I remember when I found out I was pregnant with Nick; Jake was 2 years old then and I did wonder... I had heard many people say that they were worried how they could possibly begin to love another child when their hearts overflowed with love for their first child. And, can you love each child equally? I think that each person has to answer those questions for herself, but what I can tell you, from personal experience is that, when they put Nick on my chest and when I held him for the first time, I never again wondered. I realized that I wouldn't love them equally from the same place in my heart because when he was born, my heart grew bigger; a new piece was created just for him. And 6 years later, it grew again, only this time, for a new baby boy, Ty. I was thinking about this idea as I reread a book, in preparation for class on Tuesday and in reminiscing about last Sunday, when I ran the Los Angeles Marathon for AIDS Project. My heart keeps growing larger and with it, more friendships and experiences, more moments of pure joy and love and, more reasons to continue to try and make a real difference in people's lives.
Aura Imbarus is a teacher. She is an intellectual, beautiful, giving and, she has suffered. But out of her trials, she has emerged victorious because she controls her own destiny. She saw her way out of oppression and, despite some of the most difficult choices that a human being might have to make in the course of one lifetime, she relied on herself, on her strength and determination, on her will and desire to achieve what she wanted. And for that, for her sheer desire, I have the utmost respect for her. She makes a difference in people's lives, every day and, whether she realizes it or not, she has made a difference in mine.
Scott Boliver is a coach. He is also a husband and a father and a dedicated, selfless man. And, his health issues aside, which are difficult to overlook, when you are around Scott, you feel inspired. I feel inspired. I remember when he came to one of our Sunday runs a couple of years ago in Griffith park; his presence was dynamic. It seemed that everyone not only knew who he was, but they wanted to see him, hug him, talk to him. And now, after having been able to, even at a minimum, train around Scott, it is clearly evident why that is the case. He is a believer; he believes in the strength and in the courage and in the determination of people and he brings out the best in us; he brought it out in me. And now, he continues to fight his own personal battle, but alongside him, he carries the love and support of hundreds who want him desperately to be well, to succeed in this long battle. Despite it all, Scott shows up, he cares and he has made a real difference in my life.
Running a marathon is preparation for anything that you might want to accomplish in your life. I should qualify that; preparing, training for a marathon is preparation... running the race is a journey in and of itself - the party that you've been waiting months to see come to fruition. Maybe that is why there is a let down after it is over. It takes months to prepare and it is emotional. Meeting new friends and carrying one another through the tough miles and through the tears, and, there are always tears, one gets the feeling that a marathon might not only be the toughest preparation for life, but the most exhilarating as well. This marathon was my favorite, aside from my first, which will always hold special significance for me; this race was about experiencing everything and I felt like I did. It was fun. It was emotional. It was wonderful. Running marathons, and this one in particular, has made a real difference in my life.
I'd like to think that there are many groups of people like those who work for APLA and, of course, there are and I'm not just talking about fundraising, but I'd like to think that after the fundraising is done, that these other groups stay together, that they continue to communicate with one another, to send emails and to share photos and to sign up for more races together just because they want the experience to continue. The thing is, I don't think that there are. I've run marathons for other charities and I've enjoyed the process and the races, but APLA feels like home. The runners and the coaches, the volunteers, the site assistants and everyone who must work in the offices including the last mail person or person working behind a desk; these people are my heroes. These people have enriched my life in a way that the births of each of my sons have. Their dedication to a cause that is bigger than all of us, the love and support that they have for one another and for those who they will never meet is awe inspiring. These are people who I will carry with me for the rest of my life, people who smiled at me on some Saturday mornings, people who have asked me to run with them again, people who introduced me to their parents, their lovers, their families, who have invited me into their homes...these people have made a real difference in my life.
AIDS first appeared on the scene, in my life, when I was in high school. It was terrifying and eventually, devastating. Knowing lovely people who suffered and then who lost their battles with this disease gave me a profound desire to do... something. And, it still does. I've said it many times; there is not a person alive who does not deserve to be treated with dignity, just for the mere fact that they are human beings. Not everyone realizes this, sadly and that is why APLA has become a beacon of hope for so many people; I am convinced that is why so many people participate in programs that have evolved from this organization. There is a real sense of belonging, of hope and of peace that comes from this community. And, honestly, although I wish with all of my heart that there was no need for APLA, I am thankful that they found me or that I found them. Either way, the money that I raise helps and it is an ultimate good, but it is not enough. And so, I will always contribute to their cause; I will always carry their message to others in how I live my life. They have made me want to be better and, so, I am better. AIDS is its own marathon and the people who work for APLA are those who line the streets, holding out oranges, giving out hugs, making the journey as light as they can.
I'm a romantic; I don't deny it. I'm in love with life, with people, with new adventures. Is it possible to be an idealist and a realist? I guess if I consider myself to be a Christian and a Buddhist, then I suppose so. Either way, I hope for the best now; I didn't always think that way, but I do now. And hoping for the best has made a real difference in my life.
Life has brought me a friendship with Aura Imbarus and inspiration in a new coach, Scott Boliver. Life has also brought me membership into the APLA community, of which I will always be a part. My heart continues to grow...
Friday, March 23, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
And so...
"Do you know someone who has died from AIDS?" I get that question, some might say frequently, at least in my recent attempts at fundraising and, although I do, several actually, I find that question interesting and...annoying. I suppose that it has a purpose, I mean I am running the marathon and I am asking for money for a specific cause; there must be a reason behind it right? Maybe they just want to know the reason and I'm reading too much into it or, maybe, just maybe, I've had one too many run in's with people who don't want to give because it is for a certain cause and THAT I find reprehensible. I actually had one woman, who shall remain anonymous, ask me to whom the money was going directly? Did I know? What was it being used for? Was it distributed "equally?" What do I look like lady, the Director. I mean, I answered her questions to the best of my ability, but there was something suspicious about her behavior, something about the way that she hounded me and then, nothing. She never made a donation. I chalked it up to she just didn't have the funds, but deep down, I felt that it was that "other thing;" that thing that people don't want to acknowledge in themselves because others would call them on it. It was that thing that makes people fearful and shallow, without compassion. It doesn't have a specific name, but it feeds on ignorance and fear. Some people say it is homophobia, some say discrimination, some just roll their eyes like they expect that kind of behavior and maybe they are justified in doing so. AIDS has been around for 30 years this year and there is still a stigma associated with it; ask people who are running for the cause, many of them used to feel one way about the disease and about the cause and now, through many changes in their lives, some of their own volition and some just coincidental, they have a broader and a deeper understanding of those who live with this diagnosis and ultimately, this disease. It's not rocket science here, it's the recognition that if you stand for human rights, then that includes ALL humans, not just the ones who meet your standards or your criteria.
I also have to say that the "God" issue really bothers me. I'm a Christian, a Catholic actually, but I tend to say Christian in a general way. I don't go to church on a regular basis, at least not right now and I tend to now lean more toward a Buddhist way of thinking. What bothers me about this notion is when people speak on behalf of "God" and how they seem to feel justified in using "God" as an explanation for their hatred, their prejudice and their downright fear. I think that the religious right are some of the most fiercely judgmental and least "Christian" people I have ever had the displeasure to hear or to know. Religion should never justify intolerance or violence. Religion is organized theology and people, while they have every right to believe and to practice what they want, I do not feel that any single human being has the right to judge another human being on the basis of race, creed, sexual preference, lifestyle and, of course, other categories which I'm too tired to list or to think of at the moment, but you get the general idea. On the other hand, I find that many of the people whom I've known, who I would have thought to be the most judgmental, have ended up being the biggest proponents of the cause and the biggest supporters of endeavors like the marathon.
I'm not kidding myself; I'm not all that smart nor do I pretend to know politics. But I listen and I follow a certain credo when it comes to how and what I believe and I have reasons for all of it. How I feel about certain issues are based on my core value system; part of that came from how I was raised and a larger part of that came from getting out in the world, growing up, interacting with people and formulating my own way of seeing the world. But it all comes back to one thing, one simple thing; I love people. I can't help it. My name is Yvette and I love people. Yes, they piss me off and I hate slow drivers and I can't stand it when students don't do what I say or when Jake forgets to take out the trash, but, alas, I digress...
Sometimes when I'm driving, I have had a rather morbid thought cross my mind. I start thinking of my own funeral and as I imagine it, I think about who would come to the service and, more importantly, what they would say. I think about Tim and my sons and it makes me sad and fearful for a few minutes, but this exercise isn't really about them, it's about what people would say about me and is that in line with how I live my life? Is what they say representative of the kind of human being that I was; did they get the point? I used to have a lot of regrets, but they mostly concerned little things and a lot of them focused on events or incidents from my youth when I was either too ignorant (ah hah) or too afraid (we're on to something here) to do anything to change my ideas. But what I've come to realize now is that all anyone, at my funeral or anywhere else for that matter, who wanted to know what kind of person I was or am; all that person would have to do is look at the people who are a part of my life, the people who I have chosen to surround myself with and who I call my family. In the last few years especially, I have changed so much. I think that I was always poised on the precipice of change, but I needed something or someone to push me and interestingly, that push came in the form of a marathon. Now, when I look back though, I realize, it was never about the running. It was always about the people.
As much as I want my life to mean something and as much as I want my children to grow up to be selfless, altruistic, giving human beings, more than anything, I would like for the judgment to stop. Thinking back to my "God" reference; I believe that, in the end, when I stand before my maker and I am asked to justify why I lived my life the way I did, well, I hope that I can and I hope that it will be enough because in the end, all I have are the choices that I made and that I continue to make and one of those choices is how I treat other human beings. It's not about politics or economics; it's about the most basic civilities. Were you the type of kid who excluded other kids? Did you name call? Did you pick on or bully other kids? Do you still? Some behaviors we outgrow and, sadly, some of those behaviors manifest themselves into ways of thinking and pretty soon, they become our core values.
