Lord of the Dance and Grocery Revenge

Sunday: I realize my disappointment with Celtic Spectacles

So Ken and I were hanging out at the cottage, after a dinner at the local pub (run by this awesome gay guy and his partner–I only mention this because it’s nice that our society has come so far that even in a place like PB, no one seems to care) and we had come back to the cottage and were watching not much on TV, just waiting for something interesting to come on, when Ken switched the channel to Celtic Thunder. If you don’t know what that is, it’s a group of 5 “boys to men” types who sing traditional Celtic music to a screaming crowd of women. I’ve never seen anything quite like it (yes, I have, but at the time I’d forgotten), and we had a really fun go at these guys. For one, they are super-choreographed. They step very deliberately to one side, then the other, and when it’s their turn to sing, each one descends a flight of stairs like he’s a robotic Miss America or something, then returns to the top when his “turn” is finished. Second, they are ranged in age, and oiled up appropriately to appeal to a mass market of women. There’s the teen-something one, who is meant to appeal to the 5 to 7 year-old range (as well as the Cougars), the early twenties hottie with superwhite teeth, then the 30-ish guy with his shirt open just enough to show off his gold chains, the 40 , and 50 year-olds (who look amazing for their age and would definitely be lusted after by the 70 and 80 year-olds in the audience). It was like watching a One Direction concert for the extremely young and the extremely geriatric—grandmas and granddaughters holding up signs with slogans on them (I love you Neil…I want to marry you, Emmet, and so on, ad nauseam.) I actually just googled their home page and realized to my horror that they have ‘Daniel’, a 7 year old member of the group—who the hell is lusting after him? and you should be ASHAMED.OF.YOURSELF. And I say this with all sincerity, since these ‘men’ are held up to the audience as symbols of manliness, even the seven-year-old, which is kind of creepy. Can you imagine being Daniel’s mom, and worrying about some 40 year-old woman carrying a sign that says “Daniel, I love you!! Marry me!! Kissy face smiley face”? But the best thing about the whole spectacle is the singing, by which I mean the lipsynching, because none of them actually sing. They pose. They move their lips and pre-recorded music comes out of their manly mouths, and it’s really obvious they’re doing it, shamelessly, like it’s the CELTIC WAY or something.

And now I get to the thing I’d forgotten, which was one of the greatest disappointments of my life. Lord of the Dance. Yes, Lord of the Dance, the incredible Celtic stepdancing/musical phenomenon of the 90s which had my heart on fire. I loved Lord of the Dance, the music, the spectacle, that Michael Flately guy who was so tiny and arrogant but tapped his little heart out. When they came to town, I begged Ken for tickets. Being the wonderful husband he is (or just to stop me whining), he agreed, and there we were in the first row of the balcony. The lights dimmed—the music began—dancers came on stage—it became PATENTLY OBVIOUS that every sound was pre-recorded. OMFG Lord of the Dance—even the tapping sounds were pre-recorded and were played over top of the actual tapping on stage!! The violins, the singing, the dancing, were all fake. I just paid $75 to listen to the CD I had at home. And that’s why I’ll never pay to see Celtic Thunder. So there.

Tuesday, when I mess with people in the grocery store.

Have you ever been in a grocery store, trying to shop, and someone keeps parking their cart in the middle of the aisle so you can’t get by? Have you ever wondered how to get your revenge on that person? Does it seem a little weird to take revenge on strangers in grocery stores? No it’s not—it’s necessary to keep a sense of balance in the universe. Like how in Thor, which I just watched with my grade nine class as a way to wrap up our mythology unit, Thor battles the evil elves to save Earth. (By the way, there is nothing more difficult than doing a mythology unit with grade nine students, because there is no easy way to introduce them to Uranus. Say it to yourself one more time if you don’t get it. Also, it can be very difficult to talk about flying buttresses as part of a unit on Gothic literature to a group of grade 12s with a juvenile sense of humour. Did I laugh in both cases? Maybe.)

