Stop trying to “fix it”!

I get the same responses when I criticize education.  Be it math/ science curriculum, college board monopolies- no matter what I say, I get a knee jerk “so how do you plan to fix it?” Nearly every time! Just stop. Please. Can we just slow down and think about this for a minute? 

Example: in 2018 there was an alarming rate of kids vaping. We had faculty meetings addressing ‘the situation.’ The meeting was staged with props (security guards bringing out boxes of vape pens), statistics, and direct orders to: “be present in the hallways during passing periods, take away juul paraphernalia. Look for the signs…”  Wait, what? How about we ask kids why they want to vape in the first place? A personal withdrawal from intolerable realities of institutionalized education perhaps? 

We want a quick fix, but those un-fixes creates more complications.  Kids just get smarter and sneakier and we still don’t focus on underlying causes.  Plus, it is no surprise to me to see law suits mounting against Juul years later- due to evidence of said company directly marketing to kids- from the cartoon network to personal websites.We educators are up against behemoth juggernauts.

So, what a great opportunity for lesson plans! Teach kids the predatory nature of BM’s- business model strains- and educate them.  I had an argument with a colleague who insisted if kids knew the physical harm of smoking, they wouldn’t do it.  Disagree.  Kids are estranged from their environment.  Hostile, inhospitable habitats do not promote healthy minds and bodies.

Why would kids care about their health when schools don’t?  It just does not make sense to me- and yet it does- we want quick solutions to long standing issues. It’s illogical and the ‘solutions’ divert attention from root problems and create more short term challenges. If it isn’t a vape pen it will be something else.  I propose direct meaningful conversations with kids- not the adults propagating malefactions. Not a fix- just more honest dialogues for a slow unfastening. 

Sarcasm is back!

I used to be sarcastic. Really sarcastic.  Kids loved it. I joked that I wanted a capital S printed on a few of my shirts. Wait, Is it capital or capitol?  The grammar police will let me know.  Anywas, Sarcasm.  It was fun and funny to me and I could use it in class as a weapon. Got to be armed.  Then I had kids of my own.  Have you ever tried to describe sarcasm to a kid?  “yea, that picture you drew is really great”- eye roll.  Then try explaining that what you said was the exact opposite of what you meant.  What you meant to say was “Clearly you skimmed on contrasting colours and the composition is crap,  And what is with the content? Did you draw it with your left foot?”  Third graders are more literal and don’t take those comments well.  Their brains are not wired for such contradictions… yet. They may not get the original reference but wait for it.  It’ll hit em later.  The will feel really bad about themselves, about something they did but they won’t be able to put their finger on it.  They just feel bad. 

You sarcasm adorers- ever looked it up in the dictionary? I didn’t.  I didn’t think about it until I started teaching Philosophy.  My own kids were young and one day it occurred to me to think about what I was saying. Sarcasm: “an act or expression showing scorn and usually intended to hurt another’s feelings.”https://www.merriam-webster.com/thesaurus/sarcasm  Synonyms include: cut, dig, indignity, offense, put down, slap, slight, disapproval.  Abuse. 

Abuse?  I didn’t want that.  I didn’t want to abuse kids with words.  That’s sick.  What’s a gal to do when she knows she’s sick.  Right “get help”.  There are no sarcasm workshops, so I invented my own intervention.  Stop the sarcasm!  For years I abstained.  I knew I was sarcastic and that I needed to amend my ways.  I was sarcastically dependent. The temptation was tremendous every day.  Classrooms, main office banter, and workrooms were like walking into Las Vegas for a Gambler. But it was the lunchroom banter that proved to be the greatest threat to my sarcasm sobriety. The 

A relapse has occurred.  I simply can’t get through the writing day without sarcasm.  

The Liberal Lips League

I wanted to call you the ‘Foxy boys’.  You know, you radio personalities on certain talk shows.  Sadly, I found the word ‘foxy’ on the internet primarily brings up sexual and  lewd images of women, so I thought again.  Just so you know, I listen to your radio show when I can.   I originally listened so that I could pick up on the language, the lingo, and the rhetoric ya all mendaciously reecho.  

It was very helpful in the classroom. Thank you.  Like radar I could detect your loyal listeners and thus work with your brave followers because you have similar sayings and ways of explaining things.  No, I do not discourage your fans.  I listen.  Some students end up talking themselves out of an original thought and get quiet.  Some don’t budge on their and your ideas and I respect that, but at least they are provided an opportunity to think about they are saying and are challenged.  Good for them.  That’s learning.  Your radio show was my personal little secret in order to serve kids better.   Butt when you started prattling on about public education and telling me what I’m teaching in the classroom?  Let me reconsider.  

‘Freedom radio’.  Oh, where to begin guys.  

