Cliff-Diving

This past Friday, kindergarten zoo field trip. As a teacher at the same school, I get to be just daddy, but unofficially a teacher as well. Day started off well, kids excited, checking lunches. I specifically remember my grandmother's packed lunches on field trip days to the Museum, or San Jacinto monument. She'd wrap fried chicken in tin foil, a soda pop miraculously still cold (wrapped in a wet paper towel and tin foil did the trick), a bag of fritos. Del fixed myself and Cruz a lunch, flat-bread pita style sandwiches, pickles in a sandwich bag, vitamin water, brownies. We ate better than the manatees.

This was Cruz's first bus trip, so he sits with his partner while I get to wave at all the kids I see everyday and confirm once again that I am Cruz's daddy. On the way, the kids sing vowel and alphabet songs, season songs and clapping songs. On the way back, we dropped off almost half of the kids with the parentals. Half of those kids fell asleep on the way back to school. Cruz sat next to me, not because I was his favorite but because I had a large souvenir drink and he wanted my ice. The cutest thing is watching him dig for ice, drop it out of his small hands, dig or another one and telling me his love me while he makes mouth slushes.

Once we began the trip, Cruz and his walking buddy formulated our plan (monkeys and lions!) and we set off, me wearing Cruz's transformer backpack (I think it all came full circle, i might have had one back in the day). The second we entered a housing area for Asian-themed animals, the kid with us refused, became scared and wouldn't forward the field trip. Cruz is bouncing around him, saying, "I'm not scared," "Don't be a fraidy cat," and other borderline mock/assurances that boogeyman, man-eating tigers or aliens would not attack the child. I kept thinking I'd be the first teacher fired for dragging a kid through the zoo, of all things. Poor kid heard a lion roar and you would have thought I was chasing him with a packet of worksheets.

After lunch, no big deal. We went through maybe 1/3 of the park, saw manatees floating in cabbage-laden waters, made funny faces at the bonobos, laughed at Gorilla butts, answered questions about kindergarten-thought evolution--"When that bird grows up, will it become an eagle?"

In the reptile exhibits, Cruz pets snakes, he stand on the edge of the glass looking for snakes like he's searching for Waldo. Our partner was not a finger-length from my hand, skittish at the sounds, delighted in seeing turtles and wondered what an iguana looked like. Am I blessed with a fearless son, or is he a product of my influence on him? I keep thinking of our little partner, no father at home, all the other kids at my school--no fathers. I see people complaining about the lack of marriages that are faithful. Boy, did men blow their responsibility. I see an entire generation of kids, fatherless. God gave us the responsibility to be fathers and what have we done with it? It's squandered.

No wonder the kids are afraid of lions, the darkness, succeeding and failing. Cruz is ready to bungee jump off a cliff and scream, "What's next?" Fearless. God Bless him.

Fearful Unwillingness

Just a few notes I've been wrangling with:

Education--Taking a fantastic vocabulary class on Tuesday nights. Working on changing the way we study and teach this particular subject, as in, no more rote definition lists, taking vocab multiple choice tests, etc. Through the conversation we are having in class with a range of teachers from special education, middle school, high school, a second-year teacher and a retiree, there is always these phrases that somehow creep into our lexicon--

"What about those kids that are unwilling to learn?"

"Some kids don't want to learn."

"Some kids just don't get it."

I wrote in my notebook the word, "fear." Teachers fear the unknown. They fear failing in front of the kids. They fear failing in front of their peers and bosses. They fear the success of their kids. I believe some of them hope for that light bulb to brighten on top of their kids' heads, and then what? What if I go to school and all the kids "get it?" Am I needed anymore? What if everyone was on grade-level, then maybe I wouldn't have to give out these remedial worksheets I've had since 1987.

We fear lots of things. I fear being exhausted and not caring, simply waking up and not loving my job. I fear running out of dry erase markers, losing my door keys, kids revolting and throwing pencils at me. Do I fail in front of the kids? Damn right, but it's those moments that we don't know the answers should bring out the best in us.

I have a friend who could lose her job this week. That's what I fear, not having that control over my job. Sure, I could lose my patience, say something stupid, any of us are at the mercy of kids and complaints. I don't fear accusations as much as I am aware of them. I fear a system that would remove a good friend and judge it right for the "betterment of kids." What's better served in the end?

But class awakened that commitment, that renewed sense of belonging to something larger than myself. God doesn't need me in the schools, he can work his wonders on his own, but He is using me for something. The kids will learn with or without me, but in going forward I have to know that the kids have just as much fear as we do. Do teachers actually think they awaken themselves and WANT to fail? No kid wants to fail. No kid wants to not get an award. It's the same for parents. No one wants to go to an assembly and not see their child on the stage, cheesing for the cameras, shaking hands with the principal. I haven't met those parents yet, or that kid. They are overwhelmed, sometimes ignorant, always fearful, and sometimes unarmed to their bombardment lifestyles. Fear

Fielding Grounders

Thank goodness for Matthew 6:34! On that note, I'll tread around the verse until later.

