Recently, there has been trend on Facebook and Twitter in which teachers post "selfies" with a speech bubble expressing "Why I teach". I love the idea because it allows teachers to share with one another the myriad of reasons why we all choose to spend our days in classrooms working with kids. It is an important exercise; it is a way for us to turn our gaze inward which needs to happen. Sometimes, looking inward, whether it be within ourselves as teachers and people, within the walls of our classrooms, within the structure of our teams and buildings, or within our profession, is vital because looking outward can be frustrating. So, looking inward it is.
So, why do I teach? I had the opportunity to truly consider this question during the application process for the Kansas Teacher of the Year program last spring. I, along with our elementary nominee and fellow semi-finalist Jennifer Keller, was fortunate enough to be nominated by the leaders of our district to be a part of the program. The process is one for which I am tremendously grateful, and it is incredibly humbling. I struggle with it at times. There are moments when I do feel as if I am a pretty good teacher; however, most days, I realize that I am not even the best teacher in our hallway at BHS. One blessing of the process is how it has forced me to reflect on "Why I teach" and focus on what I can do to better address that why. A second blessing is that I have an opportunity to meet and spend time with dedicated and talented teachers form across the state. Recently, we started our district visit "tour", in which we get to see the great things going on in the schools of each of our team members. We get to see their whys, and what their whys drive them to do each day. To put it simply, it is rather neat.
I will admit that I have not actually posted my "Why I teach" selfie. We were assigned to do it on our district workday in January, but I traveled with Samantha Neill to Hill City, America to work with teachers as they explore writing across the curriculum, and I never posted. Every time I see one of those posts on Twitter, I know I need to do mine as well, and I actually started writing my bubble on a dry erase board in my classroom one morning. I did not complete the task, however. I struggled with small space and necessary brevity, so when a student came in my classroom to ask a question, I just set it aside.
Honestly, none of the teachers who are posting these images truly sum up the "why" in short line within a bubble. They are presenting the essence of a single, minute aspect of their why, which most likely exists within a plethora of others that could fill reams of paper and yards of rolled butcher-block paper. For me, my why develops and grows every day, and often moment to moment.
This week, one of my whys came trotting toward me in Jim Baker Fieldhouse wearing a huge smile. She proudly told me about her afternoon, one that capped off a good day and that let her feel good about what she had done, something that she does not allow herself to do enough. My whys were in my classroom before school and in the counselors' office working on lines of verse and making me laugh. One why was in the newspaper, and I owe it to him to do the best I can in my little sliver of his life, for he is destined to do great things, as are so many others. They moved through my door over and over again, and during the brief moments we spent together, they made me proud and frustrated, they made me laugh and grumble, they challenged me and questioned themselves, and they made me tired and invigorated.
So, I suppose this week I will try to post that long-overdue selfie. Or maybe not.
Can I take a selfie without actually being in it? That is a selfie I can do. I might be on to something. The selfless selfie.
Sunday, February 7, 2016
Thursday, December 17, 2015
As Christmas Break Nears...
As Christmas Break nears, and I see a glimpse of light at the end of the long, dark tunnel that is grading senior research papers, two particular thoughts rise up in my cloudy mind: first, as soon as I finish grading these research papers, I have to return to grading Honors Sophomore reviews of The Road because honors students expect writing to be graded, and second, I am blessed to work with some incredible kids.
The seniors at BHS undertake an ongoing project each year that begins with researching a topic for which the student holds a passion and then proceeds into an Extension Activity that allows the young person to somehow use or extend the research as part of an independent activity that is service related, builds something, develops and designs a lesson, or creates some time of production. They later will present the activity and the product to an audience. The undertaking has been a part of BHS for many moons, and the benefits and experiences that come from it are invaluable.
Part of the transition from research paper to activity is the creation of a proposal by each student which lays out exactly what they hope to accomplish in the spring semester regarding activity. As I have been working with students on these proposals, I am struck not only by the ambitious nature of some of the proposals, but also by the desire of our students to help others. Students are designing and building vehicles. Others are producing cooking segments that will demonstrate the proliferation of GMOs in the food we eat. One student is going to produce a portfolio of clothing made entirely from alternative, nontraditional materials. Examples of ambitious undertakings abound.
In addition to the ambitious nature of so many of the proposals, the number of students who are proposing to give of themselves in an effort to make the lives of others better is impressive. Students are planning charity drives to benefit The Open Door program that assists young mothers, they are organizing fundraising campaigns for Children's Mercy Hospital, and they are developing bullying and suicide prevention seminars to reach out students who need a helping hand. Students are designing lessons for freshmen to help them understand how alcohol affects decision-making in young people. They are reaching out to national organizations who assist athletes with disabilities. They are planning books to help educate the general public about the issue of homelessness in our community. Some of these students are what most would pray to have in any classroom. They have an internal drive that has propelled them throughout school to high grades and repeated recognition. They are the students you expect to dream big and then go chase those dreams. Others do no fall into that category. Some are students who struggle. Some seemed to want to be written off as sophomores, to be labeled as losers so no one would expect anything of them. But something happened; they grew up. They found themselves and they found a direction. They, along with the stellar classmates who drove them crazy answering questions that just confused them, are looking to provide some sort of light for people in need. They are thinking beyond themselves, and beyond just getting through without having to do much. They, along with their stellar classmates, are becoming the stories we will want to tell years down the road to remind us to never give up on the sophomore who finds every possible way to aggravate, well, just about everyone at some point in the day. That is why I am frustrated by the move to assess whether our kids are ready to succeed in the world at the sophomore level. So much growth takes place after that year. At the sophomore level, for some, success is sometimes means just getting through day. Give them a chance to grow; so often, they surprise us.
