I'm really not a great teacher.
And I'm not sure I'm still in love with it.
In 2011, I was hired after my first interview. I had a third grade class. There were 4 of us on the same team, a veteran and two young ladies who were new to teaching like me. The school was as inner city as you could get in Columbus. The neighboring apartment complex was nicknamed "Uzi Alley". When we first walked the streets to make home visits, there were more boarded up apartments than livable ones. I've had enough memories there to write a book. September 11th attacks, sexual harassment charges towards my partner and a removal from the school, lots of yelling on my part, 2nd grade teachers who had to teach in the library because we didn't have enough classrooms, a new principal, a student from Africa who knew no English and lots of other things too. I had a kid run away from the classroom, from the school! I learned a lot about myself that year. I was passionate about making myself a better teacher. Personally, my wife and I were trying to have our own family with no results. I had a house, my very own house! I was a certifiable adult.
I taught five more years under 3 different principals and an ever-changing curriculum. I had a rock star team for several of those years, but slowly we were split up. I started a soccer team I hated to leave once my second child. Heartbreak followed by miracles. We suffered through miscarriages more than once until we ended up adopting our oldest daughter. From zero to three in a heartbeat. I accumulated more stories for another book. Insubordination towards my principal, affairs between teachers, arguments with staff during meetings or in the halls, arguments with parents, a curriculum that had several detours, restarts and blowups.
But somewhere along that line I think I lost something. For the first several years, I would watch the kids leave the school on the last day and weep. Sobbing right there on the front steps like some big crybaby. I used to complain about the summers and if I could have gotten into the school in July I would have.
At my new school I became a new teacher all over again. I taught 5th grade this time. A new ballgame. They ran me that year, for a bit anyway. A couple of months in, they split my class. I taught a 4/5 split for two years and it challenged me once again to juggle the demands of 2 grades. Sometimes the fifth graders were so high it was tough keeping them on task. I became a Christian right around that time, too. Suddenly I looked upon this gift I was given, this ability to teach, as a mission field. It wasn't about the test. It was about relationships, fighting the culture, inspiring them to think outside the box.
Other priorities took precedent. Family, a commitment to serve within my church, sports with my own children. Teaching became a job instead of a mission. The consistencies of teaching--the kids, the curriculum, my teaching partners--became inconsistent. The surge towards testing has left a stain on education. The curriculum changes come seemingly overnight. This new initiative towards PARCC places demands on all of us. My kids are taking on-line tests that require the kind of skills that take practice. You know how many times I get the kids in computer lab? Once a week for one hour. With this testing, we haven't been in the lab for over a month. And because our librarian is needed as a proctor, our students haven't checked out a new library book in over a month.
Recently, I've had a spate of discipline issues. In February I attributed in to the lack of consistent schedule and because we were stuck inside. While I always felt I was self-reflective about my teaching, I wasn't in terms of my management. I'm laid back compared to my counterparts. Kids in my room sometimes sit on their desks. They take off their shoes when they silent read. We have tons of opportunities for group work, projects and experiments. Sometimes we're loud. We know silly songs and dances. I like to think that by allowing the kids to have some freedom, they can truly learn the way they want to. But sometimes that freedom is enough rope to hang themselves.
So this past Friday I became the first-day-of-school teacher again. We reinforced the rules, separated groups, went to zero noise. They raised their hands when they wanted to sharpen their pencils. The only way I can keep some of them from getting into drama or to complete their work to their best ability, I have to be literally be monitoring them 24/7. Something cool happened when I buckled down.
The kids responded.
My suspicions of the kids who were copying came to fruition when I saw them struggle while sitting alone. Without all the discussion, the kids who value more structure thrived. Two of my students actually came up to me and said they liked it that way. When I did hear talking, I heard conversation with numbers, about strategies. By the end of the day, I left smiling. I didn't sigh when I boarded the bus students. I didn't have that Friday Night Blues face as I left the school.
