All posts by Debra

I write. I've been writing since fourth grade when I accidentally discovered that I had a knack for poetry. At least that's what my teacher told me. Since then I've written to vent, to cope, to complain, to rage, to dream, and to share, though the share thing is still a little new and difficult. I have so much that I need to write, but I fear that if I don't get it done, I'll die with the stories still inside of me. Even if no one else is paying attention, I would like to leave memories for those who love me. So please stay a while and let me know what you think.

The Neighbors From Hell

A few years ago, I decided I wanted to grow a vegetable garden.  I already had an assortment of flowering plants, a couple of nice citrus tree, and even some beautiful roses, but I wanted the satisfaction of growing plants that produce food items.  Maybe it was that part I inherited from my grandfather, who at 80, had a three-acre garden he cared for by hand or maybe it’s simply the joy in watching plants grow from seeds, but from that year on, I’ve had a garden.  I wish I could say it’s always been successful, but one year, thanks to some new neighbors, I ended up living a gardener’s nightmare.

It started plainly enough.  As usual, I started with seed trays in February under lights in my garage.  February is also my birthday month, so my family gives me gift cards to Lowes to buy seeds and gardening supplies.  I was ecstatic to be able to get seeds planted already and to have a new little greenhouse that my husband had already put together and wired with lights.

By early March, I transplanted 6-8 inch plants into containers and they were growing well.  Both pepper and tomato plants were green, healthy and putting on new growth at a good rate. By the end of March, most of the plants stood about three feet tall and were covered in blooms and small tomatoes and peppers. It looked like it was going to be my best crop yet which meant plenty of veggies for us and even more to share with our neighbors in our cul-de-sac.

April rolled around and the strangest thing happened and did so in just a few days!  The pepper plant leaves started to curl, thicken and turn a darker green.  The tomato plants suddenly started growing taller and thinner, but the trunks of the plants got thick and almost bark-like, then began to rot away.  The tomatoes that were already formed on the vines didn’t grow any bigger, but started to ripen and every time a new bloom appeared it quickly shriveled and died.  I had two dozen four-foot tall tomato plants and 17 pepper plants showing this weird damage. It made no sense.  My garden had gone from gorgeous to grotesque almost overnight. I was heart-broken.

Through teary eyes (yep, I was upset enough to cry), I noticed a small tree in the yard next door that bordered our fence. Its leaves were curling and most had already turned brown. I stood up on the block border of a flowerbed, looked over our fence, and was shocked to observe our new neighbors’ dead, brown yard. This was the source of my problem! A young couple had bought the small house next door and had carelessly broadcast-sprayed everything on their lot with herbicide. It had killed every plant in their yard, including their landscaping, and overspray had damaged every plant in my garden and even some of my flowers and shrubs. I was devastated.

When I spoke to one of my other neighbors about my damaged garden, she informed me that she had seen the husband standing in his backyard spraying something a few days prior, so we confronted them about what they had used.  It was a chemical called 2,4-D, but they denied that it would have caused the damage.  I did some research on 2,4-D and was shocked to find that not only does it cause extensive damage to plants, tomatoes are often affected the worst. And to make matters even worse, this chemical has been linked to cancer!  He exposed his own year old child, his pregnant wife, us and our three children, and the neighbors on the other side of him with three kids of their own to a cancer causing chemical! We were livid, but our only recourse was to take them to small claims court for the damage they’ve caused to the plants. At the time, we were strongly considering that option and even consider reporting them to anyone who could do something about it.

However, my husband wasn’t going to let me mope all summer, so for an early Mother ’s Day present, he bought some tomato and pepper plants about 8 inches tall and helped me start again.  We were still going to be able to enjoy a harvest that year.  It wouldn’t be as big, nor did I have the satisfaction of having grown my entire garden from seeds, but at least I could look at my backyard and see vegetables growing again.

And our new neighbors? They still had a yard full of weeds, and they managed to kill most of the new shrubs and flowers they replanted to replace the first ones they had killed.  They were, by far, the worst neighbors we’ve had, from having a dog that dug up my front flower bed, to mowing and skinning up our front yard because she wanted her friends to think her yard was bigger than it actually was, to even trying to lure and trap our cats and then calling animal control to complain. (Yes, we have cats, but there were several strays that lived in the woods by this neighbor’s house that liked to visit their carport.)  But I think the worst thing they did was after damaging my plants, they had the gall to tie balloons on OUR fence for their kid’s birthday party which tangled the ribbons in my NEW plants!  We removed them and the man used the F-bomb towards my 11-year-old daughter! He then snarled at me, “You can kiss those tomato plants goodbye!”  Lucky for me, my husband set that young idiot straight very quickly.  But the best news?  One day we came home to a “For Sale” sign in their front yard!  Oh, glorious day!  We now have much better neighbors and my garden is safe as well as our cats, our grass, and our ears!