Are all of our kids perfect? Absolutely not. Actually, none of them are. However, they are our kids, and I am impressed every day with how some of them grow and mature and begin to dream, and then start working for those dreams. So, as Christmas break approaches and my eyes grow more weary, I am already looking forward to 2016. Some great things are going to happen, and some amazing people are going to shine.
And I have not even told you about my sophomores yet...
The seniors at BHS undertake an ongoing project each year that begins with researching a topic for which the student holds a passion and then proceeds into an Extension Activity that allows the young person to somehow use or extend the research as part of an independent activity that is service related, builds something, develops and designs a lesson, or creates some time of production. They later will present the activity and the product to an audience. The undertaking has been a part of BHS for many moons, and the benefits and experiences that come from it are invaluable.
Part of the transition from research paper to activity is the creation of a proposal by each student which lays out exactly what they hope to accomplish in the spring semester regarding activity. As I have been working with students on these proposals, I am struck not only by the ambitious nature of some of the proposals, but also by the desire of our students to help others. Students are designing and building vehicles. Others are producing cooking segments that will demonstrate the proliferation of GMOs in the food we eat. One student is going to produce a portfolio of clothing made entirely from alternative, nontraditional materials. Examples of ambitious undertakings abound.
In addition to the ambitious nature of so many of the proposals, the number of students who are proposing to give of themselves in an effort to make the lives of others better is impressive. Students are planning charity drives to benefit The Open Door program that assists young mothers, they are organizing fundraising campaigns for Children's Mercy Hospital, and they are developing bullying and suicide prevention seminars to reach out students who need a helping hand. Students are designing lessons for freshmen to help them understand how alcohol affects decision-making in young people. They are reaching out to national organizations who assist athletes with disabilities. They are planning books to help educate the general public about the issue of homelessness in our community. Some of these students are what most would pray to have in any classroom. They have an internal drive that has propelled them throughout school to high grades and repeated recognition. They are the students you expect to dream big and then go chase those dreams. Others do no fall into that category. Some are students who struggle. Some seemed to want to be written off as sophomores, to be labeled as losers so no one would expect anything of them. But something happened; they grew up. They found themselves and they found a direction. They, along with the stellar classmates who drove them crazy answering questions that just confused them, are looking to provide some sort of light for people in need. They are thinking beyond themselves, and beyond just getting through without having to do much. They, along with their stellar classmates, are becoming the stories we will want to tell years down the road to remind us to never give up on the sophomore who finds every possible way to aggravate, well, just about everyone at some point in the day. That is why I am frustrated by the move to assess whether our kids are ready to succeed in the world at the sophomore level. So much growth takes place after that year. At the sophomore level, for some, success is sometimes means just getting through day. Give them a chance to grow; so often, they surprise us.
Are all of our kids perfect? Absolutely not. Actually, none of them are. However, they are our kids, and I am impressed every day with how some of them grow and mature and begin to dream, and then start working for those dreams. So, as Christmas break approaches and my eyes grow more weary, I am already looking forward to 2016. Some great things are going to happen, and some amazing people are going to shine.
And I have not even told you about my sophomores yet...
Sunday, August 16, 2015
School Days Are Here Again, Almost
This week, my little girl officially starts her college career. Tomorrow I officially start my 22nd year of teaching as football practice formally begins. By Wednesday, my son will, hopefully, have begun to alter his sleep schedule in anticipation of his first day of school. Yes, anticipation. I know some of you who started school last week or will this week are confused, but BHS students will report for their first day of classes on August 26. Hate me if you must.
So yes, it is that time of year again. Emily will dive into the next stage of her academic career and the challenges it will offer her. Dylan will embark on his high school adventure, and I am confident that he is going to surprise me more than once in the coming months and years. I have the opportunity to welcome back young men and women who have grown up before very eyes as well as those who will fearfully step through my door for the first time. It is exciting.
As often happens, my kids, those born to me by my beautiful wife, taught me, or retaught me, some things recently which should serve to focus my efforts and make me a better teacher. When I returned from the annual rafting trip last weekend, Emily handed me a two-CD set of music inspired by great literature. She had pulled together a collection of tunes connected to works by Huxley, Orwell, Shakespeare, Carrol, Faulkner, and Hemingway, among others. The music was created by bands such as Anthrax, Metallica, The Police, The Ramones, and Green Day. As part of the offering, Emily included not just the playlist of songs and artists, but also details of what works were connected and when they had been produced, as well as album and book cover artwork.
"What's the big deal?" some might ask. Sure, I have some interesting music to listen to as I write lesson plans, workout, or watch film, but what is there beyond that? There is plenty. I have lesson resources at my fingertips, and I will use them; trust me on that one. I have examples of how creative minds used the written works from time centuries ago or mere decades past to inspire their own thought and creative processes, to stir up those mental juices. I also have before me one of the most clear examples of cross-curricular assessment that I could hope for. "What?" you say. In recent years, we have all heard about Common Core and its evil slithering through our schools. I have read the College and Career Readiness Standards for ELA, Literacy, and Speaking and Listening adopted by Kansas, I have placed them next to our former standards, benchmarks, and indicators to see how they match up or diverge, and I have applied those CCRS to my lesson planning. Despite all of the gnashing of teeth and hysterics, Common Core, no matter what term is used to identified it, are not evil and is not destroying our schools. They actually free many teachers to truly teach students on a more in-depth level. I will not say the CCRS have been implemented perfectly, or even remotely well, in some school systems, but that has more to do with those systems than anything else. CCRS give us guide and a destination; how we get there most effectively is up to us.
