Thank Yous

This is the season of gifts and parties and gifts and more gifts.  Hope you all had a good time.  And I hope you all expressed your thanks.

When I was a kid (aka: Back in the old days, The way we used to do things, In my day) we had to write thank you notes for gifts.  We had to write them to adults or relatives, whether-or-not they were there when we opened the gift.  I liked to write, so it was no big deal for me.  In fact, I much preferred writing than calling to say thank you.  I was taught it was important to thank someone for thinking of you, even if you had to wonder what where they thinking when you opened your gift.

I thought thank yous were so important that I included them in my teaching.  Every year I taught a letter writing unit which included friendly letters, business letters, sympathy notes, and thank you notes.  Most of my students enjoyed that unit.  Probably the most fun was had when I directed them to write sincere thank you notes for imaginary horrendous gifts.  We'd laugh out loud as they were shared in class, but my students ultimately understood that thank yous were important, no matter what the gift.

So, I just don't get it.  Why don't people write thank you notes anymore?  I am not talking about writing notes to people who are sitting in front of you and can be personally thanked for a gift.  That's not usually necessary, unless they gave you a gift so grand a verbal thank you isn't enough.  In fact, at showers or birthday gatherings when the gifts are opened in front of me, I specifically tell the recipient not to write a thank you note as I have already been thanked.  They appreciate the reprieve, and all is fine. I do not care if I receive a thank you for a gift I have given to someone who is in mourning.  I am pretty sure that I missed some people after the deaths of my parents.  I was not thinking straight and in a lot of pain.  Mourners do not have to follow any etiquette rules; they just have to concentrate on pushing through the grief and letting friends help them.  Happy newlyweds - sorry, but you are not excused.

This "trend" of not sending thank yous for gifts received at weddings or gifts received when the giver and recipient are not together in person is appalling.  Lack of acknowledging wedding gifts is inexcusably rude.  About twelve years ago I could not attend a wedding because I was traveling in China.  While there, I had an artist draw up a wedding announcement with Chinese calligraphy and art work.  It was gorgeous, if I do say so myself.  I gave it to the groom's parents to deliver when they next saw the couple who had moved out of the area to their new home.  I ran into the groom a year or so later and had to ask if they ever received it because I never heard from them.  Yes, he was embarrassed. He should have been. He said they loved it and have it proudly displayed. It would have been nice to tell me, don't you think?

Within the past few years, I have attended weddings and not received thank yous for my gifts.  Since they were checks and those checks were signed and cashed, I knew they'd been received.  So, you can sign a check but can't say thank you?  Rude. Rude. Rude.  And no, you don't have a year to write a thank you note.  If you believe in taking that year, I personally think you are taking that long in the hopes your guests will forget.  We don't.  I have to compliment Donna and Bill's daughter who was recently married.  There were probably 250 people at that wedding, yet that couple had thank you notes written within weeks. I was amazed and appreciative.  I could go on and detail gifts I have sent that were never acknowledged, but I think I've made my point.  Or said enough.  Whatever.

Is this a generational thing?  Do young people not send or expect official thank yous?  Is it only old people like me who hang around the mailbox waiting for a note on creamy white paper?  Enlighten me, please, if I am
so hopelessly behind the times.  I'd appreciate your input.

Let me take this time to thank you all for reading and sharing my blog.  I have enjoyed writing my thoughts, and I have really enjoyed your comments and responses to my opinions.  Thank you for civility and kindness.  Thank you for the compliments.  Here's to joy and happiness in 2014 and to more A-muse-ings from your curmudgeony friend.

Things That are Fun To Do This Time of the Year

Here's my list.  No need for checking it twice.

1.  Wait for Santa
     This isn't what it sounds like.  I wait for the fire company's Santa.  It is a tradition for the fire company to drive Santa around the neighborhoods in one of its shiny fire trucks.  He honks the horn, flashes lights, and his helpers give candy canes to the kids.  Well, one year Santa didn't get to my street until about 10:00 pm.  There were no kids awake for the candy canes, and good thing too, because Santa was drunk!  I couldn't stop laughing.  I'm laughing now as I remember that night.  Poor Santa.  I think he got in a lot of trouble because I didn't see him again for another two years.  So yes, I wait for Santa because I am so hoping for a repeat performance of drunk Santa.  It was fall down funny.

