Sandy Hook...

I am truly at a loss for words. Everyone is. The same words keep being repeated. HorribleUnbelievableTragicHeartbreakingBut none of these words really seem to work. There's no word that truly fits the feeling. Shock HorrorSadnessHelplessnessWe are all these things, and more. And we are a nation in grief. Even though most didn't know these children and these families, it's impossible not to look at our own beloved children and see their faces in the faces of the Sandy Hook children.

It's too hard to fathom. Working in an elementary school myself, I can't help but imagine it happening there. I know what could and would happen. I know myself and the people I work with. I don't think there is one who would not get between a shooter and their students. I don't think there is one who, like the principal and counselor at Sandy Hook, wouldn't have run towards the sound of gunfire.

It's a cliche, but our children are a precious resource. They are far more precious than the right to own a combat weapon. Nobody needs a Bushmaster rifle to protect their home or their property.

Some people, including myself, like to joke about "the coming zombie apocalypse", but it's not going to happen, and in reality, nobody needs to be able to fire 30+ rounds. If you want to disagree, fine. But you will not change my mind on this. If it comes to a choice between saving lives and having combat weapons, I'm going with lives every time. Some like to say "He could have done it anyway, even if that gun was illegal.", as if a crime must be 100% prevented for a preventative law to be passed.

I don't know the answer. But I do know that it's multifaceted. There is more than one problem that needs to be treated. The fact that agree this happened, people ran out to buy up Bushmaster rifles points to what our true problem is. The worship of violence has to stop. It HAS to!

TM, GZ, FL, hoodies, Skittles, and the whole damn mess we're trying to ignore...

I've started this and abandoned it, started, abandoned, several times. A sure sign that something is bothering me, and I need to finish it.

Some of my students, from kindergarten on up through 5th grade, wear hoodies. Actually, that's not true. MOST of my students wear hoodies. I have to make them take their hoods off sometimes. I joke "It's not raining in here!" They laugh. We go on with whatever it is we were doing. Now I am afraid I will always think in the back of my mind an additional caution that I can never speak.

"You could get killed for that."

Ironic, because sometimes they will wear their hoodies, hoods up on warm, beautiful days because they want to hide from something. Something has upset them, and they don't want to talk to or look at anyone. To me, they look much more like turtles than tough guys.

What I do know of some of their home lives would send most adults running and screaming to jump in a river. They see it as a shield of sorts. Armor. A bulletproof jacket that will shield them from all teasing, abuse, and pain. If only it really worked.

This kind of thing keeps me up at night. I know it shouldn't. I know what my mom would say "Just don't think about it. Don't read those stories. You do what you can." Etc. And she is right. But not worrying is just not in my nature, just as sleeping doesn't appear to be. If I didn't think about this stuff, something else would be keeping me awake.

With all the bile and vitriol I've read, I can't help but hurt my heart. It's just an article of clothing. The imaginary conversation goes like this:

"What is "suspicious" about a damn hood? "

"Well, you know, criminals wear hoodies."

"Yes, criminals also wear tennis shoes and underwear."

"But I wear tennis shoes and underwear too. No, tennis shoes and underwear are not suspicious, hoodies are suspicious."

"But I wear hoodies, and I'm a 40 year old white woman. I think I own three, actually. And I've never been arrested for anything."

"Well, oh come on. You know what I'm talking about."

And the true answer is no, I don't. I truly do not. Hoodies are not specific to one segment of the population.  Their ubiquity is undeniable to anyone with their eyes open. Oh if only more people would open their eyes. That goes for a lot of things, obviously. Not just hoodies.

(This is not one of my students)  copyright - Daily misery

Children are killed every day in this country, and for no reason. I should just shake my head, tsk tsk, and go on my way like a Good American. Of all the kids killed over nothing, this one, and the response I've seen to it, just seems emblematic of the entire problem. We do not value our young.

Oh sure, people value their own children, and their friends children, and the other children in their extended families. But in general, as a whole, America does not see it's children as a high priority. Our attitudes towards education (treating it as a rainy day fund for political promises) and health care ("young and healthy" people don't need no stinkin' health care dangit!) are prime examples. 

On the other hand, we also treat our elderly like crap. I ask you, dear internets, what nation can survive if it treats both it's elderly and it's young like trash? 

No wonder I don't sleep. I suppose I'll have to come back to this topic, I feel this could be better expressed. But because I am still expected to show up for work in the morning, I'm going to turn the lights out and toss and turn for a few hours. 

Every one was a 'En-er-y

I posted this on Facebook, but I wanted to put it here too, just because.

