7-31-08 - The Daddy Dance

Summer School had finally ended… I put the last piece of tape on the California High School Exit Exam boxes to be shipped back for scoring with a big smile on my face that resonated from a job well done.  After much work, a great team and lots of prayer the summer session had gone smoothly.  All left to do was to have a few “days” of fun before the regular school year begins.  About a month ago I decided I wanted to spend these precious days was with my parents.  My parents live in rural southern Arkansas and the since I have moved to California the time I get to actually spend with them is scarce. 

 

I knew getting them here would be a challenge.  Both of them have been quite comfortable being big fish in their little pond.  My Dad’s family has lived in the same area for generations where my uncle is now County Judge.  All of my family lives in Arkansas and I was the only nutcase that left!  My Uncle Clayton even announced to the congregation of Bethel Baptist Church one Sunday that I had left Heaven (Arkansas) for Purgatory (Texas) and ended up in Hell (California)!!  After all, everyone knows that God turned the world on the side and all the “fruits and nuts” fell to California!  And… besides it’s gonna fall off in the ocean anyway! 

 

It has always been an anomaly to me why folks in their golden years return to the place of the birth, but in some cases people don’t seem leave in the first place! I have pondered my own plight, wondering if I too will return to my roots, however the gentle reminder of suffocating humidity and bugs the size of tanks hasn’t lured my attention yet.  Anyhoo, I understood the only way to convince the two most stubborn folks in Arkansas to get on that plane is to send them non-refundable tickets!  (So, I get the stubborn part honestly!) I know I am tricky, but better this than turn into Little Orphan Pammie!

 

This was only their second flight, and such a delightful daughter chose to fly them out of DFW International Airport!  What was I thinking??  I have often heard that as your parents age that you change roles with them… I felt like I had just dropped two little kids in one of the largest airports in North America!!!  Of course it didn’t help when I kept getting flight notices that the airport had changed their gates… FOUR TIMES!!!  I could only imagine them ending up on the wrong flight to Kalamazoo!  Luckily Mom had taken their cell phone… but taking it, and hearing it are two entirely different things!!  After multiple attempts to get them… did I mention she doesn’t know how to check her voicemail, she informed me that they saw the changes on the “little TV screens.”  Panic averted!  I thought… ok now I can relax.  Until, the last notice came in that the flight had beendelayed.  Oh Great!  I could only imagine my sassy little mother demanding to see the pilot lest anything be wrong with the plane.  I just knew they would kick them off the flight, or worse yet ban them from ever getting on another plane.  Now I would NEVER get them back to California!

 

When I arrived at Burbank, I stopped by a coffee shop hoping that a nice “espresso” latte would calm my nerves.  I looked at the clock, breathed deeply and thought… Lord, please let them get off that plane.  The fifteen minutes felt like hours, but finally they came around the corner.   Mom had a big smile on her face, Daddy looked like he had just gotten a prostrate exam… either way, they were finally on the west coast!  Now realizing that I had not “ordered” them an in-flight meal, I put them in the car and took them out for a nice meal.  While trying to explain to Dad why they put avocados on his burger I gave him a sheepish grin and handed him a “Daddy Do” list.  I learned this trick from my cousin, Amanda who routinely finds little projects for my Uncle Clayton. Afterall, I was deprived of having the wisdom of my father in dealing with all those little household projects that make me absolutely crazy.   I thought I was being funny, but I had no idea what I had just done!

 

Now if you were blessed to grow up with your father, you understand the concept of the Daddy Dancing!    While mothers are in labor screaming their lungs out in pain, fathers are snuck into a side room and taught the Daddy Dance.  I know this because they all do it!  You know, when the family is about to go somewhere and Dad is pacing back and forth rushing everyone out the door!   Or you go to your friends house to play and he starts saying “It’s about time to go” a half hour before you actually get in the car!  This is what I refer to as the Daddy Dance.   Personally, I enjoyed getting everything together, then proclaiming “Oh, I better go to the restroom before we leave,” it always sent him into orbit! 

 

I tucked them in about 9:00 pm… with the time difference and all the day's excitement they were both pooped.  Unfortunately the good queen-sized high-rise Aerobed had a flat and I had to put Daddy on a smaller version and Mom on the trundle bed.  I was able to finally wind down (and get all the espresso out of my system) about midnight.  When I awoke I found Daddy (who had been up for hours) buzzing around checking on things for his “Daddy Do List”  I had listed minor things I thought, like tightening this or showing me how to do that, but before I could get a full cup of coffee down me… “Where is the screwdriver?”  “I mean the flathead one… where is that drill I bought you?”  “You mean you don’t have any bits in it?”  The Daddy Dance had officially begun… and I wasn’t even awake yet!  It took him less than two hours to finish EVERYTHING on the list.”  I mentioned I wanted him to show me how to lay pavers on the side of the yard.  Next thing I know we were at Lowes buying pavers… when I mentioned how much I had paid for about a yard of concrete he was a man on a mission!

