We’re not the powerhouse we were a couple of years ago when the girls took the state title. But the girls love the game nonetheless.
Start of the Final Season
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20
Twenty years ago this all started. Nineteen years ago we moved to America. Almost eighteen years ago we became three. Twelve years ago, four. Along the way we’ve added a cat, a dog, and a frog. We’ve added a house, and some cars came into our lives and then exited. We’ve moved a time or two. We’ve changed jobs a time or three. We’ve renovated a bathroom, then a kitchen, then a carport, then another bathroom, then a basement. We’ve pulled up shrubs and planted trees, added a shed and a smoker to the backyard along with swings, a trampoline, and some hammocks. We’ve fought yellow jackets in the yard and battled roaches in the house. We’ve turned a mixed surface parking area into a lovely concrete parking lot. We’ve planted blueberries, tomatoes, zucchini, raspberries, peas, elderberries, radishes, figs, cucumbers, blackberries, and more that I can’t even begin to recall. We’ve cut down trees in the backyard and let bushes grow into trees in the front. We’ve been to countless volleyball games, soccer games, and basketball games. We’ve had a leaking roof, a flooding basement, various electrical mysteries. We’ve lost parents and gained friends, lost touch with friends and turned friends into new family. Uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents have passed away. We’ve amassed a wealth of Christmas decorations and gone through passing periods of Halloween decor. We’ve walked around these blocks in our neighborhood more times than we care to recall, ridden our bikes together miles upon miles, played boardgames, card games, and video games until we’re tired of them and they become permanent closet inhabitants. We’ve cooked thousands of pierogies, traveled thousands of miles, spent thousands of dollars on things that later turned out to be less than important. We’ve been to the emergency room, to family care physicians, dermatologists, gastroenterologists, dentists, and orthodontists. We’ve had surgeries and celebrations, baptisms and funerals, and quiet evenings looking at the Christmas tree and drinking tea. We’ve had ups, downs, lateral and diagonal movements. We’ve laughed, cried, and sat bewildered. We’ve hoped and regretted. We’ve planned, failed, and succeeded.
Through it all, this has been the one, stable constant. And that’s all I need to look to the next twenty years with a smile on my slowly-wrinkling face.
Added Weight
We all came back to school hoping this year would be better, hoping that some of the bureaucratic micro-managing the district is forcing on our school would lessen somewhat. Last year it was reports that disappeared into the netherworld, reflections that sat in shared Google Drive folders unread (at least nothing was said about them), data that was just useless numbers comparing (incoming cliche alert) apples to oranges. I wrote a sixteen-page document detailing all the problems with all the nonsense and sent it further up the food chain.
We thought — worst case scenario — that we would at least stay the same, that the bureaucracy would just level out and be consistent with last year’s level of paperwork. We hoped — best case scenario — that it would lessen at least a little. What we didn’t fear was that even more nonsense would get dumped on us, but perhaps we should have.
Perhaps I’m biased, but I feel the English department is getting the worst deal of all. We got new textbooks this year, and we were told we have to follow the district-provided pacing guide exactly and administer the district-provided final assessment without exception. We have to weave in other district requirements for our school without regard to whether the requirements help us become better teachers, without regard to whether the tool we have to use to do this is effective, without regard to any conflicts that might arise between this requirement and those thirteen-thousand other requirements.
Last year, we had two required “Common Formative Assessments” (God, how I hate that term now) each quarter. These were multiple-choice assessments administered through Mastery Connect (the worst program on the planet — a veritable cornucopia of bad design and worse implementation) that all grade-level English teachers had to give. They were to cover one standard. The problem is, all the questions from the district required question bank (we were told we were not allowed to create our own questions) accompany texts, so to get ten questions about one standard, we were having kids read five or six texts. An assessment we were told should take fifteen to twenty minutes invariable took the entire class period. Occasionally, the questions themselves were useless. If the standard was about finding evidence in a text, the question would often be a “Part B” question: “What is the best evidence to support the answer in ‘Part A’.” Where’s part A? Who knows? Buried somewhere in Mastery Connect.
This year, though, we’re required to do three CFAs (we love our acronyms in education) per quarter. That means three full class periods to administer an assessment that — here’s the real kicker — none of the English teachers even think is useful. It is, in short, a total waste of time so people further up the chain can write reports for people further up the chain from them.
All without asking for any feedback about the efficacy of the procedures we have in place.
Additionally, we now have a required CSA — Common Summative Assessment. We’ll just use the district required unit test the fulfill that requirement, but the first unit’s test is eighteen pages long. We estimate it will take at least two class periods. And right after taking that test, they’re taking a benchmark test (for which we shorten all classes that day to half an hour and give them the entire morning), which is essentially the same damn test.
And we’re to do that every single quarter.
