After spring break, most teachers can be heard saying, "It's all downhill from here." There's this sense that every lesson we've taught them goes by the way of pollen from a dandelion. In some sense this is true. The kids seem a bit louder, a bit more mischievous. But we as teachers lower our guards as well. We aren't the same teachers we were when it was August, when we were stricter with the rules. We smiled less. Already in my building some teacher has written the inevitable countdown of days until summer. Like the rites of passages that my fifth graders endure and partake, so thus are the ones for teachers.
Every spring my fifth graders have the puberty talk. The nurse comes in to set the standards about appropriate questions and the privacy of the room. We separate the girls from the boys. The girls get booklets and tampons (at least that what they've given them before), while the boys always receive deodorant. Once the talk is over, the kids come back to their homerooms, hiding their materials and looking down at the floor. There's typically one boy of mine who will mock the proceedings and spill the beans about what we learned, and there is usually one of my girls who does the same.
This year the video we always watch was discarded in favor of a newer one made from Always feminine products. The older video follows the story of a young kid who is having the "talk" with his older brother about pubic hair and the need for more showering. Another has a young boy talking with his mom about boners. Typical stuff. My students muffle their laughter when the word "penis" is uttered.
This year's video was a bit more upbeat. There's some singing and dancing. Instead of following certain characters, we have a group of kids, both girls and boys, who enthusiastically ask questions into the camera that are answered by some off-camera expert/narrator. When it comes down to the end of the session, the girls are given the advice to talk with their mothers or another trusted woman. Next a young boy comes on screen. "Who do I talk to when I have questions?" I'm thinking the first person the narrator will suggest is their father. Instead I was surprised by the answer.
Step-father.
Uncle.
Grandpa.
Trusted Random Male Adult.
Just where are today's fathers? Did we suddenly skip a generation where fathers simply became grandfathers. Did all the fathers die, leaving behind their brothers? Were the step-dads left to pick up the messes of a broken marriage?
On the news, as the media chases the van of Hillary Clinton, presidential hopeful, I have begun to sense the next narrative of our country. It's the women's turn, they will say. More than that, the questions each side will be presented with have already been driven home. The Republican candidate are asked about abortion and attending gay marriages. Hilary's toughest question this past week was whether or not she wanted guac in her Chipotle bowl.
But herein lies the conundrum. We are getting exactly what we want, exactly what we deserve. In the time before Jesus, the Isrealites wanted a ruler, a king, like their sister nations around them. God warned them that the king would take their sons into war, take their daughters as concubines, take their first fruits as tax. No amount of reason would deny the people a king. So God gave them what they wanted--broken men, corrupt men, men whose wills were not of Gods.
Look at today. Our wills have now splintered off from God so far, they aren't even considered Satan's any longer. So many wheels in a machine, all spinning towards one inevitable conclusion--death. I hate to get so defeatist in this blog, but my death awaits too. More so because my will doesn't always coincide with God's either.
The redeeming factor in all of this is the Bible is filled with stories about men (and women) trying to go about their lives on their own. Sometimes men did not see their own qualities and asked for help when God would have simply sufficed. Moses didn't believe in himself, so God granted him Aaron. Like who needs a sidekick when God is raining down plagues? Sarah laughed at God when she was told she would have a child in her advanced age. Abraham, who probably began to doubt God's word as well, took it upon himself to lay with Hagar, his servant.
We've been telling God all along--we got this, but we have no idea what we've wrought upon ourselves. We bitch and complain about gay marriage and gay v Christian bakeries. We're so insistent on what is considered an abomination we've failed to realize all the other way we've become abominations in the eyes of the Lord. You think he's happy with how we've conducted ourselves within our own families when today's father would rather be watching tv or coaching instead of opening their son's bibles? We moan about marriage being between a man and a woman, like God intended. But did God intend for quickie marriages in Vegas? We can click and scroll through the pictures of celebrity weddings, then scoff when their marriages end in the matter of months. We turn a blind eye when members of our own families marry for reasons that go way beyond God's best. But we're worried about gay marriage? We've lost the argument years ago.
There is a simple beauty in seeing the love of a man towards his wife. I'm sometimes stunned with the amount of love a father can give his own kids in my presence of some friends. So easy and natural to be that vessel of love that God intended. I sense love in the sounds of the men at church who decide to sing, or raise their arms in church. You know how many men stood around me without singing? Why stand before your God in mute somnambulism?
Even when I'm not at my best, the God lenses I try to see my world with don't ever go away. There's nothing I could do to have my old life back. Nor do I want it. Sometimes I try to have those old feelings, the thoughts that brought my world down when I wanted everything my way. It's the hardest thing I know to give my life over to God. If a Christian tells you otherwise, well, I'd like to hear their story. I'm not saying it's not easy to do right. Many times I want to do the right thing. Other times it's so much easier to get a second glance at the woman walking by. It's easy to take a nap and not interact with my own kids. The ease to which I try and make my life simpler is the sin itself.
This past few weeks I've been praying that God begins to change me. I need help walking that narrow path. I've made it harder because I've disconnected with some of the friends or rituals that make my life unique. Sure enough one of my students this week comes to me during library to ask me some questions. She's part of a program we have at school for leadership of which she's filling out some questions for their next meeting.
