40. Forty. XL. The number is biblical in its proportions. Rain for forty days and forty nights. Forty years of wandering the desert. Forty days of fasting. Forty days of lent. Everything seems to last seven or forty days or years. I don’t remember seven. Last month I turned forty. I don't feel I am allowed to play with my son's LEGO bricks anymore. Did you know that wikipedia has an entry for the number "40?"
At lunch one day, I confided in one of respected elders that I had passed this serious milestone. I hoped for some aged sagacity or perhaps a hopeful cliché like, "Life begins at forty." He looked at me and grunted, "Yeah, that's when everything starts falling apart."
In February (I was only 39 at the time) I decided to take up running. My hope was to keep the grim reaper off of my heels for a few more miles. To keep me inspired I began entering 5k races. Knowing that I will be running in a race with dozens, hundreds, or thousands of other runners forces me to get out and run so that I don't embarrass myself. I still embarrass myself. I am continually passed by 78 year-old runners who are barely breathing heavily through their three teeth, pregnant women pushing strollers, and the faster of the toddlers. In my first race I was passed by a seventeen year old girl with only a tenth of a mile left before the finish line. I was breathing like Darth Vader on speed before I finally pulled my body and crushed ego across the finish line.
Most of the races are fund-raisers for local charities. Many of them have fun names. They usually give out T-Shirts, prizes, and medals for winning or placing in your age group. My first race was the Fire Ant 5k in Ashburn, GA. It is part of the big Fire Ant Festival down there. It was a small race, and I finished the race without throwing up, suffering a major coronary event or even seeing a fire ant. I have also run the Athletes Helping Athletes 5k (for greyhound adoption) in Kennesaw, GA, a Run for the World 5k (in Rome, GA), and one down by the Chattahoochee River. After every race my son and daughter ask me if I won. I finally got a 2nd place medal for my age group in the Hog Jog of Vienna, GA. The Hog Jog is the kick off event for the Big Pig Jig. I haven’t told my children that there were only two people in my age group and that the guy who got first finished twelve minutes before I did. They were very proud of me. One of my students asked if the Hog Jog was for, er, bigger runners.
I will be running the Gobble Jog on Thanksgiving morning.
I knew I had truly turned forty the other day when I walked into a Walgreens and bought a box of Preparation H from the cute little girl at the cash register without embarrassment or without trying to disguise it by buying a bunch of other stuff.
Peace
..._
04 November 2009
The Builder and the Destroyer
"There are three classes of man. The first and smallest class is that of the dreamer. The dreamer lives to inspire the second class. The second class is that of the builder. The builder lives to stay one brick ahead of the third and greatest class of man, the destroyer. The destroyer will not rest until there is no place left to rest."--Tiebos
There were two boys. Their homes sat opposite each other's in a typical suburban neighborhood. Both of them were strange and stood out among the typical suburban children. They found themselves mocked by the other boys of the neighborhood. In turn, they mocked each other, as they had learned that is how the game was played. In a moment of divine grace, a day came when enlightenment shone upon them, and they saw that it was their very strangeness that united them. The two boys became the best of friends.
They spent their days in collecting and building. They collected rocks, shells, coins, stamps, high scores on the Atari 2600 and Intellivision, cereal boxes, license plates, and any thing else that was collectible (and some things that were not). But their collecting was, for them, another way of building. They built cities everywhere and out of anything. They build a rock city by the mailbox, a Lego City in the basement, a domino city next to the Lego City, a Lincoln Log city in the bedroom, and a dirt city in an embankment.
The dirt city was built into a six foot, sloping embankment in one of the boy's backyard. Pine trees swayed above the boys as they used hand spades to carve out roads from the cool red clay for Hot Wheels, and caves for homes, businesses, and fire stations. Working through dusk, red mosquito welts would rise like constellations on their arms as the first stars tried futilely to replace the fading sunlight. Sticks served as lampposts, guardrails, and pillars in the spreading metropolis. One of the boys pilfered a small bucket of concrete mix from a nearby home site to pave his roads and line his caves. The other refused to use the mix because it was stolen, but secretly coveted the smooth gray streets of his friend.
