In which Piers gets something new

Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 30

At about 2:00 today, I got a phone call from the director of the day care.  She informed me that Little Red had vomited two times and was feeling pretty crummy.  Clearly, he needed to be picked up.  The Runner was at that point having a meeting with a client--in Dresden.  I was sitting in my office, with only my bike to serve as transportation.  So, I packed up in haste, rode home as fast as I could on my retro bike, hopped in the car, drove to the day care, and expectantly entered Little Red's classroom.  In response to some quizzical looks, I said I was there to pick Little Red up because he had vomited twice.  More quizzical looks.  I see Little Red walking toward me with his face all red from crying, and I bend down to hug him, upon which Miss A, his teacher, says he was just mad because she'd told him to go to the potty before he went outside to the playground.

And the vomiting?  That was one of Little Red's classmates, Thomas.  The phone call was a false alarm.  So there I was, at 2:30, with Little Red feeling perfectly fine (if a little sad).  I had to bring him home after going in there and hugging him, though.  So we came home and had snack and a Popsicle and played Angry Birds on the iPod.

The folks at the day care were most embarrassed.  We assured them that it was no big deal.  I'm just glad he didn't bring home some vomiting bug.  Er, so far.

Monday Update, Arid Edition

small town life.

Another weekend of yard work:  trimming back some overgrown hedges, weeding some of the flowerbeds, planting some mums, pulling up the roses that had more or less given up on us.  Also, more neglecting the garden, which has been a major disappointment this year.  We can't water it enough to make it grow stuff, so we're hoping that we can make a fall/winter harvest of greens--i.e. spinach and kale.  No rain, which makes for crispy grass.

Sunday mishap:  we got all ready for church, each of us freshly scrubbed and respectable looking.  Then we drove over to the church to find most people in shorts, getting lawn chairs out of their cars.  Oh, that's right, I thought, it's that special Sunday that they kept mentioning and that I never understood what was going on.  Outdoor worship.  Cookout.  We turned around and went home.  There's bound to be a newsletter or something we can subscribe to.


Sunday mishap #2:  Little Red found out the hard way that a hot iron is hot.  Poor guy just likes to touch things to find out what they're like.  He went to sleep with an ice pack on his hand, held there by a tube sock. 

Great news I just found out:  the principal at Number One Son's school (MPS) is allegedly planning to retire at the end of this school year.  Let us pray that her pension holds out so that she will. This year seems crucial for Number One Son . . . he needs to be put in as much advanced programming as they can offer, but frankly, they're not all that accustomed to having intelligent kids.  Fortunately, we have a double-secret ally that may help us get some results.

Hitting my stride for the semester:  last week I lost my voice on Wednesday and felt sick as a dog.  Then there was a late afternoon/evening meeting on Thursday.  I wandered around in a weary haze.  Need to do better this week, and hopefully in a couple of days I'll find that I've built up my stamina to the demands of a full term.

The Runner listens:  people talk.  She hears an awful lot of pretty awful stuff, and has the sense to keep her opinions to herself.  Good for her.

Aventures in Parenting, Vol. 29

The following was Number One Son's schedule this past week:

Monday:  School.  SMACK (church kids' choir).
Tuesday:  School.  SMACK.
Wednesday:  School.  Little Ninjas.
Thursday:  School.  Soccer practice.
Friday:  PIZZA & MOVIE NIGHT FTW

Looking ahead, it appears that the average week will include at least one activity each afternoon/evening Monday - Thursday.  I wonder if perhaps that's too much for a 6-year-old.  Granted, the Tuesday afternoon activity is directly after school until 5 (when he would otherwise be at the after-school program at the day care), and the other days are one-hour sports activities in the late afternoon, but I don't want us to be living in our van and eating in shifts every night of the week.  Especially when we get two boys going on these things (Little Red will start some of these things next summer). 

How much counts as enrichment, and how much is just robbing them of the unstructured play The Runner and I so strongly believe in?