Mr. Cordova, can people change?
Mr. Cordova, how long does it take for someone to change?
Mr. Cordova, what does a person have to do in order to change?
It was Jesus in the form of a 5th grade girl, asking me the rhetorical questions I so desperately needed. You've already changed, Mr. Cordova, don't you see that?
And this week at church I got the chance to teach again in front of the junior high kids. The topic? Community. Who do we go to when the times get tough? Who are those that are willing to walk alongside us when we think God isn't able to answer our prayers? I looked around that room and found myself back at home. This is the change I have sought all along, staring right back at me.
I believe that change begins in a man's heart. I don't know how many people God will surround me with, how many students I get a chance to help find themselves. Waking up tomorrow will be the best sort of gift anyone can get. It means another chance. Another chance to live and affect the change in my own circle of influence. I can't feed 5,000 but I can listen, one person at a time.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Expiration Date (Healing has no Deadline)
So today I became an official licensed driver (again).
As many of you know I'm not a teenager nor did I have my licensed suspended for some misdemeanor offense. My crime? I let my license expire. Like way expire. 6 months expire. And for the last month I've had a life lesson as I've tried to navigate through the process of getting everything renewed, which included my license plate tags as well.
I haven't always been good with deadlines. Obviously for a man who lets something go that long, it's become almost easy to look the other way when it comes to meeting certain requirements. Even back when I was in high school, I can't say that I was great with homework or due dates. Like lots of every other kid I knew, I blew off homework and studying until I needed to get serious. It cost me some grades early on as a freshman. Not taking my grades seriously, I failed almost all my classes and was ineligible for sports. Not a happy house I went home to for a few months.
I worked hard to get my grades up to par after transferring to another high school. When it wasn't my grades I procrastinated on almost everything else, much to the frustration of my poor mom who was always cleaning after me, and my step-dad who probably felt I wasn't worth the time. By my third high school, I had done just enough to get by. When the class or subject interested me, like journalism and my writing classes, I gave more of an effort. Probably never 100 percent effort. I don't think I ever knew what that was. I surely didn't give it in sports, and I surely did not give it in other aspects of my life. I knew it was not a way I was ever going to be successful. Despite my step-dad's blue collar profession, he regularly gave all he had at work and even more when he was involved in sports on the weekends. My mom was a hard worker too. It wasn't like she napped all day and smoked cigarettes on the porch.
By the time I got into college, I knew my work habits would eventually catch up to me. When any of my classes became tough I slacked off even more. Eventually I dropped out after only a semester. I couldn't juggle the demands of my first ever girlfriend-distraction, school and work. My first trial as an adult was an all-out failure of epic proportions.
I knew that my tags and license expired this past August. I initially gave it some priority on my typical "I'll-get-to-it" calendar. Once school started, I never gave it another thought. The one thing that has changed about my driving habits is that I don't really speed or drive recklessly. I stayed away from having tickets as of late even when I was averaging 2 citations per year. Speeding here, not wearing a seat belt, a few rolling stop sign run throughs too. But I've been pretty good lately. But when your tags are expired it's like a beacon of light to a cop driving behind me.
I took a day off to take care of the license renewal. When I arrived I was told that since it was expired I needed to have a birth certificate, social security card and a utility bill to get them renewed. I had everything but the birth certificate. I tried locating a copy at home, going through old files to no avail. I eventually sent a request through to my home state of Texas, paid 20 bucks and was told it would take up to 3 weeks.
3 weeks later, with my birth certificate in hand I went back to try and renew. In that time I had sent in my payment for my traffic violation in the mail. More on that later. With the extended time I needed to get that birth certificate, the license had now expired over 6 months, which meant I had to start from scratch and sign up for a driver's test. It also meant I could not renew my tags.
Later that week, my attempt to pay my ticket through the mail came back. I now had a warrant for my arrest because I did not appear in court. In my defense, the cop did not check the must appear in court box on the bottom of the ticket. So my poor wife who's been my taxi for that time now has to drive me downtown so I can get this ticket taken care of.
I don't know if you've ever been in traffic court, dear reader, but not much has changed. Long lines, bailiffs who silence the crowd with please-keep-it-downs that sound more like demands, and all kinds of chances to people watch. One woman in front of me was taking a selfie and posting it on Instagram. Various individuals wearing hats that were told to remove. Young men having to pick up their pants. A woman wearing a hijab was continually going up to the bailiff and the prosecutor to ask questions. I think she was in some kind of hurry. A woman in her pizza delivery attire, looking very stressed and late for the day.
I sat up close to the front row so I heard all the whispers and "crimes" of the defendants. It gave me a time to creatively wonder why they were there, only to realize that many of them were in the same boat I was in. I didn't realize how many non-licensed drivers there are in Columbus. Some had suspended licenses too, which meant heavy fines or jail time. I started to freak out about my own fines, which was a lower misdemeanor that carried a possible maximum 1000 dollar fine. I'm texting my poor wife who had went back home and was now circling downtown waiting for me to finish.