Ok, let me try a speed writing exercise 15 seconds… and go!  “First, freedom radio is tied to corporate sponsors.  Shall we think about that?  Conservative means less, like less government, but you talk more in your show than another I have heard, which means you talk liberally (more talk less fact). So hear me out- liberal is good in this case. You said teachers are losers. “ Liberal history teachers do nothing but teach Marx, Communism, and Socialist ideas weakening democracy with their lies”. Do you realize that if I taught the way you speak in the classroom that would be… “ Stop. Times up! 

Oh, oh, oh, lightbulb moment my dudes…  You think teaching is sitting in a studio with a microphone just spewing opinions willy nilly.  Careless chatter contaminating communication.  Here is a thought.  You should be a teacher.  In fact, why are there are not more of you jolts in school? Hm, I just wonder what that would be like.  If you were to be silent, you know, not speak for a while and hear me out, consider this- you could teach your truth to teens!  Just so you know on average you would have 25 students per class.  I know you have millions of like-minded supporters who  individually call and talk only you for a few minutes. But In school, in every class of say 25- 30 kids with varying beliefs and backgrounds.  However, I can guarantee you will have at least one of ‘your boys’ in class (it’s usually boys and you’d be proud), but at least one of the liberal feminists you despise (yep, mostly women)  Don’t worry about it, you will have the power. Easy peasy.  Now with 25 others in class with weapons of mass distraction, you might get distracted yourself.  It’s not exactly the same as a studio, what would I know.  Those boys and girls on political polar opposites in the same classes might try to talk as much as you do, well, not that much, but you can handle it.  

And that’s just one class- you would have four - yes, 4- more- 90 minute classes of the same stuff same comments…. every day, every semester and every year!  You wouldn’t last a day.  Oh hold the phone here, another lightbulb moment … you are on to something! You are genius!  No prep, no scientific analysis, no structure, no tests,  no dissent…  polyhistor! .  Just talk for hours and hours about anything you want. Hmmm I have an interesting idea!   How about this? I’ll go back into the classroom as a substitute teacher and be you, only me.  Bring this show on the public educational road!  Your personal doppelgänger!  (look it up). I don’t know you.  I don’t claim to know you but you claim to know everything about me because you listened to the liberal media and shredded teachers with your rapier wit. (it’s rapier…)  It’s like you are hunting.  Hunting for good will.  (it’s ok, they don’t know that movie.)  You just want the best for your listeners.  I support you.  It’s like you’r in a league of your own. (another movie misfire). Be proud to be a liberal!  Keep on talking!  Whoa, now that I think about it we have SO much in common. You like, no wait, dare I say Love?  You love, taking about freedom, liberty and justice.  Me too!! You talk about women politicians quite a lot.  Love that!  So, let me get this ‘straight’- wink- just talk about random stuff with no filter, no checks and balances, no rebuttal?  Ok, ok, ok. I reconsider my original ‘liberal’ agenda.  I started off hostile in tone, but now “I hear you” Lips.  We are one. 

Wow- I listened to your show today and you really got me.  You said I need to pick a side- liberal or conservative. You on one team- believers of freedom, liberty and justice.  Or- that other side, your counter nemesis, npr and its innocuous socialist, communist,  ideas. That’s deep. Tough choice. Alright, I have thought about this.  Tough one, don’t rush me. Hmmm… Well, after careful consideration in the last few minutes- I pic you Lips!! Keep those liberal talk holes a flapping.  I support you.  I am on your side.  One little silly question, or detail to get me started. I like to research.  I like to read and really study something before I talk about it.  You know, books, primary documents, conflicting views, actual critical thinking. I also like to get challenged face-to-face.  It’s harder to have harsh opinions when you have to look at someone in the face, like students.  A lot to think about tonight lips, we’ll talk soon, but remember the ole war saying …“Liberal lips sink ships.”  Talk soon. 

The Grammar Police

(to be sung to the Dream Police by Cheap Trick)

The Grammer Police, There coming for me.  The grammar police, would disagree. The grammar police, they live inside of my head.  The grammar police, they come to me in my bed.  The grammar police, only saw the word ‘there’.  The grammar police, is unaware.  The grammar police, drove me insane.  Teachers inside of my brain.  Cheap Trick.  So slick.  How you tortured me… with your red sharpie (copyright).  No longer in custody, I’ll spell and write just how I please; And I’ll write what I want- and I’ll say what I want, and rhyme no more.  So there. 

Bitter shot

Due to unmitigated circumstances, I was refused the initial covid vaccine as a teacher because I did not have an official “teacher” e-mail address. I did not have an official “teacher” e-mail address because- due to unmitigated circumstances- I took a sabbatical. I took a sabbatical due to covid and other unmitigated circumstances, yes, and other reasons too… (it’s complicated).