I find myself at a crossroads all the time when it comes to issues. I have strong opinions and beliefs about how things should be but I often let my actions and behaviors speak for me. I'm not one to stand on a soapbox and if you've been reading any of this blog, this particular one is a bit unusual in that respect. I'm not a preacher. I tend to just write what I think and then I either let it go or I hold it close to my heart. That's it. I guess I've just had to hear the word "Fag" come out of one too many mouths. And in case you're wondering, I say something to the person who said it every single time. The other day it was at work and it was a student, not my student but one who was in the hall. I don't know the exact context in which he used it, but does it matter. I just said, "Hey, do not use language like that." I know, I sounded like a mother, but I am a mother. The kid looked so shocked that I wasn't sure if I should say anything else and then, surprisingly he muttered, "Oh sorry" but I was already walking toward the door. I'm not even sure why he said he was sorry because I bet my life he said it again in the next few breaths after I left.
I get tired of the way that people insult other people. I mean, I'll take a shot at someone, no holds barred, if I feel like it's justified, but the difference is that I don't make it an issue of race or creed, sometimes I do of gender but that's only because I've been married to a MAN for 18 years and we all know, homo or hetero here, that that ain't an easy thing to do (I hope you're smiling at that). I used to be afraid of a lot of things, of a lot of how people thought and what they thought of me and now, now I'm no longer afraid and if you ask me, I'm going to tell you. If you want to know if I know anyone who has died from AIDS, sadly, I will say yes and that that is part of the reason why I am running. But more than that and what I'd really like you to remember and my real answer to that question is, I'm running for AIDS Project because I, like the other 200 runners who will run this year, and, like all the other alumni who've run and for all those who will run in the future, we, believe that there will be a cure and that AIDS will no longer exist. And we believe that no one should have to suffer and there are many who suffer, probably more than you know, regardless of who they are and where they live and how they got this horrific disease. None of that matters; these are human beings who need our help and it is our duty and our obligation to help them. And if they do die, when many of them do die, I like to think that all of us want each of them to pass on with the utmost dignity and with the love of other people and that the person who stands beside them in that moment or who holds their hand will look at them with the kindness and respect that they deserve. That is what I hope. And so... Why do you run for APLA?
I run for APLA because it is an organization that is devoted to the belief that every single human being has the right to live, to be loved and, to receive whatever help they need in order to insure the highest quality of life. I run for them because the people who I've met these past few years who work for APLA and who run for them are some of the finest, kindest, most giving people I have ever known. I run for APLA because they graciously allow me to, so, thank you, universe, God, Karma... thank you for bringing me into their fold. I have benefited the most from our relationship and this Sunday, on March 18th, I will proudly wear my T2 singlet and I will remember every single step that I take as a step that has both brought me here and that will, simultaneously, carry me forward.
Thank you Kevin and Scott, Tom and Ashley, the Bolivers and to all of the other volunteers, coaches, support team and to the runners, thank you for giving me a new direction, one that I will follow passionately. The marathon approaches... T2 2012.
I also have to say that the "God" issue really bothers me. I'm a Christian, a Catholic actually, but I tend to say Christian in a general way. I don't go to church on a regular basis, at least not right now and I tend to now lean more toward a Buddhist way of thinking. What bothers me about this notion is when people speak on behalf of "God" and how they seem to feel justified in using "God" as an explanation for their hatred, their prejudice and their downright fear. I think that the religious right are some of the most fiercely judgmental and least "Christian" people I have ever had the displeasure to hear or to know. Religion should never justify intolerance or violence. Religion is organized theology and people, while they have every right to believe and to practice what they want, I do not feel that any single human being has the right to judge another human being on the basis of race, creed, sexual preference, lifestyle and, of course, other categories which I'm too tired to list or to think of at the moment, but you get the general idea. On the other hand, I find that many of the people whom I've known, who I would have thought to be the most judgmental, have ended up being the biggest proponents of the cause and the biggest supporters of endeavors like the marathon.
I'm not kidding myself; I'm not all that smart nor do I pretend to know politics. But I listen and I follow a certain credo when it comes to how and what I believe and I have reasons for all of it. How I feel about certain issues are based on my core value system; part of that came from how I was raised and a larger part of that came from getting out in the world, growing up, interacting with people and formulating my own way of seeing the world. But it all comes back to one thing, one simple thing; I love people. I can't help it. My name is Yvette and I love people. Yes, they piss me off and I hate slow drivers and I can't stand it when students don't do what I say or when Jake forgets to take out the trash, but, alas, I digress...
Sometimes when I'm driving, I have had a rather morbid thought cross my mind. I start thinking of my own funeral and as I imagine it, I think about who would come to the service and, more importantly, what they would say. I think about Tim and my sons and it makes me sad and fearful for a few minutes, but this exercise isn't really about them, it's about what people would say about me and is that in line with how I live my life? Is what they say representative of the kind of human being that I was; did they get the point? I used to have a lot of regrets, but they mostly concerned little things and a lot of them focused on events or incidents from my youth when I was either too ignorant (ah hah) or too afraid (we're on to something here) to do anything to change my ideas. But what I've come to realize now is that all anyone, at my funeral or anywhere else for that matter, who wanted to know what kind of person I was or am; all that person would have to do is look at the people who are a part of my life, the people who I have chosen to surround myself with and who I call my family. In the last few years especially, I have changed so much. I think that I was always poised on the precipice of change, but I needed something or someone to push me and interestingly, that push came in the form of a marathon. Now, when I look back though, I realize, it was never about the running. It was always about the people.
As much as I want my life to mean something and as much as I want my children to grow up to be selfless, altruistic, giving human beings, more than anything, I would like for the judgment to stop. Thinking back to my "God" reference; I believe that, in the end, when I stand before my maker and I am asked to justify why I lived my life the way I did, well, I hope that I can and I hope that it will be enough because in the end, all I have are the choices that I made and that I continue to make and one of those choices is how I treat other human beings. It's not about politics or economics; it's about the most basic civilities. Were you the type of kid who excluded other kids? Did you name call? Did you pick on or bully other kids? Do you still? Some behaviors we outgrow and, sadly, some of those behaviors manifest themselves into ways of thinking and pretty soon, they become our core values.
I find myself at a crossroads all the time when it comes to issues. I have strong opinions and beliefs about how things should be but I often let my actions and behaviors speak for me. I'm not one to stand on a soapbox and if you've been reading any of this blog, this particular one is a bit unusual in that respect. I'm not a preacher. I tend to just write what I think and then I either let it go or I hold it close to my heart. That's it. I guess I've just had to hear the word "Fag" come out of one too many mouths. And in case you're wondering, I say something to the person who said it every single time. The other day it was at work and it was a student, not my student but one who was in the hall. I don't know the exact context in which he used it, but does it matter. I just said, "Hey, do not use language like that." I know, I sounded like a mother, but I am a mother. The kid looked so shocked that I wasn't sure if I should say anything else and then, surprisingly he muttered, "Oh sorry" but I was already walking toward the door. I'm not even sure why he said he was sorry because I bet my life he said it again in the next few breaths after I left.
I get tired of the way that people insult other people. I mean, I'll take a shot at someone, no holds barred, if I feel like it's justified, but the difference is that I don't make it an issue of race or creed, sometimes I do of gender but that's only because I've been married to a MAN for 18 years and we all know, homo or hetero here, that that ain't an easy thing to do (I hope you're smiling at that). I used to be afraid of a lot of things, of a lot of how people thought and what they thought of me and now, now I'm no longer afraid and if you ask me, I'm going to tell you. If you want to know if I know anyone who has died from AIDS, sadly, I will say yes and that that is part of the reason why I am running. But more than that and what I'd really like you to remember and my real answer to that question is, I'm running for AIDS Project because I, like the other 200 runners who will run this year, and, like all the other alumni who've run and for all those who will run in the future, we, believe that there will be a cure and that AIDS will no longer exist. And we believe that no one should have to suffer and there are many who suffer, probably more than you know, regardless of who they are and where they live and how they got this horrific disease. None of that matters; these are human beings who need our help and it is our duty and our obligation to help them. And if they do die, when many of them do die, I like to think that all of us want each of them to pass on with the utmost dignity and with the love of other people and that the person who stands beside them in that moment or who holds their hand will look at them with the kindness and respect that they deserve. That is what I hope. And so... Why do you run for APLA?
I run for APLA because it is an organization that is devoted to the belief that every single human being has the right to live, to be loved and, to receive whatever help they need in order to insure the highest quality of life. I run for them because the people who I've met these past few years who work for APLA and who run for them are some of the finest, kindest, most giving people I have ever known. I run for APLA because they graciously allow me to, so, thank you, universe, God, Karma... thank you for bringing me into their fold. I have benefited the most from our relationship and this Sunday, on March 18th, I will proudly wear my T2 singlet and I will remember every single step that I take as a step that has both brought me here and that will, simultaneously, carry me forward.
Thank you Kevin and Scott, Tom and Ashley, the Bolivers and to all of the other volunteers, coaches, support team and to the runners, thank you for giving me a new direction, one that I will follow passionately. The marathon approaches... T2 2012.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Riley...
Our dog died today. I have no witty reparte or any loving anecdote that I want to share. I don't want to remember her as a puppy or how many times she cracked me up, especially when she was little. I don't want to focus on the "joy." Right now, I want to feel sad and I want to write down the experience, for her and for me.
I carried her in my arms because she really couldn't walk. She had a swollen front leg and she had been wheezing and straining to breathe for almost two weeks. We probably waited too long. She was suffering, needlessly. Four days ago I was doing housework and she was laying by the back door and she was making soft sounds so I stopped what I was doing and I went and lay next to her. I put my arm around her and she licked my face, but then she started making the sound again. Whimpering. Chronic pain whimpering. I remember sitting outside with her about a month ago and I was petting her fur and I said, "You'll tell me when girl ok?" It was just like in that movie Marley and Me. And, to tell you the truth, I wanted her to tell Tim and I when because that is a decision that I've never had to make before. I've never had to put a pet down, until today.
