where are you now?

where are you now

my dear –

are you somewhere you

can hear

my cries?  my thoughts?

i don’t know what

to do –

am i supposed to just

give up?

The Danger of Being a Good Teacher

i just watched a show called “Obsession:  Dark Desires”.  The episode revolved around a special education teacher and one of her students.  She taught in a high school and one of her students, named Todd, became obsessed with her.  He did not want anyone else to teach him.  He refused to leave her classroom.  He yelled at her. He harassed her at home through phone calls and threats.  Ultimately he decided she needed to die because she was no longer his teacher.  In the end, he drove his truck through her house, nearly killing her daughter and her dog.  it was very scary.

Over the twenty-one years i have been a special educator, I have had many close relationships with students – some of them have spent time at my home or accompanied me to special events.  I grew up watching “Welcome Back, Kotter”  and decided then that if I was ever a teacher, I wanted my students to be that comfortable with me.  My students were always welcome to have my cell phone number in case they needed to reach me – and I have had two students who have called me when they ran away, enabling me to go pick them up and take them home.  I had one family that would call me and ask me if i could come over to get the daughter out of bed so she would come to school.  I’ve had a student slash my tires.  Another two or three have threatened to kill me.  Primarily, though, my students have loved me and felt comfortable with me.  And I have always been proud of that.  This show, however, made me wonder if perhaps these are not the best policies…

As a teacher, you walk a fine line.  Your students need to feel respected by you if you want respect to be returned.  But how close is too close?  I will really have to think about that now.

It’s Been a While…

It’s been a long time since I posted anything on this site – or anywhere, for that matter.  I’ve been quite ill off and on, had three surgeries in the past two years…I just haven’t seemed to have the energy to put into anything other than feeling better and working.  I realized tonight that I actually miss writing – here or anywhere – so I think I will pick it up again.  Or try, anyway.  In the past I was seething with emotional turmoil and there appeared to be no end of things about which I could write.  Nowadays I feel rather…flat.  I don’t know if I can even do this anymore.  Hopefully I will be able to come up with something interesting to say.  I will think about it and write a new post.  Please be patient with me as I try to relocate my voice.  Depression and self-destruction nearly silenced it for good a couple of years ago.  Perhaps I can find it again.  Cheers to all!!

Follow Up to “Don’t Say His Name”

I am heartened, greatly, by something I see happening.  On CNN, they are NOT saying his name.  I just watched Alex Teves father, best friend, and girlfriend (whom Alex died saving) on Anderson Cooper.  Mr. Teves was fabulous and challenged the media to stop talking about him – or other murderers – and talk only about the victims.  He said what I wrote the other night:  that let’s make it so everyone remembers the names of the VICTIMS, not the coward who attacked them.  Anderson replied that CNN was purposely working not to do that, and he agreed with Mr. Teves sentiments.  Sadly, other channels are not following this example, but I am so happy to hear people saying that we need to do what we can to stop the madness by not giving them the attention it seems they so crave.

Maybe there is some hope for us after all. 

I am so saddened by all of this, but heartened by the refusal of many to give that coward the attention he so does not deserve.

DON’T SAY HIS NAME

killing people in a movie theatre…what???  the place where you go to escape and then there is no escape?  what is going on in this world?

if it is true that one of the primary motives for the majority of these mass murderers is fame, then don’t keep saying this guy’s name.  quit showing his picture.  don’t give him what he wants.  i get it that everyone wants to know who did it and why…but quit giving these murderers what they want by talking about them 24/7.    and don’t give them “cool sounding” nicknames.  don’t do it.  talk about the jackass who did something horrendous, or the dick…don’t turn these people into paris hilton or the kardashians — people who are famous for bad behavior and nothing else.  don’t make this man – and others like him – some sort of brilliant, media-motivated anti-hero.  remember alfred’s words to batman?  there are just some men who want to watch the world burn.  that’s true, but quit talking about that ass.

talk instead about veronica – only six years old, gordon, jesse, alex teves, aj, jonathan, jon, matt, mikeyla, jessica, rebecca, and alex sullivan, who died on his twenty-seventh birthday, and the day before his wedding anniversary.

DO NOT say that killer’s name.

DO say the other names.  let’s see if, for once, a year from now, we can all recall the names of the victims instead of only remembering the name of the jerk who killed them.

Dealing With Negative People…

My mom sent me this today and I thought it was sooo good that I needed to share.  Enjoy!

