The struggle-bus is here.

 When I first decided to teach high school, my husband said, “just don’t go to Sam Houston.” I didn’t even know where Sam Houston was or why I shouldn’t go there, but I put my application in to the district and two days before school started I got a call.  “Hi, this is the principal at Sam Houston High School, would you like to be a long term substitute for an English class here?”

I did want to be a long term sub, specifically in an English class, so I said, “Yeah, I can do that.”  I told my husband when he came home and he said, “Well, I hope you don’t get shot.”

I thought, ‘how bad can it be?’

It’s bad. It’s real bad. These kids are bad.

Good news: I have not been shot.

Bad news: There was a school shooting at another high school in the district this week.  I think this is the first for our district.  Two students were injured. One was shot, one hit by shrapnel.  The young man who was shot died.  The suspect was also a young man- just 15 years old.  The shots were reported at 6:55AM.  What does a 15 year old have to be so angry about at 6:55 AM?

As with any shooting like this- it is tragic- senseless- and scary.  

Of course all the schools are on high alert now.

Lamar is the lowest ranked high school in the district.  They are not the biggest, or the poorest, the one with the highest number of minority students, or English as a second language students.  All those categories go to Sam Houston High School.  Sam has 96.4 percent minority student population. More than 70% Hispanic.  We have the 93% on free or reduced lunch.  More than half the student population speak English as a second language.   We have an 88% graduation rate- and that is very loose- there is a reason a high school diploma doesn’t mean much these days.  Some of these students are graduating with an elementary reading level.  

These school are struggling-teachers, administrators and staff are working hard for these kids.

But there is a disconnect.

Maybe there always has been.

These kids don’t care.  They don’t even try.  They don’t even pretend to try.

I often wonder who these kids are going to become.  Will they wake up someday and say, “Actually, I do want to be successful.”  Or will they live and die in ignorance and poverty.

I know poverty.  I know they cycle- I know the hopelessness.  I know the discouragement.  I know the press of poverty.

But ignorance was never on the table.

My mom was on welfare, disabled, bipolar, didn’t graduate from high school, and she made quite a lot of bad life choices,  but she wasn’t ignorant.  

She learned from her mistakes and was willing to compel the ignorance right out of her children by force if needed.  I didn’t need force.  I believed her when she said I had better be good ‘or else.’  In fact, I didn’t even need the threat- I didn’t want to be in the place where we were- physically, emotionally, economically- I didn’t want to be there.  

Purim 3.7.23

 Purim was a few days ago.  I only know this because my aunt celebrated it with her bible study group.

The other night I had a dream and it was Purim.  I dreamed that I was at a Purim celebration, and many people were offering me food.  I was turning down all the food because it all had meat.  People were getting irritated with me because it was rude to not accept their offerings.  I told them it was only because I was a vegetarian.  They said, “Ah- okay so we will send you salads.”  

So they sent salads, but all the salads had bugs on top.  Roasted, fried, baked, dried, salted- crunchy bugs.

They were like bug croutons.  I said, “No thanks.”  People started getting mad again.

It seems unfair for people to get mad at me for not wanting to eat bugs.

Purim

Bugs

Local “bucket list’

 A few weeks ago I thought I should write down a ‘local bucket list.’  My real bucket list items are things which revolve around travel to far flung and interesting places- pricy things or experiences which I would like to do or have- but reality check- no moneys.

For a ‘local list’ I wanted to write things that I could do without leaving DFW, things that were inexpensive and really do-able.  

To get some ideas, I of course Googled it.  “Local Bucket List Ideas.”  

I found a list with lots of ideas, but it turns out most of the things which I would like to do on those lists . . . I’ve already done.

1. Make a journal

2. Write a blog

3. Make a loaf of bread

4. Ride a mechanical bull

5. Sing karaoke

6. Go to dinner alone

7. Read a classic

8. Be a tourist in your own town

9. Hug a redwood tree (not really local)

10. Handwrite a letter

11. Knit a scarf

12. Read the book before you watch the movie

Oooh here’s one from the list I could do: 

13. Start a fire without matches or a lighter- sounds like a challenge

I’m gonna start a new list.

1. Start a fire without matches or a lighter- Lailah the firebug would be glad to help me with this

2. Draw and paint a series of self portraits (at least 7)

3. Read 24 or more books in 2023 (I’ve completed 5 so far)

4. Write 52 or more blog posts in 2023 (I’ve completed enough to be ahead of schedule already I think)

5. Complete (use all the pages of) an art journal- someday- but for now complete 52 pages of an art journal because I don’t know how many pages the art journal I will choose will have

6. Get a 300 day streak on Duo lingo in 2023 (I currently have 100+)

7. Complete teacher certification process by this time next year

8. Write a kids book and get it illustrated  

9.  Try acupuncture

10. Embroider or cross-stitch the Lord’s Prayer

11. Knit or crochet 100 pairs of baby booties to donate (I have 5 so far)

12. Complete 52 James Method verse diagrams in 2023 (I have 2)

“It was a pleasure to burn.”

 I know someone here is reading.  There is a quote posted way high up in the hall that says, “It was a pleasure to burn.” #Bradbury

It seems today we’ve lost the ambition to even bother with the burning.  We just ignore the books.  What power can they have over the minds of young people who are psychologically attached to the little computers in their pockets?