Lesson: if you do not play by BM (business model) rules, you get punished. No vaccine for you! Striped of my teacher title I waited for months to get shot. Husband, colleagues, deserv-ed employees got the shot as they should. I waited with the rest of “non-essential” workers until the shot was administered. Yet another bitter pill to swallow in the name of institutionalized education.

No recourse. Just thank you, and may I have another?

My tooth is starting to hurt, I think I’ll look at my coverage. It’s not a vaccine, just a tooth, right? Let’s go to the welcoming home page through public schooling.

“At Jeffco Public Schools, we care about you. That’s why we offer benefits that support you at every stage of your life.”

Nice opening! Every stage of my life? Stellar! Let’s see how this turns out.

Toothless Delight

I lost a molar. Grinding my teeth at night. Not unusual I am told, but “insurance” through education is a bitter dessert.

I received a letter- a delicious confection. A conscientious contemptuous parfait. A sweet-tooth of suffering. After months of tooth agony, I mean delight, (mean delight hm?), a hard candy letter/ notice informed me that the school district’s insurance plan to cover my tooth implant of the BM world- “delta delta delta, can I help ya help ya help ya?” has denied coverage of said procedures.  

It reads: (something like)

“The placement of implant, DCTXRYS (?), conflicts with code DBSYSZ. While normally a  covered benefit, it is not considered Oral surgery for the claims ass Dr. No provided nor approved by the D8000- D7999 code.  As such, the deep sedation/ general anesthesia performed on April 20, 2021 remans denied as per contract.  The Explanation of Benefits accurately reflects the member’s liability for services rendered on this claim. “  

Well written Kristy.  I bet you were a scholar in AP English. I’ll take notes as I am not a writer.  

Delish!  More tasty treats from my “benefits” of teaching.  

My choice, I’ll eat it.  I relished the taste of liability.  I liked where you said you are not responsible for any actions, reminding me that- “I have a right to access and receive copies of any materials relevant to my claim.  As a personal taste, “he/she (me) can appeal bring a civil action law suit under Section 502 (a) of the Employee Retirement and Income Security act of the ERISA (a rise).” 

Yuuummmmy! Sounds scrumptious. Unfortunately, my retirement is complicated from chronic BM’s, so I don’t think I could bring a law suit. Plus my time is pretty full right now.  This sweet pleasure is sickening- sweet. So, thank you, may I have another?

In general

I thought of the song, The General, by Dispatch and IF I were to mess with the lyrics, it would sound like this: Sorry Dispatch… (and it helps to know the song).

There was a general teacher with a heart of gold (?) That likened her to all the stories she told, of past battles won and lost and the legends of old. A seasoned veteran in her own time.

In the classroom she gained respect and praise, She got placards from bosses misspelling her name; She wrote blogs as soon as she could, and always urged her kids on….

But in the Fall of covid and harshness she had seen, the general teacher tossed and turned in her dream, and she got up and wrote what she believed, and stayed softly in her her own den.

I imagine students reading, confusion in the air, and the courage in their blood and fire in a glare, it was a hot summer day when the old general wrote for them not to stay, and they are not be blamed-  

she said “I have been smothered, and I have discovered that that this fight is WELL worth fighting.  and I feel like your mother, but I will no others to follow me where I’m going. SO

Take a shower, you’ve got to chose, you’ve got no time to lose, you are young and you must be living- Take a shower, you’ve got to chose, you’ve got no time to lose- you are young and you must be living, go on you can be flouris,hing… 

Students sat in their desks with a pencil in their hand not really knowing how to take a stand, in general she wrote her blogs but will push it no further, students can do as they please. I don’t know what you’ll do but I hope you look ahead, and one by one I hope you hear the words I said, I am left with my own words echoing in my head and I’m prepared to fight! But 

Take a shower, you’ve got to chose, you’ve got no time to lose, you are young and you must be living- Take a shower, you’ve got to chose, you’ve got no time to lose- you are young and you must be living, go on you can be flouris,hing… 

Go on now, you got to be got to be, got to be flourishing! 

The Shaking Woman

A Book someone recommended, or was it a sculpture?  Anyway, I saw the title and thought-

When I was young I had a nervous tic.  I would “fiddle with my fingers”. “Quit fiddling with your fingers!” I was told. Hand slapped, and repri-handed by authority figures from the church to the classroom to the home.  Looking back if anyone had asked, I was playing the piano.  I liked Beethoven’s Fur Elise, and I didn’t play the piano but I watched someone play it on a variety show.  My thumb moved up and down my appendages along with the song.  The tips were the high notes and the base of each finger were the low notes, low to high- big to little- up and down to that beautiful melody.  “Put your hands up!” Up on a table, up on a desk, up on a pew where we can see your non moving hands.  So it shifted to my feet. I just couldn’t keep still and I just had to fake it. 

