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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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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.