Oh Ramblings, it has been too long. I won't make excuses or try to sugarcoat the situation. I simply have not given myself the time to sit and write that I need to periodically give myself. Better late than never though, right?
Seeing as it is the season of "The Top 10, 20, 100, or whatever number is arbitrarily chosen List", I will throw out a "Top" list of my own. I may have done this before, but I don't care. As the kids used to say, "Sorry; not sorry." My blog, my vacation, my list. (Yeah, I have written that before too, I think. Oh well.)
Today's offering is "The Top List of Books Every Person Like Me Should Read, During Christmas Break If You Are Looking For Something Worthwhile to Do or Need An Escape from the Family for a Little While and Realize that Books Are One of the Only Ways to Actually Enter Another World and Live there For a Little While." Notice the list is not a list of books EVERYONE should read, just everyone like me. Some of these books will not appeal to everyone, and while those people are obviously somehow flawed, they may not want to read them. I can accept that. The list is not in the order of preference, or the order in which they should be read. I am on vacation, and I am taking it easy.
And now, the list.
The Road by Cormac McCarthy.
The post-apocalyptic novel was suggested by Greg Froese and was a part of our first semester Honors English study. The novel follows a man and his son as they travel the road following an unidentified catastrophe that has decimated the human population and the landscape. They must deal with starvation, blood-cults, earthquakes, loss of humanity, and a struggle to hold on to hope. I have fallen into post-apocalyptic literature before, and the genre is a favorite of mine. This selection is quite possibly the best of this type of literature. Why? The novel made me think. It made me think about language, it made me think about morality, it made me think about spirituality, it made me think about human nature, and it made me think about the world around me. I had the pleasure of discussion the novel with an intelligent group of young people, which made the repeated reading of the novel even more rewarding. The novel is written by an author recognized as one of the top writers of our time. His style is different than anything I have read, to be sure. That may bother some readers, but it is worth the effort that might be required at the beginning. McCarthy uses flashbacks in a a way that forces the reader to focus and think. He is a master of language and imagery. As one student, Shalee Mog, stated in class, it is beautifully written. Some of the sentences are crafted in such a way that "beautiful" may be the only correct choice to describe them. Several of the author's novels have been adapted for the big screen, and The Road is among them. They did a solid job with it, and I enjoyed it after reading the novel. However, do not give in to the temptation to just watch the movie. The big screen cannot convey the beauty Shalee mentioned, and while I liked the film, another student, Sidney Schrock I believe, called it an abomination because of the excerpts that were left out. I think she may have been a little melodramatic on that point, but those omissions do take away from the overall tale. So pick up the book, dang it!
When Pride Still Mattered by David Maraniss
This biography of Vince Lombardi was given to me for Christmas around 15 years ago. It is more than just a celebration of the Packers head coach as a king of football royalty. Instead, it allows the reader to step inside the world of the man who started out coaching basketball at a tiny Catholic school and rose to an unparalleled level of respect as a football coach. Beyond that, the book gives glimpses of a man who was insecure and often felt he was fighting an uphill battle because he was Italian, a father and husband who was not always the epitome of what men should strive to be, and an intelligent leader who was actually considered as a possible vice-presidential candidate by BOTH political parties. I first heard of the biography in a piece by George Will, and I am truly glad to have read the work by Maraniss.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
I am on shaky ground with my colleagues at times for my choices in movies, music, and styles of dress, so I am not going to risk leaving this one off the list. Scout grows up in the South during the Depression. It is an amazing novel, and to argue otherwise would be foolish. It is an extraordinary glimpse into our past as Americans and our own childhoods; unfortunately, many of the issues raised are not outdated, and in the current climate of intolerance, knee-jerk hatred, and un-Atticuslike behavior, reading and rereading this work is more important than ever.
Playing for Pizza by John Grisham
This in not the most well-known novel by Grisham, but it is worth the read. When a washed-up former number one pick is released after suffering a concussion playing in the big-time, he takes the only gig his agent can find: playing in Italy on a professional team that sits just above club level. He has to adjust his way of thinking, eating, playing, and leading, all while adjusting to the fact that most people in his new hometown have never heard of him. Much of the novel revolves around food, so maybe that is why I liked it so much. The story is not overly deep, but not everything has to move you spiritually and mentally. Sometimes it is just fun reading about a guy playing football on a team where two of his linemen own a local restaurant, and an art student who makes the quarterback chase her, something he is not used to having to do. I do not remember how long ago I read this book, but I do remember enjoying it. They talk about cheese a lot, if I remember right.
I could go on: The Junction Boys, A Time to Kill, World War Z, I Am Legend, Leadership Lessons from Bill Snyder, Flowers for Algernon, Skeleton Crew, Frankenstein, The Blue and the Grey, Huckleberry Finn, 1984, Great Expectation, and many others could easily take a place on the list, depending on what day it is, what the weather is like, and how I am feeling at the time. I need to keep building my personal list, and I owe it to people like Greg Froese for recommending something different to read that challenged me from the first page. Not everything has to be a deeply moving experience, but it is amazing when something is, and when it makes you fall back in love with reading.
The more I write on this blog entry, the more I feel as if I have written it before. I have a bad habit of starting blog posts, but not finishing them, and then those half-written pieces become filed away in my sometimes disheveled mind, where they resurface and confuse me. Oh well, it is what it was, or so I have been told. Now, turn off the computer for a few minutes and pick up a book, any book, and see where it leads you. You might just enjoy yourself.
Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Our Boys of Fall, continued.
Just under a year ago, I sat down and tapped out a blog entry titled "Our Boys of Fall". We had just come of winning the first State Football Championship in Buhler High School history, and I hoped to paint a small glimpse of the image that season will forever hold for me, our staff, the community, and, most importantly, the young men who put together that season. It was no Cinderella story. There had been no talking mice to help piece together a magical evening or a fairy godmother to wave a wand and make everything work out just so. In place of those Disney devices were gallons of sweat and tears, hours or work and pain, and immeasurable volumes of heart and desire.
Yesterday I sat down for the first Saturday in over three months and had no preparation to focus on, no film to break down in anticipation of the next opponent, and no rush to devise a game plan. I sat and drank coffee with my wife, and she told me how badly she felt for the seniors. I went downstairs and sat down on the couch where I spend most of my fall Saturdays. I had nothing to do but watch college football, if I decided that was what I wanted to do. I didn't. I started to watch Minnesota battle Nebraska on ESPN, but three snaps in I turned off the TV and wondered upstairs and out the back door. I lit a fire in the chiminea and started pulling up the withered tomato plants from what was a garden the last time I had seen it in the light. I noticed for the first time that the neighbors across the fence are halfway through building some sort of addition onto the back of their house. Huh.
In short, the day was relaxed, but far from restful. I should have been working.
More than one of our boys, the young men who sweat and bleed as Crusaders, have posted their thoughts on the end of the season on Facebook. Most lament the fact that our season has ended one week early, one week short of the goal our seniors, and every other member of the squad, set as the ultimate goal of the season. They set lofty goals for themselves, a State Championship. Those are hard to come by. They know what it feels like to win one and how much work goes into it, and they were willing to put in that work and shed the tears and blood that it takes to get to that summit. Unfortunately, things do not always work out like a movie script.
That is one of the frustrations I have. Most sports movies end with the team of worthy warriors getting their prize, hoisting that trophy, because that is how it is supposed to be. Remember the Titans, Major League, The Mighty Ducks. To paraphrase Hannibal, from the A-Team, not from Silence of the Lambs, we love it when a plan comes together. A few nuggets of cinematic gold get closer to what most athletes experience, but even then, they cannot get it right. Possibly the biggest high school football film in recent memory, Friday Night Lights, ends with the boys of Odessa falling just short of the goalline at the state championship game, the boys shedding tears that streamed through the blood on their faces. However, the film was based on book that chronicled an actual season of the Odessa Permian Panthers, and it kind of fudged one little detail. The team did not make it to the state championship. They lost in the substate game, the semifinals, to the team that would go on to win the championship game. (On a side note, Boobie Miles did not blow out his knee in an early season blowout after Coach Gaines sent him back in because Boobie's backup could not find his helmet, which Boobie had hidden; Boobie's football career essentially ended in a scrimmage before the season even started. Not as dramatic, right? Let's revise that a bit. Ah. Perfect. Fiction, not fact, but perfect.) Apparently, the moviemakers did not see a loss in the semifinals as quite as dramatic and screen-worthy. It would seem that that would have made them just losers, not losers at the highest level.
Bull. The 2014 Crusaders fell to Topeka Hayden on Friday. They fell short of the state championship game by one week. However, they are far from losers. No one can argue they are. The stories here are compelling, just as they were last year, when the season went one week longer. Don't get me wrong; the state championship is a big deal. Only two teams end a season where they want to be, and only one team raises the trophy and feels like a winner at the end of the day. We should rightfully celebrate it and the boys who won it. They deserve the ring, the trophy, and the photo on the wall. To reach the highest level of achievement is the goal. They hoisted the trophy and left the field champions. We must celebrate that. They are an example for each team that comes together, and we will strive to meet their standard.
So, we failed to meet that ultimate goal. However, this group of young men has a great deal to be proud of. This team set records on offense that are eye popping. a 2000 yard passer and two rushers with more than 1500 yards is impressive. Many schools have rushing records of fewer than 1500 yards. Passing and receiving yard records were eclipsed and rewritten this season. Behind the records were even more storylines. A player returned from an injury that cost him an entire season and stepped up to start on both offense and defense, displaying the heart of a lion and guts of a warrior. A fullback who once played defensive back lined up in no less than four offensive positions and drew the attention of every defensive coordinator that the team faced, while also firing off as a defensive tackle when the offense left the field. A senior stepped up and made every varsity snap, having earned the position through renewed focus and desire months before his senior season kicked off. Returning starters from the championship team moved from contributors to leaders, from filling a spot to dominating the men across from them. That's what seniors are supposed to do in a program. It was their turn. Younger players stepped up as needed, as integral contributors on the field, sometimes on one or two special teams, at other times filling roles on offense and defense. They battled, matured, fought and scraped, providing spark on the scout team each week and contributing when and where they were needed. And they will be back, setting lofty goals for the next team of Crusaders that is to come. Injuries, frustrations, egos, and attitudes had to be pushed aside and put away, replaced by a love of the brotherhood that is bred in early morning workouts, summer heat, and battles to become stronger as individuals, and to become more than those individuals, to be come a team, something bigger than themselves.
The struggle even went beyond the young men on the field itself. Those young men had to battle through the absence of two coaches. An injury during practice and a medical emergency off of it led two coaches to miss significant time in practice and at games. Their absence was definitely felt by the boys with whom they work on a daily basis. They missed their coaches, because of familiarity and because of personality. Even these instances have led to lessons for the team members, as the coaches battled to return to their rightful places, not for money or recognition, but for the love of the game and dedication to the boys they were pulled away from. Furthermore, the boys saw others step up and step in to fill voids. That is what you do as part of a team, as part of a family.
High school football is about so much more than what happens on the practice field or on Friday nights under the lights. General Douglas McArthur once stated that the football program at West Point was vital to the development of our military leaders, due to the lessons learned through the battles on the field, the skirmishes in the locker room, and the individual and collective growth that is unique within a football team. I have to agree with the good general, and believe the sentiment applies to the high school gridiron as well, perhaps even more so in today's society. Some boys become men, in part because of the challenges they face through football, and others grow as young adults because they find the guidance and family that might be lacking without the rigors of football. Sometimes, they get what they need, something uniquely important to them them as individuals, which could only come from being part of the team, or the program. We can be surprised by what that is sometimes. One young man told me early Saturday morning, following the somber ride home to Buhler, that he truly appreciated the opportunity he had been given to work with our program. He was not a player, but he was a vital member of the program over the last few year. I tried to tell him how much I appreciated his efforts, his work and dedication, which have been significant to me personally and to the team as a whole. Then he said something that stopped me and that I will hold on to for as long as I teach and coach: he told me that having the opportunity had changed his life.
I end with this: thank you to the group of men that is the 2014 Buhler Crusader football team. Seniors, what you earned over your four years can never be taken away from you. I am proud to have worked with you, to have spent time with you as you have grown up and I look forward to seeing you continue to grow as men. Juniors and Sophomore, you have time before you. You have been challenged and how you react and respond is in your individual and collective hands. You have been a part of great things, and can continue to build something even greater. Finally, Freshmen, yes freshmen, you had an impressive final season as a separate, distinct unit, and you can carry that success with you as you become an even more integral part of the Crusader program. The time flies. Enjoy it. Enjoy being part of this program. Make each day great, a great day to be a Crusader.