I know that the need for discipline is the true lesson in all of this. When I have time for myself, I don't always choose wisely. In the classrooms where my teachers didn't seem to care, I carried on all sorts of nonsense. I gave answers to my friends on tests, I listened to my cassette player (remember those?), I passed notes and doodled. It had nothing to do with how interested I was, it was all about the lack of structure. Same thing with my home life. My diet needs consistency. My faith walk needs consistent maintenance. My kids need love and support too. Discipline.
I'm not sure when I'll know I've become a great teacher. I think it's the same thing about life. How does one define oneself as a great person? A great Christian? A great father? I'm none of those. But I'm striving towards. When I think I've made it there will be a new test, life's renewed curriculum. Perhaps at the end of the year, I'll weep again, counting the days until August when I can return.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Our Mistaken Jupiter
There are enough metaphors about the onset of spring that I wont try and come up with one now. All you need to know dear reader is that there are fresh mud tracks in the house from our saturated back yard, a bucket of baseballs lies empty next to a brand new bat. Our trunk is full of strewn lacrosse gear (the one thing I didn't get at Sports Authority the other day was a bag!) and we've traded in our hoodies for jackets. Today, despite the all call for school wide indoor recess, I strolled the non-detentioned fifth graders outside for some fresh air and it felt like redemption. Of course, the entire time I'm surrounded by students who just want to chat. Why aren't you playing? Instead they are asking me questions like, "If you had a chance to choose all brothers or all sisters, what would you choose?" how many languages we all speak (me? one), our love of author James Dashner and comparing New York dad (who wore a suit) to Ohio Dad (who works in a factory, no suit).
The other night, my wife piled us into the van and swore she saw Jupiter. Instead, she realized it was the full moon. It looked like I was driving straight into it, she had said. Winter feels like that sometimes, like you're driving into the moon.
I know my son is happy spring is coming. He just started a new sport, lacrosse, and it's unique for me because I know nothing. Of course, he's not the biggest kid but he's learning, hustling and improving--the signs of a player. February was a tough month for him, and us as his parents.
He started the month in detention for his use of language on a Mad Libs website. Remember Mad Libs? Those flip pads with silly stories with blank lines that asked you to write in random nouns, adjectives and verbs to make sentences like, "Four cats just rescued a dandelion from the Empire State Building while farting." Classic literature. Not having learned his lesson, he was caught passing notes to a friend with more bad language. More detention. The school was also reporting that he was getting more aggressive towards substitute teachers. He claimed he was fighting for his freedom. I told him he can quit the Ghandi act and do what the sub said.
We tied the foul language to Vine videos he was watching on youtube. I was too lazy to fight with him about taking his iPod up to his room. Not only that but when I scrolled though his Safari history my heart dropped when I saw porn sites, semi-nude pictures and questionable pop-up ads. The generational sin had reached down to my son, all under my watch. I felt sick. We went into defcon mode and changed his iPod habits and worked on changing the settings which are almost impossible. How convenient that as a parent you have to basically say no to something like a phone, tablet or device that allows internet access. The devices work with codes but the same code you would use to swipe open a phone is the same code that allows you to bypass the restrictions like website or music ratings and blocking apps. Parents are not a thought in the minds of these businesses that target kids.
At home, my son's behavior went from bad to worse. Without access to his electronics, he revolted. At one point he began undressing after dinner because if we were going to "take everything he had" then we could have his clothes too. One night, he donned his hoodie and stood defiantly in the back yard and refused to come inside. In the snow. 25 degrees. I did not go after him. If I had I would have been the talk of the neighborhood. After about 20-30 minutes I went down to the basement, took an old x-box game out of its case and threatened to snap it if he didn't come inside. He chose to come inside. The battle was one, but the casualties of war were evident.
After consulting with our doctors again, and some serious night on my knees in prayer (which included a talk with my lovely sister), much of my son's transgressions were due to the change in schedule. With all the snow days last month we chose to not medicate him. We dealt with him at home when he got squirrely, but we enjoyed his appetite. Now that the sun is beginning to shine again and school has been back in session he is back more to normal. At least normal in the sense of being hyperactive, attention deficit and oppositional normal can be.