But it lingered.

I mention this because A, I think of school as it relates, and that is just sad. B, I’m working on it, I’ll figure it out.  and C, it is really hard for me to write some of my shaky ideas.  I get so excited that I quiver and shake shiver and quake. and rhyme like Dr. Sues. Another defense mechanism? Another helping of neuroses anyone? Yes please! I would like neuron-roses.  Roses made of neurons?  Thats where my head goes.  I see the word roses in neuroses. My head just sees that- not the letters, but the image.  I like my head, it us fun and provided a safer place, ‘more funner’ than the shaky hostile world.  

In my world I play the piano, I am a dancer, a singer, and a host of many personalities.  But don’t call me a writer.  Metastasized Fantasia from my hands to my feet to my brain.  Brain damage for sure, from concussions. Knocked around as it were from invisible hands.  Symptoms include problems with concentration, memory, balance and coordination.Nausea, vomiting, confusion. I don’t get headaches but I have heartaches. Check, check and check!  “Seeing stars” has a different meaning to me. .My wind monders (mind wonders) into watching the stars at night… (yea I kept that in). On the darker side of the moon, shaky woman gets wicked. Shaky and shady thoughts lingeres into driving, parenting, teaching, and has led to many awkward dinner dialogues.  You move on from topic to topic and when it comes back to me- I’m picturing what you said three conversions ago.  shaky wandering mind. The wandering philosopher… wait, Is it wander or wonder, I wonder. Question mark or period? Still, I’ll take my diagnosis thank you very much.  We’re just kinda hanging out here enjoying the shaky roller coaster as best as we can. Shaky but not stirred. 

There was a shaky woman 

Who wrote a shaky poem 

Her spirit was dimmed 

But she is not not broken

Greed cannot drown her

No, you can’t bring her down

I’ll rhyme when I want

I’m not your clown 

G

I was just thinking about how safe you made me feel at school for all these years. Your thundering voice echoes in the hallways of my mind- still. I watched you from my window as you, bravely and unarmed walked outside when there was a lockdown- due to an area shooter. You didn’t hesitate to put yourself in harms way for kids- and me (I felt like). Just your presence helped me to breathe lighter. Selfishly, I miss you and our talks. I could always count on you for being a bona fide, verified, recognized, certified watchman over kids. I wanted you to know how much I appreciate you! Underpaid and undervalued in education, I honor you. I salute you. xo

Jung at Heart

If Carl Jung was my therapist. 

Jung: What brings you in today?

Me: Well, I’m tapped out Mr. Jung. I’ve tried many therapist because I have many ‘dis-orders’ according to society- I’m “Abby Normal”. I’m neurotic, but I also have a sense of euphoria. I feel crazy, and am told that I am, and at the same time I kinda like it, but I may need treatment.

Carl Jung- Please call me Carl, and “The main interest of my work is not concerned with the treatment of neuroses but rather with the approach to the numinous. But the fact that the approach to the numinous is the real therapy, and inasmuch as you attain to the numinous experience you are released from the curse of pathology. Even the very disease takes on a numinous character. “

Me: I need to consult my dictionary, be right back. 

Numinous: having a strong religious or spiritual quality; indicating or suggesting the presence of a divinity.

Pathology: mental, social, or linguistic abnormality or malfunction.

Me: Interesting. I’m with you on that Karl.  Devine pathology. I feel a duality.  Me, the individual, verses society’s demands that conflict.

Carl: “Ultimately everything depends on the quality of the individual, but our fatally short-sighted age thinks only in terms of large numbers and mass organizations…”

Me: True that.  Let me ponder for a while and get back to you. 

Part Two: 

Hey Carl?

CJ- Yes?

Me: I like reading about the shadow.  I’ve been studying dreams and it seems there are some dark archetypes.  It can be overwhelming, but I’m drawn to it like a moth to a light. 

CJ- “To me it seems risky, on the whole, to bring too many of these dark things to light; but sometimes a wanderer in the darkness of night is grateful for the faltering yellow glow of a lone lantern.” 

Me: A lone lantern. Look for the light in the darkness for truth? I’m changing, and I’m excited, and at the same time transformation is scary. 

CJ: “The state of imperfect transformation, merely hoped for and waited for, does not seem to be one of torment only, but of positive, if hidden, happiness. It is the state of someone who, in his wanderings among the mazes of his psychic transformation, comes upon a secret happiness which reconciles him to his apparent loneliness. In communing with himself he finds not deadly boredom and melancholy but an inner partner; more than that, a relationship that seems like the happiness of a secret love, or like a hidden spring-time, when the green seed sprouts from the barren earth, holding out the promise of future harvests."(Carl Gustav Jung, Vol 14, par. 623)

Me: Cool, cool, cool. It does fell like a hidden secret happiness.  (and I go by she) A wanderer among the mazes. I’m concerned about future generations. What can I do to help children? 