Yesterday I sat down for the first Saturday in over three months and had no preparation to focus on, no film to break down in anticipation of the next opponent, and no rush to devise a game plan. I sat and drank coffee with my wife, and she told me how badly she felt for the seniors. I went downstairs and sat down on the couch where I spend most of my fall Saturdays. I had nothing to do but watch college football, if I decided that was what I wanted to do. I didn't. I started to watch Minnesota battle Nebraska on ESPN, but three snaps in I turned off the TV and wondered upstairs and out the back door. I lit a fire in the chiminea and started pulling up the withered tomato plants from what was a garden the last time I had seen it in the light. I noticed for the first time that the neighbors across the fence are halfway through building some sort of addition onto the back of their house. Huh.
In short, the day was relaxed, but far from restful. I should have been working.
More than one of our boys, the young men who sweat and bleed as Crusaders, have posted their thoughts on the end of the season on Facebook. Most lament the fact that our season has ended one week early, one week short of the goal our seniors, and every other member of the squad, set as the ultimate goal of the season. They set lofty goals for themselves, a State Championship. Those are hard to come by. They know what it feels like to win one and how much work goes into it, and they were willing to put in that work and shed the tears and blood that it takes to get to that summit. Unfortunately, things do not always work out like a movie script.
That is one of the frustrations I have. Most sports movies end with the team of worthy warriors getting their prize, hoisting that trophy, because that is how it is supposed to be. Remember the Titans, Major League, The Mighty Ducks. To paraphrase Hannibal, from the A-Team, not from Silence of the Lambs, we love it when a plan comes together. A few nuggets of cinematic gold get closer to what most athletes experience, but even then, they cannot get it right. Possibly the biggest high school football film in recent memory, Friday Night Lights, ends with the boys of Odessa falling just short of the goalline at the state championship game, the boys shedding tears that streamed through the blood on their faces. However, the film was based on book that chronicled an actual season of the Odessa Permian Panthers, and it kind of fudged one little detail. The team did not make it to the state championship. They lost in the substate game, the semifinals, to the team that would go on to win the championship game. (On a side note, Boobie Miles did not blow out his knee in an early season blowout after Coach Gaines sent him back in because Boobie's backup could not find his helmet, which Boobie had hidden; Boobie's football career essentially ended in a scrimmage before the season even started. Not as dramatic, right? Let's revise that a bit. Ah. Perfect. Fiction, not fact, but perfect.) Apparently, the moviemakers did not see a loss in the semifinals as quite as dramatic and screen-worthy. It would seem that that would have made them just losers, not losers at the highest level.
Bull. The 2014 Crusaders fell to Topeka Hayden on Friday. They fell short of the state championship game by one week. However, they are far from losers. No one can argue they are. The stories here are compelling, just as they were last year, when the season went one week longer. Don't get me wrong; the state championship is a big deal. Only two teams end a season where they want to be, and only one team raises the trophy and feels like a winner at the end of the day. We should rightfully celebrate it and the boys who won it. They deserve the ring, the trophy, and the photo on the wall. To reach the highest level of achievement is the goal. They hoisted the trophy and left the field champions. We must celebrate that. They are an example for each team that comes together, and we will strive to meet their standard.
So, we failed to meet that ultimate goal. However, this group of young men has a great deal to be proud of. This team set records on offense that are eye popping. a 2000 yard passer and two rushers with more than 1500 yards is impressive. Many schools have rushing records of fewer than 1500 yards. Passing and receiving yard records were eclipsed and rewritten this season. Behind the records were even more storylines. A player returned from an injury that cost him an entire season and stepped up to start on both offense and defense, displaying the heart of a lion and guts of a warrior. A fullback who once played defensive back lined up in no less than four offensive positions and drew the attention of every defensive coordinator that the team faced, while also firing off as a defensive tackle when the offense left the field. A senior stepped up and made every varsity snap, having earned the position through renewed focus and desire months before his senior season kicked off. Returning starters from the championship team moved from contributors to leaders, from filling a spot to dominating the men across from them. That's what seniors are supposed to do in a program. It was their turn. Younger players stepped up as needed, as integral contributors on the field, sometimes on one or two special teams, at other times filling roles on offense and defense. They battled, matured, fought and scraped, providing spark on the scout team each week and contributing when and where they were needed. And they will be back, setting lofty goals for the next team of Crusaders that is to come. Injuries, frustrations, egos, and attitudes had to be pushed aside and put away, replaced by a love of the brotherhood that is bred in early morning workouts, summer heat, and battles to become stronger as individuals, and to become more than those individuals, to be come a team, something bigger than themselves.
The struggle even went beyond the young men on the field itself. Those young men had to battle through the absence of two coaches. An injury during practice and a medical emergency off of it led two coaches to miss significant time in practice and at games. Their absence was definitely felt by the boys with whom they work on a daily basis. They missed their coaches, because of familiarity and because of personality. Even these instances have led to lessons for the team members, as the coaches battled to return to their rightful places, not for money or recognition, but for the love of the game and dedication to the boys they were pulled away from. Furthermore, the boys saw others step up and step in to fill voids. That is what you do as part of a team, as part of a family.
High school football is about so much more than what happens on the practice field or on Friday nights under the lights. General Douglas McArthur once stated that the football program at West Point was vital to the development of our military leaders, due to the lessons learned through the battles on the field, the skirmishes in the locker room, and the individual and collective growth that is unique within a football team. I have to agree with the good general, and believe the sentiment applies to the high school gridiron as well, perhaps even more so in today's society. Some boys become men, in part because of the challenges they face through football, and others grow as young adults because they find the guidance and family that might be lacking without the rigors of football. Sometimes, they get what they need, something uniquely important to them them as individuals, which could only come from being part of the team, or the program. We can be surprised by what that is sometimes. One young man told me early Saturday morning, following the somber ride home to Buhler, that he truly appreciated the opportunity he had been given to work with our program. He was not a player, but he was a vital member of the program over the last few year. I tried to tell him how much I appreciated his efforts, his work and dedication, which have been significant to me personally and to the team as a whole. Then he said something that stopped me and that I will hold on to for as long as I teach and coach: he told me that having the opportunity had changed his life.
I end with this: thank you to the group of men that is the 2014 Buhler Crusader football team. Seniors, what you earned over your four years can never be taken away from you. I am proud to have worked with you, to have spent time with you as you have grown up and I look forward to seeing you continue to grow as men. Juniors and Sophomore, you have time before you. You have been challenged and how you react and respond is in your individual and collective hands. You have been a part of great things, and can continue to build something even greater. Finally, Freshmen, yes freshmen, you had an impressive final season as a separate, distinct unit, and you can carry that success with you as you become an even more integral part of the Crusader program. The time flies. Enjoy it. Enjoy being part of this program. Make each day great, a great day to be a Crusader.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Obvious
I have recently discovered that I am an incurable fan of the obvious. "What?" one may ask, attempting to delve deep into the statement to uncover the metaphysical significance hidden there. Well, stop. Just reading the sentence. What does it say? I says that I have recently discovered that I am an incurable fan of the obvious. Yep.
That is not to say that I not find the subtle subtext, the cloaked innuendo, the hidden nuggets of truth equally pleasing or even more appealing at times. However, every once in a while, a tree is a tree, laughter is just laughter, and a hue carries no more meaning than allowing a shirt to coordinate with a pair pants. I do not wear khaki pants because my world is dull and unappealing or my outlook on life does not lack joy or passion. Khaki pants just go with everything.
Today, I burst out laughing at a sign on the internet that should not have had such a significant effect on me, but it did. The sign? A simple brown and white background, overlaid with these simple words: "You know it is cold outside when you go outside and it is cold." That is funny. Simple. Blunt. True.
Obvious.
Some days, that is what I need.
That is not to say that I not find the subtle subtext, the cloaked innuendo, the hidden nuggets of truth equally pleasing or even more appealing at times. However, every once in a while, a tree is a tree, laughter is just laughter, and a hue carries no more meaning than allowing a shirt to coordinate with a pair pants. I do not wear khaki pants because my world is dull and unappealing or my outlook on life does not lack joy or passion. Khaki pants just go with everything.
Today, I burst out laughing at a sign on the internet that should not have had such a significant effect on me, but it did. The sign? A simple brown and white background, overlaid with these simple words: "You know it is cold outside when you go outside and it is cold." That is funny. Simple. Blunt. True.
Obvious.
Some days, that is what I need.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Passion Post: FOOD!
Individuals blog for a variety of reasons. When we ask our students to blog, we attempt to give them some sort of direction so they will not spend countless hours muttering "I don't know what to write about". At the same time, we try to allow enough freedom for the students to stretch a little and dive deeper into topics of their choosing. As with any activity, some students seem energized by blogging and the opportunity to express themselves and hash out ideas in a more modern forum and medium, while other trudge through it with grimaces and groans. This is fine. Not everyone is going to enjoy writing, although I would like to make it a little more worthwhile and rewarding for them. What I do not understand is how a person can complain about having to write a "Passion Blog" which is essentially the opportunity to write about what excites you, what lights your fire, what makes your heart beat, or what makes you think.
This post will be one of MY passion posts. I am passionate about many things. My relationships with my family. My teaching, both in the classroom and on the field. Literature of many forms. Exercise.
This post is about something I have a passion form which has brought me a great deal of pleasure as well as no small amount of frustration. What is this passion, you ask? I have an undeniable passion for food.
I love food. Entire days at the State Fair have been scheduled as to allow optimal food variety and consumption without causing the potential gastrointestinal discomfort that can come from a lack of planning in such matters. Trips to Wichita, Lawrence, and Kansas City have required carefully attention to detail so that we can enjoy the fare at specific restaurants during limited time. I jump to The Food Channel as often as I click over to ESPN, and I have watched "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" marathons on more than one occasion. I bothers me that "Good Eats" is no longer on, and I prefer "Cutthroat Kitchen" to "The Voice".
I realized recently that the only Snapchats I have sent to the limited number of friends who I have in the social circle have included shots of food I was grilling, frying, roasting, or broiling. I always said I would not be one of those people who tweets his supper at a restaurant or posts dessert on Facebook. However, snaps do not seem to bother me. I have also discovered that such snaps torture young men who do not have such delicacies at their disposal, so it has become more acceptable to send a perfectly seared pork loin or pan of bacon-wrapped peppers through cyberspace.
My passion for food goes beyond just eating, although that is an activity that I do truly enjoy. I really enjoy cooking. I do not consider myself a "foodie", really, because I am not that sophisticated. My knife skills are primitive. I chop stuff. Or slice it. I an not sure what a proper jullienne cut is, and I had to look up exactly how to spell it correctly. I have no idea what saffron tastes like, or what dish I would use it in.
What I do know is that if you apply high heat to red meat, a chemical process occurs that alters the molecular structure of the meat, and the result is an incredible flavor that cannot be achieved in any other way. I know that if you roast garlic inside a cavity in a beef roast, it will mellow and sweeten as it imparts its flavor into the meat. I know that put tomatoes that you pick from your own garden in a weird pan with holes in it, and you place that pan on a barbecue grill, those tomatoes will caramelize, and if you blend those tomatoes together and simmer them over low heat, the sauce will evolve into something special. I took my cooking lessons from Mom, Dad, Nana, Grandma, and Huck Finn. Huck talked about how he liked stew, how the bits and pieces cooked together, each one lending its own flavor to the pot, until the mixture was much better than the bits and pieces that were dumped into the pot separately. Twain was saying many things through Huck, and I have to agree with most of them.
I am not a chef, and I will never impress anyone on a judging panel of some cooking competition show. But I know what I like, and I know that my wife and kids seldom hesitate to eat what ends up on our table. Unfortunately, I seldom fail to consume my share of what I cook either. Or seconds of most of it, most times. I like eating, and I like eating the food I cook. That is a good thing, but as with everything, too much of a good thing is no longer a good thing. I am working to stop before I take seconds. It does not work very often, but I am trying. Passion is a terrific, terrifying thing. It makes life not only worth living, but worth enjoying. It can be dangerous if uncontrolled, but it can be so valuable when directed and harnessed.
So, there is my passion post for the day. And in closing, I offer you my latest SnapStory. I made chili in between breaking down film on Saturday. I apologize for the typo. I was not wearing my glasses and did not reread it close enough. I hope you enjoy.
This post will be one of MY passion posts. I am passionate about many things. My relationships with my family. My teaching, both in the classroom and on the field. Literature of many forms. Exercise.
This post is about something I have a passion form which has brought me a great deal of pleasure as well as no small amount of frustration. What is this passion, you ask? I have an undeniable passion for food.
I love food. Entire days at the State Fair have been scheduled as to allow optimal food variety and consumption without causing the potential gastrointestinal discomfort that can come from a lack of planning in such matters. Trips to Wichita, Lawrence, and Kansas City have required carefully attention to detail so that we can enjoy the fare at specific restaurants during limited time. I jump to The Food Channel as often as I click over to ESPN, and I have watched "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" marathons on more than one occasion. I bothers me that "Good Eats" is no longer on, and I prefer "Cutthroat Kitchen" to "The Voice".