But I digress. Back to Emily's compilation. One of the reasons that I am so confident that Emily will prove successful as she moves forward, beyond the obvious genetic advantages she holds, is that she has learned how to think. She can examine a piece of music and see its literary value, research its historical significance and relevance, ponder the psychological implications of the lyrics, and delve into the piece's artistic influences. How do I know this? Because she discusses these things with me on a daily basis. Emily learned how to think, and I owe a sincere thanks to those who guided her throughout school, the social studies teachers, the art instructors, the English teachers, the counselors, and the administrators. Now, no standardized test could measure the depth of thought and experience she can apply to her studies or her daily life. I do believe that her experiences prepared her well to succeed on those tests, but, more importantly, they allowed her to develop as an intelligent, confident young person.
My son is beginning to display some of those same qualities despite his youth. This summer, he walked down to Hastings and returned with a book exploring Tolkien's writing process in creating Lord of the Rings. He wants to write, and he has learned that if you want to do something, and do it well, you must research it. That research might be academic, it might involve speaking to an expert, or it may take the form of personal experience. That last method has led Dylan to request that he be allowed to walk part of the way to Buhler one day. I have not passed that little tidbit on to his mother just yet. Dylan is currently writing a story whose protagonist ventures out from the safety of a walled city to find supplies and search for other survivors. Dylan told me that if he is going to effectively create a character who must walk the post-apocalyptic world, he must know what that character would feel, the exhaustion, the isolation, and the uncertainty. He can only discover those feelings through experience, he said. Dylan sometimes frightens me with his thought process, his vocabulary, and his wealth of seemingly irrelevant facts, as well as his ability to apply those facts to topics we discuss and his willingness to research whatever topic strikes him as interesting. Once again, I credit so many teachers in Dylan's life over the last decade who instilled in him the curiosity, the ability, and confidence to explore his world fairly independently. He will do fine on standardized tests. I do not think the most important lessons were focused on doing well on those assessments, however. The lessons that gave him the tools and inspiration to learn were the ones that have proved most valuable.
Where am I headed with this rambling? I am glad you asked. We are not teaching assessments, we are not teaching the ACT, we are not teaching Student Growth Measures. We are teaching kids. We have to provide them with tools that will let them explore their worlds and then express what they have learned on those adventures. We have to inspire them to seek out the challenges that will test those tools. We have to push them to develop as people, not just as test-takers and assessment measures. I will not pretend that those mandated tests are not important, and we must be aware of them. However, I also believe that high achievement on those measures while providing the tool, inspiring challenges, and driving development in those young people.
So thank you, Emily and Dylan, for inadvertently reminding me why I am a teacher, and why I am a teacher at Buhler High School. You have focused my vision and inspired me once more as I begin this year. Hopefully, I can live up to the expectation.
Now, how do I drop off my son on the side of the highway at 6:45 am so he can become a great writer without Heidi discovering such a questionable parenting choice?
Note: I won't drop Dylan of on K-61. Jason Williams has made several valuable suggestions such as Sand Hill State Park and the trails at Dillons Nature Center that may provide even more useful experience in creating Dylan's post-apocalyptic world.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
So, Who Are You?
I saw this posted by Grammarly today on Twitter:
Considering I am a huge nerd, I found the question intriguing. I would love to know "who you are" based on the last book you read. It might say something about a person, right? Or it might not.
Personally, I started this summer with the works of who is becoming one of my favorite authors. Greg Froese introduced me to Cormac McCarthy a while back, and I dived into a couple of his novels this June, All the Pretty Horses and No Country for No Men. Based on those two reads I am might be John Grady Cole, the young cowboy protagonist of All the Pretty Horses. Not a bad guy to be, if you like horses and brunette daughters of hacienda owners. Well, unless you are not a fan of imprisonment in Mexican prison, corrupt officials, knife fights, and social bigotry. The good with the bad, right? I suppose I could be one of the three main characters from No Country for Old Men. I would lean toward Ed Tom Bell, the Texas sheriff who is thrown into the turmoil of a drug massacre and the carnage that follows the disappearance of a briefcase full of cash. He is an honorable man, and he simply wants to do what is right in a world where that is becoming more and more difficult. It makes him question who he is and whether he belongs there anymore. I would choose Ed Tom over Llewelyn Moss, the welder who stumbles upon a drug deal gone bad while on an early morning hunt and ends up walking away with a briefcase of cash that would change his life, and the lives of every person close to him, is the most horrible ways. He is not a bad guy; he is actually incredibly likable. However, his decision made in a briefest of moments, was ignorant and at the same time, innocently naive. I definitely would not choose to be Chirgurh. He is an assassin, and, surprisingly, he is the most principled of any character in the novel. He lives by a simple code, that he must keep his word and complete his given task, and he lives up to that code with cold dedication. One could say that is truly honorable. But then there is the whole killing people with an air-powered piston or a shotgun fitted with a makeshift silencer. He is also pretty creepy.
This week, I took a step away from McCarthy, although I do hope to continue reading ""The Border Trilogy" this summer; All the Pretty Horses is the first novel of the trilogy. I had to move away from McCarthy for a little while, despite how much I love what he writes. There is a long list of books I want and need to read, and the list just keeps growing. I decided to pull from that list Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I am only about halfway through the work, and I am enjoying it immensely, but it is, shall we say, odd. I find myself laughing at things that really should be funny, and I feel bad a a while until it happens again. If I am the protagonist of this novel, I am Billy Pilgrim. Billy bounces through times from one point in his life to another, "unstuck in time" as he calls it, and even spends time in an alien zoo after being abducted by an alien race who takes him aboard their flying saucer and whisks him away to their home planet. You know, the usual stuff. So far, Billy has proven to be an incompetent chaplain's assistant in WWII, an optometrist on the verge of a mental breakdown, a senile 40-something (according to his frustrated daughter), and pathetic prisoner of war. I do not like Billy. Granted, no one seems to like Billy. I guess I should finish the novel before I make an actual judgment.
