I've been thinking a lot about a news story I heard today. A sixth grade girl committed suicide at the end of the school year because of bullying. Her parents are blaming the school as sole contributor to her suicide, and they are proudly suing the school district because "they should have done something."
Something. What something?
When I taught, kids were very careful to keep bullying a secret from the teachers. I rarely saw it, and when I dealt with what I saw, I was met with opposition. I called parents who basically didn't believe me but said they would talk to their child. I reported cases to the office, but often the bullied child refused to admit what had happened, so their tormentor went free. Or even more frustrating was when I was encouraged by administrators not to write up an incident because the bully had an IEP and could not be held responsible for behavior caused by his disability. Yes, you read that correctly.
Those were the "old days," the days before computer use was commonplace. Cyberbullying, now, is widespread.
Kids have very sophisticated ways to cyberbully other children. And parents are quick to go to school authorities about what is done on social media. I don't understand why they think the school is responsible for handling what is happening outside of school. Schools teach kids how to use technology, but a school can't restrict a child's use of his/her home computer. How are schools entirely responsible for controlling and stopping the bullying?
If it gets so far that a child is suicidal, where are the parents? Why haven't they taken the technology away from their kid for the kid's own mental well-being? Why aren't they dealing with the other parents and, if necessary, the police? Why isn't the kid in counseling? Some bullying could simply be stopped by teaching a child how to handle mean kids. How does an eleven year old reach that point of no return and nobody intervene before that child commits suicide?
I just don't understand. There are an awful lot of "bullying" programs worked into school curriculum, but are any of them effective? Schools proclaim they are anti-bullying, but they consistently do not follow the policies so idealistically established.
What is going on in our world that children are unable to defend themselves or be defended in a mean society? What is going on that leads them to death by their own hands?
Sometimes I wonder if people secretly admire the "mean girls" for their popularity and "leadership" qualities. Sometimes I wonder if boys are considered more masculine if they torture weaker classmates. And sometimes I wonder how much of the bullying behavior is actually modeled as normal by the adults in charge of raising the next generation.
When asked what the parents filing the lawsuit hope to accomplish, they claimed they wanted schools to stop sweeping bullying under the rug. I don't think it's being swept under any rug, but I honestly don't know how much more schools can be expected to handle outside of reading, writing, and arithmetic.
I feel such sorrow for those parents and the parents of other children who have ended their lives. But, the problem is far more complex than any school's responses to bullying. I guess the lawsuit will help those parents feel like they are doing "something." But what?
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
Sunday, June 11, 2017
YOLO
I was chatting today with an acquaintance I hadn't seen in twenty some years. Obviously, we were much older than when we last saw each other, but we were certainly recognizable. Our hair is still brown; maybe hers is natural, but mine comes out of a box. Her face looked great, skin still as smooth as a peach. I look a little apricoty, if I do say so myself. One thing we always had in common was our weight, and the never ending battle to keep it under control. However, she made a comment that bothered me and got me to thinking. She refuses to wear a bathing suit. This woman loves the water and spent many, many days sunbathing at the beach. Now, as our days grow shorter and the time we have left on this earth to do what we enjoy is waning , she is too embarrassed to wear a swimsuit and do what she once enjoyed. (Did I mention we were at a memorial service for a man who would have given anything just to plop his weathered old body into a Speedo and drink his rum and Diet Cokes at Rehoboth Beach one more time?) I hope I got through to her. Seriously, we look like grandmas. Who's even paying attention to us at the pool, the beach, the hot tub? Wear that bathing suit, dammit!
We will not live forever. And even if we do get close to forever, we will probably not have the healthy mobility to do what we want.
I hate the term "bucket list." I don't know why, I just do. My friend Dottie and I used to call it "The List," and we'd congratulate each other when we checked something off of it. I recently checked something off my list, a trip to Cuba.
There's a difference between traveling and vacationing. Traveling can be hard work. Our first day in Cuba included three tours in 95-100 degree weather with humidity, stifling humidity. We visited a cemetery known for its white tombs, and the sun that blindingly reflected from them. I was melting like butter on toast. But I kept up with them! I was not going to waste the tour cowering under some skinny tree and looking longingly at the air-conditioned bus. Tour Two took us to an art museum. The guide warned us that the elevator was not working, no surprise in a third world country. Three of the five in our group opted to stay on the air-conditioned bus. My friend, Liane, and I trudged the trail until we got to the top of the museum. Our guide gave us a personal tour and explained the local art. I am forever thankful for his insight, and the very special opportunity we were given. Some years ago I weighed more than I do now, and I might not have made it up the various levels. Some year from now, I may have to be the one who stays on the bus because I just can't do it. But, I could do it that day, and I did! That night was our third walking tour. My legs ached. My feet were killing me. But the fresh mojito at Hemingway's favorite bar kept me going. More walking and climbing the next day, but hey, we saw Hemingway's Havana house! It was a fabulous trip.
