If Robert Frost took the road less traveled by, than teaching (either emotionally disabled teenagers or a really cute horse it mattereth not) is like bush whacking through the untamed Alaskan wilderness. Every day is a new experience that forces me to "do the next best thing" or try to do the next best thing based on my limited knowledge. What exactly do you do when a student calls you THAT? How do I let that student know my love for her when she has walls that are 10 feet high and 20 feet deep? How do I get through to the child who just can't learn or so they say? Luckily most of it has come pretty naturally except one thing...
Authority. Authority and I are not friends as I rediscovered as I perused through old news papers with scathing editorials. And what is just as difficult as giving heed to authority... being authority. If I could ask for one Godly attribute just one... it would be balancing justice and mercy. What I have learned, atleast in theory not necessarily in practice that justice can often be more kind than mercy. Justice is what motivates us to do better, to be better and to make change. Change is rarely wrought when we are comfortable and lets face it mercy helps us be comfortable. However. it is difficult to levy those tough consequences when my students are a mirror to my own soul. I remember what it feels like to me them. Empathy can be an amazing attribute in teaching, one that many lack. But it also can be a hinderance. But then I read "The far away horses" by Buck Brannaman, an adult child of abuse.He said the very best thing you can do is provide an abused child is authority. I hope I learn fast. I have lives to literally try and save ( you know with the help of God and all I am not that arrogant)
Working with a trainer to break my horse (I bought a little mare last month and I am in love) has been a learning experience but not the one I expected it to be. You see she is the exact opposite of my students and me she is perfectly obedient and trusting. Even when the trainer did something that scared her she still trusted him. When I got on her back and made mistakes she was kind to me and chose not to buck when she probably had every right to. I felt unworthy of this love and kindness and was worried that I would somehow fail her very special equine spirit I know that she can feel my insecurities and my mistakes. Animals are more perseptive than we are. But I also hope she can feel the tremendous love I have for her. But in reality if I love her the way I say I do I will rise above those insecurities and be the benevolent leader that she so desperately needs to feel safe in this world.
You see teaching ( whether it is emotionally disabled teenagers or horses it mattereth not) will teach you more about yourself than anything else save it be parenting because in the process you learn about your strengths and weaknesses. You are thrust out of your comfort zone and into a very difficult world. I just hope as Katherine Graham says that as I "step off this ledge" I manage to "land on my feet."
Lyndsey's Musings and Misadventures
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
All Gods Critters got a place in the choir including Mormon Feminists
While in college, in open rebellion of the idea of Mormon women staying home with children and embodying what I viewed as a pernicious and limiting set of gender roles, I proudly planted a bumper sticker on my xterra that said "well behaved women rarely make history". Everyone on my small campus knew me and my bumper sticker. You can imagine my shock when I learned in history class that the quote was in fact penned by a Mormon mother of 5. After I finished audibly gasping I smiled at Gods sense of humor. Laurel Thatcher Ulrich , was in fact a young Utah bride, who was able to raise five children while pursuing a masters and PHD in history. She is most famous for her groundbreaking work A Midwives Tale where she brings to life the diary of 18th century midwife Martha Ballard. Ulrich has had a tremendous career and currently teaches at Harvard University. As an irrelevant side note, friends who are very interested in midwifery should go to Barnes and Noble or Ebay and order said book immediately. Okay tangent done.
Recently, I came across a book called "All Gods Critters got a place in the choir" a set of essays and letters by Ulrich and Emmy Lou Thayne, a professor at BYU, accomplished poet, a mother of a bunch of kids, and author of our LDS hymn "Where can I turn for peace." I was very excited to read the musings of two LDS feminists and intellectuals on life and the church. What I did not expect was to find two chapters on visiting teaching and loving ones neighbor. Was it possible to be a feminist and love Relief Society even though it advocated the stringent gender roles I despised? According to them it was. I continued to read and felt the same way that I felt when I read the founding fathers. Like I was listening in on a private conversation and hanging on every word sucking in the wisdom and the knowledge. I soon learned that a feminist could be anyone from a mother with 5 children to a business executive. It meant so many things and had so many aspects to it. But the basic premise is that feminists are those who "deplore teachings philosophies or attitudes that deny women their stature as human beings" under this definition I would hope that we all would define ourselves as feminists and that we as a church should strive towards "equal worship" as Ulrich argues. I think we often forget that Mormon women played an integral role in first wave feminism as women fought for suffrage. And then there was Emma Smith who was extremely educated, sharp tounged, a gifted midwife successfully navigated a complicated legal system and broke just about every 19th century gender stereotype imaginable. The real Emma is far more interesting than the enigma we have built around her.