I realized recently that the only Snapchats I have sent to the limited number of friends who I have in the social circle have included shots of food I was grilling, frying, roasting, or broiling. I always said I would not be one of those people who tweets his supper at a restaurant or posts dessert on Facebook. However, snaps do not seem to bother me. I have also discovered that such snaps torture young men who do not have such delicacies at their disposal, so it has become more acceptable to send a perfectly seared pork loin or pan of bacon-wrapped peppers through cyberspace.
My passion for food goes beyond just eating, although that is an activity that I do truly enjoy. I really enjoy cooking. I do not consider myself a "foodie", really, because I am not that sophisticated. My knife skills are primitive. I chop stuff. Or slice it. I an not sure what a proper jullienne cut is, and I had to look up exactly how to spell it correctly. I have no idea what saffron tastes like, or what dish I would use it in.
What I do know is that if you apply high heat to red meat, a chemical process occurs that alters the molecular structure of the meat, and the result is an incredible flavor that cannot be achieved in any other way. I know that if you roast garlic inside a cavity in a beef roast, it will mellow and sweeten as it imparts its flavor into the meat. I know that put tomatoes that you pick from your own garden in a weird pan with holes in it, and you place that pan on a barbecue grill, those tomatoes will caramelize, and if you blend those tomatoes together and simmer them over low heat, the sauce will evolve into something special. I took my cooking lessons from Mom, Dad, Nana, Grandma, and Huck Finn. Huck talked about how he liked stew, how the bits and pieces cooked together, each one lending its own flavor to the pot, until the mixture was much better than the bits and pieces that were dumped into the pot separately. Twain was saying many things through Huck, and I have to agree with most of them.
I am not a chef, and I will never impress anyone on a judging panel of some cooking competition show. But I know what I like, and I know that my wife and kids seldom hesitate to eat what ends up on our table. Unfortunately, I seldom fail to consume my share of what I cook either. Or seconds of most of it, most times. I like eating, and I like eating the food I cook. That is a good thing, but as with everything, too much of a good thing is no longer a good thing. I am working to stop before I take seconds. It does not work very often, but I am trying. Passion is a terrific, terrifying thing. It makes life not only worth living, but worth enjoying. It can be dangerous if uncontrolled, but it can be so valuable when directed and harnessed.
So, there is my passion post for the day. And in closing, I offer you my latest SnapStory. I made chili in between breaking down film on Saturday. I apologize for the typo. I was not wearing my glasses and did not reread it close enough. I hope you enjoy.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Reluctant Heroes and The Walking Dead (CRR)
Beowulf stood before the king of the Danes in Herot and boasted of his prowess. He slew beasts in the murky depths, dispatched trolls and she-wolves, and bathed in the blood of the enemies who foolishly challenged the Geats. Who would not want to follow such a hero into battle, whether it be against a devilish descendent of Cane or an opposing army? This is a man who knows what he wants, knows he is a hero, and will not hesitate to lay his heroic qualifications on the table.
Sir Gawain, in innocent modesty, requested from his King the honor of taking up the challenge issued by a magical knight of greenish hue. He expressed how undeserving he was to take the place of the king in stepping in so heroically, but he knew that it was his place. He was a knight, and he had his seat at the Round Table. He might blush and feign modesty, but he realized his heroic stature, and he took up the mantle with no hesitation, much to the chagrin of the older, more establish knights who sat in astonishment. And then he followed through. He was a hero.
These are the traditional, the classic heroes of our literary history, figures that serve as examples of how we expect our leaders and our heroes to behave, not only on the page, but on the battlefield, on the political stage, in the boardroom, and in the athletic field. However, not all heroes as so willing to stand up and snatch the mantle of heroism so boldly. Some are reluctant or even stubbornly resistant.
One week from today, The Walking Dead premieres its new season. As the audience anxiously gears up for the return of Daryl, Beth, Michonne, Rick, and Maggie, the question of who must lead this little band of survivors as they navigate the desolation of the zombie apocalypse? Some of you who are fans of the series are already shouting, "But what about Carl and Glenn? They are returning too!" Let's face it though, Glenn has become a bit of a whiny pain in the tuckess since he found love, and he does not have the "it" factor that leaders have, even though he wishes he did. Maggie has it, and I think that may be the issue for Glenn. He wants to be the protector her father thought he could be when he gave them his blessing, and he is doing his best to fill that role. He is just not a leader of men. And Carl? Let's just say that every episode that Carl evades the teeth of a walker and instead talks trash on a sleeping father or pigs out on a gallon of chocolate pudding, thousands of viewers are disappointed.
What is the world does this have to do with Beowulf and Sir Gawain? Heroes. Those two literary heroes were confident and willing, bold and anxious. That is the classic hero. However, literature, and life, often turns to a different type of hero, one burdened with reluctance. The reluctant hero.
The two main characters who seem to be presented as hero in the journey of The Walking Dead are Rick and Daryl. Maggie may prove, in the end, to be a true leader, but she has not developed fully in that direction. Michonne is an enforcer, a sergeant at arms, loyal and willing to do the dirty work, but she is not a leader. Hershel is dead. He is out. Rick and Daryl. Heroes?
Rick was presented in the early episodes of the series as the obvious hero. He was hero before the world turned dark, literally turned dark for him as he spent the period of plunge that the world experienced in a coma. He was a sheriff deputy, and took a bullet in that role. When he joined the group in the woods after awakening and weaving his way out of an urban jungle of the undead, they immediately looked to the badge and the hat to lead them to safety. Well, everyone except Shane did, but the whole taking his best friend's wife as his own and then learning he had potentially fathered a child who would possibly call Rick "Dad" made that a difficult situation. For a time, Rick seemed to desire that role of hero. Then, when things got truly difficult, Rick backed away. He hung up his gun, and he deserted his post as hero. It was someone else's turn. Michonne, Hershel, Glenn, anyone could pick of the banner, and he did not care who, as long as it was not him. Carol tried to be heroic, and Rick banished her, for she had done what he could not do, and what he had decided he could not stop her from doing. He now wants to be a hero again, for his annoying son, who has vacillated between bratty prepubescent to rebel without a clue to innocent child. I am sorry Rick, bailing on the hero role at a critical time makes you much less heroic, no matter how much you embrace the role later.
So, that leaves us with Daryl. By Daryl's own admission, he was nothing before the fall of the civilized world. He was the brother of criminal methhead who was raised to be nothing but a drain on society. However, as Beth told him before they torched the shack that represented his past and her desire to give up, it does not matter what he was before; it is what he is now that matters, and that is all that matters. A hero.
Daryl may not be a leader of men, but he is a hero. He does not want to be because by being heroic, he becomes more than he ever thought he was destined to become, something more than a drain on whatever society provided the fringe that "his kind" hung on to. Despite his reluctance, however, he had to be a hero. He puts others before himself. Not the way Rick tries to do, but in a truly sincere, unselfish way. From the first time the redneck biker pulled on the leather vest adorned with a guardian angel's wings, he was the hero of the group, no matter how far away from that distinction he attempted to ride. He rode for supplies when that is what they needed, not because baby formula would keep his daughter alive, but because it would keep someone else's little one alive. He searched for a lost girl, not because doing so would earn him favor or make his life easier, but because she was all another human being had left to live for, and he had to do what he could. He took a seat on the leadership counsel, not because he wanted to lead, but because he knew that counsel would have to make difficult decisions, decisions Rick would not be strong enough to make, and he was the guy who could tell it like it was, and everyone would know the reasons were sound and true.
Even taking Beth to swig her first buzz-inducing taste of moonshine was somewhat heroic. She needed to go through some relatively normal rite of passage in a world where nothing normal seemed to exist. He allowed her to do that in a protected environment. At the same time, he needed to allow her into his sphere, to let her inside his circle, where she could trust him and he could allow her to do do that. He needed a moment of vulnerability, even though he could not admit it to anyone, which would allow him to deal with the guilt he had placed upon himself. That's what heroes do. They put the pressure to be heroes on themselves, even when is unfair to do so, and then they find a way to be a hero. Sometimes heroes need a hug. And to burn stuff. And then flip it off. In doing so, he accepted the fact that he was more in the world than he was ever expected to be, and that he could flip the bird at his loser self from that time so long ago. It did not matter what he was before. It only mattered what he had become. And he had become a hero.
Daryl is a literary hero, and his heroes journey is progressing. Our literary heroes serve as examples to those of us who live in the more mundane realities that we call our real world. Daryl, no matter how reluctantly, is such an example, just as Beowulf and Gawain before him.
There are some truly horribly written and acted television shows and movies. However, when someone gets it right, it is as powerful as what Hemingway, Dickens, Shakespeare, and Twain put to the page. Good literature, no matter what the medium, is neat.
Sir Gawain, in innocent modesty, requested from his King the honor of taking up the challenge issued by a magical knight of greenish hue. He expressed how undeserving he was to take the place of the king in stepping in so heroically, but he knew that it was his place. He was a knight, and he had his seat at the Round Table. He might blush and feign modesty, but he realized his heroic stature, and he took up the mantle with no hesitation, much to the chagrin of the older, more establish knights who sat in astonishment. And then he followed through. He was a hero.
These are the traditional, the classic heroes of our literary history, figures that serve as examples of how we expect our leaders and our heroes to behave, not only on the page, but on the battlefield, on the political stage, in the boardroom, and in the athletic field. However, not all heroes as so willing to stand up and snatch the mantle of heroism so boldly. Some are reluctant or even stubbornly resistant.
One week from today, The Walking Dead premieres its new season. As the audience anxiously gears up for the return of Daryl, Beth, Michonne, Rick, and Maggie, the question of who must lead this little band of survivors as they navigate the desolation of the zombie apocalypse? Some of you who are fans of the series are already shouting, "But what about Carl and Glenn? They are returning too!" Let's face it though, Glenn has become a bit of a whiny pain in the tuckess since he found love, and he does not have the "it" factor that leaders have, even though he wishes he did. Maggie has it, and I think that may be the issue for Glenn. He wants to be the protector her father thought he could be when he gave them his blessing, and he is doing his best to fill that role. He is just not a leader of men. And Carl? Let's just say that every episode that Carl evades the teeth of a walker and instead talks trash on a sleeping father or pigs out on a gallon of chocolate pudding, thousands of viewers are disappointed.
What is the world does this have to do with Beowulf and Sir Gawain? Heroes. Those two literary heroes were confident and willing, bold and anxious. That is the classic hero. However, literature, and life, often turns to a different type of hero, one burdened with reluctance. The reluctant hero.
The two main characters who seem to be presented as hero in the journey of The Walking Dead are Rick and Daryl. Maggie may prove, in the end, to be a true leader, but she has not developed fully in that direction. Michonne is an enforcer, a sergeant at arms, loyal and willing to do the dirty work, but she is not a leader. Hershel is dead. He is out. Rick and Daryl. Heroes?
Rick was presented in the early episodes of the series as the obvious hero. He was hero before the world turned dark, literally turned dark for him as he spent the period of plunge that the world experienced in a coma. He was a sheriff deputy, and took a bullet in that role. When he joined the group in the woods after awakening and weaving his way out of an urban jungle of the undead, they immediately looked to the badge and the hat to lead them to safety. Well, everyone except Shane did, but the whole taking his best friend's wife as his own and then learning he had potentially fathered a child who would possibly call Rick "Dad" made that a difficult situation. For a time, Rick seemed to desire that role of hero. Then, when things got truly difficult, Rick backed away. He hung up his gun, and he deserted his post as hero. It was someone else's turn. Michonne, Hershel, Glenn, anyone could pick of the banner, and he did not care who, as long as it was not him. Carol tried to be heroic, and Rick banished her, for she had done what he could not do, and what he had decided he could not stop her from doing. He now wants to be a hero again, for his annoying son, who has vacillated between bratty prepubescent to rebel without a clue to innocent child. I am sorry Rick, bailing on the hero role at a critical time makes you much less heroic, no matter how much you embrace the role later.
So, that leaves us with Daryl. By Daryl's own admission, he was nothing before the fall of the civilized world. He was the brother of criminal methhead who was raised to be nothing but a drain on society. However, as Beth told him before they torched the shack that represented his past and her desire to give up, it does not matter what he was before; it is what he is now that matters, and that is all that matters. A hero.
Daryl may not be a leader of men, but he is a hero. He does not want to be because by being heroic, he becomes more than he ever thought he was destined to become, something more than a drain on whatever society provided the fringe that "his kind" hung on to. Despite his reluctance, however, he had to be a hero. He puts others before himself. Not the way Rick tries to do, but in a truly sincere, unselfish way. From the first time the redneck biker pulled on the leather vest adorned with a guardian angel's wings, he was the hero of the group, no matter how far away from that distinction he attempted to ride. He rode for supplies when that is what they needed, not because baby formula would keep his daughter alive, but because it would keep someone else's little one alive. He searched for a lost girl, not because doing so would earn him favor or make his life easier, but because she was all another human being had left to live for, and he had to do what he could. He took a seat on the leadership counsel, not because he wanted to lead, but because he knew that counsel would have to make difficult decisions, decisions Rick would not be strong enough to make, and he was the guy who could tell it like it was, and everyone would know the reasons were sound and true.