That’s six or seven days per quarter just for assessments that we the teachers don’t even think are effective. That’s twenty-four to twenty-eight days of the school year. That’s 13-16% of the entire school year just for this asinine testing. And that doesn’t even take into consideration the other days for other alphabet soup tests. Taken altogether, we’re looking at nearly 20% of the school year spent taking useless multiple choice tests.
And when students don’t do as well as we think they should, do we step back and say, “Hey, what did we make the teachers do that could have contributed to this”? Of course not: teachers are the only variable in this whole equation that districts can boss around and legislatures can legislate, so we take the blame for everything.
If either of our children were thinking about going into education, I would tell them that I’m not paying for their college unless they do a double major and take a second degree in some other field so they have options for when they’re facing the situation that we’re facing. I’m fifty-one years old; this is only getting worse; I have few to no options but to keep plowing through it.
But after today, I’d almost kill for options outside the classroom.
Nearly
Sometimes, you need to write, but not here. Not yet.
Conestee Changes
We’ve been going to Conestee Park for some years now. We’d lived here for several years before discovering it: our now-sadly-deceased neighbor, Mr. F, mentioned that he went to Conestee every day to walk.
“What’s that?” we asked.
Once we went the first time, we kept going. Again and again. We know all the trails by heart now. A few years ago, they closed the off-road trails to pets and cyclists. They eventually reopened them for pets but not for cyclists. Instead, there’s another off-road section nearby that’s open to cyclists.
We’ve been going there regularly this summer, almost neglecting the Conestee we’ve come to love.
In the meantime, there have been so many changes in the area.
It’s a poorer area for the most part. There were few homes and a lot of trailer homes in small open areas in a forest.
Then the forests started disappearing. Across the street from this trailer home appeared a Dollar General — a sure sign of an economically depressed area.
Then the trailer disappeared and this monstrously huge home appeared. It’s across the street from a Dollar General and some trailer homes.
We’re trying to figure out who would build such a home in such an economically depressed area. We wonder that almost every time we drive by on the way to our now-favorite mountain biking trail, as we did tonight.
Saturday
I spent much of the morning working on school-related issues. My honors kids have turned in their first assignment (the famed/infamous 500-word introductory letter I assign the first day of school — “I didn’t know we’d have homework our first day,” some write), but it’s not for a grade (they don’t know that yet — I will apply it to extra credit later), so I read it as I would anything else: for information.
After lunch, which included (for me) a finely-sliced fresh habanero from a colleague at work, I started working to fix the pressure reduction valve that I had to take out a few weeks ago due to its leaking. I thought, “This should be a quick job. Just some Teflon tape to prevent leaks from the joint between the Shark Bite fitting and the valve itself…” but I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It never is. Because the valve has 3/4 inch openings and our plumbing is 1/2 inch, I had to add a couple of couplings as well. And two of the four of the connections leaked when I put it all back together and turned on the water again. I turned off the water, pulled everything apart, and did it again, with more Teflon tape. The same thing. I tried a third time, putting an ungodly amount of tape. Finally, I got both of the leaks stopped and a third one started.
In the evening, when K and E went to mass to fulfill their Sunday obligation, I threw the bike on the rack and headed out for a quick loop at our favorite spot. It rained last night, but I didn’t quite realize how much.
Part of the boardwalk — K’s favorite part of the ride — washed out.
While I was gone, though, the Girl decided to bake. And my goodness, did she ever bake. Cupcakes topped with raspberry choclate ganache.
Second Day
“Mr. S, you’re my favorite teacher so far.” We were lining up this morning to head out for related arts (or “essentials” as the new nomenclature dictates — people in education love to rename things to show supposed progress and improvement), and he said this out of the blue.
“You’ve only had one class with each of your teachers so far,” I laughed. “How could you possibly form an opinion that fast?”
“Well, your class was the only class we actually did something in yesterday,” he clarified.
I am not one to begin the first day of school with a long lecture explaining all the ins and outs of my classroom procedures. Sure, I have a specific way I want students to turn in papers, but I’ll explain that when they have their first papers to turn in. Certainly, I want them to know about my website, which I work hard to keep updated daily, but I’ll show them that when I’ve created my first update so they realize firsthand how useful the site can be. Definitely I want them to understand how we’re going to get into groups for collaboration, and I want them to know where each group is to sit, but we’ll go over that when we get in groups for the first time. So the first day, I always make sure we work. We do some writing, some reading, some chatting. We work in groups; we work in pairs; we work individually.
And the second day, we go over procedures.
Are you kidding? We have too much material to cover! Any procedures I’ve neglected will have to wait until that first time we need it!