What I learned from this book is that there are others in the church who think like me and some that are different and that is okay . Ulrich is actually more liberal than I am, as she is openly pro-choice I must say after reading her reflections on being pro-choice and Mormon. I understand her viewpoint. But I also think it is okay to be a pro-life, Mormon Feminist. There are many different kinds of Mormon women, and many different kinds of feminists. We need to coexist together and enjoy the music our beautiful choir creates.
Recently, I came across a book called "All Gods Critters got a place in the choir" a set of essays and letters by Ulrich and Emmy Lou Thayne, a professor at BYU, accomplished poet, a mother of a bunch of kids, and author of our LDS hymn "Where can I turn for peace." I was very excited to read the musings of two LDS feminists and intellectuals on life and the church. What I did not expect was to find two chapters on visiting teaching and loving ones neighbor. Was it possible to be a feminist and love Relief Society even though it advocated the stringent gender roles I despised? According to them it was. I continued to read and felt the same way that I felt when I read the founding fathers. Like I was listening in on a private conversation and hanging on every word sucking in the wisdom and the knowledge. I soon learned that a feminist could be anyone from a mother with 5 children to a business executive. It meant so many things and had so many aspects to it. But the basic premise is that feminists are those who "deplore teachings philosophies or attitudes that deny women their stature as human beings" under this definition I would hope that we all would define ourselves as feminists and that we as a church should strive towards "equal worship" as Ulrich argues. I think we often forget that Mormon women played an integral role in first wave feminism as women fought for suffrage. And then there was Emma Smith who was extremely educated, sharp tounged, a gifted midwife successfully navigated a complicated legal system and broke just about every 19th century gender stereotype imaginable. The real Emma is far more interesting than the enigma we have built around her.
What I learned from this book is that there are others in the church who think like me and some that are different and that is okay . Ulrich is actually more liberal than I am, as she is openly pro-choice I must say after reading her reflections on being pro-choice and Mormon. I understand her viewpoint. But I also think it is okay to be a pro-life, Mormon Feminist. There are many different kinds of Mormon women, and many different kinds of feminists. We need to coexist together and enjoy the music our beautiful choir creates.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
She's Gone County! Look at them boots! Oh and I have something almost positive to say about Relief Society
There was a time when I would not get dirty or wear anything that wasn't from Anne Taylor Loft. I was concerned with fancy restaurants, handbags, being in charge and meeting the wealthy and powerful in my connected city. When I graduated I wore the fancy clothes, planned 40,000 dollar parties and ate at 50 dollar a plate restaurants. When my fantasy became my reality when I worked in the marketing department at a high profile law firm. I hated it. I would sit at my desk yearning to be outside. I wanted to return to an agrarian society. Anything to get my away from my desk. I read books like Animal Vegetable Miracle and revolutionary housewives a book about women who had in fact returned to a simplified farming lifestyle. I called it my republican hippie earth mother stage and considered being a doula ( still have all the books if anyone is interested in natural child birthing practices).
The last two weeks I lived my dream of working on a ranch. A horse ranch that is and it was as wonderful as I thought it would be. I was asked by my barn to help a group of boy scouts get their horse merit badges and again to help a group of soldiers learn team building.
I found myself chasing cows ( and sometimes chasing them on horseback for fun don't tell PETA!) , feeding horses, bottle feeding a baby goat, chasing escaped horses, catching horses as they were herded by the dogs from the field, tying them, grooming them and feeding them. And that was all before the boyscout showed up at 9:30! That's when I got to put my teacher hat on. I demonstrated how to groom horses, clean feet, safety, how to saddle and put a bit and bridle on. Then I got to show them how to ride. I cannot put into words how rewarding it was to walk amongst 20 horses and teach something I loved so much with those boys " you're pulling her bit too hard!" "You can do it, see I told you excellent job" It was the most exciting classroom I have ever taught in. I also found that I LIKE PHYSICAL LABOR. It felt so natural and rewarding to me.