CJ:   “If you are too concerned about your children, you simply burden them with the debts you have contracted. While if you contract no debts, if you live simply and make yourselves as happy as possible, you leave the best of conditions to your children. At all events, you leave a good example of how to take care of themselves. If the parents can take care of themselves, the children will also. They will not be looking for the happiness of the grandchildren, but will do what is necessary to have a reasonable amount of happiness themselves.”

C. G. Jung - Seminar on Nietzsche's Zarathustra

Me: Leave the best of conditions to your children.  Take care of myself. Live simply. Leave a good example- to show children to take care of themselves. 

Thanks Carl. 

Part Three:

Are you there Carl? It’s me Ingrid.

Me: It’s like, I want the best for kids, students. It seems like I want it more than they do!  A flourishing life, but they don’t know how, and they have been conditioned, too beaten down. Carl, do you have some advice for me?

CJ: "Never forget that you are a man and therefore you must bleed for the goal of humanity. Listen, you are still too juvenile for your age. You should get older, the years are dwindling and yet your work has not been accomplished. 

Practice solitude assiduously without grumbling so that everything will in time become ready. You should not die unfulfilled. Your years are numbered and many years are still needed for your fulfilment. You should become serious and your work sink heavy as iron into the ground of mankind. 

Let go of too much science. There lies the way that is not the way. Your way goes toward the depths, toward the rarest and deepest."  C. G. Jung - Black Books.

Me: Wow. Ok. I am a woman, and thanks for the advice. You make sense!  You are good!

L~

You have been a great friend and yes, mentor, for what, over twenty years?! I’m sorry for assigning “outlines” in AP American History, I was young and compliant. But you have stuck with me. You have three kids of your own and have graced my classroom many times since our initial educational rendez-vous. I treasure our chats. You keep me on my toes. Thank you for keeping me grounded (or at least trying), and for questioning me and my motivations. You have been a great teacher, and I look forward to many many more dialogues. - see you soon. ~I

PM-

Thank you for being you! You took a bold turn and became a teacher. You got out of your comfort zone, moved to the South, adopted a kid, put him through college and became an administrator. Good for you. I admire and respect you. I look forward to chatting with you. I have a lot to tell you. I consider you a friend and I trust you. I loved having you in AP European History- it seemed like a light bulb went off, and we have been close ever since. I want to make you proud. You are amazing! I can’t wait to wrangle you into my weird world of I.School.

I know you are as passionate about education as I am. Sorry, if I influenced you. It’s a blessing and a curse for sure. Thanks for your concern about my ‘hunger strike’, you care, and I feel it. And you know I have to do this. Can’t wait to catch up. See you soon. ~N

For what I’m worth

I am worth $21,143.64.  That was the check I wrote to leave education.  An exit fee for teaching.  I had 0.683 years left in the district prior to retirement.  So, in order to get my full 30 years in teaching (in order to receive 75% of my pension) I ‘chose’ to purchase the  0.683 years left of my career.  I bought myself back.  I’m sure if you talk to any of the business model types, they will give you circular talk about how that amount of money makes sense and why it is a 0.683 contract year, blah blah, the data and the numbers and why the data and the number are so logical,  but seriously? 

Yet another SNAFU in in this incarceration. 

I took a “sabbatical.” A “break in contract” with Jeffco schools as was offered to employees concerned with going back to work under covid in the fall of 2020.  It was a “oh, we’ll throw you a life preserver to show we care.” Looks good on a web page, not so good in life.  It was one school year with no pay, no health care, no benefits.  How many teachers can afford to do that? 

Me: ok.  let’s do that.   

Buckle up.

By the end of December 2020 we ‘sabbaticals’ received a letter.  It read that if a decision was not made by February 1, 2021 to return to school in August, jobs would be terminated.  Terminated? I had one month to decide my fall fate.  Mask mandates were in place, no one really knows what is going on in education but it sure does seem like a panicked rush for control.  More fear and intimidation. I signed an ominous paper with good will that- I had no clue on whether or not to return, but- I did not want to lose my job.  Scary but no harm right? I should be able to leave when I want, right?  My mind started planning an escape.  Long process short- I would take money from my future retirement funds and get out.  

Not so fast.  The hours and days it took to process this paperwork is absurd.  Like a phone service or any other bm (business model) that has a profitable agenda. It’s easy to get in, but just try getting out.   And by the way, why in the hell do we still need notary publics? It was not easy to find one in covid.  Who needs a notary?  BS jobs perhaps. Anyway, I called HR repeatedly to make sure all was in order.  My 3-am panic fever- fear was that I would be told I didn’t have the right paperwork in and that I had would have to go back to school.  