 

Now lest you report me for parental abuse…  I tried MANY times to make him stop to do some sight seeing or a nice drive down PCH, but NO, he wanted to get those pavers done so I wouldn’t have to use the pick axe or even worse pay those prices to get it done.  But dusk came and he had finished about half of the walkway.  I was thrilled… they were simply beautiful! 

 

Now I was tired… I did more work moving pavers and playing gopher than I had done in weeks.  I fell into a deep sleep UNTIL… BANG, BANG, BANG, on the bedroom door.  I yelled “NO!!” thinking it was the Shih Tzus… it wasn’t, the Daddy Dance had started for another day!  It was now 8:00 am and he was up and had already stripped out all the pavers that he laid the day before… because “they didn’t look right” and he had redone them.  He wanted me to look at them to “see if they suited me.”  Heck it was 8:00 a.m. I don’t even know what planet I’m own until 10:00!  Of course they were incredible… I made another run to Lowes for more pavers and we worked ALL DAY long despite my pleas for some site seeing.   He finished the project the same day and I couldn’t have been more thrilled. 

 

The only problem is I could only persuade them to stay three days and they had not experienced all the Golden State had to offer.  I helped them with their boarding passes then put them in the line for the metal detector.  I walked out the airport wearing sunglasses to conceal the tears in my eyes.  How did I manage to fly them to California yet let them work the entire time?  I didn’t realize how much I missed them until they were gone.  It took me three days before I could bear to deflate that stupid Aerobed… it is now in the box, but now I have this beautiful pathway and grapevine arch that will provide precious memories of Daddy Dances for a very long time.

 

7-24-08 - Isn't It Ironic?

The alarm sounded this morning and I groaned with a voice now a year older!  Now that I am an adult, for some reason the day has lost its exuberance.  Of course, having a birthday in the middle of the summer was always a bummer as a child.  I remember during elementary school, when a kid had a birthday their mother would bring cupcakes for the class and we’d always sing a round or two of the Birthday Song… usually with lyrics that included the line “Happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo… you smell like a monkey and look like one too”!  The teacher would always correct the class and we would giggle with pink icing on our chins and noses and celebrate the day! 

 

 

        

                   

But kids who have birthdays in the summer were always challenged to have parties at home and hope their friends weren’t on family vacations!  Of course I never complained… my mother was extremely creative and I was always enchanted with some spectacular designed cake that always tasted better than those silly cupcakes anyway!

                           

 

It is a little ironic that now that I am an adult, I have the pleasure of spending my birthday with my peers during Summer School.  As we age, I guess we actually appreciate being surrounded by loved ones.  This year I have been blessed not only with a smooth running summer school, but also an awesome staff.  When I walked in my office, I could not see the surface of my desk which was filled with multiple pot/vases/containers of flowers, cards, presents, cake and a beautiful sketch of one my Shih Tzus, Puddin Pie, lovingly drawn by one of my favorite teachers.  Knowing my passion for roses, my office manager filled a vase with twelve incredible yellow roses (of Texas) that immediately brought a tear to my eye.  Heck, I’ll trade this for all those pink cupcakes in the world… even the ones with sprinkles.

 

 

                  

 

As I thought about it, life is simply full of irony.  For example, this week I was notified that I was listed on Marquis Who’s Who Among American Women in their 50th anniversary edition (actually not a big deal, I had several former students nominate me for Who’s Who Among High School Teachers… which did mean something because they thought enough of me to name me as a teacher who influenced their lives) The irony of this is the same day, I lost a game of dodge ball to a group of severely handicapped kiddos.   I must admit it is a humbling experience getting tagged with a ball from a kid who can’t walk in a straight line!!!!  Now I am actually feeling closer to the “Something” than 40!

 

It is also ironic that as school officials we spend more effort dealing with adults than we do kids!  One reason I dreaded getting out of bed is that would have to face a student and his grandfather who I was forced to kick out of summer school this week... both of them!  After being warned a number of times by one of our campus supervisors not to wear a rock band t-shirt with weapons on the front of it, young Truman thought nothing of wearing it to school a third day. 

 

When the campus supervisor attempted to stop him to discuss his out and out defiance, he began cussing and simply walked pass her.  Another campus supervisor stretched his arms out in an attempt to stop him from passing through the gate.  Truman pushed into his arms, then swirled around with fists posed for a fight yelling, “You f**king tried to choke me”!!!!   He was diverted by the first campus supervisor and he proceeded to curse her all the way to the staff parking lot. 