And amongst all that beauty I had a revelation or as Oprah ( I am going to miss her) would put it an "ahah" moment. My instructor pulled my aside and said "Ms Lyndsey you have so much raw talent and yet you wont be an excellent rider until you learn to love and trust yourself." For some reason my mind made a connection between my lack of love for myself and my loathing or Relief Society ( probably had some divine help there) . I think some of my animosity towards Relief Society are feelings of inadequacy. I will NEVER NEVER be able to bake. I will ALWAYS probably drop the F bomb at least half a dozen times a week and I will always struggle to be warm, kind, share the gospel, share any sort of feelings, get emotional about anything or remember to read my scriptures. I say anything and everything that pops into my mind and will always think the DC second ward relief society beautification committee is the epitome of retarded. I do not fall into the typical Mormon gender stereotype and never will. But as I thought of all those qualities either I will not have or will always struggle to have I thought of my good traits. And then Cassy the cat ( who is typically afraid of people) crawled into bed with me under the covers curling in a ball next to me. I have a gift with animals, I get to go on cool adventures. I can survive just about anything and do it well. I can look at a problem logically without any emotion and make a good decision. I have good qualities. And I would not trade one of them for any of the stereotypical Mormon female traits I felt I lacked. I could exist in relief society as myself and not feel like I needed to bother with the cultural mold some of which I believe was more of my perception. I could be comfortable enough with myself to be different and rogue without having to attack others. Novel idea. By being me maybe I could help other girls be comfortable with themselves and we can expand the definition of what it is to be a Mormon woman. I think we have already made great strides in that direction. I love watching the stories of diverse women on Mormon.org. Despite wasting time and money on beautification committees.
I love how lessons come from the most unusual places.
The last two weeks I lived my dream of working on a ranch. A horse ranch that is and it was as wonderful as I thought it would be. I was asked by my barn to help a group of boy scouts get their horse merit badges and again to help a group of soldiers learn team building.
I found myself chasing cows ( and sometimes chasing them on horseback for fun don't tell PETA!) , feeding horses, bottle feeding a baby goat, chasing escaped horses, catching horses as they were herded by the dogs from the field, tying them, grooming them and feeding them. And that was all before the boyscout showed up at 9:30! That's when I got to put my teacher hat on. I demonstrated how to groom horses, clean feet, safety, how to saddle and put a bit and bridle on. Then I got to show them how to ride. I cannot put into words how rewarding it was to walk amongst 20 horses and teach something I loved so much with those boys " you're pulling her bit too hard!" "You can do it, see I told you excellent job" It was the most exciting classroom I have ever taught in. I also found that I LIKE PHYSICAL LABOR. It felt so natural and rewarding to me.
And amongst all that beauty I had a revelation or as Oprah ( I am going to miss her) would put it an "ahah" moment. My instructor pulled my aside and said "Ms Lyndsey you have so much raw talent and yet you wont be an excellent rider until you learn to love and trust yourself." For some reason my mind made a connection between my lack of love for myself and my loathing or Relief Society ( probably had some divine help there) . I think some of my animosity towards Relief Society are feelings of inadequacy. I will NEVER NEVER be able to bake. I will ALWAYS probably drop the F bomb at least half a dozen times a week and I will always struggle to be warm, kind, share the gospel, share any sort of feelings, get emotional about anything or remember to read my scriptures. I say anything and everything that pops into my mind and will always think the DC second ward relief society beautification committee is the epitome of retarded. I do not fall into the typical Mormon gender stereotype and never will. But as I thought of all those qualities either I will not have or will always struggle to have I thought of my good traits. And then Cassy the cat ( who is typically afraid of people) crawled into bed with me under the covers curling in a ball next to me. I have a gift with animals, I get to go on cool adventures. I can survive just about anything and do it well. I can look at a problem logically without any emotion and make a good decision. I have good qualities. And I would not trade one of them for any of the stereotypical Mormon female traits I felt I lacked. I could exist in relief society as myself and not feel like I needed to bother with the cultural mold some of which I believe was more of my perception. I could be comfortable enough with myself to be different and rogue without having to attack others. Novel idea. By being me maybe I could help other girls be comfortable with themselves and we can expand the definition of what it is to be a Mormon woman. I think we have already made great strides in that direction. I love watching the stories of diverse women on Mormon.org. Despite wasting time and money on beautification committees.
I love how lessons come from the most unusual places.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
I graduated
Grad school has totally taken away my ability and desire to write. However I feel like I should commemorate my graduation so here are two top 5 list
Five funniest classroom comments:
1) Student: Ms. Thackston do you have a husband or boyfriend?
Me: no
Five funniest classroom comments:
1) Student: Ms. Thackston do you have a husband or boyfriend?
