I'm standing in the middle of chaos - wondering what the hell I'm doing here. Interviewing physicists and clergy is much easier than what I've just signed up for. Heck, even interviewing chefs is easier than this and they oftentimes possess inflated egos. All I can say about that - is the Food Network has created small hometown chefs who think they are celebrity chefs just because they can grilled a steak properly. To be fair - I can't really grill a steak properly- so I will give them props for that.
But media jobs are hard to find and I was in need of some income - so I signed up to be a substitute teacher. After all, I homeschooled the girls during their middle school years and we work on assignments during the summers. I also have a background in education, although not formal classroom experience - so why not?
After a background check and two and half hours of training I'm ready to lead the classroom. Or so the sub coordinator tells me.
Um, no. I thought I was ready to lead the classroom and then I decided to sub for a kindergarten classroom for my first time.
It was like 24 Baby Blueberries at the same time. I wasn't a temporary kindergarten teacher - I was a manager of chaos. A director of potty breaks, Band-Aids, and oh, please don't eat the math cubes.
To be fair the day had no chance not to be a little on the chaotic side- the teacher had gotten ill and went home half way through the day. So the little guys went to lunch and when they came back- there I was to take over - after they had only attended two weeks of school. They don't even have their routine down and their teacher has gone missing.
It started out calm and managed though. Our first assignment was watching a Leapfrog video on the alphabet. But I couldn't find the video. So we searched the Youtube for it. I found it, but not the entire song.
"That's not the right one," one little boy told me.
"I don't know which one it is, guys."
"It's that one," another student insisted.
"No, it's not. It's that one."
"I see Pete the Cat on there- can we watch that?"
"No," I said, finally finding the correct Leapfrog video.
All the kids joyfully sang with the song and tried to make their letter sounds. Okay, this sub thing is going to go okay, I think to myself.
Then we have to work on our All About Me books. Do you know how hard it is to pass out books when you don't know anyone's name and half the class isn't listening for their name? And some of the kids can't even pronounce their names well enough for you to understand them?
Finally, all the books are passed out and I'm reading a book to them while they color.
Then total and complete chaos erupts. The noise level has slowly and steadily grown higher and then I turn around to see that two of the little girls have dumped a tub of crayons on the floor and the two boys sitting at their table are running over the crayons with their chairs. OMG
And that's when the parapro walks in to pick up a student.
I haven't been that embarrassed for a long time - not since I asked a chef how to make peasant soup instead of pheasant soup. (He was wondering if I was seriously asking about cannibal recipes.)
She instantly goes to the front of the room and threatens to take away recess if they don't quiet down and start listening to the sub.
A startled hushness falls over the previously noisy kindergartners. Lose recess? The horror.
And for the rest of the day - when ever the noise level started creeping up- all I had to do was remind them that they wanted to go out for recess, right? Instant quiet.
And I also kept the two little trouble makers separated for the rest of the day. That helped a lot.
At the end of the day the counselor came in to do a activity with the children- they kept her on her toes too. She had a photo of her dogs and do you know how much five years old want to talk about all their pets - dead and alive? I'm now aware that there are quite a few cats and hamsters buried in people's backyards throughout town.
After the children leave she comes up to me and says, do you know how many people won't sub in kindergarten because of how busy they are? Quite a few.
I nod, still trying to catch my breath. But surprisingly, I found myself thinking I would come back - but with stickers. Definitely stickers and maybe Goldfish crackers.
Showing posts with label middle school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label middle school. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 12, 2018
Friday, November 8, 2013
Moth Dog versus the Middle Schooler...I mean the homeschooler
When I was Bean's age, I had the unfortunate experience of middle school. If I was writing a horror novel; middle school would be the bad guy. It would be some huge building that comes alive and eats innocent elementary students.
I'm sure middle school doesn't stress everyone out like it did for me. I would even bet some people...gasp...liked it.
And perhaps part of my problem stems from the fact that I was in elementary school one week; then my parents moved to a different town and half way through the school year I found myself in middle school.
Drowning. Definitely overwhelmed and out of place.
On top of that I had a bat shit crazy teacher. And I'm not trying to be unkind, I have compassion for her now, she really did have some issues. Perhaps related to drugs but I don't have any proof.
But she would stand on a stool and scream at us...at the top of her lungs.
And then when she was done with that she would pick up the metal stool and bang it against the floor...over and over again. I think my ears are still ringing.
Why she was never stopped or even just fired I'm not sure. The only thing that would make sense is that this was a harsh school, with difficult children and perhaps it wasn't possible to find teachers to work there.
So the principal would turn a blind eye to what was happening in our classroom. She needed help though, not a classroom full of fifth graders.
I tried to keep "My Tales from Middle School Hell' under wraps so as not to unduly influence Bean. She heard about some of them, not all and not very often.
Bean has still been struggling with middle school. Not struggling in the fact she can't keep up, struggling in the fact, as she phases it, "My head is going to explode from boredom if I have to sit there one more minute. And oh, my science teacher talks in monotone monologue. Oh, and my English teacher, who I love as a person, is now brain dead and stares off into space as she lectures us. Oh, AND my math teacher is screaming in our faces and asking us why we don't understand the problem."
Uh, because she's screaming at you instead of teaching the material. I mean I'm not an expert in education but it would seem to me, and I'm just going out on a limb here, but if someone was screaming at me, I probably wouldn't be learning at that point either.
I have spoke to the school until I'm stomping around my living room, muttering words under my breath, and in general saying things I can't repeat here. No, we don't have advanced classes, thank the budget cuts. No, we can't mix up 7th and 8th classes. No, she can't have orchestra and choir even though we said she could but then we changed our minds and 'you just have to deal with it.' (Their words.)
No, we can't really give her a gluten free meal even though legally we're supposed to. And legally we are because we're giving her a baked potato every day. Job done.
Yes, she has to participate in PE with an ankle that is injured and you have seen a doctor for. Because we're more worry about attendance than your child's body.
No, we're done requiring reading of literature and she won't be writing much either. Oh, and in math they get to use calculators for everything. So my advanced math student can't do math without a calculator and no one cares because we have them -why shouldn't we just make life easy and just use them.
She can't do long division because the school's math is a bit fuzzy.
Apparently, middle school hasn't changed since I went. Oh, and what happened in 7th grade??? Oh, yeah, my parents pulled me out and home schooled me.
Which meant I graduated my the time I was 16, was given full tuition scholarships for college and was even asked to TA a biology class in my third semester of college.
Then I made stupid choices, like dropping out of college and not finishing my degree, but that's another tale.
Anyway, the moral of this long tale...Hero Hottie and I have pulled Bean out of middle school and are home schooling her.
Urgh!!! I'm not sure what I have agreed to yet!!! The situation is starting to remind me of the show Survivor. And Bean and I are stuck on an island together and we might just get to the point where we try to vote each other off.
Here's my soap box disclaimer: The following paragraph contains strong ideas and opinions. ( And I'm not trying to pick on the public school system. I'm a big believer in education period. But education is not just the job of the school system but of the parents. Studies have shown that kids with supportive parents learn more. Excel more. I know, as a volunteer at Abu's elementary school, that supportive parents can do so much for our students. Education should be the responsibility of everyone. If we made choices in our community based off education and raising kids. Not to spoil them, I'm not talking about giving them whatever they want. I'm talking about the value of education. Not South Korea style. But more than what we have... it could be amazing! So I don't want to just ditch out on my school district. But I also believe that if a school isn't working for a student and a family wants to take the education home and do it there- Then that is their right. Until we had an organized education system in this country, it was usually the mom who made sure her children knew how to read and write. It was parents and communities that built schools and paid for the teacher. Home schooling and being responsible for our children's education is not a new concept. I'm really disappointed that our middle school has failed us at this time. But I can't fail my daughter and I feel like if she can't do long division, or math without a calculator, than I'm failing her.)
In the mean time Gibson has earned himself yet another nick name. Moth Dog. Because he likes to chew tiny, perfectly round circles in anything cloth. Blankets, pillows, couch cushions, and oh, yeah my favorite hat.
Which not only did he chew a circle size hole in, but he removed, with surgical precision, all the little cute pom poms on it.
I know he's bored. People have suggested we get another dog.
And my only reply?
Are you nuts? I can't handle the one I have!!