So on Tuesday, K and I were grocery shopping. (This is always a challenge because I like to go to the store where I get points, and K spends the whole time criticizing me for buying things we don’t need “just for the points”. I’m sorry, but you can always use another head of cauliflower or a family pack of Axe body spray.) Anyway, we were in the Gluten-Free/Organic Aisle (because I stopped eating gluten last year, thinking it would help my joints. It didn’t, but now it’s a habit, and I feel guilty if I break it, like when a smoker sneaks a cigarette, except instead of getting pleasantly dizzy, your stomach gets angry at you. Enough said.) Ahead of us was a middle-aged woman, (MORE middle-aged than me, anyway) who seemed completely oblivious that she was in a grocery store with many other people, and hadn’t just won a private shopping spree on The Price Is Right, because as she was lingering at the gluten-free freezer, her cart was in the middle of the aisle ON AN ANGLE. T and I were on our way to buy some special crackers, but we couldn’t get near them, thanks to Frumpy McDuh. We waited patiently for her to realize we were there, but she seemed to be deliberately ignoring us as she perused the shelves. A young guy came down the other way, and we both stood there helplessly, looking at each other for support. He seemed content to wait, so K and I turned around and went back the other way, thinking we could go down the next aisle and go round the corner back up to the crackers that way. A clever plan, but wait—as we came around the top of the next aisle, this woman, like a polyester-pantsuited NINJA, was already there, with her cart again parked in the middle of the aisle! We quickly devised a second, even better plan, and we hightailed it around to the next aisle, where we waited patiently, steadfastly. Sure enough, here she came, strolling down the aisle quite leisurely. But what’s this? There’s a cart in her way? Whose cart? Yes, you know it. And it was on an angle that was quite impossible to navigate around. K and I pretended to be VERY interested in organic quinoa, discussing the merits of each brand, while she stood and waited. But she wasn’t patient, or polite either. She started to push her cart towards me, and nearly grazed my ankle, but I stood my ground, daring her to come any closer. She finally gave up, and as she rolled her evil elf eyes and moved off, K and I felt like we had achieved some kind of universal victory, like in Thor, plus, we finally got our crackers. And the 2000 points that came with them.

My Week 4 – An Open Letter To MacLean’s Magazine

Dear MacLean’s:
I recently read an article published in your magazine called “New Girl, Go Girl,” which purported to be about the “new feminism” (because apparently the old feminism, where women banded together and fought for equal rights with our male counterparts, wasn’t good enough). While there’s a lot to be said for young girls taking ownership of “cultural currency” and standing strong against “social stereotypes and a sex-saturated culture”, I take particular exception to three things in the article, and I will deal with them in order of appearance, so here they are:

3 Things I Learned From This Article
1) The best fictional teen heroines are the best by virtue of the fact that they are fat, plain, and sexual. “Fat” and “plain” are NOT my words; they belong to the author of the article, Anne Kingston. The first part of this article highlights a new teen novel, How To Build A Girl, whose heroine is described as smart, well-read, funny, but also fat and plain, among other things. Katniss Everdeen, of Hunger Games fame, according to Kingston, pales in comparison next to this new teen heroine because…well why is that, anyway? They seem to be fairly equal—I think we all agree that Katniss is smart, would have been well-read if the oppressive society she lived in allowed her to read extensively rather than fight for her freedom, and would have been hilarious if she (back to this again, sorry) hadn’t had to fight to overthrow a corrupt and oppressive government. As for her physical appearance, I can’t remember whether she was skinny or fat, pretty or not, because none of that was relevant to (sorry, once more) her fight to overthrow an oppressive, corrupt government. Kingston extolls the heroine of How To Build A Girl for the integrity of her personal quest—-to lose her virginity at age 16, which apparently she does accomplish in the novel. Good for her. Because that’s what very young girls SHOULD be reading about, not about women who want to change their worlds like Malala Yousafzai. It’s a shame that Suzanne Collins hadn’t realized that—I’m sure Hunger Games would have been even more successful if Katniss had spent the majority of her time trying to get laid. As for this being no “Cinderella story”, the heroine somehow gets a “coveted job as a music journalist, and sails into a bright future at the age of 17”, which is what happens to all girls who don’t pursue post-secondary education. In contrast, Katniss Everdeen’s Cinderella story is pretty close to the Disney version, except the mice are all forced to fight to the death, and the Fairy Godmother wants to kill her for starting a revolution.