When I got home, I gave in to the sheer exhaustion. Lots of sleep. Lots of OTC pain relievers. Lots of blisters. My bad knee became gangster naughty, locking up on me, threatening to send me flying across the floor, and causing me to use a cane for a while. ( It's very hard for me to get up when I fall flat on my face. Don't ask me how I know.) I don't remember being in this much pain when I returned from a three week European tour when I was in my thirties.
It was a short trip, and it took a lot out of me. But, I will gladly go back and spend more time in that hot humid country if given the chance. Because I realize, I'm getting older; good health is no longer something to take for granted, and life is offering more opportunities than I will ever be able to enjoy. I'll don my ugly walking shoes, wear my goofy sunblocking hat, and push myself as long and hard as I am able. For I know many who are no longer able, and none of them thought it would happen so soon. You only live once. Don't let some candles on a cake determine what you can or cannot do.
Take that trip. March on Washington. Play that piano. Learn to paint. Take dance lessons. Learn to ride a bike. Wear that bathing suit.
Live!
We will not live forever. And even if we do get close to forever, we will probably not have the healthy mobility to do what we want.
I hate the term "bucket list." I don't know why, I just do. My friend Dottie and I used to call it "The List," and we'd congratulate each other when we checked something off of it. I recently checked something off my list, a trip to Cuba.
There's a difference between traveling and vacationing. Traveling can be hard work. Our first day in Cuba included three tours in 95-100 degree weather with humidity, stifling humidity. We visited a cemetery known for its white tombs, and the sun that blindingly reflected from them. I was melting like butter on toast. But I kept up with them! I was not going to waste the tour cowering under some skinny tree and looking longingly at the air-conditioned bus. Tour Two took us to an art museum. The guide warned us that the elevator was not working, no surprise in a third world country. Three of the five in our group opted to stay on the air-conditioned bus. My friend, Liane, and I trudged the trail until we got to the top of the museum. Our guide gave us a personal tour and explained the local art. I am forever thankful for his insight, and the very special opportunity we were given. Some years ago I weighed more than I do now, and I might not have made it up the various levels. Some year from now, I may have to be the one who stays on the bus because I just can't do it. But, I could do it that day, and I did! That night was our third walking tour. My legs ached. My feet were killing me. But the fresh mojito at Hemingway's favorite bar kept me going. More walking and climbing the next day, but hey, we saw Hemingway's Havana house! It was a fabulous trip.
When I got home, I gave in to the sheer exhaustion. Lots of sleep. Lots of OTC pain relievers. Lots of blisters. My bad knee became gangster naughty, locking up on me, threatening to send me flying across the floor, and causing me to use a cane for a while. ( It's very hard for me to get up when I fall flat on my face. Don't ask me how I know.) I don't remember being in this much pain when I returned from a three week European tour when I was in my thirties.
It was a short trip, and it took a lot out of me. But, I will gladly go back and spend more time in that hot humid country if given the chance. Because I realize, I'm getting older; good health is no longer something to take for granted, and life is offering more opportunities than I will ever be able to enjoy. I'll don my ugly walking shoes, wear my goofy sunblocking hat, and push myself as long and hard as I am able. For I know many who are no longer able, and none of them thought it would happen so soon. You only live once. Don't let some candles on a cake determine what you can or cannot do.
Take that trip. March on Washington. Play that piano. Learn to paint. Take dance lessons. Learn to ride a bike. Wear that bathing suit.
Live!
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Marianne
Today I learned of the passing of one of my classmates, Marianne Young. To say I am sad is both simplistic and completely accurate. I am sad.
I always envied her hair in high school. She had long, straight, flowing dark brown hair. She had the perfect hair for the times. It was beautiful!! Yet because we were highschoolers, she was teased for her hair. Certain individuals, my football captain brother included, thought it "funny" to call her Pocahontas. Yet, Marianne took it in stride. In fact, she actually told me at one of the reunions I attended with my brother as my guest, that all was good between them. She smiled and said all was forgotten and forgiven, and my brother wasn't a bad guy after all. And then she laughed.
If you knew Marianne, you knew her laugh. She laughed, as trump would say, "bigly." Her laughter filled her body. Her laughter lit up her face. Her laughter was contagious, exuberant, and genuine. I am so happy that I was able to laugh with her many, many times.