 

She radioed for an administrator and I found him using language that would cause any sailor to blush! At first he refused to stop for our assistant principal and I who quickly caught up to him in the trusty golf cart.  When I reminded him that summer school was a privilege and I would dismiss him, he then turned his anger on me and kicked the golf cart and slung his notebook into a six-foot chain link fence.   Now concerned for all our safety, I radioed the office to call a police officer.  He then began yelling again “He f**king tried to strangle me” as he began to call his father on his cell phone.  

 

The campus supervisor walked up and explained the situation and stated that he was not “strangled” but actually he had forced his way through the other supervisor’s arm and pushed him out of the way.  When Truman finally handed the phone to me I explained the situation to his supportive father, who asked to speak to him again.  While passing the phone back and forth Truman who was still running around in a daze cursing at the top of his lungs dropped and broke his cell phone.  (Isn’t it ironic?) 

 

I called his father back on another phone and he told me that he would send his grandfather to pick him up.  When the police arrived they managed to calm Truman down… amazing how a man (or woman) in blue can invoke civility in a situation.   Truman remained calm, until the police officer told him that we were not going to have him arrested… then he shouted, “I know the law, my father is a lawyer and I know my rights, they can’t touch me”!   “That man f**king strangled me.” Who exactly was it who told the children that we couldn’t touch them??  I frequently tell them if they are running around out of control acting like baboon I can (and will) LEGALLY touch them!  

 

When his grandfather finally arrived I sighed, thinking here is a reasonable adult… I thought wrong!  His grandfather kept arguing that he was getting kicked out for wearing a t-shirt.  I finally got frustrated and told him, “Sir, you are fortunate you are not picking you grandson up at the police station.”  “We could have easily gone for expulsion, for his pushing a campus supervisor.” 

 

Now sitting in the car, Truman stuck his head out of the window and yelled, “I didn’t touch him, I just…” and began punching his fists in the air.” His grandfather wasn’t hearing me, and kept repeating… “Why are you kicking him out of summer school… why can’t you cut him some slack, he was worked hard all summer and now he is getting kicked out.” 

 

At that moment, Truman had his finest hour when he started banging his head into the seat and metal post in his grandfather’s car.  The police officer pointed out the obvious  “He is going to destroy your car.”  His grandfather curtly replied, “It’s only a car.”  I stepped back… and shook my head realizing the irony of the situation, I was trained to deal with children, not irrational adults.  Why can’t adults just butt out and let us do our jobs?  Obviously the reason Truman behaves this way is because his family has never held him accountable for his actions!

 

I did kick him out of summer school… I did not want to put my staff in danger with his voile behavior.  If I didn’t teach this child accountability it was quite obvious that he would never understand it.   I had only been in my office about thirty minutes when the phone rang with his grandfather on the other end begging me to reconsider again, or at least allow him partial credit for his efforts.  He explained that Truman was now living with him.  His mother had passed away last year and he could not get along with his new stepmother.  

 

After seeking wisdom from those I trust to know the law, I offered to give the young man his final exam, but only if he wrote letters of apology for the two campus supervisors.  I also reminded them if this ever happened again he would be referred directly to the School Board in an expulsion hearing.  They agreed and this morning I had to face the both!  

 

Despite my angst, I was humbled by the display of love and support for my birthday.  When they arrived I put him in an empty office to take the exam… I needed him to be away from my birthday bliss.  I instructed his grandfather that he was to pick him up immediately following the exam.  I do not know the pain that thrives in this young man, but it has such control that it drives him to the point of rage.  I sincerely wish I could have shared my inner joy and peace today with him and his family. 

 

I also found it quite ironic that we can teach him science standards so that he can pass his exam, but yet we are unable to teach him basic skills to survive in today’s society.  Perhaps we need to revisit an old civics textbook printed back in 1965 when schools were allowed to develop good citizens as well as how to demand our individual “rights.” 

7-14-08 - Oh No, Here She Comes Again!

Ever have one of those days when nothing makes sense?  The old saying goes something like the boss yells at you, you yell at your secretary, the secretary goes home and kicks the dog.  In my case I go home and prune the ivy!!!  If plants could talk, mine would probably say something like “Uh oh… I know that slam, she’s home and we are in deep doo doo”!  “Run ivy, I think she has the pruning shears…whew, I think she’s headed around the corner to decapitate the roses… oops no, she’s getting the ladder… what is she doing in the willow tree”?  “OUCH!!!  Don’t snap so hard”!  “I wonder who rattled her cage… I bet it was one of those smart mouthed teenagers, nope I it’s gotta be a man, no way, that kinda pruning has to be directed at her mother!”  As I was folding up the ladder I actually caught myself looking at the droopy Hygeranium saying, “If you don’t shape up, you’re next”! 