Corn Dust

As this first week of class arrived, I began to feel like I had a tickle in the throat (uh oh . . . ), then a bit of a sniffle (daaaangit), then a full-fledged catarrh (aw for heaven's sake).  And then it struck me:  around this time every year, I start having to add Nasonex to my drug regime so that I can counter an allergy flare-up caused by . . . the drying-up corn & all the dust/mold/etc that it's releasing as it gets harvested.  It takes a couple of days (and yesterday I lost my voice in the second of my three classes), but once I get the dosage caught up, things improve.

The Youngest had been having some "walking pneumonia," so I'm glad it wasn't that.

I don't have time to be sick this time of year . . . September and October are extraordinarily busy months, culminating in the pig pickin (less than two months away!)

Nosce Teipsum

From Lifehacker:  Why You Can't Truly Know Other People (and What You Can Do About It)

It's no secret that we present different versions of ourselves to different people, but we also think we can see through everyone else's versioning system. Somehow we believe ours is impenetrable yet the rest of the world can be read like a book. As David McRaney, author of You Are Not So Smart, points out, carrying on this way is delusional, yet we all do it. Here's why.
The versions of yourself that you present and other present to you are simple and easy to understand. It isn't difficult to for someone to believe that they know you when who you are is a presented set of simplified traits. It's also why people seem easy to read. In reality, who you truly believe you are and who others believe themselves to be is generally internalized and imperceptible to others:

[R]esearchers asked people to describe a time when they feel most like themselves. Most subjects, 78 percent, described something internal and unobservable like the feeling of seeing their child excel or the rush of applause after playing for an audience. When asked to describe when they believed friends or relatives were most illustrative of their personalities, they described internal feelings only 28 percent of the time. Instead, they tended to describe actions. Tom is most like Tom when he is telling a dirty joke. Jill is most like Jill when she is rock climbing. You can't see internal states of others, so you generally don't use those states to describe their personalities.

This phenomeon—what psychologists call the illusion of asymmetric insight—creates a lot of problems. For instance, it allows you to completely reject what others believe because you think you understand it, and remain convinced that they'd agree with you if only they understood your point of view. Basically, you think you can understand everyone else and nobody can understand you. It gets even worse in groups. If you need an example, take a look at politics.

In reality, nobody's really right or wrong. We're never going to be able to paint a full picture of ourselves even if we're completely honest. Because much of who we are is internalized, we'll always project an incomplete version of who we are. When we look at other people, however, we have to remember that they're doing the same thing. It's easy to argue and disagree with what we see, hear, and observe, but the full truth is often often beyond our reach. Next time you disagree with another person or group, remember that you probably don't truly know and understand their point of view. You may agree on more than you're able to perceive.

What is there worth doing that doesn't ask all I have?

Monday Update, "Engage" Edition

It is with a sigh of relief that we settle into the schedule that we'll maintain for the next several months.  Even yesterday, The Runner admitted that she felt like things are more in hand now than they were even a couple of weeks ago.  We spent most of Saturday doing yard work.  The Runner dug up, divided, and transplanted some overly large hostas, etc.  Fortunately, she enjoys such things.

It has been difficult to refrain from bragging on Number One Son.

The Youngest is suffering from a pulmonary infection at the moment . . . he had a hard weekend, which means he let The Runner have a full dose of the crankies.

Little Red is just Little Red.  Famous among students across this campus.

The meetings this past week have highlighted what I've thought for a while:  higher ed both in this state and in the country is going through a transitional period; priorities and methods are changing whether we want them to or not, and we haven't yet caught up to the new demands.  I have reasonable faith in the administrative leadership of this campus (or at least most of it).  I do not have as much faith in the leadership provided by El Presidente (my moniker for this year's faculty senate president). 

Attending that many meetings saps my energy like nothing else.

The renovation of the classroom space in our building is allegedly complete, apart from the fixing of the few problems that are sure to surface over the course of the next few weeks.  I like having better lighting and better desks for the students . . . I'm not as thrilled about the changed configurations of some of the classrooms.  I'll adjust, though.  I think it's just part of my teaching "style" that the setup of the room makes a big difference.

