Where are you going? Where have you been?

This is the title of a Joyce Carol Oates' book that I haven't read, but it's a title I've always liked. I think it is a nice way I think about one's life and especially Dec 31.

On the New Year, I always post this: Happy Arbitrary Time Delineation Day! Not that the Gregorian calendar is arbitrary, but there are like 12 30+ others, including the Hebrew calendar and the Chinese calendar. Time is a construct we make so while I own calendars and follow calendars, I also believe they are bogus. 

How do I exist in this world being such a fucking buzzkill, you ask? 

I don't even know.

Time is weird. It can fly by; it can crawl by. Sometimes time feels like a fever-dream. When I reflect back on the past year, it doesn't feel real to me. I can't believe it hasn't been a year since my trip to Ecuador because it feels like 1,000 years. Although maybe by April, the year anniversary of the trip, it will feel like just the blink of an eye.

Because of the weirdness of time, it can make it difficult to reflect on it on a specific designated day, like today/tonight/tomorrow. Maybe I'm not feeling reflective? Maybe I'm just ornery and don't want to reflect when society tells me I need to?

There is a lot of pressure with the new year, just as there is with Christmas holidays. There is a pressure to create (or recreate) magic at Christmas, and there is a pressure to be resolute, to make changes, to become a new and better, stronger, more powerful version of YOU with the minute hand ticking. 

And I reject this completely, mostly because I'm allowed to since my kids don't care if I make resolutions or strive to be a better me. (They would have a shitfit, however, if I tried to not do Christmas.)

For the moment, I'm ok with who I am now. I went through my big workout and try to ward off middle-age phase after my third child was born 13 years ago. I long ago decided that getting a PhD probably isn't something I aspire to. I recently wrote a literary essay for publication that drove me insane to complete and made me question what my "writing life" is and what I want it to be. None of this required me to make a decision on Dec 31 or Jan 1. 

I don't need this day or tomorrow to be reflective. I guess some people do, and since I'm a fan of reflecting and metacognating, then kudos to those who do it tonight or tomorrow. But if you're not one of those folks, and you feel like a slug or a loser because you aren't motivated to extol your great PLANS for 2023, let it go. Just as time is a social construct, so is this expectation of growth, of change, of great personal fulfillment decided in one 24-hour period. 

You don't have to buy into it. 

Mental health holiday suckage

As I've mentioned on this blog, I wasn't diagnosed with a mood disorder until age 30, but I struggled with my mental health from age 10. 

I was always wound tight and now recognize that I had rituals that I did to ease my anxiety (although at the time I thought those were just "weird things" I did). I remember having depressive episodes and thinking about dying starting in middle school. I never seriously thought about committing suicide, but I definitely thought about death a lot. (And still do.)

Unless you've gone through a full-blown breakdown/episode, I don't think you can wrap your head around just how little control you have over your thoughts when things are bad. I have thought about this a lot with the recent suicide of Stephen tWitch Boss who, like so many people, was able to cover and pretend. But why is anyone shocked that a 10 second dance clip, or even a series of them, didn't sum up the entirety of a person's existence? 

When I reflect on the worst parts of my breakdown, I remember the brain fuzz, as if a cloud of static looped around my head and kept things clouded. I knew I was there somewhere inside my brain, but I was lost behind muck. I could not laugh or grin or find anything funny. Communication was hard. My ability to reason was skewed. My brain was sick. 

That was at my worst...but I had been "holding it together" and probably passing for ok for weeks and months before that. I don't know what flipped the switch from this to "unable to function," but it switched and it took me a couple years to get better. 

I cannot imagine all the synapse misfiring that was going on inside the crenelated corners of my brain at that time. Were the brain cells dying or just languishing from depleted chemicals (or maybe too many chemicals)? It is impossible for me to forget just how bad I felt. It was worse and longer-lasting than any physical illness I've experienced thus far. 

Ever since I went through therapy and got on medication, I have made it a point to be open about my mental health issues, even with students. Or maybe, especially with students. We all believe we run the ship, so it is especially devastating to find that you're not the captain or the first mate or even a swab. When experiencing a breakdown/episode, it feels pretty clear that you're maybe a rat somewhere down in the hold. It is a loss of empowerment that is unlike a kidney infection or the development of plantar fasciitis. To lose control of your brain is to lose control of your sense of self and your worth. That was devastating when I had three decades of life behind me and was in a relatively stable phase of life. 