My class has been equally difficult. I haven't worked a full week since January when you add in snow days, sick days and my own children's sick days. This last month has been rife with rolled eyes, attitude and mumbling defiance. But being a teacher is in essence a parent's role. You slack on discipline and you have to put your foot down to maintain control.
Did I mention we have been testing over the past month? My fifth graders are taking a new round of computer based standardized state tests. The curriculum has been hard to nail down as the changes continue to come from the state like a script from some bad movie that needs rewrites. Today we took the math portion of the test. Almost over 2 hours staring at a computer screen. No talking, no teaching on my part. I get to spend my morning handing students keys to go to the bathroom, sharpening pencils, restating directions and telling kids to turn around. Thank goodness for that college education.
There are glimmers of hope. It's spring right? Reminders that God is there. Yesterday two of my science students presented their scale models at the city Metro Parks function. I was not able to join them because my son needed to be picked up from robotics class after school. I hustled out of school, drove down to his middle school in the rain to find out he did not go (which he failed to tell me). I raced home to get Milly and then raced to the Metro Park. I walked in during their snack intermission. But luckily I was able to see them present to the city suits, take some pictures and talk with their parents. Proud teacher moment.
This past Sunday, my son went to one of those trampoline/jump places with the church youth group. He was so excited to just play. In one corner of the facility was dodgeball. The warning outside of the fenced area read, "Children will be grouped by size not by age," with the underlines just like I had them here for emphasis. When my son first went to play, he was playing with some small kid. Just the two of them. Dodgeball it wasn't. By the time the rest of the church group joined in, the teenager monitoring motioned my son to get out and said, "You're a little too small for this." He patted his head as a form of remedy for his broken spirit.
I could see the defiance welling inside my son. He threw his hand up. He walked down the stairs to me, and while he wasn't crying he was bummed. There weren't any words exchanged. I didn't even know what to say at that moment. We just stood together listening to the sounds of laughter. I really don't even know who was leaning on who. That's when our youth leader walked down to him and called him up. Apparently, Mr. Sean had vouched for him and he was allowed to participate with his group. Sweet redemption. These are the times when the groans we give to God are heard just as clear as the prayers. He knew what we needed at the moment and he sent Mr. Sean. Well played, God, well played.
There are several metaphors about parenting. I wont retread them here, nor am I eloquent enough to originate some new profound thought. One day my son will be driving and seeing his own mistaken Jupiter. The road ahead will be unclear, but the end result will be as beautiful as the rising full moon. Groans as prayers. Perhaps even a drive with his family, shoeless and excited to see the night sky, even knowing their parents are sometimes wrong, a full smile on their faces.
The other night, my wife piled us into the van and swore she saw Jupiter. Instead, she realized it was the full moon. It looked like I was driving straight into it, she had said. Winter feels like that sometimes, like you're driving into the moon.
I know my son is happy spring is coming. He just started a new sport, lacrosse, and it's unique for me because I know nothing. Of course, he's not the biggest kid but he's learning, hustling and improving--the signs of a player. February was a tough month for him, and us as his parents.
He started the month in detention for his use of language on a Mad Libs website. Remember Mad Libs? Those flip pads with silly stories with blank lines that asked you to write in random nouns, adjectives and verbs to make sentences like, "Four cats just rescued a dandelion from the Empire State Building while farting." Classic literature. Not having learned his lesson, he was caught passing notes to a friend with more bad language. More detention. The school was also reporting that he was getting more aggressive towards substitute teachers. He claimed he was fighting for his freedom. I told him he can quit the Ghandi act and do what the sub said.