What would "being" any of these characters say about me?
For now, I am going to be Ed Tom. That is the last book I finished reading. John Grady Cole is a cool dude, but I am too old to go riding off for the border, although there are days when that sounds pretty desirable.
That is the great thing about this little exercise: if I do not like who I am, based on the last book I read, I simply have to pick up another book. Problem solved.
So off I go to get unstuck in time with Billy. Who are you going to be?
Personally, I started this summer with the works of who is becoming one of my favorite authors. Greg Froese introduced me to Cormac McCarthy a while back, and I dived into a couple of his novels this June, All the Pretty Horses and No Country for No Men. Based on those two reads I am might be John Grady Cole, the young cowboy protagonist of All the Pretty Horses. Not a bad guy to be, if you like horses and brunette daughters of hacienda owners. Well, unless you are not a fan of imprisonment in Mexican prison, corrupt officials, knife fights, and social bigotry. The good with the bad, right? I suppose I could be one of the three main characters from No Country for Old Men. I would lean toward Ed Tom Bell, the Texas sheriff who is thrown into the turmoil of a drug massacre and the carnage that follows the disappearance of a briefcase full of cash. He is an honorable man, and he simply wants to do what is right in a world where that is becoming more and more difficult. It makes him question who he is and whether he belongs there anymore. I would choose Ed Tom over Llewelyn Moss, the welder who stumbles upon a drug deal gone bad while on an early morning hunt and ends up walking away with a briefcase of cash that would change his life, and the lives of every person close to him, is the most horrible ways. He is not a bad guy; he is actually incredibly likable. However, his decision made in a briefest of moments, was ignorant and at the same time, innocently naive. I definitely would not choose to be Chirgurh. He is an assassin, and, surprisingly, he is the most principled of any character in the novel. He lives by a simple code, that he must keep his word and complete his given task, and he lives up to that code with cold dedication. One could say that is truly honorable. But then there is the whole killing people with an air-powered piston or a shotgun fitted with a makeshift silencer. He is also pretty creepy.
This week, I took a step away from McCarthy, although I do hope to continue reading ""The Border Trilogy" this summer; All the Pretty Horses is the first novel of the trilogy. I had to move away from McCarthy for a little while, despite how much I love what he writes. There is a long list of books I want and need to read, and the list just keeps growing. I decided to pull from that list Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I am only about halfway through the work, and I am enjoying it immensely, but it is, shall we say, odd. I find myself laughing at things that really should be funny, and I feel bad a a while until it happens again. If I am the protagonist of this novel, I am Billy Pilgrim. Billy bounces through times from one point in his life to another, "unstuck in time" as he calls it, and even spends time in an alien zoo after being abducted by an alien race who takes him aboard their flying saucer and whisks him away to their home planet. You know, the usual stuff. So far, Billy has proven to be an incompetent chaplain's assistant in WWII, an optometrist on the verge of a mental breakdown, a senile 40-something (according to his frustrated daughter), and pathetic prisoner of war. I do not like Billy. Granted, no one seems to like Billy. I guess I should finish the novel before I make an actual judgment.
What would "being" any of these characters say about me?
For now, I am going to be Ed Tom. That is the last book I finished reading. John Grady Cole is a cool dude, but I am too old to go riding off for the border, although there are days when that sounds pretty desirable.
That is the great thing about this little exercise: if I do not like who I am, based on the last book I read, I simply have to pick up another book. Problem solved.
So off I go to get unstuck in time with Billy. Who are you going to be?
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Come Out and Play
I try not to rant, or try not to rant to an extreme.
OK, I rant quite often. However, I usually try to cloak the rant in something so it does not come off as an obvious and unabashed rant. However, this time, I am simply going to rant.
Today I was driving through the mean streets of Hutchinson, windows down and the radio up, but, no, I was not blaring bro-country. I had the dial turned to the area's top alternative tunes. A little diddy came over the airwaves that I have listened to many times. In fact, it is on my iTunes, and it is on a CD of songs Emily put together for me. The song is "Come Out and Play" by The Offspring. It is an interesting, troubling song.
As the song came to a close, the last chord echoing through my cab, the DJ uttered one of the most ridiculous statements that has ever floated from transmitter to receiver: "That song is a perfect theme song for this weekend!"
You might be saying, "But Kohls, 'Come out and play' is a great thought for the weekend, especially if the weekend is extended and a national holiday is nestled into Saturday." All right, not one of you is saying that, mainly because you would never use 'nestled' in that way, but you might be thinking that I am way off in this rant. However, I am not way off. The DJ was, but I am not.