This time of year is especially hard for a lot of people, including me. I absolutely, positively abhor the Christmas holiday season. I hold it together, but I'm cranky and moody and lacking energy. If you could look into my brain, you would see a brown cloud of unease there, similar to what follows Pigpen from the Peanuts gang, except it isn't dirt and dust. It is a sad, hollow mood that permeates everything. 

Why would I feel sad, some might ask. I have a family and my health and a home and a job and so much. I recognize this and am thankful. It isn't ungratefulness that makes the feeling. In some ways, it is that I put myself in the shoes of the people who don't have, who are without, this time of year. The story of Christmas in the manger even makes me terribly sad. That sounds absurd, I know. But this time of year simply makes me sad. Everything feels heavy. 

I guess I write this as a reminder to myself that feeling how I feel is ok. As much as I'd like to "think myself to a better mood," it ain't happening. I go through this every year (although I did have several years of reprieve when the kids were little). Having gone through this, I know it will end; the circle will turn, and I will feel not so glum, not so bleak. 

Until then, I muddle through, like so many people do at this time of year, knowing full well I'm not alone but feeling like the tide of good cheer and festivity is rolling over me and everyone else who can't muster themselves into good tidings. 

Not-the-usual things I'm thankful for

We are heading straight into my most UNFAVORITE time of year when everything is syrupy sentimental and consumeristic AND people state the obvious as if they are blowing minds with their astute thoughts. Things like, "I'm thankful for my family," which is totally true and also not deeply cognitive if you are over age 30. 

Anyway, I do need to count my blessings more and am determined to really think a little more carefully about it. So since it is Nov 21, here are 21 thankful. 

1---I'm thankful for a brain that thinks deeply even though it means that people who don't think deeply kind of drive me nuts. 

2--I'm thankful I was finally issued a district computer even though I asked for one in August and had given up that I would ever get one. I have learned how to live without it so it will probably sit unused but I still got it and am glad. 

3--I am thankful that I keep having periods because it will make me EVEN MORE HAPPY when I finally, someday STOP HAVING PERIODS. 

4--I am thankful that M had a recent book project that he asked me to help him with. It was actually fun to plan with him and help him color at the kitchen table. He even said, "This is fun!" and you never hear 13-year-olds say that 1. with their moms or 2. about anything involving school.

5--I am also thankful that M has finally stopped wearing shorts to school and has adopted the pants I bought him. I hate to spend money on stuff for my kids that they never use. It also made me very cold to watch him walk into school in early November in shorts. 

6--I am thankful for the early dark of November because I enjoy hibernating from now until early March. It is a restful time of year that I think far too many people don't appreciate. I try to appreciate it.

7--I am thankful for a new friend with physical and mental disabilities because he helps me notice things about how other people (and probably me before I knew him) treat people with physical and mental disabilities. 

8--I am thankful for 25 years of marriage with D. Most of the time.

9--I am thankful I spent the other day watching my dad use his new pizzelle maker I ordered for him. It makes me happy to do things to help my parents since I will never actually repay them for all the ways they helped me. 

10--I am thankful my kids have two generations of parents behind them who have supported education. I tell my kids all the time that they have a leg up on a lot of other kids simply because they lucked into having grandparents and parents who believe education is the most important thing. 

11-I am thankful for the new old-person sunglasses that fit over prescription glasses because sunshine glare is really bothering me.

12--I am thankful that I NO LONGER CARE what people think of me which means I will wear the old-person sunglasses that fit over my prescription glasses and be not just happy but THRILLED even if I look like Bono during the Zooropa years. 

13--I am thankful I am working with JCPS high schoolers at the same school two days a week. I feel like I'm developing relationships which run of the mill subbing doesn't get you.

14--I am thankful for my new paper calendar which, even though I don't believe anything different happens on January 1, does let me sort of "put to bed" the past period of time. I like those clean, new sheets of paper.

15--I'm thankful we're changing our podcast format a little bit so I can read more fun stuff I want to read and not feel so stressed.

16--I'm thankful that more clothing manufacturers are making softer clothing for those of us with sensory issues. 

17--I'm thankful I've got a pretty good "asshole-dar" and recognized a long time ago that Elon Musk is kind of a dick....when others were still fan-boying over him. 

18--I'm thankful my kids can take jokes and don't take themselves too seriously.

