Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

Beauty is much more than skin deep. Thank god.

I am not a particularly physically attractive person, and, truth be told, my personality isn’t always too attractive either, but when I’m sick, I radiate with reactions in a manner that would try the stomach of the most hardened CSI when faced with a mutilated victim: I burst out in herpes simplex, a medical accessory that even the most physically appealing personality would find challenging to embrace in a public setting.

Last Friday, the raging fever literally burned my face from the inside out, including my entire nose and the area from nostrils to chin. Over the weekend, the burned skin toughened, and last night it began to peel. In and of itself, this would not have been a big deal as everyone’s nose burns a couple of times a year if the person lives either at the beach or in the desert. It’s what we-all call an environmental hazard. You peel off the dead skin, slather on extra SPF 50, and go on with life.

However, my body also responds to any kind of stress or illness with a startling profusion of swelling and pus-y blisters, herpes simplex, otherwise known in my family by its polite term, fever blisters, and it’s more common name: stress mess. It begins with an all-too-familiar heated tingling of the top lip, which then begins to swell. The tingling turns to itchy as the herpes makes its way off the lips and roosts in that nice, warm area between the mouth and the nostrils. The heat from the mouth combines with the moisture from the (constantly dripping, snot-filled) nostrils, and herpes goes into instant over-drive production mode, splattering blisters everywhere there is the slightest pore opportunity.

The higher the fever, the more stress mess, until the face distends in an effort to provide comfort to all the little pus particles that have taken up residence. Some people will comment on the swelling, making such astute commentary as, “Looks like you were punched in the mouth,” to which there really is no polite response.

About the only "cure" I've found for the herpes invasion is repeated applications of dish detergent, the kind guaranteed to dissolve dried-on grease. Whatever the acidic agent in the dish soap, it burns like hell, dries out the herpes, and stops the spreading within hours after the first application. Believe me, limiting the area of involvement is a big deal when you get herpes infections as massive as the ones I've endured over the years!

When, slowly, the tingling and itching begin to subside, the blisters glisten with a sheen that somehow magnifies their presence. The curious will ask, “Oh, my god! What happened to your lip?” I've thought about tossing off a cutsey Angelina reply, “Collagen gone wild,” but it hurts too much to answer.

Once the itching and spreading stop, a crust begins to form as the pus oozes out of the dying blisters. First, the crust is light in color, perhaps a washed-out skin tone, so it looks like dried snot, an always attractive accessory for any nose. Because it’s hard, dry, and part of the sensitive area between the lip and nostrils, it hurts to try to remove the crust, even using a cotton swab and gentle lotion. It’s best just to wait it out as the best is yet to come: the dark, scabby crust.

As the invasion of active herpes virus dies off, the light crustiness turns dark as the sores begin to scab over, drawing even the most casual observer’s eye instantly to the area surrounding the mouth.

“Ah, took a header, I see. Bike accident?”

“Nah, I was actually out rollerblading, and the funniest thing happened! When I did a face plant, I landed directly on the 5 square inches of sensitive skin between my upper lip and nose! Not another scratch on me! Lucky, huh?”

As it is with all scabs, these hurt, especially if the nose is continuing to require frequent blowing throughout the day. No matter how soft, puffy, and medicated the facial tissue, repeated use irritates the scabs, often causing bleeding or premature rip-off of the scab from still-sensitive skin.

“Hey—nasty nosebleed you’ve got there! Ya outta put some ice on it, ya know, to stop the bleeding. Or you could pinch the top of your nose, ya know, ta stop the blood from dripping all over your clothes or somethin’.”

“Yeah, thanks, great idea. It’s hard to decide which will feel better: the pinch or the ice. Thanks for the great medical advice.”

I may not be physically attractive on a good day, but when I’ve been stressed and/or sick, there is no “may not” about it, especially during an attack of the herpes virus. There isn’t really anything positive to say about swollen pus-y blisters that are beginning to scab over other than, “Gross!” However, today, when I stopped after work to pick up my car, the nice guy at the counter smiled and said to me, “Hey, you look a lot better today! Man, you really look bad last Friday!”

Yeah, that was when I just had the red fever mask burning the hell out of my entire lower face; I can see where the scabby, oozing herpes blisters are an improvement!

