Make up your own words

There was a student in our program many years ago who would use made up words in her essays. When we pointed these out to her and said they were not words, her reply was always, “well, they should be.” We called her made up vocabulary, angieisms. Any time we had a student who did similar writing, we would say they were using angieisms, named for the previous student. Yet another made up word.

Today, in the San Francisco Chronicle, on the front page, no less, is a lengthy article about a person who not only makes up these words but has published his own dictionary of terms. Actually, the dictionary is his second book, the first being a book about his fears. When interviewed, he writes his answers. Quirky is how the writer of the article describes him.

I just had to laugh when I read this piece. We may have kept Angie from realizing her true potential. She too could be making money with her angieisms. I don’t know if she could have done so in Fresno, but in a quirky town like San Francisco, maybe.

More school bashing in the local paper

The local newspaper has done it again. They are running an editorial about dropouts, this time blaming the state leaders for not paying enough attention to the problem. The newspaper is always blaming someone, usually the teachers in the classroom, for the dropout problem we have here in Fresno. It is bad, I am the first to admit it, but please do not blame the education system. As an educator in an inner city school, I know we are working so hard to keep kids in school, but there seems to be some areas in which we cannot get ahead.

Would someone, that’s you Mr. Newspaper Man, please tell me what to do about the sophomore boy who misses at least one day of school a week, usually more, because he just doesn’t want to get up and get going in the morning? Every day that he is absent, we call his home, but there is seldom an answer. His parents are divorced, so we call the father who has a job and seems to be responsible, and he tells us he went by to get the kids and no one answered the door, or if they did, they had just rolled out of bed and weren’t ready to leave. The mother refuses to get up and get her kids ready for school. When I suggest to this young man that perhaps he should live with the more responsible parent, he emphatically says, “no, I like it the way it is.”

What do I do with parents who keep their kids out of school to act as interpretors for appointments? They are sincere and apologetic, but this is the only way they can function in society, to have their kids speak for them in the English only settings they must attend. Or, as is the case with high school students, the parents keep them home to babysit the younger children. Many of my students cannot stay after school for all the opportunities we offer because they must pick up younger siblings and go home to babysit and fix dinner because their parents are working two jobs.

The students in the school where I teach have limited experiences outside of their six block neighborhood and that is why I do 19 fieldtrips a year, so these kids can see another world out there. What about the kid who just won’t go? Does Mr. Editor have an answer for that one? I cannot make a kid go on a fieldtrip, even though I give a grade, even though they often get gifts or lunch from the businesses we visit.

What about the kid who doesn’t have the right clothes to come to school? If I find out about it, I can go to agencies, businesses, other teachers, and get clothes for them, but too often I don’t know until it’s too late. We keep a clothes closet of professional wear for the fieldtrips we take and when we require students to dress professionally, but often they won’t accept the clothes.

Then there is the very smart student who made a very bad decision and got pregnant. She misses at least one day a week for doctor’s appointments or morning sickness. What will happen to her once the baby is born and the not-so-bright father drops out of the picture? I know because I’ve seen it happen almost every year since I’ve been teaching. She will settle for a low paying job because going to school is too hard when you have a baby keeping you awake all night and you have to buy diapers and formula. Does the newspaper have a remedy for this?

I keep trying, going back year after year, with all of my plans, all of my dreams for these inner city kids. I know there is a great big world out there and they could take advantage of so many experiences if they only hang in there, graduate, go on to college, develop their skills, make a way in that world. Many do, and I do have success stories, but the newspaper keeps hammering about the ones who don’t make it, and yet, they have no real answers to the questions I ask.

