Christmas Idea

Go around town and find good deeds to perform. Don't forget the Santa Hats and the smiles.

It's Teaching, Not Soccer

I am working at a non-traditional high school. How is it non-traditional exactly? My classroom holds 14 student at capacity--something that never has been acheived in the month that I've been here. The class averages an attendance of 8. I also work under a master teacher and alongside an instructional aide -- that's a great ratio, ain't it?

One might wonder: is there a catch? This sounds too good to be true! There most certainly is. In order to be admitted into our school, a student must be kicked out of their previous one. Yup, that's right. It's a school for the expelled.

There are a myriad of issues in the classroom. There is, however, one issue that sticks out at the moment. I've observed that the primary threat and means of discipline is getting kiced out of the classroom. There are seldom any warnings besides the go-to phrase, "you're doin' too much." When the inappropriate behavior crescendoes beyond the "too much" realm, the teacher kicks him or her out. Most times it's next door to a guy who isn't afraid to "beat up students" as the kids described (a totally different issue) or it's getting sent home.

Now I wonder. If these students are here because they got kicked out of their previous school, and nearly all of them have been kicked out of this one. What message are we sending to them? The only potential you have is to get kicked out? If something is too hard, just be a big enough nuisance to kick yourself out? Am I showing these kids that I love them or care about them?


It is easy to kick a student out. I've already kicked out two in the past two weeks. This has got to change. I must reposition myself in this conviction: don't take the easy route. Therefore, my goal is to not kick out another student from my class.

Reconciliation is as sweet as the person you are being reconciled to.

This is the second best feeling in my entire life.

Praise God.

Black Friday dominates Thanksgiving, just as gifts consume Christmas.

As I was studying at Starbucks the other day, a woman in her 50s was ordering coffee. She spoke through her slightly wrinkled lips, and cigarette stained teeth, "I want my coffee with soy milk, no foam, at a 120 degrees, and with a straw". It was funnier listening to the Barista repeat her order as it finished. What a mouthful. Personally, I take my coffee black.

What about me? When I'm at my go-to breakfast place, Jim's, they offer me a myriad of options. I know exactly what I want: Western Omelette with egg whites (no yolks for me), hash browns (not home fries, or fruit), wheat toast (it has more fiber than sourdough, white, or rye, right? Oh, and I like it without butter, please), and with a glass of water (no caffeine, no carbonation, just water, thank you very much). Seriously, I sound like a picky old woman.

Is there something wrong here? Absolutely not. Have your coffee the way you want it. Have your eggs over-medium, hard-boiled, or scrambled. Who cares?

Can I personalize my morality like I personalize my breakfast, or the woman her coffee?

The answer for now: certainly not.

My explanation will come after church.

Inspiration: Be nice, work hard

Rafe Esquith

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T77NzAcBijQ

Sarah Brown Wessling, National Teacher of the Year (2010)

Wessling works as hard as her students, instilling hope in those who had given up on education by being available far outside a fifty minute lecture and giving far more than a few notes at the end of a paper, by engaging them with alternative assignments that can make the words of a philosopher, dead for two millennia, relevant to their lives now and by celebrating any small moment of progress, from one student showing up five days in a row like never before to a grade-obsessed student risking a B to pursue an idea.

Zigzagged through traffic

Middle fingered a half dozen cars

Honked at one

High beamed the rest

Swerved into a parking spot

Picked up a six-pack
Plopped on the couch

I close my eyes to forget their faces

Too late

They're branded, seared, burned into the inside of my forehead

I want to forget it after 2PM
I can't

I walk through the halls to pray

Is it useless?

I'm new

It will get better

I'll get used to it

I don't want to get used to it

Shock is a reaction of the innocent

If I lose the former, I lose the latter
A cheap price?

I train harder now

with more purpose

I eat more

a lot more

I'm not trying to get pretty
I'm trying to get ugly

I end each hour with a pile of regrets

I keep them at my breast pocket

They weigh like lead

I want my fists to be like lead

I hate it

but I can't get enough

It riles up a destructive force

I want to break the bad bones
I want to grind the evil into powder

I want to sew up the malicious lips

I can't do it with lead hands
I'll need something better

Give me wisdom

Give me ability
Give me backbone

I don't have love for these unlovable bastards

Please, give me that too