I finally received good news when I was given a continuance to finish getting my license and tags renewed. That week prior I had went to get a permit. I had to take a computerized driver's test. I'm sitting in there with teenagers and I freaked out a bit at the thought of failing the test. I missed a few questions about weight requirements on the road and how many cars I need to be behind another driver. Permit issued.
With my permit in place, I was able to get my tags renewed. I was dancing in the parking lot. This morning I went back to take my driving test. I had to review a chart to make sure I knew what the maneuverability portion of the test was. Thankfully I didn't have to parallel park but I did remember my first time ever driving test as a teenager. I failed that day (that's another story!) and I was sweating today. I made sure I used both hands when I held the wheel. I stopped completely at stop signs and looked both ways before crossing. I put my blinkers on way before I needed to. When it was my time to drive through a set of cones, I did okay. I actually hit one driving back through one, but I did better on my second run. I felt as nervous as the teenagers had been that morning too. One girl's mom was there who gave me a congrats. Her own daughter was taking her test that day too. Nothing makes you feel younger like taking a driving test.
I was able to get my license renewed shortly afterwards. I felt like the kids I saw with their parents, embarrassed to show my picture to my youngest daughter when she wanted to check if I had properly smiled.
There's more chances for renewals and deadlines at work this year. My teaching license is due this year as well, and like my typical self I'm running towards the finish line on fumes. I'm 2 credits shy of renewal, which means I have to take a class in May to get it done. Nothing life doing it the hard way.
In all this time I've had to wait in lines and wait for my number to be called, I've taken lots of time to find that silver lining. I decided not to post on Facebook cause I didn't want to seem like I was complaining. Overall, the system worked for me. No one was rude. No one was impolite. But I did understand what some people have to go through being in court that day. A little empathy hurts no one.
I know there's a lesson about change in this story too. It just so happens that I have been reading a book called "Christian Atheist" by Craig Groeschel. Of course I came across the chapter titled, "When You Believe in God but Don't Think You Can Change" right as I'm going through all this. The book's theme is that we believe and we go to church and check the boxes, but when it comes to allowing the true work of God to take place in our heart, we act much as if God doesn't exist like an atheist would. Even though I am not the same person I was when I became a Christian, I get myself into these ruts. My past has been a yoke I have yet to allow God to have. I'm great at praying for others, or believing in the power of Jesus to heal others, but when it comes to my own life I have yet to fully give control once and for all. I still cling to bad habits like high school love letters. Craig says in his book that for me to allow God to be God, to do things in His strength instead of my own, one must can the excuses, cut the ties that bind and surrender. He points to the story of the paralyzed man in the book of John.
When Jesus realized the man had been by the pool at Bethesda for a long time, he asked the invalid, "Do you want to be healed?" The man didn't answer with a resounding yes! You'd think he would have, but he says, "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me." How typical is that for us too. God is continually reaching down to cure us of our addictions and hangups. "Do you want to be healed?"
Yeah but I know have others to heal so don't bother.
Yeah but my sin is too great. Why would you?
Yeah but I can't change who I am even if you would heal me?
Maybe this time I will allow the work to work. Renewing the license leads to a spiritual lesson in renewal. Who knew?
As many of you know I'm not a teenager nor did I have my licensed suspended for some misdemeanor offense. My crime? I let my license expire. Like way expire. 6 months expire. And for the last month I've had a life lesson as I've tried to navigate through the process of getting everything renewed, which included my license plate tags as well.
I haven't always been good with deadlines. Obviously for a man who lets something go that long, it's become almost easy to look the other way when it comes to meeting certain requirements. Even back when I was in high school, I can't say that I was great with homework or due dates. Like lots of every other kid I knew, I blew off homework and studying until I needed to get serious. It cost me some grades early on as a freshman. Not taking my grades seriously, I failed almost all my classes and was ineligible for sports. Not a happy house I went home to for a few months.
I worked hard to get my grades up to par after transferring to another high school. When it wasn't my grades I procrastinated on almost everything else, much to the frustration of my poor mom who was always cleaning after me, and my step-dad who probably felt I wasn't worth the time. By my third high school, I had done just enough to get by. When the class or subject interested me, like journalism and my writing classes, I gave more of an effort. Probably never 100 percent effort. I don't think I ever knew what that was. I surely didn't give it in sports, and I surely did not give it in other aspects of my life. I knew it was not a way I was ever going to be successful. Despite my step-dad's blue collar profession, he regularly gave all he had at work and even more when he was involved in sports on the weekends. My mom was a hard worker too. It wasn't like she napped all day and smoked cigarettes on the porch.
By the time I got into college, I knew my work habits would eventually catch up to me. When any of my classes became tough I slacked off even more. Eventually I dropped out after only a semester. I couldn't juggle the demands of my first ever girlfriend-distraction, school and work. My first trial as an adult was an all-out failure of epic proportions.
I knew that my tags and license expired this past August. I initially gave it some priority on my typical "I'll-get-to-it" calendar. Once school started, I never gave it another thought. The one thing that has changed about my driving habits is that I don't really speed or drive recklessly. I stayed away from having tickets as of late even when I was averaging 2 citations per year. Speeding here, not wearing a seat belt, a few rolling stop sign run throughs too. But I've been pretty good lately. But when your tags are expired it's like a beacon of light to a cop driving behind me.