Me: no
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
The education of a horse training teacher
My alarm goes off at 5:15, I pull myself out of bed, slip on something authoritative and professional and head to Baltimore where I teach 80 high school students world history. Well, attempt to. To my surprise teaching isn't as easy as they make it sound in the text books. I can 't pull a Michelle Phiffer and write "I am a marine" on the black board and expect my inner city students all fall in line.
In the last 4 weeks of full time teaching I have learned the most difficult and most effective way there is to learn, empirically. Every day I make mistakes. Some large some small. Every day I loose control of my class, sometimes for 5 minutes sometimes for the entire period. I jumble words, teach incorrect content, have poorly planned lessons and have told students to wait until they are out of my class to start fighting. But thankfully at the end of the day my sage cooperating teacher fixes the messes I make in a way that helps me save face and gently teaches me do better the next day. Then a student says something beyond their years or I get an excellent teaching observation back and I have hope that all of my mistakes are not in vein. I will one day become a good teacher and be able to enrich young minds despite the systemic hurdles in place. Learning to teach is just like learning to live. Trial and error, and praying to God that you at the end of the day you can say you did some good.
I am learning that when you teach you wear your emotions on your sleeve. Students find your insecurities and capitalize on them. For example last week I had a student tell me I had an ugly smile. Not to mention the look of desperation I get when I loose control of the class. Luckily, God knew this would happened and created a plan. You see several months ago I felt drawn to a horse (zip). I didn't know why. He had some severe training problems and tried to buck and rear me off, not to mention several attempts to bite me. His owner wanted to sell him. But I begged her to keep him and lease him to me and even offered to pay for training. I questioned my sanity more than once. But I knew if I didn't pursue it I would always wonder what the draw was. Why was this horse to be in my life?
So I found a trainer whose horse philosophy I liked ( I knew he wouldn't teach me to beat the hell out of a horse) and was a special education teacher for many years so I knew he would have the patience to teach me. Well my insecurities were as apparent in the training ring as they are in the classroom.I needed to be consistent and firm, but I was to afraid to. What if I am wrong? What if I yell at the wrong kid? What if I punish a horse and he didn't deserve it? What if I put his halter on wrong and hurt him? Like the horse my students pick up on my fear. My trainer knew how to fix this problem. He asked me to hop on the back of a horse with no saddle. This wasn't a big deal I love riding bareback. But I forgot there were no reins, until I got on. "I don't trust you" I protested as he sent me around the pen with the only thing controlling 15oo pounds of horse being his voice and a whip.
"This has nothing to do with trusting me." he said "You don't trust yourself." And with that the last 25 years of my life made sense. He was right. I know how to sit a buck or a rear and get off a horse if I need to in an emergency. I know how to fall so I reduce my odds of getting hurt. Just as I know how to handle a class. I just didn't trust myself to do it. So with a little bit more encouragement I gave up fighting the situation, worked through my raw fear and closed my eyes. You know what? I understood the horses movements completely differently. I learned more in 5 minutes than I could have learned in probably 4 months.
Three hours later I hopped on Zip, won and epic power struggle with him and had a completely different horse of my hands. Lesson learned. My students better watch out. Class is about to change drastically!
In the last 4 weeks of full time teaching I have learned the most difficult and most effective way there is to learn, empirically. Every day I make mistakes. Some large some small. Every day I loose control of my class, sometimes for 5 minutes sometimes for the entire period. I jumble words, teach incorrect content, have poorly planned lessons and have told students to wait until they are out of my class to start fighting. But thankfully at the end of the day my sage cooperating teacher fixes the messes I make in a way that helps me save face and gently teaches me do better the next day. Then a student says something beyond their years or I get an excellent teaching observation back and I have hope that all of my mistakes are not in vein. I will one day become a good teacher and be able to enrich young minds despite the systemic hurdles in place. Learning to teach is just like learning to live. Trial and error, and praying to God that you at the end of the day you can say you did some good.
I am learning that when you teach you wear your emotions on your sleeve. Students find your insecurities and capitalize on them. For example last week I had a student tell me I had an ugly smile. Not to mention the look of desperation I get when I loose control of the class. Luckily, God knew this would happened and created a plan. You see several months ago I felt drawn to a horse (zip). I didn't know why. He had some severe training problems and tried to buck and rear me off, not to mention several attempts to bite me. His owner wanted to sell him. But I begged her to keep him and lease him to me and even offered to pay for training. I questioned my sanity more than once. But I knew if I didn't pursue it I would always wonder what the draw was. Why was this horse to be in my life?