She weighed about 45 pounds and she didn't fight me. People say it's like they know and maybe, in some small way, she was relieved that we were doing something. Maybe she was just so tired that none of it mattered. Last night she lay in one spot and she didn't get up at all. I waited for her to bark so that I could go downstairs and let her out, but she didn't. She just lay there.
I brought her into the room and lay her on the towel and she just looked at me, breathing heavily, her tongue coming out of her mouth once or twice. I wondered if she was thirsty. Within two minutes, a young man came in and told me that he was going to give her a shot of morphine to calm her. Strange, because she was already so calm, but I knew that she wouldn't be in any more pain after that shot. He administered it and said that the doctor would be in in about 5 minutes or so to give her the final shot. He smiled and put a box of Kleenex on the table by her head. He closed the door and I looked at the clock on the wall. 5 minutes.
Riley would have turned 14 this year, in December, but she started to look so old, especially these last months. It was in her eyes. She couldn't hear much anymore and she lost most of her teeth a long time ago. She spent several years without a lot of attention and for that, I feel terrible. Caught up in other things, there were times when Riley was just simply this figure that lived in our house, in our backyard. Sometimes she was annoying and she had fur problems for years. Every time my brothers would come over these past few years, they would joke about how we should just put her down. But the thing was, she may have looked scraggly and she was smelly and she couldn't hear, but she was a good dog. We first got her because we needed a watchdog and she barked at everything in the backyard, sometimes too often. She didn't like other dogs very much and she would growl and bark at people who came by the house who were walking their dogs. And when she was little, maybe the first 2 years, she jumped up on everybody. She didn't discriminate.
I have to be honest here and say that I am not the best pet owner, not even close; I'm sitting here right now thinking about all of the things that I could have done to show her that it meant a lot to us to have her around; that just having her here made our family complete. I would and still have recently joked that with a husband and 3 boys in the house, it was just me and the dog, that the bitches have to stick together. Sometimes I would just sit out in the backyard with her, pushed up next to me, thinking about things and sometimes I'd watch her roll around on her back, growling and barking.
I asked Jake if he wanted to come with me today and he did. For a second I know he thought about coming into the room, but now in retrospect, I'm glad that he didn't. I knelt down by the side of the table and rubbed her ears and petted her fur while her breathing changed and her tongue began to dart in and out of her mouth more often. Her eyes were half closed and I noticed that as I shifted, her eyes followed my face. I kept thinking about the 5 minutes. She was going to die in less than 5 minutes. The doctor came in and said, "I'm so sorry about your baby." I had already started crying and I said something like, "It's time. She's been in a lot of pain" although I really don't know what I said. The doctor turned her around on the table and plugged in the shaver then he shaved a little patch on her foreleg. He inserted the needle and pressed the syringe and it happened so fast. I don't know, less than a minute maybe. He listened to her heart and told me that she was gone. He told me that I could stay as long as I needed to and then he left the room.
Jake was 1 year old when we brought Riley home and some of my favorite pictures are of him sitting with her in her box in the kitchen while she jumped all over him. Jake will be 15 in May and I'm glad that he was there outside the door today. I stayed for a few minutes. I said goodbye. I told her that I loved her and that I was sorry for the times when I wasn't there, when I ignored her. I kissed her on the head and then I walked out. I was patting my eyes and when Jake saw me come out, he stood up and came and put his arm around me. We walked to the car and we didn't say anything. We started to drive and I could tell that he wanted to know what had happened. But at the first red light, I covered my face in my hands and just burst into tears; I just kept crying and before I knew it, Jake was crying too. I could tell that he was trying not to, but it was exactly what we both needed. When we were almost home, I told him what happened and for the rest of the day, he kind of kept an eye on me. He hugged me about a half an hour ago in the kitchen and he told me that he loved me and that it was going to be okay.
I cleaned up her dishes a little while ago and I swept and mopped the floor, maybe trying to eliminate the traces of dog fur. Maybe it just made me feel better. But sitting here, I realize that I don't feel better. I keep looking around and she's missing. Riley just became a fixture in the living room or in the backyard. We always had to make sure that the front door was closed so that she wouldn't run out and we had to bungee cord the gate in the back because she figured out how to open it by banging her paw against it repeatedly.
I needed to take her today. I didn't want Tim to have to do it. I needed to be there and I'm not exactly sure why. It would have been much easier to just stay home and to let somebody else take care of it. Easier and not nearly as satisfying.
There was a student in one of my classes at Richardson Middle School; a small boy with very blonde hair. When we got the puppy, I kept thinking about that boy and what a perfect name he had; perfect for this runt of the litter, the one with blonde fur and a pointy snout, the one who peed constantly all over the house until we had to remove the carpet. She's been here for the last 14 years of my life, just here, not asking for much, but here nonetheless.
I keep picturing her face today; her eyes weren't closed all the way and her body twitched once when I went to stand up. I guess she looked peaceful, but in some small way, she looked empty, hollow. Exactly how I'm feeling right now.
Goodbye girl.
I carried her in my arms because she really couldn't walk. She had a swollen front leg and she had been wheezing and straining to breathe for almost two weeks. We probably waited too long. She was suffering, needlessly. Four days ago I was doing housework and she was laying by the back door and she was making soft sounds so I stopped what I was doing and I went and lay next to her. I put my arm around her and she licked my face, but then she started making the sound again. Whimpering. Chronic pain whimpering. I remember sitting outside with her about a month ago and I was petting her fur and I said, "You'll tell me when girl ok?" It was just like in that movie Marley and Me. And, to tell you the truth, I wanted her to tell Tim and I when because that is a decision that I've never had to make before. I've never had to put a pet down, until today.
She weighed about 45 pounds and she didn't fight me. People say it's like they know and maybe, in some small way, she was relieved that we were doing something. Maybe she was just so tired that none of it mattered. Last night she lay in one spot and she didn't get up at all. I waited for her to bark so that I could go downstairs and let her out, but she didn't. She just lay there.
I brought her into the room and lay her on the towel and she just looked at me, breathing heavily, her tongue coming out of her mouth once or twice. I wondered if she was thirsty. Within two minutes, a young man came in and told me that he was going to give her a shot of morphine to calm her. Strange, because she was already so calm, but I knew that she wouldn't be in any more pain after that shot. He administered it and said that the doctor would be in in about 5 minutes or so to give her the final shot. He smiled and put a box of Kleenex on the table by her head. He closed the door and I looked at the clock on the wall. 5 minutes.
Riley would have turned 14 this year, in December, but she started to look so old, especially these last months. It was in her eyes. She couldn't hear much anymore and she lost most of her teeth a long time ago. She spent several years without a lot of attention and for that, I feel terrible. Caught up in other things, there were times when Riley was just simply this figure that lived in our house, in our backyard. Sometimes she was annoying and she had fur problems for years. Every time my brothers would come over these past few years, they would joke about how we should just put her down. But the thing was, she may have looked scraggly and she was smelly and she couldn't hear, but she was a good dog. We first got her because we needed a watchdog and she barked at everything in the backyard, sometimes too often. She didn't like other dogs very much and she would growl and bark at people who came by the house who were walking their dogs. And when she was little, maybe the first 2 years, she jumped up on everybody. She didn't discriminate.
I have to be honest here and say that I am not the best pet owner, not even close; I'm sitting here right now thinking about all of the things that I could have done to show her that it meant a lot to us to have her around; that just having her here made our family complete. I would and still have recently joked that with a husband and 3 boys in the house, it was just me and the dog, that the bitches have to stick together. Sometimes I would just sit out in the backyard with her, pushed up next to me, thinking about things and sometimes I'd watch her roll around on her back, growling and barking.
I asked Jake if he wanted to come with me today and he did. For a second I know he thought about coming into the room, but now in retrospect, I'm glad that he didn't. I knelt down by the side of the table and rubbed her ears and petted her fur while her breathing changed and her tongue began to dart in and out of her mouth more often. Her eyes were half closed and I noticed that as I shifted, her eyes followed my face. I kept thinking about the 5 minutes. She was going to die in less than 5 minutes. The doctor came in and said, "I'm so sorry about your baby." I had already started crying and I said something like, "It's time. She's been in a lot of pain" although I really don't know what I said. The doctor turned her around on the table and plugged in the shaver then he shaved a little patch on her foreleg. He inserted the needle and pressed the syringe and it happened so fast. I don't know, less than a minute maybe. He listened to her heart and told me that she was gone. He told me that I could stay as long as I needed to and then he left the room.
Jake was 1 year old when we brought Riley home and some of my favorite pictures are of him sitting with her in her box in the kitchen while she jumped all over him. Jake will be 15 in May and I'm glad that he was there outside the door today. I stayed for a few minutes. I said goodbye. I told her that I loved her and that I was sorry for the times when I wasn't there, when I ignored her. I kissed her on the head and then I walked out. I was patting my eyes and when Jake saw me come out, he stood up and came and put his arm around me. We walked to the car and we didn't say anything. We started to drive and I could tell that he wanted to know what had happened. But at the first red light, I covered my face in my hands and just burst into tears; I just kept crying and before I knew it, Jake was crying too. I could tell that he was trying not to, but it was exactly what we both needed. When we were almost home, I told him what happened and for the rest of the day, he kind of kept an eye on me. He hugged me about a half an hour ago in the kitchen and he told me that he loved me and that it was going to be okay.
I cleaned up her dishes a little while ago and I swept and mopped the floor, maybe trying to eliminate the traces of dog fur. Maybe it just made me feel better. But sitting here, I realize that I don't feel better. I keep looking around and she's missing. Riley just became a fixture in the living room or in the backyard. We always had to make sure that the front door was closed so that she wouldn't run out and we had to bungee cord the gate in the back because she figured out how to open it by banging her paw against it repeatedly.