As happens with high school friends, we went our separate ways and only saw each other at reunions. I am a lucky person to be a member of the Class of 1971, Upper Merion High School. We have a committee that regularly throws a reunion every five years. I always felt a bit anxious as I sent in my check. Who would I know? Will we have anything to talk about? Will Marianne be there? Because, I always sat with Marianne. I enjoyed talking to her and catching up on local stories (aka:gossip) because she had stayed local and knew it all. She greeted me like the long-lost friend I was, and we had such a good time!! Marianne loved to dance, and rarely let any of us at the table remain seated. And when she danced, her long hair flowed, her smile glowed, and her joy showed.
Our last reunion was in October. Marianne wasn't the same gregarious person she'd always been. She was shaken by my brother's death from pancreatic cancer. As we talked, the big laughs weren't happening. We both had tears in our eyes. Then she told me how sick she had been recently. I could see the toll of her illness, her hair had turned grey, her skin was pale, her eyes weren't smiling. She told me that she'd been sick enough to be scared. And she still was. But, as the crowd grew and as friends joyfully greeted her, she radiated joy and laughed grandly. She outlasted me. When I left, she was laughing and dancing. "See you in five years," I said.
Godspeed Marianne. I know how much you've missed your mother. Hopefully, the two of you are laughing and dancing in this next phase of life. I will miss you.
I always envied her hair in high school. She had long, straight, flowing dark brown hair. She had the perfect hair for the times. It was beautiful!! Yet because we were highschoolers, she was teased for her hair. Certain individuals, my football captain brother included, thought it "funny" to call her Pocahontas. Yet, Marianne took it in stride. In fact, she actually told me at one of the reunions I attended with my brother as my guest, that all was good between them. She smiled and said all was forgotten and forgiven, and my brother wasn't a bad guy after all. And then she laughed.
If you knew Marianne, you knew her laugh. She laughed, as trump would say, "bigly." Her laughter filled her body. Her laughter lit up her face. Her laughter was contagious, exuberant, and genuine. I am so happy that I was able to laugh with her many, many times.
As happens with high school friends, we went our separate ways and only saw each other at reunions. I am a lucky person to be a member of the Class of 1971, Upper Merion High School. We have a committee that regularly throws a reunion every five years. I always felt a bit anxious as I sent in my check. Who would I know? Will we have anything to talk about? Will Marianne be there? Because, I always sat with Marianne. I enjoyed talking to her and catching up on local stories (aka:gossip) because she had stayed local and knew it all. She greeted me like the long-lost friend I was, and we had such a good time!! Marianne loved to dance, and rarely let any of us at the table remain seated. And when she danced, her long hair flowed, her smile glowed, and her joy showed.
Our last reunion was in October. Marianne wasn't the same gregarious person she'd always been. She was shaken by my brother's death from pancreatic cancer. As we talked, the big laughs weren't happening. We both had tears in our eyes. Then she told me how sick she had been recently. I could see the toll of her illness, her hair had turned grey, her skin was pale, her eyes weren't smiling. She told me that she'd been sick enough to be scared. And she still was. But, as the crowd grew and as friends joyfully greeted her, she radiated joy and laughed grandly. She outlasted me. When I left, she was laughing and dancing. "See you in five years," I said.
Godspeed Marianne. I know how much you've missed your mother. Hopefully, the two of you are laughing and dancing in this next phase of life. I will miss you.
Monday, January 16, 2017
Why I Will March on Washington This Saturday
There's a big happening this weekend; and I am not referring to the inauguration, but to the day after. Arriving from all parts of the country, women will converge on Washington DC and raise an angry fist to the incoming and current government. The Women's March on Washington plans to send a message of solidarity to our elected officials. We intend to be heard. We intend to remind them that we will not stand by and watch our civil rights be eroded. We will unite in our expectation that our government protect its citizens, all of its citizens, all of its men, women and children. We will demand better of them. And I plan to be there.
I did not make this decision lightly. This March will be no picnic. I am not comfortable in crowds, and I usually plan my events to avoid them. I have very bad knees. They buckle on me, and they ache. My back hurts. I have crappy balance. And I'm short so I take really small steps. I feel like I may have to run the course of the March trying to keep up with some of my sister marchers, many of whom are far closer to six feet than five. (And we all know that won't be happening.) My bladder worries me. When I have to go, I HAVE to go. Yea, yea I know how that female astronaut traveled cross country to attack her nemesis, gross.... My bladder is about as sturdy as a deflated dollar store balloon. Yet, I will march because I think it is the right thing to do.
