Thanksgiving Feast

As we approach Thanksgiving, here are a few things we might want to keep in mind:

• The story of the first Thanksgiving is often told from the perspective of the Pilgrims.
• Thanksgiving means different things to different people.
• Some Native Americans refer to it as a National Day of Mourning.
• Many Thanksgiving images are stereotypical images of Native Americans.
• These images are hurtful and can promote prejudice.
• The Wampanoags’ assistance to the Pilgrims was followed by the theft of their land and genocide of their people.
• Native Americans are not all the same.  There are different names, languages and cultures.

Here’s are two good articles to read:  The Surpressed Speech by Wamsutta James and Thanksgiving: A Native American View by Jacqueline Keeler

Here’s my question for you.  Do I stand by silently as Island Boy and the rest of the Kindergartners are asked to make a pillowcase, fringed outfit for a Thanksgiving feast?  Do I have him choose a Native American name?  As a friend suggests for his name, “He-Who-Equates-Dressing-Up-As-An-“Indian”-As-Dressing-Up-In-Black-Face”? Or do I send information to the Kindergarten Team to reconsider their curriculum for the following year?

–Running Girl

Fail

We here at Kay Nou have had a few weeks that we would not like to repeat anytime soon.  We are managing.

Most days I absolutely love my job.  I love teaching.  I’m thoroughly enjoying teaching Math after school.  This week I had a student say, “I love math.  You make it really fun.  I actually like learning about Time.”

I’m quite certain it helps that there are only 4 students.  It also helps that the kids eat a snack before we start.  It further helps that we can joke around as we learn.

Math

Our school has an after school program called Skill Builders.  It is a 2 month program for kids who need extra help in Reading or Math.  The students stay after school 2 afternoons a week for an hour each session.  They are in small groups and work with a teacher on Math or Reading.

The Future

Where will my kids go to school? What about global warming? And what am I going to make for dinner?

I’ve always loved that word — future.  It’s totally appealing.  In French, l’avenir, and in Italian, l’avvenire, mean “what’s to come.”

Despite my fondness for the word, I admit to occasional bouts of that middle-aged man malady, fear of the future.

Just when everything is going well, you stop and begin to despair about the future.  If you’re like me, you worry about whether your children will have the opportunities that have existed up until now.  I also worry about what type of planet they will inherit.

Of course, fathers have been preoccupied with thoughts like this since we emerged from primordial slime by walking on our fins.

We have difficulty intellectualizing that, although things will certainly be different in the future world, new opportunities and fresh innovations will develop.

I guess it comes down to one of my favorite John Hiatt lyrics, We can live in fear or we can act out of hope.  I try to choose the latter.

Texting

Right now America is discussing Huckleberry Finn and what Mark Twain’s intentions were at the time he wrote it.  I love it.

An honest debate over this issue began on Facebook with some friends.  It then continued in the form of a discussion at a party.

In the midst of the debate, the group came to a realization that, of the six of us involved in this conversation, only Subway Dude had read Huck Finn within the last 20 years.  As a result, we all (with the exception of SD) resolved to read the novel and get together in a month to take up this issue again.

We can only hope that Americans throughout the country are having similar discussions, and that this debate will encourage my fellow citizens to pick up the book again.

Think Before You Speak, Would’ja?

Remember this story? If you haven’t read it, you should.  The story is as follows:  The Fashionista shows a teacher a project that is due the following day.  She asks for feedback and he says, “This project sucks.”  He goes on the show her project to other classes later in the day.  Her name is not on it, but word gets around.  He says to the other classes, “This is an example of a project that sucks.”  So not cool.

The Fashionista re-worked the project that night and ultimately completed the course with this teacher.   TF had zero interest in dealing with this situation.  She wanted it to go away.  She did not want an apology.  In fact, she wanted us to let the entire situation fade swiftly in the First Quarter’s rear view mirror.

We told her, “Sorry.  Parental veto power taking effect here.”  We agreed to let it go until the class was over.  As soon as she started her new “satellite” class, The Major contacted the school.

In Support of Teachers’ Unions

Scapegoat — n. a person or group made to bear the blame for others or to suffer in their place.

Bête noire — n. a person or thing strongly detested or avoided.

In the labor world, unions are the scapegoats for everything that is not right with the work place.

In the world of education, teachers’ unions are both the scapegoat and the bête noire.

In 21st century America, it has become fashionable and, indeed, socially acceptable to bash teachers’ unions. 

Choosing Our Words Carefully

No one likes it when their kids are hurting.  Subway Dude is currently sleeping on the couch.  He’s been there all day, suffering from a sore throat and a headache. This is not good timing for the Quaker Marching Band.  They have their final band competition on Sunday night.  QMB is currently in 2nd place in New York State.  We are anxiously awaiting to see if they will swoop in and snatch 1st place from Victor High School.  Go, Fighting Quakers.

French? Need Not Apply.

He who does not know foreign languages does not know anything about his own.