When Teachers Get Ridiculous:  Math Homework using Slavery Questions

January 2012 – The headline, ‘If Fred Got Two Beatings Per Day…’ Homework Asks, immediately drew my attention as soon as I opened my web browser.  Of course, it would.  Why would any homework assignment have a question like that?

According to ABC News, third graders at Beaver Ridge Elementary School in Gwinnett County, GA received math homework with questions about slavery.

There were questions about slaves picking oranges, slaves receiving beatings and slaves picking cotton.

Parents are outraged.  Is that any surprise?  They well should be.  One parent points out that these questions show there are still racists.  Another parent stated they now have to explain to their 8-year-old why math problems were written about slaves and slavery.

The district claims the teachers were only attempting a cross-curricular activity by incorporating social studies into math problems.

There, folks, lies the problem.  This was merely a very poor attempt at cross-curricular instruction, not a show of racism’s ugly head.

Cross-curricular instruction is one of those recurring educational buzz phrases that teachers are often required to apply to their instruction.  Cross-curricular teaching is not a bad idea when done correctly.  In fact, years of research show that it helps students learn to apply skills taught in one class to subjects in other classes.  It is called “transference”.  Transference is the ability to take a skill learned at school, such as “measurement”, and then apply it to a real-world task like finding out how long the coach in their living room is.  It gives the students a knowledge base, which is important for making learning more meaningful and making that knowledge stick.

Cross-curricular instruction has also been shown to increase motivation and improve learning.  When skills are taught in isolation, students rarely see the value in learning those skills.  However, if those skills can be applied to more than one situation, not only are those skills mastered by the student, but also effective learning occurs and those skills are not forgotten.

Teachers may receive textbooks or materials that have some cross-curricular activities, but often these activities never fit in with what teachers in different areas are being required to teach at that particular time frame.  This leaves the teacher no choice but to come up with his or her own material, especially if their administrator or district office is requiring it.

However, that doesn’t excuse the slavery math questions, nor am I condoning the teachers’ decision to create and use them.  Any adult, teacher or not, should have been able to determine that these questions were inappropriate for students, no matter their age.  This appears to be a simple case of changing the words in a preexisting math worksheet, not a true effort at cross-curricular instruction at all.

(Originally published on Yahoo Voices)

Racy Yearbook Photo is a Bad Idea

January 2012 – ABC News reported that Colorado teenager, Sydney Spies, is planning to fight a ban of the photo she submitted to be published in the Durango High School yearbook, in Durango, Colorado.  The photo is not your typical senior photo in cap and gown or off the shoulder drape as featured in many yearbooks around the country.  Instead, she posed in a short yellow skirt riding below her navel and a black shawl that exposes her shoulders and sits low across her chest.

The five editors of the yearbook made the decision not to publish the photo because they felt it would “diminish the quality with something that can be seen as unprofessional.”  However, they are still willing to publish it on the student’s ad page in the yearbook.

The racy photo will still be published in the yearbook, just not as the student’s senior photo.

As a middle school yearbook advisor for the past 15 years, I have had inappropriate photos submitted for students’ personal pages in the yearbook.  However, those occasions have been rare until the last few years.

Due to the increase in the number of photos of teens in bikinis or tiny shorts and low-cut tank tops, we’ve had to establish photo guidelines. We also state that we have the right to refuse any photo we deem as inappropriate and every year, lately, I’ve had to refuse photos.

I am also the parent of 12-year-old daughter.  I’m very protective of her and look out for her best interests. It’s unclear to me as to why parents would be so willing to publish revealing photos of their children.  What is not published in yearbooks, however, can still be uploaded to Facebook and other social networking sites.  Anyone who has an account can log into Facebook at any given time and see photos of teenage girls posing with their shirts pulled up and their shorts pulled down.  Even the boys are adding their poses and asking for “likes”.  The boys’ poses usually consist of a raised shirt, with the stomach and a least one nipple exposed.