Already Congress is voting to repeal the ACA. They are absolutely gleeful as they perform this Obama exorcism. But, they have no replacement, no fix, no suggestions at the ready. Thousands (if not more) of Americans will be left with no health insurance. But who will not be left holding an empty enema bag....our Congress! They have the Cadillac of plans. Forever. This is wrong! This is dangerous! And the public needs to inform Congress that we're mad as hell and we're not going to take it anymore. Our elected Congress has made it difficult to get the message to them. A Republican congressman from Colorado actually snuck out the backdoor of a town meeting regarding the loss of health care benefits because he'd just had enough. Paul Ryan has shut down his official telephone and email so he doesn't have to hear Americans complain. He has slammed his office door to personal visitors armed with petitions and documents protesting the loss of health care. Who is he to do that? These elitists were elected to act in the best interests of their constituents, not their lobbyists, and certainly not their buddy party members. Who better to remind them of their obligations than angry women?
For that reason and many more, I choose to March on Washington and be heard.
But, I'm more than a little bit afraid. It seems like any time Americans gather in huge groups, they are at risk of attack. Since our president-elect has chosen his inauguration day to be the day the DC head of the National Guard gets the "You're Fired!" treatment, DC security will be weakened. What will that mean for the safety of the marchers in Washington? Where are the statements from America's elected president promising the marchers that they will be protected? We've seen the attacks - in Boston, Florida, and so on and so on. This gathering of women, unofficially disdained by President he-who-shall-not-be-named, is the perfect target for an attack. I can only hope and pray the worst doesn't happen.
Because I plan to March on Washington. Because I want to come home to my friends, my family, and my dog to watch our country answer the call of its citizens. Because as Rosie the Riveter said, "We can do it!"
I did not make this decision lightly. This March will be no picnic. I am not comfortable in crowds, and I usually plan my events to avoid them. I have very bad knees. They buckle on me, and they ache. My back hurts. I have crappy balance. And I'm short so I take really small steps. I feel like I may have to run the course of the March trying to keep up with some of my sister marchers, many of whom are far closer to six feet than five. (And we all know that won't be happening.) My bladder worries me. When I have to go, I HAVE to go. Yea, yea I know how that female astronaut traveled cross country to attack her nemesis, gross.... My bladder is about as sturdy as a deflated dollar store balloon. Yet, I will march because I think it is the right thing to do.
Already Congress is voting to repeal the ACA. They are absolutely gleeful as they perform this Obama exorcism. But, they have no replacement, no fix, no suggestions at the ready. Thousands (if not more) of Americans will be left with no health insurance. But who will not be left holding an empty enema bag....our Congress! They have the Cadillac of plans. Forever. This is wrong! This is dangerous! And the public needs to inform Congress that we're mad as hell and we're not going to take it anymore. Our elected Congress has made it difficult to get the message to them. A Republican congressman from Colorado actually snuck out the backdoor of a town meeting regarding the loss of health care benefits because he'd just had enough. Paul Ryan has shut down his official telephone and email so he doesn't have to hear Americans complain. He has slammed his office door to personal visitors armed with petitions and documents protesting the loss of health care. Who is he to do that? These elitists were elected to act in the best interests of their constituents, not their lobbyists, and certainly not their buddy party members. Who better to remind them of their obligations than angry women?
For that reason and many more, I choose to March on Washington and be heard.
But, I'm more than a little bit afraid. It seems like any time Americans gather in huge groups, they are at risk of attack. Since our president-elect has chosen his inauguration day to be the day the DC head of the National Guard gets the "You're Fired!" treatment, DC security will be weakened. What will that mean for the safety of the marchers in Washington? Where are the statements from America's elected president promising the marchers that they will be protected? We've seen the attacks - in Boston, Florida, and so on and so on. This gathering of women, unofficially disdained by President he-who-shall-not-be-named, is the perfect target for an attack. I can only hope and pray the worst doesn't happen.
Because I plan to March on Washington. Because I want to come home to my friends, my family, and my dog to watch our country answer the call of its citizens. Because as Rosie the Riveter said, "We can do it!"
Sunday, December 4, 2016
6/4/54 - 12/4/2015
Today marks a year since my brother died. I don't know how we got through it, but somehow my sister, the girls, Glenn's close friends, and I survived it. I thank those of you who held us up this year, and I ask you to continue to keep us in your thoughts. I'm sharing the eulogy I wrote for him. Because, frankly, I don't know what else to say.
Good morning. Thank you all for being here. Helen, Reba, Billie and I appreciate your taking the time to be with us.
The past seven months have been very difficult. We knew he was sick. He knew he was sick. But until he was actually diagnosed, he tried to pretend he wasn't. After all, he was a lifelong athlete, a long-distance bike rider, a reformed cigarette smoker, a practicer of yoga. How could he be sick? But he was. Over the months as he prepared to leave this earth, we -his family and friends- had the chance to reflect upon the life he lived.