So I found a trainer whose horse philosophy I liked ( I knew he wouldn't teach me to beat the hell out of a horse) and was a special education teacher for many years so I knew he would have the patience to teach me. Well my insecurities were as apparent in the training ring as they are in the classroom.I needed to be consistent and firm, but I was to afraid to. What if I am wrong? What if I yell at the wrong kid? What if I punish a horse and he didn't deserve it? What if I put his halter on wrong and hurt him? Like the horse my students pick up on my fear. My trainer knew how to fix this problem. He asked me to hop on the back of a horse with no saddle. This wasn't a big deal I love riding bareback. But I forgot there were no reins, until I got on. "I don't trust you" I protested as he sent me around the pen with the only thing controlling 15oo pounds of horse being his voice and a whip.
"This has nothing to do with trusting me." he said "You don't trust yourself." And with that the last 25 years of my life made sense. He was right. I know how to sit a buck or a rear and get off a horse if I need to in an emergency. I know how to fall so I reduce my odds of getting hurt. Just as I know how to handle a class. I just didn't trust myself to do it. So with a little bit more encouragement I gave up fighting the situation, worked through my raw fear and closed my eyes. You know what? I understood the horses movements completely differently. I learned more in 5 minutes than I could have learned in probably 4 months.
Three hours later I hopped on Zip, won and epic power struggle with him and had a completely different horse of my hands. Lesson learned. My students better watch out. Class is about to change drastically!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
A Thomas Jefferson Education
It doesn't take a teacher or a parent to realize our education system is broken. Our students don't know basic essential facts upon graduation, our 4th graders can't read, and we are rapidly slipping behind other countries. Politicians have clamored for 20 years since Nation at Risk a study on the decline of US education came out. We have recently seen policies from the last two administrations that claimed they would be a silver bullet to bring about reform.
As a teacher I have often asked myself "What are my students learning?" "Are they learning anything?" Well this week I got the answer to that question as my 30 year veteran cooperating teacher gave a test and the class average was 60 that is 60 percent. They aren't
Oliver Demille, in his book, a Thomas Jefferson education believe that we can teach students to be thinkers and leaders through reading classic literature, then engaging in meaningful conversation with a mentor not to be confuse with a teacher, writing about it and then applying the lessons they learn to real word experiences. You can read more about his philosophy here.
I think that his solution is an answer but not the answer. It is clear that textbooks have made school a game where you learn to succeed and get an "A" without having to think at all. It is a problem a huge problem. I received a great books liberal arts education and about 50 percent of the time we read classics and the other portion of the time we had traditional classes and we did have lectures (Demille is against lectures). I felt like I graduated with the ability to think analyze, read and write. In contrast I have attended grad school where we predominately use text books and have become very disillusioned with higher educations. I feel like I learned nothing and wasted money and time. In fact I stopped reading these text books halfway through and my GPA actually INCREASED. Classic literature can teach us a lot and is a very effective mechanism for teaching thinking. Great thinking turns to great writing and an educated population. We lack the ability to write and form an argument. This can been seen in our editorial pages as people have stopped attacking arguments and now just sling mud. It is easier it takes less mental energy and makes the most money.
Classical education isn't for everyone. Some people don't have the devotion or interest to read these challenging texts. They don't want to be leaders they want to be trained for a job and move on with their lives. And that is okay. People are moved and motivated by different things. Because we have more jobs that fit that description than leadership positions that is probably a good thing. He also doesn't create a plan for students who have learning challenges and may never be able to read classics. He also assumes that children have two parents at home and both are supportive of their child's education. I teach in Baltimore not Utah thank you very much.
My second critisism is that in our global technologically advanced world we can't learn everything for classics. For example, Demille is VERY sloppy with his research. He throws out statements for instance "Studies show that students who read later become lifelong readers." but does not cite his study. For all I know it could have been a study of his children or in his living room. This is not an isolated incident in his book Apparently the classics didn't teach him how to do research. It is something you must learn from a book, the Internet or a teacher. I feel like some Technology and Science fields will be the same. You can't teach DNA using Copernicus because DNA is something we just discovered.
I also take issue with his list of classics. My sister brought home One Flew over the Coo's Coo's nest written by a man tripping on LSD in a mental institution.. This was the book she would be analyzing and has been deemed a classic. It is garbage. On the Other hand Demille chooses books that only relect the White Anglo Saxon protestant man's life experience. He doesn't look to some of our great Latino, African American, or Asian works. He also represents very few female authors. There is a happy medium here. I think Demille's lose definition of a classic is great for choosing good books. Books that have withstood time and denounce evil and glorify good. Therefore we can adapt the idea of classic to our own understanding.