One afternoon, they boys returned from school to find two large gashes like the track of twin slashing meteorites had devastated their city. The sneaker prints at the end of each gash betrayed the man-made disaster that had been wrecked upon them. Believing the damage to have been accidental, the boys threw themselves into repairing the damage. Joy welled in their hearts whenever they discovered a beloved spot that, thought destroyed, was actually preserved under the ruins. Excavations and new road-building had the city running again by dinner time.
The next day the boys found more destructive footprints. It dawned on the boys that there was no other explanation than the idea that the destruction was purposeful. The boys were hurt in their hearts and couldn't understand why another would destroy their work. But they rebuilt the city....
...to find the city destroyed again. After this, they began hiding their work every evening with pine straw, hoping that this would keep the angel of death from visiting their city. This ruse worked for a few days before, once again, the ravishing feet trampled their town.
In the now mournful silence of rebuilding, one of the boys stood up, red clay sticking to bare knees and proclaimed,
"I'm done."
"You're going home?"
"No, I'm done with dirt city. I don't want to do it anymore."
"But I love dirt city."
"So do I, but I can't stand that someone keeps coming and destroying it." It hurts too much, he didn't say.
"What if we built it somewhere else?"
"They would find it. They would find it and destroy it."
"Oh."
"Its a little kid game."
"No, its not!"
"Let's play video games."
That fall, the pine needles settled over the broken concrete and shattered caves of dirt city and have never again been cleared away. One of the boys either grew up a little that day, or part of him died. Probably a little of both.
Peace
..._
There were two boys. Their homes sat opposite each other's in a typical suburban neighborhood. Both of them were strange and stood out among the typical suburban children. They found themselves mocked by the other boys of the neighborhood. In turn, they mocked each other, as they had learned that is how the game was played. In a moment of divine grace, a day came when enlightenment shone upon them, and they saw that it was their very strangeness that united them. The two boys became the best of friends.
They spent their days in collecting and building. They collected rocks, shells, coins, stamps, high scores on the Atari 2600 and Intellivision, cereal boxes, license plates, and any thing else that was collectible (and some things that were not). But their collecting was, for them, another way of building. They built cities everywhere and out of anything. They build a rock city by the mailbox, a Lego City in the basement, a domino city next to the Lego City, a Lincoln Log city in the bedroom, and a dirt city in an embankment.
The dirt city was built into a six foot, sloping embankment in one of the boy's backyard. Pine trees swayed above the boys as they used hand spades to carve out roads from the cool red clay for Hot Wheels, and caves for homes, businesses, and fire stations. Working through dusk, red mosquito welts would rise like constellations on their arms as the first stars tried futilely to replace the fading sunlight. Sticks served as lampposts, guardrails, and pillars in the spreading metropolis. One of the boys pilfered a small bucket of concrete mix from a nearby home site to pave his roads and line his caves. The other refused to use the mix because it was stolen, but secretly coveted the smooth gray streets of his friend.
One afternoon, they boys returned from school to find two large gashes like the track of twin slashing meteorites had devastated their city. The sneaker prints at the end of each gash betrayed the man-made disaster that had been wrecked upon them. Believing the damage to have been accidental, the boys threw themselves into repairing the damage. Joy welled in their hearts whenever they discovered a beloved spot that, thought destroyed, was actually preserved under the ruins. Excavations and new road-building had the city running again by dinner time.
The next day the boys found more destructive footprints. It dawned on the boys that there was no other explanation than the idea that the destruction was purposeful. The boys were hurt in their hearts and couldn't understand why another would destroy their work. But they rebuilt the city....
...to find the city destroyed again. After this, they began hiding their work every evening with pine straw, hoping that this would keep the angel of death from visiting their city. This ruse worked for a few days before, once again, the ravishing feet trampled their town.
In the now mournful silence of rebuilding, one of the boys stood up, red clay sticking to bare knees and proclaimed,
"I'm done."
"You're going home?"
"No, I'm done with dirt city. I don't want to do it anymore."
"But I love dirt city."
"So do I, but I can't stand that someone keeps coming and destroying it." It hurts too much, he didn't say.
"What if we built it somewhere else?"
"They would find it. They would find it and destroy it."
"Oh."
"Its a little kid game."