 

OK… I know I need some serious therapy, but today had been Monday all day long!  Summer school is always a joy… this year it has been unusually peaceful with the possible exception of the seventy instructional aides who were hired for the twenty-four special education classrooms.  Every day for the past week, one of them has come to the office for a workman’s comp form because of a “job-related” injury.  My job is to ensure everyone gets the appropriate paperwork and medical attention lest we get sued.  Last week we filled out a form for an aide who made a decision to unload a severely handicapped student from the back of a city bus without the assistance of anyone or a chair lift.  She was quite surprised when the student grabbed a hold of her back and they both went tumbling to the ground.  She sustained substantial injuries to her knee and legs and was very upset about the whole ordeal.

 

This morning, I was greeted by yet another aide who failed to inform me of an injury she sustained the previous day.  A student she had just finished diapering “head butted” her hand and left bruising.  She had gone to the doctor who gave her a restriction of lifting “less than 5 pounds.”  How on earth could she do her job with that sort of restriction, I asked my office manager?   So… I sent her home for the day until I could clear her with Risk Management.

 

Just about the time I made peace with myself for knocking this aide out of a days pay, our Assistant Principal walked into my office, closed the door and said, “I need to talk to you.”  As I have stated before, closing the door is never a good thing.

 

He had just gotten a report that a student had made a weapon to bring to school to attack a young man that had pushed his friend at a fast food establishment over the weekend.  This student had taken a metal bicycle pump handle and had tied a screwdriver to the end of it to “shank” the kid.  Granted I was tempted to offer him physics credit for his MacGyver-like ingenuity but instead we filed a police report and dismissed him from summer school.  Before he left I reminded him that he was now dealing with real life… he would not get 500 bonus points for stabbing this kid, but since we were dealing with real blood and organs he would get a one way ticket to juvenile hall.

 

As soon as I had sent him on his way, a colleague who was hired to give diagnostic information to teachers and students preparing for the California High School Exit Exam walked in and sat down.  He shared that he just had a very frustrating conversations with one of our teachers. She invited him into her class to “Explain to her students why they where taking the class if they would not be taking the exam in July."  "They would surely forget everything before November.”  Now this was frustrating to both of us, because on several different occasions both of us had explained to this teacher that only the Seniors of 06-08 were allowed to take this administration per the State Department of Education.  Evidently this information was not adequate for her as she insisted that he personally come to her class to explain, “Why.”   This was the cherry on top of the sundae for me.  I “marched” to her classroom, requested she step in the hall and privately explained my disappointment with her negative attitude displayed before her students.  In no uncertain terms, I “directed” her to go back in the classroom and attempt to fix the damage she had done.

 

I returned to my office, still huffing and puffing at a teacher who would not educate for the simple benefit of mastery of knowledge, when the secretary walked in the office with a gentleman who looked like Santa’s thin twin brother… he insisted to look in the school’s bike rack to see if a nephew’s stolen bike was there.  I shook my head and said, “Sir I can not authorize you to do this, you need to file a report with the police department and they will do an investigation.”  He then huffed out himself. 

 

At that moment my colleague, who was still sitting in my office, exhausted from attempting to explain the necessity of educating students to a confused teacher, and I burst out laughing so hard we both teared up.  Had the world gone bizerk?  I failed to ask this gentleman what exactly would he do if he found the bike.  Did he plan to steal it back or merely wait around the corner of the school to pounce on the poor unexpecting kid?  For heavens sake!

 

The day FINALLY ended, and let’s just say I am glad the plants can not talk!

 

 

7-2-08 -- Living in a Techna Colored World

As I sat in my office literally twiddling my thumbs waiting for something that might spark my attention, my summer school secretary walked in the door with a folder of “things to sign.”  Perhaps I shouldn’t admit that ordinarily I sign the documents knowing that the paper before me is simply a formality of things that are of the mundane.  Today’s papers were student request for work permits.  In California, schools must approve students “right to work” based on their grades, attendance, etc…  I glanced at a number of unknown names to see which fast food joints were still safe to patronize lest I get  “extra attention” to my order when I noticed Laura’s name.  Working in a school of nearly 3,000 students recognizing a kids name is not necessarily a good thing.   I knew Laura because for a number of years I had taken her brother to truancy hearings and he had still not gotten the message.   I remember in the spring, her counselor had denied an entertainment work permit given she was developing the same attendance issues.  So, I did what any good school official would do, remove the paperwork and noted “denied due to attendance issues

 

Now in a black and white world, this would have been the end of the matter.  She simply did not qualify for the permit… unfortunately we live in a techna-colored world.   That afternoon when Laura came to pick up her permit she meekly requested to speak to me.  Not being an advocate of the “gray area” I explained to her that she had twenty-two days of absence and that she simply did not qualify for the permit.  She hung her head in shame and walked out my door.  Having an overwhelming sense that I had done “the right thing,” I dismissed any pings of guilt and went on with my day.   After all, this young lady needed to understand that there were consequences for her poor choices.

