Learning for Dummies is what my new teacher blog is called. I just posted a story about Friday over there.

Oh, and the title doesn’t mean the kids are dumb. Oh no. Well, not most of the time, anyway.

I have to admit that I chose the title because it seems like the sort of thing people might click on. And doesn’t it seem like we approach learning like we are teaching dummies? I know it does when my son comes home from school the day after the writing TAKS test and says, “We don’t have any writing homework for the rest of the year!”

Learning???

Maybe if they didn’t treat our kids like dummies, some of them wouldn’t behave like they do. Who knows?

I just got back from walking downtown to watch our Christmas parade. It’s one of those parades where half the town is in it and the other half watches. I was supposed to be on my school’s float, but I chose to watch MY SON carry the American flag at the beginning of the parade.

I have to say, I felt some patriotism.

I walked back home after seeing Sage. Greg just called and told me that they made it back to the starting point, and were standing there watching the parade. Because…the parade is so incredibly long that some floats are just leaving while others come in, having finished.

The whole thing cracks me up in a way, but it’s cute.

Oh, and I have to add, I really, really, hate it that I lost my camera.

Photo: bradleygee

Yesterday, I heard a soft knock at the door. I opened it to see a large black guy standing there. I figured he must be one of my neighbors.

“Ma’am, I’ve ran out of gas just up the street here,” he said, motioning around the corner to Church Street where I couldn’t see. “Do you have some yardwork I could do so I can run up the store and get some gas?”

“I do need my lawn mowed,” I said, “but I don’t suppose you have a lawn mower with you right now.”

“Naw, but I’ll come back with it if you’ll just give me a few bucks so I can get the gas.”

Still wondering if he was a neighbor, I asked him where he lived.

“Oh, I live over by Lanana Creek, in the Black section.”

When he said that, I got the feeling that when I had stepped out the door I had entered some sort of time portal that had carried me back to the 1950′s. In this house, anything feels possible.

I went into the house, found five dollars, and handed it to him. He promised to come back and mow my yard. Of course he didn’t come back. I didn’t expect him to. The thing that is currently bugging me is that I am wondering if he thought I expected him to. I can just hear it now…”That white bitch thought I was going to mow her damn lawn for a lousy five dollars! Sheeet no…”

Or not.

I do know that there was never a car that was out of gas. I saw him walking down the street today, so there is no car at all, most likely.

I don’t regret giving him the money for two reasons. One, anyone who is desperate enough to come to your door and beg probably needs the money, even if it’s to get drunk. Two, if it ever happens again,with him or anyone else, I can say, “Nope, done been there. No money here for yardwork that doesn’t get done.”

Warning: Long post ahead.

Update: Teaching is going fine, and is currently even enjoyable!

Okay, so I decided that I needed more purpose in my life. To that effect, I went and volunteered my services at a local interfaith agency that provides emergency assistance to people in need. I signed on as an “encourager.” An encourager is a person who provides guidance and encouragement (read, life skills training) to someone reintegrating into the community from prison, facing eviction, etc.

They matched me up with a woman from Mexico who has six children, all of whom are under the age of ten. Her husband went back to Mexico in order to escape prosecution for raping her ten year old daughter. Although the lady has lived here since she was nine, she does not have legal papers. This is a more common scenario than you’d think.

My part is to meet with her once a week. At the staffing, I suggested that I would brainstorm with their client ways to make some money under the table. She gets food stamps for the kids, and some TANF, but of course it’s not enough to pay the electric bill and buy clothes, toilet paper, you know…

So I go over there today. She lives in this area off two country roads (yea me for driving there!) that is kinda cool, actually, with chickens running around everywhere and all that.

The chickens are where the cool part ends. The trailer does not have a working toilet (very apparent from the smell inside), has broken windows, no light in the kitchen or living room due to electrical issues, and was filthy. Like there was a cup of chocolate pudding that had been thrown against the wall and left there to dry. Like the bedrooms are nothing but piles of dirty clothes that I guess the kids sleep on.