On June 1, I received a call from Pear-A (retirement BM’s) saying they did not receive the proper paperwork, therefore I would not be getting my retirement pay.  My check was deposited and cleared by May 28th, but I still will not be receiving due pay. 

I ‘officially’ had all retirement requirements by May of 2021. All systems go.  It is documented. However,  due to that threatening letter signed back in January, the powers that be (and I would really like to talk to you…)  say I am considered under contract until August 10th, 2021.  All of this is new by the way, no precedence has been set, ever.  But because of that bogus letter and because it is not August 1st, I will not be getting any pay until October 1.  Four more months of non-pay.  End of August, September 1 is the new start, so the end of September is considered employed.  

Out of the dozens of people I talked to, not one person could give me a straight answer nor take any responsibility.  Not one.  “Oh, that’s not my job, Oh, you’ll have to talk to so in so.  Let me transfer you to…”  Back and forth back and forth.   (Exception for Elvira, you saint of a woman who tried to help!)   

Stripped of e-mail, essential services established early in my career.  I was blocked from all access to prior personal/school information.  All gone. I no longer “exist in the system” I was told. So, catch 22- I’m no longer an employee, no longer in the system, but I can’t get my retirement because I am still considered part of the system. 

Left like a veteran of war begging for hand outs.  Once used for service, now disregarded goods.  Eager to hire, easy to expire. 

My worth? Not much it seems.  

And that begs the question.  If teachers are not essential- not worthy of respect, pay and acknowledgement then why the desperate drive campaign to make sure every school is fully operational and in-person… during a pandemic!?  Schools are big money- BM’s for sure. 

Worth has its own connotation.  I am ‘worth’ $21,143.64 according to my teaching contract. 

Ok.  but in my world, my beautiful crazy world, my Eudaimonia is more than flourishing. sort of budding, for what its worth.  More to come!

For what it’s worth:

There is something happening here.  What is, is exactly clear!

There’s a test you must take over there

Telling you you must have despair 

I think it’s time we stop 

Children, kicked around 

Take a brave stance or you’re going down

Battle lines being drawn

Everybody’s right, but everybody’s wrong

Young people used for their minds 

Getting bought and sold from the grind 

Cheesed off of Buffalo Springfield, but oh so relevant. Right? 

Get the order right!

No. Not a food order.  “Get the order right” is what I heard at a general retirement luncheon from the principal to the mc of the event. There were a stack of placards to be dispersed and I happened to be one of the people retiring.  What she meant was- read the names from the least important to most important.  Like fireworks, save the best for last.  I get it.  Get the order right. I was the first to be recognized out of of five retirees. The main secretary was the last. Fitting, and I totally agree! she has earned it!  Sincerely. Secretaries rule the school and deserve the upmost recognition.  Custodians too. 

For the organizers of such events, I do have one request. I would like my placard to be changed.  It reads: “With grateful appreciation for 30 years of dedicated service to students.” Nit picky, I realize after almost 30 years of teaching, but I would like the engraving to be changed to 29.4 years.  You see I purchased my last .684 years, so it doesn’t really count. It’s all about the data.

I appreciated the parting words from administration but one minor correction here mc- I never taught Sociology, but you were right when you said “she taught other social studies stuff”.  Personal. You are a funny guy and I hope you can laugh at this.  I mean no disrespect.  It was actually appropriate because the rest of the placard said it all.  “Dedication to the service of students.”  Spot on! I did not get into education to appease adults.  I dedicated my service to kids.  Always.  At the end of each semester I get thank you cards from students.  All teachers do, and it is a reminder to me why I am/ was in this job. The thank you cards from students have always been loving, specific, and genuinely appreciative.  So when asked to speak a few words at the luncheon?  Pass.  I went because I wanted to individually say goodby to  secretary’s, custodians, counselors and supportive colleagues with whom I share a passion. 

I have learned to prioritize my time and attention, more. It’s not that I have a disregard for administration, I just want to get the order right.  

You’ve got that right!

is what I said to an administrator after arguing about letting an unruly student back into my class.  

Me: “It’s not about me or the class, I can handle it.  It’s about the student.  He needs help. You can’t really think about putting him back in class after what happened?  What about the other students and their safety? ”  

He: “Well Ingrid, you and I have different philosophies…..” (what kind of answer is that?!)

Me: “You’ve got that right!”  

Crash Course

Three stories come to mind- to remind me of the hazardous conditions that coerced education mines. 