2.  Diffuse angry people in the department stores
     Have you ever looked into the faces of people deeply engaged in Christmas shopping?  They look very serious and downright dismal.  So I hum along with the muzak. People laugh at me because they think I'm crazy or maybe it's because my voice is pretty bad.  But usually, they'll return my smiles.  Sometimes they join in and sing with me.  While waiting in line to check out, I have let people go ahead of me.  If they are visibly agitated, it calms them to be offered a better place in the line.  Often, they won't take me up on the offer, but they relax.  And that calms everybody else down.  I give upsies to moms with kids.  They really appreciate a chance to get their kid out of the store faster.  I will chat with people.  Today I listened to some guy bash Obama and the economy and I just said, Uh huh.  Hmmm.  Oh yeah.  Ho Ho Ho  - That guy has no idea the self-restraint I exercised just to help him vent and chill.  I am always nice to the cashiers, no matter how crabby they might be.  Kindness paid of at Kohl's today.  I forgot my discount coupon for 15% off.  The lady liked me so much, she gave me 30% off my purchases.  Good deal!

3. Tip
     I tip my newspaper guy and my mail person.  I give them rather nice tips.  And I get the best daggone service in the world.  My mail lady brings packages to my door rather than leaving a "pick up" slip in my mailbox.  She leaves daily treats for my dog. She will wrap my mail in plastic to keep it dry if the rain is coming down hard.  But, I also tip those who least expect it.  Today I tipped the cheerful gal at the fast food pick-up window.  A couple of bucks, and I made her day.  I look for those poorly paid and under appreciated people who constantly serve us with a smile, and I try to surprise them with a little Christmas green.

4.  Eat Lunch
     I eat lunch out with friends as much as possible.  It's fun to get together in well-decorated restaurants.  Wine in the middle of the day is especially yummy. 

5.  Drive around and check out the lights
     This is an amazing thing to do anymore, because people are completely nuts about their outdoor decorations.  They wrap their houses with hundreds of lights.  They're beautiful and I'm sure their houses can be seen in outer space.  I always get a laugh with the houses that have Santa standing in the manger with the wise men, Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus.  One of my favorite houses dresses the Three Stooges in Christmas finery.  I wonder if those people know the Stooges are Jewish?  My neighbors across the street continue to entertain me.  From driving a car with two guys riding on the trunk and holding tree branches to be disposed of in the woods to setting up their decorations, they make me chuckle.  Yesterday, they set up four or five of those big balloon things.  Santa wouldn't stand up, so the one guy was punching him and cussing him out.  I wanted to walk over and tell him that Santa was going to put him on the naughty list, but I couldn't stop laughing long enough to put on a coat.  I don't decorate the outside of my house, so I appreciate those who do.

 There you have it.  What are some of your favorite things to do during the holidays?

Blue Christmas

I've heard a lot of people commenting that they simply aren't feelin' Christmas.  What a relief to know I am not alone.

What does it take to get into the Christmas spirit?  I used to get into the holiday spirit easily, starting with the day before Thanksgiving.  Just the anticipation of days off from work, sleeping in, and eating lots of good food was enough to bring on the holiday happies. The month between Thanksgiving and Christmas was fun at school.  I abandoned the strictly regulated curriculum for fun writing assignments.  The kids loved the one (created and shared by my buddy Rachel Coutts at a professional development day) where they wrote a letter from the point-of-view of the turkey that convinced the farmer to eat something else for dinner.  The kids had a great time with the topic, and I had the pleasure of reading some very well-written persuasive papers. We watched the B&W version of It's a Wonderful Life which, at that time, many of them had never seen.  Then, they wrote about their world if they didn't exist to impact it.  It was another good batch of papers. Besides the fun activities, the kids were in good moods and it showed. Sometimes I even got cards, notes, and gifts. If you were lucky enough to teach one of the Callahan kids you were gifted with legendary baked goods.  I gave generously to charity and truly needy people.  I decorated my classroom.  I decorated my home.  I baked cookies, gave parties, tinseled a live tree, and sent and received tons of Christmas cards.  Christmas was THE SEASON in the old days.

I don't do any of that stuff any more.  I feel that void, I guess, when I bah humbug the holidays.

