The Stand Not Taken

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.  If we could settle down and get started, we’ve got a lot of information to cover.”

Throughout the library, teachers and administrators found their seats and quieted down to listen.  The principal waited until the noise in the room had ceased, and then smiled at the faculty.

“It’s great to see you all here today, and I hope you all had a great, restful summer, and that you are all ready to have a great school year!”

There was a general smattering of largely halfhearted applause.  He waited until it died out before continuing.

“As you know, there are many new changes for this year, coming down to us from the school board, the state board of education, and the federal government.  Most of these revolve around testing.”

Groans and grumbling spread around the room, prompting him to raise his hands in a placating gesture.

“I realize that a lot of you have some concerns about Common Core, and about all the new tests that have been added to the previous tests, and about how we will have to adjust the curriculum to accommodate all the new tests, and the diagnostics for those tests, and all the prep for the tests.  I just want to reassure you that we won’t be doing any of that this year.”

The susurrus of complaints was silenced, and a confused hush fell over the crowd of teachers.

“I’m sorry, what exactly won’t we be doing this year?” asked a querulous voice.

“We will not be participating in any test preparations and diagnostics this year,” the principal replied evenly.

For a moment, there was only silence, and then a mighty uproar reverberated around the room.  Many applauded, others cheered, while a sizable number shouted confused questions.  That year’s crop of new teachers sat dumbfounded, utterly perplexed and unprepared for this chaos.

The principal spent several minutes gesturing for quiet and reassuring people that their questions would be answered.  Finally he was able to return them to enough of a semblance of order to address them.

“Now I know this is confusing, but this year, I have decided that we are going to take a stand.  For the last fifteen years, we have been working harder and harder to prepare our students for the state standardized tests.  For fifteen years, we have done everything possible to help the students pass this single test, even when those efforts have been at the expense of other, more valuable aspects of students’ educations.”

Around the room, teachers nodded vigorously and muttered ‘amen’, as if he were preaching the Word.  Many women began fanning themselves from sheer habit as he continued

“We have given up lunch hours, stayed after school and come in on Saturdays for tutoring sessions.  We have offered all kinds of incentives to the kids for passing, we have had outreaches and open house nights to involve the parents, and we have worked tirelessly to encourage these kids, admonishing them to do their best and never give up.”

Many brows furrowed at these comments; teachers who had given so much of themselves outside of classroom time were proud of what they had accomplished, and were in no rush to quit their efforts and abandoned those students who needed help.  The prinicipal was quick to reassure them.

“These are all fine things, and I believe we need to keep doing them.  We have seen some amazing success stories emerge from these programs, and there are many kids who never would have passed without your tireless efforts.  I would not ask any of you to do any less for these students.  But…” Here his tone became more somber and stern.

“That is not all we have done in the name of raising test scores, is it?”  Heads shook darkly around the room.  “We have sacrificed nearly everything else of value in a public education to chase the elusive dream of increasing test scores.  We have scheduled students based almost entirely upon this single criterion alone, haven’t we?  We created entire new courses for those students with poor test scores, year-long classes based entirely around preparing them for one single test, forcing them to waste an entire years of their school career taking these meaningless courses that do nothing but drill them in the narrow set of skills required for passing the test, skills with no other practical purpose in their lives, haven’t we?”

The teachers in the reading department all shifted uncomfortably in their seats as their fellow teachers cast furtive glances in their direction.

“In exchange, we have stripped electives and humanities from the curriculum to make room for test prep.  We’ve gutted the visual arts, music, drama, literature, and creative writing.  Band programs, chorus programs, arts programs, the Drama Club; we’ve thrown all of them under the yellow bus in the pursuit of higher test scores.  But it’s not just the humanities; we’ve almost entirely abandoned those electives that taught practical life skills as well.  Auto shop, metal shop, wood shop, home economics, engineering courses; they’ve dried up and been blown away by the winds of change.”

Tears welled up in many eyes, as they thought of a generation of children whose education had been plundered.