19--I'm thankful more companies are using less wasteful products, and that I'm paying more attention to it.

20--I'm thankful for my kids' neighborhood pet-sitting business because it has taught them the importance of earning money and caring for sometimes old and feeble animals.

21--I'm thankful that G is trying new foods, including sushi. Given his sensory issues, this is something I really wasn't sure would ever happen. 

Stupid English reading selection rules

The other day I completely lost my shit when M, who is in 7th grade, came home and told me he can't read Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card because it has a movie based on it. 

Ender's Game is a book that one of my former students when I taught 6th grade full-time recommended TO ME. He loved it. And so I read it and I loved it. And I've taught it because if a book is so good it makes a sixth grade boy tell his English teacher how much he adores it, then that says A LOT. 

I understand the rationale for teachers saying kids can't read books that have movies based on them. Some students will just watch the movie and not read the book. If it is a book that has an extensive film catalog like Harry Potter, I get it. 

But I also think this decision can mean that students don't get to self-select books that they are really interested in reading. Which begs the question: Why are we asking kids to read independently and self-select if we don't allow them to read what they want?

If books based on films was the only parameter, I might not have an issue, but these are the other "rules" for self-selected books in M's class:

• No graphic novels
• No books under 200 pages

When combined---over 200 pages, no graphic novels, no movies based on them---these rules are just plain dumb. 

First, graphic novels. 

Some kids love graphic novels and rather than disallowing them IN TOTAL, there could be limits set, such as "only 1 graphic novel selection per semester or per project." There are some really great graphic novels. Maybe a kid who would never in their lives read a 320 page book, will read a graphic novel based on that book and still get a great story.

For example, Neil Gaiman is one of my favorite authors. His book, The Graveyard Book, is 320 pages. But there is also a graphic novel that is in two parts. Same author, same story, different format. Some kids would NEVER pick up and read a 320 page chapter book but they will read two graphic novels that clock in at 368 pages. 

And by reading a graphic novel, this gives some interesting topics students can discuss, such as how do the visual images impact their reading and what particular words are illustrated to really emphasize their importance to the story and what would they have chosen to illustrate differently?

The length of a book is also big sticking point for me. 

Yes, maybe kids should have to read longer novels to practice stamina, but this should be done in the classroom where a teacher can monitor and help develop skills. (And honestly, with so much MAP testing and state testing being done on our kids, our testing really promotes SHORT reading, so we're being pretty disingenuous here.)

Whether we like it or not, our collective attention spans are much shorter these days. Even I, who don't usually mind a 350 page book, find that I sometimes tire of an author who can't say things a little more succinctly. Life is short, and I don't know that I need 1,000 pages of exposition. 

G is having to do independent reading assignments, and he is definitely not going to go for long-ass books. He is a good reader, but I don't think he is a fast reader, and kids have to finish their books in 6 weeks. The parameters his teacher set for his assignments are MUCH better and flexible, which I really appreciate.

He can read 1 graphic novel for the year and then can pick a Pulitzer Prize-winning book, a Nobel Prize author, a book with a color in its title, a book published the year you were born, a book on the Kentucky Bluegrass Awards list, etc. There are no page count requirements nor movie limitations.

To help him out, I went down and selected a ton of books from my shelves he can choose from that are relatively short. 

He read Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, which is a whopping 107 pages.

He is going to read The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison next. That only only just barely makes the 200 page requirement. 

And I can list a lot of other books under 200 pages that are exemplary, such as 

Night by Elie Wiesel

Animal Farm by George Orwell

The Awakening by Kate Chopin

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Expury

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

I'll stop there. 

But back to M's situation.

Earlier in the year, the teacher assigned some independent reading and summarizing but didn't assign it to the point of completion. M began reading Dragonwings but didn't complete it because I think the assignment just fizzled (and that happens in classrooms sometimes). I suggested he finish it for this project but he didn't think he could do that. He started reading Ender's Game and then found out about the movie thing (which wasn't on the info sheet). 

I normally don't do this, but I did email the teacher and ask for what amounts to an educational dispensation so M can either 1. finish Dragonwings or 2. do Ender's Game. 

Getting kids to want to read is hard enough without making it even more cumbersome. 

Keening because my baby is thirteen(ing) (not really)

Dear M,

Well, you've gone and done it. 

You are absolutely, positively, without a doubt, not in any way, shape, or form my baby anymore. 

You are almost as tall as me and taller than both of your grandmas.