With more and more of these types of photos being submitted for yearbook publication and considered by students and parents to be acceptable to publish, schools are going to reach a point where they will have to establish policy as to what can and will be published in a school yearbook.  Those parents who want to publish racy photos of their teens should not be able to use a school publication to do it.  There are, after all, many other parents who would not want their own children viewing suggestive photos of their classmates, or anyone else, for that matter.

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Being a Teacher: Does it ever get Better?

I’m one of those stupid people who decided at a very young age to become a teacher.  I knew there wasn’t money in it, but at the time, teachers made enough to get by and I figured that was good enough and that I would be happy.  Teaching was all I ever wanted to do, and I couldn’t wait to have my own classroom.

Teaching was fun.  It was my passion and my life.  I loved the kids, the faculty and even my principal.  I lived in a small town and taught kids of former classmates and later on, kids of former students.  I woke up most days looking forward to my day.  I’ve taught over 20 years and felt like I had a pretty good handle on things, but lately, I’ve come to realize just how miserable teaching has become and how broken-hearted I’ve become over the corruption of my profession.

Due to money and politics, we’ve thrown common sense out the door as well as anything that was important for the well-being of our students.  Now, instead of teaching, we test.  And once we have data, we test again.  Then we test again to see if THAT test correlates with the last test we gave them.  Then we look at data, and look at data, and look at data. We post to the wall of shame so that all the other teachers see how low our kids are and whether or not we’ve “moved them up” or “let them drop.” And then we put the kids in front of these nifty little computer programs we purchased for a cool million or two.  (I wish I could say this is a joke, but it’s not!)

Then we teach in small groups while the rest are working on computers again. Then we retest.  And if the poor kids haven’t figure out how to test better, they end up missing out on their “fun” classes so they can go to intensive classes where they can use DIFFERENT but equally expensive computer programs. Being a kid in school today absolutely sucks!  Being a teacher isn’t much better!  After all, the districts are so busy trying to “teacher-proof” the curriculum, a professional educator no longer gets much choice in how to teach their lessons anymore.  Remember those great lessons you had from the teachers you’ll never forget?  Well, they don’t exist anymore and YOUR child will never have those experiences.

You see, the problem is that we’ve lost our minds.  Education has become a source of big bucks for these testing companies.  They make the tests and give the tests.  The teacher can’t look at them to even know what’s on them or if they are accurate tests.  The company sells the tests to the school districts and then grades the tests and delivers the scores.  The score levels are subject to change based on some super secret formula they use to determine what is passing and what isn’t.  And if kids are failing (many of them do) The company then has a nifty little two-million dollar program available to your students to keep your school from being a failing school.  Being a failing school is bad and only kids who have no transportation to better schools get stuck at the failing schools.  Then the failing schools lose more students and with the loss of students comes the loss of teachers which causes classes to be overcrowded. We all know that BIGGER classes help kids get higher scores on these stupid tests, right?  The poor teachers that remain are threatened that if their school continues to fail, they will be punished even though they are doing the best they can with the students they have.   Does any of this make sense to you? Me neither!

It’s like spreading a disease and then selling the cure!  But nobody seems to care.  We teachers are threatened with “involuntary transfers,” loss of funding, meetings with the administrators, increased class sizes and workloads (I’m doing two jobs right now for one paycheck and nobody bats an eye), and Lord help us when the parents call us up and cuss us out because we had the nerve to hold their child for a few minutes during recess time because said child hadn’t completed their work. And yet, if that child doesn’t do well on the state test, the teacher gets blamed.  When did the teachers become the enemy?

The bottom line is that teaching is no longer teaching.  We are testing facilitators, bullied workers, parent chew toys, and the punching bags of society.  Whenever someone posts a photo of misspelled words, some smart ass always makes a rude comment about teachers or public schools.  Why is it our fault when students refuse to learn?  Frankly I’m sick of giving so much for so little.  I’m a hard worker with a variety of skills and yet I work for pennies and get treated like trash.  What the HELL is wrong with me?

I’ve come to the conclusion that being a teacher is a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” kind of job.  If I do everything I’m told to do by my district and my students fail, it’s MY fault.  If I use every single program and follow every rule and yet the kids fail, it’s still my fault.  When kids don’t come to school, don’t do their work, misbehave and refuse to learn, it’s STILL my fault.  When parents tell me that their child shouldn’t have to read or do work and yet their child won’t do well on the test unless they actually come to school and participate, it’s STILL my fault.