Even taking Beth to swig her first buzz-inducing taste of moonshine was somewhat heroic. She needed to go through some relatively normal rite of passage in a world where nothing normal seemed to exist. He allowed her to do that in a protected environment. At the same time, he needed to allow her into his sphere, to let her inside his circle, where she could trust him and he could allow her to do do that. He needed a moment of vulnerability, even though he could not admit it to anyone, which would allow him to deal with the guilt he had placed upon himself. That's what heroes do. They put the pressure to be heroes on themselves, even when is unfair to do so, and then they find a way to be a hero. Sometimes heroes need a hug. And to burn stuff. And then flip it off. In doing so, he accepted the fact that he was more in the world than he was ever expected to be, and that he could flip the bird at his loser self from that time so long ago. It did not matter what he was before. It only mattered what he had become. And he had become a hero.
Daryl is a literary hero, and his heroes journey is progressing. Our literary heroes serve as examples to those of us who live in the more mundane realities that we call our real world. Daryl, no matter how reluctantly, is such an example, just as Beowulf and Gawain before him.
There are some truly horribly written and acted television shows and movies. However, when someone gets it right, it is as powerful as what Hemingway, Dickens, Shakespeare, and Twain put to the page. Good literature, no matter what the medium, is neat.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
My Weekend Made, or "I Proudly Steal Stuff"
Tonight, I worked my way through the first blog entries of my honors sophomore students. Some were truly interesting, and others were enlightening. A few were space fillers, as the authors attempted to find their footing and get back into the swing of school, into the habit of writing on a regular basis. I gave them a bit of a break this time. I know the feeling, but developing the habit of writing is like any other habit. To write well, one must write well, and do so on a regular basis. It reminds me of the wise words of one Jerry Marsh, a man who taught me many valuable lessons, inside and outside of the classroom. One summer during strength and conditioning, we talked about how some athletes saw squats as the key to increasing their speed. We squatted, and it does have a huge effect on explosiveness, power, and speed. However, some athletes were using squats and other lifts as replacements for work on the track or running hills. Mr. Marsh shared a little nugget with me that is so simple it is profound: "To run fast, you have to run fast." It is true. Writing is the same way. To write well one must write, and write well.
So I have a little empathy for the young people who are now embarking on the odyssey of writing a weekly blog. Most started this process last year with Mr. Bauer, and I have borrowed his activity and carried it on this year with those same students. We upped the word expectations (to the chagrin of the students in my classes), and I eliminated their "freebie week" which allowed them to skip a week and not post a blog. I told them that as freshmen, that week was appropriate, but as they have matured, the expectations have as well. They are a bright group, and they will get into the swing. I look forward to reading the offerings, as they will allow me to get yet another view into the minds and hearts of my students. I know that some of you are questioning the wisdom of actually trying to peer into the mind of a sophomore, but I need the excitement such an endeavor offers.
So, the students began, or reinitiated the blogging process after four months off. One student has already posted her second entry, and I found myself energized and smiling after reading it. I won't identify her by name, but she is presenting herself as a bright and insightful young person. She selected her reaction to one of our class assignments as the topic for her second blog. Last week, we read a short story that played upon the themes of rites of passage. I was discussing the story with a colleague, fellow teacher and blogger Samantha Neill, and she was quite passionate about the fact that this story allows us to "do something more" regarding personal principles and personal beliefs. Because I am a teacher and want to do the best for my students, I will steal just about any idea, make it somewhat my own, and use it in my classes. Mrs. Neill brought up the Personal Code that is an important part of our senior curriculum. We wondered if there was some way to "sophomorize" that concept and use it in our classes. I love the idea of introducing some of the important reflective writing that our seniors do, such as the personal metaphor and personal code, at lower levels and then reaching back to them once the kids reach their senior year. It allows them to see how much they have grown as people and examine their writing and thinking in a more mature light.
So, honors sophomores were asked to write belief statements in several areas of their lives, and to then write a single action step for each of those beliefs statements. Finally, they combined the two statements in each area into one sentence, displaying the link between the belief and the action that must be taken to fulfill or display that belief. Many students found the assignment extremely difficult. I told them that this might be the case, and that I welcomed that. It it was a struggle, it meant they were actually thinking about the statement, and that could be difficult. The blogger of which I spoke made my weekend. Below is a small section from her post:
"I liked this assignment a lot because I got to know myself better. I thought about my beliefs, and wrote them down on paper. This makes me more liable to pay attention to my thoughts, words, and actions, so that they correspond to my beliefs. If I had to summarize the point of the assignment, I would say that it was to help us figure out who we want to be, and how we plan to get there."
This young lady did a fairly good job of summarizing one of the objective of our assignment. She went on to state that putting her beliefs down does not mean they may not change in 2, 5, or 10 years, but they are the beliefs that she has now, and that she must consider her actions and whether or not they correspond to those beliefs. She also stated that the assignment was difficult because of what it asked the students to do, and that that is what made it a rewarding activity.
Why did this make my weekend? She was thinking, she was writing, she was writing about her thinking, she was thinking about her writing, and she was writing about the thinking she had done about the writing. That is neat. When a lesson actually works, and a student "gets it" and goes beyond, it is a special feeling. I tell my students that so much of what we do in class is not academic. It is not about the classroom and grades. It is about life. Thinking is a major part of that, or at least it should be.
So, thank you Andrew Bauer, Samantha Neill, and John Knapp for the ideas, which I unashamedly admit to stealing. Shoot, I steal from Greg Froese, Kiley Porter, Laurian Williams, Holly Kimble, Clay Manes, Jerry Marsh, Vicki Jewell, and many others as well. I have not yet boldly stolen from my Neighbor Amber, but I plan to do so. I am confident that many an idea will worm its way through my classroom "wall" and inspire me.
And on that happy note, I leave you. I have a class of blogs yet to read. I am looking forward to it. These kids are neat.
*I linked blogs of several of my friends and colleagues in the text above. Read them.
So I have a little empathy for the young people who are now embarking on the odyssey of writing a weekly blog. Most started this process last year with Mr. Bauer, and I have borrowed his activity and carried it on this year with those same students. We upped the word expectations (to the chagrin of the students in my classes), and I eliminated their "freebie week" which allowed them to skip a week and not post a blog. I told them that as freshmen, that week was appropriate, but as they have matured, the expectations have as well. They are a bright group, and they will get into the swing. I look forward to reading the offerings, as they will allow me to get yet another view into the minds and hearts of my students. I know that some of you are questioning the wisdom of actually trying to peer into the mind of a sophomore, but I need the excitement such an endeavor offers.
So, the students began, or reinitiated the blogging process after four months off. One student has already posted her second entry, and I found myself energized and smiling after reading it. I won't identify her by name, but she is presenting herself as a bright and insightful young person. She selected her reaction to one of our class assignments as the topic for her second blog. Last week, we read a short story that played upon the themes of rites of passage. I was discussing the story with a colleague, fellow teacher and blogger Samantha Neill, and she was quite passionate about the fact that this story allows us to "do something more" regarding personal principles and personal beliefs. Because I am a teacher and want to do the best for my students, I will steal just about any idea, make it somewhat my own, and use it in my classes. Mrs. Neill brought up the Personal Code that is an important part of our senior curriculum. We wondered if there was some way to "sophomorize" that concept and use it in our classes. I love the idea of introducing some of the important reflective writing that our seniors do, such as the personal metaphor and personal code, at lower levels and then reaching back to them once the kids reach their senior year. It allows them to see how much they have grown as people and examine their writing and thinking in a more mature light.
So, honors sophomores were asked to write belief statements in several areas of their lives, and to then write a single action step for each of those beliefs statements. Finally, they combined the two statements in each area into one sentence, displaying the link between the belief and the action that must be taken to fulfill or display that belief. Many students found the assignment extremely difficult. I told them that this might be the case, and that I welcomed that. It it was a struggle, it meant they were actually thinking about the statement, and that could be difficult. The blogger of which I spoke made my weekend. Below is a small section from her post:
"I liked this assignment a lot because I got to know myself better. I thought about my beliefs, and wrote them down on paper. This makes me more liable to pay attention to my thoughts, words, and actions, so that they correspond to my beliefs. If I had to summarize the point of the assignment, I would say that it was to help us figure out who we want to be, and how we plan to get there."
Why did this make my weekend? She was thinking, she was writing, she was writing about her thinking, she was thinking about her writing, and she was writing about the thinking she had done about the writing. That is neat. When a lesson actually works, and a student "gets it" and goes beyond, it is a special feeling. I tell my students that so much of what we do in class is not academic. It is not about the classroom and grades. It is about life. Thinking is a major part of that, or at least it should be.
So, thank you Andrew Bauer, Samantha Neill, and John Knapp for the ideas, which I unashamedly admit to stealing. Shoot, I steal from Greg Froese, Kiley Porter, Laurian Williams, Holly Kimble, Clay Manes, Jerry Marsh, Vicki Jewell, and many others as well. I have not yet boldly stolen from my Neighbor Amber, but I plan to do so. I am confident that many an idea will worm its way through my classroom "wall" and inspire me.
And on that happy note, I leave you. I have a class of blogs yet to read. I am looking forward to it. These kids are neat.
*I linked blogs of several of my friends and colleagues in the text above. Read them.
Monday, September 15, 2014
Why? (CR)
Last Friday, I gave my students a chance to ask me a question. It was the second day of school, and I had taken the introduction and orientation on the first day. I thought it was only right at that point to give the students an opportunity to dig a little deeper if they chose to do so, and in the directions that they felt would be interesting. I was surprised how few questions actually were scrawled on the board. There were the expected, such as the seniors who wrote, "What about Senior Projects?" That was practical, and we discussed the general plan for the Buhler tradition that has developed into a year-long quest through research and exploration. There were the slightly brave, such as the youth who messily penned the query "What happened to your finger?" I always look for that courageous soul who is willing to risk it so early in the year. I broke out the classic tale of a young derelict severing his digit during a botched pilfering of split-level home. It was neat. During one class period, however, a single word appeared on the board, and those three letters could quite possibly sum up the essence of meaningful education.
The question written on the board?
"Why?"
No qualifier. No elaboration. No specifics. Simply "Why?"
This three letter word made my day. "Why" is my favorite question, if I have to choose just one question as my favorite. History, or at least legend, tells us that Socrates based his methods of teach the youth of ancient Greece on "why". Even Bill and Ted were able to grasp the significance of that. In fact, "why" was so powerful, it led to Socrates being labeled a source of corruption and a threat to the establishment. It leads to contemplation and to exploration. It moves the mind.
I truly love when students begin to ask that question as they read, and it has led to amazing discussions and rabbit trails. Knowing that Juliet seemed to fall in love with the rival youth Romeo is simple. However, asking why she was so quick to fall in love with the young man, shortly after telling her mother and her nurse that marriage was an "honor not dreamed of", leads to greater consideration. Mulling that question over and then offering possibly explanations can reveal much about the student responding as well. If a student immediately recognizes the fact that Juliet sees an example of passionless marriage in the union of her parents, and goes further to see Juliet's possible motivation for a quick twirl into wedded bliss as evidence that she wants to find a mate who lights the fires of passion within her, as opposed to the cold, business-like arrangement of her parents and the potential union to the much older Paris, that student is displaying a grasp of the world a bit more mature than the traditional freshman, as well as an insight into how some households do not live up to the Norman Rockwell image we have been led to believe exists in most American homes. Pondering "Why?" in regards to the darkness found in Poe's twisted writings leads to an examination of a tortured life, a life that some of our students can relate to, and perhaps find solace in the fact that another soul experienced hardship and turned to the pen in order to exorcise those demons. Peering deeper into the "why" behind the treatment the older brother inflicts upon an adoring Doodle in "The Scarlet Ibis" can reveal not only a student's understanding of the brother dynamic in a family but also the tenuous nature of love.
"Why" is a powerful tool. I have touched on but a sliver of the light that the word can shed on our reading, our thoughts, and our world. We were told at the beginning of the year to find our "Why" in regards to teaching. One of the kids later in the day asked that question too. I won't get into that topic just yet; that discussion deserves its own space. I wrote earlier on the "why" behind writing. I will probably revisit that at some point as well. Those are both good whys to look at more closely from time to time. Why? Well, that is the question, is it not?
The question written on the board?
"Why?"
No qualifier. No elaboration. No specifics. Simply "Why?"
This three letter word made my day. "Why" is my favorite question, if I have to choose just one question as my favorite. History, or at least legend, tells us that Socrates based his methods of teach the youth of ancient Greece on "why". Even Bill and Ted were able to grasp the significance of that. In fact, "why" was so powerful, it led to Socrates being labeled a source of corruption and a threat to the establishment. It leads to contemplation and to exploration. It moves the mind.