The title might seem appropriate for the weekend, but the song should not be thrown out as a theme for anything. The song tells the story of two boys in school who do not get along. One chooses to end the conflict by carrying a gun into the school and ending the life of his rival and any hope for a life that he might have once held. "One got wasted, and the other's a waste." I have listened to the song many times. I appreciate the style of the music, and I am drawn to songs that paint a vivid picture or tell a meaningful story. By playing the song, I am not advocating school violence or the use of a gun to 'solve' any personal conflict. The song does not do so either. In fact, it is a warning and an eye-opener. The song reminds me each time I hear it of an issue that is far too close for me to ignore or avoid. Why would I want to have such images thrust into my mind? I have wondered that myself. There is a saying that the first step is admitting you have a problem. I know that that statement is being taken out of context here. However, it applies. If we do not recognize that there are issues in our society, in our communities, and in our schools, then how can we prepare ourselves to deal with those issues, and more importantly, to keep them from occurring? How can we teach our children to deal with conflict without resorting to the most violent measures? How can we instill into our children basic human goodness that will allow them to empathize with one another, and, therefore, treat one another with respect? The issue is not how to keep guns out of our schools, or our churches, or anywhere else really; the issue is how do we learn to deal with one another in such a way that we do not create the desperation that would lead one to even consider using a gun against a fellow member of our society as a possiblibitly?
My original intent here was to lament how ridiculous it is that a DJ would not listen closely enough to the music she was playing to understand how inappropriate her comment was. I was going to talk about how words have meaning and songs carry messages. I guess I got a little off track. Or maybe I actually got a little more on track. A DJ failing to actually listen to a song before saying how great it is as a theme song for this weekend is not nearly as important as the rest of us failing to listen to what is going on around us, of us neglecting to treat each other with respect and empathy or of us refusing to think about how we teach our young people to face the struggles of life. it starts with our expectations and it is demonstrated through our actions. We need to be reminded of that every once in a while. I need to be anyway.
OK, I rant quite often. However, I usually try to cloak the rant in something so it does not come off as an obvious and unabashed rant. However, this time, I am simply going to rant.
Today I was driving through the mean streets of Hutchinson, windows down and the radio up, but, no, I was not blaring bro-country. I had the dial turned to the area's top alternative tunes. A little diddy came over the airwaves that I have listened to many times. In fact, it is on my iTunes, and it is on a CD of songs Emily put together for me. The song is "Come Out and Play" by The Offspring. It is an interesting, troubling song.
As the song came to a close, the last chord echoing through my cab, the DJ uttered one of the most ridiculous statements that has ever floated from transmitter to receiver: "That song is a perfect theme song for this weekend!"
You might be saying, "But Kohls, 'Come out and play' is a great thought for the weekend, especially if the weekend is extended and a national holiday is nestled into Saturday." All right, not one of you is saying that, mainly because you would never use 'nestled' in that way, but you might be thinking that I am way off in this rant. However, I am not way off. The DJ was, but I am not.
The title might seem appropriate for the weekend, but the song should not be thrown out as a theme for anything. The song tells the story of two boys in school who do not get along. One chooses to end the conflict by carrying a gun into the school and ending the life of his rival and any hope for a life that he might have once held. "One got wasted, and the other's a waste." I have listened to the song many times. I appreciate the style of the music, and I am drawn to songs that paint a vivid picture or tell a meaningful story. By playing the song, I am not advocating school violence or the use of a gun to 'solve' any personal conflict. The song does not do so either. In fact, it is a warning and an eye-opener. The song reminds me each time I hear it of an issue that is far too close for me to ignore or avoid. Why would I want to have such images thrust into my mind? I have wondered that myself. There is a saying that the first step is admitting you have a problem. I know that that statement is being taken out of context here. However, it applies. If we do not recognize that there are issues in our society, in our communities, and in our schools, then how can we prepare ourselves to deal with those issues, and more importantly, to keep them from occurring? How can we teach our children to deal with conflict without resorting to the most violent measures? How can we instill into our children basic human goodness that will allow them to empathize with one another, and, therefore, treat one another with respect? The issue is not how to keep guns out of our schools, or our churches, or anywhere else really; the issue is how do we learn to deal with one another in such a way that we do not create the desperation that would lead one to even consider using a gun against a fellow member of our society as a possiblibitly?
My original intent here was to lament how ridiculous it is that a DJ would not listen closely enough to the music she was playing to understand how inappropriate her comment was. I was going to talk about how words have meaning and songs carry messages. I guess I got a little off track. Or maybe I actually got a little more on track. A DJ failing to actually listen to a song before saying how great it is as a theme song for this weekend is not nearly as important as the rest of us failing to listen to what is going on around us, of us neglecting to treat each other with respect and empathy or of us refusing to think about how we teach our young people to face the struggles of life. it starts with our expectations and it is demonstrated through our actions. We need to be reminded of that every once in a while. I need to be anyway.
Saturday, June 13, 2015
A Summer Read: All the Pretty Horses
I have been meaning to get literary and all in my blog, but I must admit that I let summer set in. I finished reading my first book of the summer a while back, but I just did not sit down and put my thoughts on paper.
The book I chose to start the summer off with was All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. I had not read any of this author's work until one of his novels was suggested to me by Greg Froese and it was introduced into our Honors curriculum. The author has an incredibly unique style, and three of his novels are my summer reading list. All the Pretty Horses was my first because I found a copy of it at a garage sale in May. Sometimes I use such incredibly deep and meaningful methods of selecting literature to explore.
All the Pretty Horses is a somewhat modern-day Western that follows two teenagers from Texas as they run away from home and search for adventure and meaning while riding across the sunbaked frontier of Mexico. They are joined by a third kid who rounds out their little riding party. The primary protagonist, John Cole, as to talk his best friend and riding companion into letting the kid, named Blevins, ride with them. Cole is a good person at heart, not because he is trying to be one but because he simply is by nature. He also seems to value the fact that Blevins rides a massive bay horse. Throughout this novel, we see decisions made and actions take, both honorable and despicable, based on the feelings the characters have for horses. I am not a cowboy, and my riding days ended when I was in middle school and Grampie sold Prince. Blaze, and Scout, the gelding, mare, and Shetland pony that we rode on Saturday and Sunday afternoons at the farm east of Ellsworth. However, I found interesting the passages in the novel when Cole would speak softly to an unbroken mare or calm him mount during a thunderstorm. Cole was a master when it came to horses, despite his youth.