One: I passed out in class.  I got very excited.  It was the day after parent-teacher conferences and there was a particularly difficult parent I confronted. This mom was outraged that her child did not have an A in AP Psychology.  She had a hight B.  After listening to mom rant about how an A is absolutely necessary to …I never got to the why…(same old, same old-, she won’t get into the college.. blah blah) and I was compelled to stop her.  I grabbed her hand and said “your daughter is amazing!  She is thoughtful, caring, smart and compassionate.”  I gave her a few examples as to the greatness of her child and then said: “which would you rather have?  A supporting loving relationship with this amazing kid (your daughter) or do you want a fleeting A?”  Thankfully, she stopped talking and left. The next day my student asked me what I told her mom because her mom came home after conferences, hugged her and told her the A didn’t matter as much as her sprit. After telling me this, the student hugged me and said thank you.  It was the beginning of class.  I was so overcome with joy for this student, but class was about to begin so I walked around the room to my desk and just tumbled.  Face down, glasses on into a bookcase.  I was conscious again after a few seconds but my brain went from “hey, time to take attendance” to a self-voice echoing “hey, why is my face on the carpet?”  

Weird.  But, here is the clincher.  No one moved.  I’m lying on the floor and not one student moved to help.  A former student who just happened to be visiting and had first-aid knowledge acted quickly.  Thanks B, and B for lumbering downstairs for the nurse!  I was fine, and on my feet in minutes but I later asked my class, what happened?  We chatted about ‘group think,’ ‘conformity’, Kitty Genovese/“the bystander effect”, and other AP Psych terms for final review, but the question lingered.  Why did no student seated get up to assist? Sorry “R” I know this story hurts because you love me and wanted to help.  Me? 

I witnessed the bystander effect first hand. It wasn’t that students didn’t love or respect me, I hope.  It was that we condition our kids to the point of complacency.  Pithed. They, the students, simply don’t know what to do.  After a lifetime of conditioning of “do this, don’t do that” why would they respond otherwise? Commanded rely on the command.  Crash.  Course completed.  

Two: I recall a student, a senior, who got bone cancer his junior year of high school.  Finals were coming up and “J” had a math class to complete.  Algebra II was of prime importance in education, thus ‘required’ for graduation.  The paradigm for progress of his “success” in life.  A primer baseball player, “J” nonetheless was pressured into taking  a complex Algebra II math final test.  He was sick.  He was undergoing gut-wrenching cancer treatments that made him miss the final on the mandatory scheduled date. Although he had a passing grade up to the final, the final test was ‘critical’ for a terminal patient/ student.  Final make up day was set.  His mom provided a puke bucket for him to vomit in due to his chemo treatments, but he took the final and passed.  He graduated from high school and died the following May.  I cannot comprehend the complete uselessness of this coercion.  His passion was baseball.  Higher math was not only a waste of his time it kept him from the time he could have spent with his passion- baseball-  and his loved ones. Course completed.  Crash. 

Three: Psychotic episode.  The year prior to covid, I had a student that started acting erratic in class.  He stood up in the middle of a lecture, interrupted me several times- talking loudly, pointing at posters in the room and rambling about space and the universe and then just gibberish. After a few minutes of this, he swiftly changed demeanor, pulled out some clear play-dough stuff out of his back pack started rolling it into balls on his desk making mumbling sounds about colors again. There are 27 other students in class concerned. 

Now, I had been at this school for 19 years and have requested security one time. This was that one time.  Clearly he was on drugs, truly psychotic, or what- you tell me.  It was not pretty.  The next day I was told by an administrator that he will be placed back in my class.  Ok, it didn’t happen exactly like that.  What happened was - I asked an administrator to remove him from my class.  It was an elective class and not necessary for graduation, and I said this kid might not be in the best mental place for my class content. I was scared, the other students were scared. 

I was told I “might be exaggerating” and that the matter will be looked into.  That night, in my home, I received a call from the mom of this student.  No, I don’t know how she got my home number.  But after talking to an administrator I assume, she made a plea to me personally to allow him back in class. So I’m put in an unreasonable position.  Of course he was going to come back to class.  It’s about the bodies.  

What happened next?  Right. One day later he was readmitted. And yes, he did the exact same thing. I took pics of his desk after he was escorted out (for the second time) because I felt like I needed evidence.  What am I CSI? I felt threatened, belittled and bullied, oh no, not by the kid, by the people ‘in charge’.  I feel for the kid! Another pawn in the BM.  What about him?  He clearly needed help. I liked him.  We talked later and he felt really bad. He was sober and I think he would have actually benefitted from my class and I would have loved his input, but sadly, it’s not about him. He was moved to an english class.  Wanna guess what happened? Yea,  the message is clear- we care more about your body in a desk than your well being and the safety of others.  Crash course.  

Stop with the thoughts and prayers!

Because those “thoughts and prayers” have become completely meaningless.  Words fall on dead ears. (I know what I said). Those words sound well intended.  I mean what else are we supposed to say?  We feel compelled to talk as though that will make it better.  If I tell a Sandy Hook parent how sorry I am and that they are in my thoughts and prayers, that must remedy something right?  It makes me feel better momentarily, at least.  I don’t have to go home to tiny toothbrush still wet from the morning routine. - oh, I just can’t let my mind go further into that scenario. It’s too painful.  Too much. “Too far Ingrid!”  Just give us answers.  What should we say?