The lady, I’ll call her J, and I talked for a while. I’m going to help her with some school issues with her kids–bullying, speech services. We talked about her husband. I learned who is the main purveyor of cocaine in town. The conversation was really amazing. It went somewhat like this:

“Yeah, I told that sonofabitch that he should have just stayed with his 16 year old girlfriend. He could see how she likes him after a while. He only lasted 15 minutes on top of me you know, and a young girl like that–she’s gonna want some excitement, she has energy for all that! She would have kicked him to the curb!”

“Yeah, huh.”

Anyway, all of this was being said in front of all the kids! Yikes, right?

So I’m trying to kick my judgmental nature to the curb. She is one of 16 children, four of whom died. She started dating the man, 40 at the time, when she was 17. I really don’t think she knows how to do this whole thing–men, children, house.

She was out of diapers, and that was gross, because the kids were running around in dirty underwear. She told me how much they cost. I ended up asked Greg to go to Walmart and buy some. When I gave them to her, she didn’t thank me. I think she wanted the money. I suspect that the man in Mexico isn’t the only one with a habit.

I took one of the boys home with me for the afternoon. He is the same age as Sage, and they had a great time playing. I took them to a stained glass store here in town, and the owners showed them all sorts of stuff. It was a blast. The kid DID NOT want to go home. He made me promise I would come back. His mom says he never gets out of the house. Ack!

The ten year old daughter was ticked off that she didn’t get to go with me. The mom doesn’t let her go anywhere, because she wants her to watch the younger kids–1, 3, 4 and 6. She is resentful.

I worked with her for a while on her homework. She says that she never has her homework done because the kids are always running around being all noisy. True, that. The kids have no limits or routine, and it is chaos.

There is not one book or toy in or out of the house. There is a bunch of dangerous looking junk, however, that Greg is going to haul off next weekend.

Anyway, I have this idea. I’m going to take the last seat out of the minivan and put a blanket and some throw pillows back there. I’m going to add some age appropriate books. Then, I’m going to drive over there every day after school and we are going to read. (Kids in our district are supposed to read 15-30 minutes each night and document it.) Sage can read with them, and help the six year old. I can help everyone with their homework. I’ll bring snacks.

If the mom will just take care of the three littlest ones for an hour, it will work. These kids are still at the age when they WANT to do well in school.

Also, I’m going to suggest taking all of the kids for one weekend if she’ll agree to use that time to clean the trailer. Then, the next weekend, I’ll bring paint. No one should have to live like these people are living. It is just like a third world country. Actually, the dung covered mud huts are usually cleaner, from the photos I’ve seen. This is going to be one heck of a project.

Which leads me to the question of….how does one motivate another person who has been trapped in a rut for their ENTIRE LIFE? I went into this situation thinking that a woman with six kids whose partner had just left the country would be plenty eager to make money. I have a lot of ideas and resources. She didn’t even want to talk about it! Advice? I know you can’t change a person, but in this case, it’s certainly worth a try. The kids need a better life than this.

I’m going to bring her my decorating magazines. I don’t always like the fact that I read them, because it makes me want more. However, in her case, I think she needs to want more.

P.S. I’m sorry I haven’t been stopping by. My head is about to explode. I’ll check by soon.

Photo: Yelnoc

There’s been a lot of talk in the news lately about how much legal latitude parents should have when it comes to naming their children. I don’t know where I stand, actually. On the one hand, the libertarian side of me believes we should be able to name our children without government interference, while another side of me is more concerned with the child welfare side. One thing’s for sure–if you name your child something nutty, they’ll probably be legendary.

There was a family in the town where I grew up who was going to have another baby. They told their two older boys that they could name the baby anything they pleased. Well, when the mom popped out the kid, the two brothers told their parents that they wanted to name him Howdy Truckie. The parents, being the sort of people who apparently honored their word, put the name on the birth certificate, and that was that.

Howdy Truckie ended up having hardly any teeth by the time he was nine, owing to all the dippin’ tobacco he used, probably courtesy of his older brothers. Later on, he got gum cancer. That’s actually all I know about him, since I didn’t live in Texas when he was growing up.

I did, however, grow up with a child named Lace. I think Lace is a really beautiful name. The thing is, the boy who was graced with this name had absolutely no choice but to turn out to be flamingly queer. Not that being gay is a terrible thing, but this kid never had a bit of choice in the matter. I think he would have been better off with Johnny Cash’s “Sue”.