 

Later that afternoon, the phone rang and I was notified that a very upset mother wanted to speak to me about a work permit.  Knowing exactly who was on the other end of the line I rolled my eyes, sighed loudly and girded myself for a symphony of lame excuses.   When I picked up the phone they began rolling, “my daughter is a good kid,” “two of those days were excused entertainment work days, and four were a religious retreat” “my daughter makes always good grades,” “she has allergies,” and my absolute favorite, "where is this policy written?”  I calmly attempted to answer her questions holding on to the fact I knew I was “RIGHT.”  Then her mother broke into tears and told me that her husband was off work with injury and they needed her to work this summer.  In my most pious tone I ended the conversation, “I am sorry that your daughter’s attendance in the fall is prohibiting her for qualifying for a work permit, but I simply can not approve it.” 

 

I hung up the phone and became agitated… howdare this woman use emotional blackmail to beat the system!  What a terrible lesson for her to teach her children that they do not have to take responsibility for their actions!  After all a fifteen-year-old girl should not be shackled with the burden of supporting her family!   Shortly after the mother called the district and complained (they all do!) the policy was clearly explained and I felt supported as an administrator.  I basked in my “rightness” until I walked down the hall to find my principal hiding in his office so that I could “gain the experience” of being summer school principal.  I explained the situation to him entirely including the part where the mother called the district office and they supported my decision when he looked up at me and said, “Pam, we are going to disagree on this one.”  I was furious!  How dare he disagree with me, didn’t he know “I was RIGHT”!   I explained, “how will this kid every learn responsibility if I grant this permit to her”?  He countered, “perhaps it will teach her responsibility since you are required to be to work on time.”  GRRRR!  I hate it when he disagrees, then makes perfect sense.  I huffed out thinking to myself; this is why these kids act this way… no one holds them accountable!

 

When I returned to my office I had yet another message from Laura’s mother.  She wanted to know “exactly where” was that policy, she was looking and could not find it.  When I called her back, she answered the phone, “Hello this is the Smith residence, God bless you.”  The greeting itself irritated me, as my morning devotional was titled “When the bumper sticker doesn’t match the driver.” Once again I attempted to explain the situation to her to no avail.

 

As I left the office that afternoon, I kept trying to convince myself that I had made the right decision.  After all… it was black and white.  I struggled all evening attempting to convince myself that I had done “the right thing.” Then that small quiet voice in my head asked the question… is this “the right thing” or has it turned into an “ego thing.”  Was it about policy or was it simply about Pam “being right”?  I conceded that in the morning I would check the coding for the absences, perhaps she was “excused” for some of the absences.  When I arrived the next morning, I had a message from a good friend at the district, who fights beside me in the war against truancy, asking the same question.  Although Laura was a “borderline case” I could issue a work permit.

 

So… at 7:30 I called Laura’s mother, greeted by a very sleepy, “Good Morning, God Bless You,” to let them know I would sign the paperwork.  She started crying again and told me that I didn’t know how much this meant to them.   She was right; I may never know how much this meant to them.   But I did learn that there is a fine line that separates doing what is right, from “doing what is right.”  We have all in cases where our lives somehow hinge on the compassion of others.  May we never forget these instances and may we all have friends who “just have to disagree” with us.  Lesson learned.

6-23-08 - "The Spirit of Excellence"

As certainly as the final bell rings for the summer vacation, the beginning bell for summer school will ring shortly thereafter to summon all those with less than stellar grades to recoup credits failed during the regular session.  This summer it will be my fourth year to share my vacation with these precious souls.  I mean this sincerely in that I actually enjoy the role of summer school principal.  It amazes me to see these kids suddenly take seriously the same curriculum they chose to sleep through in the fall.  This year I chose the summer theme, “The Spirit of Excellence” with a patriotic theme, not only to encourage the students to do there best in this election year, but to also remind myself I am working for Uncle Sam, who has found it quite comical to thrust me into a new tax bracket! 

 

I started planning summer school about a month ago with a lot of help of folks who have a tighter grip on the new “budget.”  This year we would only run classes that are full, only enroll students with “F’s” (No “D’s) and absolutely no “go-aheads” for students to take extra electives in their schedules.  Even with these limitations we still managed to enroll approximately 1200 students for the session.  I began hiring teachers based on last years enrollment, trying to take in to account the restrictions on enrollment.  Despite mybest efforts, math classes simply did not fill and I was forced to “hire,then fire” three math teachers.  My heart broke as I received an email from one of those teachers asking to be put on the sub list lest he “lose his house” this summer.  This is NOT my favorite part of the process!

