school

I Went to School for the Friends, Not the Fractions

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I didn’t go to school to learn—I went for the audience. Classmates were my people, the classroom was my stage, and I had no idea the teachers weren’t there to be part of the show. Every day was a new opportunity to crack a joke, tell a story, or get sent to the hallway for talking again.

I wasn’t trying to be bad. I was trying to be liked. Which, if laughter counts, was working out great—at least until the teacher said, “Raymond, to the office.” I thought that meant the show was getting picked up for a second season.

I went to school because I had t go to school. I was much too social and I liked being the center of attention. Teachers frequently would say, “Raymond, stop talking..” Or, “Raymond, am I going to have to move your desk?” Or, “Raymond, do you want to stay after school.” Or, “Raymond, I’ll see after school.” Heck, for most days, my school day went one hour later than usual. I got very good at cleaning blackboards, clapping erasers against the side of the school building, and watering the teacher’s plants. That was all grade school stuff. Junior high wasn’t much better. Only the punishments were more formal and called detention or getting sent to the principal’s office. I never understood why my English teacher would say, “the principal is your pal. He was never my pal. He was more like the warden at the state prison. I wasn’t a wise guy, I just liked to have fun and since I am a slow learner I never figured out schools were not a place to have fun. And, teachers didn’t have a sense of humor. To this day I can’t understand why my eighth grade teacher sent me to to the office when it was she who asked me to read my story (homework) to the class. Unfortunately for me, I wrote a story about my teacher and her boyfriend. Now, I used different names. How was I to know she’d figure it out? As I read the story, the whole class is laughing (I’m loving the attention). I didn’t even get to the great finish I wrote when I heard the words, “Raymond, to the office.” I turned and asked politely, “What did I do?” The class laughed louder. I loved it. I could be elected class president. The attention was worth the three days detention. The downside, she never asked me to read my stories in front of the class again. How I ended up as an educator is beyond me. I think life was paying me back for the pain I caused all my teachers.

From Fastballs to Fables: How I Got My Sex Ed on the Sidewalk

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Life lessons from a four-room flat, a factory whistle, and a bunch of guys who thought they knew everything.

When I was a kid I walked a bit over mile each day to school. We lived in a six apartment building. Each apartment was a four room cold water flat so close to the railroad tracks the building shook as the express freight trains roared by. Each morning a shoe factory, 50 meters to north, started work at 5 a.m.
The trains shook the walls, the factory shook my sleep, and my friends—well, they shook my understanding of the world. On the way to school I’d meet up with friends from the other apartments and we talk about boy stuff like baseball or football or who was stronger. Once I hit adolescence the talk was still sports but girls played an increasingly bigger role in the conversations. In those days there was no talk about sex in the home. So how did a kid going through pubescence learn about sex? The way most guys did, by listening to the older guys give their wisdom. These gems of wisdom were passed down through generation through crafted art of storytelling. Can you imagine going from playing ball and talking sports to the world described by the older guys? Of course, my friends and I accepted these stories without questioning their authenticity. What’s that experience taught me? Turns out, not everything passed down from the “elders” is gospel—especially when it comes wrapped in a baseball cap and ends with, “Trust me, I know.”

Poem of the Day ~ Sick

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Sick

Shel Silverstein

“I cannot go to school today,”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more—that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut—my eyes are blue—
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke—
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is—what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”

Source

Think About It

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When I was in school, teachers used a chalk board. In elementary school I had the job of erasing and washing the chalk boards after school (It was a punishment for for my talkative behavior – LOL). I didn’t mind the job. Today we use our technology to quickly delete our work on our computers or tablets. We can do the same things with minor incidents that interrupt our days. If we erase or delete them from our active mind, we give ourselves the freedom to move on. When we fail to erase or delete minor irritations we allow them to fester and affect our attitude and moods. I always felt a sense of pride when the chalk boards were clean and Ms. Borchers would say, ‘Thank you, Ray.’ 