We will just muddle through this winter until spring when we will be putting up a tall fence and this Moth Dog can run around like crazy and eat weird things off the ground, and bark at deranged squirrels chirping at him, and chew up hoses, and toys and large branches from trees.
Probably dig some holes and hopefully not figure out how to jump the fence.
Did I mention we're going to put in a VERY TALL FENCE?
Muddling is probably a good word for me right now. I just started writing for our local newspaper. Channeling my inner Lois Lane. It's very EXCITING!!! My first article published was about squash which is a very yummy subject. And did I mention that my NAME WAS ON IT!! I'm actually quite shocked.
And it almost didn't happen if it wasn't for my little cheerleader, Abu, who tends to always encourage people to do their best. She pushed me into applying for the job, which I was too scared to try, and WOW! Here I am, earning money off my writing. Which feels real good!
So my week continues and when asked about the turn of events, Moth Dog simply tried to eat the Baby's shoe, Bean's toes, and oh, yeah escaped out the door again.
Until next time, remember coffee, prayers and friends.
They're the best cures for moments of insanity!
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
One of THOSE Weeks
I am having one of THOSE weeks. Ya'll know the kind I speak of.
The week where you look in the mirror and you can't find a single thing about your features that you like.
The week where you know you can't avoid a situation any longer but you know there is not a single freaking thing you can say which will change the outcome of it.
The week where you need to give just the right kind of parental advice because it's just that important but you, yourself, don't even know how the hell to handle people so how can you give advice on it.
The week where everything you had planned to accomplish has been left on the to do list because you're so busy putting out fires that you don't have time to do anything else.
And hell, it's only Tuesday!
Whew, that is finally off my chest. Am I venting? Yes, dear. And I have to apologize because you come here to my blog...well, heck I don't even know why people come here. I think it's for my witty and charming advice on what not to do in life. Why can't they have a show about that?
"What Not to Do in Life!"
When at the zoo, do you put your hand in the alligator cage or not?
Mmm, lets bring in our experts.
Expert 1: "Well, first of all, why are wearing that skirt to the zoo? Really, do you know how ugly it is? That alligator should just be allowed to eat all of you and put us all out of misery for having to see such a fashion atrocious."
Expert 2: "What year was she born in? Daring the alligator is so in your twenties stupid."
Yes, these shows where experts are allowed to bully others just teaches everyone else that if they want to be cool, they should just annihilate people emotionally. Forget nurturing and caring. This is Sparta and if you don't agree.
We kill you.
I'm tired of bullies. I'm tired of dealing with school systems that don't stop situations until they become a mine field of broken psyches and bruised hearts.
But with that being said. I have to applaud my elementary school. Last year, as you can recall, we had issues with bullies. This year, things have changed a bit. Abu was in school, and another student teased her about Baby Blueberry's hands. How hurt does someone have to be on the inside that they would taunt a newborn?
Has our society fallen so much?
Anyway, the teacher was informed, who promptly turned it over to the principal and he pulled the student from the class and reprimanded him for his actions.
Will it change the child?
Will it make him more conscious of others' needs and wants and feelings?
I don't know.
How do you get to the age of nine and you're bullying newborns to fill that empty inside you?
People are a complicated bunch. Complex. Driven by pain and grief and joy and experiences.
Bean is having trouble at school. Some of it she's at fault for. Social skills are not her best...yet.
But to give her credit, for as hard as it's been for her this year as she moves closer to being a young woman and less a child, she tried to make it right.
She told another girl's secret and of course, the girl was hurt. Bean tried to apologize, genuinely and repeatedly but the other girl was too hurt. So Bean stopped talking to the other girl, because at that point I felt like it was better if she just left the other girl alone. But the other girl didn't want to drop it. So in her pain, she is harassing Bean to show her anger.
A school system, heck a society, that was centered on the four things a soul needs to grow; physical, spiritual, education, and social; would have been able to step in and assist the girls in dealing with their hurts and their actions and help them grow from the experience.
Instead, middle school is hell. It's about survival. It's about sending our children there and hope they come out without too many wounds.
Yet, that's how the world is. You go out into the world, most people with the best intentions, and you return; hurt and scarred and wounded. Some people hide away from the world, others focus on things that won't hurt if they fail, others turn to substance abuse to cover up their insecurities, and others become bullies because they figure it's better to hurt first than be hurt.
I was listening to a TEDtalk on Youtube, given by this kid. A kid around Bean's age. Who said when asked what he wanted to do with his life, gave the answer...happy. He wanted to be happy. So I stopped asking my kids what they want to be when they grow up.
A career will happen. I value knowledge too much not to pass that love of learning on to my kids. And I want to help them find something that they will be able to support themselves in a changing and broken economy.
And maybe the questions shouldn't be what do you want to be? Who do you want to be?
I want my kids to be happy.
I want them to be strong.
I want them to nurture and love the people in their life.
I want them to find spouses who love them and support them and challenge them. Who encourage them and help them to continue to grow.
I want them to have families. To make a family structure for themselves, their spouses, and their children that encourage growth and a path of faith. That is based in LOVE.
I want them to make the world a better place but also realize they can be themselves. Flaws, and faults and quirks and all.
I want them to find their spiritual path. Their faith.
I want them to give and be generous. To do the right thing.
I want to know them, as adults. To have a relationship with them.
I want them to realize that learning never, ever, stops. That 12th grade isn't the end of learning...in fact, it's just the beginning.
I want them to be themselves. I want them to find the strength to fill any empty they ever feel with love and not anger, or hate, or fear.
I want them to know they are stronger than their insecurities.
That God is stronger than their fears.
That love is always more powerful than hate.
And so, I am having one of THOSE weeks. The kind of week where I have to list my blessings, so I realize that list is longer than my complaints. (Thank God.)
The kind of week, where I don't have the words I need to give the advice I need to give Bean, so I pray and pray and pray that my words will be the correct ones.
And as for everything else in this week; I have to realize it will be what it will be and accept it.
In the meanwhile; special family outings, weekly visits with friends, a baby who is calling me Momma, and an Abu who is starting to be more like her happy self again, are all wonderful things to celebrate. So I really can't complain and the hateful part of the world can just deal with that.
The week where you look in the mirror and you can't find a single thing about your features that you like.
The week where you know you can't avoid a situation any longer but you know there is not a single freaking thing you can say which will change the outcome of it.
The week where you need to give just the right kind of parental advice because it's just that important but you, yourself, don't even know how the hell to handle people so how can you give advice on it.
The week where everything you had planned to accomplish has been left on the to do list because you're so busy putting out fires that you don't have time to do anything else.
And hell, it's only Tuesday!
Whew, that is finally off my chest. Am I venting? Yes, dear. And I have to apologize because you come here to my blog...well, heck I don't even know why people come here. I think it's for my witty and charming advice on what not to do in life. Why can't they have a show about that?
"What Not to Do in Life!"
When at the zoo, do you put your hand in the alligator cage or not?
Mmm, lets bring in our experts.
Expert 1: "Well, first of all, why are wearing that skirt to the zoo? Really, do you know how ugly it is? That alligator should just be allowed to eat all of you and put us all out of misery for having to see such a fashion atrocious."
Expert 2: "What year was she born in? Daring the alligator is so in your twenties stupid."
Yes, these shows where experts are allowed to bully others just teaches everyone else that if they want to be cool, they should just annihilate people emotionally. Forget nurturing and caring. This is Sparta and if you don't agree.
We kill you.
I'm tired of bullies. I'm tired of dealing with school systems that don't stop situations until they become a mine field of broken psyches and bruised hearts.
But with that being said. I have to applaud my elementary school. Last year, as you can recall, we had issues with bullies. This year, things have changed a bit. Abu was in school, and another student teased her about Baby Blueberry's hands. How hurt does someone have to be on the inside that they would taunt a newborn?
Has our society fallen so much?
Anyway, the teacher was informed, who promptly turned it over to the principal and he pulled the student from the class and reprimanded him for his actions.
Will it change the child?
Will it make him more conscious of others' needs and wants and feelings?
I don't know.
How do you get to the age of nine and you're bullying newborns to fill that empty inside you?
People are a complicated bunch. Complex. Driven by pain and grief and joy and experiences.
Bean is having trouble at school. Some of it she's at fault for. Social skills are not her best...yet.
But to give her credit, for as hard as it's been for her this year as she moves closer to being a young woman and less a child, she tried to make it right.