"No, its not!"
"Let's play video games."
That fall, the pine needles settled over the broken concrete and shattered caves of dirt city and have never again been cleared away. One of the boys either grew up a little that day, or part of him died. Probably a little of both.
Peace
..._
02 November 2009
In the Land of the Philistines
In the spring of 2007, I was faced with a terrible decision: whether or not to leave the school I had been at for the previous six years. I had already signed the "I haven't decided" box on my letter of intent to let my school know that I was exploring other options. I found out a couple of weeks later that my boss took all "I haven't decideds" as personal affronts to his authority and leadership (he is an overly zealous believer in "From Good to Great) and considered such answers as the same as "I will not be returning." He was already interviewing for my position and had found a candidate for my position. After some push back by some parents and school board members on my behalf, he sat down and actually talked to me one on one (something he had never done before). He told me that they wanted to keep me and that if the problem was money, something could be worked out. It was a very amicable conversation, and knowing that if I talked openly about my concerns about the school that I would be burning my bridges with him, I probably left him with the impression that I needed better benefits for the newly minted twin boys. In truth, I thought he was a brilliant man with a great plan, but a terrible person. He gave me a week to give him a final answer. I didn't realize until later that the deadline was actually quite flexible.
It was a Friday when that deadline came up. The week had been difficult for me. I loved the faculty and students at the school. I made a list of reasons to leave. The list was over a page long. Still I hesitated. The students had just given me a van the year before. How could I leave that?
The day of decision was a teacher workday. I could get nothing done as I agonized over the decision. I paced my classroom seeking some clear sign. Finally, I picked up a Bible. It was one of a stack of ones from lost and found that I kept in my room. At a loss for wisdom, I decided to do the blind flip. For those of you not familiar with this process, let me explain. You close your eyes and open the Bible to a random place. Then you open your eyes and read the first thing you see. I have always seen this like using the Bible as a giant Christian Ouija board and do not recommend it as genuine process of Bible study and wisdom seeking, but I was desperate and I no longer give a snobbish snort inside my head when someone confesses to doing it.
The first verse I read as a result of my blind flip was somewhere in the Old Testament. I do not remember the exact verse, but the words advised me to take up my stuff and go somewhere else. It might have been in Job or Isaiah or even in Acts. The advice was so exact that I laughed at the coincidence and did another blind flip for amusement.
The second blind flip lead me to this verse from 1 Samuel 27:
1 And David said in his heart, I shall now perish one day by the hand of Saul: there is nothing better for me than that I should speedily escape into the land of the Philistines; and Saul shall despair of me, to seek me any more in any coast of Israel: so shall I escape out of his hand.
I laughed again but uneasily this time. I kept a thumb on that page as I did another blind flip.
The third blind flip lead me to these verses from Exodus 12:
30And Pharaoh rose up in the night, he, and all his servants, and all the Egyptians; and there was a great cry in Egypt; for there was not a house where there was not one dead.
31And he called for Moses and Aaron by night, and said, Rise up, and get you forth from among my people, both ye and the children of Israel; and go, serve the LORD, as ye have said.
32Also take your flocks and your herds, as ye have said, and be gone; and bless me also.
I sent my e-mail within half and hour and have never regretted it.
Peace
..._
It was a Friday when that deadline came up. The week had been difficult for me. I loved the faculty and students at the school. I made a list of reasons to leave. The list was over a page long. Still I hesitated. The students had just given me a van the year before. How could I leave that?
The day of decision was a teacher workday. I could get nothing done as I agonized over the decision. I paced my classroom seeking some clear sign. Finally, I picked up a Bible. It was one of a stack of ones from lost and found that I kept in my room. At a loss for wisdom, I decided to do the blind flip. For those of you not familiar with this process, let me explain. You close your eyes and open the Bible to a random place. Then you open your eyes and read the first thing you see. I have always seen this like using the Bible as a giant Christian Ouija board and do not recommend it as genuine process of Bible study and wisdom seeking, but I was desperate and I no longer give a snobbish snort inside my head when someone confesses to doing it.