“You’ve been forced to alter your curricula, giving up class time you would have used to teach your content areas to instead focus on test prep, asking teachers to hand out reading comprehension articles that have nothing to do with their subject areas, burying the kids in so much mindless, tedious busywork that they now see reading as a punishment, a grinding chore that robs the written word of any beauty or grace.”

“But even worse, in teaching them ‘test taking strategies,’ we stopped teaching them how to actually read.  We’ve taught the students to read the questions first and then skim the article for the information.  Think about how monstrous that is: to force an English teacher to ever tell a student that the best idea is not to read.  It’s unthinkable what we’ve done to these students’ chances for success in higher education.  But those kids don’t even count in this model, do they?”

“We abandoned our higher level students, dropping courses like Physics and Advanced Placement courses, all to make room for extra remedial classes for the lowest performing students, denying the higher level kids opportunities that could have propelled them to greater heights of success.  But instead we only care about getting enough of the lowest performing students to go up a single level on that one test, just so we can maintain a passing grade for our school.”

Few teachers’ eyes were dry by this point, and many hung their heads, weighed down by the realization of what had been lost in the last decade.

“And what has it gotten us?  Every year we put on this song and dance, we beg, we bribe, we cajole and we threaten just to get the kids to show up and do their best, and what do we have to show for all this effort?   Have we ever seen any significant jump in student performance?  Have we seen any real change in the general percentage of kids who pass the test?  Has there ever been more than a minor incremental increase or decrease in the scores, that wasn’t within the standard variation that any reasonable person would expect?  I don’t need to tell you.”

“We’ve given up advanced classes, we’ve given up enrichment, we’ve given up time in our classrooms, we’ve given up content area materials, we’ve given up our very standards.  And in return we’ve gotten nothing but heartache.  It’s just not worth it.”

“So we aren’t going to do it.”

A riot of applause and cheers broke out, and lasted for several minutes.  Teachers hugged each other and passed around boxes of tissues for wiping eyes.  But severeal skeptical teachers were able to shout their questions over the hubbub.

“Are you saying we won’t give the test?  How can a child prove proficiency to the state?  They won’t be eligible for a diploma without a test score.”

The principal was undeterred.

“Of course we will give the test.  On the required dates, we will administer the test, and we will modify the bell schedule those days, but only on those days.  We will not be administering the fall diagnostic, and we will not be administering the winter diagnostic.  Those days, rather than altering the bell schedule and taking kids out of class to take a meaningless diagnostic, we will instead have regular school days, where they will be in actual classes, doing actual class work.”

“What about all the test prep materials we get from the county?”

“Ignore them.  Teach your actual curriculum.”

“What about reading classes?” asked a woman wearing a blue dress decorated with apples and dangly earrings in the shape of pencils.

“All reading classes are canceled.  You are being reassigned as remedial English teachers.  You will continue to work with students who need help, you will simply be teaching them using literature selections and grammar lessons, not test prep articles and practice tests.”

“Aren’t you afraid that some children will fail?”

“Yes.  Some children will fail.  That is simply the reality in which we live.  A 100% passing rate is utterly unrealistic and every sane person in this room knows it.  But I don’t believe any significant number will fail because we didn’t bury them with the insane amounts of test prep nonsense as we have in the past.  If a student does not pass the 9^th grade test, he or she will be placed in a remedial course for 10^th grade.  This will be an actual English or math class, and will reinforce the necessary skills in context, not merely as practice for a specific test.”

“But without diagnostic tests to show student progress, our school grade could go down!”

“So what?”

There was silence.  He faced his audience, looking them each in the eye.

“Seriously, what’s going to happen to us if our grade drops?”

“Um,” began one voice, “if our grade drops down low enough, won’t that mean we lose some funds?”

“Possibly,” the principal conceded, “but that won’t affect teacher pay, or any of our important facilities like free and reduced lunches for students.  The money we lose will be made up in all the money we won’t be spending on mountains of test prep materials or ‘incentives’ for the students to show up on diagnostic days.”

One teacher, an older woman with ramrod posture and a severe face stood up and asked in a clipped voice “what will you do if this school earns an F, and is labeled a failing school?”

The principal nodded gravely at her.  “Then we will fail with honor.”