Last week, I was teaching about texture to my classes. This print of Henry VII is what I was using to talk about visual, or implied texture. In one of the first grade classes, the conversation is going normally. I tell them that the painting is about 500 years old. They ask what they ALWAYS ask, "Oh, is he dead now?" (Seriously, they ask this every time I show them a print of a person)

"Well darling, the painting is 500 years old. What do you think?"

The class decided that, yes, he is probably dead.

This is when is one of the precocious ones speaks up. She gets this trance-like look, and says "He was a very nice man. He died, and God took him straight up to heaven because he was a very nice man and fought for his family."

One of those moments where I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, you can't really tell first graders about beheading wives, can you?

My sweet girl is very bright. But maybe not so perceptive in the character-judgement arena.

Things that make me really sad...

I probably shouldn't even write about this. But I have to vent somewhere. 

The worst thing about my job... There is a beautiful child in my class. Something is a little off about this kid, I can't really say what. But she's still pretty sweet, and maybe sort of shy. She wrote her name on the floor with a crayon, and when I asked her why, she looked down at the floor with surprise on her face, as if she didn't even realize she'd done it. This is not the normal reaction for a child caught doing something naughty. 2I had to write a note home, even though I don't care that much about crayon writing on the floor. If I let it go with one, there will be all sorts of things written on my floor and they won't be just names.


There are several kids at my school who are quite obviously not well cared for. They come to school dirty, with ill-fitting clothes and messy hair. They fall behind and struggle socially. The idea that school uniforms make children equal, that nobody knows who is rich or poor, because everyone is dressed the same, is total bullshit. Kids know, and dirty, unkempt kids are often outcasts. It doesn't help that MCS chose white as the school uniform color. These white shirts become grey or brown when they are not washed regularly. That kind of thing stands out. You can't get parents (or "guardians") on the phone. This is a constant source of dismay. Actually, dismay is the best case scenario. It's usually more like disgust and outrage. I'd say that this particular child fits into that category. But until today, I hadn't really taken much note (I have about 400 students, so it's tough sometimes). When I was writing the note to go home, she didn't even seem to realize she was in trouble. She politely spelled her name for me, and didn't argue anything. I usually get at least an "I didn't do it!" or two. Her teacher says she is kind of spacy. Makes sense, I suppose.

When she went to sit back down, she stretched her arms up above her head. Her too-small shirt rose up, and I noticed a series of mystery marks all over her midriff. Since I can't call her up to the front of the class to investigate, I told her teacher about it later. The teacher says that she has trouble getting the guardian on the phone, and that last week when the child was sick, couldn't get anyone to come pick her up. I don't have a lot more to say about this situation, except that I will follow up, and I will pay closer attention to this kid to see if she needs help. It's about all I can do, other than cry. 

What makes me sicker than sick about this is really just a purely selfish thing. I've always wanted to be a mom. It's not really looking like that's going to happen. I may be able to adopt, or maybe not. It all depends on if the cancer stays away, and finances.  Right now, every thing looks good on the health front. Not so much on the financial front. Some people have so much and never know it. They take it for granted, as if the blessing of a child is not so special, more of a burden than a gift.

The point is, if I had a beautiful little girl like this child in my class, I'd love her and take care of her even if it meant great inconvenience and hardship, even if it meant I never had another chance to go on a social outing with friends again, even if it meant every last dime was spent keeping her clean, happy, and healthy. This is a whole life, a real person that is being pushed aside and, maybe, possibly, abused by no fault of her own. This isn't the first such case I've run across in my job, it's just the latest. There are other stories even worse than this. Right now, I just can't think of anything more morally bankrupt than intentionally neglecting or abusing a child.

Childhood should be filled with great moments
of wonder and bliss.

Childhood should be filled with great moments of wonder and bliss. That's not to say that I'm so naive that I think it's all candy and sunshine, I know it's not. But I clearly remember a certain wild freedom of heart as a child that I have never been able to duplicate as an adult. The memory of it often sustains me and reminds me that life really isn't so crappy after all, and that adventures are worth trying, even if the outcome is risky. When someone neglects or abuses a child, they do violence on only to that child, but to the entire future of everyone. Who knows, maybe this little girl was going to be the one to find a cure for cancer, or solve world hunger. Or maybe she would simply grow up to be a wonderful mother herself. Maybe she still could, but what chances does she really have when nobody is there to nurture her?

This stuff just makes me beside myself with despair sometimes. I'm not sure how long I can be a teacher, because my skin has not gotten any thicker to this, and it is so common (especially in such a high-poverty city as the one I live in). I bring this stuff home with me. I let it haunt me. The day I stop caring really should be the day I quit. But how long can I keep the strain of what I know from eating me up?

Man, it's just been kind of a bad day.