It was his connection to horses that earned him favor on the hacienda where he and his friend Rawlings found work. It was also what allowed him to fall into favor with the ranch's owner, and eventually, with that proud man's teenage daughter. I am not going to ramble on through a plot summary, but I will say that this novel has a Huckleberry-ish air about it for me, with Old Muddy replaced by the dry and dusty of the frontier. It offers adventure, romance, and suspense. The protagonist must not only explore an unknown land that seems created as a perfect place for him to spend his life, but also his own morality and conscience in a society full of prejudice, racism, and social bias, a world where morality seems to shift depending on who you are, what you can do for those in power, and who your ancestors might have stood with. There is cold-blooded murder and family vengeance There is a prison fight scene that would make Kurt Sutter proud. There is human decency and compassion. There is young love that challenges society. All of this is connected by the horses, animals that offer Cole a purity that society does not seem to hold. They are honest in their reactions, in their demeanor, and in their attitudes; no bias or prejudice creeps into their actions. In that sense, Cole is much like those horses he values and loves so much. He seems to have found a kindred spirit, one which resides within a raven-haired angel who finds freedom atop a stallion and in the arms of a gringo. Seems to have found.
This novel was different, It was odd in the sense that the first part of the book was rather "slow" as the characters developed and the plot unfolded. Despite this quality, which fit perfectly with the plot fo the time and the realism of the work, I continually found myself draw pack to the text. I wanted to know what would happen to Cole, Rawlings, and Blevins. I wondered where they would settle, and if Rawlings would allow the nuisance Blevins to remain a part of their group. One evening, I rode with the boys for from early in the evening until the sun set. It was during that passage that the mood of the novel shifted to more harrowing and violence became more prevalent. Oddly enough, it was also during this passage that loyalty, love, and morality gained prominence. One of the qualities that I love about McCarthy is his presentation of the "adult" aspects of his writing. His violence is never gratuitous. He and Sutter share that quality. Violence is a part of the world in which these people exist and grow, and the violence drives the characters' development and plot's advancement. So much of today's popular literature simply uses violence, sex, or course language simply for shock value. Sometimes, that is needed, but to use it in isolation from any higher literary purpose is cheap and lazy. That is one reason why I love McCarthy and Sutter. Everything has a higher purpose. That purpose may take time to present itself, but the payoff is usually worthwhile.
In the end, I would say I truly enjoyed this novel. For some, the laid-back ride through the desert into the thunderstorm that ignites the conflict with its lightning and thunderclaps may seem somewhat dry, but it is both necessary and worth the ride. The sprinkling of Spanish into the dialogue might frustrate some readers, but it is easily overcome and plays a part in the realism. McCarthy's omission of some basic punctuation, especially quotation marks, may become a stumbling block for readers who let it. However, it also forces McCarthy to create stronger characters who are easily identifiable through their words and how they use them. Amazingly, what initially appears to be a weakness of the writer eventually proves an asset and tool that allows him to set himself and his writing apart from other pieces of literature.
So, as summer begins to roll, as it always does, I recommend you take a moment and pick up a book. If you do not know which one and no garage sales are handy, snag a copy of All the Pretty Horses. Give it a chance, and enjoy the ride. I definitely did.
The book I chose to start the summer off with was All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. I had not read any of this author's work until one of his novels was suggested to me by Greg Froese and it was introduced into our Honors curriculum. The author has an incredibly unique style, and three of his novels are my summer reading list. All the Pretty Horses was my first because I found a copy of it at a garage sale in May. Sometimes I use such incredibly deep and meaningful methods of selecting literature to explore.
All the Pretty Horses is a somewhat modern-day Western that follows two teenagers from Texas as they run away from home and search for adventure and meaning while riding across the sunbaked frontier of Mexico. They are joined by a third kid who rounds out their little riding party. The primary protagonist, John Cole, as to talk his best friend and riding companion into letting the kid, named Blevins, ride with them. Cole is a good person at heart, not because he is trying to be one but because he simply is by nature. He also seems to value the fact that Blevins rides a massive bay horse. Throughout this novel, we see decisions made and actions take, both honorable and despicable, based on the feelings the characters have for horses. I am not a cowboy, and my riding days ended when I was in middle school and Grampie sold Prince. Blaze, and Scout, the gelding, mare, and Shetland pony that we rode on Saturday and Sunday afternoons at the farm east of Ellsworth. However, I found interesting the passages in the novel when Cole would speak softly to an unbroken mare or calm him mount during a thunderstorm. Cole was a master when it came to horses, despite his youth.
It was his connection to horses that earned him favor on the hacienda where he and his friend Rawlings found work. It was also what allowed him to fall into favor with the ranch's owner, and eventually, with that proud man's teenage daughter. I am not going to ramble on through a plot summary, but I will say that this novel has a Huckleberry-ish air about it for me, with Old Muddy replaced by the dry and dusty of the frontier. It offers adventure, romance, and suspense. The protagonist must not only explore an unknown land that seems created as a perfect place for him to spend his life, but also his own morality and conscience in a society full of prejudice, racism, and social bias, a world where morality seems to shift depending on who you are, what you can do for those in power, and who your ancestors might have stood with. There is cold-blooded murder and family vengeance There is a prison fight scene that would make Kurt Sutter proud. There is human decency and compassion. There is young love that challenges society. All of this is connected by the horses, animals that offer Cole a purity that society does not seem to hold. They are honest in their reactions, in their demeanor, and in their attitudes; no bias or prejudice creeps into their actions. In that sense, Cole is much like those horses he values and loves so much. He seems to have found a kindred spirit, one which resides within a raven-haired angel who finds freedom atop a stallion and in the arms of a gringo. Seems to have found.