We tied the foul language to Vine videos he was watching on youtube. I was too lazy to fight with him about taking his iPod up to his room. Not only that but when I scrolled though his Safari history my heart dropped when I saw porn sites, semi-nude pictures and questionable pop-up ads. The generational sin had reached down to my son, all under my watch. I felt sick. We went into defcon mode and changed his iPod habits and worked on changing the settings which are almost impossible. How convenient that as a parent you have to basically say no to something like a phone, tablet or device that allows internet access. The devices work with codes but the same code you would use to swipe open a phone is the same code that allows you to bypass the restrictions like website or music ratings and blocking apps. Parents are not a thought in the minds of these businesses that target kids.
At home, my son's behavior went from bad to worse. Without access to his electronics, he revolted. At one point he began undressing after dinner because if we were going to "take everything he had" then we could have his clothes too. One night, he donned his hoodie and stood defiantly in the back yard and refused to come inside. In the snow. 25 degrees. I did not go after him. If I had I would have been the talk of the neighborhood. After about 20-30 minutes I went down to the basement, took an old x-box game out of its case and threatened to snap it if he didn't come inside. He chose to come inside. The battle was one, but the casualties of war were evident.
After consulting with our doctors again, and some serious night on my knees in prayer (which included a talk with my lovely sister), much of my son's transgressions were due to the change in schedule. With all the snow days last month we chose to not medicate him. We dealt with him at home when he got squirrely, but we enjoyed his appetite. Now that the sun is beginning to shine again and school has been back in session he is back more to normal. At least normal in the sense of being hyperactive, attention deficit and oppositional normal can be.
My class has been equally difficult. I haven't worked a full week since January when you add in snow days, sick days and my own children's sick days. This last month has been rife with rolled eyes, attitude and mumbling defiance. But being a teacher is in essence a parent's role. You slack on discipline and you have to put your foot down to maintain control.
Did I mention we have been testing over the past month? My fifth graders are taking a new round of computer based standardized state tests. The curriculum has been hard to nail down as the changes continue to come from the state like a script from some bad movie that needs rewrites. Today we took the math portion of the test. Almost over 2 hours staring at a computer screen. No talking, no teaching on my part. I get to spend my morning handing students keys to go to the bathroom, sharpening pencils, restating directions and telling kids to turn around. Thank goodness for that college education.
There are glimmers of hope. It's spring right? Reminders that God is there. Yesterday two of my science students presented their scale models at the city Metro Parks function. I was not able to join them because my son needed to be picked up from robotics class after school. I hustled out of school, drove down to his middle school in the rain to find out he did not go (which he failed to tell me). I raced home to get Milly and then raced to the Metro Park. I walked in during their snack intermission. But luckily I was able to see them present to the city suits, take some pictures and talk with their parents. Proud teacher moment.
This past Sunday, my son went to one of those trampoline/jump places with the church youth group. He was so excited to just play. In one corner of the facility was dodgeball. The warning outside of the fenced area read, "Children will be grouped by size not by age," with the underlines just like I had them here for emphasis. When my son first went to play, he was playing with some small kid. Just the two of them. Dodgeball it wasn't. By the time the rest of the church group joined in, the teenager monitoring motioned my son to get out and said, "You're a little too small for this." He patted his head as a form of remedy for his broken spirit.
I could see the defiance welling inside my son. He threw his hand up. He walked down the stairs to me, and while he wasn't crying he was bummed. There weren't any words exchanged. I didn't even know what to say at that moment. We just stood together listening to the sounds of laughter. I really don't even know who was leaning on who. That's when our youth leader walked down to him and called him up. Apparently, Mr. Sean had vouched for him and he was allowed to participate with his group. Sweet redemption. These are the times when the groans we give to God are heard just as clear as the prayers. He knew what we needed at the moment and he sent Mr. Sean. Well played, God, well played.