So what do we do with Demille? I think we need to start reading more classics (especially in history, mathematics and science) encourage more class discussion and writing. Currently I am doing a study on the effectiveness of Socratic seminars something I think Demille would agree with as an effective methodology.Classrooms will need to be greatly reduced to accomplish this goal and you need to recruit teachers who don't just hand out scan trons and ask students to bubble the right answer. I would also argue that we should offer more classics classes in high school including philosophy and introduce great books charter schools so long as these programs are not only made available to the elite
That is my very long book review.
As a teacher I have often asked myself "What are my students learning?" "Are they learning anything?" Well this week I got the answer to that question as my 30 year veteran cooperating teacher gave a test and the class average was 60 that is 60 percent. They aren't
Oliver Demille, in his book, a Thomas Jefferson education believe that we can teach students to be thinkers and leaders through reading classic literature, then engaging in meaningful conversation with a mentor not to be confuse with a teacher, writing about it and then applying the lessons they learn to real word experiences. You can read more about his philosophy here.
I think that his solution is an answer but not the answer. It is clear that textbooks have made school a game where you learn to succeed and get an "A" without having to think at all. It is a problem a huge problem. I received a great books liberal arts education and about 50 percent of the time we read classics and the other portion of the time we had traditional classes and we did have lectures (Demille is against lectures). I felt like I graduated with the ability to think analyze, read and write. In contrast I have attended grad school where we predominately use text books and have become very disillusioned with higher educations. I feel like I learned nothing and wasted money and time. In fact I stopped reading these text books halfway through and my GPA actually INCREASED. Classic literature can teach us a lot and is a very effective mechanism for teaching thinking. Great thinking turns to great writing and an educated population. We lack the ability to write and form an argument. This can been seen in our editorial pages as people have stopped attacking arguments and now just sling mud. It is easier it takes less mental energy and makes the most money.
Classical education isn't for everyone. Some people don't have the devotion or interest to read these challenging texts. They don't want to be leaders they want to be trained for a job and move on with their lives. And that is okay. People are moved and motivated by different things. Because we have more jobs that fit that description than leadership positions that is probably a good thing. He also doesn't create a plan for students who have learning challenges and may never be able to read classics. He also assumes that children have two parents at home and both are supportive of their child's education. I teach in Baltimore not Utah thank you very much.
My second critisism is that in our global technologically advanced world we can't learn everything for classics. For example, Demille is VERY sloppy with his research. He throws out statements for instance "Studies show that students who read later become lifelong readers." but does not cite his study. For all I know it could have been a study of his children or in his living room. This is not an isolated incident in his book Apparently the classics didn't teach him how to do research. It is something you must learn from a book, the Internet or a teacher. I feel like some Technology and Science fields will be the same. You can't teach DNA using Copernicus because DNA is something we just discovered.
I also take issue with his list of classics. My sister brought home One Flew over the Coo's Coo's nest written by a man tripping on LSD in a mental institution.. This was the book she would be analyzing and has been deemed a classic. It is garbage. On the Other hand Demille chooses books that only relect the White Anglo Saxon protestant man's life experience. He doesn't look to some of our great Latino, African American, or Asian works. He also represents very few female authors. There is a happy medium here. I think Demille's lose definition of a classic is great for choosing good books. Books that have withstood time and denounce evil and glorify good. Therefore we can adapt the idea of classic to our own understanding.
So what do we do with Demille? I think we need to start reading more classics (especially in history, mathematics and science) encourage more class discussion and writing. Currently I am doing a study on the effectiveness of Socratic seminars something I think Demille would agree with as an effective methodology.Classrooms will need to be greatly reduced to accomplish this goal and you need to recruit teachers who don't just hand out scan trons and ask students to bubble the right answer. I would also argue that we should offer more classics classes in high school including philosophy and introduce great books charter schools so long as these programs are not only made available to the elite
That is my very long book review.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
My darkest day and the wild ride that followed.
I often like to shroud my past with secrecy. Let people know it was eventful but give very few details. Be an enigma.But today, I thought of the darkest week of my life and smiled. I realized that it was a story of beautiful triumph and that deserved to be heard. It was a tale of what happens when a young girl has nothing to loose and must fight to save the lives of herself and her family. So fasten your seat belts you are in for a wild ride. The only difference is that this legal thriller is 100 percent true.