“I am not given to accepting failure,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “not from my students, and certainly not from myself.”

“But we already have.  Don’t you see?  Don’t all of you see?  None of us here got into this profession to prepare students to pass tests.  We became teachers to actually teach students real information.  To give them skills that they could one day use in the real world.  To teach as we ourselves had been taught, to prepare them, not just for college, but for anything that life puts in their path.  To give them the solid foundation of learning, so that when they leave high school, they will know how to learn, how to research and analyze information and build upon what they already know to make that knowledge their own.  To make them well rounded people and better citizens.”

“But we have been failing at that task.  We have not been educating these children.  We’ve followed orders passed down from politicians who neither know nor care about the real situation.  We’ve surrendered our professional dignity in going along with a system we knew was counter to the needs of the students.  And you did it because we made you.”

“But that’s all going to stop.  I am your principal, and it is my responsibility to make the best decisions I can for my teachers and my students.  And that’s what I am doing today.  I am ordering you to ignore everything I told you in the past and instead to teach the children to the very best of your ability.”

The ensuing applause was shattered by a high-pitched, reedy, whining noise, like a blaring alarm.  In response, the windows of the library burst in, as men in black tactical garb descended on ropes, submachineguns in their hands, and Department of Education markings on their body armor.

“EVERYBODY WAKE UP!”

“Huh?”

“I said wake up honey.  It’s time to get up for school.”

Blearily, the teacher opened his eyes and disentangled himself from the sheets, as he reached out and silenced the blaring alarm clock.  Outside the window was the predawn darkness of another school day.

“Get up honey, remember today is the diagnostic test.  Do you have to proctor?”

“Yeah, first period.  It runs for four hours.”

“I thought you had a class that hour?”

“I do.  They will be sitting in the gym while I am proctoring the math test.”

“But you teach English!”

“I know honey.  I know.”

You Know What They Say...

Let’s talk about pigeons.

Raise your hands if you have ever seen a pigeon.  One...two…three… wow, pretty much every one of you has seen a pigeon.  That’s good.

Now, show of hands again, how many of you have ever seen, with your own eyes, a baby pigeon?

None?  None of you have ever seen a baby pigeon?  You ornithologists in the back are excused, you don’t count.  I’m talking to the normal, everyday people here.  The people who live in an area infested with these grey sky rats.  You see them every single day, but you mean to tell me that you’ve never seen a baby pigeon?  No pigeon nests full of eggs?  No little pigeony playgrounds and daycare centers (I mean someone has to watch the little fledglings while their parents are being a nuisance all day, right?)

And yes, I know that this example is a bit cliche, and that there are plenty of individuals who have explained this phenomenon, I’m merely using it as an example to set up my discussion about welfare and racism, but I’m not there yet.

So no; people pretty much never see baby pigeons, for reasons that are completely logical.  The point here is that if I told you that there were no such thing as baby pigeons, you would call bullshit on me.  You know there have to be baby pigeons, and pigeon eggs, and pigeon nests, because that’s what other birds do. 

If I tried to convince you that pigeons instead weave cocoons for their eggs (primarily out of those little brown paper sleeves you use to hold Starbucks coffee cups, most likely,) and that adult pigeons emerge fully formed from these cocoons in the Spring, smelling of chai latte and hand sanitizer, you would most certainly call bullshit on that, even though you had no personal knowledge to contradict my explanation.   Because you are too smart to fall for such a patently ridiculous story.

Except statistics say you are not.

Think of all the little urban myths that still persist today, no matter how many times they are debunked.  Mothers still assert as immutable fact the idea that you must not go into the water right after eating, and that you shouldn’t sit too close to the TV for fear of damaging your eyes.  And, most frustratingly, every desk in every classroom on my school’s campus has been rendered a polychromatic moonscape of masticated gum wads because those same damn mothers misinformed their spawn that swallowing gum was bad for you (everyone knows it stays in your stomach for years,) and their  ignorant offspring, acting upon these idiotic edicts, have responded by depostiting their disgusting cud under their desks, since the only other option was to get up and spit it into the trash, a most unthinkable imposition.