She told another girl's secret and of course, the girl was hurt. Bean tried to apologize, genuinely and repeatedly but the other girl was too hurt. So Bean stopped talking to the other girl, because at that point I felt like it was better if she just left the other girl alone. But the other girl didn't want to drop it. So in her pain, she is harassing Bean to show her anger.
A school system, heck a society, that was centered on the four things a soul needs to grow; physical, spiritual, education, and social; would have been able to step in and assist the girls in dealing with their hurts and their actions and help them grow from the experience.
Instead, middle school is hell. It's about survival. It's about sending our children there and hope they come out without too many wounds.
Yet, that's how the world is. You go out into the world, most people with the best intentions, and you return; hurt and scarred and wounded. Some people hide away from the world, others focus on things that won't hurt if they fail, others turn to substance abuse to cover up their insecurities, and others become bullies because they figure it's better to hurt first than be hurt.
I was listening to a TEDtalk on Youtube, given by this kid. A kid around Bean's age. Who said when asked what he wanted to do with his life, gave the answer...happy. He wanted to be happy. So I stopped asking my kids what they want to be when they grow up.
A career will happen. I value knowledge too much not to pass that love of learning on to my kids. And I want to help them find something that they will be able to support themselves in a changing and broken economy.
And maybe the questions shouldn't be what do you want to be? Who do you want to be?
I want my kids to be happy.
I want them to be strong.
I want them to nurture and love the people in their life.
I want them to find spouses who love them and support them and challenge them. Who encourage them and help them to continue to grow.
I want them to have families. To make a family structure for themselves, their spouses, and their children that encourage growth and a path of faith. That is based in LOVE.
I want them to make the world a better place but also realize they can be themselves. Flaws, and faults and quirks and all.
I want them to find their spiritual path. Their faith.
I want them to give and be generous. To do the right thing.
I want to know them, as adults. To have a relationship with them.
I want them to realize that learning never, ever, stops. That 12th grade isn't the end of learning...in fact, it's just the beginning.
I want them to be themselves. I want them to find the strength to fill any empty they ever feel with love and not anger, or hate, or fear.
I want them to know they are stronger than their insecurities.
That God is stronger than their fears.
That love is always more powerful than hate.
The kind of week, where I don't have the words I need to give the advice I need to give Bean, so I pray and pray and pray that my words will be the correct ones.
And as for everything else in this week; I have to realize it will be what it will be and accept it.
In the meanwhile; special family outings, weekly visits with friends, a baby who is calling me Momma, and an Abu who is starting to be more like her happy self again, are all wonderful things to celebrate. So I really can't complain and the hateful part of the world can just deal with that.
Friday, June 1, 2012
I've Survived 5th Grade...Is there a manual for Middle School?
Last week Bean sat in one of those folding chairs made out of metal, the kind that are always cold when you sit down...with the entire fifth grade and had a small graduation ceremony. The red caps were cute, made from paper and full of candy. The 'diplomas' were rolls of Mentos, tied with ribbon.
I'm not sure why they were rewarded with candy for completing their Elementary years but I suppose it makes sense; since it seems like completing anything in school nowadays is rewarded with candy. I wish I got candy every time I finished the dishes or the laundry.
But candy aside, the ceremony was sweet. They had a slide show with photos of the entire year played to some sappy song that of course made me cry. (But then again, I am pregnant and allowed to cry at anything without question. It has nothing to do with my oldest growing up.)
And all the kids had dressed up for their graduation. They looked stunning but no longer little kids anymore. A lot of the boys had suits and ties on, glimpses of the young men they would soon be turning into. And the girls wore dresses not of ruffles and prints and durable kid material but of soft, flowing fabric and laces and solid colors. Some had high heels and most had just a touch of make up on. Some had obviously spent an hour on their hair and they all looked way too grown up for us parents. Where had our babies gone? Wasn't it just yesterday that we walked them into school for their very first day of Kindergarten, either wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon character on it or a dress with a pound of ruffles on it? With backpacks on their tiny backs that were bigger than they were? With nervous smiles and excited faces and just a bit of fear as they entered the world of the big kid?
And now they stand almost eye to eye with us, full of spunk and knowing it all already. They rarely play with toys and they giggle about the opposite sex. They have opinions about everything,
even things they don't have any experience with. They have hormones and are talking about or experiencing puberty.
They're glad you came to the ceremony but rather giggle and laugh and have photos taken with their friends. But don't go too far away because underneath that grown up kid is still that little boy or girl that had to be held every time they skinned their knee or they saw a shadow in their room.
Their expressions say, "Let me fly but be close by because I don't really want to go too far on my own. Not yet."
But that's how it starts. Little bits of independence. Here and there. As parents that's what we want them to grow up into. Adults that are capable and kind and not afraid of the world.
It's difficult though. Sometimes we want to hold them back...just a bit. Whisper to them that they can be little a bit longer. They don't have to grow so quickly.
But they do grow quickly, some days waking up and in one night their pants are an entire inch shorter than just the day before.
One moment they think boys have cooties and girls talk too much. And the next moment...well, hormones have kicked in.
I'm so proud of Bean. We had a rough year and for a while it didn't look like we would arrive at this point with her class. The Mean Girl never did stop being mean to everyone. She still got in trouble after the principal had spoken to her about her treatment of Bean. But the attitude of the other girls changed. No longer would they listen to, or give the Mean Girl the attention she kept trying to steal from every one around her.
We can't change the people around us but we change ourselves and how we deal with things. Which sometimes means standing up for the right thing. Demanding change of a bad situation.
And I think that is what Bean learned most of all from being bullied. She couldn't change the Mean Girl. Because the Mean Girl never did learn or grow or change her behavior. Her behavior was more subdued because she knew if she was caught than there would be trouble but she never had some life altering epiphany like they do in the movies. Maybe someday.
But Bean didn't care anymore. None of the girls did. What the Mean Girl had to say didn't carry any weight anymore.
And I'm so proud of Bean for standing up to this girl, for demanding a change in the situation, to cast a light on what was going on...because she helped the other girls realize what was going on and they could also put an end to how it was affecting them.
So in the last few months of school Bean had friends. Lots of friends. A social group. And we finished fifth grade on a happy note. Her goal at the beginning of the year was to have more friends, to push herself socially, to introduce herself and put herself out there and risk being hurt by way of rejection. A fear she has always had, which made it difficult for her to make more than a best friend through her other years of elementary school.
Not only did she succeed, she pushed past some of the worse hurt and came out ahead. Stronger. More self assured.
She could just have easily shut down and never tried to make friends again.
I just have to say good job, kid. Good job.
So I hug Bean after the ceremony and try not to cry until I get home. We survived fifth grade. She survived fifth grade...
now I just have to start worrying about Middle School.
Oh, boy.
Are should I say BOYS!!!?
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Survivor: Middle School Style
Since the fifth grade is preparing for the next big leap in their lives...Middle School...they were asked to come up with a list of questions about what to expect.
Some of them were pretty common: what's for lunch, how much homework will I have and what if I get stuck inside my locker.
The lunch answer is simple. Sorry, kid. It's the same crappy food that is served in elementary school. I will just apologize now that our US government does not know the meaning of quality food...So canned, soggy peaches, pizza that smells so bad it makes you gag, and mystery meat surprise that is always a bit off in color are your options. Your best bet to survival in this jungle...pack your own lunch and just buy the fresh fruit that they actually sell separately. Oh, and also don't eat from the ice cream cooler everyday...right now you'll burn those calories...later those calories will be stuck on you.
How much homework is dependent on your teachers. Some of them believe too much homework interferes with family life and they're right. The math problem here though...(I know you weren't expecting a math equation in my blog) If six teachers on Monday decide to each assign just one page of homework: and they do this each day for the entire week; how many hours of homework do you have?
The answer: Too much. Get over it now and realize that you didn't need as much play time anyway; you're a big kid now.
If you get stuck in your locker then rest assure that unlike the movies where the hallways are suddenly empty and devoid of all life forms the second someone shoves you in the huge locker space; Middle School is a wild and bustling place. Someone will let you out shortly; as long as the kid in question that hears your cries for help actually fetches an adult. If they don't like you or they're going to be late for class, they may leave you. Rule of advice: Don't get stuck in your locker.
Hint: Most lockers, except in the movies, won't fit you anyway. They are full of all your textbooks, backpacks, make up, lunches, misc. stuff you have stuck in there and don't bother to take home and other such items.