I'm enjoying a watch-through of Star Trek: The Next Generation, thanks to Netflix (which explains the picture above).  The Runner is surprisingly receptive, for which I'm grateful.

"Cheer and tune my heartless breast"

We all have trouble.  Such a banal statement.

When things go wrong, or when things fail to go according to plan, there is no real reason to be ashamed and abashed, really.  It comes to each of us, given enough time.  And even when/if it's a result of our own choices--so much the more reason for mercy.  So many who profess religious belief think that the point is the moral code.  But even a cursory reading of Romans, for instance, suggests that the moral code isn't the point at all, is it?  For who is able to live up to even his or her own professions of right and wrong, wise and foolish?  Don't we all end up falling well short?

How can anyone who sees himself aright stand in judgment of anyone else?  "who should escape whipping?" Hamlet asks.

That's why everyone needs to know that there are open arms, no matter what misfortune or foolishness we fall prey to.  Because we all do, don't we?

Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 28

Yes, this goon is apparently the smartest first-grader at MPS

The First Grade Open House was last night.  The Runner went while I stayed at home with the children.

According to Number One Son's teacher, he is the smartest child in first grade--by a long shot.  By one metric (and I'm not going to go on about this ad nauseum), first graders should be at 1 or 2 on a measure of reading ability.  He is at 23.  I don't know what the numbers actually mean, but the difference is instructive.

Everyone knows about him, apparently.  His teacher, Ms. M, says that she has had to correct him a couple of times when he has been sprawled out on the carpet--"because he's bored," she explained.  He has acted like school is boring these first couple of weeks (they are reviewing Kindergarten stuff). They have tagged him for the gifted program, but even by Ms. M's admission, that's not going to be super-substantial.  In other words, it's up to The Runner and me to decide how to push him enough, how to advocate for him, and how to allow him a proper childhood. 

Talk about an awesome, humbling responsibility.  And yes, I'm a little proud.

In which Piers writes something serious

This is also lengthy.  Pardon.

The disturbing thing about the meeting the other day, when I get down below the gut-level disagreement and discomfort with the tone set by El Presidente, is more abstract and ultimately more significant and far reaching.  The entire session was marked by one of the most basic problems I see even in my English Composition classes, and I am distressed that I didn't see better performance--better thinking--from my highly educated and credentialed colleagues:  there was a whole ton of assertion, and almost no actual argument.

I won't even go into the issues I have with the document that dominated most of our discussion, though it also exhibits the problem I identified above.  There are good things and silly things in that document, as is the case with any committee-created manifesto. 

But when it came to three discussions--one revolving around firearm legislation that will be revisited this year, and the other two about changing funding formulas to which we as an institution are answerable--I heard a remarkable lack of reflection or even curiosity.  In other words, I heard people interested in winning a battle rather than understanding what is true.

Example 1:  One of my colleagues opined quite loudly that the new funding formula will eventually be applied in such a way that university programs will be evaluated based on the income levels of their graduates.  And that certain departments (including his own) will eventually be stripped of funding as a result.  I don't know all the ins and outs of university funding, but perhaps he might have considered that this is the third funding formula that the state has used in the six years I have been at this institution (and he's been here for decades)?  And perhaps there should be a level of accountability if we wish to use state funds?  Perhaps it's not a terrible thing if a department has to make its case for its own significance?  I don't know.

Example 2:  Several colleagues expressed the fear that if guns are "allowed" on university campuses, "people are going to be shot."  Now, I don't have all the information, but the following might be questions we would want to answer before we proclaim that there will be Fallujah-style running gun battles in our hallways:

• To whom would the legislation apply?  Permit holding faculty & staff?  Students?  Everyone? 
• How frequently do permit-holding gun owners pull handguns on other people, or shoot them, or even attempt crimes with their legally-owned weapons?
• Is there a mechanism in place to stop a student or employee from carrying an illegally-held concealed weapon into class or into a faculty office?  What is that mechanism?
• What is the ratio of firearm-related crimes when legal and illegal holders are compared to each other?
• Is it possible that administration and campus safety oppose the initiative because it makes their lives simpler from a bureaucratic/institutional standpoint (which may be enough reason to oppose the initiatve) rather than a safety standpoint?
• Is it in fact true (as is often claimed) that in a standoff situation, a law-enforcement officer would be unable to tell who was the aggressor and who was the law-abiding citizen acting in self-defense?