Cold Season

By the time the sore throat made itself present Thursday, it was too late: the sneezing erupted and the faucet began to run. At the end of day one, a full box of Puffs was in the trash can, emptied so the germs could not invade the classroom and encourage the cold to stick around one day longer than necessary.

My eyes were swollen, my throat raw, and my nose would not stop running! No matter how often I blew out the offensive disease-laden snot, there was more right behind that tissue full. I blew, coughed, sneezed, and blew some more through one box of Puffs, and found myself opening box two in the car on my way to teach my night class.

I’m not sure how I made it until 8 pm, but that was the extent of my endurance, so I let the class go and told them to check with me on-line if they had questions and/or needed response to their essay drafts. I drove home, not quite sure if I would make it without stopping to take a quick nap, and had myself into jammies and under the covers within five minutes of parking the car.

I was so cold—and burning up with fever—which kept me throwing off the covers to cool off and grabbing them mummy-style to warm back up. The sheets were wet with sweat, but I continued to force fluids throughout the night, somehow believing that I could beat the cold off with mental fortitude.

Day two was awful because it was spent at work. When the kids walked in the door, they immediately told me I looked awful and kept a respectful distance for the remainder of the class period. It was a challenge to get through the opening remarks necessary to explain the day’s plan, prior to tactfully retreating to an isolated corner of the room I optimistically call my “office.” My face was swelling, a reaction I have every time there is fever present because I have a low natural body temp; therefore, when my temp goes up to 100º, it means I am really, totally, irrevocably sick. Confirmation comes with the fever blisters that begin between the lip and nostrils, and then spread in every direction.

Day three was spent in bed, commencing with arrival back home day two from work around 4 pm. I remember taking off my clothes and bundling my shivering self back up in my blankies, but not much else of yesterday. I know I drank as much liquid as my body could contain, but don’t remember peeing much of it back out. The sheets were clammy from sweating, but I could not crawl out from under the blankets without becoming fiercely cold almost immediately. I was dizzy, but not sick: a cold is so nasty because if you truly felt as bad as the symptoms others see, it would be easier just to check in to the hospital and let someone else deal with it.

Today is day four, and the worst part of today is that I’m not sick enough to be in bed, but sure as heck aren’t well enough not to be. It makes for one long day, especially when I had to strip the bed and wash from the mattress pad to the bedspread—attacking those killer germs so they don’t get too comfortable and come back during the night. I’ve been drinking everything I can find, and even spent 20 minutes squeezing fresh oranges so the vitamin C could taste good, rather than swallowing another pill. My lips are swollen to Angelina proportions, and the fiery redness around my mouth and nostrils draws one’s eye instantly. The blisters are just emerging, so they’ll be quite the rage by tomorrow, when I return to work and again subject myself to the stares and glares from the teenagers who cross my threshold.

I always tell them to stay home, but cannot take that advice myself because there are no subs. Thursday, as the cold was beginning, I heard the chaos from next door, where an elderly sub was standing in for a teacher attending a training conference. I thought the windows would break as several students pounded on them, screaming to be let in so they could wreck havoc on the class the sub was trying to conduct. They ran up and down the staircases, threw items at the buildings and one another, continued to scream invectives at anyone and anything in their path, until I finally called security and told them to come out and settle things down. There were a couple of fights on campus, involving large groups of girls and then their boyfriends.

I guess it’s just that I know as a veteran of the wars that it’s easier to come to work sick than it is to call in a sub. So, tomorrow, I report to work and do the best I can to get from 8 am until 3 pm in one piece. If the nose isn’t dripping onto the student desks, my throat allows me to talk, and the cough is no longer ripping my lungs from the ribcage, I should be okay.

Paying the Piper

The parents should pay for the search, the rescue, and the helicopter ride out of the Tennessee forest: reading the newspaper account, there are enough details to suggest that the 14-year-old boy scout (1) ran away because he didn’t want to be camping (2) hoped to collect $5 from his dad if he didn’t have “fun” on the trip (3) heard rescuers’ voices and claims they didn’t hear him call back (4) left the group because he wanted to hitch-hike home (5) demanded a helicopter ride from an area less than a mile from the well-established campsite and (6) wants his teacher to cut him some slack in submitting late work.

The boy ran away, refused to be found, and wants to be rewarded by holding the system ransom for his safe return. The media attention must be “fun,” much more so than the $5 promised by his father. Can we say poor parenting and even worse response to the boy’s demands?