Now those are your basic and common questions that most kids have. The uncommon questions are next.
One boy asked the following question. "What happens if I go into the boys' bathroom and suddenly I'm in the middle of a Middle School Fight Club and someone punches one? What do I do?"
Well, first Rule of Fight Club. Duck. If you're only a miserable sixth grader and they're an eighth grader then you want to avoid that punch.
Second Rule: You don't talk about Fight Club.
I know...I'm messing up the line but I'm not a guy. I'm going to duck first and avoid the punch. If that didn't work then I guess I would have to fight. But we are talking about the Boys' bathroom so I suppose the first rule of Fight Club would be...
Wait, seriously. How many movies have you been watching? Fight club in the Middle School boys' bathroom? Not going to happen. After school maybe if you're in the wrong neighborhood...But the three minutes you have to go to the bathroom is not long enough and teachers will notice if you're showing up to class with broken and bloodied noses. And if they don't...switch schools.
The worse you have to worry about in the Middle School boys' bathroom is unmentionables of all sort of bodily fluids on the walls and the floor. Being teased over the size of certain body parts and the smell of too many nearly teenage boys in one area.
The last question comes from Bean herself. "How do you tell which eighth grader can be bribed with pudding cups to offer you protection throughout the whole year?"
Mmm, that's a very good question. Sometimes it's hard to tell which tough and mean looking eighth grader is actually susceptible to pudding cups and is willing to protect you. Unfortunately, it's difficult to find this information out unless you know someone.
The best thing you can do is huddle together in tight groups of 6 or 7 sixth graders as you walk through the halls. Try to stay in the middle of this group as it's the safest area to be. The weak and sick on the outside of the group are easily picked off by an eighth grader who needs a snack.
Form alliances with fellow sixth graders but trust no one. A popular seventh grader can easily turn a previously trusted sixth grader against the entire pack. I've seen it happen.
Remember: Middle School is a jungle. It's wild and crazy and is totally different than elementary school.
But you'll do just fine. The rumors of Middle School are just that...rumors...
On second thought, perhaps we better start stocking up on pudding cups.
Some of them were pretty common: what's for lunch, how much homework will I have and what if I get stuck inside my locker.
The lunch answer is simple. Sorry, kid. It's the same crappy food that is served in elementary school. I will just apologize now that our US government does not know the meaning of quality food...So canned, soggy peaches, pizza that smells so bad it makes you gag, and mystery meat surprise that is always a bit off in color are your options. Your best bet to survival in this jungle...pack your own lunch and just buy the fresh fruit that they actually sell separately. Oh, and also don't eat from the ice cream cooler everyday...right now you'll burn those calories...later those calories will be stuck on you.
How much homework is dependent on your teachers. Some of them believe too much homework interferes with family life and they're right. The math problem here though...(I know you weren't expecting a math equation in my blog) If six teachers on Monday decide to each assign just one page of homework: and they do this each day for the entire week; how many hours of homework do you have?
The answer: Too much. Get over it now and realize that you didn't need as much play time anyway; you're a big kid now.
If you get stuck in your locker then rest assure that unlike the movies where the hallways are suddenly empty and devoid of all life forms the second someone shoves you in the huge locker space; Middle School is a wild and bustling place. Someone will let you out shortly; as long as the kid in question that hears your cries for help actually fetches an adult. If they don't like you or they're going to be late for class, they may leave you. Rule of advice: Don't get stuck in your locker.
Hint: Most lockers, except in the movies, won't fit you anyway. They are full of all your textbooks, backpacks, make up, lunches, misc. stuff you have stuck in there and don't bother to take home and other such items.
Now those are your basic and common questions that most kids have. The uncommon questions are next.
One boy asked the following question. "What happens if I go into the boys' bathroom and suddenly I'm in the middle of a Middle School Fight Club and someone punches one? What do I do?"
Well, first Rule of Fight Club. Duck. If you're only a miserable sixth grader and they're an eighth grader then you want to avoid that punch.
Second Rule: You don't talk about Fight Club.
I know...I'm messing up the line but I'm not a guy. I'm going to duck first and avoid the punch. If that didn't work then I guess I would have to fight. But we are talking about the Boys' bathroom so I suppose the first rule of Fight Club would be...
Wait, seriously. How many movies have you been watching? Fight club in the Middle School boys' bathroom? Not going to happen. After school maybe if you're in the wrong neighborhood...But the three minutes you have to go to the bathroom is not long enough and teachers will notice if you're showing up to class with broken and bloodied noses. And if they don't...switch schools.
The worse you have to worry about in the Middle School boys' bathroom is unmentionables of all sort of bodily fluids on the walls and the floor. Being teased over the size of certain body parts and the smell of too many nearly teenage boys in one area.
The last question comes from Bean herself. "How do you tell which eighth grader can be bribed with pudding cups to offer you protection throughout the whole year?"
Mmm, that's a very good question. Sometimes it's hard to tell which tough and mean looking eighth grader is actually susceptible to pudding cups and is willing to protect you. Unfortunately, it's difficult to find this information out unless you know someone.
The best thing you can do is huddle together in tight groups of 6 or 7 sixth graders as you walk through the halls. Try to stay in the middle of this group as it's the safest area to be. The weak and sick on the outside of the group are easily picked off by an eighth grader who needs a snack.
Form alliances with fellow sixth graders but trust no one. A popular seventh grader can easily turn a previously trusted sixth grader against the entire pack. I've seen it happen.
Remember: Middle School is a jungle. It's wild and crazy and is totally different than elementary school.
But you'll do just fine. The rumors of Middle School are just that...rumors...
On second thought, perhaps we better start stocking up on pudding cups.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
The Power of WORDS
ONCE someone told me I wasn't very smart.
ONCE someone told me I couldn't make the world a better place.
ONCE someone told me I couldn't write and would never be a writer.
ONCE someone made me feel insecure.
Some DAYS I allow these words to color my day with gloom and doom. I carry them around like weights on my shoulders, heavy enough to drown me. They follow me around like shadows; no matter where I go I can't seem to shake them.
Those days are emotional draining. I feel inadequate, lonely, and depressed. I'm grouchy and cranky and left wondering if the only thing I'm good at is...well, nothing.
WORDS are powerful.- Sticks and stones may break my bones. But words will never hurt me.- Is completely untrue. It's a rhyme to try to convince yourself that you can just ignore the words thrown at you like arrows and they won't hurt when they pierce your delicate skin. But words do hurt and they hurt long after the fact. Some times years and decades later.
I was BULLIED in middle school and it took years to heal from those WORDS flung around so carelessly by people that were hurting so much on the inside that the only way they could feel better about themselves was to make other people hurt too.
But WORDS can only hurt if we hold onto them...If we believe them...If we allow them the POWER to make us doubt ourselves.
So TODAY I acknowledge the power of WORDS.
ONCE someone appreciated this brainy chick
ONCE someone believed that I could help make the world a better place, even if just a little bit
ONCE someone told me that my writing was funny and that they enjoyed it
ONCE someone made me feel secure and loved
It's time to take out the trash. Throw out the WORDS roaming harmfully around in your heart and realize they only have the POWER to hurt you if you let them.
ONCE someone told me I couldn't make the world a better place.
ONCE someone told me I couldn't write and would never be a writer.
ONCE someone made me feel insecure.
Some DAYS I allow these words to color my day with gloom and doom. I carry them around like weights on my shoulders, heavy enough to drown me. They follow me around like shadows; no matter where I go I can't seem to shake them.
Those days are emotional draining. I feel inadequate, lonely, and depressed. I'm grouchy and cranky and left wondering if the only thing I'm good at is...well, nothing.
WORDS are powerful.- Sticks and stones may break my bones. But words will never hurt me.- Is completely untrue. It's a rhyme to try to convince yourself that you can just ignore the words thrown at you like arrows and they won't hurt when they pierce your delicate skin. But words do hurt and they hurt long after the fact. Some times years and decades later.
I was BULLIED in middle school and it took years to heal from those WORDS flung around so carelessly by people that were hurting so much on the inside that the only way they could feel better about themselves was to make other people hurt too.
But WORDS can only hurt if we hold onto them...If we believe them...If we allow them the POWER to make us doubt ourselves.
So TODAY I acknowledge the power of WORDS.