When it comes right down to it, we believe what we hear, especially if it confirms our own preexisting beliefs and prejudices.  If you hear that someone you like did something really stupid, you might question the validity of the report.  But if it is someone you hate, even someone not known for making such boneheaded mistakes, you will eagerly accept the story.

This phenomenon is known as confirmation bias, and it is why so many people believe stories about Sarah Palin thinking planes could make wrong turns and end up in heaven, or that Obama is planning to take away everyone’s guns and give them as wedding gifts at gay marriages.

But it is also why a lot of old, ugly stereotypes still linger today. 

The other day, there was a discussion in the teacher lunchroom about welfare.  Now, we have a woman in our department who actually worked for the Department of Children & Families before becoming a teacher, and she often debunks a lot of misconceptions people bring up about how government assistance programs actually work.

But on this day, another coworker, whom I love and respect, was going on about the people who cheat the system, because of course she was.  I mean seriously, have you ever been a part of or overheard a discussion of welfare that didn’t have that as the main thrust?  No matter what aspects of the subject may have started the conversation, it will inevitably turn into a discussion of those who blatantly abuse the system.  Hell, you’re more likely to see a whole horde of baby pigeons than a discussion of welfare that doesn’t revolve around the abusers.

And that makes perfect sense, as that is the major bone of contention for most people.  And it is the one point upon which EVERYONE agrees.  Any person you talk to will agree that it is terrible that people abuse the system and mooch off of the taxpayers, charities, and private organizations that provide these services.

But have you seen them?

I mean have you yourself actually seen these people in person?  Have you personally watched them abuse the rules and scam the government for their own selfish gain?  I don’t mean you have a friend whose sister is a cashier, and she describes people using their WIC cards to buy cigarettes and booze, I mean individual, first hand experience.

Now, I’m not saying that it doesn’t happen, and I’m sure many of you may have been in line at the grocery store behind people on government assistance who were purchasing items you find offensively frivolous or fancy (ask Fox News about the indecently fresh food that some welfare recipients have the gall to purchase.)  My problem is not with the system, or its abuses, or even the righteous indignation towards such rampant malfeasance, it is with the assumptions.

Because my friend and fellow teacher (who is as kind-hearted and dedicated a educator you could wish your own child to have,) was expressing her ire at a report that her son (an upstanding member of the local constabulary,) had found online (the repository of all that is honest and forthright,) about shocking places where people had used their assistance cards to get cash.

Of course these were the usual claims and accusations, about strip clubs and Hawaiian resorts and so forth.  All carefully selected to rustle one’s jimmies and evoke the old familiar rage against a corrupt system and its flagrant abusers.  I personally am not familiar with this alleged report, having not bothered to research it as I felt it was not germane to the discussion at hand, and so neither support nor deny its supposed claims.

I did not, at that time, question the veracity of this report nor inquire as to the reliability of the source of this information, coming to me as it was by way of a friend, through her son, via the hallowed halls of the interwebz.  I simply let it go.

But the conversation turned, as they always do, towards the ever more egregious abuses of the system.  And inevitably, drawn ever downwards by righteous anger towards the miscreants who tarnish the entire program, past the women who wear their gold jewelry in the unemployment line, beyond the welfare queens driving their Cadillacs to pick up their checks, we find ourselves in the lowest circle, the frozen plains of the women who intentionally have more children so as to receive more government assistance.

This was too much for me.  I finally had to ask her the question I posed earlier in this post:

“How do you know this?”

She was taken aback by this, and reacted as if I had asked what language she was currently speaking.  “They do!” was the response.

Now I want you to seriously think about this for a second.  Imagine a person getting money from the government to take care of a child.  How much money would you have to receive before you thought ‘wow, I should totally go through another pregnancy and give birth to a child!  That would absolutely be a profitable venture for me at this time!’  And how much money would that have to be so that the cost of diapers, food, health care, and everything else would still leave enough profit to make it worthwhile?  I really can’t imagine what they receive being that much, can you? 