The decorations in the shopping centers don't put me in "the spirit."  I hate shopping in crowds.  The pressure to buy the "right" gift is ever on me.  I am disappointed when I give something and the recipient isn't thrilled.  (I know, I know, thrilled is asking a lot.)  It has become pretty common to give gifts by sending them home with people who will actually see the recipient.  There's something not quite right about exchanging gifts with people you no longer see. It's just not Christmassy! The Christmas specials on television are terrible.  Hallmark has been running 24/7 holiday movies since before Thanksgiving.  But have I seen a single Ebenezer Scrooge?  Heard the words, Every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings? Been crooned a tune by the Bing?  No.  These movies are all fluffy romances with the same interchangeable cast of soap opera looking actors.  Boring!  I can't remember the last Christmas party I attended or hosted.  What a shame because I used to party the whole month.  The music on the radio are the same songs looped over and over again.  Dominic the Donkey is not Christmas, but in my opinion Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer is.  Guess which one I've heard a bazillion times and which one I have yet to hear? And snow?  We haven't had a whole lot of snow in years.  Today, it rained all day.  The world is grey and wet. Just like my mood.

So how do I handle my seasonal disorder?  Realistically by expecting little and enjoying what does occur.  First of all, I have given up on a month of holiday fun and festivities.  Christmas Eve and Christmas Day - that's it for me.  And that's ok.  It helps me keep the meaning of the season in the forefront.  Advent services soothe my soul.  My charity donations are not so personal anymore, but I've written a bunch of checks lately.  I know I'm helping others, as I try to do throughout the year.  I don't exchange as many gifts as I once did, but at my age what do I need (that anybody I know can afford ha ha)? Cards and Christmas letters have gone the way of email and Facebook shout outs.  Saves me a lot of work, right?  I keep in perspective that I enjoy a good life, and that is something to celebrate every day of the year.  And if that doesn't work, I keep a box of wine chilling in the fridge.

Happy holidays to you!  Enjoy your Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, New Year's!  And if you know someone who's feeling a little blue this season, bake them a bunch of cookies and pour them a glass of wine.  Feel the spirit!

Kids and Common Core

This time of the year always makes me think of one of my former students whom I shall call Paul.

He was one of those kids who sat quietly in the back of the room.  He didn't disrupt, often because he wasn't awake through the whole class.  He did his classwork, but there was never any homework completed.  He was skinny, pale, and rarely smiled.  He had dead eyes.

Nobody seemed to know much about him except that he came from a "good" family.  I wasn't too sure what qualified his as a good family.  The neighborhood they lived in?  The family name that was well-known in town?  The siblings and cousins who excelled at school?  He didn't look like a kid from a "good" family.  He was always tired.  Sometimes I had to buy him lunch.  And, he refused to remove his coat.  Many times he hunkered into it and dozed off in class.

Because I rarely let kids get away with doing nothing, I started talking to him. A lot.  At first we discussed school work. He willingly stayed after school for help, but his grades barely improved.  Eventually, I started getting him to talk about home.  When I learned this boy was being verbally abused, occasionally hit, and often not fed, I was angry. When he told me about the night his father locked him out of the house, I was furious.  It was freezing cold that night.  One of the girls sitting near him heard our "casual" chat, and she confirmed she'd seen him wandering the neighborhood that night. I reported this to the guidance counselor, and he got to work on it.

Paul went into foster care.  At Christmas time.  I took some gifts and went to visit him in his temporary home.  The family was nice.  It was a comfort to be warm, fed, and certain of where he'd be sleeping at night, but he was completely miserable.  It was Christmas time and his father had thrown him away.  He was mad at the world, probably at me too, and who could blame him?  He did not finish the school year with us as he began the bounce from foster home to foster home.  I never heard from him again.

 I have never forgotten him.  

When politicians babble about what has to be done in the schools, when politicians throw money into "accountability" tests, when politicians tie teacher performance to student results, I think of Paul.  There's nothing in the Common Core that addresses the needs of kids like Paul. No page in that curriculum can help a student whose foremost thoughts are of survival.  Yet, it is all the teacher's fault when they don't succeed.  I did what I could for Paul and it wasn't enough to bring him academic success.  I hope his life eventually stabilized and that he graduated from high school.  What politicians don't know is that there are many kids like Paul.  All students need to feel that school is a safe and welcoming place for them; not a place to cause them nightmares on the nights before testing.   What I wish politicians would learn is that the pressures of state testing and pushing every kid to attain the same level of academic achievement is not education.  What I wish politicians would experience is daily classroom life so that the "curriculum" they develop is realistic to the kids they force to swallow it.

Yes, and I wish for peace on Earth, too.

Where were you when the world stood still fifty years ago?