ONCE someone appreciated this brainy chick
ONCE someone believed that I could help make the world a better place, even if just a little bit
ONCE someone told me that my writing was funny and that they enjoyed it
ONCE someone made me feel secure and loved
It's time to take out the trash. Throw out the WORDS roaming harmfully around in your heart and realize they only have the POWER to hurt you if you let them.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Day Twenty Three- The Ground is so Small From the Highest Tree
In the park near our house when I was in middle school there was the tallest pine tree all by itself, growing in the field.
It whispered, "Climb me. To the top. Where my branches touch the cloudy Oregon sky."
For a while I ignored the tree, knowing that it was bit higher than my Mom would want me climbing. I can't say for sure how high it was, I'm horrible at judging distance, my brother Chris, would probably know since he was often there with me, wanting to climb the same tree. But it was definitely taller than four or five stories, which was off limits to us.
One day though, the tree was extremely loud and we decided we were going to climb the tree...all the way to the top.
The absolutely wonderful thing about trees in Oregon are their solid branches that grow densely together. It's perfect for tree climbing, which Chris and I had done plenty of times. There's a few rules to remember when climbing a tree.
1. Don't step on branches thinner than your wrist. That's just asking for trouble.
2. If you start to step onto a branch and the tree groans and complains and screeches at you, perhaps you should pick another branch. Listen to the tree.
3. Ignore sap, it's sticky but Mom's are great at getting it out of your clothes. They may roll their eyes at you when you hand them your clothing in a sticky bundle of fresh tree sap but they will get it out. They're amazing, Moms.
4. Windy days are for flying kites, not climbing trees.
And finally.... 5. Don't climb so high that the ground is now so small it has became a deadly weapon should you fall on it.
I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. I love climbing trees and this one was tall with the perfect amount of branches.
I grabbed the first branch and hauled myself into the tree. It had that fresh scent of pine that they try to bottle but will never succeed because humans can't duplicate the natural part of a smell. Somehow your nose will always know.
Chris started climbing the other side and we made quick time as the branches had grown just like a ladder. They were never far apart and they were all nice and sturdy. Every once and in a while we would peek out of the branches, noticing how the park was growing smaller and smaller.
But still we climbed.
Then my brother, who was younger than me, stopped. He was not going any higher.
I was in middle school, the big sister and the family tree climber. I wasn't going to stop. So higher and higher I went. It was amazing. The tree was so well built all the way to the top. Most of the time a tree starts to tamper out too thinly before you can reach anywhere near the top, so you have to stop...it's rule number 1 and 2. But this tree, having grown in the middle of the field didn't have to share nutrients from the ground or any rain water. It was king.
I climbed until the branches finally were too small near the top. The palm of my hands were scratched from the rough bark and covered in sap but I was grinning. I took a look around me and was amazed that I could see over most of the other trees, across the neighborhoods surrounding the park, and past the sugar beet field growing on the other side of the running track, I could see my friend's houses and I could see a vast expanse of cloudy Oregon sky.
And then I looked down...and down and down...to where my brother stood so tiny against the green grass that was so far away. My stomach lurched and my throat tightened. I gripped the tree tighter and felt a bit sick.
I had never felt afraid of being high up in a tree before. Ever. But I had never climbed so high up either. A gentle breeze blew across my cheek and I really started to realize just how far above the ground I was. If I were to fall, I would die. The thought was that simple and that direct.
The view was stunning but I suddenly had this intense and pounding need to touch the ground again but my hand wouldn't let go of the branch I was on. My fingers had suddenly started thinking for themselves and they refused to do anything that had to do with letting go of the tree.
Being the wildly creative person I am, I suddenly starting wondering if the fire trucks could reach me and how would they pluck me out of this tree and would they even drive on the grass to get me, or would that grouchy park manager that always scowled at me send them away because he didn't want his grass messed up? Would they leave me up here? And oh, boy, how mad would Mom be if she found out I climbed this far up into the tree. She would never allow me to go to the park again. I would be grounded. I was too old to be grounded. Urghh. I could not live in a tree even though it is a very Oregon thing to do.
Finally my thoughts turned back to my fear and knowing I couldn't allow it to win. I refused to live up in the tree and I decided I rather conquer the anxiety coursing through my veins than have to send my brother to fetch Mom. Parents can be great motivators. :)
Slowly, I made my way down the tree, my heart pumping quite fast and sweat dripping down my back. What had I been thinking? Apparently, there were trees that were just too high to climb, no matter how great and thick their branches were.
I jumped onto the ground, wanting to kiss it. I had always wondered why they did that in movies, it seemed so yucky, but now I understood. There is something immensely wonderful and grand about the ground...and your feet actually touching it.
Chris stared at me and I simply stared back. He knew I had went too far. But we both knew that we wouldn't speak a word of it to our parents. Perhaps when when we were thirty. We left that pine tree king alone for the rest of the time we lived there. It had somehow earned immunity from our tree climbing.
The rest of the trees had not and we spent a great deal of time climbing them. I was not going to let that moment of fear in the tallest tree keep me grounded.
I tell this story because there are some things we can't learn from the confines of our houses, watching television or chatting on the computer. We have to be outside, in nature, learning from all of creation just how far we can push ourselves. To be able to recognize the pounding of our own heartbeat, pushing ourselves pass our fears to accomplish the tasks before us. It is sometimes the closest I feel we can be to God in this physical world we inhabit.
So I give thanks that through a simple pine tree I learned that only my silly fears keep me from climbing higher on this journey of faith.
But I have to say, I wouldn't mind a parachute some times either. :)
It whispered, "Climb me. To the top. Where my branches touch the cloudy Oregon sky."
For a while I ignored the tree, knowing that it was bit higher than my Mom would want me climbing. I can't say for sure how high it was, I'm horrible at judging distance, my brother Chris, would probably know since he was often there with me, wanting to climb the same tree. But it was definitely taller than four or five stories, which was off limits to us.
One day though, the tree was extremely loud and we decided we were going to climb the tree...all the way to the top.
The absolutely wonderful thing about trees in Oregon are their solid branches that grow densely together. It's perfect for tree climbing, which Chris and I had done plenty of times. There's a few rules to remember when climbing a tree.
1. Don't step on branches thinner than your wrist. That's just asking for trouble.
2. If you start to step onto a branch and the tree groans and complains and screeches at you, perhaps you should pick another branch. Listen to the tree.
3. Ignore sap, it's sticky but Mom's are great at getting it out of your clothes. They may roll their eyes at you when you hand them your clothing in a sticky bundle of fresh tree sap but they will get it out. They're amazing, Moms.
4. Windy days are for flying kites, not climbing trees.
And finally.... 5. Don't climb so high that the ground is now so small it has became a deadly weapon should you fall on it.
I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. I love climbing trees and this one was tall with the perfect amount of branches.
I grabbed the first branch and hauled myself into the tree. It had that fresh scent of pine that they try to bottle but will never succeed because humans can't duplicate the natural part of a smell. Somehow your nose will always know.
Chris started climbing the other side and we made quick time as the branches had grown just like a ladder. They were never far apart and they were all nice and sturdy. Every once and in a while we would peek out of the branches, noticing how the park was growing smaller and smaller.
But still we climbed.
Then my brother, who was younger than me, stopped. He was not going any higher.
I was in middle school, the big sister and the family tree climber. I wasn't going to stop. So higher and higher I went. It was amazing. The tree was so well built all the way to the top. Most of the time a tree starts to tamper out too thinly before you can reach anywhere near the top, so you have to stop...it's rule number 1 and 2. But this tree, having grown in the middle of the field didn't have to share nutrients from the ground or any rain water. It was king.
I climbed until the branches finally were too small near the top. The palm of my hands were scratched from the rough bark and covered in sap but I was grinning. I took a look around me and was amazed that I could see over most of the other trees, across the neighborhoods surrounding the park, and past the sugar beet field growing on the other side of the running track, I could see my friend's houses and I could see a vast expanse of cloudy Oregon sky.
And then I looked down...and down and down...to where my brother stood so tiny against the green grass that was so far away. My stomach lurched and my throat tightened. I gripped the tree tighter and felt a bit sick.
I had never felt afraid of being high up in a tree before. Ever. But I had never climbed so high up either. A gentle breeze blew across my cheek and I really started to realize just how far above the ground I was. If I were to fall, I would die. The thought was that simple and that direct.
The view was stunning but I suddenly had this intense and pounding need to touch the ground again but my hand wouldn't let go of the branch I was on. My fingers had suddenly started thinking for themselves and they refused to do anything that had to do with letting go of the tree.