The students’ scores become MY cross to bear.  My sin, my shame.  My scarlet letter, but instead of an A, it’s a big fat F!  There’s nothing quite like being told, “You had the lowest gains in the school!”  No,  the students I had assigned to me had the lowest gains.  I can’t make them want to learn, come to school, or even try.  Maybe the wonderful testing companies could make even more money if they could solve those problems.  Teachers just can’t win.

Testing companies, on the other hand, are sitting pretty.  Your kids are failing our tests?  That’s ok!  We’ve have a solution!  We just need a few million for implementation of “bestsuperdupertesttakers.com” to help your students show gains on the next test!

Oh, it didn’t work?  Well, we’re sure it’s not the program. Obviously you didn’t implement with fidelity.

If only I were a better teacher…

The Importance of School-Wide Reads and Working Together as a Faculty

 

This is a letter I wrote to my fellow teachers last year but then didn’t send it out for fear of offending.  I look back now and wish I had had the nerve to hit that send button.  Today there is no school-wide read.  It’s a huge loss, and one that some don’t even realize yet.

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One of the quirks about working in a library with lots of visitors is hearing about the progress in different classes.

So far, I’ve heard from many students and teachers that they and you love the Drums, Girls & Dangerous Pie book and how many of you are taking the time to stop and smell the roses along the way, so to speak.  I’ve even had kids tell me about your reading styles, your emotions during the book and how some of you get so mad or sad you even come close to tears.  They are in love with you and they love the effort you’re putting into making the book “come to life,” as some have even said. Students coming from these classes come in and have discussions with me and other students about what’s going on in the chapters and how things are “messed up,” for Steven or how it’s scary that Jeffrey is suffering.  I’ve even had kids tell me they really like hearing some of music mentioned in the story.  They are discovering the book, enjoying the book, and learning from you and about you!

 

Unfortunately, I feel that maybe others may think that the whole purpose of the school-wide read is to get through the book as fast as possible.  There are classes that are far, far ahead and students from these groups mainly talk about how they can’t wait to finish the book.  Little else is said.  There’s little empathy for the characters and not much insight into the details of the story. Developing empathy and insight is a process that requires time.  Something that’s not being considered by some.  This is the same mind-set some kids get who want the grade and just don’t care how they go about getting it.  Please don’t make the mistake of missing the real point and purpose of our school-wide read.

 

A school-wide read is not really about points, that’s just a way to track progress.  It’s not really about a grade either. That’s just the formality that comes with our educational system.  It’s really about bonding with each other, having a connection between gender, races, religions and even age groups.  It’s about having a mutual topic of conversation, a way to ensure that everyone is part of the school, the team, the FAMILY.  It’s a chance for you to share your life experiences and allow your students to discover the “person” inside the teacher.  It’s a chance for your students, with your guidance, to develop a love for reading. That’s a gift you can give them that will far outlast anything else we could possibly teach them this year.

 

By rushing this process, your students miss out on the time needed to digest the chapters, to form opinions about the events and the actions of the characters and you miss those golden teachable moments that you could be having as you build that invaluable teacher/student relationship.  I’m not saying your not having any success, but think of how much MORE you could be having with a little more focus and time spent delving into deeper meaning, instead of just reading straight through the book.

 

There are no prizes for those who finish first when it comes to a school-wide read, but there are certainly a few disadvantages in the long run. Don’t lose sight of the purpose in all of this.  If we really value and want single-school culture, we have to make it happen by giving consideration to the structure provided and the time line we’re being asked to follow.

 

It’s not my intention to offend you, my friends and colleagues.  You are amazing, hard-working and certainly the most unique, loving family any of us could ever ask for. You work miracles in your room on a daily basis and make our kids feel valued.  Sometimes I think we’re the ones who are most able to put these kids on the right path if they’ve strayed and we’re the ones who give them hope that they CAN be successful. I respect what you do and I’m here to be a part of the process with our reading and to support you in whatever way I can to help you be the best reading teacher you can be.

 

I’m asking you to consider my words with an open mind, without taking offense or feeling like I’m pointing a finger at you.  I’m not trying to do that to you, not even one little bit.  But I do feel the need to explain why we need to work as one unit on this. I want everyone to understand the “method behind the madness” here so we don’t lose track of what’s really important and why we are doing this in the first place.

 

Consider this:  If you can apply enough heat, pressure, and just the right amount of time to a piece of coal, you will get a diamond. Don’t we want all of our students to be diamonds?

The Red Truck

There I was, walking down the sidewalk in front of the oldest building at Interlachen High School, the old white, original school from the late 1800’s, Yeah, it’s that old. We were headed towards the intersection, Uncle Robbie and I.  Why?  I have no idea!

