While Sitting at the Computer at School

Dear Institutionalized, Systemic Homophobia:

I’m done with you.  And, to top it off, it seems like you need some kind of proof that you still permeate through every bit of air, some areas more toxic than others.  You seem to say things like no one cares about that anymore—you drop words like domestic partnerships as proof.  You correctly refer to the ways in which much of the world has changed.  

And it has. 

But not enough.  Not nearly enough. 

Here are just a few reasons:

·      When major political candidates promise a constitutional amendment to keep gays and lesbians (by law) as inferior human beings, and there isn’t a national outrage, and this candidate isn’t blackballed from his campaign, but, is instead, the ‘leader’ in his party, there’s too much TOLERANCE for homophobia.

·      When another political candidate thinks that being gay can be prayed away (I guess that’s what her husband did), there’s too much TOLERANCE for homophobia. 

·      When, out of the 5,000 or so books my school has in its library, not one of them mentions having two moms or two dads, there’s too much TOLERANCE for homophobia.

·      When, in referring to homosexuality, it is still implicitly or directly connected to bestiality and/or polygamy, there is too much TOLERANCE for homophobia. 

·      When it is automatically assumed that, yes, even children are straight—when we ask little girls if they have crushes on boys and vice-versa, there is still too much TOLERANCE for homophobia.

·      When, while sitting at a computer at school, a young Human Being gets shot in the head for having called a male classmate his Valentine, there is too much TOLERANCE for homophobia.  For calling him his Valentine.  He was killed. 

It was the shooter’s fault.  But, had the air been cleared, had we gotten INTOLERANT to homophobia, I bet this wouldn’t have happened. 

·      When our goal for relating to each other is TOLERANCE and not ACCEPTANCE, there is too much TOLERANCE for homophobia. 

Signed,

Can’t Believe this Kid was Killed.  The world can no longer accept breathing in bigoted air of any kind.  

A Series of Personal Questions from a Stranger

Dear Lady in Line at Target with the Imodium and Gossip Magazines in your cart:

Here are the answers to your questions:

·      Yes, he’s our son.

·      Yes, he’s adopted.  Perceptive.   

·      He’s 6 1/2.

·      I know: he’s small.  By the way, he knows it too.  Thanks for reminding him.

·      We got him at 7 months. 

·      No, he doesn’t speak Spanish.  Let’s remember… we got him at seven months.  As humans, we do not automatically speak the language of our heritage.  Language is learned.  For example, I do not speak German or Russian. 

·      Well, if he chooses to learn it.  I, for example, have no desire to learn German or Russian. 

(a Target in the eastern hemisphere?)

You see, Lady in Line at Target with the Imodium and Gossip Magazines in your cart, you caught me on good day.  A pleasant mood.  The brisk air-conditioning in the store served as a welcome respite to the fourteen thousand degree valley heat. 

As such, I stood waiting to pay with no ax to grind, no thorn in my side, and not even angry that I chose the slower line (due to the air-conditioning, I suppose).  Why I even answered your questions, I have little idea.  Maybe I could tell by your choice of such scholarly news magazines as Star and Us that you have a genuine interest in the human condition. 

I fear, though, that, for example, had the air conditioning not been working in the store, had I been in a hurry for my paper towel and dog biscuit purchase, had I been cursing myself for my ill-fated expertise of always choosing the wrong line, or had I just simply had a Daniel Powder Bad Day, my answers may have been more like this:

·      Yes, he’s our son. 

·      No, he’s not adopted.  Ever hear of a little show called Oprah?  Ever hear of a little episode called First two Women to Conceive?

·      I don’t know how he came out Hispanic. 

·      He’s 37. 

·      Yes, he still likes to ride in the cart. 

·      He does speak Spanish and 83 other languages including, but not limited to, Taiwanese.

(after our interview, she concluded she had, in fact, heard everything.)

The truth is, though, that I probably answered your questions because you didn’t seem like a mean person.  A little invasive, yes.  A little boundaryless, yes.  Nevertheless, in looking in your eyes, I didn’t sense any judgment.  Maybe it’s because you had the juxtzpah (no spelling suggestions from ms word) to ask, instead of merely choosing to stare too long at us.  