Being the wildly creative person I am, I suddenly starting wondering if the fire trucks could reach me and how would they pluck me out of this tree and would they even drive on the grass to get me, or would that grouchy park manager that always scowled at me send them away because he didn't want his grass messed up? Would they leave me up here? And oh, boy, how mad would Mom be if she found out I climbed this far up into the tree. She would never allow me to go to the park again. I would be grounded. I was too old to be grounded. Urghh. I could not live in a tree even though it is a very Oregon thing to do.
Finally my thoughts turned back to my fear and knowing I couldn't allow it to win. I refused to live up in the tree and I decided I rather conquer the anxiety coursing through my veins than have to send my brother to fetch Mom. Parents can be great motivators. :)
Slowly, I made my way down the tree, my heart pumping quite fast and sweat dripping down my back. What had I been thinking? Apparently, there were trees that were just too high to climb, no matter how great and thick their branches were.
I jumped onto the ground, wanting to kiss it. I had always wondered why they did that in movies, it seemed so yucky, but now I understood. There is something immensely wonderful and grand about the ground...and your feet actually touching it.
Chris stared at me and I simply stared back. He knew I had went too far. But we both knew that we wouldn't speak a word of it to our parents. Perhaps when when we were thirty. We left that pine tree king alone for the rest of the time we lived there. It had somehow earned immunity from our tree climbing.
The rest of the trees had not and we spent a great deal of time climbing them. I was not going to let that moment of fear in the tallest tree keep me grounded.
I tell this story because there are some things we can't learn from the confines of our houses, watching television or chatting on the computer. We have to be outside, in nature, learning from all of creation just how far we can push ourselves. To be able to recognize the pounding of our own heartbeat, pushing ourselves pass our fears to accomplish the tasks before us. It is sometimes the closest I feel we can be to God in this physical world we inhabit.
So I give thanks that through a simple pine tree I learned that only my silly fears keep me from climbing higher on this journey of faith.
But I have to say, I wouldn't mind a parachute some times either. :)
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Day Eleven- Casper the cat and his sad start
It was nearly summer in Oregon. And we actually had a bit of sunshine. The house we had moved into during my fifth grade year was in a cul-de-sac, so although across the street on one side was the horrid railroad track; on the other side of us, between the two houses built in the arch of the cul-de-sac was a gate to the city park.
What kid doesn't love having a park next door to them. It didn't have a playground, but it had a track, baseball fields, tennis courts and big trees to climb.
Lining the park was a eight foot chain link fence, separating the houses from city property. They didn't have much privacy but it was difficult for people to trespass into their yards. One of my new friends lived in one of these houses and I spent quite a bit of time over there, especially since I could walk to her house.
Her name was Sam and she had wild, tangly yellow curls, was willow branch thin and jumpy like a popcorn kernel in oil. We played Barbies in her huge, old- fixer up house, that had more old than fix, and out in her yard where her Dad let the grasses grow as tall as her we played pretend. We would keep an eye on the park and when we saw someone we knew we would struggle through the grasses to reach the fence and chat for a while. If middle school was awful, at least the friends I had made around the neighborhood were great.
One day we were skipping through the wilds of her backyard when a five year boy named Laser started yelling at us from the park. He was always roaming the streets on his bicycle; left alone and lonely; he lacked compassion because in his own short life he had been shown very little. Always finding trouble, he was constantly showing us small toys and candy he had stolen from either the store or other people's houses. This time he was carrying around a square metal lunchbox that had been clearly taken from someone else. But it was what was in it that would end up being quite shocking.
"Hey, come here. I have something to show." He hollers, starving so much for attention that even as a fifth grader I could sense the desperation that clung to him. But there wasn't anything I could do for him.
I looked at Sam and shook my head. "It's probably stolen."
She nods, "Let's go see."
We get to the fence and he's kicking the lunchbox around. Then tossing it up in the air or throwing it across the grass. Each time it lands with a thud. Each time something rattles inside it.
"I have something in here." He says and gives it another hard kick.
"Okay, so show us." I said, rolling my eyes. I rather be playing with Sam then playing a guessing game with a five year old.
Sam agrees with me. "What?"
He smirks. "I have cats in there."
We both frown. "Yeah, right."
He squints his eyes, his dark eyes completely serious. "No, I have baby cats in there. I took them from their mom. I killed the other babies. Drowned them in a puddle of water. But I have two left."
I froze, staring at the lunchbox lying on the grass. It's grimy and dented from being tossed around. Was there baby cats in there?
"Show us." I say, wishing the fence wasn't so high because I would simply grab it from him if I could. Instead, I had to convince him to throw us the lunchbox. Sam looks at me, and her wide eyed shock says it all. We have to see if he's telling the truth.
"They're still alive." He boosts.
"We want to see. Throw us the box." I smile.
"You won't give it back." He grabs the box and holds it tight.
Sam shakes her head. "No, we'll give it right back. Just let us see them."
"Throw us the box. We'll look and give it right back." I act like I'm not lying. A feat that's difficult for me. I'm not a liar, but if he has cats in there...we have to get them. We have to save them.
It takes a few more minutes to convince him that we will give him the lunchbox right back after we take a peek. He's eager to show us his 'prize' and is fairly easy to win over. Finally he agrees.
"Catch it." He tosses the lunchbox over the fence. As it flies through the air, I'm praying that I won't drop it and then it lands in my arms and the breath I had been holding rushes out.
We quickly kneel on the ground, with Laser on the other side of the fence watching us intently. Sam gives me a look, an expression that matches my own. We don't want to see what might be in the box. The thought is horrifying.
Then we hurry to unlatch it, flipping the lid open and peering inside. We are stunned into silence. A thick feeling of dread and horror fills me as I hesitantly touch the two, incredibly tiny baby kittens, nestled together with an alarming lack of any movement.
We look up at Laser, who isn't saddened by what he has done but is smiling, now that he has shown someone what he has.
"Are they dead?" Sam whispers, reaching out and stroking the kittens. They are no bigger than the palm of my hand, their eyes shut tightly and their bodies fuzzy but not furry. Their tails are naked and they barely look like cats. I've never seen a baby cat before and the sight would be amazing if it wasn't for what had just happened to them.
"I don't know." I touch the soft black and white body. The kitten is warm...and breathing. "Yes. Oh, my gosh. Sam. They're alive."
"What do we do?" she asks, picking one of them up and holding it close to her warm body. I pick up the other one and snuggle him between my palms. They make small mewing sounds.
"Hey, give them back." Laser demands.
I look at him and shake my head. "You are not getting this cats back. Go. Go home."
Angry cuss words stream from his mouth but we ignore him.
"My Mom will know. She has had kittens before. Hurry." We run to my house, holding the kittens close and burst into the house, our frantic story tumbling from our lips in such a rush I don't know if she understood at first what has happened but she sees the helpless creatures in her hands and goes right to work.
She pulls out a box from the garage, sets a heating pad in the bottom, followed by a blanket and sets them in there. A small towel becomes their blanket, an eyedropper is used to feed them. Over the course of the next few days she spends hours with them, a boy and a girl, keeping them warm, wiping their bottoms so they can poop, and feeding them one drop at a time. Their mews grow louder, their movements stronger... and then they start sneezing and their mews grow faint again.
The girl kitten dies and we bury her in the flower bed.
We take the boy kitten to the vet, who diagnoses him with pneumonia and shakes his head sadly. He explains that the kittens were only a few hours old when Laser stole them from their mother. The kittens didn't receive much, if any, of the valuable colostrum milk and this last surviving kitten's chances were near zero. He gave him an antibiotic shot for free, compassion in the gentle way he handled him and sent us home.
The boy kitten who we named, Casper, struggled to breathe. Mom kept feeding him, getting up every couple of hours to nurse him. I spent time petting him and talking to him but we still didn't know if he was going to make it.
Then the sneezing stops, the runny nose dries up and his mews grows strong. He starts trying to move around and he's eager to wiggle against Mom when it's feeding time. After a while his eyes open. He's growing and turning into a kitten, walking and rolling around. His black and white fur grows fluffy.
A bit more time passes and he survives. He's a full grown cat, healthy and sassy and he lived a long and happy life, thinking he was a real boy not a cat but that was because he didn't know how to be a real cat.