 

This is something to think about when negative people are doing their best to rain on your parade.  So remember this story the next time someone who knows nothing and cares less tries to make your life miserable…

A woman was at her hairdresser’s getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: 

“Rome ? Why would anyone want to go there?  It’s crowded and dirty.. You’re crazy to go to Rome . So, how are you getting there?” 

“We’re taking BA,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”   

“BA?” exclaimed the hairdresser. “That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they’re always late. So, where are you staying in Rome ?” 

“We’ll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome’s Tiber River called Teste.”   

“Don’t go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it’s gonna be something special and exclusive, but it’s really a dump.” 

“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope.”

“That’s rich,” laughed the hairdresser. “You and a million other people trying to see him.  He’ll look the size of an ant.  Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You’re going to need it…” 

A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.

“It was wonderful,” explained the woman, “not only were we on time in one of BA’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot.   

And the hotel was great! They’d just finished a £5 million remodelling job, and now it’s a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner’s suite at no extra charge!” 

“Well,” muttered the hairdresser, “that’s all well and good, but I bet you didn’t get to see the Pope.”   

“Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.   

Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me” 

“Oh, really!  What’d he say ?”   

He said: “Who the Fuck did your hair?”

Flicker

the candle flickered briefly as she closed her eyes, made a wish for his happiness, and blew it out.  happy birthday, she whispered.

 

That Fellow’s Got to Swing…

when she was three

her mother dressed her

in polly flinders frocks

with little white socks

and patent leather shoes –

her blonde hair

hanging loosely about her shoulders

she would then gather her friends

around the living room

and have her daughter recite

a poem most grievous,

a poem to excite

their minds and emotions –

especially when narrated by one

so young…

as her mother looked on with pride

at her precocious child,

the child, hands behind her back,

a serious look on her face,

paced the room and intoned…

He did not wear his scarlet coat, 
For blood and wine are red, 
And blood and wine were on his hands 
When they found him with the dead, 
The poor dead woman whom he loved, 
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men 
In a suit of shabby grey; 
A cricket cap was on his head, 
And his step seemed light and gay; 
But I never saw a man who looked 
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked 
With such a wistful eye 
Upon that little tent of blue 
Which prisoners call the sky, 
And at every drifting cloud that went 
With sails of silver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain, 
Within another ring, 
And was wondering if the man had done 
A great or little thing, 
When a voice behind me whispered low, 
“That fellow’s got to swing.”

Yet each man kills the thing he loves 
By each let this be heard, 
Some do it with a bitter look, 
Some with a flattering word, 
The coward does it with a kiss, 
The brave man with a sword!

then the little girl would stop,

curtsey, and float away…

yet to this day, those words

stay with her, have colored her whole life

with doubt and suspicion —

Yet each man kills the thing he loves 
By each let this be heard, 
Some do it with a bitter look, 
Some with a flattering word, 
The coward does it with a kiss, 
The brave man with a sword!

**italicized words from “The Ballad of Reading Gaol” by Oscar Wilde

I Don’t Deserve Her

I don’t deserve her,

But I thank God for her,

My Princess, My Lady.

 

Her smile thrills me

Her kisses still me

Her touch destroys me —

The love in her eyes

Humbles me

As nothing else can.

 

I’m the world’s biggest loser –

And yet, she loves me,

No matter what stupendously idiotic

Thing I do –

No matter how often I desert her,

Run away from her,

Blame her for all the ills in my life.

 

She sees inside me, to my core –

Her ability to do so terrifies me,

For from her alone I cannot hide  –  She

Knows I am weak and afraid,

A true coward and frighteningly cruel,

Untrustworthy and unreliable –

At least when it comes to her –

 

She cries at night, alone in her bed

And lives without me

For years at a time…

 

And yet, each time I call to her,

Each time I crawl to her on bended knee,

Each time I beg her forgiveness

And profess my love for her anew —

She doesn’t recoil.

 

Instead, she opens her arms to me,

Holds me and loves me with all that she is,

Builds me up – asking nothing in return –

And then silently fades away,

A trembling smile of encouragement on her face

To patiently wait for my next return.

No matter how long it takes.

 

I don’t deserve her at all —

And she certainly deserves better than me —

But I think I would die if she no longer loved me,

If I could not believe that she is out there,

Waiting for me still.

 

See,

I am the biggest,

most selfish,

loser ever.

Truly.

Slip

lots of beginnings

sit in a drawer –

for want of some endings

for want of some more

words from my brain

 

 

but they just won’t slip

from the tip

of my tongue down

to my fingers —

 

 

they try, but none lingers

long enough

to be captured.