Living in Los Angeles, we don’t get a lot of weird stares, but we still do get them.  I hope I educated you in some way, however small, or merely reminded you that there are different kinds of families.  I know that you reminded me that not everyone’s interest is mean spirited. 

But, I think I do deserve a question or two to your ten: namely, is there some kind of connection between the Imodium and the magazines?  Also, why the runs?

Signed,

I Also Wonder Things

Please let the Teacher Relax

Dear Young, Giggly Women in Palm Springs near the Hotel Pool,

It scares me a bit that you’re teachers.  I only know your profession because of your seeming lack of volume control.  No offense: you may be wonderfully gifted with kids—it's obvious that all three of you are loud enough for any child to hear from clear across any playground.  Yet something about, perhaps, your carefree laughter and grand interest in the Kardashian wedding does concern me some.  It makes me, in these last glorious days before the stressful schoolyear begins, nervous.  I was hoping to enter a sort of Zen State prior to having to enter the Realization Zone that I will soon be responsible for the education of 30ish kids.  Hence, the hotel stay.  But, alas, even here, you prevent me from experiencing any sort of blissful denial. 

You planted yourself right near me.  It’s crowded, so I don’t take it personally.  But, I long for you to, at minimum, and for the love of GOD, change the subject.  Being the professional that I am, I will refrain from screaming what others might: namely, shut the F up. 

I’m frustrated because in the last ten minutes, you have succeeded in dropping a plethora of LAUSD acronyms.  There’s nothing I can do to avoid you—there's no other available beach chair.  I suppose plugging my ears is rude.  But, really, I’d rather you name drop instead of acronym drop.  So far, one or the other of you has uttered letters including, but not limited to, ELD, CELDT, ELL, IWT, IEP, ELA, TPS, and ABCDEFG.  Here’s some letters for you: UGH!

(not me)

I’m not sure why I fear we share the same occupation.  Maybe it’s because you’re so bubbly and loud? And young?  Maybe it’s because you watch the Kardashians.

In my very serious professional environment (did I mention my school scored 826, and potentially higher, on our API?), my colleagues and I don’t’ go home and read up on the goings-on of Untalented Rich People, like Khloe Kardashian.  Instead, we go home and review such things as Marilyn Burns books, the California Dance Standards, and our ELSIG treasury.   Funny how you left out that acronym—maybe the most important one of all. 

Additionally, the teachers at my school don’t partake in such trash on television of which you refer.  Please.  We’re much too evolved.  Instead, we bask in the glory of such highly acclaimed and esteemed shows as, oh, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Biggest Loser, Dancing with the Stars, and (my favorite) various shows on addiction (the best is watching meth addicts. Not sure why). 

So, you see, Young, Giggly Women in Palm Springs near the Hotel Pool, maybe it would behoove you to ZIP it.  Maybe you should just suck it up and take in some rays.  Throw on some earplugs and listen to ELD chants.  Think-Pair-Share with each other about where to go for dinner.  Whatever you do, leave me out of it.  You’re irritating. 

In thinking about it, though, there is, I suppose, the slightest possibility, that maybe, just maybe, you drive me crazy because each of you sound vastly more ready for the school year than I am.

What channel is that dumb show on anyway?  Where was the wedding?

Signed,

Anxiously-Soon-to-be-back-to-the-Grind

A Realistic Teacher Preparation Program

The new school year is on my mind. As my anxiety surfaces, I remember that you can’t be taught to teach.  There’s no program to prepare you.

The two things I took away from my education program: incorporate technology in your lessons, and if someone bleeds, stay away from the blood.  Also, don’t let other kids touch it. 

After a few years in the classroom, here’re just three of the many pieces of information I’d include in any educational program in order to better prepare the future teachers of America. . . 

1.     When walking around your classroom, you will constantly step on things—pencils, erasers, pins (previously called thumb tacks), dry-erase marker caps, and a note that a student intended to pass, but either never made it to the recipient or the recipient didn’t bother to throw it out.   You will find the note especially disappointing because of all of the misspellings. 