You are starting to have little teenagery pimple breakouts.

You've got the biting humor of a sarcastic teenager. 

Even though you are absolutely, positively, without a doubt, not in any way, shape, or form my baby anymore, I'm not sad because it is so wonderful to see you becoming who you are, especially now that you aren't in your "Same thing as G" phase. 

Of course, you're sort of "meh" about a lot of things which makes it well-nigh impossible for me to know what you are actually interested in. 

It's not sports. And it's not tv. I know this much to be true.

So what do I know about you:

You sometimes like to go outside and play in the creek with your neighborhood friend, B. And you have a table of other 7th grade dudes you like to joke with at lunch. 

You make up the funniest songs or sing the funniest, random snippets of words that you put to a tune all the time. 

You have a quick wit about you and say things off the cuff that would take your dad two weeks to come up with and three days for me to come up with. Your brain works fast.

You are both a cat-whisperer and a dog-whisperer. It is a gentle way you have about you that animals recognize. 

Your mouth tries to keep up with your brainand isn't always successful. You talk fast, and we almost always have to ask you to repeat yourself. We blame it on you being the third child and having to quickly.sneak.in.anything.you.might.want.to.insert.in.the.conversation. 

Out of all of us, you seem to be the most high on chill. Things don't seem to bother you the way they do the rest of us. 

You really enjoy bubble wrap. 

You never wear shirts. Or socks. We have several casual family photos at birthdays, and you are always without a shirt. 

Most of all, I know that you are a great kid. A nice, quiet, hard-working, mostly easy-going 13-year-old who I am so, so glad is part of our family.

Love you,

Momma

The Foo, Smiths, Smashed Pumpkins, and a 15-year-old--birthday edition

Dear G,

Boy howdy! 

If I didn't know any better or hadn't witnessed the last couple years with my own eyes, I would think that a master race of aliens had visited our home and did a little switcheroo with the boy who used to live here. He has been replaced by a young man who is cool, able to laugh at himself, and better able to handle his emotions. 

Trying out your sister's boyfriend's sweet new ride. 

Today you are 15, an age that I might not have expected you to live to mostly because I thought I was gonna ring your neck with my bare hands many, many times during your earlier years. 

You love a Great Lake. 

Your fashion sense is...interesting.

You handsomed it up for 8th grade promotion in the spring. 

You started high school last month, and while your first days were not great, you have since gotten used to the flow, even being able to sleep on the bus going to school. You keep your earbuds at the ready and listen to a panoply of music that you are happy to share with me. You are, in fact, the official disc jockey of the car whenever we go anywhere. 

You've listened to the Foo Fighters, The Smiths, Radiohead, and are now on Smashing Pumpkins, and it is really great to know the sounds you like. Listening to it has helped me know you better as well as remind me of some really great music I'd forgotten. You are a blend of what I always called "whiny British music" that your dad always enjoyed and the grunge that I tended to lean towards. 

Your favorite class is Philosophy, and you're always telling me interesting things you learn there. Last week, you brought up the Trolley Problem and are now writing about the ethics of Mikhail Gorbachev. You have always been a deep thinker so it doesn't surprise me in the least that this is the class you most enjoy.

You continue to be a hard worker in school who doesn't procrastinate. You inherited many, many of my not-great qualities, but I admit I like that you don't put things off. (Ask your sister how crazy I make her because she tends to be less "in a hurry" than I am, and I have trouble controlling my anxiety. But I'm working on it.) I think you're like me in that you want your to-do list to be as short as possible or nonexistent.

Look at those lovely, expensive teeth. 

Since last year, you have gotten a girlfriend, and that has been a learning experience for both of us. You have tried more and different food in the last six months (which is annoying since you would NEVER try new foods when I asked). But you've also had some confusing and uncertain moments, and I'm so glad you talked to me about them. You are learning that relationships can be great, and they can be awful, and they can be confusing. 

I am incredibly proud of the young man you are and the one you will transform into during the next year. You have always followed the beat of your own drummer, from your long hair to your Steve Jobs-like commitment to wearing the same type of clothes day-in and day-out. That isn't always an easy road to walk, but you have never seemed to care what other people think (including me sometimes). That is admirable in a lot of ways and something it takes other people much longer to understand the freedom of. 