I needed to take her today. I didn't want Tim to have to do it. I needed to be there and I'm not exactly sure why. It would have been much easier to just stay home and to let somebody else take care of it. Easier and not nearly as satisfying.
There was a student in one of my classes at Richardson Middle School; a small boy with very blonde hair. When we got the puppy, I kept thinking about that boy and what a perfect name he had; perfect for this runt of the litter, the one with blonde fur and a pointy snout, the one who peed constantly all over the house until we had to remove the carpet. She's been here for the last 14 years of my life, just here, not asking for much, but here nonetheless.
I keep picturing her face today; her eyes weren't closed all the way and her body twitched once when I went to stand up. I guess she looked peaceful, but in some small way, she looked empty, hollow. Exactly how I'm feeling right now.
Goodbye girl.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Superheroes...
I don't believe in Wonder Woman or Batgirl. I don't believe in sidekicks. I don't believe in playing second fiddle to anyone, in any capacity, ever. I don't believe in "can't." I don't believe in excuses. I don't believe in jealousy or envy. I don't believe in hypocrisy. I don't believe in cruelty or holding a grudge. I don't believe in elitism, sexism, racism or in any kind of discrimination. I don't believe in apathy or sloth. I don't believe in diets or deprivation. I don't believe in immorality or character defamation. I don't believe in division, among any lines. I don't believe in slander or gossip. I don't believe in assigning blame and I certainly don't believe in any organization, group or business that creates policies that foster inequality on any level.
In death we are all equal; there are no color lines, nor are there factors that make us feel as though we are "less." In death, we all face the unknown, the uncertain; we become vulnerable to the "what if?" In death, you take my hand and I take yours and we walk into the beyond as one, as equals. We are the same. Why then do we not do this while we live? Why do you not take my hand and tell me, with your eyes and with your heart and with your friendship and love, that we are the same.
I believe in truth and hope. I believe in goodness and kindness and joy. I believe in young people. I believe in God. I believe in growth and movement. I believe that chocolate and red wine should be consumed every day, if not twice a day. I believe that many people die too soon because they don't have someone to touch them, hug them, hold their hands. I believe in stories, in books, in art, in music. I believe in protesting and standing up for your rights. I believe in education and the idea that the acquisition of knowledge is a shared endeavor between teachers and students. I believe that kissing a baby, even one that is not your own, heals you in some way. I believe that at least once in your life, you should have the opportunity to feel as though you are standing just a bit taller than every other human being on the planet, even if it is just for a second. I believe in traditions and spirituality. I believe in smoking pot once in awhile and I certainly believe that more sex is not only called for, but necessary, for everyone who wants it. I believe that words are power and freedom and strength.
I have a quasi-addiction to people; I tend to hold on to them, whether they want me to or not. I have an innate need to know about them and once I do, I decide whether or not they will contribute some value to my life. If I feel that they do, then they become a permanent piece of my consciousness. And even if I have no continued contact or correspondence with them, they remain a part of that energy that makes up my mind and my soul. If I feel that they will do nothing but destroy and tear at the fabric that makes me who I am, then I cut off contact, but, maybe ironically, they also stay with me. Sometimes it's as this kind of idea, as something that I could have fixed or as if they were a part of this hypothetical situation which I was also a part of and in which we just couldn't seem to come to an agreement. So we parted ways. I feed off of other people's stories, off of what makes them human, what makes them hurt, what makes them happy, what motivates them to do what they do. As a result of this, I have been able to create for myself a 42 year old tapestry that is colorful yet frayed; one that hangs on a neverending wall. It is a scene that began to take shape many years ago and is just now becoming visible. The Fates are weaving my story as it happens, not before...
If the three sisters let me sit at the loom for a moment, there is much that I would add. There is so much that I would add. 42 years gone, yet how many more to go?
I would like to live many lives. Maybe that is possible; I don't know. If it is, I hope that I learn something, that I have learned something from previous experience and I wish to keep growing, to keep evolving, to keep hoping that life will continue. I would like to tell every person who is in my life even for the briefest time, that they are there for a reason; that our paths have crossed for some greater purpose. I would like for those in my life to know how important they are to me, even if I fail to visit often enough, or to send birthday cards or to call when I say I will. I would like to think that they know. I would like that, but then I turn and five years has passed and I realize that maybe they didn't know that. Maybe I should have said it, and maybe I should have showed up and maybe they need me to call. And then I vow to try harder. And sometimes I succeed. And, sometimes I fail miserably.
I don't often react to situations and events immediately; I am not prone to bursting into tears or grabbing someone and sobbing heartbrokenly. I will sometimes sit for months and think about a person or an event and it is only when I have some distance and some time that I can really internalize it or them and then I react. I have found myself curled up in the fetal position on my kitchen floor a year after a friend has passed or a pet went missing. I just recently found myself weeping as I washed the dishes, thinking about the diagnosis of cancer in a friend that happened over a year ago. I'm not at all sure about why there is this delayed reaction. And sometimes, often, my reactions come out in words, in writing, in a kind of subtletly that doesn't always seem appropriate to the situation. More often than not I don't cry at funerals. Maybe it's like that for a lot of people. I just find that I have to react in my own time, in my own way and then I have to try to figure out how to take that information and make something better, something positive out of it. Maybe it is my coping mechanism. Maybe it is my defense mechanism. Maybe it is what I hate the most, maybe it is an excuse to not have to own those feelings.
I believe that for every moment that I'm given, I am under an obligation to live that moment to the fullest, whether that be in sadness or in joy and that I am obliged to live my life as an example of what it is I stand for, as an example of what I believe. And that when people meet me, when they get to know me, they will know what those things are that I hold the most dear.
When I was a teenager, I used to keep a diary. I used to think a lot about what I was going to do with my life and I felt, I sincerely felt that I was supposed to do something. I didn't know what it was and frankly, I still don't know what it is. But I feel very deeply that, like all of us, I have a distinct purpose in this lifetime and it is my responsibility to figure out what that is and to then fulfill it. It may take my whole life or multiple lifetimes to figure it out, but there is a deep seeded need in me to find it. It doesn't make me anything, not better, not less than anyone else; it just makes my journey worth living. And I plan on living every single day of this journey with as much zeal and hope and fortitude and strength and every other adjective that is a synonym for energy, that I can. And I hope that every person who crosses my path senses it and that they know that I am here, even in those moments that I fail: to write, to visit, to meet for coffee. I will be here when it matters the most. And I will remember you and I will feel your pain and I will carry it with me. I will carry you with me, always.
Is it possible to love someone into healing? Is it possible to smile them into remission? Is it possible to hug them into success? I don't know; all I know is I sure would like to try. I sure would like to try.
Superheroes? No, don't believe in them. Miracles? Absolutely. Look around you; they are happening every single minute of every single day. Be one, share one, give one. My three are upstairs sleeping. They are my greatest gift and my most worthwhile adventure and all I ever want is to be someone who they can be proud to call their mother. I continue to try.
A former student passed away last week and she was on my mind while I wrote this. I hope that her children remember all that was wonderful about her. I hope that their lives continue on in the light of what she created for them and that this tragedy doesn't devastate who she would have wanted them to be. I hope that her legacy lives on in them, in all that was the very best of who she was. I hope that she is at peace.
Live, don't just exist. And don't wait for Superman to come along and save you. He might be waylaid... make it happen for yourself. Make it happen for all of us.
For Daisy Viera.
In death we are all equal; there are no color lines, nor are there factors that make us feel as though we are "less." In death, we all face the unknown, the uncertain; we become vulnerable to the "what if?" In death, you take my hand and I take yours and we walk into the beyond as one, as equals. We are the same. Why then do we not do this while we live? Why do you not take my hand and tell me, with your eyes and with your heart and with your friendship and love, that we are the same.
I believe in truth and hope. I believe in goodness and kindness and joy. I believe in young people. I believe in God. I believe in growth and movement. I believe that chocolate and red wine should be consumed every day, if not twice a day. I believe that many people die too soon because they don't have someone to touch them, hug them, hold their hands. I believe in stories, in books, in art, in music. I believe in protesting and standing up for your rights. I believe in education and the idea that the acquisition of knowledge is a shared endeavor between teachers and students. I believe that kissing a baby, even one that is not your own, heals you in some way. I believe that at least once in your life, you should have the opportunity to feel as though you are standing just a bit taller than every other human being on the planet, even if it is just for a second. I believe in traditions and spirituality. I believe in smoking pot once in awhile and I certainly believe that more sex is not only called for, but necessary, for everyone who wants it. I believe that words are power and freedom and strength.
I have a quasi-addiction to people; I tend to hold on to them, whether they want me to or not. I have an innate need to know about them and once I do, I decide whether or not they will contribute some value to my life. If I feel that they do, then they become a permanent piece of my consciousness. And even if I have no continued contact or correspondence with them, they remain a part of that energy that makes up my mind and my soul. If I feel that they will do nothing but destroy and tear at the fabric that makes me who I am, then I cut off contact, but, maybe ironically, they also stay with me. Sometimes it's as this kind of idea, as something that I could have fixed or as if they were a part of this hypothetical situation which I was also a part of and in which we just couldn't seem to come to an agreement. So we parted ways. I feed off of other people's stories, off of what makes them human, what makes them hurt, what makes them happy, what motivates them to do what they do. As a result of this, I have been able to create for myself a 42 year old tapestry that is colorful yet frayed; one that hangs on a neverending wall. It is a scene that began to take shape many years ago and is just now becoming visible. The Fates are weaving my story as it happens, not before...
If the three sisters let me sit at the loom for a moment, there is much that I would add. There is so much that I would add. 42 years gone, yet how many more to go?