 

Yet another challenge in addition to “staying within the budget” was the fact that there would be no middle school session this summer and all the special education students needed to be “housed” on our campus.  This was quite the challenge in that our high school physical plant was not designed to accommodate 24 special education classrooms in which most needed ADA restrooms as well as five areas for diapering students.   Because of a recent bond issue, the campus, which houses most of the district’s severely handicapped students, was under construction for the summer.  Finding facilities suitable for these students was might I say, challenging!  Diapering students in biology labs isn’t the best scenario, but despite limitations we learn to make do.  I have never quite understood how a law suit which pertained to equal access in public transportation translated into forcing extremely handicapped students into the backs public education is good or the “least restrictive environment” for them but who am I to question the wisdom on those who sit on the bench.  Obviously these judges have never attempted to diaper a student in a Biology lab or with limited funding attempted to accommodate their special needs in lieu of purchasing new textbooks or fix a leaky roof.   But someone saw the wisdom that each public school must accommodate the needs of ONE while thirty-six students sit with raindripping on their heads.   To me it doesn’t take much “horse-sense” to see that the few students with severe disabilities should have their own facilities and funding to indeed assist their needs rather than forcing ALL public schools to produce “less than adequate” substitutions using meager funding.

 

OK… I went there, now moving on.  This summer we have 51 teachers, 70 special education aides, 9 campus supervisors, 4 clerical, 2 counselors and 2 administrators serving students from two comprehensive high schools and a magnet high school.  I was thrilled I was given an awesome team of professionals who were fun but knew how to get the job done!  One counselor and my assistant principal was from the other comprehensive high school, the second counselor was from my high school and I haven’t stopped laughing yet.  I think I will put our show on the road!  In an attempt to break my assistant principal from wearing “his” school colors, I challenged him to a bet that the school administrator whose school had the most discipline referrals would have to wear the other school’s colors weekly.  Should I mention that I lost that bet the first week and was “paraded” around during the break wearing the other schools colors!  In my shame, I would much rather the students take pride in their school colors rather than their gang colors. 

 

Inaddition to meeting with the staff regarding rules and regulations, I took time the first day to read them to students.  “Summer School is a privilege, not a right.” Although I do not like to dismiss students from summer school, repeat offenders are dropped from the session.  Students must earn 56 hours of seat time; showing up late or ditching class also eventually results in a drop from the session.  When a student is sent to the office with a referral they automatically lose an hour of attendance which factors into their allowed 6 hours before they are dropped from a class. Need I say more, summer school runs itself!   Makes one wonder, how different the regular year would be if education was indeed a privilege instead of a “right”?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6-12-08 -- Don't Look Ethel

Graduation Day! What more needs to be said?  I still get a little choked up as I put on my black robe and adjust the hood lined the satin colors of my university and degree.   We put our children on buses waving their lunchboxes the first day of school, join the PTA, bake cupcakes for birthdays, attend musicals, band performances, sporting events and shuffle them back and forth to practices until that grand day in May (in our case June) when they walk across a finely manicured lawn to shake the Principals hand and receive a coveted cowhide to certify they have completed the requirements for twelve years of education.  The joy, the fear, the tears that roll down every parents face as they watch that 15 seconds which thrusts their baby into the hard cruel world of adulthood.  If it was only that easy! 

 

In our case that 15 seconds of pride involves about two months of planning.  This year our school graduated 571 seniors and trust me this event doesn’t happen like magic.  Counselors rush around to ensure that graduation requirements are met; including that final on the last day of classes, secretaries proof-read lists of seniors verifying that ALL names are included on the program, the registrar orders metals for Valedictorians (our school bestows this honor to all with a 4.0), the custodial staff makes sure all the chairs are properly angled on the field and the stage is secured, the Principal rehearses his speech, the hired security guards work traffic control in an endless sea of automobiles, Campus Supervisors remind guests that they can not “save seats” in the stadium as thousands pack together to participate a milestone of their graduate’s life.  I stood at the gate smiling at guests and shaking hands watching the crowd for any thing that might disrupt this dignified ceremony for about two hours prior to the event.

 

Then suddenly, just as glorious as a sunrise they appeared around the corner… all decked out in their green robes and gold sashes.  As the bagpipes played an introduction, I attempted to clear a path through the crowd who arrived too late to be seated.  First came the teachers…  I filed in at the back of this line to ensure I secured a seat at the back of the graduates, lest any rogue beach ball magically appear.  Two by two they marched in… smiling from ear to ear, cameras clicking, roars from the audience was almost deafening as pomp and circumstance played their entrance.  Finally they were all seated.  Since we have such a large senior class, speakers are cautioned to keep their speeches short and to the point. 

 

I sat smiling to myself at the beautiful behavior of our graduates as the Principal “Who has a lion's roar but heart of gold” thanked the crowd for their influence on our children’s lives and an invitation to the Class of 2008 to meet him in 2028.  All was well UNTIL… mid-way through the Senior Class President’s speech the crowd started to ROAR and Seniors began to stand on their seats… I attempted to re-seat them when I looked up and noticed an almost naked young man (he did manage to wear sneakers and a sock on his private part) ran across the visitor’s side of the stadium (opposite of crowd) with two hired security guards chasing after him. 