I took a day off to take care of the license renewal. When I arrived I was told that since it was expired I needed to have a birth certificate, social security card and a utility bill to get them renewed. I had everything but the birth certificate. I tried locating a copy at home, going through old files to no avail. I eventually sent a request through to my home state of Texas, paid 20 bucks and was told it would take up to 3 weeks.
3 weeks later, with my birth certificate in hand I went back to try and renew. In that time I had sent in my payment for my traffic violation in the mail. More on that later. With the extended time I needed to get that birth certificate, the license had now expired over 6 months, which meant I had to start from scratch and sign up for a driver's test. It also meant I could not renew my tags.
Later that week, my attempt to pay my ticket through the mail came back. I now had a warrant for my arrest because I did not appear in court. In my defense, the cop did not check the must appear in court box on the bottom of the ticket. So my poor wife who's been my taxi for that time now has to drive me downtown so I can get this ticket taken care of.
I don't know if you've ever been in traffic court, dear reader, but not much has changed. Long lines, bailiffs who silence the crowd with please-keep-it-downs that sound more like demands, and all kinds of chances to people watch. One woman in front of me was taking a selfie and posting it on Instagram. Various individuals wearing hats that were told to remove. Young men having to pick up their pants. A woman wearing a hijab was continually going up to the bailiff and the prosecutor to ask questions. I think she was in some kind of hurry. A woman in her pizza delivery attire, looking very stressed and late for the day.
I sat up close to the front row so I heard all the whispers and "crimes" of the defendants. It gave me a time to creatively wonder why they were there, only to realize that many of them were in the same boat I was in. I didn't realize how many non-licensed drivers there are in Columbus. Some had suspended licenses too, which meant heavy fines or jail time. I started to freak out about my own fines, which was a lower misdemeanor that carried a possible maximum 1000 dollar fine. I'm texting my poor wife who had went back home and was now circling downtown waiting for me to finish.
I finally received good news when I was given a continuance to finish getting my license and tags renewed. That week prior I had went to get a permit. I had to take a computerized driver's test. I'm sitting in there with teenagers and I freaked out a bit at the thought of failing the test. I missed a few questions about weight requirements on the road and how many cars I need to be behind another driver. Permit issued.
With my permit in place, I was able to get my tags renewed. I was dancing in the parking lot. This morning I went back to take my driving test. I had to review a chart to make sure I knew what the maneuverability portion of the test was. Thankfully I didn't have to parallel park but I did remember my first time ever driving test as a teenager. I failed that day (that's another story!) and I was sweating today. I made sure I used both hands when I held the wheel. I stopped completely at stop signs and looked both ways before crossing. I put my blinkers on way before I needed to. When it was my time to drive through a set of cones, I did okay. I actually hit one driving back through one, but I did better on my second run. I felt as nervous as the teenagers had been that morning too. One girl's mom was there who gave me a congrats. Her own daughter was taking her test that day too. Nothing makes you feel younger like taking a driving test.
I was able to get my license renewed shortly afterwards. I felt like the kids I saw with their parents, embarrassed to show my picture to my youngest daughter when she wanted to check if I had properly smiled.
There's more chances for renewals and deadlines at work this year. My teaching license is due this year as well, and like my typical self I'm running towards the finish line on fumes. I'm 2 credits shy of renewal, which means I have to take a class in May to get it done. Nothing life doing it the hard way.
In all this time I've had to wait in lines and wait for my number to be called, I've taken lots of time to find that silver lining. I decided not to post on Facebook cause I didn't want to seem like I was complaining. Overall, the system worked for me. No one was rude. No one was impolite. But I did understand what some people have to go through being in court that day. A little empathy hurts no one.
I know there's a lesson about change in this story too. It just so happens that I have been reading a book called "Christian Atheist" by Craig Groeschel. Of course I came across the chapter titled, "When You Believe in God but Don't Think You Can Change" right as I'm going through all this. The book's theme is that we believe and we go to church and check the boxes, but when it comes to allowing the true work of God to take place in our heart, we act much as if God doesn't exist like an atheist would. Even though I am not the same person I was when I became a Christian, I get myself into these ruts. My past has been a yoke I have yet to allow God to have. I'm great at praying for others, or believing in the power of Jesus to heal others, but when it comes to my own life I have yet to fully give control once and for all. I still cling to bad habits like high school love letters. Craig says in his book that for me to allow God to be God, to do things in His strength instead of my own, one must can the excuses, cut the ties that bind and surrender. He points to the story of the paralyzed man in the book of John.
When Jesus realized the man had been by the pool at Bethesda for a long time, he asked the invalid, "Do you want to be healed?" The man didn't answer with a resounding yes! You'd think he would have, but he says, "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me." How typical is that for us too. God is continually reaching down to cure us of our addictions and hangups. "Do you want to be healed?"
Yeah but I know have others to heal so don't bother.
Yeah but my sin is too great. Why would you?
Yeah but I can't change who I am even if you would heal me?