If he ran away, and evidence says he did, including confiding to his tent mate that he didn’t want to be on the trip, then he wasn’t lost: he was hiding and refused to be found.

If his dad agreed to pay him if he didn’t have “fun” on the trip, the boy deliberately manipulated his father to earn a reward.

If he heard rescuers’ voices and didn’t immediately move toward them and continue to call back, then he didn’t want to be rescued.

If his goal was to hitch-hike home from the road the group took into the forest for the camping trip, then he knew where he was and how to get himself out of the area, but chose to prolong the search and rescue.

If he demanded a helicopter ride after his rescue, it’s a ransom that his family should pay for. Perhaps they can call it his reward for not having “fun.”

What this young man has learned is that he can pretty much call the shots about what he’ll do, when he’ll do it, how he’ll do it, and what reward he expects from doing it.

Why do people do the things they do? Because they can.

We fill the air with excuses and call them reasons, but the bottom line is that any of us will get away with as much as anyone else will allow us to get away with. We don’t stop until we run into an obstacle that won’t allow us to continue. No obstacle: no reason to stop.

The boy set up a situation that took time, resources, energy—and a personal toll—on everyone involved in the search and rescue event, as well as the public who was involved via the media. Paying the piper is a small price for the boy's actions.

Target Practice

There is a profound sadness enveloping me from within as my retirement date looms large in my future, even though I know it is time for me to move on and that is what I want to do. An unknown future is intimidating, but staying where I am/doing what I am doing is no longer an option. Each time that I have a mood swing and question my decision to move on, I have another one of those days that reaffirms that it is time for me, myself, and I to find and live our life.

Two parent contacts, coming on the heels of progress reports finally arriving home (there is a 2-week lag time when the system works well; a lot happens to change a grade in 2 weeks). One parent explains to me that her daughter is missing class 2-3 times a week, so isn’t getting important instruction she needs to complete the assignments, which means she’s not earning full points. I concur.

The parent’s next question: what can you (the teacher) do to improve her grade?

The reason she’s not in class is that she is a year-round sports athlete, and with the new schedule (designed to cut down the first period tardy problem), athletes leave class during 5th period, rather than 6th, which means they are now missing 2 class periods every time they have an event, even when that event is a home event.

The problem is obvious, but the solution isn’t so clear-cut, especially when the counselors continue to tell the kids they HAVE to build a rich curriculum vitae of extra-curricular activities if they plan to get into the 4-year college of their choice. Yes, that is true to a degree, but the student who is earning B-C-D grades, especially in honors’ courses, isn’t going to have to worry about that dilemma because (s)he won’t be academically eligible for the college of their choice.

It’s all about choices, and choices are based on individual priorities. For me, it’s a no-brainer: drop out of the athletics, but that is not a palatable option for most students/parents.

The other issue is one that rears its ugly head far too often: a student arrives home to find furious parents holding a progress report over his head. When the heat gets too intense, he fires back, deflecting the attack off his failure to perform and puts it onto my shoulders, embellishing a conversation we shared mere hours before so I became not just strict/mean, but a teacher on the verge of doing something that could involve a reprimand. His motive was simple, get the parents off his butt, but he didn’t realize that his creative story-telling was potentially serious for my career.

When I was called to account by an administrator, he understood that the kid had enlarged and embellished a simple discussion into something much more to save his own ass, but it was uncomfortable, to say the least. The parent demanded (and I do mean demanded) to talk to me in person, but refused an in-person conference, which I requested. The admin tried to pave the way, but the mother had an agenda that was going to be fully exposed—and there were no 2 sides to the story.

The phone calls did not go well: dad, who was abrupt and rude, hung up on me after directing me to speak to his wife and demanding to know where I got his phone number. There was no one at home, so I left a message, and when I called the mother’s work number, I got a tone, like a fax phone. When I was able to call back during my prep, the mother was … arrogant bitch comes to mind … unpleasant.

She did not care that I had called home, called her work, and talked to her husband: why had I not immediately called her? Hello? I did call her, at 3 different numbers, but could not make immediate contact with her personally. Well, her husband's cell phone number was on the contact card, not her cell phone number, so I could have called all day and never reached her. As for the fax tone, that could not have happened because that phone is set to go directly to message. I bluntly asked her why she thinks I would waste my time explaining the delay in getting through to her after trying 3 different numbers and then waiting for my prep period so I could try again.