First Day 2024
Last year’s first day — exactly one year ago — was a little strange. In here, I wrote it was a good day, but that was not entirely true. My two on-level classes were, in a word, hyper. Several students were immediately chatty, immediately disruptive, and there were several more students who fed into that. There was a bit of attitude at times, and while I tamped it all down quicky, it didn’t seem to bode well for the rest of the year.
I was right.
Last year’s eighth grade was tough. We’d heard they’d be tough from sixth-grade teachers; we’d heard they’d drive us to insanity from seventh-grade teachers; and we saw the difference immediately.
Most eighth-grade classes are pretty calm at first. Most eighth-grade students are reasonably relaxed those first days, trying not to push boundaries, trying to make a decent first impression. Those kids (rather, many of them) did not do this. And it was a harbinger of things to come.
“This year’s kids are better,” everyone said. We met them all today, and I would have to agree: a night-and-day difference.
One less stress.
Our kids started school with the usual excitement: the Girl is starting her senior year (how in the world is that possible?) while the Boy is starting seventh grade (how in the world is that possible?).
“Enjoy your last first day of school,” I said to her, though that’s not quite accurate. She’s planning on going into bio-engineering, and she’s already accepting/planning on getting a doctorate, so she has plenty more first days of school.
As for the Boy? A snippet of a conversation from a couple of weeks ago says it all: “You have to pay for college?! You have to pay to sit in school?!”
Turned Upside Down
Our school district has a way of jostling teachers out of their comfort zones. Take this year, for example. We’ve known for a long time that we’ll have new standards for English. The logical way to let teachers transition to these new standards is to let them take their existing lesson plans and retool them as necessary to meet the new standards. True, they are, by and large, almost the same standards, but there are some new items on that list which will take some time to unpack and figure out how to teach. Perhaps letting us focus on that during the first year would be a good move.
We’re also getting new textbooks this year. This means that a lot of the stuff we’ve done in the past might not necessarily work with the new selections in the new textbook. A lot of it will, but not everything. The logical way to transition to this new textbook would be to give teachers a year or two to make the move over. After all, we’ll likely be using these books for six or eight years. We can take our time with transitioning and make sure we do a good job.
Or our district could manage these transitions as they actually chose to this year:
- Provide new standards (actually the state did that, but…)
- Provide a new text book
- Provide a detailed unit pacing guide that we must follow to the letter
- Provide a 35-question, 18-page mandatory test for the end of that unit, a test that has some questions that are not even covered in the unit
- Demand all teachers make the transition immediately
- And best of all, do all this the day before students return for their first day of the school year.
There are a lot of stressed teachers today. I had to talk an experienced teacher out of walking out and simply quitting today. This is her last year before retirement, and it’s not how she wanted to end her career. If she’d walked out, I wouldn’t have blamed her.
Reflections
Why would there be any way to see hate in a text written by a completely benevolent deity?
Why would there be any way to see prejudice in a text written by a completely benevolent deity?
Why would there be any way to see malice in a text written by a completely benevolent deity?
Meet the Teacher 2024
“Last year’s kids were a real challenge,” the seventh-grade teachers all admitted. And to be fair, they warned us about them this time last year: “This is some group!” We hear that a lot, and we put it down to a typical exaggeration: they’re never as troublesome as last year’s teachers make them out to be.
But last year, they were right. One-hundred percent accurate. Last year’s group was exhausting.
“This year is going to be so much calmer for you guys!” all the seventh-grade teachers have been reassuring us during these first days back. Today we met a lot of them.
It’s hard to tell after such a short exchange, but we are, indeed hopeful.
Band concert
Here’s a video of the Boy’s spring band concert.
Camping as a Teen
Supporters
Before Biden bowed out, a meme was going around among Trump supporters.
I’m not going to label his followers as this meme does, but anyone who can look at Trump and not see how completely unhinged he is almost all of the time, how uneducated he appears to be, how incapable of critical thought he seems to be — I just don’t understand.
I freely admitted that Biden was showing some mental deterioration. I never worshipped the man: I was only support him to do a job. Many Trump supporters, however, seem almost to worship the man. He literally can do no wrong.
And even if he does wrong they overlook it.
Nationals
Today, the Girl competed in AAU Nationals in high jump for the first time in her life, but it’s the fourth or fifth time she’s competed in AAU Nationals in general. It’s just that before today, it had always been in volleyball.
Unlike volleyball, though, these nationals did not take place a day’s drive away. Instead, they were a mere three hours away.
It was also by far the biggest track meet she’s ever participated in: three high jump mats with over 50 girls participating.
How did she do? She’d say “Meh” if you asked her that question.
But she placed twelfth out of fifty-one girls.
And of course, no matter how it ended, we’re all proud of her and her accomplishments this year.