Usually you will step on something particularly annoying when there’s some sort of major classroom ruckus of simultaneous goings-on.   A girl will be crying over girl-drama, the principal is on the P.A. and you can’t hear what he’s saying (but it sounds important), and there’s only thirty minutes left to prepare the students for a test, pass it out, and have them take it.  It’s then that you will step on gum that shouldn’t have been in the school to begin with.  As you step on it, a kid with a horrible cold and snot drippings will ask for a tissue and the school is out of them: budget cuts.  You’ll tell him to get a paper towel, but we’re out of those too.  You’re so mad about the gum that it will be really, really hard not to respond like this: “Ever hear of a little thing called a sleeve!?”

2.     Whenever an elementary school child does something wrong, it’s an accident.  In response to these accidents, you will hear yourself saying things like, “Well, Martin, I’m 42-years-old, and in my entire life, I have never ACCIDENTALLY elbowed another person in the gut.”  Or, “Well, Angela, in all my hundred years on planet earth (some of them will believe you are 100), I have never ACCIDENTALLY called another person fat.  Another favorite: “Which part was the accident?  Constructing the perfectly geometric paper airplane when you should have been working on your paragraph or throwing it clear across the room when we were lining up for recess?” (Some things never change.)

3.     Being a teacher (especially at my school) is like triaging emergencies.  As teachers, we have to figure out who’s bleeding the most, try best to address that need, and then move down the list to the student who is next in line for some sort of (usually major) intervention. 

So, not only did my teaching program not prepare me with the real goings-on of a classroom, they also delivered misinformation.  Many of these kids are, in fact, bleeding.  And I do need to get close to the blood.  As teachers, we just try to be careful. 

Would love to hear more important information for future teachers from my educator friends… What tidbits would you include in a teaching program?

Your Pet Costs A Lot?

Dear Lady At The Vet’s Office with the (probably real) Designer Bag (how would I know?) Who Didn’t Want to Buy her Sick Cat Some Medicine Because of the two-figure “Cost,”

Um, maybe I can offer a little perspective.

Our twelve-year-old yorkie wasn’t cheap when we got him—well, not to us.  We’re people who should adopt from a shelter, but we can’t resist purebred puppydom.   Please don’t judge: we try not to.  The 600 bucks took a bite out of our paychecks, but having the tiny black ball pounce all over me as I lay on the floor made it worth every penny.

His running stopped soon.  So did his eating.  Long story short, we got a lemon.  Born with a congenital condition, at five months old, Superhero VetMen with large hands had to use tiny instruments to shut down one of his teeny arteries so that proteins wouldn’t bypass his liver.  While under the effects of amnesia these Superheroes also took the opportunity to remove a row of his double teeth.  (what a reject dog we got). Cost?  $3,000.

We were told that he’d still lead a good life, but he’d have to be on prescription dog food.  Plus, because of his compromised position, every time he has needed teeth cleaning, it has literally cost $700.  This is an annual fee. 

All of these aforementioned costs, of course, were being tallied before what will heretofore be referred to as the Big Incident (BI).

Also before the BI Jack got into some grapes.  Turns out, good for people: not so good for dogs.  He had to be monitored and given fluids.  Cost?  About $1000. 

Other Small Things Before the BI:

·      When at the groomers, apparently the anal-glad secretion created some discomfort for the little guy’s ass.   He moped around in such a peevish state that we dragged him to the emergency vet.  Nothing wrong, but the emergency vet fee is like $75. 

·      When we put some kind of flea treatment on him, he acted like he did with the anal gland.  Another useless trip to the emergency vet, just in case!

Five years ago came the BI.  It was morning.  Diane took Jack to the front yard to pee.  That’s when I heard the scream.  Diane doesn’t scream.  So, the fact that it was a curdling scream wasn’t comforting.  

As the story goes, two hungry pit bulls had been out for a few days without any food.  They took one look at Diane and Jack and licked their lips.  They hunched before the attack.  This is when we learned who the real superhero was.  Jack.  Later, the emergency vet would tell us that he protected Diane. 