I want to thank my sister Helen who made it her mission to keep him at home instead of in the hospital. I want to thank all the medical professionals who worked with him, especially Dr. John Devlin who went above and beyond. I want to thank those of you who faithfully visited him and made him laugh by reminiscing about all the adventures you shared with him over the years. Hopefully, you'll share some of those stories today so we can all laugh once again and so his nieces can get an understanding of who their uncle really was. 'Cause he was really something.
Glenn's nieces were the true lights of his life. Reba came into our family first. I'd never seen him happier. He taught her everything he knew, including how to tease her Aunt Barb. One of their tricks came when he was teaching her the names of her family members. As they went around the table, Reba carefully pronounced all the family's names. Then they got to me. "Who's this?" Uncle asked. And as clear as a bell, Reba said, "blipp." (the raspberry sound) They laughed and laughed at my horrified expression. That was just the beginning of years of jokes at my expense. All the kids in the neighborhood knew Uncle. He was like a Pied Piper. The kids would jump the fence to play with Reba and Uncle. He would have popsicle tailgate parties on the back of his truck. He was fun and they loved him. It wasn't just the neighborhood who knew Uncle, Reba's daycare knew him too. If something needed to be fixed, Reba said Uncle could do it, and he did. He also became a bit infamous when the daycare kids were using magazine pictures for a project and Reba pointed to a bottle of beer and said Uncle!
Helen brought Billie into our lives a few years later, and Uncle was delighted to have a new buddy to teach and play with. He taught her the tricks of the trade. If something needed to be fixed, she picked up a screw driver right along with him. They were TV buddies. They watched everything together, from Spongebob to House. He taught her to ride a bike. Every day he carried her backpack and hiked the hill to take her to and from the bus stop. He was a faithful visitor to her schools. In kindergarten at Trinity, Billie's teacher helped each child to write and illustrate a book. The books were a secret until the big day when each child read his or her book. There wasn't a dry eye in the house when Billie shared the dedication of her masterpiece... to Uncle. Her book was all about her special Uncle and their special relationship.
Of course, he continued the family tradition of tormenting Aunt Barb with Billie. We had a big snow one year and he and the girls spent much of the morning making a snowperson. They were so excited when they ran into the kitchen for hot chocolate and told me to look outside and see their masterpiece. It was a huge snowperson, a giant woman with a blanket for a skirt and two bright red poker chips on the snow mounds of her chest. Yes, they'd named the snow woman. They called her Aunt Barb.
Uncle was quite a character. We will miss him forever. I want to end with a poem that Billie wrote a few years ago to honor her uncle, because it pretty much says it all.
I Love You
by Billie Snyder
Dear Uncle
You are the best
You're great at fixing things
I love you
You are the best
You tell me you love me
All the time
I love you
You are the best
You tuck me in at night sometimes
I love you
You are the best
I'm glad you love me
As much as I love you
I love you
You are the best
At this time, I want to ask any of you who feel so inclined to share with us your memories and stories about Glenn.
************
GlennGood morning. Thank you all for being here. Helen, Reba, Billie and I appreciate your taking the time to be with us.
The past seven months have been very difficult. We knew he was sick. He knew he was sick. But until he was actually diagnosed, he tried to pretend he wasn't. After all, he was a lifelong athlete, a long-distance bike rider, a reformed cigarette smoker, a practicer of yoga. How could he be sick? But he was. Over the months as he prepared to leave this earth, we -his family and friends- had the chance to reflect upon the life he lived.
I want to thank my sister Helen who made it her mission to keep him at home instead of in the hospital. I want to thank all the medical professionals who worked with him, especially Dr. John Devlin who went above and beyond. I want to thank those of you who faithfully visited him and made him laugh by reminiscing about all the adventures you shared with him over the years. Hopefully, you'll share some of those stories today so we can all laugh once again and so his nieces can get an understanding of who their uncle really was. 'Cause he was really something.
Glenn's nieces were the true lights of his life. Reba came into our family first. I'd never seen him happier. He taught her everything he knew, including how to tease her Aunt Barb. One of their tricks came when he was teaching her the names of her family members. As they went around the table, Reba carefully pronounced all the family's names. Then they got to me. "Who's this?" Uncle asked. And as clear as a bell, Reba said, "blipp." (the raspberry sound) They laughed and laughed at my horrified expression. That was just the beginning of years of jokes at my expense. All the kids in the neighborhood knew Uncle. He was like a Pied Piper. The kids would jump the fence to play with Reba and Uncle. He would have popsicle tailgate parties on the back of his truck. He was fun and they loved him. It wasn't just the neighborhood who knew Uncle, Reba's daycare knew him too. If something needed to be fixed, Reba said Uncle could do it, and he did. He also became a bit infamous when the daycare kids were using magazine pictures for a project and Reba pointed to a bottle of beer and said Uncle!