I would like to live many lives. Maybe that is possible; I don't know. If it is, I hope that I learn something, that I have learned something from previous experience and I wish to keep growing, to keep evolving, to keep hoping that life will continue. I would like to tell every person who is in my life even for the briefest time, that they are there for a reason; that our paths have crossed for some greater purpose. I would like for those in my life to know how important they are to me, even if I fail to visit often enough, or to send birthday cards or to call when I say I will. I would like to think that they know. I would like that, but then I turn and five years has passed and I realize that maybe they didn't know that. Maybe I should have said it, and maybe I should have showed up and maybe they need me to call. And then I vow to try harder. And sometimes I succeed. And, sometimes I fail miserably.
I don't often react to situations and events immediately; I am not prone to bursting into tears or grabbing someone and sobbing heartbrokenly. I will sometimes sit for months and think about a person or an event and it is only when I have some distance and some time that I can really internalize it or them and then I react. I have found myself curled up in the fetal position on my kitchen floor a year after a friend has passed or a pet went missing. I just recently found myself weeping as I washed the dishes, thinking about the diagnosis of cancer in a friend that happened over a year ago. I'm not at all sure about why there is this delayed reaction. And sometimes, often, my reactions come out in words, in writing, in a kind of subtletly that doesn't always seem appropriate to the situation. More often than not I don't cry at funerals. Maybe it's like that for a lot of people. I just find that I have to react in my own time, in my own way and then I have to try to figure out how to take that information and make something better, something positive out of it. Maybe it is my coping mechanism. Maybe it is my defense mechanism. Maybe it is what I hate the most, maybe it is an excuse to not have to own those feelings.
I believe that for every moment that I'm given, I am under an obligation to live that moment to the fullest, whether that be in sadness or in joy and that I am obliged to live my life as an example of what it is I stand for, as an example of what I believe. And that when people meet me, when they get to know me, they will know what those things are that I hold the most dear.
When I was a teenager, I used to keep a diary. I used to think a lot about what I was going to do with my life and I felt, I sincerely felt that I was supposed to do something. I didn't know what it was and frankly, I still don't know what it is. But I feel very deeply that, like all of us, I have a distinct purpose in this lifetime and it is my responsibility to figure out what that is and to then fulfill it. It may take my whole life or multiple lifetimes to figure it out, but there is a deep seeded need in me to find it. It doesn't make me anything, not better, not less than anyone else; it just makes my journey worth living. And I plan on living every single day of this journey with as much zeal and hope and fortitude and strength and every other adjective that is a synonym for energy, that I can. And I hope that every person who crosses my path senses it and that they know that I am here, even in those moments that I fail: to write, to visit, to meet for coffee. I will be here when it matters the most. And I will remember you and I will feel your pain and I will carry it with me. I will carry you with me, always.
Is it possible to love someone into healing? Is it possible to smile them into remission? Is it possible to hug them into success? I don't know; all I know is I sure would like to try. I sure would like to try.
Superheroes? No, don't believe in them. Miracles? Absolutely. Look around you; they are happening every single minute of every single day. Be one, share one, give one. My three are upstairs sleeping. They are my greatest gift and my most worthwhile adventure and all I ever want is to be someone who they can be proud to call their mother. I continue to try.
A former student passed away last week and she was on my mind while I wrote this. I hope that her children remember all that was wonderful about her. I hope that their lives continue on in the light of what she created for them and that this tragedy doesn't devastate who she would have wanted them to be. I hope that her legacy lives on in them, in all that was the very best of who she was. I hope that she is at peace.
Live, don't just exist. And don't wait for Superman to come along and save you. He might be waylaid... make it happen for yourself. Make it happen for all of us.
For Daisy Viera.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Fundraising...
You think it's tough when people ask you for money? You think it's burdensome and tiring to have to hear the why's and the where's and the what for's? You think it's a hassle to have to write yet ANOTHER check to some charity that you would never support or might not even consider giving money to because you are going to Nordstrom Rack this weekend? You know what I have to say to all those questions, you know what the answer is... FUCK YOU and your excuses. Harsh, maybe, necessary, probably, warranted, most definitely...
It is with the deepest sincerity that I have accepted and been given donations from friends and family members during the course of the last 3 marathons that I have run; APLA in Los Angeles, UNICEF and Autism Speaks in New York and now, once more for APLA in Los Angeles. I was moved and thankful (still am) by the support that people have shown to me and to the causes that I represented in these various races. I will be forever indebted to everyone who sent well wishes and who gave funds especially now when it is one of the most difficult times in the history of our economy. Again, I sincerely appreciate the kindness that was shown. And, that is the reason why I am having a hard time swallowing the responses that I have gotten of late in terms of asking again for help and for donations. As I sit here, exasperated and exhausted, I am considering what might be the driving force behind people's lack of enthusiasm for donating this time around, besides the fact that money is tight. That goes without saying. So, walk with me as I ponder the factors and then... well, we'll see and then.
I accept the fact that people, the same people are tired of me asking. I accept the fact that frankly,they are probably just tired of me. I accept the fact that the marathon running thing has lost its lustre. I mean, she's done 3, how many more does she need to do? I accept the fact that there are other charities and organizations that people support and that I am not the only person asking for money; hell, I'm probably one of 20 who asked this month alone and, if your kids go to public school,then the checkbook is fringed with ash from burning through that money. I accept the fact that many people just don't like me and that's okay too. I mean I can be a real first rate bitch sometimes and often to the people who I love the most. I accept the fact that people just don't care and that they wear their apathy like a baby seal fur coat: blatantly obvious and simultaneously ridiculous. I accept the fact that the holidays just passed and we spent alot of money and yada, yada, yada... Yeah well, I'll remember that the next time you want me to support your kid's team or your business or to buy Girl Scout Cookies. I'll remember that the next time I see you holding a $5 cup of coffee or wearing a pair of Jimmy Choo's. Look, I have no problem with people spending their money however they see fit and I do not have access to their tax returns and subsequently the information regarding their donations to non-profit organizations throughout the year. I realize that I am being judgemental. I KNOW THAT. That's the whole fucking point.
Nothing gets done without persistence and effort and time and sometimes, well, Joe Pesci. Maybe I just need to threaten to put people's heads in individual vices and then... okay, sort of a violent image there, but frustration often leads to violence and if you know me well, you know I'm not above bringing a tire iron to your house to collect that cash. Just try me.
I know it's hard to give money, especially when you think you don't have it. But the point is, every single person who I ask does have it. No, they might not have $50 or $25 or even $10 so they give nothing. This too is a point that I make frequently, if instead of 20 people giving nothing, how about 20 people giving $5? Look how quickly that adds up! I know that some people are thinking, well, what if my name shows up and I only gave $5? That's going to look bad or that's not enough. Then give MORE dammit, simple solution. No, really, donations can be completely anonymous and more importantly, the smallest amounts do matter! For $7 UNICEF can provide clean drinking water for 2 people for a month! And for $12 you can buy a bag of groceries for someone living with HIV/AIDS. Think about that. No, really, think about that.
I really like funerals of people who have lived a full life. It's never pleasant and it's very difficult when a child dies or someone is cut down early or someone suffered verily before his/her death. But when you are celebrating a person's life,someone who loved life and who demonstrated a passion for things and for people, it can be quite something to witness. And while I have loved listening to many eulogies; one in particular in which a daughter eulogized her father, was probably the most wonderful tribute by one human being to another that I've ever heard or read, I have a problem when I hear people say, "I wish that we could have done more" or "I should have tried harder to help him" or "My life won't be the same without her." The problem is exacerbated by the issue that stems from the notion that all of these statements could readily be avoided if YOU DO SOMETHING RIGHT NOW instead of waiting until the person is no longer there. Hug them now, visit them now, make them a sandwich, have sex with them, buy them a puppy, whatever. My problem is with people who wait for the opportune moment to act and then they are shocked when they didn't recognize that it was floating right past them at the same moment when they were waiting. I want my eulogy delivered by one of my sons or by all three and all I want them to say is this, "She cared enough to try to make a difference in the world." That's it. That's enough.
Look, this diatribe is not going to win me any popularity contests but I don't give a flying fuck about any of that. What I care about is you and the people around you and more than that, the people around all of us who need our help. Children, families, brothers, parents, neighbors. Children are dying daily from diseases that could be prevented by simply providing them with clean water. People are living on the streets, living with HIV, trying to find a reason to live. Parents are trying to figure out how to carve out lives for their children with Autism while they hold one another and try to stay strong in the never ending journey ahead. Yes people die every day and so will you and so will I. But we have a chance to decide how the course will lay itself out for people who we will never meet; we have the opportunity of a lifetime to create hope in places where it doesn't exist. We have an obligation to pass on the joy of giving to our families through our united efforts and through the sweat, tears and yes, finances that we share.
This really is not about me. It has very little to do with me. If I don't raise the $800 by January 20th, I will write a check for that amount to APLA and then I will run, regardless of how the money is raised. And I don't have it. I don't have $800. I don't have $25. But you know what, I'll figure it out. Because APLA does the kind of work that will change the course of our history; we might not see it in our lifetimes, but we will have been a part of an organization that mattered, to people, to the planet and to life. I have been extraordinarily proud to have been a small cog in the giant wheel that is the group of special and innovative people who make up this fabulous charity. And I hope that you know, that you feel, that you are a part of it too. When you donate ANYTHING and when you come out and offer your support and when you make that extra effort, you do make a difference. You are the difference.
I feel better now. Venting does wonders for the mood elevators; it sends them right through the roof. I look around my house and I think of my formal education and I hear my children yelling and laughing upstairs as they get ready for bed and I think, I am very lucky and I am blessed and I have worked hard. And I just want what you want, what we all want, what we all want... children in the Sudan and children with Autism and men, women and children living with HIV and AIDS, we want dignity and respect and we want life. We want to live.
I am not above begging and I am certainly not above asking for the 1000th time because tomorrow it will be the 1001st, please, please make a donation. Don't even think about me, again, it has nothing to do with me. But it has everything to do with YOU!