The first verse I read as a result of my blind flip was somewhere in the Old Testament. I do not remember the exact verse, but the words advised me to take up my stuff and go somewhere else. It might have been in Job or Isaiah or even in Acts. The advice was so exact that I laughed at the coincidence and did another blind flip for amusement.
The second blind flip lead me to this verse from 1 Samuel 27:
1 And David said in his heart, I shall now perish one day by the hand of Saul: there is nothing better for me than that I should speedily escape into the land of the Philistines; and Saul shall despair of me, to seek me any more in any coast of Israel: so shall I escape out of his hand.
I laughed again but uneasily this time. I kept a thumb on that page as I did another blind flip.
The third blind flip lead me to these verses from Exodus 12:
30And Pharaoh rose up in the night, he, and all his servants, and all the Egyptians; and there was a great cry in Egypt; for there was not a house where there was not one dead.
31And he called for Moses and Aaron by night, and said, Rise up, and get you forth from among my people, both ye and the children of Israel; and go, serve the LORD, as ye have said.
32Also take your flocks and your herds, as ye have said, and be gone; and bless me also.
I sent my e-mail within half and hour and have never regretted it.
Peace
..._
28 October 2009
Photos from Fall
Above: Taken on ridgeline on side of road (281) overlooking Whitewater Falls.
Below: Taken at overlook on 246/106 on way from Dillard to Highlands.
Above and Below: Taken at Dry Falls, NC on Highway 64 just west of Highlands, NC.
Above: Dry Falls again.
Below: unknown waterfall on the highway 64 from Highlands to Franklin.
Above: Whitewater Falls, North Carolina.
More at my Flickr page.
Peace
..._
26 October 2009
Monday Miscellany: Mountains Edition
My wife and I were lucky enough to get away this weekend to Highlands, North Carolina. The weather was perfect, the leaves were falling, and the waterfalls were roaring after heavy rain on Friday. Here are some quick thoughts on the trip. Hopefully, pictures will soon follow. Homecoming went very well, and pictures will soon follow of that.
Georgia waterfalls are beautiful and graceful. North Carolina waterfalls are magnificent and powerful.
While at an antique store outside of Dahlonega looking for a memento of our trip, we came upon a cheap desk that, we thought, would make a perfect desk for our eldest son. Feigning to use my professional furniture grading eye, I pulled out a drawer for inspection while my wife watched. As I lifted the drawer up to look in the bottom, I heard my wife gasp in shock and dismay from where she could see the bottom of the drawer. I couldn't see the bottom, and my heart skipped a beat as I visualized a colony of black widows or brown recluse spiders or a hidden murder weapon in my hands. I was afraid to turn over the drawer until my wife started laughing. Pasted on the underside was a photo from, we guess, a popular men's magazine of two girls by a pool sans swimming wear. We laughed for a long time. Oh, it was the only drawer so decorated; we checked the other six.
There is a strip-mall in Dillard In one of the strip malls that make up the city of Dillard, Georgia there is a large antique store, a Christmas store, a general store, and an "independent" coffee shop. While my wife and I sat outside at a table sipping our hot beverages of choice, my wife asked if I had noticed the many "earth-friendly, organic, local, sustainable, etc" signs in the coffee shop. Indeed it was hard to miss the theme of the shop. Then she brilliantly observed something I had entirely missed, "Why do all the men at places like this have long hair and all of the women have short hair?" It is something to ponder on a cloudy Monday at work. The hot chocolate was excellent.
Peace
..._
Georgia waterfalls are beautiful and graceful. North Carolina waterfalls are magnificent and powerful.
While at an antique store outside of Dahlonega looking for a memento of our trip, we came upon a cheap desk that, we thought, would make a perfect desk for our eldest son. Feigning to use my professional furniture grading eye, I pulled out a drawer for inspection while my wife watched. As I lifted the drawer up to look in the bottom, I heard my wife gasp in shock and dismay from where she could see the bottom of the drawer. I couldn't see the bottom, and my heart skipped a beat as I visualized a colony of black widows or brown recluse spiders or a hidden murder weapon in my hands. I was afraid to turn over the drawer until my wife started laughing. Pasted on the underside was a photo from, we guess, a popular men's magazine of two girls by a pool sans swimming wear. We laughed for a long time. Oh, it was the only drawer so decorated; we checked the other six.