Helen brought Billie into our lives a few years later, and Uncle was delighted to have a new buddy to teach and play with. He taught her the tricks of the trade. If something needed to be fixed, she picked up a screw driver right along with him. They were TV buddies. They watched everything together, from Spongebob to House. He taught her to ride a bike. Every day he carried her backpack and hiked the hill to take her to and from the bus stop. He was a faithful visitor to her schools. In kindergarten at Trinity, Billie's teacher helped each child to write and illustrate a book. The books were a secret until the big day when each child read his or her book. There wasn't a dry eye in the house when Billie shared the dedication of her masterpiece... to Uncle. Her book was all about her special Uncle and their special relationship.
Of course, he continued the family tradition of tormenting Aunt Barb with Billie. We had a big snow one year and he and the girls spent much of the morning making a snowperson. They were so excited when they ran into the kitchen for hot chocolate and told me to look outside and see their masterpiece. It was a huge snowperson, a giant woman with a blanket for a skirt and two bright red poker chips on the snow mounds of her chest. Yes, they'd named the snow woman. They called her Aunt Barb.
Uncle was quite a character. We will miss him forever. I want to end with a poem that Billie wrote a few years ago to honor her uncle, because it pretty much says it all.
I Love You
by Billie Snyder
Dear Uncle
You are the best
You're great at fixing things
I love you
You are the best
You tell me you love me
All the time
I love you
You are the best
You tuck me in at night sometimes
I love you
You are the best
I'm glad you love me
As much as I love you
I love you
You are the best
At this time, I want to ask any of you who feel so inclined to share with us your memories and stories about Glenn.
Monday, November 28, 2016
The War on Christmas????
When will people start thinking for themselves? When will people stop drinking the Fox News Kool-aide of the war on Christmas?
I recently read this on a person's page and I about threw up. Besides the fact that the spelling and grammar reveal the ignorance of the writer, the thought itself is offensive and I am not going to "get over it."
Folks who post this stuff refuse to cite specifically who the people are who are taking Christ out of Christmas. I'm guessing either they have no idea who these people are, or they realize that to reveal who those people are would reveal their hate speech for what it is. Because you know who they believe these people are? They are the atheists, or the Muslims, or [[shudder]] the Jews.
Guess what, you pseudo-Christians, nobody is taking the Christ out of your Christmas! Nobody in this country is shutting down your churches. Nobody is stopping you from displaying images of Jesus all over your home. No one is forcing you to worship in secret or imprisoning you for your religious beliefs. Especially not the Jews who were imprisoned, tortured, gassed and eliminated for practicing their religion. To equate your whines about "Happy Holidays" to the struggles of people who have actually been persecuted for the way they worship God is despicable.
But, but ...you continue to argue. "We" can't put up crosses in public places. "We" can't view angels at the banks. "We" can't visit a nativity at the mall. If you would stop to think for yourself for just a moment, you'd see there's a reason for that. Between November 1 and the middle of January there are approximately thirty religious holidays celebrated by Americans. Where's the equal time for the display of their holidays? How about if mosques start signaling our communities with sirens starting the call to prayer? Would you drop to the ground and pray with these fellow Americans you expect to "get over" their beliefs to say Merry Christmas to you? I doubt it; you'd probably want them to be arrested.
What do you visualize when you think of celebrating Christmas? Christmas trees.Candy canes. Snowmen. Rudolph. The Grinch. Sleigh bells. Wildly decorated homes and lighting competitions. Santa at the mall. Santa at the restaurant. Santa on the corner ringing a bell. Christmas parties. Sentimental commercials telling you to make a memory out of a cup of coffee. Huge meals and enough sweets and goodies to get you woefully fat? Christmas shopping - especially the black Friday extravaganza. Presents, presents, and more presents. Lavish presents - gold and diamond jewelry, new cars with big red bows! Yes! Yes! Yes! These are the things that make Christmas fun! fun! fun!
And these same things are what would make Jesus weep were He to return to us during the peak of the season.
If Christ has been taken out of your Christmas, nobody did that to you. You tossed Him aside yourself.
Do you really want Christ in your Christmas? Then do what He asks of us every day of our lives. Love one another. Treat others with kindness and compassion. Tolerate what we are not used to and let God be the judge of how others celebrate, or do not celebrate, Him. Spread His word, but do not equate it to a greeting from a cashier at the department store. Seriously, why does what goes on in a store have anything to do with keeping Christ in Christmas?