It was a scene change in a dream and a small part of me was lucid enough to know that.  Just seconds before, for unknown reasons now,  I had been backing our little truck down a road and almost been hit by a semi.  My kids were on the side of the road and my heart stopped thinking the semi was going to hit them, but instead, my mind protected my fragile state as it usually does when it comes to my loved ones and the semi miraculously missed them and me.  But the wheel barrow I had left on the the side of the road was gone, stolen by a passing pickup truck. I was furious and confused as to why I had left a wheel barrow there in the first place.

Then I was suddenly enjoying a leisurely walk with Uncle Robbie, my daddy’s younger brother,  in front of the school in Interlachen. Such is my crazy dream world and fortunately for the sake of my sanity, I’m very familiar with it.

We reached the corner and waited on the light to change.  Cars and trucks passed in front of us at a small town pace as we enjoyed the weather and talked about nothing.  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of  a pretty red truck.  It stopped briefly for the light, then with the arrow, turned directly in front of us and rolled to a stop.

I looked up at the driver just as Robbie exclaimed, “Well I’ll be dog gone!” and the man in the truck waved us over with a big smile and called out, “Get in!”

Without hesitation we ran.  Robbie jumped in the back seat on the driver’s side so I ran around the back of the truck and jumped in the front passenger’s side.

Oh the feelings that hit me!  First the overwhelming shock!  There sat my daddy, happy, ruddy-faced, smiling that big smile of his while his blue-eyes sparkled bright with good humor.  The first thought as I turned to look at him was how lucky he happened to be coming by while we were walking!

And then the second wave of emotion hit me with the force of a hurricane.  I realized my reality. He wasn’t suppoed to be here! Even after two years, the depth of my loss when he passed away has been almost too painful to bear.  To see him once again made my heart feel like it would burst with happiness.  I suddenly felt relief too, knowing he was there in front of me, not beyond my reach anymore.  He was there and we could finally talk. Oh the things I needed to hear from him and wanted to say!

I slid all the way over to him and hugged him tight, resting my head on his shoulder and tucking in so close I could smell his cologne.  He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer for a tight hug.

Oh the tears!  I felt them coming and couldn’t stop.  I felt Daddy pat my shoulder like he used to do whenever he hugged me.  I cried harder.  He patted me and whispered, “Stop.  Stop.”

My tears blurred my vision as I gazed at my Daddy’s kind face. Reality began to seep into my dream and I noticed a sudden shift around me. I felt myself leaving the scene, drifting up like we often imagine souls do when they pass from this life.  I wanted to stay. I struggled to stay!  I wanted to talk to him.  I needed to hear what he had to say; ease my broken heart, just a little if I could.  But my tears had effectively invaded my physical world and were dragging me away, kicking and screaming.   I woke up sobbing with wet streaks down my face and my breath catching in my throat.

It was exactly 5:38 am this morning. There’s nothing significant about that time really.  It’s the time I wake up for work every morning, but today is Sunday, not a workday.  It’s close to the time I used to get up every morning when I was a little girl just to drink coffee with my Daddy.  Mine was more milk than coffee, but it didn’t matter.  I was with my Daddy. It was our tradition and I never missed it!

My dreams about Daddy always sneak up on me.  It’s as if he’s watching and somehow manages to hijack whatever mundane scene I find myself in.  I never see it coming.  He’s just there and at first, I forget he shouldn’t be. And when I realize this, my heart feels the loss, full force, all over again.

I always say that next time I’m going to talk with him, but so far, my tears never allow that to happen and I’m yanked back to reality and left a sobbing, sniffling mess. At least this time, he spoke to me.

Twice!

I’ll take what I can get. For now.

I love you Daddy. I’ll see you again.  Soon.

___________________________________________________________________

Photo credit: bionicteaching via Visual hunt / CC BY-SA

Be Worthy of the Sacrifice: The Importance of Celebrating the Fourth of July

Most Americans are proud folks. We’re proud of our heritage and proud to have fought for and won our independence. People from other countries often call us arrogant, but do we care? Absolutely not! We are proud to be Americans and we’re not afraid to sing it to the heavens and we do!

Now, if you multiply the pride the average American feels by about 100, you have the sentiment veterans and current military members possess. Even those who reluctantly enlisted or were drafted are still proud of their service and what that service represents: Pride, Honor, Integrity, Loyalty, Sacrifice, Bravery and more. I’m willing to bet that even the most pessimistic of people have to admit that these are desirable traits for anyone to have. People who make our country exceptional possess these qualities.

