?” He paused, thought some more, then corrected himself. “Well, I don’t mean deserved to be shot. They were just bad. Were they bad?”
From there, the conversation devolved: “Oh like Hitler?” “Who killed more?” “Who’s Stalin?” “Did anyone kill more than him?” “Mao what?”
Then I got to wondering: on the playground were these men the aggressors or the aggrieved? And how in the hell did that conversation end up there?
Sunday Downtown
I stayed home to get caught up and prepared for tomorrow. The rest of the folks went downtown. Then gave the girls the Fuji x100…
October Saturday
It was finally fall today: temperatures never rose into the sixties, which meant that today was literally thirty degrees — thirty degrees — cooler than yesterday. This made the soccer game much more manageable, for players and spectators alike.
He had a couple of breaks, and one looked like it would have been a sure goal: the only defender was in front of him, running, not watching E at all.
“And then my foot touched the top of the ball instead of dribbling,” he explained later, “and I just fell.”
Later, he made it through three defenders and slipped the ball just past the goalie. He fell on the easy shot, made a goal on the tough one. Sounds like something I would do.