I do not know answers to these questions, but I'll bet those answers can be discovered.  These are the kinds of things that need to be investigated if one is going to make anything more valid than an emotional pronouncement.  We may find guns and gun-holders to be icky, which is fair, but that's not the same as an argument against proposed legislation.

Example 3:  there will be a lot of discussion this year about the "Responsibility" of the state to "Fund Higher Education."  Apparently, the way this will be approached is by attempting to bully the state legislature into doing what they "should do."  You'll note that there is no argument being made here, nor is there a sense (and this was addressed by a colleague during the meeting) that in order to put more money toward the university, money is going to have to be taken from somewhere else.  Let's not even address the thornier problem of whether or not the "traditional" four-years-directly-out-of-high-school model actually applies

I don't know answers to tough questions like these.  It seems that some of my (usually quite vocal) colleagues, however, are so sure that they do know the answers that they fail to recognize the importance of making the argument.  They are sure that anybody with half a brain thinks as they do.  This set of ideological blinders is one of the most unattractive, even destructive, features of academic life.

In which Piers wonders if he has landed in the Twilight Zone

Today's meeting was a surreal experience.  I don't know when I've been so dumbfounded.  I can't say more, because I don't want to get myself in trouble (I know, I know . . . hasn't stopped me before . . . ); I was utterly disheartened when I walked back to my office.  Still wondering what hit me.

Monday Update, Nose to the Grindstone Edition

One week of first grade down . . . only several dozen more to go.  So far, there's not much in the way of intellectual challenge:  the sight words he is supposed to practice this week include I, can, we, like, see, the, go, to, have, a, play, white, orange, yellow, and green.  This week's math review includes practicing counting objects to 10 (The Runner had him use strawberry frosted mini-wheats) and using words like more, fewer, less than, greater than.  Needless to say, his major concern is not exactly the homework.  It's more about how his friends are acting . . . he doesn't have any friends from last year in his current classroom.

We made a quick trip to Nashville over the weekend.  I spent all day Saturday in the Brentwood Public Library, grading papers and figuring final grades for my summer session.  The boys swam, went shopping, generally ran amok with their cousin DTE. 

Speaking of grades, I had to give a "B" as the class grade to the student who'd been applying all that pressure.  In his mind, he was going to be able to counteract the failing grade in Math with an "A" in his English class, and thereby stay in school for another semester.  Today, after the posting of the grades, I got a series of panicked emails, the last of which said he just couldn't go on without understanding what he did wrong to fail out of college.  I resisted the temptation to retort, "you want to know why you flunked out?  It is because you FAILED the developmental/remedial math course THREE STRAIGHT TIMES!!"

I have meetings to attend all this week--was in meetings from 7:30 to 3:30 today.  Classes start next Monday.  At some point, I should probably get things like syllabuses together.  I'm swamped.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 34

With the end of the term comes the grading of exams and papers and portfolios, wherein I attempt to gauge each student's gained knowledge.  Sometimes it is not so easy.  As Exhibit "A," herewith a partial list of misspelled words in the exam I am currently grading:

"castal" (castle)
"destoryed" (destroyed)
"mirrow" (mirror)
"shas" (sash)
"threw out" (throughout)
"is" (his)
"bannishing" (banishing)
"unperdictuple" (unpredictable)

August Angst

The Runner astutely observes that I get very anxious this time every year.

You'd think after teaching for 10 years (!) I would have gotten over that.

In the immediate future, i.e., this weekend, I have about a zillion things to do.  One step at a time, right?

hup! hup!