Maybe this time I will allow the work to work. Renewing the license leads to a spiritual lesson in renewal. Who knew?
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Life's Renewed Curriculum
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
My Experiment with Exodus
If you're reading this blog, dear reader, it's because I didn't delete the paragraphs I had been trying before this one. All my blogs are self-therapeutic, my feeble attempt to answer the God questions I have in my life. Some of them get answered, and some lead to more demanding questions. Nevertheless, they also offer a trend of sorts, an EKG of my life since I became a Christian. There are moments of mountainous highs, and there are moments in the valley. This February has been more of a valley.
Tonight I was again left with my questions and a moment to reflect. Even though the youth event was going on in front of me, there I was asking myself why I felt detached from the situation. Where was my heart? As the music played, the answer came as swiftly as my tears. The heart is there. The Holy Spirit is there. It's you who doesn't think it's there.
I continue to have these spiritual experiments with God, where I see just how far I can go "on my own." Most of the variables I use change. Sometimes its food. Let's see how many pounds I can gain! Sometimes its with my medicine. Let's see how my mood swings can go from zero to 100 in a matter of minutes! Who needs anti-depressants! Other variables are more devastating.
On February 3rd of this year, I opened my Bible to read 2 verses from my devotions. One was from 2 Timothy 2:1-6 about enduring hardship. The other was Matthew 5:13-16 about being the salt and light. I didn't open my Bible again for ten days.
Among the highlights of those ten days: My son ends up spending almost 100 dollars on the X-Box buying game packs (the one thing I liked about our games growing up, there weren't all these extras to buy. Nothing to suck a kid into wanting more and more. Not nowadays). He gets it taken away. My paycheck ends up short that pay period. When I went on my mission trip, I did not have enough personal days to cover my absences. So I was docked 2 days of pay. We're stressed financially, moving money around to cover our needs and arguing about what we don't need. My son ends up getting in trouble at school too. An in-school suspension. The pressures of my own job (well-documented on my last blog) increase and my wife's as well.
Those ten days were by far the longest I've had in quite some time. My exodus from my devotions disrupted every facet of my life. There are some things I'm not telling you, dear reader, the arguments, my viewing and computer habits when I as alone, closing the door on the Holy Spirit when it tried to intervene.
When I ended the latest experiment on Feb 13th, I was not the same. True to form, God was the same. That day's devotion? Psalm 119:17-24.
Open my eyes that I may see.
I am a stranger on earth.
My soul is consumed
Remove me from your scorn.
Those were the lines I wrote in my journal. Amid that passage was God reaching down and pulling me from the muck. Again, he held my hand. Even when I thought I didn't need him, He was there to rescue me. However, I still wasn't ready to listen. I was reluctant to pray. I knew I needed to pray. I knew that there needed to be submission on my part. Still, I was reluctant. Petulant. Stubborn. I wanted to revise the experiment. Check the boxes. Go through the motions.
Starting my devotions did not unleash the heavenly armies down on the Cordova home to heal every one of us. Financially we were still recovering. We hosted a fundraiser for our oldest daughter Lisa, who hopes to make it to Tanzania this summer. School was still crazy. My son, who was still grounded from getting in trouble that previous week, got in trouble again. 2 more days with in school suspension. That day's devotion? James 3:1-12.
The tongue is small but makes great boasts.
No man can tame the tongue.
God, again in all his glory, is directly intervening in my life. My son is in love with curse words, much like myself back at that age. The downside of today's technology is that there is so much at the fingertips for our kids to become exposed to. As a parent, I dhad relaxed my standards. The X-Box was first. Parenting by game console. At night he had access to YouTube videos on his iPod. I wont even repeat the words he was writing on paper but I will say that they have become a teaching tool in our home.
Slowly, the effects of the experiment were beginning to waver. On February 19, God spoke again, this time from 2 Corinthians 4:15-18.
All this is for your benefit
Therefore do not lose heart
February 20th, Hebrews 12:1-5.
Let us run with perseverance.
Fix your eyes on Jesus
The Lord disciplines those he loves and punishes everyone he accepts as a son.
I passed the Bible over to my wife that day. We're both sitting here with tears in our eyes. This life is difficult. This life is tough. But amid the battle that I choose to fight alone, there come lessons for survival. We need each other, that's for sure.
And the kids? Now that my son has been off electronics, he's been creative, playful with his sister. There's a mess in her room from all the blankets being used to build a fort. There are Nerf darts all through the upstairs (both of them have been battling ISIS).
My heart? It's doing just fine. I drove around a group of 8th grade girls to their destinations today despite some of the messiest road conditions this month. My wife asked me if I was stressed. No, I told her. I have a job to do, to get them there safely. I will drive as slow as I need and keep my eyes on the road. This weekend was their weekend. A weekend where God is asking them to breathe in his grace and breathe out his praise. It's a good lesson for me too. One breath at a time. One verse at a time. No more experiments.
Tonight I was again left with my questions and a moment to reflect. Even though the youth event was going on in front of me, there I was asking myself why I felt detached from the situation. Where was my heart? As the music played, the answer came as swiftly as my tears. The heart is there. The Holy Spirit is there. It's you who doesn't think it's there.