2) Girls with “bass” run the world. Kingston cites Meghan Trainor, pop singer, and her catchy little ditty “All About That Bass” as part of the new ethic of female self-acceptance. I’m sorry, but did you actually read the lyrics of this song? There’s a neat little tool called Google that you might want to use. If you bother actually reading the words rather than just tapping your toes to the chorus, you will discover that Meghan, who for obvious reasons “refuses to be called a feminist”, is proud of her large posterior for these two reasons: a) the boys chase it, and b) her mama told her that boys like a little more booty to hold at night. In addition, she wants all the “skinny bitches” to know that she is “bringing booty back.” THIS is the voice of the new girl power? That boys like big butts and that we should make sure that our “junk” is in all the right places? I’m sorry, but how is this self-acceptance in any sense of the word? What it is, in fact, is yet another sad example of women trying to desperately justify their physicality to men, and to condemn other women for theirs. As a professional, intelligent woman, I honestly can’t remember a single time that I worried about what “the boys” thought regarding my ass, or the rest of my “junk”.

3) Feminist ideas that should have stopped being an issue are still relevant in 2014. Knight refers to Susan Douglas, who seems to be a walking anachronism, and her two contradictory statements. First, she condemns the new “sneaky form of sexism” which seems to mean “young women can do or be anything they want, as long as they conform to confining ideals about femininity and don’t want too much”. Second, she condemns “a celebration of stay-at-home moms and ‘opting out’ of the workforce”. Excuse my ignorance, feminist guru person, but haven’t we gotten past the point where we look down on our sisters who CHOOSE to be mothers? Isn’t that what the fight for equal rights got us—the option to work or stay home? Some women actually like babies and want to spend a lot of time with them; some women think they’re poop and puke machines and can’t wait to get back to work. Either way, that’s the right of every woman to decide, and to snidely suggest that there’s something wrong with celebrating stay-at-home mothers is akin to someone else snidely suggesting that there’s something wrong with supporting our sisters who want to return to the workforce. So who is it that expects women to conform to confining ideals? You can’t have it both ways, Susan Douglas.

While there were a lot of merits to this article, there were also a lot of flaws. Women need to stop worrying about their physical appearance and how men (and other women) feel about it, and start worrying about a) developing and promoting the power of our minds and self-will b) nurturing love for and promotion of other women and their choices and c) focusing on the world around us rather than the world within us. But that’s just me. Thanks for listening.

My Week 3 – Thanksgiving Discussion

Monday, when Ken and I ponder the meaning of Thanksgiving:

So we just celebrated Thanksgiving, and Ken and I were driving down to the cottage. It occurred to me that it was weird that we celebrate Thanksgiving in October and the Americans celebrate it in November, and what’s it all about anyway? And this is the conversation that ensued. Just for the record, Ken and I aren’t fussy about the accuracy of our facts:

Me: So why do we celebrate Thanksgiving in October and the Americans do it in November? What’s with that?
Ken: I don’t know—maybe their harvest is later than ours since they’re further south. They’re both just about giving thanks for a good harvest anyway.
Me: That’s not why the Americans celebrate Thanksgiving—they didn’t HAVE a harvest, that was the whole point. The Puritans came over here completely ill-equipped to survive. They were literally starving to death, and the Indians shared THEIR harvest with them, and basically saved their lives.
Ken: Oh yeah—“Thanks so much for your generosity—in return, here’s some small pox.”
Me: I know, right? “And some alcohol.” That’s gratitude for you. Do you think the native Americans “celebrate” Thanksgiving, or do they secretly call it something different, like “The Day We Wish You’d Never Shown Up”?
Ken: All I know is that Sherman Alexie just tweeted out that in celebration of Columbus Day, he was launching a Kickstarter campaign to raise funds to build a time machine, so that he could go back in time and stop Columbus from finding the New World.
Me: Seems about right.