Today, while I was dealing with my classes, and student conferences, and so on, the department had its annual "retreat" (which is this institution's code word for "really long meeting") . . . and now the suite is buzzing, minus one of my favorite colleagues, who moved to a different institution over the summer.  Lots of heat being generated . . . not sure about the amount of light.

Sigh.

The gauntlet of meetings starts at 7:30 on Monday morning.

In other words, time is catching up.  Better start pedaling a bit faster.

ADDED:  I just realized that I said essentially the same thing that I did yesterday.  Guess that shows what's on my mind, huh.  Either that, or I'm scatterbrained.  Maybe both.

In which Piers realizes that time flies

Two days from the end of this summer term, and I've taken care of most of the class stuff--but then there's the rest of it that I've barely touched.  The office suite was full of returning colleagues today, many back in the office for a workshop on some electronic writing textbook stuff.  I should not be frustrated with my lack of "progress" in other areas, seeing as I've made the best of some pretty rough circumstances at the office (constant jackhammer-style noises from construction, for instance).  I just wish I felt more prepared for the large tasks awaiting me starting on Monday.

In which Piers ponders codes of behavior

I have a student I will call "Mr. Hat," because he wears a hat, and because by doing so I can protect his privacy.  He is taking summer classes.  One of them is our "Math 080," the "developmental" math class.  This is his third time to take the course, and for the third time he is failing it by a long shot.  Mr. Hat has complained to me ad nauseum about his performance in the course and how it's putting his college career in jeopardy.  I have repeatedly exhorted him to do whatever it takes to pass that class--go to the math lab, impose a Facebook blackout, etc.  He has taken none of my advice, and his results have been such that he is now giving up on passing the math class (there are only three days left in this term).  His solution?  He needs to get an A in my class.

Do you see what happened?  Because he has refused at every step to take responsibility for his own actions, he is left with "no option" but to "hope" that he makes an "A" in my class.  If I give him the A, there's a possibility that he can come back next term.  If he fails to earn an A, or if I don't "give" him one, then the hammer has fallen and his academic career is in ruins and he won't be able to provide for a family and so he won't be able to marry his girlfriend as soon as he'd like, etc., etc., etc.  All because I didn't see fit to give him an A (which isn't a grade I give out very often).

For pete's sake.  I try--oh, I try.  I give every student the benefit of the doubt.  I work as hard as I can to offer counsel, support, and encouragement.  I live by a code of being the best I can be, of never resting on what I've done, and of showing others respect & kindness.  I examine my life constantly to see if I'm on the right path.

I expect that others will do the same.  But here's the thing:  there are plenty of those others who won't.  They will take what I can give, and then take some more, and then take some more, and then, when the reservoir is empty, when I can do no more, I become the one who let them down.  It's the curse of being the good guy:  when you dare to assert that you too have needs, it's like the roof is caving in or something.

...can you tell that today's been kinda crappy? 

Monday Update, First Day of First Grade Edition

What we spent the weekend doing:  whatever Number One Son wanted.  That put us in Paducah at Ya-Ya's Island, and at Noble Park, and then eating dinner at Pizza Inn.  The good thing is that a pizza buffet is an awfully easy way to satisfy three little boys.

With the start of the school year comes The Runner's return to her usual schedule.  Most importantly, that means she's back to running with the two little ones.  There has been some added tension in town since an attempted attack on a runner last weekend, but she's strong and smart.  I mean STRONG--that double jogger with Little Red and The Youngest One weighs a ton.

Speaking of the regular schedule, Number One Son was back at Little Ninjas last week.  The building they are in has really weak a/c, so on a week when we had temps topping 100, it was an oven in there.  The martial arts thing is making us wonder about the usual soccer season:  is it prudent to have him do both?  I'm interested in him sticking with the martial arts; The Runner would rather him focus on some team sports. . . how much driving around are we willing to do, seeing as he'll also have church activities two afternoon/evenings per week?

First day of first grade.  He was completely hyper last night, and up before we were this morning.

The Runner watched the older two boys in the yard yesterday and commented:  "Little Red is going to be so lost tomorrow."  I'll be interested to see how it has gone today.