Do you really want Christ in your Christmas? Help your fellow man. I am proud to be a part of the blessings my church practices year round: grocery give aways, free hearty meals, clothing give aways, quick responses to the specific needs of our community. I am super proud of my friends Erin Collins and Scot Sokolowski. One Friday night in October, they decided to go into the city with food for the homeless. This singular action has become Gavin's Army! Within weeks, many lives in Albany, New York have been changed forever! Look up the Facebook page for Gavin's Army to see Christmas in action. You'll be amazed at what can happen when one does the work of God.
In my opinion, there is no war on Christmas. To say so, to berate people for joyfully wishing you a happy holiday, to moan and complain that your religious rights are being taken from you, is silly and selfish. When one celebrates with Christ in one's heart, nobody has the power to remove you or Him from Christmas.
I recently read this on a person's page and I about threw up. Besides the fact that the spelling and grammar reveal the ignorance of the writer, the thought itself is offensive and I am not going to "get over it."
Folks who post this stuff refuse to cite specifically who the people are who are taking Christ out of Christmas. I'm guessing either they have no idea who these people are, or they realize that to reveal who those people are would reveal their hate speech for what it is. Because you know who they believe these people are? They are the atheists, or the Muslims, or [[shudder]] the Jews.
Guess what, you pseudo-Christians, nobody is taking the Christ out of your Christmas! Nobody in this country is shutting down your churches. Nobody is stopping you from displaying images of Jesus all over your home. No one is forcing you to worship in secret or imprisoning you for your religious beliefs. Especially not the Jews who were imprisoned, tortured, gassed and eliminated for practicing their religion. To equate your whines about "Happy Holidays" to the struggles of people who have actually been persecuted for the way they worship God is despicable.
But, but ...you continue to argue. "We" can't put up crosses in public places. "We" can't view angels at the banks. "We" can't visit a nativity at the mall. If you would stop to think for yourself for just a moment, you'd see there's a reason for that. Between November 1 and the middle of January there are approximately thirty religious holidays celebrated by Americans. Where's the equal time for the display of their holidays? How about if mosques start signaling our communities with sirens starting the call to prayer? Would you drop to the ground and pray with these fellow Americans you expect to "get over" their beliefs to say Merry Christmas to you? I doubt it; you'd probably want them to be arrested.
What do you visualize when you think of celebrating Christmas? Christmas trees.Candy canes. Snowmen. Rudolph. The Grinch. Sleigh bells. Wildly decorated homes and lighting competitions. Santa at the mall. Santa at the restaurant. Santa on the corner ringing a bell. Christmas parties. Sentimental commercials telling you to make a memory out of a cup of coffee. Huge meals and enough sweets and goodies to get you woefully fat? Christmas shopping - especially the black Friday extravaganza. Presents, presents, and more presents. Lavish presents - gold and diamond jewelry, new cars with big red bows! Yes! Yes! Yes! These are the things that make Christmas fun! fun! fun!
And these same things are what would make Jesus weep were He to return to us during the peak of the season.
If Christ has been taken out of your Christmas, nobody did that to you. You tossed Him aside yourself.
Do you really want Christ in your Christmas? Then do what He asks of us every day of our lives. Love one another. Treat others with kindness and compassion. Tolerate what we are not used to and let God be the judge of how others celebrate, or do not celebrate, Him. Spread His word, but do not equate it to a greeting from a cashier at the department store. Seriously, why does what goes on in a store have anything to do with keeping Christ in Christmas?
Do you really want Christ in your Christmas? Help your fellow man. I am proud to be a part of the blessings my church practices year round: grocery give aways, free hearty meals, clothing give aways, quick responses to the specific needs of our community. I am super proud of my friends Erin Collins and Scot Sokolowski. One Friday night in October, they decided to go into the city with food for the homeless. This singular action has become Gavin's Army! Within weeks, many lives in Albany, New York have been changed forever! Look up the Facebook page for Gavin's Army to see Christmas in action. You'll be amazed at what can happen when one does the work of God.
In my opinion, there is no war on Christmas. To say so, to berate people for joyfully wishing you a happy holiday, to moan and complain that your religious rights are being taken from you, is silly and selfish. When one celebrates with Christ in one's heart, nobody has the power to remove you or Him from Christmas.
Tuesday, September 6, 2016
Back to School...again
Hello September!
For me, this time of the year is akin to New Year's Eve. For most of my life it signaled the end of a school year and the beginning of a new year. It always involved resolutions: I'm going to get more sleep, keep up with my paperwork, decorate my classroom more frequently, learn the names of all my students the first week, be much less grumpy. And like all new year's resolutions, it never took long for me to break all of these.