I truly love when students begin to ask that question as they read, and it has led to amazing discussions and rabbit trails. Knowing that Juliet seemed to fall in love with the rival youth Romeo is simple. However, asking why she was so quick to fall in love with the young man, shortly after telling her mother and her nurse that marriage was an "honor not dreamed of", leads to greater consideration. Mulling that question over and then offering possibly explanations can reveal much about the student responding as well. If a student immediately recognizes the fact that Juliet sees an example of passionless marriage in the union of her parents, and goes further to see Juliet's possible motivation for a quick twirl into wedded bliss as evidence that she wants to find a mate who lights the fires of passion within her, as opposed to the cold, business-like arrangement of her parents and the potential union to the much older Paris, that student is displaying a grasp of the world a bit more mature than the traditional freshman, as well as an insight into how some households do not live up to the Norman Rockwell image we have been led to believe exists in most American homes. Pondering "Why?" in regards to the darkness found in Poe's twisted writings leads to an examination of a tortured life, a life that some of our students can relate to, and perhaps find solace in the fact that another soul experienced hardship and turned to the pen in order to exorcise those demons. Peering deeper into the "why" behind the treatment the older brother inflicts upon an adoring Doodle in "The Scarlet Ibis" can reveal not only a student's understanding of the brother dynamic in a family but also the tenuous nature of love.
"Why" is a powerful tool. I have touched on but a sliver of the light that the word can shed on our reading, our thoughts, and our world. We were told at the beginning of the year to find our "Why" in regards to teaching. One of the kids later in the day asked that question too. I won't get into that topic just yet; that discussion deserves its own space. I wrote earlier on the "why" behind writing. I will probably revisit that at some point as well. Those are both good whys to look at more closely from time to time. Why? Well, that is the question, is it not?
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Go Away, or I Shall Blog You a Second Time..."
Just a few random ramblings on a Sunday night, as I try to wind down from preparation for Mulvane, our week 2 opponent. I find that a difficult task, especially on Sundays such as this. I even typed up my lesson plans in Buhlerdocs, using full sentences and everything, as opposed to the usual cryptic code that outlines my purposes and approaches for the week.
Here it goes...
Losing is not a pleasurable experience.
Here it goes...
Losing is not a pleasurable experience.
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Sometimes, my children frighten me. Not in freaky Children of the Corn way, but in a good way. This evening, when I returned home from meetings, my wife told me that while our son was "helping" her make cookies (which consisted of agreeing to help her, and then telling her he would just to everything himself), Dylan used the word counterintuitive. In conversation, In a sentence, Without hesitation. Correctly.
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Sometimes, I frighten myself, and not for the good reasons like my elevated vocabulary or startling self-awareness. No, sometimes the verbal excrement that spills from my mouth is ridiculous. It seems that at certain times, for no apparent reason, I channel the voice of a 12-year old boy from the 1980s. I realized that when my response to Dylan's question "What's up with the brownies?" was an immediate "What's up with your face?" Seriously? Was "Your mom's a brownie" too mature for the situation? I will admit, with undeniable shame, that those moments happen far to often for an individual of my age, education, and supposed intelligence.
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If you place a group of three or four educated men in a room with three or four educated women and turn on Monty Python's Quest for the Holy Grail, most of the men will soon begin spouting lines from the film, often at times minutes or even hours away in the actual showing of the film, and most of the women will chuckle and spend the majority of the movie glancing at the men with a look somewhere between mild befuddlement and complete distain. Or they will enjoy themselves by laughing at how a group of grown men can find political satire and clomping coconuts equally humorous. "Must be the King..."
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I know this is short, but I must end now. You're welcome.
I will be posting as regularly as possible in the near future, as I have told my honors sophomores that I too will be held to the every Wednesday due date for our weekly blogs. I have a feeling they will call me out if I fail to meet my commitment. It would be horrible to fail my own class.
And that's all I have to say about that.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Shakespeare, Dead Poets, Eminem, SOA, and TWD.
I use a lesson in class titled "Shakespeare is Hip-Hop". The speaker, Akala, is a young MC in London. In the video I use in the lesson, he is speaking to a group of scholars and gives them an informal quiz in which the audience members are asked to identify specific lines as having been penned by the Bard or by a modern rapper. It is surprising how difficult it is identify the source of the literarily crafted ideas when the lines expressing those ideas are all that is presented, free from music or stage.
I feel this illustrates that sometimes understanding, or perhaps the weight we give that understanding, is influenced greatly by preconceptions based on the assumed value of the source or presenter. This fact leads us to give more credence to an expression of an idea by one source than we grant to another, regardless of the validity of the idea itself. For example, in a famous scene from the film Dead Poets Society, the character of John Keating, brought to life by the recently passed Robin Williams, the purpose of language is explained, simply and concisely: to woo women.
I love the film, and I love this scene, among many others. I have yet to argue that this concept, this idea of why we attempt to use language masterfully, is in any way vulgar or disgusting. Take another example that boils down the idea in much the same way, but that has not yet been adopted at a motivational tool in English classrooms, although it might be more effective with adolescent males:
"I met a girl at a party and she started to flirt.
I told her some rhymes and she pulled up her skirt." (Horovitz, et al)
Ok, it may not be Shakespeare or Fitzgerald, but is the sentiment not the same as the one presented by the character of Mr. Keating, the one that produced knowing nods and chuckles from audiences? Why is the same reverence not paid to the lines from none other than The Beastie Boys? Ok, this example is a bit extreme, and it is clear that the idea is expressed much more appropriately for a classroom setting or academic discussion. However, I believe this is a prime opportunity to teach our young people about register and diction. Don't just toss it away without consideration. Instead, could we not examine if the expression is effective, and when such an expression might actually be appropriate and when it might not be. In other words, as the kids say, "Valid idea or nah?"
I am in no way saying that source or context should not affect how we read or how we examine what we read. On the contrary; I believe the source and therefore the context of a piece must influence our approach and response to a work. Read a little, just a little bit plucked from the middle, of "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" by Jonathan Edwards. Now, pull a bit, just little snippet plucked from the middle, from a venom-filled spouting from a member of the Westboro Baptist Church. Taken out of context and in limited extent, these two bits may seem to parallel one another. It might be difficult to appreciate the language and sentiment expressed in Edward's sermon if taken out of the whole and without considering who wrote it and when. It would also be extremely unfair.
However, we should not immediately discount any idea or thought simply because it is uttered in a particular context by a certain individual. We have to examine the idea, and that examination should allow one to disregard the idea on its own merit.
Let's take this in another direction. One of my favorite television shows is Sons of Anarchy. I am also a fan of The Living Dead. It would be extremely easy for an individual to off-handedly disregard either of these shows as mindless viewing that holds little or no value. One is on FX for Pete's sake! Sons is about a motorcycle club in California. What, besides explosions, violence, and sex does that show have to offer? TLD is in the zombie genre, based off of a graphic novel, which is just a fancy name for a comic book, right? So many strikes against that one as a worthwhile use of time, unless you want to be braindead.
Yep, I did that.
To immediately toss away those offerings as worthless on a literary level simply because of the genre, producers, or network is not only unfair, it is a wasted learning opportunity. Sons follows a distinct Shakespearean arc, drawing inspiration from Hamlet and MacBeth. Literary allusions and symbolism abound. As part of one storyline, a character is dealing with a crisis of identity and loyalty. As the character grabs a chain from the bed of his truck and moves through the shadows, a song began to play in the background. The song, low and morose, caused me to jolt my chair. "Strange Fruit" is a poem, or a song, about the bodies of black men, lynched and burned, swinging from the branches of polar trees. A sense of dread knotted my gut as Juice, the character, threw the chain over a branch. He had never known who his father was until a sheriff handed him a folder containing the damning information that his father was in fact African-American. The club had never had a black member, and Juice could never live with out the club. Learning and then hiding his origins violated a loyalty code to the club, despite the fact that he was completely unaware of such on infraction, and would devastate him and shake the club. I will not ruin the ending of the episode for you, but that scene is evidence of the depth of the show's writing and production. The lead writer of the show, Kurt Sutter, was also a major writer for a show titled The Shield. I loved that show too. The protagonist of that series was a classic tragic hero. He struggled with a tragic flaw, and that flaw would lead to his inevitable downfall, an end which he could never escape.
The Living Dead is a classic tale of the hero's journey, with examples of archetype after archetype. The show is not even really about zombies. It is about survival, interdependence, love, humanity, and growth as human beings. Zombies are just the backdrop that allows the story to be told. A number of quality discussions have sprung from the question, "Did you see The Walking Dead last night?" Kids amaze me with the depth of examination they will undertake with a character, and then transfer that examination to the literature that we are studying at the time. It is neat.
We must remember that there is a flip side to all of this. Just as we must never blindly disregard offerings without proper examination, we should also not immediately accept an offering as top quality and indisputable because of where or who it comes from.
Unless you are reading something I have written, of course. Then, one should accept every word as gospel truth and assume that each and every tidbit could stand alone as a golden nugget of greatness.
Horovitz, Adam, Adam Yauch, and Mike D. New Style. Beastie Boys. Rick Rubin and Mike D, 1986. CD.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Positive World Chagers
We officially started school, or at least preparations for school, this week. (Now, now, all of you who have been in school for two weeks and are screaming at me because our students do not start for another week and a half, don't hate the player; hate the game.) We have been discussing on our vision, our desire to help our students become positive world changers. I am excited for the year. Football is in full swing as we near the end of the first week of two-a-days, and despite the heat, our young men have been pushing themselves, sweating, bleeding; they have impressed me with their efforts and their attitudes as we begin the quest to defend the title. On the field and inside the yet unfinished schoolhouse walls, I am blessed to work with some truly fine people, both students and colleagues. Let me repeat: I am blessed.
Positive World Changers. That may seem like a lofty goal. "Just get them readin' and writin' and figurin' right, and that will be enough," some might say. I say you are short-changing our young people if you take that approach. Positive World Changers. When we begin discussing that goal, that vision, we can hold up many fine young people who have taken their experiences at BHS and begun to make an impact on the world. Students who have aided charities in creating educational opportunities and clean water sources in Nepal or who have traveled to Central America to build homes for those in need. These are terrific examples, but I sat here last night and wondered if they were the best examples. I do not want to in any way diminish the extraordinary things those individuals and group achieve; they are amazing and should be celebrated. However, I was pleased to hear a colleague mention today that we need to celebrate those young people who change the world one person, one smile, one encouraging word at a time. Those who impact and influence those around them, those who lead those with wide eyes to be just like them. When I think of positive world changers, I think of those special young men and women who change the world in their way, in the way that best fits them. So many kids have passed through our walls who have made and will continue making those positive world changes.
There is a young man currently completing his training to become a paramedic. My brother is in the profession, and he knows about this young man because of me and because he has watched enough Crusader football to recognize some of the players I talk about. He asks about him when he speaks to the man in charge where this man is training, and he is doing well. While I hope to never see him in his professional role, I can honestly say that if I need emergency assistance, I want his face to be the one I see, or that my family sees. He will be amazing, partly because of his intelligence and dedication, more because of his character and caring. He is a family man, and was long before he met the girl he will marry and begin his own family. He is a positive world changer.
There is a young women who impressed me on a daily basis as she grew up from a freshman to a senior and now beyond. Do you know what she did to change the world, top change my world and the worlds of so many of her classmates? She was herself. She was a genuinely happy and sincere young lady who looked at a person when they spoke, unless that person was speaking about her, at which point she would look down, embarrassed to hear someone compliment her. She smiled as much as possible, and her bright outlook was contagious. She once called a bus driver at home one evening because she was concerned about him after there had been an accident in which a teen driver ran into the back of the bus. She helped students in class when they struggled, not to show she was bright, but because she wanted those around her to succeed. Humble, caring, and sincere, combined with intelligent, thoughtful, and compassionate can be a powerful mix. She was and will continue to be a positive world changer.
Sometimes it is even smaller, or seemingly so. Once, a student in my class was struggling emotionally, as sometimes tends to happen. She was supposed to present to my class upon returning from lunch, but as she stood up, she was unable to contain her tears.Something had happened in the cafeteria, and it had hit her quite hard. She left the room, with me a few steps behind. I walked back into the classroom a moment later, and she followed shortly after. Before anyone could speak, a girl from the back of the room boldly said, "Hey, I would really rather go first if I could Mr. Kohls, if she doesn't mind. That would be better for me" As she stood up, she continued, "There a seat at my table if you want to sit here." She then walked to the podium. She changed the world that day in less than 15 seconds. It may not have been a global action, but in that little world that is my classroom, she changed our world by being an example and a light. She was trying to change the world, but she was a positive world changer.
I could keep going with example after example. This year, I am sure I will will be amazed again by the people I am blessed to work with. I only hope I can live up to my end of the bargain to help give them a truly exceptional educational experience, to give them everything I can to aid them as they go from our little world into the wider one, that big, scary one, and do their thing. I am ready to go.
Let's change the world.