Mondays here at the Cordova house always start fairly typical. Get the kids ready, head to school, and for myself, a day without specials for school, and normally the beginning of a new Reading lesson. Without a plan on Monday, it makes all the other days at school fail in comparison. So, I'm normally 20% stressed, slowly declining by the year's end because by then I'm mastering more of the curriculum and there's not so much need to weigh the lessons down.

My wife Delcina has just begun Spring session of grad classes, so she's gone in the evening. After school, Milly has dancing/gymnastics. At age 2, it's more wrangling the kids down in some semblance of order so that they may do a forward flip on the inclined mat. Control consists of sitting on a circle or star. My daughter runs past the circle, onto the stack of mats furthest from her station, climbs them and jumps off. Come after her and you begin to realize you're running in circles with your socks on, laughing and having a better time than the kids. It all ends with Ricky Martin's "Ole ole ole" song, lots of hip shaking and jumping. She says, "I'm happy" and we leave.

I finally get as chance to get to my older daughter's softball games. She's a sophomore on varsity, not playing much but unlike last year (maybe that's for another blog), I'm not going into blaming the entire town, district and coaching staff for not playing her. Smiling through the complaint/awkwardness/concern from another parent about your daughter is the kind of silence that I'm learning but not sure I always like. In my Bible study class, one of the lessons concerned how we poison our body's with sex, food, lack of exercise, etc. Then it talks about poisoning your mind with suspicion and gossip. It engulfed me last year. No doubt I'm conscious of attempts to get me back into the man of 2009. Keep growing, keep evolving.

Cruz's baseball practice started at 7:15. Despite his short stature, the boy is all ball. He's a dirt devil. At one point he was miming how to field the ball to his partner, motioning towards where the ball was hit, picking up an imaginary ball and hurling it across the diamond.

And even though my left ear has felt like it's been clogged all night, and I forgot to walk the trash out to the curb, I went back to Matthew 6:34. Do not worry about tomorrow, my dear friend, for tomorrow will worry about itself. It's all those moments of today and so many more to come. Tell me when the ride stops, I have plenty of stamina for another go.

Where's My Drink?

Something like a left behind fountain drink surely wouldn't bear a blog, much less a parting thought to the everyday person. At once, it something tedious, forgetful and absent-minded of which I have been described as committing or acting as such many times. For me tonight, it reminded me of something I had left in the past, and something more than just the extra calories of a Dr. Pepper.

You see, only three years ago, something as trivial as leaving a fountain drink at a fast food pizza buffet, a drink I had bought to save for later, would have been the final straw after a long day. It was another sign that I couldn't handle mundane tasks, responsibility, having the kids on my own. Little thoughts that tear a man down and stick thorns in his side. It starts with a forgotten phone on the nightstand, forgetting to copy something for work, missing a doctors appointment. One event piles upon another. Someone jokes about your "failing" mind, you laugh and wonder if there's some truth to the statement. Aren't jokes nothing more than truth rolled inside an insult. Eat it! Sarcastic people eat more, they dish more out. We all expose our flaws in some way, why not humorously?

So, on my way to Bible study class, I look over at my cup holder and realize the drink is not there. I flashed to the previous night. After packing my bag for my first night of my Masters class, I notice I brought the wrong white binder. I suddenly saw my first impression of myself towards my unseen professor one of some desperate teacher who signed up for the class late (I need the class to re-certify for my teacher's license, which, if you're understanding this blog so far, was overdue and close to expiring), now has forgotten it's notes and content. Back to that moment in a minute.

So I escort (rather, follow) the little ones (Cruz, 6, Reycina, 2) into the church sanctuary and into their respective classes and daycare. As I pass my class, I see my instructor, Chip, sitting alone. Where's the rest of the class? I remind my son not to run in, I slap an armband on his wrist and rush him in despite the pizza sauce stains on his cheeks.

I enter class, Chip looks as if he's packing up to leave, but we speak about the school day (he's a retired Reynoldsburg teacher), dive into the material and the book of Hebrews. We get to around the finishing point--all good things about "once saved, always saved," Catholic priests, Calvinism vs Arminianism--and I tell Chip about that annoying forgotten drink. I express how the last two weeks of school had been more caught up with meetings and feelings and drama instead of what God brought me there to do--to teach, to bring some understanding into a young kids' mind beyond the textbooks. I talked about wanting to just drive home after work, instead of heading to the park, to pizza dinner, to anything. And despite Chip's encouragement, I felt more guilty for complaining about being busy. We read Hebrews 12:1, which talks about being surrounded by a "cloud of great witnesses," cheering us on. How many people, seen or unseen, have been part of my "new" life, when I gave my life to the Lord? How many of my loved ones gasped at the thought, or shook their heads in disbelief? Who are my cheerleaders?

And remember that class of mine, where I left my binder? Well, it went fantastic. I listened, I took notes like a fiend and even worked out some new kinks for my current class the next day. God is good.

And that drink? Three years ago, it would have been the last straw. I would have pouted, driven home, probably gotten into a silly fight, doubted myself. Let the ice melt, like my old self.

Let it water down--undrinkable life!

I'm drinking something new anyways.