It took a minute to realize that her frontal personal attack about the phone calls set the tone for the rest of the conversation.

She made thinly-veiled references to the “horror” her son has had to endure in my classroom, several times accusing me of being unfriendly, distant, and aloof. I told her frankly that this was an uncomfortable situation for me, especially since my concern was her son’s classroom conduct and his grade, and it seemed that her agenda was a personal attack on me. I stuck to the script, classroom conduct and academic failure, but she kept coming back to the personal attack.

I refused to respond to her accusations, and just waited for her to resume the conversation before I replied to anything she said. If it was personal, I said nothing; when I did respond, it was about her son's classroom conduct and academic failure.

The thought flitted through my mind that this marriage must be an endurance contest: the father was rude, abrupt, and domineering, and the mother filled in any missing gaps in his arrogant domination of the family dynamic. No wonder the kid lashed out at me when I reprimanded him for his inappropriate conduct and failure to hand in assignments: he’s been trained by masters.

It was a very long, difficult conversation, but it seemed to end on a more positive note than it began, as she realized that I was not going to respond to the personal attack because this is about her son’s classroom conduct and academic failure, not about my personality. I offered several suggestions to improve his conduct and his grade, and she finally relented somewhat and seemed willing to work with me, rather than attack me for what she perceives are my personal shortcomings. I can see that her relentlessness must completely tear down her son, who then comes into the classroom determined to make a name for himself any way he can. Unfortunately, they’ve taught him that acting out will get him farther faster than plodding away, one day at a time.

An hour later, her son walked in the door for class; the good news is that his conduct today was exemplary. There is, of course, the “other shoe” syndrome, waiting to find out what’s going to hit me after school lets out, but that is part of the employment package for teachers. The truth is always someone else’s perception, including that of a parent who has never met me and believes every word her 15-year-old son tells her is gospel.

It’s a challenge to feel like a target, especially when there is no defense allowed, but each day past is another closer to June 15.

The Second Layer

I borrowed this from my son's blog:

1. my real name: not going to state
2. my gangsta name (first 3 letters of real name plus izzle.): Loizzle
3. my detective name (favorite color and favorite animal): Purple Cat
4. my soap opera name (your middle name and the street you live on): Elizabeth Julian
5. my star wars name (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first): Chelo
6. my superhero name (your 2nd favorite color, and favorite drink): Blue Zinfandel
7. my “foreign name” (2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, any letter of your middle name, 2nd letter of your moms maiden name, 3rd letter of you dads middle name, 1st letter of a siblings first name, and last letter of your moms middle name): Oeleunz
8. my witness protection name: Jean Louise Finch
9. my goth name (black, and the name of one of your pets): Black Mia

What a totally different way of looking at one's self.

Burn, Baby, Burn!

Today, I headed out during my prep to pick up a lunch salad in an effort to increase my daily intake of leafy green cuttings and clippings that are supposed to be more healthy than what I used to eat.

Down the stairs, across the parking lot, into my car, drive the mile to the drive-through, back to my worksite, across the parking lot, up the stairs, into my classroom. Took about 15 minutes for the little jaunt, but as I opened the bag to remove my salad, all at once my left arm was on fire and itching like the furies.

I looked down at my arm and saw large, beet-red welts covering the exposed skin on my left arm, and a smaller, less red patch on my right arm. And boy! did it itch!

I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and poured it over my arm to cool it off, which helped, and then kept water on the arm to stop the itching. It took about 30 minutes for the itching to decrease, but the redness and swelling persisted.

I googled skin irritation + sun and found out that there is a condition, called photosensitive dermititis, that is a reaction to the sun such as I had just experienced. It can be caused by changes in the body caused by topical ointments and lotions, as well as ingestion of medical substances and other items that may cause the body to become reactive to the sun. The only ingestion I'm doing on a regular basis is the diabetic vitamin pack, so don't know if that could have triggered my reaction or not.

On the way to my night class, I stopped briefly at home to again flush the surface with cool water and then slathered ointment on the area to treat the blisters, bumps and itching. I'm back home now, and my arm still itches like crazy, is still very red, and still has lots of ugly bumps on it.