Cold winter days

California is really not cold country, or at least where I live.  There is no snow on the ground, but it is still cold enough for me.  The temperatures have been in the 40s during the day, with some sun poking through, but not enough to encourage me to go outside.  Except for running errands, I have stayed tucked indoors, looking up obscure websites, reading stored up books, and cooking complicated recipes.  Today I decided I had been lazy long enough and got out my school work.  I am changing the way the seniors will do their reading assignments this semester.  For years I have required them to do as the sophomores do and read two Accelerated Reader books a semester.  Even though seniors, I allowed them to choose any book they wanted, and unfortunately, they never chose challenging books.  This semester I have a collection of business books from which they must choose.  I figure they need to read books more like what they will see in college.  They will be required to write a one page synopsis of the book, and it must be well written, not something they quickly type up and take from the printer, expecting me to do the proofreading.  Nope, I will require some thinking.  Yes, that’s my plan right now, after two weeks away from these kiddos, when I’m well rested and believing anything is possible.  I typed up a great outline of what I want them to do; made a database of all the books I have; labeled all of the books and have them ready to return to school.I have one more week of vacation and plan to get away to the coast for a few days, hoping to see more sunshine and perhaps warmer temps.  I still have a stack of books and magazines I want to read, and I will make more plans for my students.  We will have a long winter to get through before our next vacation, and there is much work to be done.  As I dream of those long, hot summer days, I will cram as much knowledge as I can into my students while the days are cold and no one really wants to go outdoors.  

Leaving the safari to talk to a fox

I love Apple MacIntosh and all things MAC, including Safari for my browser. My husband, on the other hand likes Firefox, and so I have both on my MacBook Pro. Having used Safari to write my blogs for wordpress, I thought I was happy, until a few days ago when I noticed I could no longer get paragraphs in my postings. This really disturbed me as I am a big believer in paragraphing, and I am always yelling at my students to write in paragraphs. In doing some research, I found that wordpress doesn’t like Safari and my formatting problems could be due to this disdain. Foxfire was the suggested browser.

So, here I am, typing in Firefox, still on my wonderful MAC, just to see if I can have some formatting options here that have left me in Safari.

Another day, another funeral

They come in threes–death, funerals, sad things.  Funeral two came this week, just one week after the one for my high school teacher.  This time the daughter of a coworker from years ago.  Except this is one of those times when my past life intersected with my current life.  The daughter, who just died, and was my age, also had children who attended the school where I teach and she often volunteered at the school.  I would see her in the attendance office and catch up on her family, especially her mother.   The children all graduated, her mother passed away, and I lost touch.  Until last week when I saw the death notice in the paper.  Big shock.  The funeral was to be at the church across the street from my school.  I would go, not only for the deceased, but also for her mother with whom I had spent so many hours over 20 years ago.  This funeral was nothing like the previous one.  The church was filled, there was inspiring music, memorable stories, and a sense of a life well lived.  I chatted with people and shared my own memories.  Although saddened by the loss of this woman, people were grateful that she was relieved of her leukemia stricken body and had gone on to greater glories.  Funeral three came just yesterday and I was not an actual participant, but rather a witness.  A county sheriff had been killed while trying to capture a criminal, shot and left to die in an orchard.   Any time a law officer is killed in the line of duty, there is such a sense of despair and this time was no different.  Young man with three small children, good man who had so much to live for, gunned down by a ruthless no life person whose life was going nowhere.  While visiting in the town where the young lawman would be buried, we saw the funeral procession as it moved down a closed freeway, opposite of the direction we were traveling.  The overcrossings were filled with people paying their last respects to a good and decent human being who should still be living and working and taking care of his community.   Later in the evening, at home, on the news, I saw the bagpiper leading the casket to its final resting place.  Saw the widow and three young boys sit grief stricken at the gravesite.  Such a dark and despairing picture at this time of celebration of a baby who brought light into the world.  Another intersection.  