It is the summer of 1999 and hot. The kind of summer where everything is sticky. I was fourteen and knew there was something on the horizon. My mother had just gotten into another drunken rage and left. For good? who knew? If I knew my mother she wouldn't go quietly.
It was a quiet evening with my dad after his first night of single fatherhood. Until there was a knock at the door. We went to find two police officers at the door with an exparte order. My mother and the man she was having an affair with contrived a story that my father had beat her. The order prohibited my father from having any contact with his children and forced him to to leave the premises immediately.. Leaving me and my very young sister with a very dangerous mother. I knew that I had to figure out how to throw enough of a scene that it would be documented but not so much that I got arrested. I know this seems like a sophisticated thought process for 14 but I remember oh do I remember. Throw a fit I told myself but don't loose control. And so I screamed as loud as I could. So that the neighbors woke up. I knew that I could probably get away with calling the cop a pig and my mother a whore but anything over that would get me arrested. My scene ended with a call to my grandparents to pick us up. And just as I had hoped my epic scene was thoroughly documented. My sisters were safe and my story would later make it to court.
That night I sat on my grandparents sofa in the basement alone waiting for the sun to rise. Not knowing what the next step was but that I had to do something. Later that night I went into the bedroom and watched my sisters sleep. They were so small. I felt this overwhelming need to protect them. It was one of my most hopeless moments. I often wish I could go back to that girl on the couch, put my arms around her and tell her it would be okay.
A few days later my grandparents were going to take us home to my mother. I had been told the entire week I was brain washed, manipulated and the worst mentally handicapped by those I loved the most. My mother threatened the worst if I told she was lying. But I knew I was telling the truth and survival mode kicked in. I called my aunt and got my dad's lawyer's phone number. My grandmother had caught me engaging in these tactics earlier in the week ( are we at all surprised?) so I had to use my orthodontists phone. I reached Steave, hop into a cab, he said. I am 5'11 with brown hair and will meet you at the court house.
I had never been in a cab before, I barely knew where I was going and I would duck every time I saw a police car praying I would not get stopped. I would be lying if I said I wasn't petrified. But then Madona's Get into the Grove came on the radio. I was revved up. To this day it is my fight song.
I arrived at the court house and every man was 5'11 with brown hair. Finally one called my name and paid my cab. I was hoping this nice man would be my attorney. Oh was I wrong.
Steave introduced me to Lisa my 5'1 indomitable lawyer with the mouth of a sailor.
" Are the police looking for me" I asked.
"Probably but they can't touch you here."
"What happens if the judge doesn't grant our motion."
"Well you better stick your head between your legs and start kissing your ass."
"I am not dressed for court." I say
"You look like shit but there isn't anything I can do about it now."
She sounds harsh but that is just her way. She tenderly forced me to eat a lunch of chips and coke and listened patiently as I told the horror of the last 3 years.
Next, I found myself in a court room, dressed in shorts that had less material than most peoples underwear with my thunder thighs all over the place and my hair a mess. I told the judge my story. She began to make her ruling and for a moment it sounded like she wasn't going to grant my petition. But again with the freedom of having nothing to loose I continued to fight. I interrupted the judge and began to argue with her. I refused to give up. I mean at this point what was she going to do put me in jail?
I won my motion and got a little bit of a lecture outside the courtroom on talking back to judges ;) Opps. I was joyfully reunited with my father that night. I got to listen to Steave call my mother and tell her. Oh how sweet victory felt. The next day at the lawyers office several people came to shake my hand. I later learned that no one had ever been able to do what I did. It was so weird that so many important people took time out of there day to meet me.
My mother's parents got one of the best attorneys in the county. However, after 3 weeks of living out of hotels, eating out, being yelled at by police officers, spending our days in a truck with a very hot smelly dog, several court appearances and being followed by private investigators ( nope not over exaggerating) my dad got his house and children back. I have always wondered how my mother's attorney felt about having a 14 year old ruin his case. I heard through the grape vine he wasn't thrilled. I remember one day asking him if he always represented drunk child abusers.;0 Fifteen minutes later my attorney very publicly emasculated him. I am pretty sure I know how he felt about that. An then there were the private detectives we would manage to confuse using our walkie talky cell phones. Suckers!
Lisa is now a judge and I am very close with her to this day. I still run into Steave every once in a while. I had the opportunity to testify on behalf of children in divorce in the Maryland Senate it was a very gratifying experience. I promised God at the end of that summer I would give him anything in return if i could just survive. He did collecting his end of that bargain.