We visited waterfalls we had never seen before. On both mornings, we made the brief drive to the ironically named, "Dry Falls" before dawn to enjoy some solitude. The flow was so immense, powerful, and loud that leaving it felt like leaving a rock concert. The spray burst up from the rocks below in running puffs that startled us for looking so very much like leaping white ghosts in the cold morning air. While we couldn't see the sunrise from where we were, we could see the evidence of the sunrise, and that is all we sometimes need.
Peace
..._
02 September 2009
Mid-Week Miscellany: Birthdays and Wipes
The twin boys turned three a couple of weeks ago. We had a small celebration on their birthday with some cupcakes and good cheer. There is one picture of that day, not caught on camera, but one that I hope I shall never forget: W. and M. were sitting at the table waiting for their cupcakes. As I as came around the corner bearing twin candles lit over twin cakes, W.'s face swelled into what can only be described as an expression of pure joy. He rose up out of his seat smiling broadly as his hands clenched beneath his chin in spasms of happiness. He is normally the quiet and stoic one. I have never seen him happier. I write it here to remember.
When one of the boys was a babe, I don't remember which one, there was a time of weariness and much changing of diapers. My wife was away or resting, and I did something of which I am ashamed. I have never confesesed it. While changing his diaper, I reached for the wet-wipes and cleaned him up. Part of my brain was trying to tell me that something was wrong and that wipes don't normally smell so lemony, but it was an hour later that I realized that I had used Lysol disinfecting wipes. No harm was done, but I felt guilty about it for weeks after. I thought of it today as I disinfected the desks in my classroom with Lysol wipes.
Happy Birthday my boys (taken while getting ready to go to Grandma's house pizza and cake party):
Peace
...-
When one of the boys was a babe, I don't remember which one, there was a time of weariness and much changing of diapers. My wife was away or resting, and I did something of which I am ashamed. I have never confesesed it. While changing his diaper, I reached for the wet-wipes and cleaned him up. Part of my brain was trying to tell me that something was wrong and that wipes don't normally smell so lemony, but it was an hour later that I realized that I had used Lysol disinfecting wipes. No harm was done, but I felt guilty about it for weeks after. I thought of it today as I disinfected the desks in my classroom with Lysol wipes.
Happy Birthday my boys (taken while getting ready to go to Grandma's house pizza and cake party):
Peace
...-
31 August 2009
Why Are All Princesses Skinny?
It is in the mundane, everyday moments of life that the most profound questions confront us and force us to rise above the wash, drippy spout, or untended weeds for more awesome things. The moment comes unlooked for and, generally, unasked for. They catch us unguarded, ill prepared, and distracted. It was such a moment when my six-year-old daughter skipped up to a tired, Civilization IV playing me at the computer and asked, "Why are all princesses skinny?" She was holding a diminutive plastic Jasmine figurine. The figure was in the style of the picture above which in fact shows one of Ariel's many slender sisters. While the sister above is posed much like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model (only with less clothes), the Jasmine figure I can't currently find is much less contorted and doesn't look like she is trying touch her shoulder blades to her tail bone. Nevertheless, the Jasmine figure certainly puts the figure in figurine, if you know what I mean.
I have found that when confronted with a difficult question or one that one does not wish to answer, it is best to answer with a question. So I said:
"Why do you say that?"
"Because all of the princesses are skinny. Ariel, Jasmine, Cinderella, Belle...all of them are skinny."
[my answer redacted out of shame]
"I think they are skinny because if they were fat, no one would know they are princesses."
[my answer redacted out of shame]
"When I grow up I am going to get really skinny so I will look like a princess."
[my answer redacted out of shame]
She is only six. It was, of course, much later that I thought of much better things to say than the pitifully weak things I did say. The incident caused me to question much of what I have been told about raising little girls. In days before TV, girls were raised to be free of vanity, so compliments were kept to a minimum. Later, the same psychologists who have given us our public school system told us that this was damaging to a developing child's self-esteem, so a plethora of compliments were encouraged to build up a girl's self-image. I fear sometimes that we have gone too far in telling all of our girls how beautiful they are. To continually do so can only make them think that the main thing we value in them is their appearance. They become vain.