I’m not saying that there aren’t people that may have children (for all the usual reasons, good or bad,) without considering carefully if they can support those children without the need for government assistance, I simply mean the specific allegation that there are a significant number of women intentionally having babies because the Gummint has incentivized children.  I can’t really imagine that practice being epidemic, and I certainly don’t know welfare recipients pursuing that particular agenda myself.  So I put it to my friend:

“But how do you know?  Have you ever met anyone who does this?  Have you ever met a person who is in this situation?”

She had no answer to this, and took offense with me taking her to task about it.  She simply straightened her spine and asserted “I just know it happens.”

I let it go at this point.  I still respect my friend, but I can’t countenance the idea of simply accepting rumors and whispered hearsay.   Now, she could have whipped out her phone and found the data.  She does it all the time, looking up information to corroborate or debunk something that came up in our lunchtime conversations.  But in this case, she believed something because she believed it, and was uninterested in having this idea challenged, and extremely disinterested in researching the facts.

Her anger had become her dogma.

Now maybe I’m making a big deal out of this.  We all know there are people who scam welfare and other government assistance programs.  We all KNOW it.  We've always known it.  And surely we've all heard some statistics quoted somewhere that support that fact, even if we can’t remember the details, and can’t be bothered to look it up.  But we know it, don’t we?

But then again, we all knew that if you read in dim light it would permanently damage your eyesight, too.

But we are intelligent people; the kind of folks who confirm our facts, who trust and verify, who do not rush to judgments.  Why then do we simply accept this premise without question?  I've talked to many of my smart friends (I don’t make it a habit of befriending unintelligent people,) and none of them have ever done any serious research into the subject.  I mean they've all heard about these people, and many have read articles or Facebook posts complaining about the phenomenon, but how often do we actually examine the facts?

Why would so many people have such a powerful bias against those on government assistance that we are ready to believe nearly any negative story we hear about them?

My theory is it's because the people I’m asking are all middle class.

As hard working, tax-paying citizens, we resent anyone that we see as getting a handout.  I don’t even think it’s necessarily the fact that it is our tax dollars supporting them so much as the mere idea that while we are working hard for everything we have, someone else has it easier.  Screw those people!

Further evidence for my theory comes from talking to those same people about the other group we vilify: the wealthy.  Whereas the extremely poor are all lazy, conniving, shiftless moochers, suckling upon the public teat, the extremely wealthy are universally greedy, corrupt, malfeasant robber barons with their boots on the neck of the middle class.

See what I mean?  We resent the people who have more than we do just like we resent those who have less.  The common factor is the idea of someone being given what they have not earned.  We figure if we have to work hard, everyone else should too.  I’m not saying that it is conscious, or that it is fair or right, I’m just postulating a possible reason here.

So what’s my problem?  I mean no one can deny that there are, in fact those people who abuse the system.  And as I've already covered, anger at those people is both natural and reasonable.  So why is this an issue?

The reason of course, is that it is only one example of this behavior.  “People on welfare are lazy scammers,” isn't that far down the road from “gypsies are all thieves,” or “Irishmen are drunks,” “blacks are criminals,” “Asians suck at driving,” “Muslims are terrorists,” “Jews are cheats,” or “white men can’t jump.”

When you are willing to accept a generally held idea about a group of people without examining it, willing to go with what you have heard about that group over personal experience, or apply what you ‘know’ about someone you’ve just met, based on their classification, rather than starting at zero with each new person, you deny yourself a fair chance at accepting the world as it is, and deny that person their basic human individuality by reducing him or her to one of ‘them.’

And there will certainly be people in your life who will try to prove those stereotypes valid, no matter how you group people.  You will meet incompetent teachers, you will encounter untrustworthy mechanics, crooked lawyers, lazy cops, hypocritical Christians, slutty cheerleaders and dumb jocks.   And one day you might even get to meet some of those indolent frauds who rip off the welfare system and the taxpayers who support it.

But when you stop seeing those people as individual assholes and malcontents, and hold them up as emblematic of the group to which they belong, you begin to paint that entire group with the same brush, and that leads to bigotry, scapegoating and intolerance, and anyone who has studied history understands that is a dangerous path for a society to tread.