Parades, barbeques, beach, river, lake or pool time, parties with family and friends and fireworks are the typical holiday activities, but to me it’s so much more. Amidst the revelry of parades, the boisterous voices raised in celebration and the boom of fireworks, I see this day as a time of quiet reflection. It’s a day to remember those exceptional people I served with during my time in the Air Force. It’s a time to be thankful for the ones who had the vision to declare our freedom and then sacrifice everything to obtain it. It’s a moment to remember and honor those who continue to guard our independence and ideals in this hostile world. It’s a chance to rejoice in what we so often take for granted: our FREEDOM! We are free to do, to live, to be what we strive to be, but don’t be mistaken. Freedom isn’t a God-given right. It’s an invaluable gift purchased with precious lives proudly offered up in the name of honor, strength, and love.

The Fourth of July is a chance to show our pride, our patriotism, our love of country and fellow Americans. It’s a chance to put aside all the politics, the hatred, the racism, the demons we still deal with as a society. This day allows us to focus, for a brief time, on what makes us good. And honorable. And precious. And worthy of the ultimate sacrifice.

And if we have any sense at all, we’ll realize, we aren’t worthy. Not yet! And we’ll strive to be better, to love more and unconditionally. We’ll speak up to protect the rights of all people, even those of different races, religions, social statuses, and orientations. We’ll work hard to lead by example. We’ll listen with objectivity and endeavor to put aside our hidden agendas. Our ultimate goal? To be the people worthy of the sacrifice so that the children we raise will grow to be the future worth saving.

 

Dear Daddy

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Dear Daddy,

I had that dream again.  I came to the house to check on something for Mama.  It seemed she had a duct leak somewhere in the ceiling and drops of water were dripping down on a little desk in the room, ruining God knows what. There were people there, cleaning or working on things.  I don’t know which.  But as I rounded the corner in the hallway to come into the living room, there you were again, just like the last time I dreamed about Mama and the house.

You were sitting in your chair with your slippered feet propped up and coffee in your hand.  I know it was my imagination, just wishful thinking or even my eyes playing tricks on me.  But you were there!  Your blue eyes bright and smiling, you face ruddy with health and your brown curly hair thick and slicked back as only you could wear it.  That spotless white t-shirt and blue jeans without a flaw completed my image.  There you sat, as if the last 20 years had never happened!

Yes, that’s what it had to be, just my mind playing a horrible trick on me. I was seeing you there because I wanted to see you there so badly. I closed my eyes and listened to your voice as you talked and laughed and I waited for the memory to fade away.  But it didn’t!

I opened my eyes and  you were still there, and Mama was just sitting in her spot smiling and looking like the happiest woman on earth.  Another worker made her path through the living room and passed right between yours and Mama’s chairs, nodding her head at both of you.

I was so shocked, I didn’t even speak to you, even though I had years of words I wanted to say, hugs I wanted to give and receive, and sweet whispered encouragement I needed to hear from you and no one else.  I walked right by you, trying hard to ignore my obvious insanity and not look where you sat. My logic insisted I was having a breakdown.  Facts were facts, after all.

You were gone from Earth in a blink of an eye, your body devastated for years by a cruel and relentless disease.  A weaker man couldn’t have fought as well as you did nor would he have had the inner strength to press on, even when it seemed God had forsaken you. You never wavered in your belief.  You never doubted God’s plan for you and for your family.  You were our rock and shelter, no matter what you were forced to endure.

But even the strongest of wills must eventually succumb to a frail body. You passed peacefully after a week of Hell, hooked up to more wires and tubes than I have ever seen on a single person.  You moved on to your well-deserved reward, but a piece of me was forever ripped out. I was now a fatherless child even though I have children of my own.

I couldn’t help but stare, and yes!  You were there, patting your cheek with one hand as if you, too, couldn’t believe it was full and smooth instead of sunken and wrinkled.  I asked Mama to follow me to the other room, but I never said a word to you.

“How can this be?” I demanded of her, “You see him sitting there too, don’t you?”

“Yes, Debra!  He’s here!” She was beaming with unmeasured joy and happiness. “I don’t know how, but I know he’s here and it’s not our imagination!”

“But how is this possible?” I asked and started to cry.  “This doesn’t make sense.  He can’t be here.”

“But he is!” she said as she held me by my shoulders and then hugged me tight as I sobbed uncontrollably, now believing the miracle I was seeing.