I'm glad you had a good celebration yesterday, and I hope the homework gods smile on you today and you aren't overwhelmed with work,

I love you,

Momma

I'm the teacher with the complaints

I have been at the cottage school for a decade, and sometimes I'm surprised that they've kept me around as long as they have since I am the one whose classes parents seem to have the most issues with. 

My high school classes, really.

And it's the texts I select for students to read.

I love teaching the classics but I have tried to add a little bit more modern classics to my list over the years because classic literature can be really hard for students to get, especially those who don't have the weird love of English that I do. 

For a lot of students, Wuthering Heights (1847), Great Expectations (1860),  Pride and Prejudice (1813), and anything Shakespeare is utter torture. 

So this year I am teaching Rebecca by Daphe Du Maurier (1938). Several years ago, I started teaching   The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien (1990), A Raisin in the Sun (1959), and Long Day's Journey Into Night (1939-1941). 

Because I can potentially teach the same student all four years of high school, I have to rotate books so as not to repeat. After a several years hiatus, I am teaching The Things They Carried again. 

This is a book about the Vietnam War. About young men (in their 20s) in the Vietnam War. Young men, in general, think about sex. And war is about killing and death and raping and destroying and dying. All unpleasant topics. 

(It is at this point that I like to mention that all of these things--sex, rape, war, killing, dying--are also in the Bible. Like 2 Samuel 13:1-39.)

Some parents homeschool because their kids have food allergies or because their kids are involved in activities that require more flexibility than what traditional school gives. Some parents homeschool because their kids have had socially unpleasant traditional school experiences. Some parents homeschool because they want more control over what their kids learn. Probably some homeschoolers are a combination of these. 

It was due to this last group that we determined, a couple years after I began teaching, that we needed to add a disclaimer to my English classes to warn parents that there is often content that they may find troubling and that they should review the books in advance (like before registering for my classes). The ones who complain are generally the ones who fail to do this.

While I personally think it is ridiculous to censor what kids read, especially once they reach high school, parents have the right to do whatever they want including marking out things from books or keeping certain books from their kids. However, they would save themselves a lot of headache (and me too) if they would check out the books in advance. Or if they are so concerned, read the books with their kids and have whatever discussions they feel compelled to have. That is entirely their business, and we encourage it in our disclaimer. 

The parent who has had the most recent issue with the first book of the year is concerned because I am not explicitly talking about language and sexual content with the students, which he seems to think is my responsibility since I am assigning the book to read. I, on the other hand, think it is my job to assign the book and teach the students the rhetorical devices and complexities of how the book was written (you know, the ENGLISH part of it), and it is the parents' job to discuss any particular issues their children bring to them related to curse words or sexual content if they have concerns about these things. 

If I were to discuss these things, I would be overstepping, which isn't my job, and on this point, the parent and I agree. 

I think the parent's basic argument is that I should have picked a book that this particular parent feels is a better book.

But I picked this book in February and we listed the book choices and the disclaimer in March and this parent apparently enrolled in April and now it is September. Now is not really the time to be complaining that you didn't know what was in the book. 

One of the things I discuss with students while reading The Things They Carry is ethos and pathos, two types of rhetorical devices. Ethos is what gives something credibility; why can we trust an argument that someone makes? Pathos is the emotional language someone uses in an argument that makes the reader feel a certain thing and, therefore, reinforces the argument. 

Tim O'Brien, the author of this Pulitzer Prize-finalist story, served in Vietnam so he has lots of credibility as to what the Vietnam War was like (and this is what the entire book is about). He also writes stories and uses a great deal of pathos to help the reader feel what soldiers felt. 

One thing I explained to this parent is that my job is to prepare high schoolers for college English classes. And I don't know where my students will go to college. Some of them go to private college or Christian colleges, but some of them go to state schools. 

I went to a private Catholic college where I know some of my former students now attend, and I read books that had curse words and sex in them. I actually took a THEOLOGY course in college in which the books we were assigned had cursing and sex in them. 

My point is that keeping a high schooler away from things in the real world (like cursing and sex) doesn't prepare them for when they will be introduced to these things (and they will if they leave the house or if they currently have a cell phone and the Internet). 

I completely understand the desire to protect one's children. I completely understand the parent's argument that kids can't unsee or unthink the things they read. But I think it is better and safer to let them experience the world through books when they can discuss with parents how to address these things that confuse or scare them. Better this that to keep them so protected they have zero reference point and no concept of how to handle it when they do have to handle it in real life. 

Because they will.