A new year, A new start, A new chance to change someones life. Does it really get much better than that? http://apla.convio.net/goto/yvettehawley
Thank You...
It is with the deepest sincerity that I have accepted and been given donations from friends and family members during the course of the last 3 marathons that I have run; APLA in Los Angeles, UNICEF and Autism Speaks in New York and now, once more for APLA in Los Angeles. I was moved and thankful (still am) by the support that people have shown to me and to the causes that I represented in these various races. I will be forever indebted to everyone who sent well wishes and who gave funds especially now when it is one of the most difficult times in the history of our economy. Again, I sincerely appreciate the kindness that was shown. And, that is the reason why I am having a hard time swallowing the responses that I have gotten of late in terms of asking again for help and for donations. As I sit here, exasperated and exhausted, I am considering what might be the driving force behind people's lack of enthusiasm for donating this time around, besides the fact that money is tight. That goes without saying. So, walk with me as I ponder the factors and then... well, we'll see and then.
I accept the fact that people, the same people are tired of me asking. I accept the fact that frankly,they are probably just tired of me. I accept the fact that the marathon running thing has lost its lustre. I mean, she's done 3, how many more does she need to do? I accept the fact that there are other charities and organizations that people support and that I am not the only person asking for money; hell, I'm probably one of 20 who asked this month alone and, if your kids go to public school,then the checkbook is fringed with ash from burning through that money. I accept the fact that many people just don't like me and that's okay too. I mean I can be a real first rate bitch sometimes and often to the people who I love the most. I accept the fact that people just don't care and that they wear their apathy like a baby seal fur coat: blatantly obvious and simultaneously ridiculous. I accept the fact that the holidays just passed and we spent alot of money and yada, yada, yada... Yeah well, I'll remember that the next time you want me to support your kid's team or your business or to buy Girl Scout Cookies. I'll remember that the next time I see you holding a $5 cup of coffee or wearing a pair of Jimmy Choo's. Look, I have no problem with people spending their money however they see fit and I do not have access to their tax returns and subsequently the information regarding their donations to non-profit organizations throughout the year. I realize that I am being judgemental. I KNOW THAT. That's the whole fucking point.
Nothing gets done without persistence and effort and time and sometimes, well, Joe Pesci. Maybe I just need to threaten to put people's heads in individual vices and then... okay, sort of a violent image there, but frustration often leads to violence and if you know me well, you know I'm not above bringing a tire iron to your house to collect that cash. Just try me.
I know it's hard to give money, especially when you think you don't have it. But the point is, every single person who I ask does have it. No, they might not have $50 or $25 or even $10 so they give nothing. This too is a point that I make frequently, if instead of 20 people giving nothing, how about 20 people giving $5? Look how quickly that adds up! I know that some people are thinking, well, what if my name shows up and I only gave $5? That's going to look bad or that's not enough. Then give MORE dammit, simple solution. No, really, donations can be completely anonymous and more importantly, the smallest amounts do matter! For $7 UNICEF can provide clean drinking water for 2 people for a month! And for $12 you can buy a bag of groceries for someone living with HIV/AIDS. Think about that. No, really, think about that.
I really like funerals of people who have lived a full life. It's never pleasant and it's very difficult when a child dies or someone is cut down early or someone suffered verily before his/her death. But when you are celebrating a person's life,someone who loved life and who demonstrated a passion for things and for people, it can be quite something to witness. And while I have loved listening to many eulogies; one in particular in which a daughter eulogized her father, was probably the most wonderful tribute by one human being to another that I've ever heard or read, I have a problem when I hear people say, "I wish that we could have done more" or "I should have tried harder to help him" or "My life won't be the same without her." The problem is exacerbated by the issue that stems from the notion that all of these statements could readily be avoided if YOU DO SOMETHING RIGHT NOW instead of waiting until the person is no longer there. Hug them now, visit them now, make them a sandwich, have sex with them, buy them a puppy, whatever. My problem is with people who wait for the opportune moment to act and then they are shocked when they didn't recognize that it was floating right past them at the same moment when they were waiting. I want my eulogy delivered by one of my sons or by all three and all I want them to say is this, "She cared enough to try to make a difference in the world." That's it. That's enough.
Look, this diatribe is not going to win me any popularity contests but I don't give a flying fuck about any of that. What I care about is you and the people around you and more than that, the people around all of us who need our help. Children, families, brothers, parents, neighbors. Children are dying daily from diseases that could be prevented by simply providing them with clean water. People are living on the streets, living with HIV, trying to find a reason to live. Parents are trying to figure out how to carve out lives for their children with Autism while they hold one another and try to stay strong in the never ending journey ahead. Yes people die every day and so will you and so will I. But we have a chance to decide how the course will lay itself out for people who we will never meet; we have the opportunity of a lifetime to create hope in places where it doesn't exist. We have an obligation to pass on the joy of giving to our families through our united efforts and through the sweat, tears and yes, finances that we share.
This really is not about me. It has very little to do with me. If I don't raise the $800 by January 20th, I will write a check for that amount to APLA and then I will run, regardless of how the money is raised. And I don't have it. I don't have $800. I don't have $25. But you know what, I'll figure it out. Because APLA does the kind of work that will change the course of our history; we might not see it in our lifetimes, but we will have been a part of an organization that mattered, to people, to the planet and to life. I have been extraordinarily proud to have been a small cog in the giant wheel that is the group of special and innovative people who make up this fabulous charity. And I hope that you know, that you feel, that you are a part of it too. When you donate ANYTHING and when you come out and offer your support and when you make that extra effort, you do make a difference. You are the difference.
I feel better now. Venting does wonders for the mood elevators; it sends them right through the roof. I look around my house and I think of my formal education and I hear my children yelling and laughing upstairs as they get ready for bed and I think, I am very lucky and I am blessed and I have worked hard. And I just want what you want, what we all want, what we all want... children in the Sudan and children with Autism and men, women and children living with HIV and AIDS, we want dignity and respect and we want life. We want to live.
I am not above begging and I am certainly not above asking for the 1000th time because tomorrow it will be the 1001st, please, please make a donation. Don't even think about me, again, it has nothing to do with me. But it has everything to do with YOU!
A new year, A new start, A new chance to change someones life. Does it really get much better than that? http://apla.convio.net/goto/yvettehawley
Thank You...
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Giving thanks...
Yeah it's that time of year again; the time when we reflect on all that we are thankful for... but strangely, I am not feeling all that sentimental; thankful yes, but sentimental, no. In fact, I just chewed out my 14 year old for spouting off sarcastic comments to me and being disrespectful in front of a roomful of people. I truly believe that the holidays or, um, family, bring out the best and the worst in people. You realize that you're thankful that you have a family and that they love you and are there for you, but then you also realize that everyone is talking about everyone and why did your nephew smack your kid and why the hell isn't your brother doing anything about it? You just step back and go, what is joyous about this whole thing again? The cooking, well, the reheating, the cleaning, the disrespectful children, trying to spray whipped cream into their mouths directly from the can? I think about this and then I remind myself that the Thanksgivings that I loved the most were when I was a kid and I didn't have to worry about not having enough tupperware to put leftovers in running out of silverware before dessert... That's why the kids love it, that's why I loved it then... no worries, except for eating and being together.
I like the moments when we laugh at each other and even the moments when one of my brothers makes some snide comment and they always do, about something inane. I roll my eyes when I have to take the baseball bats from my nephew and from Ty who, incidentally are swinging them at the big punching bag out in the garage. I shudder to think of Luke swinging the bat near Ty's head. I smile when Katie comes and sits next to me to show me how well she can read Junie B. Jones and I crack up when she ran up earlier and said, "Aunt Vet, there's zombies in the backyard" as Christine, John and Steve chased the little kids around while they screamed.
Maybe it's only a matter of time before you notice the little things that piss you off or annoy the hell out of you; that just comes with the territory I guess, but, as the day winds down, you kind of shrug and smile and say, well, at least we all have a chance to share those moments together and you remember what really makes the holidays so great. It's not the food and it's definitely not the football, although my family would disagree with that. It's about having something to share with people who know you and who, at the very least, claim to love you; it's about coming together once in awhile and forgetting the little things like your brother texting that you are a dick (he claims it was meant for someone else) or the mass confusion about why there are two turkeys and no ham. Maybe there needs to be more booze and less tryptophan; maybe there needs to be more time to play and less cooking, sorry reheating. Maybe there needs to be less of everything; less money spent, less effort, less worry. Maybe there just needs to be a day when you see your family and it's just about sitting around, shooting the shit and escaping the daily grind and really, that should be enough.
I like Thanksgiving. I always have. I like laughing with my brothers and seeing the kids interact with each other and with my parents. I like having to cut Tim off after whatever number margarita he's on. I was half joking, but he actually said at one point, "I'm cut off." I like that I'm no longer waitressing on the holidays; that was always the worst. I like that Ty passed out cold at 8:00 and hasn't moved since. I like that my mom is feeling better and that the rugrat Maynard made an appearance. I like that there are leftovers. And I really like that no one has to get up early tomorrow...
I have great kids, I have a husband who claims to still love me after 18 years of marriage, I have a job that I love and friends who support me and who make me laugh, I have a family who I care for deeply and, I have a full life. For all those things and people, I am truly thankful. Next year I hope to be thankful for the following:
A better economy, a Guilty verdict and life in prison for Jerry Sandusky, less military personnel deployed overseas, more quality educators, Nick making and keeping friends, more patience, less profanity (dammit, going to have to work on that) more flexibility (literally and figuratively), a full time job for Steve and sobriety, more overtime for police officers if they want it, a full time job for Christine in her field wherever she wants it, a great soccer season for Jake, more time with my husband, better knees and, a trip to the Chicago marathon... and that's just the short list. Happy Thanksgiving!