Fifty years ago on November 21, I had no idea that it would be the last day of my childhood innocence.  Who would have thought that me, a ten year old girl, would become glued to the news and fixed in front of a black and white television watching the world as she knew it explode?  Kids today have been exposed to many televised horrors that were unknown to ten year olds in 1963. Unknown that was, until the Friday when President John F. Kennedy, father of Caroline and John-John, was murdered.  Today, I am sharing a piece that I wrote in 1989 for my middle school's literary magazine.

                                                     November 22, 1988

          On this twenty-fifth anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, it has been said repeatedly that those who were old enough to understand can remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I remember that day and those that followed as clearly as I remember the happenings of last week. 
          Twenty-five years ago I was ten years old and a fifth grade student at Darby Township Elementary School in Glenolden, Pennsylvania.  We were ending recess and had been assembled in orderly lines for our return to the classrooms.
          Two women teachers, whose names I've long forgotten but whose faces are etched forever in my memory, stood at the head of the lines.  The taller and greyer of the two held a transistor radio to her ear, as the shorter teacher held onto her arm, tilted her head, and strained to listen.  Their faces, frozen with horror, warned us to wait quietly.  We shifted uncomfortably in our silent lines, wondering about the reason for the delay, but too afraid to ask.
          Finally, the teacher announced that the President of the United States had been shot.
          The orderly lines disintegrated into pandemonium.  Everybody began talking at once.  Though the noise was deafening, it was as if I had slipped into a vacuum of silence.  Shocked and sickened by the news, I withdrew from the crowd, drifted off to one of the logs surrounding the playground, sat down, and quietly began to weep.
          I remember being the only person crying.  Gradually, other students drifted over to stare and me and speculate about my tears.  I could hear them asking: Why is she crying?  Did she know the President?  Was he her uncle?  And so, the silly rumors began.  My friend, Keith, awkwardly patted the top of my head as I bent over and pressed my face to the tops of my knees.  He quietly whispered over and over again that it would be all right.
          Eventually, we drifted back to our classrooms.  By the time President Kennedy's death had been officially announced, everyone else had begun to weep.  My tears, however, had stopped.  The numbing shock that was to last for days had set in.
          I did not know then  why I cried.  Perhaps I mourned the death of Caroline and John-John's father.  Perhaps I was terrified by this sudden upheaval in my life and in my country.  Perhaps I realized deep in my heart that a time of innocence, a time adults called Camelot, was over.  My country would never again be the same.  Neither would I.
        

Buh Bye Keswick Theater

I used to love the Keswick theater, a smallish venue outside of Philadelphia. Those of you who remember the Main Point in Bryn Mawr  know how special a place like that can be.  Sadly, the Keswick is no longer this generation's Main Point.

Over the years, I have seen all kinds of shows there from Chinese acrobats to Wanda Sykes to fake Beatles to Cyndi Lauper, twice.  After last night however, I am done with them.  Cyndi was great, the Keswick not so great.

The Keswick needs to decide if they are a dance venue or a theater venue.  Seriously, I know that many clubs exist where kids go in, grab their booze at the bar, then stand on an open dance floor where they actively experience the music.  Last I checked, the Keswick didn't have a mosh pit in their theater.  They had seats.  Expensive seats.  Seats that too many people choose to ignore.  I get it if you want to stand up and dance as the concert draws to an end; a good musician should drive you to that point.  But to stand for the sake of standing is just plain rude! 

Don't tell me to get with it and join in the standing fun.  At five feet tall, I'd have to stand on the seat to see over the six feet tall gaggle of gay guys blocking my view.  Yes, I know Cyndi is a great friend to the LGBT community; but news flash guys - you do not have the corner on fandom.  She did not write Girls Just Wanna Have Fun for you! She wrote it for me and all those other women twice your age whose views you were blocking. If you possessed an ounce of courtesy, you'd have moved your dance party to the sides of the theater.  But nooooo, you were going to do what you wanted, when you wanted, and where you wanted.