Country Vets

Tuesday, The Day I Pretend To Be A Country Vet:

So I was reading the latest issue of my favourite magazine “Country Living”, because I live in the country but need help, because I’m not really a “country” person and this magazine helps me figure out how to decorate and cook in various countrified ways that make me feel like I can keep up with the other country people around here, although technically I live in a village with a gas station, a video store, and two restaurants. I say two, but there is a currently a plaza being built on the edge of town which is, like, two blocks from my house, featuring another gas station as well as a Pizza Pizza store and a Country Style Donuts place, because of course what every small village needs is national franchises that will run local businesses into the ground. I’m going to digress from my Country Living opening and complain for a minute about the new plaza because a) it’s been under construction for over a year and at this point I’m convinced that the owners only work on it when they win money at the Woodstock casino, and b) we already have some great restaurants in town as well as a gas station called the Diva (a tremendously cool name, right?) run by this lovely East Indian family, as opposed to drag queens which would also be fabulous, and which has amazingly cheap gas as well as dollar store stuff. These people are all local and I will NEVER buy anything from the new plaza. (Unless the gas station is full-serve because I hate pumping my own gas. I would like to be more loyal, but the truth is, I can be pretty mercenary when it comes to avoiding getting gasoline on my shoes.)

Anyway, back to my original topic—I was reading Country Living magazine and it features a column called “Ask A Country Vet”. And based on the questions that are asked of said veterinarian, I can only assume that SOME people in the country don’t get out much. This month’s issue featured the following question: “How can I prevent my cat from sleeping in the laundry basket on top of my freshly laundered clothes?” I’m going to give you a minute to re-read that question. Because I had to re-read it more than once to confirm that I wasn’t imagining that I was in an alternate universe where veterinarians had to actually answer bizarre questions like this. Then I pretended that I was the veterinarian and answered the question thusly: “After you freshly launder your clothes, PUT THEM AWAY. Then your cat can’t sleep on them.” It seemed like a pretty obvious response to me, as someone who has owned cats for many years, but wait—the vet responsible for this column apparently has never owned a cat, and very seriously responded that the best solution was to put a SHEET OF TIN FOIL on top of the laundry so that when the cat leapt into the laundry basket, the sound of the tin foil would startle it to the extent that it would become afraid of the laundry basket, thereby avoiding it. My immediate response to that was WTF??!! because in my experience with animals, scaring the crap out of them does not lead to a happy co-existence.

But the main reason why you do NOT want your cat in your clean laundry is this: Cats are filthy. They poop in gravel and then drag it around your house. I love my cat, but when she jumps up on the bed and wants to cuddle, I try really hard NOT to think of the billions of bacterias that are swarming all over the quilt, and I never, ever high-five her like I do the dog. Now, here’s what I imagine will happen in this whole tinfoil scenario—your cat uses the litter box, and is about to drag some of that poopy gravel into your freshly cleaned laundry on its little poopy paws. Then your freshly cleaned laundry scares more poop out of the cat, ONTO your freshly cleaned laundry. Instead of pissing your cat off, why don’t you try the simple, hygienic trick of putting the laundry away? Then it occurred to me that maybe the editors of Country Living magazine make up these questions because a few months ago, somebody asked this following gem: “Why does my dog chase his tail?”

My Week 1 – Marijuana and Febreze

So I’ve decided to change things up a little bit because I’m not currently a mentor and don’t have a particular protegee, so I’m turning this blog into also a reflection up* the things that happen to me either in real-life or sometimes in my head, which are often even weirder. I can’t rename this blog because a) I am not that technologically proficient and I just spent 15 minutes trying to reset my email for this stupid site and I still don’t think it worked and b) it’s kind of an ironic title in a lot of ways.

So here’s some of my week.

Wednesday, also known as the day I realize I really can’t tell stories orally that well. So I was sitting around with a couple of colleagues and we were talking about how people use the comment tool on almost anything now to slag people for very minimal reasons and say some pretty nasty things because they think the internet makes them anonymous even when their names and pictures are RIGHT NEXT TO THE COMMENT. I launched into what I thought was a very clever tale about how I’m a member of a buy and sell group on Facebook, and how recently a local candidate for town council was totally taken to task when someone posted a warning about break-ins in the area, and he commented that part of his election platform was to help prevent crime. (On a side note, he was very vague and I don’t know how he’s going to prevent crime unless he means he’s going to prowl the streets of our town at night like some badass ninja vigilante). Anyway, I described the nasty backlash he got “for trying to exploit the situation to win the election” and I ended with something like “it was too bad, really.” Then I realized that my colleagues are looking at me a little blankly, almost expectantly, liked there should be more to the story, and then I also realized that my story had no real thesis, which everyone knows a good story should have, and that I’d missed the most important element to the story, the plot twist, which was that the poor guy is only 19 years old and it’s his first foray in the political arena and he probably didn’t realize that people on buy and sell sites can be very fickle. I should just give up on trying to contribute to conversations altogether, and just focus on writing things down, which is of course, my thesis, and the conclusion to this story. Tada.