Dinner
The Girl has decided she needs to be cooking more, to learn how to cook more than mac and cheese and quesadillas. She’s done chicken alfredo a couple of times, but when K asked L to cook dinner tonight and suggested she just make the tried-and-true chicken alfredo, the Girl demurred. She wanted to try something new. Something different.
Something Asian.
Long, long ago, when K and I were dating, she wanted to do the same thing — try something new, something different. She decided on something decidedly non-Polish, something from southern Europe. She chose lasagna.
Mother and daughter both chose pasta. They both had similar issues with the pasta. And in both cases, those they cooked for ate the dish with enthusiasm.
Signs 3
During our three trips to Florida this summer, I noticed a lot of interesting billboards. I also saw a sign on the the trailer of several semi trucks.
I’m not sure what that image is supposed to evoke. There are hints of Uncle Sam draft posters in the overall design, but the wording would have been something like “I want you to pray.” Additionally, given the right’s strong feelings about the necessity for clear gender boundaries, this person seems unexpectedly androgynous. Finally, there’s the feeling of aggression inherent in the shadows and pointing finger. It’s like it’s daring you not to pray.
Christian Virtue Signals
The bruhaha about the opening ceremony in Paris offers an instructive insight into the minds of fundamentalist Christians. It was everywhere. On friends’ feeds:
Post A
Post B
It was on public figures’ streams:
Post C
Post D
It was on Polish streams:
Post E
Even the parish K attends got into the action:
And those public figures not posting about it were commenting to the media.
Robert Barron, a Catholic bishop with a large online platform, said,
France felt evidently as it’s trying to put its best cultural foot forward, that the right thing to do is to mock this very central moment in Christianity where Jesus at his last supper gives his body and blood in anticipation of the cross.
It’s presented through this gross or flippant mockery. France which used to be called the oldest daughter of the church. […]
France has sent Catholic visionaries all over the world. France whose culture and I mean the honouring of the individual, in human rights and of freedom is grounded very much in Christianity. […]
What’s interesting here is this deeply secularist, post-modern society knows who its enemy is, they’re naming them, and we should believe them, because this is who they are.
But furthermore we Christians, Catholics, should not be sheepish. We should resist, we should make our voices heard.’
Daily Mail
Trust me, Mr. Barron, your voices are heard. Some of us are just a little bemused at the ignorance behind it all.
What makes more sense? That the organizers would choose to satirize a Renaissance painting or portray something distinctly Greek, specifically the Feast of Dyonisus?
Whatever their intent, the
[o]rganizers of the Paris Olympics have apologized for any offense caused by a skit in the games’ opening ceremony Friday that featured drag stars in what many viewers saw as a parody of Leonardo Da Vinci’s famous “The Last Supper” masterpiece, a similarity that drew the ire of Catholic leaders and conservatives like Elon Musk and Donald Trump Jr.
Forbes
They also pointed out that
[r]ecreations of “Last Supper” are not uncommon and have not often been met with the same kind of backlash as what followed the Olympic opening ceremony. Popular TV shows like “Lost,” “House,” “Battlestar Galactica,” “The Sopranos” and “The Simpsons,” among others, have posed their actors in similar photos, and art with celebrities like Marilyn Monroe, Freddie Mercury and Bill Murray portraying Jesus are readily available online.
Forbes
Heck, the MAGA people who are so upset were decidedly less upset about a different recreation of the painting:
At its heart, though, I can’t help but see this as an example of Christian fundamentalist ignorance and hypocrisy. They are all “America first!” in everything else, but here they’re willing to refuse to support American athletes who had nothing to do with the planning of the opening ceremony because in their ignorance they’ve confused the Feast of Dyonisus and a Renaissance painting which isn’t even part of any religious canon at all. Davinci’s painting was itself a derivative and unrealistic interpretation.
Birthday Surprise
After Polish mass today, the women of the choir (which K more or less leads) had a birthday surprise for her.
“I’ve never had so many flowers,” she said when she got back home..
Saturday
K spoils us — she really does. We all get up to freshly made racuchy topped with homemade blueberry preserves. Why? Because we asked for it? No — because K just wanted to do something nice for us.
In return, L trimmed some of the hedges at the side of the house. To be honest, it wasn’t really in return: K asked her, and L obliged. I’m not even sure she had any of the racuchy because got up late and ended up going out for lunch with her friend.
“But I’ll gobble them up later,” she assured me.
They’re still in the fridge.
Still, the Girl did the trimming, and even put aside her teenager I-know-everything-why-in-the-world-are-you-explaining-this-ness and let K walk her through what she wanted.
In the afteroon, Ciocia M came for a visit (her girls — L’s and E’s cousins for all intents and purposes — are still in Polska) and we went for a walk in our favorite park.
A lovely day, in other words.
In the evening, we watch some replays of Olympic events — beach volleyball, swimming, gymnastics, the individual time trial, and some tennis.