I continue to have these spiritual experiments with God, where I see just how far I can go "on my own." Most of the variables I use change. Sometimes its food. Let's see how many pounds I can gain! Sometimes its with my medicine. Let's see how my mood swings can go from zero to 100 in a matter of minutes! Who needs anti-depressants! Other variables are more devastating.
On February 3rd of this year, I opened my Bible to read 2 verses from my devotions. One was from 2 Timothy 2:1-6 about enduring hardship. The other was Matthew 5:13-16 about being the salt and light. I didn't open my Bible again for ten days.
Among the highlights of those ten days: My son ends up spending almost 100 dollars on the X-Box buying game packs (the one thing I liked about our games growing up, there weren't all these extras to buy. Nothing to suck a kid into wanting more and more. Not nowadays). He gets it taken away. My paycheck ends up short that pay period. When I went on my mission trip, I did not have enough personal days to cover my absences. So I was docked 2 days of pay. We're stressed financially, moving money around to cover our needs and arguing about what we don't need. My son ends up getting in trouble at school too. An in-school suspension. The pressures of my own job (well-documented on my last blog) increase and my wife's as well.
Those ten days were by far the longest I've had in quite some time. My exodus from my devotions disrupted every facet of my life. There are some things I'm not telling you, dear reader, the arguments, my viewing and computer habits when I as alone, closing the door on the Holy Spirit when it tried to intervene.
When I ended the latest experiment on Feb 13th, I was not the same. True to form, God was the same. That day's devotion? Psalm 119:17-24.
Open my eyes that I may see.
I am a stranger on earth.
My soul is consumed
Remove me from your scorn.
Those were the lines I wrote in my journal. Amid that passage was God reaching down and pulling me from the muck. Again, he held my hand. Even when I thought I didn't need him, He was there to rescue me. However, I still wasn't ready to listen. I was reluctant to pray. I knew I needed to pray. I knew that there needed to be submission on my part. Still, I was reluctant. Petulant. Stubborn. I wanted to revise the experiment. Check the boxes. Go through the motions.
Starting my devotions did not unleash the heavenly armies down on the Cordova home to heal every one of us. Financially we were still recovering. We hosted a fundraiser for our oldest daughter Lisa, who hopes to make it to Tanzania this summer. School was still crazy. My son, who was still grounded from getting in trouble that previous week, got in trouble again. 2 more days with in school suspension. That day's devotion? James 3:1-12.
The tongue is small but makes great boasts.
No man can tame the tongue.
God, again in all his glory, is directly intervening in my life. My son is in love with curse words, much like myself back at that age. The downside of today's technology is that there is so much at the fingertips for our kids to become exposed to. As a parent, I dhad relaxed my standards. The X-Box was first. Parenting by game console. At night he had access to YouTube videos on his iPod. I wont even repeat the words he was writing on paper but I will say that they have become a teaching tool in our home.
Slowly, the effects of the experiment were beginning to waver. On February 19, God spoke again, this time from 2 Corinthians 4:15-18.
All this is for your benefit
Therefore do not lose heart
February 20th, Hebrews 12:1-5.
Let us run with perseverance.
Fix your eyes on Jesus
The Lord disciplines those he loves and punishes everyone he accepts as a son.
I passed the Bible over to my wife that day. We're both sitting here with tears in our eyes. This life is difficult. This life is tough. But amid the battle that I choose to fight alone, there come lessons for survival. We need each other, that's for sure.
And the kids? Now that my son has been off electronics, he's been creative, playful with his sister. There's a mess in her room from all the blankets being used to build a fort. There are Nerf darts all through the upstairs (both of them have been battling ISIS).
My heart? It's doing just fine. I drove around a group of 8th grade girls to their destinations today despite some of the messiest road conditions this month. My wife asked me if I was stressed. No, I told her. I have a job to do, to get them there safely. I will drive as slow as I need and keep my eyes on the road. This weekend was their weekend. A weekend where God is asking them to breathe in his grace and breathe out his praise. It's a good lesson for me too. One breath at a time. One verse at a time. No more experiments.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Squishy Love Faces
I hate February.
Even my apps remind me of how much I hate February. Timehop is one of those apps that shows you what you posted on various social media accounts from last year, 2 years ago and 4 years ago. Over the course of this month I've realized that hating February is nothing new (and neither are typos, apparently). Looking back on my trends I have really no one to blame but myself.
February is especially tough as a teacher. It's conference month. It's the month that our students get maybe 1 day outside for recess to run around and be kids because the wind chill is unbearable. It's the time when bad habits are magnified. It's the calm before the storm of mandated state tests, none more important o more scrutinized than this year's PARCC tests. For the next 4 weeks, our computer lab is under lockdown mode. Every week I get a new packet from the office detailing the many nuances that these new common core test will feature. We're basically going in blind. Let me remind you, dear reader, that test scores are over half of my formal evaluation. I can't even begin to help the students do well on the test when we haven't even had a practice. The curriculum and the types of questions are being changed daily. To let you know how unstable the whole process is, I just received notice that one of the subjects I taught for about a month in science will not even be evaluated on this year's PARCC test. I'm teaching curriculum that wont even be tested. What a total waste.