So the next time someone brings up a ‘them,’ be it an ethnic or religious group, a nationality or occupation, or yes, even people receiving government assistance, consider that there may be more to the situation than just what you have heard, or what you ‘know.’  There could be things going on in the situation that you don’t know because you can’t see them.

Kind of like baby pigeons.

Improving On Silence

"Hey there, I'm Bob," said the man in the blue shirt, extending a hand.

Tim shifted his drink to his left hand so he could shake Bob's.  "Tim."

"You get dragged here by your wife too?"

"Oh.  Yeah.  She likes these sorts of gatherings."

"Mine too.  She's always saying we should get more involved with our neighbors, we should get out and mingle.  Personally, I'd rather be home watching the game."  He sipped from his drink.  "How about you?"

"Well…I'm not much for talking to people, you know?  I mean, I guess my old man always taught me: if you don't have anything intelligent to say, then just keep your mouth shut."

"I heard that, I can't stand parties where people just stand around around glad-handing and rambling on about stuff they don't understand.  And from here, it looks like that's what most of these people here are doing."

"Yeah."

"We're still pretty new here.  Do you know many of these people?"

Tim pointed to quartet of older men in sport coats who were laughing heartily together.  "That's Glen, Brad, Jake and…Greg, I think.  They're here all the time, but all they want to do is talk about golf."

"Don't you golf at all?"

"Oh sure, once in a while, but I'm not an expert or anything, so I have nothing to say.  I mean, I figure they all know more about it than I do, so I just don't bather trying to join the conversation."

"Ah.  Well, who's the really loud lady with the sparkly shoes?"

Tim glanced towards where Bob was pointing.  "That's Cindy Schwimmer, and her husband Kirk.  They're both in real estate, and always want to talk about home values and how the market is doing.  I never feel comfortable talking with them.  The guy they're with is also kind of new, his name's Derek I think.  He retired from the Army a few years ago, did several tours in Iraq."

"I bet he's got some stories to tell, huh?"

"Sure.  But how do you talk to a guy like that?  I mean I've never been in the military, I'm an upholsterer.  What the hell do I know about military service?  I just listen politely and keep my mouth shut."

"Okay, what about that guy?" he asked, pointing to a tall man with a beard.

"That's Doctor Rosenthal, he's a heart surgeon.  Apparently he's kind of a big deal because he just developed some radical new form of surgery.

"What's so radical about it?"

"How should I know?  I'm no doctor, I figure that kind of talk is probably over my head, so I don't bother asking about it."

"I see.  Well…Who is the guy with the flag pin on his lapel?  He some sort of local politician?"

"Yeah, that's Dave Brubaker, he's an alderman.  But he's running for the state senate next month, so he always likes to show up at parties and shake hands and talk."

"Let me guess, you don't like to talk politics?"

"Heck, no.  I'm just a regular taxpayer.  I've never been to law school, I don't follow the news, and I really have no idea what's involved with holding public office, so the best I can do is stay out of conversations like that."

"Uh huh.  Sports?"

"Oh I love sports.  But I'm not an expert or anything.  I just watch the games on TV and keep out of water cooler talk like that."

"Hmm.  You follow any shows?"

"I watch, but I don't really follow any of them.  People always like to argue about shows these days, but I figure it's really none of my business."

"Cars?"

"I don't know anything beyond how to drive them, so…you know."

"Travel?"

"I've never been anywhere worth mentioning, I guess."

"Music?"

"I'm just a dilettante, no real opinions there."

"The economy?"

"I mind my own business.  Literally"

"Global warming?"

"Doesn't really concern me.  I think both sides probably have good points."

"Art?"

"I never claim to understand art."

"Religion?"

"I keep my views to myself and live and let live."

Bob took a long pull on his drink.  As a last attempt he offered, "what about the education system?"

Tim's brows knitted together in a steely gaze of indignation as his mouth set in a hard, determined line.  "Bob, let me tell you all about what's wrong with teachers today…"

April First, 2014

I know, I know!  It’s April 1^st and I’m supposed to write a big sappy post about how this is the fifth anniversary of my kidney transplant.