It is the summer of 1999 and hot. The kind of summer where everything is sticky. I was fourteen and knew there was something on the horizon. My mother had just gotten into another drunken rage and left. For good? who knew? If I knew my mother she wouldn't go quietly.
It was a quiet evening with my dad after his first night of single fatherhood. Until there was a knock at the door. We went to find two police officers at the door with an exparte order. My mother and the man she was having an affair with contrived a story that my father had beat her. The order prohibited my father from having any contact with his children and forced him to to leave the premises immediately.. Leaving me and my very young sister with a very dangerous mother. I knew that I had to figure out how to throw enough of a scene that it would be documented but not so much that I got arrested. I know this seems like a sophisticated thought process for 14 but I remember oh do I remember. Throw a fit I told myself but don't loose control. And so I screamed as loud as I could. So that the neighbors woke up. I knew that I could probably get away with calling the cop a pig and my mother a whore but anything over that would get me arrested. My scene ended with a call to my grandparents to pick us up. And just as I had hoped my epic scene was thoroughly documented. My sisters were safe and my story would later make it to court.
That night I sat on my grandparents sofa in the basement alone waiting for the sun to rise. Not knowing what the next step was but that I had to do something. Later that night I went into the bedroom and watched my sisters sleep. They were so small. I felt this overwhelming need to protect them. It was one of my most hopeless moments. I often wish I could go back to that girl on the couch, put my arms around her and tell her it would be okay.
A few days later my grandparents were going to take us home to my mother. I had been told the entire week I was brain washed, manipulated and the worst mentally handicapped by those I loved the most. My mother threatened the worst if I told she was lying. But I knew I was telling the truth and survival mode kicked in. I called my aunt and got my dad's lawyer's phone number. My grandmother had caught me engaging in these tactics earlier in the week ( are we at all surprised?) so I had to use my orthodontists phone. I reached Steave, hop into a cab, he said. I am 5'11 with brown hair and will meet you at the court house.
I had never been in a cab before, I barely knew where I was going and I would duck every time I saw a police car praying I would not get stopped. I would be lying if I said I wasn't petrified. But then Madona's Get into the Grove came on the radio. I was revved up. To this day it is my fight song.
I arrived at the court house and every man was 5'11 with brown hair. Finally one called my name and paid my cab. I was hoping this nice man would be my attorney. Oh was I wrong.
Steave introduced me to Lisa my 5'1 indomitable lawyer with the mouth of a sailor.
" Are the police looking for me" I asked.
"Probably but they can't touch you here."
"What happens if the judge doesn't grant our motion."
"Well you better stick your head between your legs and start kissing your ass."
"I am not dressed for court." I say
"You look like shit but there isn't anything I can do about it now."
She sounds harsh but that is just her way. She tenderly forced me to eat a lunch of chips and coke and listened patiently as I told the horror of the last 3 years.
Next, I found myself in a court room, dressed in shorts that had less material than most peoples underwear with my thunder thighs all over the place and my hair a mess. I told the judge my story. She began to make her ruling and for a moment it sounded like she wasn't going to grant my petition. But again with the freedom of having nothing to loose I continued to fight. I interrupted the judge and began to argue with her. I refused to give up. I mean at this point what was she going to do put me in jail?
I won my motion and got a little bit of a lecture outside the courtroom on talking back to judges ;) Opps. I was joyfully reunited with my father that night. I got to listen to Steave call my mother and tell her. Oh how sweet victory felt. The next day at the lawyers office several people came to shake my hand. I later learned that no one had ever been able to do what I did. It was so weird that so many important people took time out of there day to meet me.
My mother's parents got one of the best attorneys in the county. However, after 3 weeks of living out of hotels, eating out, being yelled at by police officers, spending our days in a truck with a very hot smelly dog, several court appearances and being followed by private investigators ( nope not over exaggerating) my dad got his house and children back. I have always wondered how my mother's attorney felt about having a 14 year old ruin his case. I heard through the grape vine he wasn't thrilled. I remember one day asking him if he always represented drunk child abusers.;0 Fifteen minutes later my attorney very publicly emasculated him. I am pretty sure I know how he felt about that. An then there were the private detectives we would manage to confuse using our walkie talky cell phones. Suckers!
Lisa is now a judge and I am very close with her to this day. I still run into Steave every once in a while. I had the opportunity to testify on behalf of children in divorce in the Maryland Senate it was a very gratifying experience. I promised God at the end of that summer I would give him anything in return if i could just survive. He did collecting his end of that bargain.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)