I have had the pleasure of dealing with some surprisingly bright students this summer.  I've also had the pleasure of dealing with some extraordinarily difficult ones.  The Runner has reminded me, bless her, that I can't help everyone.

Another pleasure at work:  they have been drilling so loudly that it is hard to think.  They went from 7:30 - 3:30 on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday last week.  I may be weak-minded or something, but I find it almost impossible to accomplish anything in a situation like this.

I got another one of my long-wished-for objects this past week:  A Namiki Falcon fountain pen, unique in modern pen construction because of its flexible nib (it's possible to find more flexible nibs if you special order or buy vintage). 

Adventures with Students, vol. 33

There is an upside to teaching the way I do--i.e., in a sort of manic, freewheeling, free-associating sort of way.  Most students seem to respond well to the amount of energy I'm pouring into the class, which is especially important when "selling" writers and ideas that they've been tortured with/turned off from.  A common response is, "I thought English would be boring!  But it's not!"  So I chase rabbits, make slightly off-color jokes from time to time, tell stories about my cats and my children (and occasionally The Runner), and generally perform.  All the while, I try to take seriously every student comment and question, and am happy to stop mid-stride to deal with an upraised hand.

Like I've said, most students respond well to this style.  Some, however, take it as license to say whatever they wish.  This is particularly troublesome when the license-taking student is either dumb as a stick, or unable to filter between brain and mouth.  I've had both kinds this summer.  Yesterday, for instance, I had to warn the men in the class (the difficult ones are both men) to not respond out loud to what I was saying, because "the ladies in here will absolutely kick your ass.  And you'll deserve it."  It worked, because it came off as a joke.  The thing is, after a certain number of stupid/silly/gauche questions or comments, I'm at my wit's end to figure out how to shut them up politely.  Most people are self-policing at least to a certain extent; frankly, a lot of times we rely on everybody sort of agreeing that they can go so far but no farther.  If the agreement breaks down, the class is that much harder to manage.

I try to keep my rebukes relatively jocular, which seems to be working okay for now.  The other option is to teach in a way that seems to close off honest responses.  I don't want to do that.

Monday Update, Tenured Edition

"Truly, you have a dizzying intellect."

That's right:  today it's official.  I'm now a tenured associate professor of English.  Whoa!  Step back!  I'm pretty hot, huh?  I'm accepting congratulatory gifts, etc.

The story of the past week has actually been "Fluffernutter," the little grey and white kitten The Runner rescued middle of last week.  We enjoyed having her inside with us (kittens are a laugh-a-minute, which is how they trick us into keeping them when they become cats)--that is, until she started leaving little presents under the bunk beds and behind the TV.  And then The Runner started having some real allergy problems.  Fluffernutter is now an outdoor kitty. . . and she's not too fond of being out there.  Simon the Watermelon Kitty isn't fond of it either.  Everybody is just going to have to adjust.

As I sit here in my office, the noise of a drill is reverberating through the suite and through my skull.  It has gone on all day.  Between noise like this and the effective closing of the library, it has been next to impossible to get any work done around here.  Am I happy about this?  No, I am not.

An interesting moment from the weekend:  I caught Number One Son trying to deceive Little Red by essentially lying to him about what he was doing.  As he did it right in front of me, I was obligated to beckon to him and shake my head, and growl, "you're not going to lie to him."  Number One Son then went to pieces, saying that he was the worst kid in the house.  I called him over and had him sit in my lap* while I explained to him that I wasn't saying he was a bad kid--just that he didn't need to lie to his brother . . . that reminding him of what he should & shouldn't do isn't the same as telling him he's good or bad.
(*note:  having Number One Son sit in one's lap is more or less like holding a board.  Not cuddly.)

Speaking of Number One Son, it was related to The Runner yesterday that he was the topic of conversation among some people at our church, and the report was that "he was by far the smartest child in all of kindergarten last year."  I wish he would read more, but I'm guessing that I'm not going to put that pressure on him.  He's only in first grade, after all.

This is the last week of summer schedule for the children.  The Runner rejoiceth.