Thursday. Did I really just encourage my students to smoke pot?? No. I. Did. Not. It was a total accident that can be explained in this very convoluted way. I was talking to my grade 12s about Titus Andronicus, Act 1, and two characters, brothers, who are trying to become emperor. In what I thought was an attempt to make things relevant, I said that Rome deserved a strong leader, and that just like Rome, so did Canada. I pointed out that the one brother was a lot like Justin Trudeau in that he was relying on the goodwill of the people to get elected, just like Bassianus in the play, and that Stephen Harper was very much a Saturninus figure because he was relying on the fact that he was the “elder statesman”. Then one of the kids commented, “Justin Trudeau’s only platform is to legalize marijuana”, and I said, “See what I mean? He’s like the fun candidate, and Stephen Harper is the guy who won’t even admit to smoking marijuana and he’s a pretty grim guy in his sweater vests and all. He should really live a little.” And suddenly everyone was laughing, kind of hysterically, and I had this horrible epiphany that I might have just implied that marijuana and “living a little” should go hand in hand, which is totally not what I meant to do. So I tried to clarify that I didn’t mean to say it like that, but the kids just kept laughing, and I kept digging myself into a deeper hole, until finally I just said, “Don’t do drugs. I don’t recommend them”, which sounded in retrospect not a great thing to say either. But it seemed to calm them down, and we moved on with the lesson, but I WILL spend the next few days worrying about whether I get a call from an irate parent who is either upset about the marijuana thing or doesn’t like that I called Stephen Harper “grim”.

Saturday. This morning I was in the staff bathroom at the school where we have International Languages on Saturday mornings drying my hands with the hand dryer (because a) I had just washed them and b) I was freezing and the heat was awesome) when I noticed a can of Febreze air freshener on top of the paper towel dispenser labelled “Alaskan Spring”. So I sprayed it because I’ve always wondered what spring in Alaska smelled like (does it really smell kind of like stale Old Spice cologne? Has anyone been to Alaska? If so, can you clarify this?) when it occurred to me that maybe other people had used it BEFORE they washed THEIR hands, and then I got all germaphobic-y and had to rewash my hands all over again. Yep. The thesis of this story is that you should always spray room freshener in a public bathroom BEFORE you’ve washed your hands, then you’re good to go. Or that Alaska smells like someone’s grandfather.

*Yes, I know that there’s a typo in the introduction. It’s there for a reason. Or maybe two reasons that are inextricably linked. While I was typing this blog, Ken came in and wanted to talk to me about something, I don’t know what (because I was typing, you see?) Ken is always going on about how people can’t really multi-task and then he was like, “Can’t you listen to me and type at the same time?” And then I made the typo, which just proves that a) no, I can’t multi-task and b) it’s ironic that he’s always telling me that I can’t multi-task, then he insists that I do it.

On The Loss Of A Friend

I recently and unexpectedly lost a valued colleague and friend. It was a devastating blow to me personally, and to the whole school, as we struggled to make sense of his sudden death. He was a genuine person who I relied on for honest opinions, objectivity, and emotional support when the case warranted it. There were no “sides” to him–what you saw was what you got, a consummate professional who needed no hand-holding and rarely complained about anything, a caring human being who appreciated other people but didn’t rely on them for his sense of self. It happened right before the end of the school year, and I think I spent most of the rest of June in a state of shock and disbelief, but now I face a September where the reality of his absence will have to set in. I’ll deal with it, of course–there’s no choice really. It’s not like he changed schools or retired, and there’s a chance he might pop in for a visit (although, if he did, that would be something!). At any rate, I gave a eulogy at his funeral, and I’m posting it here as a tribute to him. I’ve taken out the names of his family members, but otherwise, it’s what I said about a man who will be missed more than he probably imagined.