Anyway, one of the pit bulls got Jack in his mouth and shook him like a rag doll.  By the time I made it outside, Jack lay on the grass and his fur was not attached.  He was like a peeled orange.  I instinctively took off my shirt, scooped him up, and (with one shoe) ran to a neighbor’s. 

He survived.

It was 3 ½ weeks of touch-and-go.  At one point, they had us transfer him (he was so pathetic and half-dead looking) to the most esteemed animal hospital in Los Angeles.  Amidst the effects of numerous medications and zillions of complications (including pneumonia), during the trip to the west side hospital, somehow Jack lifted his head to offer me a kiss.

That was the $10,000 lick.  At that point I realized that even if he didn’t make it, it was okay for us to have paid so much money and incur such debt.  I needed that last kiss from him.

He did make it. 

Since then, Jack has had congenital heart failure and a collapsed trachea.  Every six months he gets a thousand dollar echocardiogram.  He is currently on seven medications, totaling about $125/ month.

Our grand total?

So, Lady At The Vet’s Office with the (probably real) Designer Bag (how would I know?) Who Didn’t Want to Buy her Sick Cat Some Medicine Because of the two-figure “Cost,” you made a commitment to this creature—sorry.  The moment he/she became yours, you signed up for all of the costs that came with him/ her.  And, frankly?, $39 sort of seems like a bargain.

Signed,

In Debt

State Tests: Math & Language Arts

826.  The number of marbles in a jar?  The amount of calories in a McDonalds McFlurry (with oreos)?  The real time that a show starting at 8:00 ends?  Or… how my school did on the state test?  Bingo.

This number probably doesn’t mean a lot to you unless you’re a teacher or if your child goes to a school that uses federal money.  In short, however, this number means that the teachers and students at my school worked their a%@$es off during the last school year.

We largely teach students who live in poverty and are second-language learners.   The poverty part is the stickler.  It manifests itself in small and large ways on an everyday, every-hour, every-moment basis. 

  

There are so many issues surrounding the state test, that to address them all would be 1) impossible, and 2) not something I’m interested in doing.  Here’s the one issue, however, that I can’t get over.  First, know this: I don’t think the state test is the “enemy.”  I believe that there does need to be some sort of thermometer at the end of the school year.  The problem of course is: what are we measuring? 

Someone decided that today’s elementary schools need to focus on language arts and math.  I don’t know who came up with this, but ok.  And it’s not like I don’t agree, I just don’t know…  Nor do I know how the people who decided this, well, decided this.  Ah, but I digress…

Check this out:  for the last many years (I’ve been teaching for 8), every May, California students have been tested on, well, California standards.  And?  So?  Well, these California standards are markedly more difficult than the national standards.  In fourth grade, we’ve been teaching things that I didn’t learn until middle school.  Frankly, we’ve been teaching things that I don’t even think fourth grade brains are ready to learn.  I wonder why California scores have paled to scores in other states…hmmm….

My belief is that instead of learning how to write a five paragraph essay or add fractions with unlike denominators, our fourth graders become survivalists and mimic steps to solving problems when, in reality, they have little idea what they are doing.  In short, they Manage.

Where is this blog going?  Well, in a year, California will no longer test children on the more difficult California standards.  We will, instead, be testing kids on the (easier) national standards. These standards are more realistic.  The fourth grade brain might, in fact, be able to grasp the concepts of the national standards.

So, what have we been doing for the last many years?  Are the kids that were tested on the California standards going to develop into smarter people?  Why are we switching to the national standards?  Why are we focusing on language arts and math?  

Here’s California’s educational goal:

California will provide a world-class education for all students, from early childhood to adulthood. The Department of Education serves our state by innovating and collaborating with educators, schools, parents, and community partners. Together, as a team, we prepare students to live, work, and thrive in a highly connected world.

While I’m incredibly proud of what my school is able to accomplish in the midst of substantial obstacles, I still wonder.  826—it’s fantastic.  But, it’s 826 in math and language arts.  In a world riddled with paralyzing problems, in a country where the middle class is becoming a memory and the United States no longer manufactures anything, shouldn’t our educational system correspond more with what’s really out there?