I asked a student one time what was something she liked or didn’t like about her English class last year.  She said she had a to read a book about “Firemen who didn’t like to read” and that it didn’t make any sense.

Indeed, if that’s what she thought the book was about- I’m sure it didn’t make any sense at all.  

Maybe I should make a sampler of this quote.

Benchmark testing in the funny room

 Today the students are ‘benchmark testing.’ Which means they are testing to see how they are going to test when the ‘real’ testing is given.  It is surely testing overkill- but the great state of Texas has goals and dreams for her students.  

It’s terrible.  I’ve considered homeschooling more than once.  It’s still on the table.

Anyhoo- I’m facilitating in another teacher’s room- and while the decor should be something I am attracted do- considering how I like to decorate- it is actually making me slightly anxious.  

I wonder if someone else’s ‘out of control’ makes me nervous because my ‘out of control’ is so overwhelming.

My house is OUT OF CONTROL and overwhelming.  I feel like a horder.  There is way too much stuff.  

Back to the classroom- there are shiny stars hanging from the ceiling, college pendants on the walls, colorful motivational posters,  pictures,  shelves full of Knick-knacks, crafting materials, books, calculators, computers, pens, pencils, erasers.  There are trophies and purple accents all over the place. Clearly this teacher has spent a lot of time investing into the look of this room, and it’s killing me!

When/if I get my own classroom I would like it to be more like a living room, less like a circus tent.

The clogs of flatulence

 I bought a pair of gardening clogs some years ago.  

For some reason I’ve always been attracted to red shoes, but I have big feet, so when I put them on I feel like I have clown feet.  Red shoes seem to scream, “Hey! Look at me!  I’m enormous!”

Nevertheless,  I bought this pair of red rubber ‘garden clogs.’ I figured I could get my red shoe fix, but since I would only be wearing them around the house or in the rain it didn’t matter if they were clown shoes.  

I put them on, and they were quite comfy.  Of course if I wear them with socks that is kind of silly because they are intended to get wet.  They are clogs- they won’t really protect my socks.  For the most part I would wear them without socks.  Let’s say I’m wearing my garden clogs in the yard, and using the hose.  Let’s say some water gets on my foot.  No biggie if I’m wearing my red-rubber clogs.  

Here’s the catch- if my red rubber clogs get wet, and I’m not wearing socks- they fart With-EVERY-Step! Not demure little sighing toots, but big juicy-wet poots. (Side note I just looked up synonyms for “fart” and I found “barking spider” and “air biscuit.” I’m not even sure what to do with that information.)

Turns out I can’t deal with the juicy poots my shoes produce, so sadly I put them on the “donate” box.  I put the donate box in my car.  I have been driving around with my donate box for weeks.  This has happened before. I put the box in my car- I drive around with it- I need the space the box is taking up to transport something else- I take the box out and put it in the garage.  I forget about the box.  I find the box again, but now everything in the box needs to be washed.  I wash the contents of the box, then I re-evaluate the ‘to donate’ items.  I put the items back in the box (maybe)- then I put the box back in the car.  Its a cycle.  

Today I walked out of the house and it thundered.  I said to myself, “Self- this if fine.  I don’t need to go back in the house for a jacket, umbrella or a different pair of shoes.  I can make it to work before the rain comes.”  Myself was so wrong.  

Fun Fact:  I HATE wearing wet shoes.  Whenever it rains, I pack an extra pair of shoes,  I wear a pair of shoes I don’t mind getting wet, then change to dry shoes when I get to wherever I’m going.

By the time I got to work there had been multiple ‘severe thunderstorm warnings’ on the radio, it was pouring, and I was unprepared- “Thanks self!”

I got out of the car- I knew immediately I was going to have wet feet all day.  I remembered I had a jacket in the back.  I opened the hatch, put on the jacket and spied my red rubber garden clogs.  “Ah!” I thought to myself, “I don’t have to have wet feet all day!”  

However, I forgot after all these weeks about the juicy poots.

So I put my clown shoes on to walk into work,  (a high school mind you) and over the cacophony of the drumming rain and the booming thunder- I can hear the fast ripping ‘air biscuits’ issuing forth from my feet.  Its too late to turn back now- I’m committed to this journey of steady flatulence, into and all the way through the building.  I raspberry tart my way into the main office to sign in and get my assignment for the day from the assistant principal.

I make wind and part the seas in the hallways toward my room.  I try different steps to silence the the horns, but to no avail.  My feet fly on the wind, or so it seems.  I finally get to my room and immediately change my shoes.  

They really are clown shoes, tooting their horns everywhere they go- “LOOK AT ME! The MOST embarrassing shoes on the planet!”

I hope someone can wear them without the sounds of guttural disturbances following them, for these red shoes go back to the donate box ASAP!

One less Reader- one less friend

 The greatest pearl this blog produced was my “fan pal” Scott Belcher.  Scott found my blog many years ago while hunting for a book I had recently read and comment on.  He said he enjoyed my writing and decided to comment to me to let me know.  We became friends online and in real life.  I have  many things I could say about Scott- who truly was one of the best people I ever met.  But, not now.  It is too fresh now.  His funeral is today.  I’m not able to go- but soon, I’ll give Scott my memorial- on that day when I’m ready to write and weep for his gain to Heaven and our loss on Earth.