This novel was different, It was odd in the sense that the first part of the book was rather "slow" as the characters developed and the plot unfolded. Despite this quality, which fit perfectly with the plot fo the time and the realism of the work, I continually found myself draw pack to the text. I wanted to know what would happen to Cole, Rawlings, and Blevins. I wondered where they would settle, and if Rawlings would allow the nuisance Blevins to remain a part of their group. One evening, I rode with the boys for from early in the evening until the sun set. It was during that passage that the mood of the novel shifted to more harrowing and violence became more prevalent. Oddly enough, it was also during this passage that loyalty, love, and morality gained prominence. One of the qualities that I love about McCarthy is his presentation of the "adult" aspects of his writing. His violence is never gratuitous. He and Sutter share that quality. Violence is a part of the world in which these people exist and grow, and the violence drives the characters' development and plot's advancement. So much of today's popular literature simply uses violence, sex, or course language simply for shock value. Sometimes, that is needed, but to use it in isolation from any higher literary purpose is cheap and lazy. That is one reason why I love McCarthy and Sutter. Everything has a higher purpose. That purpose may take time to present itself, but the payoff is usually worthwhile.
In the end, I would say I truly enjoyed this novel. For some, the laid-back ride through the desert into the thunderstorm that ignites the conflict with its lightning and thunderclaps may seem somewhat dry, but it is both necessary and worth the ride. The sprinkling of Spanish into the dialogue might frustrate some readers, but it is easily overcome and plays a part in the realism. McCarthy's omission of some basic punctuation, especially quotation marks, may become a stumbling block for readers who let it. However, it also forces McCarthy to create stronger characters who are easily identifiable through their words and how they use them. Amazingly, what initially appears to be a weakness of the writer eventually proves an asset and tool that allows him to set himself and his writing apart from other pieces of literature.
So, as summer begins to roll, as it always does, I recommend you take a moment and pick up a book. If you do not know which one and no garage sales are handy, snag a copy of All the Pretty Horses. Give it a chance, and enjoy the ride. I definitely did.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Proud Moment
This is my 100th "Ramblings" post.
Really though, I am somewhat proud of that. I should have breezed by that milestone long ago, however, if I had stayed on track and posted at least once a week. Still, it does mean that I have written 100 pieces and published them for public consumption. So, I have that going for me.
Anyway, since I am speaking of being proud, I want to turn to one of my favorite topics, my kids, and ramble about a moment that I am particularly proud of. As many of you may know, I am a teacher and coach. I had the immense pleasure of teaching Emily in honors English during her freshman year at BHS. The times we shared in my classroom provided me with countless moments that caused me to swell of with pride. I have watched her grow and develop as a person, a young person that makes it incredibly easy to be hopeful for the future.
Now, my son is preparing to enter his freshman year at BHS. Now, for most football coaches who are fortunate to be blessed with a son, one of the proudest moments that could occur is when they get to help him strap on the pads and lace up the cleats and coach him on the gridiron. That has to be a moment each one of those men files away in the warmest places of the heart to be thought of fondly over the years. I experienced a moment that I hold just a warmly and just and fondly, and it has absolutely nothing to do with football.
Let me step back a moment. Each year since Dylan 8, I asked Dylan if I should sign him up for Gladiator football. Each year, he said, "No, I don't think so this year." Going into the seventh grade, he told me, "Dad, sports just aren't my thing." I won't lie; I was disappointed because I had to accept that I would not have the chance to coach my son share a passion for football, which does take up a good chunk of time for me. Should I have just signed him up when he was in the fourth grade and just forced him to develop the habit of playing football each fall? Honestly, I don't think so. He is his own young man, and he has his "things" that he finds interesting and rewarding. He is not living my dream, and I am not living through him, trying to make him into someone I wished I might have been. Right or wrong, as far as sports are concerned, it ain't happening. And I am honestly fine with that. He provides and will continue to provide plenty of moments that will allow me to swell with pride, some of which will be obvious, and others that perhaps no one else will truly understand.
One of those pride-inducing moments took place recently. Last week, Dylan said something, and I am sure he has no idea just how much pride welled up for me at that instant. HE said, "Dad, I wrote a short story this week, and I emailed it to you." For me, that is every bit as perfect a moment as anything that could take place on a grassy field. I love to write, and I love to read. I have a few creative pieces in the works. I would love to publish a collection of my poetry or some of my short stories someday. So, when Dylan let me know that he had put electronic pen to paper and let his creativity spill out onto the digital page, it was a special moment for me. Due to some email issues, I did not receive the email with the story. In the car on Saturday, as we drove to a celebration of my parents' 50 wedding anniversary (talk about something to be proud of), he asked me if I had had a chance to read his story. The fact that he asked me a second time about reading the story is an undeniable indication that he really wanted me to read it. That is a big deal. No, that is a mountain of a deal. The fact that he wants me to read what he wrote, that he wants me to be a part of that world of his is important to me.
So, I have that moment of irrepressible pride that each parent has to hope to experience. But it goes a step further than that. The story is really good. And I don't mean that "Um, yes son, that is, well, interesting"-type of good. It is actually a short story with a developed plot and twists of irony. It is titled "The Vents". With his permission, I am posting the story below. I hope you enjoy it. We have even discussed some revisions, which is was another one of those moments that I truly enjoyed and value.