Positive World Changers. That may seem like a lofty goal. "Just get them readin' and writin' and figurin' right, and that will be enough," some might say. I say you are short-changing our young people if you take that approach. Positive World Changers. When we begin discussing that goal, that vision, we can hold up many fine young people who have taken their experiences at BHS and begun to make an impact on the world. Students who have aided charities in creating educational opportunities and clean water sources in Nepal or who have traveled to Central America to build homes for those in need. These are terrific examples, but I sat here last night and wondered if they were the best examples. I do not want to in any way diminish the extraordinary things those individuals and group achieve; they are amazing and should be celebrated. However, I was pleased to hear a colleague mention today that we need to celebrate those young people who change the world one person, one smile, one encouraging word at a time. Those who impact and influence those around them, those who lead those with wide eyes to be just like them. When I think of positive world changers, I think of those special young men and women who change the world in their way, in the way that best fits them. So many kids have passed through our walls who have made and will continue making those positive world changes.
There is a young man currently completing his training to become a paramedic. My brother is in the profession, and he knows about this young man because of me and because he has watched enough Crusader football to recognize some of the players I talk about. He asks about him when he speaks to the man in charge where this man is training, and he is doing well. While I hope to never see him in his professional role, I can honestly say that if I need emergency assistance, I want his face to be the one I see, or that my family sees. He will be amazing, partly because of his intelligence and dedication, more because of his character and caring. He is a family man, and was long before he met the girl he will marry and begin his own family. He is a positive world changer.
There is a young women who impressed me on a daily basis as she grew up from a freshman to a senior and now beyond. Do you know what she did to change the world, top change my world and the worlds of so many of her classmates? She was herself. She was a genuinely happy and sincere young lady who looked at a person when they spoke, unless that person was speaking about her, at which point she would look down, embarrassed to hear someone compliment her. She smiled as much as possible, and her bright outlook was contagious. She once called a bus driver at home one evening because she was concerned about him after there had been an accident in which a teen driver ran into the back of the bus. She helped students in class when they struggled, not to show she was bright, but because she wanted those around her to succeed. Humble, caring, and sincere, combined with intelligent, thoughtful, and compassionate can be a powerful mix. She was and will continue to be a positive world changer.
Sometimes it is even smaller, or seemingly so. Once, a student in my class was struggling emotionally, as sometimes tends to happen. She was supposed to present to my class upon returning from lunch, but as she stood up, she was unable to contain her tears.Something had happened in the cafeteria, and it had hit her quite hard. She left the room, with me a few steps behind. I walked back into the classroom a moment later, and she followed shortly after. Before anyone could speak, a girl from the back of the room boldly said, "Hey, I would really rather go first if I could Mr. Kohls, if she doesn't mind. That would be better for me" As she stood up, she continued, "There a seat at my table if you want to sit here." She then walked to the podium. She changed the world that day in less than 15 seconds. It may not have been a global action, but in that little world that is my classroom, she changed our world by being an example and a light. She was trying to change the world, but she was a positive world changer.
I could keep going with example after example. This year, I am sure I will will be amazed again by the people I am blessed to work with. I only hope I can live up to my end of the bargain to help give them a truly exceptional educational experience, to give them everything I can to aid them as they go from our little world into the wider one, that big, scary one, and do their thing. I am ready to go.
Let's change the world.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Demons
Robin Williams committed suicide earlier this week. It is easy to say that the entertainment world, the world in general, lost a talented, brilliant man. We also lost a tortured, troubled soul who leaves behind a family, a deep well full of laughter, and a lot to think about.
I loved watching Robin Williams when I was a high school and college kid. His standup was energetic and frantic. He was goofy and awkward on Mork and Mindy. However, he was not solely a slapstick buffoon whose pratfalls made people chuckle. He was witty and intelligent, and he created characters who made audiences laugh, often through tears. Good Morning, Vietnam! was one of the first movies I ever owned. VHS cassette. I owned the soundtrack on cassette tape as well. The film had a basis in real life. Most people who remember the film know that Williams ad-libbed his way through many scenes, cracking jokes and improvising as he modeled the character of Adrian Cronauer, the Armed Forces Radio DJ whose antics ruffled feathers and raised morale. He was funny. However, the character was so much more than that. He tried to encourage and lift up Edward Garlick, played by Forest Whitaker, because he sees something positive inside the young enlisted man that he doesn't know is there. He befriends a young Vietnamese man, at first because he finds his sister to be incredibly attractive, but later because he feels for this boy who has grown up amid such violence and hardship. He is betrayed and tortured by the fact that his naive approach to his world may have led to a tragic result, and he cannot accept the fact that the betrayal actually occurred. A barrel of laughs, right?
Another film I always found interesting came out in 1991 and was titled The Fisher King. The movie focuses a shock jock who inadvertently encourages a listener to commit a horrific crime. The DJ then spirals into an alcohol-soaked depression and eventually stands on the edge of suicide to end the pain of guilt. That character is not played by Robin Williams. Williams played a homeless man who rescues the DJ from a beating by two punks trying to punish homeless people for "dirtying up" their neighborhood. He appears as a brave knight dressed in filthy, tattered clothes, carrying a trashcan lid shield, and brandishing weapons such as suction cup arrows and baseballs in tubesocks. As he steps in to stop the beating, Williams' character, named Parry, calls in an "army" of homeless heroes who break into an off-key song. It seems kind of strange when written out, but the scene is pretty neat. Did I mention that the character's wife had been killed in the horrific crime prompted by the words of the DJ he saved? Parry is tortured by a frightening vision of a red knight who appears from the foggy subconscious of his mind to steal away any happiness Parry might feel and replace it with pain and regret. It is a story about salvation. Williams is funny at times, awkward and smiling, and the laughter and grins veil the pain and anguish inside. Maybe that was a little more true than anyone realized.
Of course, I have to mention Dead Poet Society. I have used clips from the film in class, and even had students examine Mr. Keating, played by Williams, as a tragic hero of sorts. Once again, the laughter and humor is evident and strong, but it also cocoons anxiety and self-doubt, not only in the students Keating attempts to push to become men, but also in the teacher himself.
I don't know if any of this is interesting to anyone else or not. I guess I just want to tip my hat to a man who made me laugh and forced me to think with portrayal of round and dynamic characters. Awakenings, Patch Adams, Good Will Hunting, Insomnia. Death to Smoochy. The Best of Times. Pull one of them up in Netflicks or from the shelf at Hastings. None of them will be a waste of time.
This week, someone said, "How can someone like him kill himself when he has everything?" That is a common question when someone famous, someone as successful as Williams steps through that tragic door. Just like the brave, tortured man in The Fisher King, everyone has his demons. Sometimes the demons are on the face and obvious, and causes are clear. For others, the demons are deeper, hiding within shadows within, with eyes that burn and frighten us, often at times that should be carefree and joyful. For whatever reason, the demon just cannot allow that to happen. The saddest part of the loss of Robin Williams is that he was very open about the fact that he had demons. The "signs" were not interpretive, like Chris Farley's weight or John Belushi's drinking. He actually said he had issues. We selfishly enjoyed the talent and creativity that sprang from that dark place. We took what we wanted; we let him rant and rave and bounce from topic to topic because it made us giggle. We applauded and pondered and appreciated. Somehow, it was not enough. The demons won this time.
I know at times I question myself and what I am doing. I doubt myself and almost encourage my demons to feed, to strengthen themselves. If that sounds goofy or cheesy, then I apologize, but it is true. And yet, I have everything. I have a beautiful family, more perfect than I could ever deserve. I have interesting, talented, and sincere people around me on a daily basis. I get to do what I love and what gives me a sense of fulfillment and call it 'going to work'. Despite this, demons raise their heads and breath fire now and then. I am blessed to have people around me who extinguish those flames without even realizing it. Uttering a sincere word. Sitting down and sharing a moment. Listening and not even responding. Laughing along with me so I am not the only one. Those things, while often everyday and seemingly insignificant, sometimes are all that I need. Who can know what someone else might find to be that shield or that lifeline he or she needs at a given moment?
So, please, kiss someone a little more warmly today, embrace just little bit longer. Ask how someone is doing, and actually listen to the response. Laugh along and smile when that cheerful girl prattles on, but look into her eyes and see if they sparkle or hold back tears. Who knows? Maybe you will help shed light on some shadow and banish the demon, for a little while at least, and that might be all she needs.
I loved watching Robin Williams when I was a high school and college kid. His standup was energetic and frantic. He was goofy and awkward on Mork and Mindy. However, he was not solely a slapstick buffoon whose pratfalls made people chuckle. He was witty and intelligent, and he created characters who made audiences laugh, often through tears. Good Morning, Vietnam! was one of the first movies I ever owned. VHS cassette. I owned the soundtrack on cassette tape as well. The film had a basis in real life. Most people who remember the film know that Williams ad-libbed his way through many scenes, cracking jokes and improvising as he modeled the character of Adrian Cronauer, the Armed Forces Radio DJ whose antics ruffled feathers and raised morale. He was funny. However, the character was so much more than that. He tried to encourage and lift up Edward Garlick, played by Forest Whitaker, because he sees something positive inside the young enlisted man that he doesn't know is there. He befriends a young Vietnamese man, at first because he finds his sister to be incredibly attractive, but later because he feels for this boy who has grown up amid such violence and hardship. He is betrayed and tortured by the fact that his naive approach to his world may have led to a tragic result, and he cannot accept the fact that the betrayal actually occurred. A barrel of laughs, right?
Another film I always found interesting came out in 1991 and was titled The Fisher King. The movie focuses a shock jock who inadvertently encourages a listener to commit a horrific crime. The DJ then spirals into an alcohol-soaked depression and eventually stands on the edge of suicide to end the pain of guilt. That character is not played by Robin Williams. Williams played a homeless man who rescues the DJ from a beating by two punks trying to punish homeless people for "dirtying up" their neighborhood. He appears as a brave knight dressed in filthy, tattered clothes, carrying a trashcan lid shield, and brandishing weapons such as suction cup arrows and baseballs in tubesocks. As he steps in to stop the beating, Williams' character, named Parry, calls in an "army" of homeless heroes who break into an off-key song. It seems kind of strange when written out, but the scene is pretty neat. Did I mention that the character's wife had been killed in the horrific crime prompted by the words of the DJ he saved? Parry is tortured by a frightening vision of a red knight who appears from the foggy subconscious of his mind to steal away any happiness Parry might feel and replace it with pain and regret. It is a story about salvation. Williams is funny at times, awkward and smiling, and the laughter and grins veil the pain and anguish inside. Maybe that was a little more true than anyone realized.
Of course, I have to mention Dead Poet Society. I have used clips from the film in class, and even had students examine Mr. Keating, played by Williams, as a tragic hero of sorts. Once again, the laughter and humor is evident and strong, but it also cocoons anxiety and self-doubt, not only in the students Keating attempts to push to become men, but also in the teacher himself.
I don't know if any of this is interesting to anyone else or not. I guess I just want to tip my hat to a man who made me laugh and forced me to think with portrayal of round and dynamic characters. Awakenings, Patch Adams, Good Will Hunting, Insomnia. Death to Smoochy. The Best of Times. Pull one of them up in Netflicks or from the shelf at Hastings. None of them will be a waste of time.
This week, someone said, "How can someone like him kill himself when he has everything?" That is a common question when someone famous, someone as successful as Williams steps through that tragic door. Just like the brave, tortured man in The Fisher King, everyone has his demons. Sometimes the demons are on the face and obvious, and causes are clear. For others, the demons are deeper, hiding within shadows within, with eyes that burn and frighten us, often at times that should be carefree and joyful. For whatever reason, the demon just cannot allow that to happen. The saddest part of the loss of Robin Williams is that he was very open about the fact that he had demons. The "signs" were not interpretive, like Chris Farley's weight or John Belushi's drinking. He actually said he had issues. We selfishly enjoyed the talent and creativity that sprang from that dark place. We took what we wanted; we let him rant and rave and bounce from topic to topic because it made us giggle. We applauded and pondered and appreciated. Somehow, it was not enough. The demons won this time.
I know at times I question myself and what I am doing. I doubt myself and almost encourage my demons to feed, to strengthen themselves. If that sounds goofy or cheesy, then I apologize, but it is true. And yet, I have everything. I have a beautiful family, more perfect than I could ever deserve. I have interesting, talented, and sincere people around me on a daily basis. I get to do what I love and what gives me a sense of fulfillment and call it 'going to work'. Despite this, demons raise their heads and breath fire now and then. I am blessed to have people around me who extinguish those flames without even realizing it. Uttering a sincere word. Sitting down and sharing a moment. Listening and not even responding. Laughing along with me so I am not the only one. Those things, while often everyday and seemingly insignificant, sometimes are all that I need. Who can know what someone else might find to be that shield or that lifeline he or she needs at a given moment?