There are several metaphors about parenting. I wont retread them here, nor am I eloquent enough to originate some new profound thought. One day my son will be driving and seeing his own mistaken Jupiter. The road ahead will be unclear, but the end result will be as beautiful as the rising full moon. Groans as prayers. Perhaps even a drive with his family, shoeless and excited to see the night sky, even knowing their parents are sometimes wrong, a full smile on their faces.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Breathing Movies: Thoughts on Manhood, Faith and "Boyhood"
I haven't been able to get my mind off of "Boyhood." It's one of those movies that I instantly want to watch again just to catch the different nuances you miss the first time. I know part of this was that it reminded me of being in Houston, as the film was made there and in Austin. Director Richard Linklater is a Houston native, and he captures the mood so well that the setting is always its own character in each of his films (see "Dazed and Confused"). The second reason has everything to do with my faith.
Being a moviegoer first, then a Christian, has irrevocably changed my viewing habits. When I was in high school, my mom once told me that I only watched movies that had guns and sex. She was mostly right. I secretly loved our movie dates when I was free to cry during "Steel Magnolia." Becoming a Christian changed a lot of my habits. I denounced horror films from the get go, and for the most part I've stayed far from them. Sometimes I DVR an older film I've seen before just to see if it gives me the same reaction it gave me as a kid. Now when someone is slaughtered on screen it doesn't seem so cool.
I'm currently wrestling with R-rated comedies. It's sad when the world around me cannot distinguish a Christian from a non-Christian. So why am I watching "Bridesmaids," or "The Hangover" and it's sequel (I stayed away from part 3), or "Ted"? So there are some I see and some I don't. I always feel like I'm trying to live this life of duality. It's not really working. Same thing goes for my tv show watching.
So of course I inject my faith onto the movies I see. "Boyhood" gained notoriety for filming scenes over a 12 year span, following the life of Mason Evans Jr, his sister and his mom, played beautifully by Patricia Arquette. It resembles Michael Apted's "7Up" series in that respect. Those that haven't seen the film may want to stop and see the film for themselves. There are certain scenes that I will spoil if you read any further.
The film begins in 2002 where we meet Mason, his sister and mom Olivia. Early on, Mason sees Olivia and her boyfriend fight. It ends up being a theme throughout the movie. She tells her boyfriend, "I would love to have some time to myself! I would love to just go to a fuckin' movie!" Poor Mason also hears statements like "mistake". Olivia's search for something more transports them to Houston, where she can attend college.
There are several scenes of transition for Mason as he enters new school after new school. In junior high, he's told by another student, "Welcome to the Suck." There are little scenes here that would otherwise be throwaway scenes. Like Mason's sister arguing with Olivia about going to school when they don't have clean laundry, Mason entering class without a backpack, or notes being passed his way after he gets a haircut.
Mason's biological father, Mason Sr., is played by Ethan Hawke. When we meet him he drives up in a single man's car, black and sporty. He takes the kids bowling and curses while they eat pizza. He doesn't answer Mason directly when he's asked if he's moving back to Texas, or if him and Olivia are getting back together. Ethan plays him well, as the type of guy who is too "free" to become tethered to any kind of responsibility. He's like the perpetual guitar player in a smoky lounge still trying to swing a record deal.
While attending school, Olivia meets Professor Welbrock who takes an immediate fancy towards her (as Mason is awkwardly witnessing). The two end up becoming a blended family. While there are moments of harmony, there's a melancholy tone that wont let go. We notice it at the dinner table when Olivia and Bill are talking about taking the kids "next time" to Europe, or when Bill makes a scene about the kids not doing their chores before their father arrives for visitation. Later in an act of pure spite, he takes Mason to the barber to cut his long hair so he can look like a man and not a girl.
Bill has other demons too. We frequently see him at the local liquor store. at first it seems casual, later he's hiding his liquor behind the liquid detergent, and by the end of their relationship, he's defiantly pouring shots during a family dinner. After yelling at the kids and smashing glasses, he turns to Mason and says. "You don't like me very much, do you Mason? That's okay, neither do I."