The last time I was at Disney, the six princesses did a song in front of the castle. The lyrics were something to the effect, "Every girl is a princess." Every girl wants to be a princess, but I have to wonder if that is a dream to which our girls should aspire when the target that the royal ladies make is so narrow in the waist.
ace
Peace
...-
24 August 2009
Mondai Miscelleny: The Spelin Editon
Last week I gave my students a review quiz over the fifty states. I told them that spelling would not count. That was an error. Here is a sampling of the creative spellings used by my 11th grade students:
Unusual:
Whyoming (hey, why not?)
Newbraska (settled by the inhabitants of Old Braska)
Utha
Massachutes (and scores!)
Whashington (from the student who knew there was an "H" but wasn't sure where)
Illinoise (from two students, thank you Sufjan Stevens)
Illnois
Common:
Deleware
Minnisota
Minesota
Minnasota
Conneticut
Coneticut
Main
Road Island
Peace
...-
Unusual:
Whyoming (hey, why not?)
Newbraska (settled by the inhabitants of Old Braska)
Utha
Massachutes (and scores!)
Whashington (from the student who knew there was an "H" but wasn't sure where)
Illinoise (from two students, thank you Sufjan Stevens)
Illnois
Common:
Deleware
Minnisota
Minesota
Minnasota
Conneticut
Coneticut
Main
Road Island
Peace
...-
21 August 2009
Homecoming Themes: Erupt!
I am the student government sponsor at my school. We try to be creative in our planning and execution of the Homecoming Dance. Today the student body voted for their choice of theme from a ballot put together by student government. Here is the ballot we used (references to the school name have been redacted):
Homecoming ‘09
>Jammin’ in Jamaica : Steel drums will pace your dancing as you enjoy an exotic adventure on a Caribbean island. The spirit of Marley will oversee the festivities.
>Sunset on the Prairie: Load up the Conestoga wagon and hoof it on over to sprawling XXXXX Ranch where you will whirl and gambol past the tumbleweed to the sweet sounds of banjos and the lowing of cows. When the sun goes down, the prairie dogs know to hide deep in their dens because all the cowboys and cowgirls of XXXXX Ranch are about to throw the squarest western dance this side of the OK Corral.
>Seven Seas: Sail across the dance floor on a three hour tour while fending off waves of pirates. No ninjas will be admitted.
>Bow Ties and Tie-Dye: Don’t let the Man get you down; instead, relive the spirit of the Sixties as all the flower children of XXXXX turn out for a night of Peace and Understanding. If you’re going to San XXXXXisco, remember to put some flowers in your hair; you’re going to meet some gentle people there.
>Erupt!: Everyone thought Mount XXXXX was dormant until it blew the roof off of Homecoming ’09. Dance at the base of an erupting volcano and save your date from a pyroclastic flow. Asbestos dance wear recommended.
The runaway winner: Erupt! We now have less than two months to plan how to fit a forty foot volcano into our gymnasium. Dang it. They had to pick the toughest one.
Last year's theme was A Night at the Oasis. Read about it HERE.
Peace
..._
10 August 2009
Monday Miscellany: Back to School and Blogging Edition
Last night my eight-year-old son confessed that he was feeling a wee bit antsy about the start of school. This was a big improvement from last year when I found him quietly but tragically crying in his bed because he couldn't find his stuffed elephant. His elephant was his preferred stuffed comfort. It was usually the only thing he packed to spend the night at grandma and poppa's. We hadn't seen him for a while. As I helped him search his room, I had painful flashback: it was the great group ralph of '08 at the Chintzibob vomitorium; feverish, I had been holding a stuffed elephant, soaked to the plush grey ears with thrown-up something. There were chunks. The flashback was over. What had I done with my boy's floppy-eared friend? My only guess is that he was thrown in the rubbish bin. He has not returned, and the boy has not brought him up again.
This morning the boy awoke with full-scale chicken pox. So much for the first week of school.
The twin boys soon turn three. M is conscientious, helpful, and a budding Dr. Doolittle. Our little home has been plagued by ants for years. We have slowly become used to them. I realized that it has, perhaps, gone a bit too far when M started catching them, keeping them, and feeding them raisins. He has named the spider outside his window "John."