So, please, kiss someone a little more warmly today, embrace just little bit longer. Ask how someone is doing, and actually listen to the response. Laugh along and smile when that cheerful girl prattles on, but look into her eyes and see if they sparkle or hold back tears. Who knows? Maybe you will help shed light on some shadow and banish the demon, for a little while at least, and that might be all she needs.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Proud
I will say, boldly and without reservation, that this post is about my kids, and I am going to brag about them. Deal with it. This is my blog, and I can do what I want. I f you feel differently, write your own blog. No, really. Write one. It is neat.
The other evening, my daughter Emily came downstairs and began searching through the bookshelves in the basement. I asked her what she was looking for, and she told me she was looking for Johnny Got his Gun. She knew I had a copy, and she just wanted to read it. I am proud of Emily for countless reasons, and one of the qualities that makes Emily Emily that I am proud of is a thoughtful, intelligent young woman. She thinks about things. Not with an elitist effort to place herself above others, but with innocent and sincere wonder. She considers her favorite music and ponders why the artists might have written the way they did, about from where the words and emotion might have sprung. She thinks about how people behave, and what might be behind their actions. She examines history and wonders what motivated the players on the world stage. And she reads with that same thoughtful approach. So, when she asked for one of my favorite novels, for no other reason she wanted to read it, was proud. It could not find my copy, and I am hoping I lent it to someone who has been enjoying it, but I do not remember. To rectify the problem, I gave Emily some cash and told her that having a copy of that book on our shelf was a must. Within two hours, she had a copy of Johnny Got his Gun.
Johnny Got his Gun is an amazing novel by the way. Would you like to know what trigger my desire to read it? I really don't care if you answered in the positive or negative; I am going to reveal this monumental piece of information. One word. "One". That is the word. "One". Metallica put out a song titled "One" while I was in high school. It is a dark and somewhat disturbing song. It confused and intrigued me. I discovered that the song was based on a novel titled Johnny Got his Gun. I found a copy of the novel somewhere in Ellsworth High School and read it. I loved it. It was dark and disturbing. It made me think.
The other evening, my daughter Emily came downstairs and began searching through the bookshelves in the basement. I asked her what she was looking for, and she told me she was looking for Johnny Got his Gun. She knew I had a copy, and she just wanted to read it. I am proud of Emily for countless reasons, and one of the qualities that makes Emily Emily that I am proud of is a thoughtful, intelligent young woman. She thinks about things. Not with an elitist effort to place herself above others, but with innocent and sincere wonder. She considers her favorite music and ponders why the artists might have written the way they did, about from where the words and emotion might have sprung. She thinks about how people behave, and what might be behind their actions. She examines history and wonders what motivated the players on the world stage. And she reads with that same thoughtful approach. So, when she asked for one of my favorite novels, for no other reason she wanted to read it, was proud. It could not find my copy, and I am hoping I lent it to someone who has been enjoying it, but I do not remember. To rectify the problem, I gave Emily some cash and told her that having a copy of that book on our shelf was a must. Within two hours, she had a copy of Johnny Got his Gun.
Johnny Got his Gun is an amazing novel by the way. Would you like to know what trigger my desire to read it? I really don't care if you answered in the positive or negative; I am going to reveal this monumental piece of information. One word. "One". That is the word. "One". Metallica put out a song titled "One" while I was in high school. It is a dark and somewhat disturbing song. It confused and intrigued me. I discovered that the song was based on a novel titled Johnny Got his Gun. I found a copy of the novel somewhere in Ellsworth High School and read it. I loved it. It was dark and disturbing. It made me think.
While I am bragging about how proud 'i am of my kids, I have to throw out some kudos to my boy Dylan as well. Last week, I left my wife, son, and daughter for a few days to spend a little time with a family of a different sort as Coach Warner and I headed to the mountains of Colorado with our seniors. It was, as always, a terrific trip that allows us to learn a great deal about the young men who will lead our football brotherhood this fall. At our campsite, phone reception is unreliable, to put it mildly. At one point, my phone rang with my Motley Cru "Home Sweet Home" ringtone, but when I answered, the call broke up and was lost. I texted my wife Heidi, as well as Emily and Dylan, in case something was wrong. Dylan responded that he wanted to make sure everything was ok and that I had made the trip safely. There was also a car parked in front of our house, and he wanted to know if I knew whose car it was and why it was parked there. You see. Dylan was man of the house, and he was taking that role quite seriously. The next day, Emily had gone to out, and she had told her Mom she would return around 5. It seems that at 5:15, Dylan tok it upon himself to call his oder sister and check on her status. He just wanted to be positive that she was safe and sound, since she was late, after all. Dylan is thoughtful, much like his sister. He is also a very serious soul. If he is given a job, he will do it, and he will do it as well as he possibly can. That is just how things should be, at least in his mind. He is 13. I am not saying the kid is perfect, but he is someone to be proud of.
I could rattle on and on about these two fine young people. All I can say is that they have been raised well. Seriously, they have somehow managed to take the good things their mother and I do and insert those seeds within their minds and hearts and nurtured them, while ignoring the failings in us (ok, more in me). They have been blessed with great examples and guides outside our home, from their grandparents to amazing teachers, and they have had the intelligence and discrimination to choose the examples they value well. That is something else I have to be proud of. I have not even scratched the surface of all of the reason I have to be proud.
So there you have it; my kids are amazing, and I am proud of them. How could I not be?
Sunday, August 3, 2014
The Top Five Utterances That I Do Not Want to Hear Again
Inspired by Samantha Neill's blog post, which was inspired by an Andrew Bauer suggestion, which was prompted by a Samantha Neill lamentation about writer's block, which might have been stirred up by guilt ELA team members' cast upon one another regarding blog proficiency, I offer you my own "Top 5" list. Sam was doubly ambitious in her "Top" list post, so you should go read it at Random Thoughts and Then I Found Five Dollars. You should also check out Andrew Bauer's Ya Nerd... and Greg Froese's "This might be off-topic but..." They are all pretty neat. Another team member, John Knapp, has choosen to make his Facebook page his bloggish post of choice, so you might check it out as well. Kiley Porter does not seem to blog in any way, which is incredibly weak, and she will be ridiculed mercilessly if she does not get off the schneid soon. Our newest member, Amber Neighbor, has a brief grace period, but we expect her to dazzle us as well. Mary Devries, BHS French teacher, posts under the title of The Muse Meanders.
Anyway, when I read one of those other writer's musings, they tend to make me think, and they inspire me to write more. So, I apologize for often borrowing my topics form those sources, and I thank those colleagues and friends for giving me ideas. So, here are my "Top Five Utterances That I Do Not Want to Hear Again".
I cannot believe the summer is almost/already over.
Really? You cannot believe the summer is almost over. You no longer recognize or comprehend the concept that time passes, and as a society, we mark that progress on a device known as a calendar, one of which can be found on your smartphone, and that said calendar marks the upcoming conclusion of the season known as "summer"?
I understand hyperbole and that this statement falls into that category, even if those who use it may not recognize it. I just wish people would stop saying it. Every year, summer draws to a close, and while most of us (teachers) have been working in some way all summer, we look to the turn of the page that reveals the new school year. And each year, around the third week of July, people will begin uttering this annoying statement, as if this year is somehow different from those in the past. Actually, this summer has been different from my past twenty or so summers because we had a summer that began, in principle, in early May, and truly will not wrap up until mid-August,, which should make the sunset of summer even more believable. Despite this, someone will walk up to whatever group of colleagues I am standing with on the first day of staff orientation, sipping the teacher's elixir of power, strong coffee, and he will sigh and say, "Wow, can you believe we are back already? I can't believe summer is already over." I will not lose my cool at that point and punch him in the face. I will save that for the seemingly inevitable following statement that begins with "I seen..."
I seen...
I see. I saw. I have seen. Perhaps I had seen or I will have seen.
Do I need to go any further? This one I do not understand, honestly. It cannot even be blamed on laziness; see and saw are each shorter and require less effort to say. So, can we make the effort to be lazy enough to use the correct form of see and end the madness?
The Greatest Thing Since Sliced BreadI see. I saw. I have seen. Perhaps I had seen or I will have seen.
Do I need to go any further? This one I do not understand, honestly. It cannot even be blamed on laziness; see and saw are each shorter and require less effort to say. So, can we make the effort to be lazy enough to use the correct form of see and end the madness?
This phrase truly does not bother me much, but Jimmy Fallon, in his recent "Thank You Notes" informed us all that sliced bread came out the same year as the first television. How many of you have spent hours this week staring at a loaf of store-bought bread? Besides that, is that new Lays Potato Chip flavor really that great?
No offense, but...
I am guilty of this utterance. I hope to never use it again. Let's be honest here: if someone says "No offense, but..." something offensive is sure to follow. If it needs to be said, let's just say it. No qualifier, no cliched preface, no half-hearted noneffort to soften the blow. If it cannot be said without that lead in, don't say it.
YOLO
Stop. Just stop.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Pause on the Patio
I sat on the patio last night and enjoyed that slice of time that rests between day and night, a time, much like dawn, that poets find inspiring and enlightening. I understand why. The only question I have is why more poets have not haled from our fine state of Kansas and filled volume after volume with verse sprung from those daily respites alone, for I honestly believe there is no better place to enjoy those meaningful moments than right here, nestled securely in the heart of this land. As I sat, my phone rang, and the voice on the other end, which belonged to Steve Warner, asked if I could see the sunset from my chair on the west side of my house; he too had been struck by the sunset and the scene it painted.
"So what?" you may ask, especially if you are one of those poor souls who has decided that our fortunate geographic niche in the universe is simply too boring, or too "Kansas" to be amazing. I offer for you exhibit A, proof positive that this land of the brave is in fact anything but boring. Just because life may move at a slightly slower pace here than on the coasts or even in those Midwestern cities does not mean nature is less enticing here. We simply have to allow that pace to take hold and work its magic. Sit on your back porch, or your front steps, or take a walk as the sun glides behind the western horizon. As the light fades, life buzzes, if you listen and look. It may not slap you in the face like a neon light or rush of isolated crowds on their ways to late dinners, but it hums around you and wants to be heard. Lightning bugs zip from below cottonwood branches, and the leaves that adorn those branches turn to listen to the whisper of a breeze. Somehow here, voices carry, and you hear the lady a block over laugh at whatever it is that makes her laugh as she stands in the drive of her neighbor, pausing to see how the week went as she drops off extra tomatoes from her garden. It is not all nature and naturalism, for you also hear the gravelly scrape as tires skid across pavement. Usually those tires come in pairs; kids still ride bikes here, at least on their own block, and if the tires propel a four-wheeled vehicle, the driver will most likely raise a hand from the steering wheel as he passes, often accompanied by a head nod, as if to say, "I don't know your name, but you live around here, so it's the least I can do."
Still not convinced? Consider this: variety is the spice of life. Do you want variety? You have it here. Last week I stepped onto my patio a little later, around 10:30 so, and the neighborhood had in fact grown much quieter. It was 91 degrees. That is warm, especially since the sun had been down for some time. Last night, while not chilly, was perfectly pleasant, and I even stoked a fire in my recently acquired chiminea, not because it was uncomfortable, but because I just wanted to, and there is something about a flickering flame that adds a sense of serenity to an evening as the sun says, "So long." Tonight, it might be raining, a pleasant shower that falls peacefully and rolls from the roof, or it might storm and rattle the windows with thunder sent down by electric flashes that illuminate the entire world for an instant and reveal ropes of water that turn gutters into gushers and streets into canals. Who knows? Some of you who have lived here for a while might be saying, "It might do all of those, as a front rolls through dropping the temperature from blazing to brisk in an instant and rolling in waves of thin clouds, clear skies, and rolling thunderheads, all within an hour or two.
It is Saturday. and while you may have missed a morning that offered a cool and calm sunrise, take the time today to allow your life to fall into sync with the world around you. You don't have to wax poetic if that is not your style, but you will most likely breathe somewhat more deeply, not with that frustrated sigh of a harried week, but with satisfaction that this really is a place worth enjoying, even if just for a moment.
That is what I will do. Have a great weekend.
"So what?" you may ask, especially if you are one of those poor souls who has decided that our fortunate geographic niche in the universe is simply too boring, or too "Kansas" to be amazing. I offer for you exhibit A, proof positive that this land of the brave is in fact anything but boring. Just because life may move at a slightly slower pace here than on the coasts or even in those Midwestern cities does not mean nature is less enticing here. We simply have to allow that pace to take hold and work its magic. Sit on your back porch, or your front steps, or take a walk as the sun glides behind the western horizon. As the light fades, life buzzes, if you listen and look. It may not slap you in the face like a neon light or rush of isolated crowds on their ways to late dinners, but it hums around you and wants to be heard. Lightning bugs zip from below cottonwood branches, and the leaves that adorn those branches turn to listen to the whisper of a breeze. Somehow here, voices carry, and you hear the lady a block over laugh at whatever it is that makes her laugh as she stands in the drive of her neighbor, pausing to see how the week went as she drops off extra tomatoes from her garden. It is not all nature and naturalism, for you also hear the gravelly scrape as tires skid across pavement. Usually those tires come in pairs; kids still ride bikes here, at least on their own block, and if the tires propel a four-wheeled vehicle, the driver will most likely raise a hand from the steering wheel as he passes, often accompanied by a head nod, as if to say, "I don't know your name, but you live around here, so it's the least I can do."