It’s a wrap

Every year you see them, articles in magazines and newspapers, pieces on talk shows, on how to spend less for the holidays.  Like people really want to do that.  Gift giving is a source of pleasure for most of us, and if you’re anything like me, you give gifts to those who really mean a lot to you and ignore all the others.  I love planning my gift-giving, and I love to plan how to wrap them.  Those cheapo articles would have you believe that you can save money by wrapping your gifts in brown paper bags or comic pages.  People will be delighted with your ingenuity.  I’m here to tell you, NOT.   Unless you are giving some absolutely extraordinary gift like diamonds or rare books, don’t be cheap with the wrapping.  It’s part of the gift and people remember how you wrapped their present.  Oh, small children don’t care either way, but I can tell you, their parents do.  They notice what you hand their little darling.  An extraordinary gift might wipe that awful brown paper bag wrap out of their mind, but a small, ordinary gift will make the gift wrap look even worse.  Don’t do it.  Look for lavish bows, exquisite papers, unique bags, clever gift tags, even add-ons like ornaments.  Make someone’s day just by handing them a lovely package. You may be thinking, why is she writing this?  Because I got one of those brown paper bag wrapped gifts; and it wasn’t any great gift, but in a beautifully wrapped package, I might have been more impressed.   I don’t see gift giving as drudgery or another chore, but rather a joy, and I want all that goes into the gift to say this to the person who receives it.  A gift from me says, “you are special, I am delighted to know you and have you in my life.”  So, wrap it up.

Are we having any fun?

There is an ad for a grocery chain running on TV right now that has this song, sung by some ’50s guy whose name I don’t know because I just don’t know actors, singers, or entertainers of any kind.  I am always being asked, “you know that guy who played in such and such movie or tv show?”  NO, I don’t know the guy’s name because I just don’t know names of entertainers.  I don’t know movie names either, but that’s probably gist for another mill, some other time.  It’s not that I dislike entertainers, I just don’t keep those names in my head, like they’re my best friend or something.  But, back to the song, “Are you having any fun?”  I love this song,  and the rest of the ad isn’t too bad either.  I don’t think the whole song gets played during the ad, but it shows people doing fun things during the holiday season with the song playing along.  It reminds us that life should have some fun, and whether you get your jollies at the grocery store, or elsewhere, it’s a good reminder to go have some fun. That is exactly what I plan to do the next 3 weeks of winter holiday.  This is fun on my terms, not anyone else’s. No lesson plans, no students, no projects, no faculty meetings.  My time is my own, and I’m going to have fun.  Lunch with girl friends, exploring new neighborhoods in my own town, maybe a movie or two, trips out of town to see my much adored daughter, and this evening my husband and I are joining a friend with her students to go caroling.  I’m not in charge, just tagging along and singing, LOUD.  I’m giving presents to people I want to, and ignoring the ones I don’t.  I will bake goodies that I like when I want to and share with neighbors.  Most days will include a nap even though I don’t have to wake up at 5 a.m.  I am going to take that ad to heart, and I’m going to have fun.

Going to funerals

There was a time, early on in my life when I was young and kind of stupid, that I refused, flat out refused, to go to funerals. Said they were a waste of my time, the person is DEAD, they don’t know that I’m there, it doesn’t do anyone any good, blah, blah. Maybe I don’t have as much to do anymore, or my life has gotten boring, or something, but now I go to funerals. And if given the chance, I’ll stand up and say something about the deceased. Something nice, and funny, and kind.

Yesterday I attended a funeral that made me so sad. I went back to school and made everyone promise to attend my funeral and tell funny stories. Even one of my previous students who now substitutes at the school from which she graduated. She patted my arm, and promised Mrs. Zody that she would show up at the funeral and tell some amusing tale. The funeral I attended was for one of my high school teachers who had grown quite elderly and friends and family have passed away so few came to the services. Some monsignor who didn’t even know the man spoke, and did so in a very poor manner. He glossed over the years Mr. Arntz had been a business teacher at Kerman High School. Actually, he never mentioned what the man taught, just that he was a high school teacher, oh my. The monsignor seemed to imply that teaching high school was quite heinous, and perhaps it is now, but not back when Mr. Arntz was my teacher. We respected teachers then, and did whatever they said, and didn’t have the multitude the problems kids come to school with today. I would never have thought of talking back to Mr. Arntz, or any of my teachers for that matter. I certainly wouldn’t have told them “NO,” as so many kids to today when I ask them to do something. No, Mr. Arntz taught at a time when teaching was held in high esteem and teachers were well respected.