Then I woke up.

It’s the worst dream I’ve ever had.  It’s something inside of me that feels I should suffer, I guess. I think I’ve accepted your loss, and then my mind does a whammy on me, plays a cruel trick.

I live with guilt and I know it. I wasn’t the best daughter and I said things that I will regret for the rest of my life, and I wasn’t there in your life at times because I didn’t think you really wanted me to be.  I allowed my sisters to tell you things that simply weren’t true and I never defended myself.  I foolishly assumed you would believe them over me, so I didn’t bother to try.  I even listened to some of the mean words they told me you said about me, and I took them to heart, hardening that heart against you, the very man by which I measured all other men.  How stupid of me! Now I regret not just going to you directly.  I see now that you would never have done that.  You loved me and you were proud of me, no matter what.

But in my dream, I still don’t have the words to say.  I stare at you in shock, then leave the room to ask Mama if I’ve really gone crazy.  Both times I’ve dreamed this, she assures me that you are really there, but I know it’s too good to be true, so I wake up crying that wailing, heartbroken cry of pain from one who has lost someone they deeply loved, someone who made the world a better, brighter place.

I am too old to believe in Lazarus miracles, even though I did pray that God would come down and heal you as you lay dying.  I wanted to believe he would make an exception for you. I want to believe that God is here for each of us and isn’t too wrapped up in running a universe to care about the specks of dust we are. I want to believe it’s all gonna be ok.

As I sit here mulling over my dream of you, I wonder if you are somehow sending me a message.  Mama tells me each time, “He’s really here!” and she’s so happy, not just holding it together for our sake and her own sanity.  She’s happy beyond measure.

Do I hope that you are here watching over her, making sure she’s safe?  Do I read it as a message of faith that you are still in our lives in spirit, no longer suffering from the frailties of your human form? Is it a sign that you’re happy and content with the legacy you left behind?  I don’t really know at this point.

I do know one thing, however.  The next time I have this dream, you and I are going to have a very long talk.  I miss you, Daddy.

With love always,

Your eldest daughter Debra

 

5 Ways to Be A Better Parent For Your Teen* (Or How NOT to Kill Them!)

limitesenlapreadolescenciaParenting is a difficult job. It’s also one that causes the most self-doubt. No matter what you do as you raise your child, most parents end up wondering if they’ve been the best parent they can be. That, however, is not a bad thing. The doubt, those regrets, and the constant self-evaluation are all part of the process of being a better parent. As my father said long before anyone famous ever did, “Only a fool has no regrets.” I consider this bit of wisdom every time I feel I’ve really made a mess of my parenting skills.

With all that in mind and three teens in my house now that the youngest has entered middle school, here are a few tips that may help you be a better parent for your teen.

Tip #1: Stay calm. Even though you want to snap back at their sarcastic-sounding remarks, keep your cool and ask for clarification. Oftentimes teens aren’t even aware that those once sweet little voices are now seething with disgust, condescension or attitude. When my middle son was 15 years old, he was the worst about that with his deep “man voice”. When I questioned his tone, he was often surprised I took it the wrong way and highly offended that I would think he was being sarcastic. I still have to explain how he’s coming across at times, but at 17 now, he’s far less likely to use that tone we parents all come to know and despise.  Even now, I’ll still question his tone if I feel it’s necessary. At least with my questioning, even if he was intending sarcasm, it gives him a chance to amend his tone without having to take it any further.

Tip #2: Don’t ignore your teen. This may sound unbelievable, but as a teacher, one of the most common complaints I hear from my students is, “My mom just ignores me!” or “My dad doesn’t even talk to me!” Many even believe their parents don’t like them at all. Knowing how teens act, any parent will tell you there are times we truly don’t like our teens, even if we always love them. Even though teens can drive us crazy, they are still kids inside those grown-up bodies. They need love, affection, and attention, even if the signs they send tell you otherwise. Make time to talk to your teen, not fuss, but normal conversation just as you would with a friend. Ask questions about their day. Ask their opinion and don’t let them exclude themselves from your family activities. Be sure to include activities that you know your teen would enjoy. But even more importantly, don’t allow them to continually distance themselves from you. If they aren’t building relationships with you, they could be building them with others who don’t have their best interests in mind.