 

Of course this streaker was not content to merely run across the track… he had to jump the fence and run the entire lengthof the visitors stands with the crowd cheering him on.   The young lady attempted to finish her speech, and then the Principal reminded the crowd that graduating seniors deserved a dignified ceremony… he quickly added “from this point on.”  Everyone had a good laugh and somehow, we managed to carry on as if nothing had ever happened.  Part of me wanted to laugh, the other was furious!  We had worked for months to make this a "DIGNIFIED"  ceremony for these kids… and in just a matter of seconds it became a ceremony that none of us will soon forget.

 

I guess this was the last “teachable moment” we will have with these kids… regardless of how much you plan or secure arrangements there is always somebody out there that is willing to “show their behind” and turn your hard work into just another joke.  What we choose to do with these set backs is what truly makes us an adult.

6-11-08 - Disneyland Jail

Every child looks forward to the last week of school.  Seniors anticipate this week more than the rest knowing that soon they will be closing the chapter of childhood and moving on to adulthood.  Of course most of us, look back and wish we could go back to those carefree days before mortgages and electric bills, while remembering how anxious we were to “get out of school” ourselves.   School administrators look at the last week of school with both joy and anxiety.   I started this week off with an honor student in tears because she contracted a nasty case of “senioritis” and failed her senior English class.  After much convincing I reminded her that she could make the credit up in summer school (I am principal this year… pray for the children) and sent her on her way with a big hug and a promise that life would go on! 

 

The best word to describe this week is “activities.”  As I long for the comfort of my easy chair and the nightly line up of reruns. I know that this week is not only filled with graduation, but yearbook distribution, ice cream socials, cap and gowns, senior barbeque, senior award assemblies, graduation practice, lots of tears, and in our case… the dreaded GRAD NITE!

 

For the life of me, I can’t imagine any school official in their right mind agreeing to take ten chartered buses of teenagers to Disneyland for the entire night before gradation, but after many years this has now become a “scared cow” at our school which in my opinion is past due for the slaughter house.  Now lest you think I’ve become “Scrooged”… every GRAD NITE for the past six years I have been sent to Disney Jail to baby-sit knuckle-heads who thought it was more important to get drunk/high than to walk in the graduation ceremony.   (Students who fail they security check are banished to Disneyland Nursery which has been tranformed for the evening into Disney Jail.)  This travesty is despite the students signing senior contracts, administrative warnings, and plain ole’ common sense!

 

You see, the way this works is … every bus has an adult assigned to it, we travel about an hour to Disneyland and join other schools from all over the state, when we arrive the Disney guards search each student (and sponsor) and if caught with contraband (or under the influence) they are sent to “Disney Jail” where school officials are called from a loud speaker to “deal” with their students.  We then call parents to make the long drive to pick their “Little Einstein” and remind them that their kid will not be participating in the graduation ceremony the next day.  Trust me, it is a joy to be the administrator who breaks this news!  Traditionally it entails at least three hours of waiting with some stoned kid wailing all night until their furious parent arrives.  Unfortunately, this fury is not focused on the individual who made the stupid decision, but the “heart-less” school official!”  “Don’t you know that Aunt Mable flew all the way across the country to see little Johnny graduate”?    As you can imagine, this is NOT a fun conversation!

 

This year we took a different approach; in addition to be searched by Disney security, we hired a private company to search students BEFORE they loaded the busses.  I asked to speak to the kids AGAIN at graduation practice.  This year, instead of making a joke out of it as in years past by saying “Don’t Send Castleman to Disney Jail” and “Friends Don’t Let Friends Do Stupid Things” this year I was more somber.  I asked all those who planned to go to GRAD NITE to stand up.  I then asked them to look to their right and left … and told them if history repeats as it has for the previous six years at least two people standing will not participate in the graduation because of something “STUPID” they did at GRAD NITE.  And pleaded “Please don’t make me call your parents and tell them that all the plans they have made for twelve years have been shattered because of something “STUPID” their little “KNUCKLEHEAD” did the night before.

 

As usual, the Senior Awards Ceremony ran overtime… the kids were beginning to arrive and anxiously waiting in the gym.  Of course we had accidentally “double-booked” the gym and it was not only filled with almost 600 teenagers, but a bunch of little kids shooting hoops.  Finally the searches began and all passed through.  We loaded the busses and they left the campus without a single broken down bus as in years past.  I drove to Disney checking my phone for messages every 15 minutes… no calls.  I managed to work my way through the crowd, through the searching, and arrived at the “holding area” for sponsors… no messages.  I commented to a colleague I felt like a Chihuahua on caffeine waiting for the dreaded summons to Disney Jail.   I planted myself at the table for a couple hours waiting… nothing!  Finally I decided to give up and go play with my favorite group of young teachers.   Had we really made it this year without an incident?