I look back at Casper's rough start. It was a terrible way to join the world. And what must have happened to Laser in his short life to cause him to behave with such cruelty? What must he had done after that? Children that are cruel to animals are prone to take that cruelty further. I think teaching children compassion towards animals is highly important. It's part of the bigger picture, acting with compassion in all aspects of our life.
It was lack of compassion on so many levels that almost killed Casper. It killed the rest of his siblings in a horrible, violent manner.
But it was compassion from a few different people that saved him. Humanity can't function without compassion. And it starts with teaching our children as soon as they're born.
The human race needs compassion, without it we can't even find the road to our faith.
What kid doesn't love having a park next door to them. It didn't have a playground, but it had a track, baseball fields, tennis courts and big trees to climb.
Lining the park was a eight foot chain link fence, separating the houses from city property. They didn't have much privacy but it was difficult for people to trespass into their yards. One of my new friends lived in one of these houses and I spent quite a bit of time over there, especially since I could walk to her house.
Her name was Sam and she had wild, tangly yellow curls, was willow branch thin and jumpy like a popcorn kernel in oil. We played Barbies in her huge, old- fixer up house, that had more old than fix, and out in her yard where her Dad let the grasses grow as tall as her we played pretend. We would keep an eye on the park and when we saw someone we knew we would struggle through the grasses to reach the fence and chat for a while. If middle school was awful, at least the friends I had made around the neighborhood were great.
One day we were skipping through the wilds of her backyard when a five year boy named Laser started yelling at us from the park. He was always roaming the streets on his bicycle; left alone and lonely; he lacked compassion because in his own short life he had been shown very little. Always finding trouble, he was constantly showing us small toys and candy he had stolen from either the store or other people's houses. This time he was carrying around a square metal lunchbox that had been clearly taken from someone else. But it was what was in it that would end up being quite shocking.
"Hey, come here. I have something to show." He hollers, starving so much for attention that even as a fifth grader I could sense the desperation that clung to him. But there wasn't anything I could do for him.
I looked at Sam and shook my head. "It's probably stolen."
She nods, "Let's go see."
We get to the fence and he's kicking the lunchbox around. Then tossing it up in the air or throwing it across the grass. Each time it lands with a thud. Each time something rattles inside it.
"I have something in here." He says and gives it another hard kick.
"Okay, so show us." I said, rolling my eyes. I rather be playing with Sam then playing a guessing game with a five year old.
Sam agrees with me. "What?"
He smirks. "I have cats in there."
We both frown. "Yeah, right."
He squints his eyes, his dark eyes completely serious. "No, I have baby cats in there. I took them from their mom. I killed the other babies. Drowned them in a puddle of water. But I have two left."
I froze, staring at the lunchbox lying on the grass. It's grimy and dented from being tossed around. Was there baby cats in there?
"Show us." I say, wishing the fence wasn't so high because I would simply grab it from him if I could. Instead, I had to convince him to throw us the lunchbox. Sam looks at me, and her wide eyed shock says it all. We have to see if he's telling the truth.
"They're still alive." He boosts.
"We want to see. Throw us the box." I smile.
"You won't give it back." He grabs the box and holds it tight.
Sam shakes her head. "No, we'll give it right back. Just let us see them."
"Throw us the box. We'll look and give it right back." I act like I'm not lying. A feat that's difficult for me. I'm not a liar, but if he has cats in there...we have to get them. We have to save them.
It takes a few more minutes to convince him that we will give him the lunchbox right back after we take a peek. He's eager to show us his 'prize' and is fairly easy to win over. Finally he agrees.
"Catch it." He tosses the lunchbox over the fence. As it flies through the air, I'm praying that I won't drop it and then it lands in my arms and the breath I had been holding rushes out.
We quickly kneel on the ground, with Laser on the other side of the fence watching us intently. Sam gives me a look, an expression that matches my own. We don't want to see what might be in the box. The thought is horrifying.
Then we hurry to unlatch it, flipping the lid open and peering inside. We are stunned into silence. A thick feeling of dread and horror fills me as I hesitantly touch the two, incredibly tiny baby kittens, nestled together with an alarming lack of any movement.
We look up at Laser, who isn't saddened by what he has done but is smiling, now that he has shown someone what he has.
"Are they dead?" Sam whispers, reaching out and stroking the kittens. They are no bigger than the palm of my hand, their eyes shut tightly and their bodies fuzzy but not furry. Their tails are naked and they barely look like cats. I've never seen a baby cat before and the sight would be amazing if it wasn't for what had just happened to them.
"I don't know." I touch the soft black and white body. The kitten is warm...and breathing. "Yes. Oh, my gosh. Sam. They're alive."
"What do we do?" she asks, picking one of them up and holding it close to her warm body. I pick up the other one and snuggle him between my palms. They make small mewing sounds.
"Hey, give them back." Laser demands.
I look at him and shake my head. "You are not getting this cats back. Go. Go home."
Angry cuss words stream from his mouth but we ignore him.
"My Mom will know. She has had kittens before. Hurry." We run to my house, holding the kittens close and burst into the house, our frantic story tumbling from our lips in such a rush I don't know if she understood at first what has happened but she sees the helpless creatures in her hands and goes right to work.
She pulls out a box from the garage, sets a heating pad in the bottom, followed by a blanket and sets them in there. A small towel becomes their blanket, an eyedropper is used to feed them. Over the course of the next few days she spends hours with them, a boy and a girl, keeping them warm, wiping their bottoms so they can poop, and feeding them one drop at a time. Their mews grow louder, their movements stronger... and then they start sneezing and their mews grow faint again.
The girl kitten dies and we bury her in the flower bed.
We take the boy kitten to the vet, who diagnoses him with pneumonia and shakes his head sadly. He explains that the kittens were only a few hours old when Laser stole them from their mother. The kittens didn't receive much, if any, of the valuable colostrum milk and this last surviving kitten's chances were near zero. He gave him an antibiotic shot for free, compassion in the gentle way he handled him and sent us home.
The boy kitten who we named, Casper, struggled to breathe. Mom kept feeding him, getting up every couple of hours to nurse him. I spent time petting him and talking to him but we still didn't know if he was going to make it.
Then the sneezing stops, the runny nose dries up and his mews grows strong. He starts trying to move around and he's eager to wiggle against Mom when it's feeding time. After a while his eyes open. He's growing and turning into a kitten, walking and rolling around. His black and white fur grows fluffy.
A bit more time passes and he survives. He's a full grown cat, healthy and sassy and he lived a long and happy life, thinking he was a real boy not a cat but that was because he didn't know how to be a real cat.
I look back at Casper's rough start. It was a terrible way to join the world. And what must have happened to Laser in his short life to cause him to behave with such cruelty? What must he had done after that? Children that are cruel to animals are prone to take that cruelty further. I think teaching children compassion towards animals is highly important. It's part of the bigger picture, acting with compassion in all aspects of our life.
It was lack of compassion on so many levels that almost killed Casper. It killed the rest of his siblings in a horrible, violent manner.
But it was compassion from a few different people that saved him. Humanity can't function without compassion. And it starts with teaching our children as soon as they're born.
The human race needs compassion, without it we can't even find the road to our faith.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Day Nine- Middle School Hell
Some times the things we don't realize are blessings at the time end up being some of the most important events in our life. They're path changers. Forks in the roads. Speed bumps so big they threw us onto another street. And often times that's what it feels like too, a kick in the rear.
Half way through fifth grade my family had to move. The rental house that we had lived in, the one right across the street from my elementary school, was being sold. I had been attending this elementary school since half way through first grade and I had friends, buddies, boys that I had known for years that I like to beat at wall ball and math. It was a decent school and I was finally inside the building for class. I had waited years to be a big kid.
(Fifth and Sixth grade were in the actual school building, they had lockers and a warm hallway. The other grades opened to the outside and you had to travel across the courtyard to reach the music room, the library, the office and the lunch room.)
But all that didn't matter. I had to tell my teachers and friends I was moving, pack up my room, sit in the trees in my yard one last time. The trees that I would spend hours in. Sitting in their big, beautiful branches reading books, or playing pretend or waiting for Mom to get home from the grocery store because I was so high up I could see the road she would be driving on.
It was change and I thought not such a great one, especially when we had to move to a completely different town to find an affordable rental house. My Dad's commute was now longer and we would have to ride a bus to school, instead of just walking across the street.