A Tribute To Howard Marshall

Howard Marshall was a man of many names.

When he was looking particularly dapper, he was “The Silver Fox”. On certain occasions, when he wore a black shirt and black pants, we called him “Johnny Cash, the man in black”. Howard always dressed impeccably, even on dress-down Fridays. On one occasion, another member of the English department met him at a local shopping mall and he was wearing jeans! The colleague was so surprised that he took a picture just to prove that Howard did in fact dress down on weekends. One of my favourite memories of Howard comes from the time we did our IB training together in Florida. He wore dress pants and dress shirts for the entire trip. His only concession to the heat and environment was the evening we took a stroll along the beach and he rolled up the cuffs on his pants so that he could walk barefoot in the surf without getting them wet.

Howard had a wry sense of humour, and when he was being especially cheeky, he was “Howard!!” He was most often a serious person, but he had a terrible mischievous streak, which tended to come out in staff meetings and other formal functions. He would make witty comments under his breath to whoever was sitting near him, until someone would invariable say, “Howard!!” Then he would snicker…and continue cracking jokes.

When he allowed his colleagues and friends to tease him, he was “Poor Howard”. He would set himself up for a good teasing, and then turn to me and say, “See? See how they’re abusing me?!”, and I would always say, “Poor Howard. Leave him alone!” at which point he would stick his tongue out at the offender and say, “Do you hear that? The department head says to leave me alone!” And then everyone, including Howard, would laugh.

To his students, he was always Mr. Marshall. And it was always said with tremendous respect, and very often with affection. If anyone has seen the messages on the banners and cards that our students have been writing, there is no doubt that Howard was loved by his students. Even students who never had Howard as a teacher have expressed a sense of loss, with many remarking that they would chat with him in the halls or the cafeteria lineup and would miss his daily presence in their lives.

In addition to his many names, Howard was many men.

Howard was a busy man. He was always doing something, whether it was teaching regular school, night school, or summer school. On his prep period, he could be found writing up his lesson plans. Even after decades as an educator, he still wrote extremely detailed plans every day. His colleagues marvelled at him, and the fact that a new teacher could teach an entire course simply out of one of Howard’s binders, which he was always happy to provide when asked for help. Outside of school, Howard was equally busy, regaling us with stories of his latest renovation project, or his plans for the Multi-Cultural Club dinner.

Howard was a family man. We could rarely get him to come out for a department lunch on a PD day or join us for a social because he usually had plans with his wife. He was devoted to her, and often spoke of how they met, and how he knew immediately that she was “The One”. He adored his daughter, and was extremely proud of her. He marvelled at her skills as a stylist, once remarking to me that “all she does is take a pin, twist her hair around somehow, and suddenly it looks amazing!” When she changed careers, he was equally proud, and hoped that she would be just as happy on her new path. He used to tell us about how, when they were living in the North, one of his favourite things was to come down to Southern Ontario on a shopping trip and buy her beautiful dresses. I’m sure she was the best-dressed little girl in the North. When she married, he was delighted and always spoke of his new son-in-law with genuine warmth. And he was thrilled to be a grandfather, showing us pictures of her when she came into his life, and telling us of his excitement over becoming a grandfather for the second time.

Above all else, Howard was a happy man. He loved his job, his colleagues, friends, and students, and he loved his family. And in return, we all loved him. He was a thoughtful person, who could always be counted on for a kind word, sound advice, or simply a shoulder to lean on. I rarely heard him say anything negative about anything. He was a forward-looking man who seemed to view the future with optimism and a sense of hope, and in that spirit, the spirit of a wonderful friend who rolled up his cuffs to walk in the ocean, I would like to share Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s poem “Crossing The Bar”, in tribute to Howard.

“Sunset and evening star and one clear call for me,
And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea.
Twilight and evening bell and after that the dark,
And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.
For tho’ from out our bourne of time and place,
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to meet my Pilot face to face when I have cross’d the bar.

Howard, you will be forever missed and never forgotten.