So, looks like I'll have to find some lightweight long-sleeved shirts this year to protect me from the sun. I already stopped on the way to my night site and picked up a tube of sun screen for tomorrow. We have gone from the 70s to the 100+ in just about a week, and perhaps my skin just could not adjust that fast to the intensity of the desert sun.

spunoW: A Life Lesson

Standing in line at the grocery store, I noticed a new, dark chocolate candy bar with an unusual name: spunoW. I pondered the various ways to pronounce the new product name and wondered what the tie-in was to the chocolate bar, thinking perhaps it was a new energy bar. Curious, I picked up the bar and looked at it closer, especially the ingredients list, and when I put the bar back down in its niche, I was astounded to see that it was a ...

Mounds bar.

In my past, there was a horrific two years of my life when a person I thought was a friend became an enemy, an enemy dedicated to destroying both my career and my personal life. Her favorite saying was, "My perception is my reality," and that absurdity popped into my mind when I read "spunoW."

Yeah, my perception was my reality, but no one else shared my reality as I was looking at the product upside down and backward! Where anyone else would see "Mounds," I was clearly seeing "spunoW," and although that was my perception and my reality, it was not a reality shared by anyone else.

This was a point I desperately tried to make during the horror that was my life during those two years. She certainly had a right to both her perception and her reality, but she crossed the line when she made her perception and reality MY perception and reality, and then poisoned all the people with whom we both had contact with her perception and her reality. It was a losing battle, a battle I suddenly had no choice but to abandon, and a time in my life that changed me and the rest of my life forever.

I lost my faith, my friends , and myself during that time, a loss that grieves me to this day, but I'm better for that past as it pushed me to become who I am today. I moved on, and she stayed. Today, I recalled that blackness in a flash, but this is the first time I have actually laughed in conjunction with that part of my past. Must be true that time--and a chance encounter with a candy bar--can heal all wounds.

Landscaping: Not

Three previous calls to the landscaper who was supposed to begin my yard project January 29 have gone unanswered. Last night, however, the phone was answered. “Sorry, we’re on another job, for a big hotel, so we won’t be able to get to your job for about a month.”

No, that doesn’t work for me. Go work all your other jobs because you no longer have a job at my home.

This morning, I was up early, opened the front door to let the air in, and saw that my mailbox had been pried out of the ground. In the first year I lived in this house, my mailbox was knocked over and destroyed 3 times, so I bought one of the plastic boxes and an 8’ 4x4, dug a hole, and filled in around the post with concrete. In the last several years, although many of the other mailboxes on my street have been destroyed, mine has been left untouched.

Last night, about 9 pm, my dog was going crazy, and whenI looked out, I saw a group of black boys on the street in front of my house. Two of them had big 2 x 4s on their shoulders, which I thought was strange, but no way was I going outside after dark and confronting a group of teen boys with potential weapons. This morning, I discovered that they had used the 4x4s to bring down my mailbox, which had to take them some time and effort. It cost me a 1/2 hour to reset my mailbox, but the physical labor was better than a trip to the ER if I had confronted them at the time.

While I was at it, I also cleaned up the yard I hadn’t touched because the new landscaping was going in. I trimmed all the deadfall from the recent cold spell, pulled out the weeds, and actually took the time to remove the barrier to the large gate on the north side of the house. It’s not that I plan to use it, but if I need to open the gate, it would not open with the rocks and other materials piled in front of it.

I also scooped up all the piles of dog poop, which really pisses me off because I don’t let my dog out to crap on anyone else’s yard, so why do all the uncontained dogs come to my yard? Once that was finished, I also filled in some holes where I removed dead plants. I was going to replant, but why: that’s just another thing to water, prune, and care for, so I filled the holes in and will just have grass again.

A friend is stopping by and I’m going to take her with me to the big box home improvement store, where I will purchase fertilizer and lawn seed, as well as replacement parts for the watering system. Once the sun goes down, I’ll turn on the water and see which heads I need to replace before leaving the water on to soak in the new seed. It should work, as that’s what I’ve done in the past.

There won’t be desert landscaping this year, but maybe I can do it myself next winter, my first winter as a retiree. Gives me something to put on the to-do list!

Carnival

Yesterday, the highly-touted free carnival opened for 3 hours of unsupervised fun for the 2800 students enrolled at the school.

It was a "reward," but I'm still not sure a reward for what, as, first, it was for becoming a 700 school, a goal we did not make; then, it was a reward for our WASC peformance, but allegedly the confirmation letter just arrived Monday, the same day the carnival equipment began arriving on campus; and, finally, it became a fund-raising activity to pay for incentives for this year's standardized testing. No one knows where the funds originated to pay for the carnival, but most are sure the principal did not, as he said publicly and often, personally pay for it to thank the students for either performance on last year's standardized testing or the recent WASC accreditation.