 

About 4:30 a.m. we received a call that a girl was sick at her stomach and had gone to the infirmary.  We met her there, called her mother who opted to have her taken to the bus with one of our awesome sponsors since it was close to departure time.  As I walked back to my car… I shook my head in disbelief.   Was it possible that I had just left Disney with a smile on my face??   This class had actually made it without any GRAD NITE causalities... maybe this truly is the "Happiest Place On Earth."  We made it back home with only a couple kids on the wrong bus and I could actually go home a sleep before graduation.  OH JOY!!

 

*Disneyland, Disney, and GRAD NITE are trademarks of Disney Inc.

6-9-08 -- Raising Children

For my family and friends...the mothers...

by Anna Quindlen

If not for the photographs, I might have a hard time believing they ever existed. The pensive infant with the swipe of dark bangs and the black button eyes of a Raggedy Andy doll. The placid baby with the yellow ringlets and the high piping voice. The sturdy toddler with the lower lip that curled into an apostrophe above her chin. ALL MY BABIES are gone now.

I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction ! in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like.

Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry Brazelton., Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete.

Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories.

What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relatives --what they taught me was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.

Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout.. One boy is toilet trained at 3, his brother at 2.

When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit- up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant! death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing.

Eventually you must learn to trust yourself.

Eventually the research will follow.

I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month-old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China.Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.

Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the Remember-When-Mom-Did Hall of Fame. The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed.

The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, What did you get wrong? (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons.

What was I thinking?

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be.

The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts.


It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

6-8-08 -- Look A Bit Deeper

This week has been particularly long in that my doctor knows me and restricted me to bed rest because I just couldn’t shake the creepy crud that has invaded our school.  This “overdoit” disease seems to be an epidemic with most school administrators.  Unfortunately where as some can “ignore it” and it goes away, that approach doesn’t seem to work for me!  I don’t corner the market on not taking care of myself either, seems most school officials push through things that would put mere mortals in the hospital.  We refer to our school as a "family" and trust me, when we get a bug we share with everyone.  Personally I think that “snotty nosed” teenager than I assigned Saturday School deliberately blew germs on me in some sort of bio-terroristic plot against the system!  OK… now paranoia has now formally set in.

 

I slept for a couple days straight… I think.  Then I started to get cabin fever… even trips to the medicine cabinet was a welcome field trip from the mundane.  Finally when I had all the “rest” I could handle, I found myself with my lap top engaging on one of my favorite time-wasters… hidden clue puzzles.   If you have never enjoyed one of these just imagine “Where’s Waldo” meets "Sandford and Son."  These talented designers send you from room to room looking for hidden clues such as hockey pucks, bottle caps, calculators, vintage lamps and fake teeth buried in a sea of hundreds of items in any given location.  Now these clues may be hidden any where in the room including buried in the wallpaper, may be in the form of a word in sign or various shapes.  I have convinced myself that doing these puzzles will keep my brain sharp thus justifying the time I could be doing something more productive for society.

 

As I was working my puzzle over the morning coffee I asked myself the question… why don’t I approach “humans” the same way I do these puzzles?   At first glance some folks may look like a nuclear attack on Fred Sanford’s garage, but upon deeper inspection there are always gems hidden just below the surface. You may have to look past the snakes and spiders buried in the rubble but if you take the time you can usually find wonderful treasures in all of us. 

 

In some of these silly puzzles I waste time analyzing the deep hidden images only to step back and find the clue as obvious as the nose on my face.  All the time I wasted attempting to scan every sector of the wallpaper leaves me frustrated and clueless.  In turn, at times we need to take people at face value and not read all the small nuances into their behavior at any given moment.   

 

I am the world’s worst at making excuses for people.  For instance before I was banished from my office I had a couple of really nasty parent encounters.  One issue was for some unknown reason a young man decided he wanted to make a bong instead of a vase in his art class.  I picked up the phone to advise his father that I had given him a Saturday School only to hear his father making excuses for his son.  At first my mind was startled and attempted to make excuses for this Dad’s “stupid” behavior.  Truth is… when I stepped back and looked at the situation, the clue was hidden in the fact Dad simply doesn’t have “a clue”!!!   I immediately told him it was difficult for me to believe that I was having this conversation with a parent and I hoped he would speak to his son about such behavior.

 

Any of us that routinely work with people are in the business of hunting clues.  How can I help this person based upon the clues they have revealed to us?  I am a firm believer that all people have some redeeming qualities… it is humanity’s job to find the treasures and help that individual develop into the best they can be in this crazy world.   The question is do we ( I ) take the time to help them find these clues or do we dismiss them as simply another lost cause?