As I file another packet that goes unread, life goes on in a classroom of 28. I still have attendance issues. Both my partner and I, including our building principal have met our Goliath and it's name is attendance. While I cannot give you specific numbers, imagine though the course of a day that four or more of your students are leaving early. At least three are tardy each morning. 2-3 more are absent. This is not a one day occurrence. This happens each day in my school for both fifth grade classes. The excuses aren't much different from what they were 12 years ago when I began teaching at Broadleigh. Kids are needed at home for babysitting. Others are chronically sick and they have a parent that feeds into their fear. Kids miss because no one wakes them up on time to catch the bus. Others don't have anyone tucking them so they stay up all night. I've had ragged-eyed looking kids each year that look as if they are weeks short of a good nap. I don't know all the other excuses. I'm sure some range between car troubles, doctor appointments and just plain apathy.
Conferences are typically a good time to hash out some of the stresses that come with attendance, because a lack of attendance inevitably lead to poor grades. However, conferences are a one stop shop and generally they are best when the focus is academics. This month, I've relied heavily on my phone calls. In the past, I have always been reluctant to call a parent when there is trouble in the room. Part of this is my own ego. My call to a parent is a sign that I've run out of resources, patience or time. As a male educator, I'd like to think that I present a source of strength and stability as a teacher. I also remember the lessons I learned, and the utter embarrassment, from the calls that went home to my mom. When you're singing the remixed foul-language version of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" over the phone from the principal's office, you become emotionally scarred for life. I feel for these kids. No way I want them grounded, or want them getting disciplined in the way of the belt despite the pleadings and warnings I've given them. I want to call and give their moms great news. Even when I do a reverse call, when it's actually good, most of the parents act as if I'm calling from Candid Camera studios.
Perhaps with the evaluations that cloud over me, the stress of making phone calls and having these very personal conversations with students who are in the midst of their own personal rebellion, makes February even more volcanic. There are diamonds among the ruins of a busted lesson plan. Perhaps this is the time of the year when my parents also feel like they have lost some sense of sanity with their kids. I know this has been a troubling month for my own son (perhaps a different blog for that one) as well. The phone calls are coming in from his school, and I'm on the other end feeling untethered, lost. I know that I'm not the only parent to feel this way. I know my parents are frustrated with the lack of respect from their child, or the dips in their grades.
And as I'm getting fired up amid the exhaustion I feel, there are moments of redemption. Every upheaval in the room is grounds for a teachable moment. Even when I'm chewing some kid out for their behavior, I do simply because the love I have for them far outweighs the frustration. Before the start of the lesson the other day, I began to see them in the way God always intended. They weren't just a number, a factor in my evaluation.
In the novel we have just finished there's a character who has challenged my students to think beyond what they know about slavery. Sampson is a slave who has worked on the Henfeld Plantation most of his adult life. His has raised a son there named Charles. Sampson, upon first reading, seems like a slave who has given up on life. He says things like, "Slavery is the best thing that has ever happened" and he doesn't understand why the newly purchased slave, Joe, isn't more appreciative of his newfound predicament. In Sampson's mind, he's not beaten, he has his needs met and he has a job. Without white folks, he claims, where would slaves be?
Once slavery was abolished, Sampson never left the plantation. He stayed by Mistress Henfeld's side until his death. He never regretted not searching for the freedom that his own son found in Canada when he escaped. He found it foolish that slaves wanted their freedom. You see, Sampson had lost all hope many years ago, and Mistress Henfeld, the slave owner who wished the escaped slaves would all drown, became his crutch. As a teacher, I explained, as your teacher this year, I have a responsibility to push you outside of your comfort zone. If that means I have to raise my voice, call your mother and have you work harder than you ever have, it's because I don't want you to end up like Sampson. I don't want you to tethered to the Mistress Henfeld of your life, the excuses and excuses that take strangle a life worth living.
A few blogs ago I was having trouble with the phrase, "taking it personal." I basically told my students the same thing. I want you to take it personal, I told them. I cannot and will not sit by and watch you fail simply because you're too afraid to try. If trying makes you mad, if trying gets you in trouble and if trying makes you not like me, then I'm doing my job. So I'm making you owe recess when you don't do your homework. I'm making you do an assignment over when it isn't up to par. I will not sit by while you throw away that potential.
All the above wasn't word for word from last week's talk with my students. But the one thing I know for certain was the reaction I got from them when I told them, I care because I love you." I saw their faces turn squishy awkward. Who is this guy, they were thinking. If telling them that they're loved means they respond with squishy faces, it's all worth it. You surely can't put that on any evaluation.
Even my apps remind me of how much I hate February. Timehop is one of those apps that shows you what you posted on various social media accounts from last year, 2 years ago and 4 years ago. Over the course of this month I've realized that hating February is nothing new (and neither are typos, apparently). Looking back on my trends I have really no one to blame but myself.