For whatever reason the carnival came to campus, we had another in the endless stream of minimum days, this one culminating in supervision of a carnival, rather than classroom curriculum. Guess in some ways it turns out to be the same ...

The idea was much better than the execution: none of the 6 (yes, 6 rides for 2800 students, all of whom arrived at the same time with high expectations ) free rides were operational due to power issues. Some of the rides loaded up with kids--and then stranded them when the power failed. After about 20 minutes, the power came back on--briefly--and the rides intermittently limped along for a couple of minutes on half-speed, and then the power failed again. It took a full hour and a half before all of the rides were operating at the same time, which is too little/too late.

There were the common carnival booths, but no one told the kids that the booth games would cost them to play. Two students proudly showed off the stuffed animals they won at a booth, animals that cost each of them $10! The carnival offered a "good" deal: 5 tickets for $5, or 10 tickets for $10, with a guarantee that the payee would win a "free" stuffed animal. The students, recognizing a bargain, gladly paid the $10 to get a "free" tiny stuffed bear that probably cost $1 in Mexico. So, with the free rides not working and the game booths charging for the students to play, the event quickly lost its luster.

The students were also promised free lunch, and it was available--sort of. There was one food stand, manned by school personnel, where students received 2 free carne asada tacos and a bottle of water. The meat for the carne asada looked delicious, and the school personnel were barbequeing it as fast as they could, but there was no way 2800 kids were going to be served in a timely manner. During the hours' long wait, the students queued up in the blazing hot sun, and the line was still in place 2 hours after the students were dismissed from class to get their free food and ride their free rides.

No shade, no water, no food, no free rides. Nowhere to go and nothing to do.

I watched this for about 90 minutes from the safety of the shaded balcony in my part of the campus, and decided that the kids weren't having much fun. It didn't take long before the kids began leaving campus in droves, flooding the surrounding streets with packs of disappointed kids looking for some fun and excitement.

Good ideas need good execution:

• the rides should have been in full working order the day before the event. If the carnival couldn't operate the rides, the event should have been canceled.
• hot dogs and/or hamburgers should have been served as they could have been precooked and heated the day of the event. Carne asada was a nice idea, but it's not something that can be prepared on-site for a crowd of 2800 hungry kids.
• the bottles of water should have been iced and available throughout the event. One bottle for one student didn't work in the 80 degree weather. The PE department has portable fountains that hook up quickly and could have helped provide hydration to the hot, hungry kids.
• there should have been a dozen food booths so the kids all could have been served quickly and efficiently. Standing in line for 2 hours to get 2 carne asada tacos and a bottle of water didn't seem much of a reward for anything

Finally, all school personnel should have been included in planning the event, preparing and serving the free lunch, and supervising the event in an organized manner. If we all had been included, the burden for this event could have been spread over more shoulders, rather than putting it all onto the dozen shoulders in the "inner circle." For the many times I resent that all of the decision-making comes top down, this is one time I was glad to be one of the excluded!

As it was, those of us who are conscientious stayed on campus and supervised students as best we could. Those who don't give a rip left early to begin a nice, long weekend at noon Friday, rather than beginning at the 3 pm end of day the contract stipulates.

The Impossible (Tech) Dream

Bill Gates talked to Congress yesterday and assured the nation that educational reform is crucial as the state of education in the country is in dire straights.

No duh.

Classroom teachers having been saying that for … decades … but no one listens. It takes a politician to make change, and politicians don’t listen to the troops: they listen to the generals. A general who is the richest man in the world may be heard, but classroom teachers with 30+ years of experience are disregarded as obsolete and quietly urged to let the next generation take their [rightful] place.

Generally, education is in whatever state it takes to maintain the status quo or climb aboard the latest bandwagon. If we need more tech, we write a grant and get more tech. Nah, there isn’t a plan to use it wisely to benefit the kids, but we get it, install it, tout it—and let it die a death of benign neglect because the grant never has follow-up money attached to it. At my site, we’re still using the classroom computers and printers from the original grant, which was awarded a decade ago.