The abusive relationship ends up with Olivia taking the kids. Bill's kids must stay, watching from the top of the stairs as the woman they called "mommy" and their brother and sister leave. It's the first of many heartbreaks. Later, Olivia is being grilled by daughter Samantha. What's going to happen to them? Where are we going to live? Arquette, after trying to answer her daughter's pleas finally breaks down. "I don't have the answers for everything!"
Mason eventually does get to high school. The men in his life don't so much better. There's a high school teacher who tries to convince Mason that art wont pay the bills. Olivia's third husband is a military, tough guy type, who also drinks and reminds Mason that his real father didn't stay but he did. Mason's friends aren't much better. On an overnighter with a group of boys, they begin grilling discussing slutty girls and attack each other's virginity.
When we finally get a decent manly influence, it comes by way of Mason's dad. Eventually he "grows up," remarries, trades in the bad-ass-mobile for a mini-van, has a baby. When Mason turns 15 they take a trip to his wife's family home. It is there that Mason receives two gifts, a suit and a Bible. It feels so odd in a movie that has no trace of spirituality or mention of religion. But I think that's intentional. Mason Sr. jokes about Mason being baptized in the nearby pond. Mason's face when he gets his Bible isn't one of appreciation. It's almost mockingly absurd. Strange how the family with the Bible seems so odd among a group of humanists and non-believers.
"Boyhood" not only captures the times convincingly, it brazenly shows us male culture and its affect on male youth. While Mason makes it to college and has a typical movie ending with the hippie roommate and the too-cute friend (complete with sunset soliloquy), you have to wonder how he will fare beyond his adolescence. It's saddening to know that there are too many Olivia's out there, who stake claim in the outward appearances of men who have no heart for God. How many Mason's are in college who have no idea of the plans Jesus has put forth in their lives?
Let me state that I don't fault Linklater for his film. It's truly a remarkable feat of movie making. I felt much the same way about "Boyhood" that I did watching NBC's "Parenthood." You're not a true "Brave"rman without the heart of God. But I digress. If anything my faith connects me with the characters I watch even more so. How many Olivia's are in my own school system? How many Mason's are in my classroom?
Scout Finch in "To Kill a Mockingbird" says she doesn't love books because how can one love breathing? She had been reading before she could remember. the same goes for movies. I don't remember a life before movies. How can one love breathing when it's just part of your life? Now they've just gotten better with the heart of Jesus.
Being a moviegoer first, then a Christian, has irrevocably changed my viewing habits. When I was in high school, my mom once told me that I only watched movies that had guns and sex. She was mostly right. I secretly loved our movie dates when I was free to cry during "Steel Magnolia." Becoming a Christian changed a lot of my habits. I denounced horror films from the get go, and for the most part I've stayed far from them. Sometimes I DVR an older film I've seen before just to see if it gives me the same reaction it gave me as a kid. Now when someone is slaughtered on screen it doesn't seem so cool.
I'm currently wrestling with R-rated comedies. It's sad when the world around me cannot distinguish a Christian from a non-Christian. So why am I watching "Bridesmaids," or "The Hangover" and it's sequel (I stayed away from part 3), or "Ted"? So there are some I see and some I don't. I always feel like I'm trying to live this life of duality. It's not really working. Same thing goes for my tv show watching.
So of course I inject my faith onto the movies I see. "Boyhood" gained notoriety for filming scenes over a 12 year span, following the life of Mason Evans Jr, his sister and his mom, played beautifully by Patricia Arquette. It resembles Michael Apted's "7Up" series in that respect. Those that haven't seen the film may want to stop and see the film for themselves. There are certain scenes that I will spoil if you read any further.
The film begins in 2002 where we meet Mason, his sister and mom Olivia. Early on, Mason sees Olivia and her boyfriend fight. It ends up being a theme throughout the movie. She tells her boyfriend, "I would love to have some time to myself! I would love to just go to a fuckin' movie!" Poor Mason also hears statements like "mistake". Olivia's search for something more transports them to Houston, where she can attend college.