~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Kunst and Alterthum

A friend who is a foreign language educator sent me a link to a site discussing the elimination or “deactivation” of basically all foreign language study at SUNY Albany, with the exception of Spanish.   It would appear that this decision was motivated by purely economic bottom feeder line reasoning.

I could state some lame pun here about being “speechless” or not having “the words” to describe my disappointment.  But, I have to say a thing or two.

Lekol Mwen ou Kay Mwen? [My School or My Home?]

Driving to and from school I have lots of time to think.  It’s 35 glorious minutes all to myself.  These days, my commute and my running time can be the only alone time I get all day.

Look, Ma! No traffic!

At some point this week, my mind must have wandered during some report on NPR.  You know the kind I mean.  “Sea squirts slime the Puget Sound. A slug-like creature is damaging the ecosystem of Puget Sound. The so-called “sea squirts” are multiplying like little underwater rabbits, starving out or smothering other sea life.”

So…I began thinking about the age-old “Stay-at-home Mom” vs. “Working Mom” debate.  Maybe sea squirts are more interesting to you.  By all means, check out the NPR report.  I’m certain it’s quite informative.

Here are some of my observations about home vs. work.

Even while I was off of work and enjoying my time with Island Boy, I was thinking about my job.  My number one concern was that the students and teachers might like my sub more than they liked me.  I heard he was good.  Everyone liked him.  Luckily for me, I also heard that one particular class asked their classroom teacher every single time if I was going to be there to teach music.  Whew! They missed me!

Once I knew I was missed, my mind was somewhat at ease.  As my return to work began to approach, I worried that once I went back to work I might miss being at home. It was pretty sweet to be a stay-at-home mom for 7 months.  Here are a few of the perks:

• It was nice to roll over and go back to sleep when the alarm went off at 6 am.
• I could go running whenever I wanted.  I didn’t have to pray over the weather page that the gods of the sky would cooperate around 4:30 pm.
• I was afraid I was going to miss the days of eating breakfast at 11 and lunch at 3:30.
• I scheduled doctors’ appointments willy nilly.
• I even delivered The Fashionista’s homework to her one day when she forgot it.
• And work clothes?  Really?  Try pj’s or running clothes all day long.
• Island Boy was able to sleep until he woke up.  His record was 10:30 am.  I had to check on him a few times that morning.

On the other hand, it sometimes felt isolating being a stay-at-home mom.  During this time, I was literally a “stay-at-home” mom.  What I mean by that is, The Major and I followed the sage advice we were given about making a smooth transition for Island Boy — we kept our world “as small as possible, for as long as possible.”  We didn’t go out much.  We bonded at home.  Played at home.  Ate at home.  Rarely entertained.

This isn't my house, but it sure looks like my clutter.

Weekdays, IB and I would play, play, play.  He liked to help clean and cook.  I enjoyed his company with these chores except for laundry.  He loved to toss freshly folded clothes all over the bedroom.  I became fairly adept at keeping the laundry folding top secret.

Finally, the stars would align and salvation would approach.  The older ones would come home!  For those who have stayed home with your kids, you know exactly what I mean.

Time to watch and listen for the school bus.  At our house we experienced a bit of a build up:

1. Subway Guy would arrive.  His arrival was greeted by IB in a lukewarm manner.
2. A mere half hour later, The Fashionista would scurry off of the bus.  IB would go fairly crazy, screaming, “FASHIONISTA!” and leap into her arms.
3. By the time The Major  got home, IB was in his glory: tormenting his older siblings.  Maybe TM would like to tell you how many times he came home to a certain someone’s high pitched wailing, screaming or taunting of the cat.  Mama was nearly crawling the walls.  “What’s new with you?????”  Pretty much all I could come up with was who the newest guest was on “Sesame Street” that day.  It was pretty pathetic by the end of my “maternity leave”.

Contrast that with being back to  work.  I’ve noticed some folks aren’t as perky about being back to school after a summer off.  At my school, we’ve got teachers who talk about winning the lottery so they won’t have to work anymore.  Others obsess about retirement and how many more years they have until they don’t have to get up in the morning.

My friend, Mary, makes paper chains to count off the days until vacation. I am NOT talking about her. She's cool.

We just started the school year and many of my colleagues are already counting how many days until vacation; how many months until summer.

I feel fortunate.  I know I have the perfect job for me.  I enjoy going to work every single day.  I look forward to seeing my students.  Not only that, but I actually enjoy talking about academics.  I like some of the meetings we have to go to.  I like hearing about how the students are doing in their classrooms.  I’m interested in their reading and math scores even though I’m “just” a special area teacher.

It feels good to be back in the work force.  Back to school.  Out of pajamas.  Back to the commute…until it rains for the first time.  Then you have to drive reeeeeeally slowly.  Driving in the rain can be very dangerous.  That’s why people should stay home when it rains.  Not me though.  I had enough time at home, thank you very much.

A day at home alone?  Now that’s another story.

-Running Girl