Still not convinced? Consider this: variety is the spice of life. Do you want variety? You have it here. Last week I stepped onto my patio a little later, around 10:30 so, and the neighborhood had in fact grown much quieter. It was 91 degrees. That is warm, especially since the sun had been down for some time. Last night, while not chilly, was perfectly pleasant, and I even stoked a fire in my recently acquired chiminea, not because it was uncomfortable, but because I just wanted to, and there is something about a flickering flame that adds a sense of serenity to an evening as the sun says, "So long." Tonight, it might be raining, a pleasant shower that falls peacefully and rolls from the roof, or it might storm and rattle the windows with thunder sent down by electric flashes that illuminate the entire world for an instant and reveal ropes of water that turn gutters into gushers and streets into canals. Who knows? Some of you who have lived here for a while might be saying, "It might do all of those, as a front rolls through dropping the temperature from blazing to brisk in an instant and rolling in waves of thin clouds, clear skies, and rolling thunderheads, all within an hour or two.
It is Saturday. and while you may have missed a morning that offered a cool and calm sunrise, take the time today to allow your life to fall into sync with the world around you. You don't have to wax poetic if that is not your style, but you will most likely breathe somewhat more deeply, not with that frustrated sigh of a harried week, but with satisfaction that this really is a place worth enjoying, even if just for a moment.
That is what I will do. Have a great weekend.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Just Some Random Thoughts (It Started That Way Anyway)
I realized I had not written in a while, and since this whole blog adventure was undertaken, in part anyway, to force me to write more often, I felt I had to put something down. Actually, I did not feel I had to put something down, I wanted to put something down. I truly do enjoy writing, and it serves a plethora of purposes for me. Sometimes I write to find catharsis, sometimes I write to argue a point, sometimes I write purely to communicate a thought, and sometimes I write to develop a thought in the first place. Therefore, it is always good for me to write. However, I do not have many deep, meaningful thoughts that I feel I must communicate, argue, or develop at this point, so I have had trouble pinpointing a blog-worthy focus. Therefore, I will not have one. Instead, you will have the misfortune of stumbling through a random collection thoughts that are groggily stirring in my brain on this fine Saturday morning.
---
My Dad turned 70 last weekend. That does make one pause when your parents start hitting some of those milestone numbers, doesn't it? My brother Darrel (but not my other brother Darrel), my sister Kim, and I made a pilgrimage to Ellsworth to play golf with Dad on Tuesday. The golf outing, also known as the Annual Delmar Kohls Invitational Event, has become an annual summer tradition in which my siblings and I have the pleasure of playing a round of golf together with our father. It is always an adventure, and definitely is worth the time. Somehow, we manage to select the hottest day of the summer each year, and we stayed true to that pattern this year. Of course, we could not have gone a week early, when highs were in the low 70s. Oh no, even though Darrel was in the process of loading his vehicle and heading north last week because he forgot what week it was. Regardless of the heat, it was a great afternoon. At one point, Dad commented on how certain people ignore the ropes the greenskeeper has put up around one of the tee boxes to allow more grass to take hold. "The seniors tee off from the yellows, and they like to drive right up to the box." It took me a moment to process the statement, and then it hit me. "Dad, your just turned 70. I like how you say the seniors are still somebody else." He then told me that out there, seniors means 80. At 85 you can tee off from the reds. So many people say that age is just a number, but I am really beginning to buy into that concept. Dad has retired twice already, once form his life-long profession as a carpenter, and then as an assistant manager at the lumberyard. Of course, since his is retired, his has now taken on painting jobs. Damn Dad, sit down for a minute.
(On that note, Mom retired after 25 years in the offices of B&B Plumbing so she could clean used golfballs, sell drinks, and give duffers a hard time at the Ellsworth Municipal Golf Course club house. Hey, it's just part time.)
---
I know this makes a little mood shift here, but I told you this was random. The buzz lately on sports talk radio and ESPN has been about the Ray Rice, the running back for the Baltimore Ravens. Ray Rice was charged with third degree assault after an incident in which he admits to knocking his then-fiancee unconscious while riding in an elevator (Erb). The assault itself created quite a stir, as one would expect. However, the punishment handed down by the NFL has raised even more of a fervor. And this uproar is the only thing right about the entire incident. Rice is a great running back. He is a Superbowl champion. Ironically, he is a face used by the NFL to promote the sport to female fans. He's hit among the ladies. Literally. I know; that is tasteless, nut not nearly as tasteless as the apparent lack of respect the commissioner has for women. I love the NFL. I am a Chiefs fan, I have framed collectors cards of Derrick Thomas, Walter Payton, and Brian Urlacher on the walls of my basement. I will not condemn the league as a whole. The NFL is a microcosm of the society in which we live. There are good guys who take care of their families, who perform great plays on the field and admirable acts in their communities. There are also jerks. Some are harmless and ignorant, but only embarrass themselves from time to time with their behavior, and usually their mouths and tweets.. Others are criminals who have blood on their hands. Some repent and clean themselves up, while others dig holes so deep they should never escape them. It is a violent sport, and there are violent men in the arena. It is expected. However, even for NFL athletes, there are boundaries. In recent years, a players have been suspended for multiple games and fined amounts many times more than my annual salary for testing positive for marijuana. These penalties were justified and appropriate. Mike Vick was suspended a quarter of a season after leaving the NFL for two full years following conviction for his involvement in a dog fighting (Erb). Many groups cried foul when Vick was allowed back in the league after serving his time for his wrong-doings. It seems that arranging dog fights and cruelty to animals is wrong. It would seem, that in 2014, beating a woman unconscious is not quite as dark a deed. At least not in the official eyes of the league office. Rice admitted to the act and has entered a deal which allows him to avoid jail time by entering a diversion and treatment program. I am glad he is getting help. Any man, let a lone a man as muscled and strong as Rice, who strikes a woman, let alone strikes her so violently that it knocks her unconscious, is less than a man, regardless of his testosterone levels, and he needs help. However, the NFL commissioner's penalty of around $58,000 and two games (repeat TWO games) for violating the NFL's player conduct policy and placing the NFL in a poor light is not quite as admirable. It is embarrassing for the NFL. Players in past have been punished three times that game penalty for a violating the policy, even though they were not even charged with any crime. Rice's guilt has never been questioned In fact, he admitted it. I guess "oops" was a good enough defense to remove the "bad light" crushing a woman in the head with your fist might cause the NFL.
Consider this: players have been fined 10 times the amount assessed to Rice for hitting a receiver coming across the middle too hard.
Now, I wonder how many games the commissioner will assess himself for the bad light he has now cast on the league with his decision?
----
Ok, I guess I did have a couple of thoughts to churn over here today. Since those ideas developed a little further than I thought they would, I think it would serve to let this post end. It is Saturday and I have things to do. The Shrine Bowl is on tonight, and I want to be able to sit down and watch as my good friend Steve Warner coaches on the West sideline. Riley Allen is also on the West roster.
It will be fun to enjoy a little July high school football.
Have a great weekend.
________
*Erb, Kelly. "NFL Fines, Suspends Ray Rice: Is The Hit To His Wallet Tax Deductible?." Forbes. Forbes Magazine, 25 July 2014. Web. 26 July 2014. <http://www.forbes.com/sites/kellyphillipserb/2014/07/25/nfl-fines- suspends-ray-rice-is-the-hit-to-his-wallet-tax-deductible/>.
---
My Dad turned 70 last weekend. That does make one pause when your parents start hitting some of those milestone numbers, doesn't it? My brother Darrel (but not my other brother Darrel), my sister Kim, and I made a pilgrimage to Ellsworth to play golf with Dad on Tuesday. The golf outing, also known as the Annual Delmar Kohls Invitational Event, has become an annual summer tradition in which my siblings and I have the pleasure of playing a round of golf together with our father. It is always an adventure, and definitely is worth the time. Somehow, we manage to select the hottest day of the summer each year, and we stayed true to that pattern this year. Of course, we could not have gone a week early, when highs were in the low 70s. Oh no, even though Darrel was in the process of loading his vehicle and heading north last week because he forgot what week it was. Regardless of the heat, it was a great afternoon. At one point, Dad commented on how certain people ignore the ropes the greenskeeper has put up around one of the tee boxes to allow more grass to take hold. "The seniors tee off from the yellows, and they like to drive right up to the box." It took me a moment to process the statement, and then it hit me. "Dad, your just turned 70. I like how you say the seniors are still somebody else." He then told me that out there, seniors means 80. At 85 you can tee off from the reds. So many people say that age is just a number, but I am really beginning to buy into that concept. Dad has retired twice already, once form his life-long profession as a carpenter, and then as an assistant manager at the lumberyard. Of course, since his is retired, his has now taken on painting jobs. Damn Dad, sit down for a minute.
(On that note, Mom retired after 25 years in the offices of B&B Plumbing so she could clean used golfballs, sell drinks, and give duffers a hard time at the Ellsworth Municipal Golf Course club house. Hey, it's just part time.)
---
I know this makes a little mood shift here, but I told you this was random. The buzz lately on sports talk radio and ESPN has been about the Ray Rice, the running back for the Baltimore Ravens. Ray Rice was charged with third degree assault after an incident in which he admits to knocking his then-fiancee unconscious while riding in an elevator (Erb). The assault itself created quite a stir, as one would expect. However, the punishment handed down by the NFL has raised even more of a fervor. And this uproar is the only thing right about the entire incident. Rice is a great running back. He is a Superbowl champion. Ironically, he is a face used by the NFL to promote the sport to female fans. He's hit among the ladies. Literally. I know; that is tasteless, nut not nearly as tasteless as the apparent lack of respect the commissioner has for women. I love the NFL. I am a Chiefs fan, I have framed collectors cards of Derrick Thomas, Walter Payton, and Brian Urlacher on the walls of my basement. I will not condemn the league as a whole. The NFL is a microcosm of the society in which we live. There are good guys who take care of their families, who perform great plays on the field and admirable acts in their communities. There are also jerks. Some are harmless and ignorant, but only embarrass themselves from time to time with their behavior, and usually their mouths and tweets.. Others are criminals who have blood on their hands. Some repent and clean themselves up, while others dig holes so deep they should never escape them. It is a violent sport, and there are violent men in the arena. It is expected. However, even for NFL athletes, there are boundaries. In recent years, a players have been suspended for multiple games and fined amounts many times more than my annual salary for testing positive for marijuana. These penalties were justified and appropriate. Mike Vick was suspended a quarter of a season after leaving the NFL for two full years following conviction for his involvement in a dog fighting (Erb). Many groups cried foul when Vick was allowed back in the league after serving his time for his wrong-doings. It seems that arranging dog fights and cruelty to animals is wrong. It would seem, that in 2014, beating a woman unconscious is not quite as dark a deed. At least not in the official eyes of the league office. Rice admitted to the act and has entered a deal which allows him to avoid jail time by entering a diversion and treatment program. I am glad he is getting help. Any man, let a lone a man as muscled and strong as Rice, who strikes a woman, let alone strikes her so violently that it knocks her unconscious, is less than a man, regardless of his testosterone levels, and he needs help. However, the NFL commissioner's penalty of around $58,000 and two games (repeat TWO games) for violating the NFL's player conduct policy and placing the NFL in a poor light is not quite as admirable. It is embarrassing for the NFL. Players in past have been punished three times that game penalty for a violating the policy, even though they were not even charged with any crime. Rice's guilt has never been questioned In fact, he admitted it. I guess "oops" was a good enough defense to remove the "bad light" crushing a woman in the head with your fist might cause the NFL.
Consider this: players have been fined 10 times the amount assessed to Rice for hitting a receiver coming across the middle too hard.
Now, I wonder how many games the commissioner will assess himself for the bad light he has now cast on the league with his decision?
----
Ok, I guess I did have a couple of thoughts to churn over here today. Since those ideas developed a little further than I thought they would, I think it would serve to let this post end. It is Saturday and I have things to do. The Shrine Bowl is on tonight, and I want to be able to sit down and watch as my good friend Steve Warner coaches on the West sideline. Riley Allen is also on the West roster.
It will be fun to enjoy a little July high school football.
Have a great weekend.
________
*Erb, Kelly. "NFL Fines, Suspends Ray Rice: Is The Hit To His Wallet Tax Deductible?." Forbes. Forbes Magazine, 25 July 2014. Web. 26 July 2014. <http://www.forbes.com/sites/kellyphillipserb/2014/07/25/nfl-fines- suspends-ray-rice-is-the-hit-to-his-wallet-tax-deductible/>.
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