Next to our house, right across the road and then a small field was a railroad track. That night in our new house, Dad laid all our mattresses on the living room floor, since he hadn't had time to put the beds together. It was strange, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the new house. Watching the odd shadows play on the walls. And then, the Amtrak train, traveling at around eighty miles per hour, rumbled past our house. The windows shook, my mattress vibrated and the sound roared loudly in the ears. My parents sighed and I knew they were just as unhappy about the move as us kids were.
The schools in this district were divided differently than my last school. Fifth through eighth grades were in middle school. Suddenly I went from being an elementary student to being a middle schooler. Yikes. My fifth grade teacher was crazy. She had a metal stool she liked to pick up and smack against the linoleum when ever she was upset with us, which was just about every day.
We had gangs in the school, luckily not into a lot of on-campus violence but there was more than enough vandalism, thievery, and bullying to keep the school in a constant state of tension, fear, and anger.
By sixth grade, the battle field lines were drawn between the girls, you were either on one side and popular or you were on the other side and clearly not popular. I made things complicated by being friends with JD,one of the popular girls at the same time while also being considered teacher's pet because I enjoyed school.
This wasn't an ideal situation and pretty soon JD wasn't my friend and I was deemed an easy target by the other girls. I was still a kid in sixth grade and not ready for the 'Mean Girl' environment. I only had one bad teacher in sixth grade, he came to school high on something and unable to teach math. We scrapped by just enough to count for test scores.
By seventh grade I had a knot in my stomach every day before school. I had an hour bus ride in the morning and whereas I had a funny bus driver, his jokes were highly inappropriate and dirty. On top of the way he would flirt with the high school girls, it was not a great bus ride. My brother would get on the bus with me but he had to stay on longer than I did and was picked on horribly as soon as I wasn't there to protect him. In school he was losing ground in math and my sister was being taught that you can spell a word any way you want and it's correct.
The girls were horribly cruel to each other and all the jokes were demeaning and heartless. The P.E. teachers were sadistic if you weren't athletic and my science teacher would threaten to kill us and stuff us in the cupboards if we didn't behave.
It was not an ideal learning environment. And probably not even that safe.
So I suggested to my parents that they should home school me. A couple of weeks later, when the situation had reached a boiling point for all of us siblings, they decided to take us out of school and do it at home. I'm not sure if my siblings were in full agreement, my brother didn't like school no matter where it was and my sister liked being around other kids. But the school district had failed us in so many ways and we couldn't transfer some where else.
Home schooling was easy for me. I was already a good student, it wasn't any different at home except it only took about three hours a day to finish my work. What kid doesn't mind being done in less than half the time as before? We took field trips, studied things that were important and interesting, my Mom read Mark Twain to us, I read the other classics, and we volunteered at quite a few places to interact with people and the world. I wasn't stuck in Middle School Hell anymore, I was out in the real world and it was wonderful.
I didn't even wake up with a stomach ache anymore.
I had freedom to be myself. I had time to think, to learn, to feel safe. I still had friends, but I didn't have bullies.
At the end of that year I was testing beyond the high school level. The person administering the test suggested I skip high school and move right into college. I didn't because I wasn't ready emotionally for such a huge step but it was a confidence boost for my parents.
They took us out of school and took on the task of being our teachers. Especially my Mom. She didn't have a background in teaching but she was going to take that leap of faith and cross her fingers that it worked because she knew we couldn't stay at the schools we were going to.
It took courage and faith. And sometimes in life we have to take that leap. Sort of like Indiana Jones when he has to cross the bridge except he can't actually see it...he just has to have faith that it is there.
We can make all the plans we want but when it comes down to it, sometimes the best things are the changes we make with nothing more to guarantee that we're on the right path than our faith.
That's a tough one to follow but I'm sure glad my Mom did.
Half way through fifth grade my family had to move. The rental house that we had lived in, the one right across the street from my elementary school, was being sold. I had been attending this elementary school since half way through first grade and I had friends, buddies, boys that I had known for years that I like to beat at wall ball and math. It was a decent school and I was finally inside the building for class. I had waited years to be a big kid.
(Fifth and Sixth grade were in the actual school building, they had lockers and a warm hallway. The other grades opened to the outside and you had to travel across the courtyard to reach the music room, the library, the office and the lunch room.)
But all that didn't matter. I had to tell my teachers and friends I was moving, pack up my room, sit in the trees in my yard one last time. The trees that I would spend hours in. Sitting in their big, beautiful branches reading books, or playing pretend or waiting for Mom to get home from the grocery store because I was so high up I could see the road she would be driving on.
It was change and I thought not such a great one, especially when we had to move to a completely different town to find an affordable rental house. My Dad's commute was now longer and we would have to ride a bus to school, instead of just walking across the street.
Next to our house, right across the road and then a small field was a railroad track. That night in our new house, Dad laid all our mattresses on the living room floor, since he hadn't had time to put the beds together. It was strange, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the new house. Watching the odd shadows play on the walls. And then, the Amtrak train, traveling at around eighty miles per hour, rumbled past our house. The windows shook, my mattress vibrated and the sound roared loudly in the ears. My parents sighed and I knew they were just as unhappy about the move as us kids were.
The schools in this district were divided differently than my last school. Fifth through eighth grades were in middle school. Suddenly I went from being an elementary student to being a middle schooler. Yikes. My fifth grade teacher was crazy. She had a metal stool she liked to pick up and smack against the linoleum when ever she was upset with us, which was just about every day.
We had gangs in the school, luckily not into a lot of on-campus violence but there was more than enough vandalism, thievery, and bullying to keep the school in a constant state of tension, fear, and anger.
By sixth grade, the battle field lines were drawn between the girls, you were either on one side and popular or you were on the other side and clearly not popular. I made things complicated by being friends with JD,one of the popular girls at the same time while also being considered teacher's pet because I enjoyed school.
This wasn't an ideal situation and pretty soon JD wasn't my friend and I was deemed an easy target by the other girls. I was still a kid in sixth grade and not ready for the 'Mean Girl' environment. I only had one bad teacher in sixth grade, he came to school high on something and unable to teach math. We scrapped by just enough to count for test scores.
By seventh grade I had a knot in my stomach every day before school. I had an hour bus ride in the morning and whereas I had a funny bus driver, his jokes were highly inappropriate and dirty. On top of the way he would flirt with the high school girls, it was not a great bus ride. My brother would get on the bus with me but he had to stay on longer than I did and was picked on horribly as soon as I wasn't there to protect him. In school he was losing ground in math and my sister was being taught that you can spell a word any way you want and it's correct.
The girls were horribly cruel to each other and all the jokes were demeaning and heartless. The P.E. teachers were sadistic if you weren't athletic and my science teacher would threaten to kill us and stuff us in the cupboards if we didn't behave.
It was not an ideal learning environment. And probably not even that safe.
So I suggested to my parents that they should home school me. A couple of weeks later, when the situation had reached a boiling point for all of us siblings, they decided to take us out of school and do it at home. I'm not sure if my siblings were in full agreement, my brother didn't like school no matter where it was and my sister liked being around other kids. But the school district had failed us in so many ways and we couldn't transfer some where else.
Home schooling was easy for me. I was already a good student, it wasn't any different at home except it only took about three hours a day to finish my work. What kid doesn't mind being done in less than half the time as before? We took field trips, studied things that were important and interesting, my Mom read Mark Twain to us, I read the other classics, and we volunteered at quite a few places to interact with people and the world. I wasn't stuck in Middle School Hell anymore, I was out in the real world and it was wonderful.
I didn't even wake up with a stomach ache anymore.
I had freedom to be myself. I had time to think, to learn, to feel safe. I still had friends, but I didn't have bullies.
At the end of that year I was testing beyond the high school level. The person administering the test suggested I skip high school and move right into college. I didn't because I wasn't ready emotionally for such a huge step but it was a confidence boost for my parents.
They took us out of school and took on the task of being our teachers. Especially my Mom. She didn't have a background in teaching but she was going to take that leap of faith and cross her fingers that it worked because she knew we couldn't stay at the schools we were going to.
It took courage and faith. And sometimes in life we have to take that leap. Sort of like Indiana Jones when he has to cross the bridge except he can't actually see it...he just has to have faith that it is there.
We can make all the plans we want but when it comes down to it, sometimes the best things are the changes we make with nothing more to guarantee that we're on the right path than our faith.
That's a tough one to follow but I'm sure glad my Mom did.
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