Mr. Arntz taught multiple business subjects in the small country school where I attended all four years. I had him for shorthand and bookkeeping. He was quiet, but very throrough. I loved shorthand, and I’m sure that Mr. Arntz helped me to appreciate it and become good at it. He nominated me for the Bank of America award in business, and even though I was college prep, not business, I had taken so many business classes that I won the award and to this day still have the framed certificate.

So, where were all the other business students? Where were all the colleagues? All the friends? Why weren’t more stories told, more insights into Mr. Arntz’s life made? It all saddened me and made me angry at the same time. This is not what I want at my funeral. I want lots of music, good old gospel hymns, even Christmas carols. I want stories from all sorts of people, and I want lots of people to come and have a good time because I am going to be in heaven having an even better time.

Now I go to funerals, and I love the ones where I hear about the great life the person has lived; and we’ve all lived great lives, we just need someone to tell our story. Be the person who stands up and tells the funny incident, the embarassing moment, the time we all…whatever or whenever it might have been. The attendees will appreciate it, and the person who died will look down from heaven and have a good laugh too.

End of the semester

Frustration is setting in as I sit here grading semester projects, SAL’s Pizza for Marketing I, and a comprehensive business plan for Marketing III. The students have had from a month to 3 months to work on these projects. I have built in checkpoints along the way so as to sit down with each student and explain what they are doing right and wrong. It gives them a chance to make changes. But, did they make the changes or did they just walk away and keep doing what they were doing? I can see a lot of effort in a few projects, but for the most part, they are sloppy and haphazard with made up information rather than researched facts.

It’s times like these that I wonder what I am doing. I work harder at evaluating the student’s work they they did producing it. I am meticulous in my notes to what they did right and what is wrong or could have been done better. Each project has its own rubric, I am not just making up grades as I go. The students knew what the rubric looked like ahead of time; they knew what I would be grading. The students also know that i am not an easy grader. I expect, for the amount of time I have given them, quality work.

One more week of the semester, and then we start again. Will any of us have learned anything?

E-cards

I like Hallmark’s old fashioned, paper cards that you stand at a display and select, that you find a pen to write a short sentimental note, and then you stick a stamp on the envelope and put it in the mail. My daughter, not so much. She likes e-cards, and Hallmark now makes those too. They are a smart company, knowing full well that people like me are a dying breed, and my daughter, she’s the up and coming generation.

I don’t go to the mailbox on my birthday expecting to find a lovely addressed envelope with a sentimental card inside. I wait until my inbox tells me I have mail, and sure enough, there is the notice of an e-card from my daughter. Today, it was a Christmas card. From Hallmark, but an e-card nonetheless. It was a screaming banshee e-card where each frame, surrounded by loud, raucous music, showed a cartoon character screaming at the top of her lungs over a multitude of holiday fiascos like burned cookies, a blinding snowstorm, a long line, and a bad present. She falls off the roof trying to put up lights and no one will kiss her as she stands alone under the mistletoe. Gee, I hope my Christmas season doesn’t look like that. Humor, it’s what you make it.

I don’t send e-cards. I still go to the store, select a card that matches the recipient, go home and find the address, write my sentimental jargon, put the stamp on the envelope and trot it out to the mailbox before the post lady comes by in her truck. I do this days in advance so that my card shows up at the other end a few days before the celebrated holiday. The recipient has time to look at it, enjoy it, or perhaps just toss it in a pile with all the other junk mail. I believe people like my paper cards because they tell me they do. I like paper cards. I put them in my journal, and years later, again fondly remember the friend who sent me the card and nice sentiment. Can you do that with an e-card? I think not. I don’t have any lying around in cyperspace.