I blame the Keswick for this.  When people from the back congregate up front blocking the aisles and the views of those who paid a hefty fee for their seats, security needs to return them to their section. When people are standing and audience members are yelling, Down in front, don't expect your patrons to cooperate.  Send security to sit them the hell down.  I saw a few things that scared me.  This big old blockhead was standing in the aisle, dancing in a way most white men try to avoid.  A little, and I mean tiny, woman confronted him and asked him to sit.  He began screaming at her, bending down, face purple, spittle flying and telling her to F this and F that or he would F her up.  I was frozen and ready to go get help, when she backed away and he went back to his stupid little dance.  That asshat was dangerous and stinkin' drunk and should have been removed from the theater. Cyndi had to stop her concert to appeal to some audience members who'd started to fist fight.  What where they fighting over?  Idiots blocking their views.  And that brings me to what has really turned me off to the Keswick  - their irresponsible sale of alcohol.

Any business that sells alcohol is required by law to stop serving customers who are obviously intoxicated. Not the Keswick.  Unlike other theaters I've attended, their bar is open from an hour before the show starts to its close.  From what I observed, they are doing a booming business.  I was shocked to see a guy balancing six beers in his hands as he stumbled down the aisle.  Does the theater have any idea where that alcohol is going? (No!)  Are they providing limitless booze for underage drinkers? (Yes!)  Is alcohol being delivered to people too drunk to walk to the bar by themselves? (Yes!)  How many of those same people are going to start fights in the theater?   (From what I saw, there were a bunch of "fires" being put out by Lauper's security.)  How many of those people will get behind the wheel of a car at the end of the show?  When is the Pennsylvania Liquor Board going to shut them down?  Think about that lack of revenue, Keswick Theater owners, as you peddle your cocktails.

Which one is it, Keswick?  Are you a theater venue or a dance bar?  'Cause I don't go to dance bars anymore.  Until you decide what you are, I won't be going to Glenside for theater anymore either.

Former Students...Part 1 in a Series

All of you who know me know that my weakness is Facebook.  I love the daily statuses, the games, and being on top of world events, especially Hollywood world events.  What you might not know is that one of my biggest pleasures concerning FB, though, is the opportunity I've had to peek into the adult lives of my former students.  I'm going to name names (in most cases), so if any of you kids object, just message me and I'll invent a fake name for you.  Right Aimee Granger?  LOL  You know who you are.

I must start with one of my favorite students in the whole world.  Now, that doesn't mean the rest of you weren't important, but this kid grabbed my heart and I have never forgotten him.  Tony Saunders, come on down!

When Tony was in seventh grade, he was a mess.  He was doing poorly in class, his behavior made him the talk of the faculty room, and he was a fixture in the assistant principal's office.  At the time, Bart Simpson was a popular cartoon character.  No lie, Tony looked just like him.  Well, our assistant principal, Mrs. Jones, decided that each of us on the team was to select an at-risk student and mentor him/her.  However, we were not to let the students know they had been selected;  we were to establish helping, encouraging relationships on the sly.  When I eagerly announced I wanted to mentor Tony, my team members had the deer-in-the-headlight look before they burst out laughing.

Such cynics!  I already knew that Tony could be reached.  I'd taught his older brother, I knew his mother cared, and maybe this kid was wild, but he was not a lost cause.  So, as we were instructed, I made an effort to get to know Tony.  To get him to trust me. To get him through seventh grade.

Every day he'd come to homeroom and I'd ask him how things were going, if he'd done his homework, if he had his library book for class, if he needed a pencil for the day.  Tony was smart, though, and he caught on to my not so subtle tactics.  One day, I remember him looking at me in horror and blurting out, "Ms. Snyder!  Why do you talk to me so much?!?"  The jig was up.  So I told him the truth, I had to. I told him that he was my project.  He rolled his eyes, probably called me crazy under his breath, but he put up with me.  It was a difficult year.  One day I even called his mom in  tears because I was so angry and frustrated with him.  As always, she was very supportive.  I never gave up on him.  Due to many different factors, he began experiencing success in his classes; his grades improved, and he realized he liked doing well. Tony made it through seventh grade.  I was there the evening he graduated from high school.  Now, I see him on FB.  He's a hardworking young man, and I'm proud of the person he has become. 

I'm really glad for FB because I would not have known what happened to him unless I read about him in The Record or The Aegis.  (We locals know that is not where you want to be featured.) I'm not totally up on all that happens in Tony's life because I have most of his feeds blocked.  Bless his heart, he and his friends use the F-word as noun, verb, adjective, and adverb.  And I can't help it, but such a lazy use of the English language just drives this English teacher crazy.

(PS: In case any of you are horrified that I have used his real name, please know that I obtained his permission before sharing this.  And, I didn't reveal half the stuff I learned about him during our homeroom conversations. )