One night, after I had put the twins to bed, I heard M crying for me. We have reversed the locks so that we can lock them in when necessary. He likes to counter this strategy by putting his lips under the door and shouting at the top of his lungs to get our attention. He was doing this. I went upstairs to see what the problem was. I heard him as I rounded the corner, "Daddy, door not locked, I can get out!" The little guy was concerned that he was going to be tempted beyond what he could bear. There is a spiritual lesson there somewhere.
Our summer was a quiet and restful one. I took a lot of photo hikes. I took the kids to the Tellus museum (4.5 of 5 stars), the park several times, and Amicalola Falls. The daddy long legs were spawning at Amicalola and at times the forest floor seemed to be no more than a carpet of fast-moving feet. The eldest and I went with Poppa to a Rome Braves game (also 4.5 of 5 stars). The Braves lost. There were other things. It is all a blur now. I took a group of students on a retreat. We rafted down the Ocoee. I didn't die.
I have one the easiest teaching schedules this year that I have ever had. For the first semester I will be teaching only four classes and will only have two preps. Granted, planning Homecoming is like another class. We are leaning towards a Sixties theme.
I was working on some assignments for my AP US history class while subconsciously pondering current events. I try to keep politics from this blog so if you don't want any politics, skip what comes next and look at the cut picture at the bottom. Really, I don't want to offend you so stop now. So Nancy Pelosi and Steny Hoyer wrote an editorial in which they claim that the recent boisterousness at Congressional town hall meetings, "are occurring because opponents are afraid not just of differing views--but of the facts themselves. Drowning out opposing views is simply un-American." While I am quite aware that the House prides itself on being the arbiter on all things un-American (see HUAC), I am afraid that the two esteemed house members are ill-informed about the roots of American protest. They cite, "GASP", that someone has even made an effigy of a Congressman! One doesn't have to be much of student of the American Revolution to know that shouting, yelling, vigorous yodeling, effigies, bonfires, involuntary rail-riding, burning of stamps, soaking of tea, tarring, feathering, tarring and feathering, name-calling, lettering writing, wig-wearing, and wig-throwing were all part of the patriot protest toolbox put together by the founding fathers. The founding fathers of the United States of America! If anything, the old, well-heeled codgers yelling at the Congressmen are unAmerican in their boisterous civility. If they want to protest in a more truly American way, then they are going to have to begin scrounging the egg case and produce aisle for a few choice items past their time and begin kindling some controlled releases of carbon. UPDATE: I used the term "founding fathers with a rather broad definition. With the exception of Sam Adams, most of the be-wigged and capitalized class of Founding Fathers were a bit suspicious of the rabble/mob and tended to disparage their more boisterous demonstrations (like the Boston Tea Party), but I doubt many of them would have called a good effigy burning, "Un-American" nor "un-English."
In a New York court in 1733, Andrew Hamilton successfully defended John Peter Zenger from the charges of seditious libel. The case is credited with establishing a freedom of the press in colonies that was not enjoyed in the home countries. Here is the quote I wanted to share with you: "Men who injure and oppress the people under their administration provoke them to cry out and complain, and then make that very complaint the foundation for new oppressions and prosecutions" (quoted in Diane Ravitch The American Reader). I suppose it wouldn't bother me so much if I thought that real debate is desired, but it is clear that the current government wants us all to shut up and take our government issued medicine. They promise that it is good for us.
At the park:
Peace
...-
This morning the boy awoke with full-scale chicken pox. So much for the first week of school.
The twin boys soon turn three. M is conscientious, helpful, and a budding Dr. Doolittle. Our little home has been plagued by ants for years. We have slowly become used to them. I realized that it has, perhaps, gone a bit too far when M started catching them, keeping them, and feeding them raisins. He has named the spider outside his window "John."
One night, after I had put the twins to bed, I heard M crying for me. We have reversed the locks so that we can lock them in when necessary. He likes to counter this strategy by putting his lips under the door and shouting at the top of his lungs to get our attention. He was doing this. I went upstairs to see what the problem was. I heard him as I rounded the corner, "Daddy, door not locked, I can get out!" The little guy was concerned that he was going to be tempted beyond what he could bear. There is a spiritual lesson there somewhere.