And yes, I know that every year I go on about how "this is not April Fool's Day for me," and make this big effusive display of unbridled adulation for my donor, David.  I go into this big song and dance about how he’s my hero, and how awesome he is for volunteering to risk dangerous surgery to give me a kidney even though I’m not even family, and how he sacrificed so much to give me new life, and even gave up his vacation time to recover in a hospital with me, yadda yadda yadda.

But I’m really swamped this year, you guys.  I just don’t have the time for a long, laudatory post about Dave.  I would, really, because it’s all true and stuff but I’m really, really busy.   I used to have plenty of time to do this, while sitting around in doctor’s offices all the time, but I don’t have those opportunities these days, I’m just too busy.

I mean it!  I’m doing way too much these days.  Don’t believe me?  Fine.

Take today for example.  I got up before dawn and rolled out of bed to make mushroom and cheese omelets for my wife and I (we’re trying to cut down on carbohydrates these days,) and freezer waffles for the kids.  See how busy I am?  I couldn’t even whip up a fresh batch of waffles in the iron!  Rushed!

Then we have to get two kids ready for school.  And if you’ve never tried riding herd on a kindergartener and a preschooler, let me tell you it is exhausting work.  You have to be pretty sharp and energetic to get them clothed, fed, and headed in the right direction.  You can’t zombie-shuffle your way through things like that, you have to be on point.  Busy!

Once that is done, I have to load up the car with the day’s provisions: backpacks, lunchboxes, projects, dance bags, piles of papers I brought home to grade and only got half done; all that shit has to get to the car, and then I have to drive kid A to her school, then kid B to his school, and then fight my way through the morning traffic at our own school to find a parking space in the same time zone as school.  Hectic!

Inevitably we end up running late, so I have to haul my luggage cart full of goodies through the teeming throngs of unwashed teenagers.  You think it’s easy trying to navigate a rolly cart full of heavy books and papers in and between the hordes of kids, all lazily slouching towards first hour?  You think it’s easy trying to dash towards my classroom while dodging the oblivious shamblers who sullenly wind their circuitous route towards class?  No, dear readers, I assure you that moving through GenPop is no easy task.  But I bravely do it every school day, thank you very much.  Gruelling!

And then there’s the teaching itself.  Imagine being on your feet in front of class after class of angsty teens who have not only written you off as irrelevant to their lives and futures (what does an old guy know anyways?) but have also written off themselves and any chances they might have for a better life.  You have to sing and dance and practically do cartwheels (no,) to keep their attention, and perpetually exhort them to believe in themselves and do their best.  Think that’s easy?  You think that’s the kind of task one can simply coast through with blasé indifference?  Hell no, Jack!  That shit really takes it out of you!  You need some serious strength and endurance to keep up that pace.  Exhausting!

But after leaving it all on the classroom floor for eight–plus hours, I can’t just quit and take a nap; I got two more kids to worry about at home.  Picking them up from their schools, arranging times for the kindergartener’s afterschool clubs, picking up the girl from her dance class; these things take their toll as well.  Just being with young kids is a draining experience, with their constant questions, and needs, and demands to be picked up, carried around on shoulders, and generally wanting to use you as a jungle gym, especially on weekends, running around after the little animals.  And then you have to bring them along on your basic tasks like grocery shopping.  Have you ever taken two little kids to the grocery store?  Brother, I can tell you it’s like running an obstacle course surrounded by monkeys.  If you do not have your energy reserves up, don’t even try it, you won’t make it.  Enervating!

All this culminates in returning home to cook dinner, clean the dishes, bathe the children, put the kids to bed, lay out clothes, check email, pack lunches, brush teeth, put the kids back to bed, and then fall into bed, collapsing into a heap of pajamas and exhaustion.  Aaarrrgghh!

I live a very, very busy life, is what I’m saying.  So forgive me if I don’t have the time to write a big post about how important Dave’s kidney is to me, because I simply can’t.  And don’t try to guilt me into feeling bad that I’m not properly honoring Dave’s gift, because seriously, it’s his own damn fault I don’t have this time.

After all, without his kidney I couldn’t do any of this shit.