On Time

Dearest Protege:
Time has been on my mind lately. With IB orals going on for the next two weeks, my school life is structured around 20 minutes increments, measured by a stopwatch. I’ve also been thinking about time in a larger sense–thanks to T.S. Eliot–and worrying that I’m wasting time like Prufrock, that time is ticking away and if I’m not careful, I’ll run out of time. Time is a precious commodity, but it’s only a human construct. Should we ever measure our successes by how long it took us to achieve them, or how “on time” we were? Which brings me to the point of this post. Our Board has just put out a new Assessment and Evaluation document which outlines policies for September and aligns with the Ministry’s Growing Success document. One of the new policies which is sure to have some people gnashing their teeth is the policy surrounding late assignments. No marks can be deducted for late assignments as of September. I can hear the outcry: “But how can they get full marks if they don’t hand it in on time?!” There’s that pesky human construct again. To be perfectly honest, I haven’t deducted late marks for assignments for years–it was my dirty little secret. But I could never justify punishing a student for lack of punctuality by taking credit away from their work. We often forget that teenagers are stretched so thin in their own lives–how does a hard and fast deadline for a) someone who works almost full-time to support a family because Mom’s a single parent or b) someone who just found out that a younger sibling has cancer or c) someone who’s just really bad at organizing 8 classes, extra-curriculars, a part-time job, and a social life make them less intellectually successful than someone who has no family issues, no other commitments, and no “baggage”. Well, the answer is, it doesn’t. Academic achievement needs to be separate from behaviours. Students KNOW that punctuality is important. Most of them feel terrible when they miss a deadline. They come to you with those big, desperate eyes and say, “Can I still hand it in?” I always accepted work without penalty once I stopped believing that my job wasn’t to punish people for things that had nothing to do with their ability to be academically successful. Don’t get me wrong–meeting deadlines is important, especially in the workplace, in the “real world”. But let’s be honest–school isn’t the real world, gods forbid. And our students know the difference. “In loco parentis”–there’s the key. What would a kind and judicious parent do? If my daughter doesn’t get her clothes ready for the laundry by the time I ask her to, do I take away her pants? Of course not. But we do have a conversation about the importance of pants, and the necessity of getting them into the laundry on time. And eventually, she’ll learn to get her laundry ready on time, or she’ll get out into the real world, and if she hasn’t taken to heart these lessons, she will have no pants. Family laundry day aside, it’s the same thing for our students. We evaluate their work, and we assess their learning skills, and that’s our job. If any of us want to be the keepers of time, we’d better make sure we’re never late for anything–like class, haha! What are your thoughts on this as someone who hasn’t come from the timeworn tradition of penalties for late work?

On Ingratitude, and Why It Doesn’t Matter

Dearest Protege:
Today I had the great misfortune of seeing a Twitter post from the parent of one of my students that read (and forgive the errors–I’m quoting verbatim): “teachers strike. simple. lock the gates and keep them out. next meeting in one year. overpaid underworked no accountablility #teachersstrike”. I wasn’t sure where my feelings lay. I was simultaneously disgusted, dismayed, and disappointed. You see, not only had I taught one of this parent’s children, I also coached another last year. The same parent “volunteered” on occasion with the team by coming to practices, helping to run drills, and attending games when he wasn’t out of town (he missed a couple because he was in Fiji on business–I remember feeling envious that I could never afford to go to Fiji myself). I spent a considerable amount of time with him, and had a couple of friendly conversations with him. To read this now made me feel incredibly sad. Aside from the time I spent in the classroom helping one of his children succeed in my subject area, I spent countless hours away from my OWN child in order that HIS other child could have a team to play on. I stood on a pitch for hours in blizzards, freezing rain, regular rain, and beating sunshine cheering on my players, and making sure that they had the best experience possible, despite my own health issues. I could spend a lot of time addressing what he said in his post (in fact, I did, but then I deleted all of it) but ultimately none of it matters. His ingratitude is irrelevant to me, and what and who I am. I don’t teach my students and coach my players because I’m looking for some kind of affirming and resounding Thank You from anyone. I am who I am. I do what I do because I am who I am. Other people are entitled to their own opinions. And that’s OK–we’re all entitled to our own version of the truth. But at the end of the day, I know which truths count for me, and that’s all that matters (even if it means NOT doing something I enjoy because there are higher stakes, and larger truths, involved). So Dearest Protege, as you continue on in your own career, which will be long and successful (I have no doubt of that) remember this one thing: Don’t look outside yourself for validation or confirmation. Do what you love, love what you do, and hold fast to your values and principles. That’s the only real road to happiness.