There are several scenes of transition for Mason as he enters new school after new school. In junior high, he's told by another student, "Welcome to the Suck." There are little scenes here that would otherwise be throwaway scenes. Like Mason's sister arguing with Olivia about going to school when they don't have clean laundry, Mason entering class without a backpack, or notes being passed his way after he gets a haircut.
Mason's biological father, Mason Sr., is played by Ethan Hawke. When we meet him he drives up in a single man's car, black and sporty. He takes the kids bowling and curses while they eat pizza. He doesn't answer Mason directly when he's asked if he's moving back to Texas, or if him and Olivia are getting back together. Ethan plays him well, as the type of guy who is too "free" to become tethered to any kind of responsibility. He's like the perpetual guitar player in a smoky lounge still trying to swing a record deal.
While attending school, Olivia meets Professor Welbrock who takes an immediate fancy towards her (as Mason is awkwardly witnessing). The two end up becoming a blended family. While there are moments of harmony, there's a melancholy tone that wont let go. We notice it at the dinner table when Olivia and Bill are talking about taking the kids "next time" to Europe, or when Bill makes a scene about the kids not doing their chores before their father arrives for visitation. Later in an act of pure spite, he takes Mason to the barber to cut his long hair so he can look like a man and not a girl.
Bill has other demons too. We frequently see him at the local liquor store. at first it seems casual, later he's hiding his liquor behind the liquid detergent, and by the end of their relationship, he's defiantly pouring shots during a family dinner. After yelling at the kids and smashing glasses, he turns to Mason and says. "You don't like me very much, do you Mason? That's okay, neither do I."
The abusive relationship ends up with Olivia taking the kids. Bill's kids must stay, watching from the top of the stairs as the woman they called "mommy" and their brother and sister leave. It's the first of many heartbreaks. Later, Olivia is being grilled by daughter Samantha. What's going to happen to them? Where are we going to live? Arquette, after trying to answer her daughter's pleas finally breaks down. "I don't have the answers for everything!"
Mason eventually does get to high school. The men in his life don't so much better. There's a high school teacher who tries to convince Mason that art wont pay the bills. Olivia's third husband is a military, tough guy type, who also drinks and reminds Mason that his real father didn't stay but he did. Mason's friends aren't much better. On an overnighter with a group of boys, they begin grilling discussing slutty girls and attack each other's virginity.
When we finally get a decent manly influence, it comes by way of Mason's dad. Eventually he "grows up," remarries, trades in the bad-ass-mobile for a mini-van, has a baby. When Mason turns 15 they take a trip to his wife's family home. It is there that Mason receives two gifts, a suit and a Bible. It feels so odd in a movie that has no trace of spirituality or mention of religion. But I think that's intentional. Mason Sr. jokes about Mason being baptized in the nearby pond. Mason's face when he gets his Bible isn't one of appreciation. It's almost mockingly absurd. Strange how the family with the Bible seems so odd among a group of humanists and non-believers.
"Boyhood" not only captures the times convincingly, it brazenly shows us male culture and its affect on male youth. While Mason makes it to college and has a typical movie ending with the hippie roommate and the too-cute friend (complete with sunset soliloquy), you have to wonder how he will fare beyond his adolescence. It's saddening to know that there are too many Olivia's out there, who stake claim in the outward appearances of men who have no heart for God. How many Mason's are in college who have no idea of the plans Jesus has put forth in their lives?
Let me state that I don't fault Linklater for his film. It's truly a remarkable feat of movie making. I felt much the same way about "Boyhood" that I did watching NBC's "Parenthood." You're not a true "Brave"rman without the heart of God. But I digress. If anything my faith connects me with the characters I watch even more so. How many Olivia's are in my own school system? How many Mason's are in my classroom?
Scout Finch in "To Kill a Mockingbird" says she doesn't love books because how can one love breathing? She had been reading before she could remember. the same goes for movies. I don't remember a life before movies. How can one love breathing when it's just part of your life? Now they've just gotten better with the heart of Jesus.
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