Our summer was a quiet and restful one. I took a lot of photo hikes. I took the kids to the Tellus museum (4.5 of 5 stars), the park several times, and Amicalola Falls. The daddy long legs were spawning at Amicalola and at times the forest floor seemed to be no more than a carpet of fast-moving feet. The eldest and I went with Poppa to a Rome Braves game (also 4.5 of 5 stars). The Braves lost. There were other things. It is all a blur now. I took a group of students on a retreat. We rafted down the Ocoee. I didn't die.
I have one the easiest teaching schedules this year that I have ever had. For the first semester I will be teaching only four classes and will only have two preps. Granted, planning Homecoming is like another class. We are leaning towards a Sixties theme.
I was working on some assignments for my AP US history class while subconsciously pondering current events. I try to keep politics from this blog so if you don't want any politics, skip what comes next and look at the cut picture at the bottom. Really, I don't want to offend you so stop now. So Nancy Pelosi and Steny Hoyer wrote an editorial in which they claim that the recent boisterousness at Congressional town hall meetings, "are occurring because opponents are afraid not just of differing views--but of the facts themselves. Drowning out opposing views is simply un-American." While I am quite aware that the House prides itself on being the arbiter on all things un-American (see HUAC), I am afraid that the two esteemed house members are ill-informed about the roots of American protest. They cite, "GASP", that someone has even made an effigy of a Congressman! One doesn't have to be much of student of the American Revolution to know that shouting, yelling, vigorous yodeling, effigies, bonfires, involuntary rail-riding, burning of stamps, soaking of tea, tarring, feathering, tarring and feathering, name-calling, lettering writing, wig-wearing, and wig-throwing were all part of the patriot protest toolbox put together by the founding fathers. The founding fathers of the United States of America! If anything, the old, well-heeled codgers yelling at the Congressmen are unAmerican in their boisterous civility. If they want to protest in a more truly American way, then they are going to have to begin scrounging the egg case and produce aisle for a few choice items past their time and begin kindling some controlled releases of carbon. UPDATE: I used the term "founding fathers with a rather broad definition. With the exception of Sam Adams, most of the be-wigged and capitalized class of Founding Fathers were a bit suspicious of the rabble/mob and tended to disparage their more boisterous demonstrations (like the Boston Tea Party), but I doubt many of them would have called a good effigy burning, "Un-American" nor "un-English."
In a New York court in 1733, Andrew Hamilton successfully defended John Peter Zenger from the charges of seditious libel. The case is credited with establishing a freedom of the press in colonies that was not enjoyed in the home countries. Here is the quote I wanted to share with you: "Men who injure and oppress the people under their administration provoke them to cry out and complain, and then make that very complaint the foundation for new oppressions and prosecutions" (quoted in Diane Ravitch The American Reader). I suppose it wouldn't bother me so much if I thought that real debate is desired, but it is clear that the current government wants us all to shut up and take our government issued medicine. They promise that it is good for us.
At the park:
Peace
...-
20 April 2009
Monday Miscellany
I am sure I am not the first parent to experience this but...while I was driving my six-year-old daughter to dance last week, I took a moment to lecture her on the importance of behaving properly while in public. She listened intently and affirmed, "That is right. We should behave that way in Publix or Kroger or Target or any store."
When my wife told me that one of the twins fell asleep standing up, I thought she was exaggerating and could not visualize the possibility. I skeptically shuffled up the stairs with my camera and stood agog and took the following pictures:
When my wife told me that one of the twins fell asleep standing up, I thought she was exaggerating and could not visualize the possibility. I skeptically shuffled up the stairs with my camera and stood agog and took the following pictures:
The boys are getting closer and closer to each other. The curly-headed hobbit boy fell asleep in my lap on Easter. His first words on waking up were, "Where's Lala [his word for his brother]?" I said, "Outside." He replied without hesitation, "Outside, too" and jumped off of my lap. I like how this photo suggests that they fell asleep while looking at each other.
The blond-headed Nordic boy did, in fact, say, "Knees hurt" as soon as he woke up. You can see why.
Peace
..._
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