Something to Think About

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When we go to school we have a prescribed set of knowledge to learn. We’re tested on the knowledge and given a grade. In many ways we really never stop going to school. Each day of life we are given lessons to learn. Sometimes the lessons are hard and we suffer in learning them. Other times, the lessons are easy if we’re willing to listen. The more willing we are to learn life’s lessons when life teaches them to us, the more easily we’re able to navigate our way through life. It takes a willingness to learn and an open mind to see and learn life’s lessons.

What If . . .

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What if you didn’t ask “How was school?” or “How was work?” Instead, you said, “Tell me about something good that happened to you at school (or work) today?” You’ll get a totally different response. You won’t get the shoulder shrug and “it was okay.” You’ll probably get a look that questions your sanity. LOL If you don’t get an answer, ask again, “C’mon, something good happened today and I want to hear all about it.” You are sending two messages, one, you’re deeply interested in what happened. And, two, you’re willing to listen and and ask follow up question to get a clearer picture of the event. The person sharing will feel good because he/she will be recalling something good in his/her life.

Something to Think About

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I drove by an elementary school today. The sign in the front of the school listed the names of two outstanding students. I don’t know how the students feel, but the parents must feel proud The sign made me recall my elementary school days. I wasn’t the top student by far. Perhaps I would have been the top student if they measured day dreaming. i was really good at that. I was also very good at socializing, which got me frequently sent to an isolated corner table. Perhaps the other six hundred kids in this elementary school who didn’t make the sign are day dreamers like me and enjoy recess over being class. 

The Third-Grade Boy

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The third-grade boy walked nearly a mile to school each day. He barely lived outside the school bus boundary. Each day he walked across the railroad tracks almost adjacent to the tenement building where he lived in a four-room flat with his brother and parents. He wore the only pair of pants and shoes he had. His mother washed his pants each night and hung them by the stove to dry.

He had no idea what he’d become. His mom and dad worked in nearby shoe factories. His favorite uncle was a career soldier in the army. Another uncle a mechanic. And, another a truck driver. His thoughts didn’t travel far beyond the limitations of his immediate experience. Until …

It all changed for him when he went to third grade. The school he attended had two third grade teachers. All second graders knew the best teacher was Miss Pope. She was young and pretty. The other teacher was Miss Thompson. She old, really old, maybe as old as the school as one boy put it. Worse, she was mean. Mean to the core. She didn’t know how to smile another of the third-grade boy’s buddies added.

During his final week in second-grade, he prayed he’d get Miss Pope. He prayed as hard as he prayed for anything. When he was handed his second-grade report card, his heart sunk. His final second-grade report card gave him the good news and bad news. The good news, he was promoted to third grade. The bad news, his third-grade teacher was Miss Thompson. The mean, unsmiling, old, really old Miss Thompson.

Miss Thompson stood by the doorway each morning and in her no-nonsense way, welcomed each child by name. The boy tried hard in her class, after all, she was the meanest teacher in school. No sense making an enemy right away. It was near October when Miss Thompson stopped the boy on his way into class. She grabbed hold of him by his shoulders. He looked at her wide-eyed. His mind racing to a small fight on the playground after school. He hoped no one ratted him out.  Miss Thompson bent over and looked into his eyes and said, “From today on, I’m going to say to you, ‘Good morning governor, because I believe one day, you’ll become governor of our state. Now, work hard and you’ll do it.”

The boy went to his desk and he worked hard for Miss Thompson. He was determined to become governor. Well, Miss Thompson retired ten years later and died a few years after she retired. But, the third-grade boy remembered her lesson. He didn’t become governor, but he worked hard, and he believed. He discovered hard work, determination, and a belief he was capable of doing something special made it all come true.

You never know when you touch a person. Encouraging a young person to dream the impossible, often turns the impossible into the possible. I know. I was the third-grade boy.

crossing the tracks

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