February is especially tough as a teacher. It's conference month. It's the month that our students get maybe 1 day outside for recess to run around and be kids because the wind chill is unbearable. It's the time when bad habits are magnified. It's the calm before the storm of mandated state tests, none more important o more scrutinized than this year's PARCC tests. For the next 4 weeks, our computer lab is under lockdown mode. Every week I get a new packet from the office detailing the many nuances that these new common core test will feature. We're basically going in blind. Let me remind you, dear reader, that test scores are over half of my formal evaluation. I can't even begin to help the students do well on the test when we haven't even had a practice. The curriculum and the types of questions are being changed daily. To let you know how unstable the whole process is, I just received notice that one of the subjects I taught for about a month in science will not even be evaluated on this year's PARCC test. I'm teaching curriculum that wont even be tested. What a total waste.
As I file another packet that goes unread, life goes on in a classroom of 28. I still have attendance issues. Both my partner and I, including our building principal have met our Goliath and it's name is attendance. While I cannot give you specific numbers, imagine though the course of a day that four or more of your students are leaving early. At least three are tardy each morning. 2-3 more are absent. This is not a one day occurrence. This happens each day in my school for both fifth grade classes. The excuses aren't much different from what they were 12 years ago when I began teaching at Broadleigh. Kids are needed at home for babysitting. Others are chronically sick and they have a parent that feeds into their fear. Kids miss because no one wakes them up on time to catch the bus. Others don't have anyone tucking them so they stay up all night. I've had ragged-eyed looking kids each year that look as if they are weeks short of a good nap. I don't know all the other excuses. I'm sure some range between car troubles, doctor appointments and just plain apathy.
Conferences are typically a good time to hash out some of the stresses that come with attendance, because a lack of attendance inevitably lead to poor grades. However, conferences are a one stop shop and generally they are best when the focus is academics. This month, I've relied heavily on my phone calls. In the past, I have always been reluctant to call a parent when there is trouble in the room. Part of this is my own ego. My call to a parent is a sign that I've run out of resources, patience or time. As a male educator, I'd like to think that I present a source of strength and stability as a teacher. I also remember the lessons I learned, and the utter embarrassment, from the calls that went home to my mom. When you're singing the remixed foul-language version of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" over the phone from the principal's office, you become emotionally scarred for life. I feel for these kids. No way I want them grounded, or want them getting disciplined in the way of the belt despite the pleadings and warnings I've given them. I want to call and give their moms great news. Even when I do a reverse call, when it's actually good, most of the parents act as if I'm calling from Candid Camera studios.
Perhaps with the evaluations that cloud over me, the stress of making phone calls and having these very personal conversations with students who are in the midst of their own personal rebellion, makes February even more volcanic. There are diamonds among the ruins of a busted lesson plan. Perhaps this is the time of the year when my parents also feel like they have lost some sense of sanity with their kids. I know this has been a troubling month for my own son (perhaps a different blog for that one) as well. The phone calls are coming in from his school, and I'm on the other end feeling untethered, lost. I know that I'm not the only parent to feel this way. I know my parents are frustrated with the lack of respect from their child, or the dips in their grades.
And as I'm getting fired up amid the exhaustion I feel, there are moments of redemption. Every upheaval in the room is grounds for a teachable moment. Even when I'm chewing some kid out for their behavior, I do simply because the love I have for them far outweighs the frustration. Before the start of the lesson the other day, I began to see them in the way God always intended. They weren't just a number, a factor in my evaluation.
In the novel we have just finished there's a character who has challenged my students to think beyond what they know about slavery. Sampson is a slave who has worked on the Henfeld Plantation most of his adult life. His has raised a son there named Charles. Sampson, upon first reading, seems like a slave who has given up on life. He says things like, "Slavery is the best thing that has ever happened" and he doesn't understand why the newly purchased slave, Joe, isn't more appreciative of his newfound predicament. In Sampson's mind, he's not beaten, he has his needs met and he has a job. Without white folks, he claims, where would slaves be?
Once slavery was abolished, Sampson never left the plantation. He stayed by Mistress Henfeld's side until his death. He never regretted not searching for the freedom that his own son found in Canada when he escaped. He found it foolish that slaves wanted their freedom. You see, Sampson had lost all hope many years ago, and Mistress Henfeld, the slave owner who wished the escaped slaves would all drown, became his crutch. As a teacher, I explained, as your teacher this year, I have a responsibility to push you outside of your comfort zone. If that means I have to raise my voice, call your mother and have you work harder than you ever have, it's because I don't want you to end up like Sampson. I don't want you to tethered to the Mistress Henfeld of your life, the excuses and excuses that take strangle a life worth living.
A few blogs ago I was having trouble with the phrase, "taking it personal." I basically told my students the same thing. I want you to take it personal, I told them. I cannot and will not sit by and watch you fail simply because you're too afraid to try. If trying makes you mad, if trying gets you in trouble and if trying makes you not like me, then I'm doing my job. So I'm making you owe recess when you don't do your homework. I'm making you do an assignment over when it isn't up to par. I will not sit by while you throw away that potential.
All the above wasn't word for word from last week's talk with my students. But the one thing I know for certain was the reaction I got from them when I told them, I care because I love you." I saw their faces turn squishy awkward. Who is this guy, they were thinking. If telling them that they're loved means they respond with squishy faces, it's all worth it. You surely can't put that on any evaluation.
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