I like the moments when we laugh at each other and even the moments when one of my brothers makes some snide comment and they always do, about something inane. I roll my eyes when I have to take the baseball bats from my nephew and from Ty who, incidentally are swinging them at the big punching bag out in the garage. I shudder to think of Luke swinging the bat near Ty's head. I smile when Katie comes and sits next to me to show me how well she can read Junie B. Jones and I crack up when she ran up earlier and said, "Aunt Vet, there's zombies in the backyard" as Christine, John and Steve chased the little kids around while they screamed.
Maybe it's only a matter of time before you notice the little things that piss you off or annoy the hell out of you; that just comes with the territory I guess, but, as the day winds down, you kind of shrug and smile and say, well, at least we all have a chance to share those moments together and you remember what really makes the holidays so great. It's not the food and it's definitely not the football, although my family would disagree with that. It's about having something to share with people who know you and who, at the very least, claim to love you; it's about coming together once in awhile and forgetting the little things like your brother texting that you are a dick (he claims it was meant for someone else) or the mass confusion about why there are two turkeys and no ham. Maybe there needs to be more booze and less tryptophan; maybe there needs to be more time to play and less cooking, sorry reheating. Maybe there needs to be less of everything; less money spent, less effort, less worry. Maybe there just needs to be a day when you see your family and it's just about sitting around, shooting the shit and escaping the daily grind and really, that should be enough.
I like Thanksgiving. I always have. I like laughing with my brothers and seeing the kids interact with each other and with my parents. I like having to cut Tim off after whatever number margarita he's on. I was half joking, but he actually said at one point, "I'm cut off." I like that I'm no longer waitressing on the holidays; that was always the worst. I like that Ty passed out cold at 8:00 and hasn't moved since. I like that my mom is feeling better and that the rugrat Maynard made an appearance. I like that there are leftovers. And I really like that no one has to get up early tomorrow...
I have great kids, I have a husband who claims to still love me after 18 years of marriage, I have a job that I love and friends who support me and who make me laugh, I have a family who I care for deeply and, I have a full life. For all those things and people, I am truly thankful. Next year I hope to be thankful for the following:
A better economy, a Guilty verdict and life in prison for Jerry Sandusky, less military personnel deployed overseas, more quality educators, Nick making and keeping friends, more patience, less profanity (dammit, going to have to work on that) more flexibility (literally and figuratively), a full time job for Steve and sobriety, more overtime for police officers if they want it, a full time job for Christine in her field wherever she wants it, a great soccer season for Jake, more time with my husband, better knees and, a trip to the Chicago marathon... and that's just the short list. Happy Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Welcome to Public School...
I'm going to take some heat on this one, but, you know the drill... I don't really care. And, if I did really care, then I certainly wouldn't open myself up in a forum as public as this so that you or anyone else could comment on what I have to say. I'm going to take heat because I want to take aim at teachers and, I am one so therein lies the hypocrisy. Well, somewhat.
I want the bureaucratic nonsense to stop. I want there to be a system in place that not only eliminates the frivolous use of resources; one might argue that as of late, there is no frivolity because there are no funds, but, that is not the case. Do your research. I want that system to also include a "fine toothcomb" evaluation board that is comprised of a variety of educated individuals who have either excelled in their own teaching careers or who are currently excelling in them. I want this board or panel to represent the best of what our profession has to offer and to then take that expertise and devise a rigid, comprehensive evaluation process that leaves nothing to hide and that includes, as members, both teachers and administrators. I want evaluations to be on a regular basis with surprise "visits" to the classroom. I want classes to be offered either free or at a discount, by local Universities, to any educator who needs to stay current in his/her field. A program that encourages continued education, at a discount, with the incentive being that you keep your job and/or garner a promotion/salary increase. I want a system where the teacher, regardless of how many students he/she has, knows who my child is and what he/she is capable of and I want that teacher to admit when he/she is so overwhelmed or incapable of performance that my child ends up basically wasting a year of his/her life. I want a system that encourages homework only as a reinforcer, not as a time waster. Life is not built around the idea that the more you assign, the better a teacher you are. And, while we are at it, let's make "Draw and Label your own Island" an extra credit assignment shall we? There has to be an easier and more effective means of teaching children how to use the Legend on a map...
I sat through another IEP meeting today and I have to say that although it was standard fare, I appreciated the directness of the "specialists" and I found myself taking notes, some of which I might actually refer to in future. What I found and what I find disconcerting about Special Education in the public school is this notion that the plan is individualized to meet the child's needs. But here's the thing, those "needs" revolve around the child doing "well" and, even with the IEP goals in place, the only real yardstick that the district has is the same old totem pole that it has always used and that is, grades. A child is doing "well" if he/she demonstrates competency in the core subject areas. The other areas, such as social/emotional development or areas where "special" needs are addressed are broken down into categories and are then assigned an objective and a tangible "goal" that is supposed to be reached by a future point in time. What does this all mean? It means that the minute that you find out your child might be eligible or in need of special education services, you'd better find yourself a Child Advocate and put a Special Education Lawyer on your Rolodex if not on your Speed Dial because I'll tell you, every single time I walk into one of those meetings, I feel like I am facing a firing squad.
Maybe it isn't the teachers specifically that I'm taking aim at, I mean they are just trying to do their jobs, but it's this lack of understanding and even empathy at times that disturbs me. Yeah they have an inordinate amount of children and students to deal with and yes, there aren't enough hours in the day, but, wake up call, this is what they signed up for. They went into their respective fields because they wanted to make a difference. No one goes into teaching for the money or, especially not now, for the purported job security. People choose to teach because they are called to do it, like nuns or nurses I guess. You have to want to change lives to enter into a profession as demanding as education and if you don't, well, we've both met those who don't: burnouts in the worst sense of the word.
What I found particularly interesting about today's meeting was the presentation. Here are the services that the district provides if your son stays in public school and painted up, they all sound wonderful and many of them are. OT and Speech, sensory integration therapy and peer support. Sounds like a proverbial buffet and there I am thinking, well, maybe it's possible to receive some of these services if we bring our child to the school as part of the new plan, but still let him attend the private school where he is now? Um, how about no way in hell? See, it's about the money, show me the money and we'll meet your child's needs and that's it. Want services? Go to public school or sue the district for not providing FAPE for your kid. Acronyms - the lifeblood of special education. Keep notes, ask questions, get a dictionary and a map because apparently you are going to need to make several trips to various locations to peruse and gather the free resources that are provided by the district. SELPA (office), another important acronym.
Here's the thing, as a parent, how are you supposed to be automatically versed in Special Education; here you are dealing with a diagnosis and the daunting task of formulating a plan outside of school which will involve family, friends, coaches...
All the while, trying to rely on the school "team" to provide you with accurate, up to date, reasonable information, choices and services that your child may or may not receive depending upon said diagnosis. This should not be a situation of sink or swim. One must wade carefully into the waters of Special Education and this means, going slowly, while, sadly, your child continues to grow and try to manage his/her situation while you are trying to manage the information at the same time. Before you know it, 3 years has gone by and your child is being re-tested.
Public Education as a system is illogical. So many things that are done or not done don't make any sense. We know this. Even people who don't have children know this. I am not naive, I'm not ignorant, I'm not an idealist. I'm just a mom who wants her kid to be able to manage school in an environment that works best for him. My taxes pay for good schools in my neighborhood, but those schools cannot meet his needs no matter how many services they offer, regardless of the programs that are available. A system that tries to "manage" learning, education, students is very much like someone who "tolerates" others. If someone treated you as if they tolerated you, would that be sufficient, would that be "fair and appropriate?" To me, it wouldn't and it doesn't.
Teachers should be assessed more efficiently, programs and services offered by the district should be explained prior to parents needing to seek them out. There has to a more stringent means of hiring and firing people who are a part of this profession. When we look at ourselves and we recognize what our weaknesses are, only then can we move forward. There is no room for complacency nor mediocrity in education and the longer we tolerate it, the more damage both cause. Teachers have an overwhelming task and they should be compensated by their performance, their time, their dedication and of course, by results, measurable by some yardstick other than Standardized Test Scores. But there has to be a recognition that there are so many teachers out there who should not be teaching, who have to go. Restructure the system so that these people either live up to higher expectations or they get fired. Why do we protect people in a position to exert a tremendous amount of influence over a segment of the population that is the most vulnerable, the most innocent and who have the chance to make the most difference in the next generation?
If you tell me that I have weaknesses, I work on them, but, really, I already know what they are. I talk to my students, I consider what they say. I talk to my colleagues, I ask for help, I recognize when I am in over my head. Does any of this make me a better teacher? I don't know, but I do know that it keeps me in a Growth mindset rather than in a fixed one. And because of this, I keep trying to improve and to be better and to learn more and if that doesn't sum up what teachers do, I don't know what does. If you have a child in the public school system, start at the beginning. Find out what's available and where you need to go to get it and then GO.
Interestingly, although the "standards" have changed since I was in Kindergarten and in Elementary School, there were 28 kids in my class and I was reading before I left my K class. We even took naps back then. We had reading groups, we worked with kids who were of the same ability level and we moved at our own pace. We had one teacher and no aides in the class. We did homework that made sense and by 4th grade, I was doing 5th grade work and the more I did, the more the teacher gave me to do. There was no, "Please don't read ahead so that class can stay together." That is one of the most ridiculous statements I've ever heard come out of a teacher's mouth.
There are no real solutions here because the "problems" are like tentacles, reaching far and deep into every aspect of education. I know that. I just would like more parents to know, going into a school, that they have the right to question everything and everyone and that they don't have to take it just because a "teacher" told them that's how it is. That teacher most likely has a degree and a teaching credential. How did he/she become a sudden expert on psychological testing and emotionally disturbed children and working with autism and the social benefits of similar task grouping and... the list is endless. A teacher might do the same thing two years in a row, curriculum wise as mandated by the State of course, but I would hope, I would wish, I would pray that the teacher would adjust how he/she presents the material according to the students that he/she has THAT year. Clearly, what works for one class, doesn't work for another, even if that means, just two kids in the class.