How have the schools become so technologically savvy? Teachers, those who had given up teaching in core content areas, started dabbling with personal computers, so when computers became the latest educational “get,” some teachers were poised to become the IT departments of school sites and district offices. No training; no certification; no credentialing. They were there, they knew more than the next guy, and, suddenly, they were out of the classroom and into the computer arena.

In the past 5 years, training at the colleges and universities has caught up, so now we have competent personnel with appropriate training and credentials—at the district office. Those individuals aren’t at the sites: the sites are still manned with the self-taught employees who keep the whole thing afloat. The district people only show up on campus when it’s a district problem, so the classroom computer sits idle for endless months if fixing it isn’t a priority and replacing it is an impossibility.

Because all record-keeping is now done using tech, one would assume that the first computers to arrive at the site 9 years ago have been upgraded to handle the new usage requirements: not. There is no money to replace what was purchased with the initial grant, so we are limping along with dinosaurs. Imagine the leaps and bounds of tech progress in a decade, and then imagine not having access to any of it: that’s education.

Teachers just this year have been granted limited access to the website for posting grades from home, a theory that is much more applicable than the practice due to the restrictions on access from one's home computer. Teachers have been begging for laptops, rather than desktop computers, so we can carry the system with us when we leave the site and still have access to the website for recordkeeping. No can do: not only are the laptops too expensive, but the district cannot handle the volume of traffic that would generate, though Lord only knows how that argument works as we have to access the system one way or another, and the machine we use for the access has no bearing on the alleged problem.

Next year, the new guy has decided to implement computers for at least half of the incoming freshman class. Now picture the district servers every class period as teacher after teacher after teacher logs onto the system to input attendance: it can’t handle the usage load. Add to the daily workload another approximately 500 students just at my site also logging on for the computer/ internet-based instruction that is being promised.

Can you say CRASH?

Education isn't a business, and it isn't managed as a business. Put Gates in charge, a man who sees big pictures, analyzes problems, and offers real-world solutions, and we could probably stop the downward plunge of our educational system in this country.

Continue to allow the system to limp along school-by-school and it's bound to implode.

65 days and counting.

Teaching the Children How to Fish

Teacher: Beginning today, I will no longer accept late work that is not related to an excused absence. If you’re old enough to have a driver’s license, then you’re also old enough to read the assignment calendar, complete the assignments, and hand them in by the due date. No more late work; no more make-up work unless your absence is excused by ed code.

It is NOT excused to be sent to ISS because you are tardy, or if you are truant and don’t show up at all, or if your parents don’t call in and excuse the absence.

If you miss a quiz or a test and your absence is excused, you make it up before or after school, or during lunch—and make an appointment first: don’t just show up and expect me to be waiting for your arrival.

Finally, on the assignment calendar are assignments marked “Q” in a large font and bolded so they stand out. Those are the assignments we will discuss during class; however, if you are absent, you must do those “Q” assignments in writing and hand them in for credit to show that you undertand the poetry and the skills associated with the poem.

The homework assignments are coded with “R&A,” which stands for “Review and Assess,” or “ILS,” which means “Integrate Language Skills.” These assignments must be completed as homework and brought to class and handed in so they can be graded.

Okay, are there any questions?

The students respond:

*What if we’re absent? You aren’t going to take our work? That is so not fair!

*It’s not fair to make some people do more work than others! It’s not my fault if I’m not here, so why should I have to do the “Q” assignment if nobody else has to do it?

*What do you mean by “excused” absence? What if I’m tardy and security makes me go to ISS?

*Why can’t I make up the quiz during class? I shouldn’t have to do work for your class during my lunch period. I spend that time with my friends.

*What if my parents can’t get me to school on time? I’m punished because I have to wait for my mother to drive me to school? She’s always late!

*I don’t get it: which of the assignments do we have to do? Just the “Q” assignments, right? So we don’t have to do the other assignments, right?

*Wait, I’m confused: do we do the “Q” assignments or the R&A or the ILS assignments? Why can’t you just tell us what we’re supposed to do? Why do you have to make everything so hard?

Teacher: Tomorrow, we’re going to discuss the poetry anthology, a collection of 6 poems for the CP student, 2 of which may be the student’s own poetry (shudder). We’ll be going to the library so you can look for poems in the poetry section, but you are welcome to go to the library on your own time if you want to finish the project early. Please check page 947 in your lit book for more details and we'll talk about the anthology tomorrow.

Student: No way am I writing a poem!!!!!