Then there were the twins two grades down from me named Annie and Zannie. They still live around here. People remember them better than their ten other siblings.

Of course, I may not be one to talk. My own kids have unusual names. Everyone knows who they are in school, which has been a good thing. Hopefully, it will still be a good thing professionally. Of course, if not, they can always change them. Unless they decide on something like Howdy Truckie.

Last night, I was asleep when Salsa started barking uproariously. I stumbled out of bed to see what was going on and found Greg on the front porch, reading. I asked him why the dog was having a fit. He told me that a man had just came up to the porch, pulled one steak (still wrapped) from his front pocket, and asked him if he wanted to buy it.

“No man, I’m good,” is what Greg said.

The man left.

I remembered this incident in the morning, and had difficulty distinguishing it from some sort of weird dream. Later on, I asked Greg, “Who the hell buys stolen meat from people in the middle of the night? I mean, is there actually a market for this stuff or what?”

Sky spoke up and let us know that his roommate Zack had scored the household 20 steaks (for a dollar each) from just such an exchange.

This is such a weird place sometimes.

I’m so angry/sad right now. I found out last night that the wife of one of my colleagues died. She was one of those women who looked perfect at all times. I felt jealous of her and of her size 6 wardrobe. She had a great sense of humor. Her death was a surprise.

It was caused by complications of a prior gastric bypass surgery. I never knew she used to be fat. What a price she paid in her efforts to fit into this this town.

We have billboards everywhere advertising bariatric surgery, laser hair removal, facelifts, the works. This is a town of 30,000, so it seems a little much. But, appearances are everything here.

This woman leaves behind 9 year old twins with chronic health problems, her husband (who just transferred to another school district–what a time to start a new job), and a 16 year old son, whom I taught when he was in 7th grade. He’s a sweet kid–all the kids are–and my heart just breaks for this family.

I need to go to the viewing to show my support. I hate viewings. I don’t want to see someone dead. I feel so bad that this whole thing happened. It is so tragic in so many ways.

The thing is, people shouldn’t have to have surgery to fit in here. People shouldn’t have to feel the need to look perfect. I wish our town made people feel welcome and loved regardless of which hairdresser they use. Really.

I know several other people who have had gastric bypass surgery in my town. This is weird, since I didn’t even know one person who had had it in Austin, and I knew a lot more people there. Three of the people I know who have had it have been hospitalized in the past year for problems related to it. One of the people who I know who has had it is my new principal. She seems to be doing fine.

I’m just so upset about this whole thing. I also want to know who the woman’s doctor was. She was treated for an intestinal blockage when it was a kink in her intestines. The blood supply got cut off and it got all horrible–she died of septic shock.

Lawsuit?

I just don’t know what else to say about this.

Photo: kuyman

So far, they’ve never been premonitions. And when you’re driving down the road and in your mind’s eye you see the motorcycle in front of you skid, tumble, its driver sliding beneath the wheels of an oncoming car–you are thankful for that.

It’s difficult to know what to make of it all sometimes. You read articles about people who felt a sudden foreboding about getting on a particular flight, and who subsequently saved themselves from a fiery death amid twisted metal falling from the sky. You imagine what would happen if you acted on all of your feelings of foreboding. Chances are, you’d never leave the house again.

You wonder what would happen if for once, you actually did have a premonition of a disaster of some sort. Would you recognize it? Or would you write it off as being just another one of your catastrophic visions?

You wish the visions in your head were good ones. Perhaps someday, in the subreality your mind drifts to, you will see the perfection of the incomprehensible order of life. The good things. The ones we take for granted.

Read more about vision at Sunday Scribblings.

I have a colleague whose partner just died from cancer. It sucks on so many levels, one of which is that they’ve been together like 25 years and since my colleague is an lesbian in this little town, she can’t grieve as openly as she could if it had been a husband who had died. People at work know, and some don’t know what to say. Fortunately, she has a good network of friends for support.

They had a blueberry farm that they ran together. A couple of months ago, I bought a huge bag of blueberries from her. I still have some. She is selling the farm. She told me that the blueberries in my freezer are “the last of them”. I feel sad when I look at those blueberries.