Why I Show Movies The Day Before Break

I was just reading the blog of another educator called “Why I Don’t Show Movies Before A Break”. His final comment was that he was choosing learning over entertainment. I find that an interesting and somewhat judgemental statement which implied that those of us who choose to show a film before Christmas break are somehow inferior educators. Here are my thoughts:

1) My students work incredibly hard throughout the semester. I have high expectations of them, and I have very tight timelines (I teach International Baccalaureate students, and I have to meet external assessment deadlines). My students rarely get to watch films, and if they do, they are always related to what we are studying (Hamlet, Twelfth Night, The Great Gatsby, and so on). If I choose, on the day before Christmas break, to show a film, it’s a treat for them, one they hardly ever get.

2) We all build community in different ways. When, on the day before the holidays, I give my students candy canes, then enjoy a film with them in a relaxing and collegial atmosphere, I’m showing them that I appreciate their efforts throughout the term, and that I care about them as people, not just as learning machines. My grade nines watched “She’s The Man” (a modernized version of Twelfth Night) and we laughed our heads off together–it was a warm, happy atmosphere that was well-suited to their excitement level ( and for some students, their anxiety level–not everyone looks forward to the break). 

3) I’m also a parent. My own fourteen-year-old is an excellent student who enjoys the challenge of learning, and like my students, he also works incredibly hard in school. His geography teacher showed their class a film before the break. She’s an excellent educator and I trust her judgement (and he really enjoyed the film).

Ultimately, we are all professionals. If Teacher A chooses to teach a 75 minute lesson on the day before holidays, and Teacher B chooses to show a movie, we must assume that they are both doing what they think is the best thing for their students, and not sit in judgement of either. Happy holidays, everyone!!

Reflection

Well-I can’t come up with any excuses now not to respond in a timely fashion to posts!

The end of the first semester and the beginning of second semester comes so fast that you hardly have time to breathe.

Here are some things I’m happy about:

1) I’m really happy with the connection that I made with my ENG 3CI class.  They were all well behaved students, and they responded well with the activities we did in class. We have spent a lot of time discussing that bond that needs to be created with the students in order for them to respond well.  Although more work could have been completed (I think that’s just the nature of the beast), they certainly tried hard in class.

2) I’m really happy that I have been able to find my niche of home life and school life.  Now that I’m in my fifth year of teaching, I feel like I can relax a little bit and be confident in my abilities.  It wasn’t that long ago that I would freak out and work like crazy at home until I fell asleep with a book in my hand and the computer on still planning lessons.  Being able to relax at home has certainly made me a happier person all around. I am able to enjoy married life and family life.  I used to feel guilty if I went home and just focused on home life rather than school.  However, I have realized that all my colleagues have a home life. In fact, no one would ever sneer at the fact that you spent your evening with family rather than marking. Everyone is so understanding and trusting that you are competent and will get your own stuff done in your own time.

3) I too am happy at how I spent my prep time. I think this is the most amout of work that I have been able to accomplish in my prep time. I feel like I have found a way to be extremely efficient and effective with my lesson planning and my time management. It certainly is a lot nicer to complete everything at school rather than take it home 😉

Things I could be happier about

1) Well, I too have been neglecting our mentorship relationship. I guess I don’t really think about it because if I have a question, I just ask you and that’s that. 

2) I definately could be happier about the learning cycle.  I feel like I need a lot more time to go through all of my lessons and try to encorporate the learning cycle into it. I believe I already do go through the learning cycle with my  lessons-I just don’t necessarily call them the same things (ie. Rationale). I was glad for our dept. time together to get things organized, but I feel I need more time to look things over.

Well mentor-it looks like this mentorship will be put on hold until next year when I can finish up all workshops and NTIP requirements. Even though you haven’t felt like you’ve been doing a good job, y0u have been coming to my aid with all that I needed help with. You always seem to have the right answer and expert advice on how to clear up any situation that I may have come across!

Even though I’m not at school-can we still discuss things like the use of learning goals, learning cycles and how to continue to make students successful as well as ourselves in our own career?!