Tip #3: Be consistent and reasonable in your discipline. Because teens have a knack for really getting under your skin, it’s easy to let anger rule your actions. It’s painful to feel betrayed when teens rebel against your rules and, (this hurts the most), you. What happened to that sweet child you once had, the one who wanted nothing more than your attention? When your teen lies to you, (yes it will happen), doesn’t do what you’ve told them to do, or breaks your rules, keep your wits about you. You are the parent and in control. Make the punishment fit the crime. I’ve been so angry at times, I’ve wanted to take away all things he enjoys and then send him to boot camp! But after my sanity returns, I realize that my actions are really just a reaction to the hurt he has caused me because he didn’t do what I expected of him. And most of the time, it’s not really an attempt to defy me. He’s just being a typical teen and not thinking about his actions.

Tip #4: Don’t embarrass your teen in front of his or her friends. You may think it’s cute to bring up silly things he or she did as a baby or you might not even think twice when you fuss at them for not cleaning their room or doing the dishes. Yet, your teen could find it humiliating and worse yet, you could be setting them up for teasing from their friends. Teen girls, in my experience, are much more sensitive to this than boys are, but I’ve yet to meet a teenager who doesn’t mind being embarrassed by their parents. Consider yourself as your teen’s number one fan and always act accordingly when around their friends. They will be very grateful to you even if you don’t hear about it until they reach adulthood.

Tip #5: Be your teen’s advocate, even in high school. When my oldest started high school, I found that I was a little intimidated, not only by the idea of him being in high school, but by the teachers and staff as well. Being a teacher myself, I can assure you, it was nothing his teachers did or said. He had wonderful teachers during his freshman year. It was the thought of HIGH SCHOOL. Maybe I had convinced myself that my teen was a young adult and now capable of taking care of himself. Maybe I even felt that if I continued to watch over him at the high school level, it would cripple him socially or even cause his teachers to believe that I was over-protective.

Now I realize that I let go of the reins at a very fragile time. He went from being an honor student to almost failing eleventh grade! Ninth grade had gone so well, I thought the next two grades would be fine. They weren’t. His schedule was not the best for him. I left it alone because I hoped his counselor would adjust it at his request. She didn’t. He was in a few classes that had discipline issues. He wanted to be moved, but they told him no. I asked about the possibility when I should have been insisting. Nothing changed except my son. He became uninterested and he felt helpless to make things happen. He even became withdrawn. When I realized he was in danger of failing, the protective mother returned.

A couple of trips to see the principal and his guidance counselors took care of the problems and got him back on track. There were no ugly words exchanged or threats of any kind. They were more than willing to help, especially since I was there clarifying my son’s problems and concerns. He knew what he needed; he was just not quite able to get things taken care of on his own.

My middle child is going to be a senior this year and yes, we will definitely continue be actively involved as needed.  His high school experience has been much better thanks to what we learned with our oldest child and already having good relationships with his teachers and his guidance counselor. We’re also lucky to have a wonderful, more involved principal at the high school.  She’s done wonders for morale for teachers AND students.

My  youngest (and only daughter) is starting high school this year. That’s a little scary, but I’m confident she’ll have a good experience. She’s more prepared just because her two older brothers have already paved that road for her and as parents, my husband and I are as prepared as we are ever going to be.  Knowing her brother will be there with her makes us even more confident she’ll be just fine.  However, this won’t be our excuse to slack off.  We will be on top of things throughout her high school years.

I hope these tips will be useful to you and as your teen gets older, you’ll form an even closer bond. Just remember that no matter what, hugs and kind words are never wasted on those you love.

*Originally published on Yahoo Voices on 1/13/2012

Look Through My Eyes

Life can be cruel, especially if you are in school and not a part of the popular crowd.

———————–

  What would you see if you looked through my eyes?

Would you know the deep sorrow I feel?

Pain, bitter loneliness. Soft whispered cries,

Accepted by none, a smile: my disguise.

 

They gossip. They laugh. Chat about the dance,

There’s no compassion or love in their souls.

To walk down that hall, to take that big chance,

Lower my head and my eyes, don’t dare even glance!

 

Their contempt is as clear as the words they now sneer.

I’m not worthy to breathe the same air.

Oh God, why me? Why must I be here?

Oh please, just one day, without bullies and fear.

 

What would I see if I looked through their eyes?

Would I see just how worthless I am?

They tell me I’m weird, someone they despise.

They posted on Facebook, “HaHa! Hope she DIES!”

 

What would you see if you looked through my eyes?

Could you find the compassion to care?

Would you stand by me as it comes from all sides?

Could you be my friend, not believe all the lies?

 

If only, if only, you could look through my eyes.