It is going on nine years since I retired. I find that hard to believe. Though I haven't been in a classroom in years, I am still interested in all things educational. It upsets me that teachers are no longer able to explore their creativity, but instead must channel it into completing a standard curriculum aimed at standardized tests. It continues to distress me that teachers are not given the tools to be successful at their jobs: small classes, helpful assistants, up-to-date materials, clean and comfortable classrooms, strong administrative support, sufficient planning time. Yet, despite all these roadblocks, teachers continue to love their jobs and successfully reach their students. Teachers continue to go above and beyond, and often do it for "free." Not that the Board of Education at my former school district appreciates them. Their contracted steps have been denied for years. Raises, if they are offered, are minuscule. Health care programs narrow their benefits and cost more. It's wrong. Yet, the public doesn't complain because to do so might raise their taxes. Ok, public, I get it. But now is the time you need to get involved in a protest that involves education. A protest only you, the public, can effectively launch. I'm talking about an uprising against the fees students must pay to participate in extra-curricular activities.
According to the BOE philosophy, extra-curriculars are costing the district too much money. They can't give teachers a step increase or raise because these activities are so expensive. Their answer? Charge students $100 per activity. This has been going on for a few years in the sports department. This year, the charges are being aimed at drama students. A parent that has a few active children in high school could pay as much as $600 for their kids to participate in the activities that colleges examine when determining who to admit. No money, no activities, a bare college application. The recent addition of the drama charge will supposedly bring in $65,000 to the district. Hmmph. I've examined both the district's budget and list of assistants to the assistants, and I could cut that amount and more if they'd let me. Supplementing a budget at the expense of a child's well-rounded education is disgusting.
Oh, and did I mention that the fees are dumped into a general slush fund? There's no accounting for how the money is spent. There is no distributing the money to the schools for their programs. The general fund. You know, the one that supplies donuts for supervisor meetings. I have repeatedly contacted the local newspaper to do an investigation on these fees, but the reporters have ignored my requests. Maybe one of you taxpayer parents might have more success.
I wish all educators the best of luck this year. Not only do I wish them the resources they need for their classrooms, I wish them a lot of luck with the activities for which they sacrifice family time and free time to provide for students. I really hope they can fill their teams, cast their plays, and provide a marching band, all the while collecting money for the BOE's donuts.
For me, this time of the year is akin to New Year's Eve. For most of my life it signaled the end of a school year and the beginning of a new year. It always involved resolutions: I'm going to get more sleep, keep up with my paperwork, decorate my classroom more frequently, learn the names of all my students the first week, be much less grumpy. And like all new year's resolutions, it never took long for me to break all of these.
It is going on nine years since I retired. I find that hard to believe. Though I haven't been in a classroom in years, I am still interested in all things educational. It upsets me that teachers are no longer able to explore their creativity, but instead must channel it into completing a standard curriculum aimed at standardized tests. It continues to distress me that teachers are not given the tools to be successful at their jobs: small classes, helpful assistants, up-to-date materials, clean and comfortable classrooms, strong administrative support, sufficient planning time. Yet, despite all these roadblocks, teachers continue to love their jobs and successfully reach their students. Teachers continue to go above and beyond, and often do it for "free." Not that the Board of Education at my former school district appreciates them. Their contracted steps have been denied for years. Raises, if they are offered, are minuscule. Health care programs narrow their benefits and cost more. It's wrong. Yet, the public doesn't complain because to do so might raise their taxes. Ok, public, I get it. But now is the time you need to get involved in a protest that involves education. A protest only you, the public, can effectively launch. I'm talking about an uprising against the fees students must pay to participate in extra-curricular activities.
According to the BOE philosophy, extra-curriculars are costing the district too much money. They can't give teachers a step increase or raise because these activities are so expensive. Their answer? Charge students $100 per activity. This has been going on for a few years in the sports department. This year, the charges are being aimed at drama students. A parent that has a few active children in high school could pay as much as $600 for their kids to participate in the activities that colleges examine when determining who to admit. No money, no activities, a bare college application. The recent addition of the drama charge will supposedly bring in $65,000 to the district. Hmmph. I've examined both the district's budget and list of assistants to the assistants, and I could cut that amount and more if they'd let me. Supplementing a budget at the expense of a child's well-rounded education is disgusting.
Oh, and did I mention that the fees are dumped into a general slush fund? There's no accounting for how the money is spent. There is no distributing the money to the schools for their programs. The general fund. You know, the one that supplies donuts for supervisor meetings. I have repeatedly contacted the local newspaper to do an investigation on these fees, but the reporters have ignored my requests. Maybe one of you taxpayer parents might have more success.
I wish all educators the best of luck this year. Not only do I wish them the resources they need for their classrooms, I wish them a lot of luck with the activities for which they sacrifice family time and free time to provide for students. I really hope they can fill their teams, cast their plays, and provide a marching band, all the while collecting money for the BOE's donuts.
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