How about nothing?

What would happen if after another school shooting a sheriff, principal, or president gets on the news and says this… nothing. Just empty space.  No facial expressions.  No words.  Simply Silence.  Reporters pushing microphones and cameras into authoritative figureheads begging the question: “What’s was the motivation?” “Who did this?!”  Who can we crucify? We want someone to blame because the confusion and unfathomable discomfort  is seemingly too hard to bear and we don’t dare focus on our own actions.  You want motivation?  It’s everywhere, just be still enough to see for yourself. Painful?  Yep, and why would we want to feel better after another shooting? I think we are wired for that emotional pain too. It is so intense it has the potential to motivate us. If we focus on a scapegoat then our anger gets directed away from our own hearts.  It’s much more painful for me to think I have contributed to this horridness.  But I have. I’m culpable by being complicit.  I have to live with that.  Now what?

Silence.  It would leave us with that empty space.  A raw uncomfortable feeling of dread.  We want answers, we demand justice for such atrocities.  “How could this happen?”  Again and again.  Sit with it.  Be uncomfortable.  Perhaps part of the problem is not feeling it enough. Weapons of mass distractions. Anger seems easier, at first, but profound reverent sadness may provide a stronger serum. 

Miss Newson’s Opus.

  This web page is a love letter, of sorts. Dedicated to all the students I have ever had the honor and privilege of having in class for the last 29.4 years.  Whether you liked me or not, I love you.  You have been my life’s passion.  Much more than a vocation, you were a calling for me. Although sort of retired (it’s complicated) I’m not quite ready to let you go, though. I’d  like to keep doing this if you don’t mind.  Not a Newson fan? No problem. You are no longer required to be at the mercy of my medium. For those precious pupils that remember me and were pleased with my presence, stick around, there is more to come!  A lot more!  I love writing now that I’m not in school.  Because you know me, I’m better off-topic. (R)  So get ready for the Newson show: weird, crazy, silly, serious, smart, not so smart, sad, emotional cheeky, lascivious, and as a lover of learning words, a logomaniac. I’m going to talk a lot about myself.  It’s uncomfortable, and seems narcissistic which- it might just very well be, I just want to take responsibility for my words and actions first hand. Capice? I am certain I’m going to offend many many of your peers and parents. Probably you too.  I’ll take that.  For you. Always for you.  I’ve used a lot of movies and songs in class.  I’d like to tell you more about it in this site.  I hope you don’t mind all the references.  I’m graduating from high school.  No longer tied to restrictive classroom rules, I’m going rogue. Spelling? Grammar? Filter? Format? No Way! Not anymore. If your a fan of grammer you will cringe. (see what I mean?) But, I am going to write as much or as little as I want.  When I want.  So there. It’s the ideas that are important here. This is my Philosophical Playground.  Recess is in in session.

It’s all free as learning should be. I try to give credit as often as I can.  I am also not always going to leave links defending my point.  Could be true, could be made up.  At some point, think for yourself- you know that is what I have always want for you all!  

There is a rating system here.  T-school is for the very brave.  It has been the thing I have been avoiding.  It’s hard for me to stomach. Good luck. I-School will be more playful and more Books to be written are in the making.  Not for profit.  All for you, my life long students. My family! I miss you all

~Miss Stor-y/ Newson

Schools out for summer!

Well, School’s out for summer! School’s out forever! (sort of- it’s complicated.). No class, no principals, no rhyming? Wait, what? Good timing! Alice Cooper’s Schools Out song is iconic. An end of the year anthem. Fitting. It reminds me of how much we really hate school. Teachers blast it from classrooms (or sound systems-wink) as a battle cry. “AAAHHHH!” Like we are Braveheart- “FREEDOM!.” Painted faces replaced with pallid complexion. (complexion is spelled with an x?) but the sentiment is similar. Relief that the battle is over, for a spell.

“School's out for summer (what’s summer? I’m re-tired.)
School's out forever (Sort of- it’s complicated)
School's been blown to pieces (metaphorically, and I hope so!)

No more pencils (or chrome books)
No more books (or standardized hooks)
No more teacher's dirty looks (because- it’s complicated)

Well, we got no class (is that a play on words Alice?)
And we got no principals (or principles)
We ain't got no innocence (a given)
We can't even think of a word that rhymes” (Really Alice? well if you can write, and not rhyme, so can I! No wonder you didn’t like school, english classes were probably not kind- but kind of ironic- they play yr music…. word. (~for JT)

I.School- Summer School. I’m going to post as many blogs as I can as to prepare for the fall “classes” See you August 10th.