So, with no further adieu, "The Vents" by Dylan Thomas Kohls, June 2015.
Really though, I am somewhat proud of that. I should have breezed by that milestone long ago, however, if I had stayed on track and posted at least once a week. Still, it does mean that I have written 100 pieces and published them for public consumption. So, I have that going for me.
Anyway, since I am speaking of being proud, I want to turn to one of my favorite topics, my kids, and ramble about a moment that I am particularly proud of. As many of you may know, I am a teacher and coach. I had the immense pleasure of teaching Emily in honors English during her freshman year at BHS. The times we shared in my classroom provided me with countless moments that caused me to swell of with pride. I have watched her grow and develop as a person, a young person that makes it incredibly easy to be hopeful for the future.
Now, my son is preparing to enter his freshman year at BHS. Now, for most football coaches who are fortunate to be blessed with a son, one of the proudest moments that could occur is when they get to help him strap on the pads and lace up the cleats and coach him on the gridiron. That has to be a moment each one of those men files away in the warmest places of the heart to be thought of fondly over the years. I experienced a moment that I hold just a warmly and just and fondly, and it has absolutely nothing to do with football.
Let me step back a moment. Each year since Dylan 8, I asked Dylan if I should sign him up for Gladiator football. Each year, he said, "No, I don't think so this year." Going into the seventh grade, he told me, "Dad, sports just aren't my thing." I won't lie; I was disappointed because I had to accept that I would not have the chance to coach my son share a passion for football, which does take up a good chunk of time for me. Should I have just signed him up when he was in the fourth grade and just forced him to develop the habit of playing football each fall? Honestly, I don't think so. He is his own young man, and he has his "things" that he finds interesting and rewarding. He is not living my dream, and I am not living through him, trying to make him into someone I wished I might have been. Right or wrong, as far as sports are concerned, it ain't happening. And I am honestly fine with that. He provides and will continue to provide plenty of moments that will allow me to swell with pride, some of which will be obvious, and others that perhaps no one else will truly understand.
One of those pride-inducing moments took place recently. Last week, Dylan said something, and I am sure he has no idea just how much pride welled up for me at that instant. HE said, "Dad, I wrote a short story this week, and I emailed it to you." For me, that is every bit as perfect a moment as anything that could take place on a grassy field. I love to write, and I love to read. I have a few creative pieces in the works. I would love to publish a collection of my poetry or some of my short stories someday. So, when Dylan let me know that he had put electronic pen to paper and let his creativity spill out onto the digital page, it was a special moment for me. Due to some email issues, I did not receive the email with the story. In the car on Saturday, as we drove to a celebration of my parents' 50 wedding anniversary (talk about something to be proud of), he asked me if I had had a chance to read his story. The fact that he asked me a second time about reading the story is an undeniable indication that he really wanted me to read it. That is a big deal. No, that is a mountain of a deal. The fact that he wants me to read what he wrote, that he wants me to be a part of that world of his is important to me.
So, I have that moment of irrepressible pride that each parent has to hope to experience. But it goes a step further than that. The story is really good. And I don't mean that "Um, yes son, that is, well, interesting"-type of good. It is actually a short story with a developed plot and twists of irony. It is titled "The Vents". With his permission, I am posting the story below. I hope you enjoy it. We have even discussed some revisions, which is was another one of those moments that I truly enjoyed and value.
So, with no further adieu, "The Vents" by Dylan Thomas Kohls, June 2015.
At my last home I heard a strange noise go throughout the vents. At the time I simply denoted it as maybe the ac kicking on. One of the first times I noticed this was when I was talking to my wife about buying a new car. Our old one was just about dead at the time. After the conversation was done the sound started up and then faded away.
That night I went to a local bar. I sat down and ordered a drink. Then this guy sat down next to me and ordered the same drink. We started talking. He mentioned me getting a new car. I found it weird that he would know that but we live in a small town, news can travel fast. After a while I left. When I got home I described the guy to my wife and she said she saw him at the office. I came to the conclusion that she probably talked to him and mentioned it.
Then next time I heard the noise was when I was talking to my wife in the morning about my daughters birth day party. She was turning nine at the time. After the conversation I made a call to a baker to make an order for a chocolate cake. My wife wasn't in the room at the time. After the order was made I heard the same noise again and almost the exact same fade. I again brushed it off as the ac. Later that day, in the late afternoon, again I went to the bar sat down and got a drink. And the exact same guy copied my actions and started to talk to me. He mentioned the cake being bought and I simply thought that my wife probably over heard me and again mentioned it. I checked my watch and said something about me leaving and he said his name. But I wasn't paying attention and I think he said Jimmy or something. When I got home I mentioned him to my wife and she said a Jimmy doesn't work there.
The next day I mentioned the sounds to my wife and she said that it wasn't normal for the ac to randomly kick on, well at least with our model. So we at someone check it out. They said that it might take a while so if you wanted to leave for lunch of something go ahead. We left and when we had come back the one of the vents was open and a note was on a table. The note read "the vents are fine, the sound was probably just some mice that got in there, but got out by the time I got in." We thought that the open vent was probably just them forgetting to close it when they left. I sealed it back up and went on with life. In the next few days I found out about some problems with money the family had. We sold the house and are living in an apartment right now.
The reason I brought up this whole story is because a news report has showed up. What it reported was that a starved dead man was found in the vents of my old house after the new owners smelled a decaying body.
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