A student told me the other night, Hey Ms. Hawley, you never stick to the syllabus, you always change everything and I agreed. I despise the syllabus. It's like a monkey on my back. It helps the students, but only if I stick to it and clearly, therein lies the problem. So I ask her, why are you taking me for the third time. She laughed and said, "Because you're a fantastic teacher." One does not have to give way for the other; I know plenty of fantastic teachers who follow the syllabus. Organization is not my strong suit; it never has been. I recognize that and I work on it. Slowly...
At the end of the day, Nick stays where he is, in a private school where the environment is slower paced, kinder if you will and less intrusive. I forfeited his services by signing them away yesterday and although I was worried about the implications of doing this, I feel, deep down, that it was the right decision at this time. A year from now, it might be different. If it is, then we'll address it then.
Ty said to his Preppie K teacher, "Hey, there's too much people in this class." She laughed and said, "Yes Ty, there are too many people in this class." She laughed and I smiled yet there was a moment when we both realized the truth in that statement and that it reflected something much deeper than either of us was willing or able to address. Hey, if the 5 year old feels it, what is there to do?
Educate yourself parents, go back to school, get resources and be prepared, because it's only going to get more difficult as the belt tightens and the expectations grow. Oh, and please, read to your children... just had to throw that in there.
I want the bureaucratic nonsense to stop. I want there to be a system in place that not only eliminates the frivolous use of resources; one might argue that as of late, there is no frivolity because there are no funds, but, that is not the case. Do your research. I want that system to also include a "fine toothcomb" evaluation board that is comprised of a variety of educated individuals who have either excelled in their own teaching careers or who are currently excelling in them. I want this board or panel to represent the best of what our profession has to offer and to then take that expertise and devise a rigid, comprehensive evaluation process that leaves nothing to hide and that includes, as members, both teachers and administrators. I want evaluations to be on a regular basis with surprise "visits" to the classroom. I want classes to be offered either free or at a discount, by local Universities, to any educator who needs to stay current in his/her field. A program that encourages continued education, at a discount, with the incentive being that you keep your job and/or garner a promotion/salary increase. I want a system where the teacher, regardless of how many students he/she has, knows who my child is and what he/she is capable of and I want that teacher to admit when he/she is so overwhelmed or incapable of performance that my child ends up basically wasting a year of his/her life. I want a system that encourages homework only as a reinforcer, not as a time waster. Life is not built around the idea that the more you assign, the better a teacher you are. And, while we are at it, let's make "Draw and Label your own Island" an extra credit assignment shall we? There has to be an easier and more effective means of teaching children how to use the Legend on a map...
I sat through another IEP meeting today and I have to say that although it was standard fare, I appreciated the directness of the "specialists" and I found myself taking notes, some of which I might actually refer to in future. What I found and what I find disconcerting about Special Education in the public school is this notion that the plan is individualized to meet the child's needs. But here's the thing, those "needs" revolve around the child doing "well" and, even with the IEP goals in place, the only real yardstick that the district has is the same old totem pole that it has always used and that is, grades. A child is doing "well" if he/she demonstrates competency in the core subject areas. The other areas, such as social/emotional development or areas where "special" needs are addressed are broken down into categories and are then assigned an objective and a tangible "goal" that is supposed to be reached by a future point in time. What does this all mean? It means that the minute that you find out your child might be eligible or in need of special education services, you'd better find yourself a Child Advocate and put a Special Education Lawyer on your Rolodex if not on your Speed Dial because I'll tell you, every single time I walk into one of those meetings, I feel like I am facing a firing squad.
Maybe it isn't the teachers specifically that I'm taking aim at, I mean they are just trying to do their jobs, but it's this lack of understanding and even empathy at times that disturbs me. Yeah they have an inordinate amount of children and students to deal with and yes, there aren't enough hours in the day, but, wake up call, this is what they signed up for. They went into their respective fields because they wanted to make a difference. No one goes into teaching for the money or, especially not now, for the purported job security. People choose to teach because they are called to do it, like nuns or nurses I guess. You have to want to change lives to enter into a profession as demanding as education and if you don't, well, we've both met those who don't: burnouts in the worst sense of the word.
What I found particularly interesting about today's meeting was the presentation. Here are the services that the district provides if your son stays in public school and painted up, they all sound wonderful and many of them are. OT and Speech, sensory integration therapy and peer support. Sounds like a proverbial buffet and there I am thinking, well, maybe it's possible to receive some of these services if we bring our child to the school as part of the new plan, but still let him attend the private school where he is now? Um, how about no way in hell? See, it's about the money, show me the money and we'll meet your child's needs and that's it. Want services? Go to public school or sue the district for not providing FAPE for your kid. Acronyms - the lifeblood of special education. Keep notes, ask questions, get a dictionary and a map because apparently you are going to need to make several trips to various locations to peruse and gather the free resources that are provided by the district. SELPA (office), another important acronym.
Here's the thing, as a parent, how are you supposed to be automatically versed in Special Education; here you are dealing with a diagnosis and the daunting task of formulating a plan outside of school which will involve family, friends, coaches...
All the while, trying to rely on the school "team" to provide you with accurate, up to date, reasonable information, choices and services that your child may or may not receive depending upon said diagnosis. This should not be a situation of sink or swim. One must wade carefully into the waters of Special Education and this means, going slowly, while, sadly, your child continues to grow and try to manage his/her situation while you are trying to manage the information at the same time. Before you know it, 3 years has gone by and your child is being re-tested.
Public Education as a system is illogical. So many things that are done or not done don't make any sense. We know this. Even people who don't have children know this. I am not naive, I'm not ignorant, I'm not an idealist. I'm just a mom who wants her kid to be able to manage school in an environment that works best for him. My taxes pay for good schools in my neighborhood, but those schools cannot meet his needs no matter how many services they offer, regardless of the programs that are available. A system that tries to "manage" learning, education, students is very much like someone who "tolerates" others. If someone treated you as if they tolerated you, would that be sufficient, would that be "fair and appropriate?" To me, it wouldn't and it doesn't.
Teachers should be assessed more efficiently, programs and services offered by the district should be explained prior to parents needing to seek them out. There has to a more stringent means of hiring and firing people who are a part of this profession. When we look at ourselves and we recognize what our weaknesses are, only then can we move forward. There is no room for complacency nor mediocrity in education and the longer we tolerate it, the more damage both cause. Teachers have an overwhelming task and they should be compensated by their performance, their time, their dedication and of course, by results, measurable by some yardstick other than Standardized Test Scores. But there has to be a recognition that there are so many teachers out there who should not be teaching, who have to go. Restructure the system so that these people either live up to higher expectations or they get fired. Why do we protect people in a position to exert a tremendous amount of influence over a segment of the population that is the most vulnerable, the most innocent and who have the chance to make the most difference in the next generation?
If you tell me that I have weaknesses, I work on them, but, really, I already know what they are. I talk to my students, I consider what they say. I talk to my colleagues, I ask for help, I recognize when I am in over my head. Does any of this make me a better teacher? I don't know, but I do know that it keeps me in a Growth mindset rather than in a fixed one. And because of this, I keep trying to improve and to be better and to learn more and if that doesn't sum up what teachers do, I don't know what does. If you have a child in the public school system, start at the beginning. Find out what's available and where you need to go to get it and then GO.
Interestingly, although the "standards" have changed since I was in Kindergarten and in Elementary School, there were 28 kids in my class and I was reading before I left my K class. We even took naps back then. We had reading groups, we worked with kids who were of the same ability level and we moved at our own pace. We had one teacher and no aides in the class. We did homework that made sense and by 4th grade, I was doing 5th grade work and the more I did, the more the teacher gave me to do. There was no, "Please don't read ahead so that class can stay together." That is one of the most ridiculous statements I've ever heard come out of a teacher's mouth.
There are no real solutions here because the "problems" are like tentacles, reaching far and deep into every aspect of education. I know that. I just would like more parents to know, going into a school, that they have the right to question everything and everyone and that they don't have to take it just because a "teacher" told them that's how it is. That teacher most likely has a degree and a teaching credential. How did he/she become a sudden expert on psychological testing and emotionally disturbed children and working with autism and the social benefits of similar task grouping and... the list is endless. A teacher might do the same thing two years in a row, curriculum wise as mandated by the State of course, but I would hope, I would wish, I would pray that the teacher would adjust how he/she presents the material according to the students that he/she has THAT year. Clearly, what works for one class, doesn't work for another, even if that means, just two kids in the class.
A student told me the other night, Hey Ms. Hawley, you never stick to the syllabus, you always change everything and I agreed. I despise the syllabus. It's like a monkey on my back. It helps the students, but only if I stick to it and clearly, therein lies the problem. So I ask her, why are you taking me for the third time. She laughed and said, "Because you're a fantastic teacher." One does not have to give way for the other; I know plenty of fantastic teachers who follow the syllabus. Organization is not my strong suit; it never has been. I recognize that and I work on it. Slowly...
At the end of the day, Nick stays where he is, in a private school where the environment is slower paced, kinder if you will and less intrusive. I forfeited his services by signing them away yesterday and although I was worried about the implications of doing this, I feel, deep down, that it was the right decision at this time. A year from now, it might be different. If it is, then we'll address it then.
Ty said to his Preppie K teacher, "Hey, there's too much people in this class." She laughed and said, "Yes Ty, there are too many people in this class." She laughed and I smiled yet there was a moment when we both realized the truth in that statement and that it reflected something much deeper than either of us was willing or able to address. Hey, if the 5 year old feels it, what is there to do?
Educate yourself parents, go back to school, get resources and be prepared, because it's only going to get more difficult as the belt tightens and the expectations grow. Oh, and please, read to your children... just had to throw that in there.
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