In looking through any day’s news headlines we must conclude that children also should, perhaps be tested on SOCIAL SKILLS to “thrive in a [blah, blah blah]”  Also, considering the fact that the apparent goal of technology seems to be embedding computers into our skin, shouldn’t science fit in somewhere?

And a whole separate issue has to do with this: many of our kids constantly experience failure and frustration in school.  They might thrive in a place where they could learn woodworking and circuitry.  But, no: language arts and math, language arts and math, language arts and math. 

The switch of the standards from the California standards to the national standards gets me because it just underlines that what we are being asked to teach the kids seems so random.  My colleagues are awesome.  We rise to the occasion.  I just am questioning what occasion it is that we are being asked to rise to.   

Waiting for your child's test results

Not proud at how irritating I found this experience, but when you are concerned for your son’s health… Note: “Patience” is not my middle name…

Here’s a little ditty entitled: “Things that can go wrong while you wait for your child’s urine to be tested in order to determine if he might have an onset of f-ing Juvenile Diabetes!…"

1)   The intake person asks what you mean by the fact that your child is having “accidents.” 

Um, you’re a PEDIATRIC INTAKE person.  I’m not talking about CAR accidents.  What do you think I’m talking about.  

Are you asking me to differentiate between pee and poo?

She’s silent and pissed.

By the way, I mean pee. 

“Okay, so her symptoms are a fever, a headache, anything else?”

BRYAN.  HIS.  

“Oh his symptoms are fever, headache, anything else?”

“Did I dream that we just discussed his accidents?”

Pissed silence. 

Hello?

Yes.  Anything else?

No, you’ve been great.  I have full confidence that this information will reach the doctor in tact. 

(In this economy, shouldn’t Rhode Scholars be answering the phones--? )

2)   You have to go to urgent care during rush hour in Los Angeles.  There’s construction and no one lets you change lanes.  When you eek your way in, a scary man in a white van honks at you and flips you off in a threatening way. 

3)   Of course, the waiting room is crowded.

4)   The receptionist keeps blowing bubbles, and, since it’s not even bubble gum (but regular gum), it’s especially loud and cracks when she chews.

5)   Someone with something contagious chooses to sit by you and breathes your way, despite there having been a couple of other empty seats.   

6)   An hour passes and every time the door opens, they call someone’s name that starts with a “B,” but isn’t Bryan.  “B—ianca.”  B—ecky  B—everly  B-arthalemuel—

7)   You finally get it in and the nurse thinks your son is so cute that she’s in no rush to take down information to speed along this process.  She would rather play with him and teach him about things like blood pressure machines and thermometers and ask him what grade he’s in and what he likes to do.

8)   45 more minutes later, the doctor arrives and speaks with a thick accent, so thick he’s hard to understand.  For the 17^th time, you have to go through the entire story of why you’re here—he’s been drinking a lot, so much so that he’s had some accidents (not car accidents), and he currently has a fever, a virus?  And his primary care doctor wanted to rush him to urgent care to rule out JUVENILE DIABETES BECAUSE IF HIS URINE HAS SUGARS HE WOULD NEED TO BE HOSPITALIZED AND HIS LIFE WOULD DRASTICALY CHANGE NOW CAN YOU PLEASE CHECK THE URINE TEST?????!!! 

9)   “Okay, yes.  Yes.  They did do a urine test.”  Tick, tick, tick, he’s reading, looking, reading, AAAAAHHHHHHH!

10)                     It’s negative for sugars.  Just a virus.  (actually this shouldn’t be on the list.  It’s the only thing that didn’t go wrong.)

Cheers to having healthy children and strength to those who don’t. 

Just imagining him this ill was enough to throw me over the edge.  

Our Dog, Jill

Don’t let the pretty face fool you.  This little girl just ran under the bed with the plastic applicator to a Tampon in her mouth. 

She likes to run to the very middle, so we can’t reach.  And that's where she keeps her stash.  Her "stuff," as it were... 

This dog is the reason I had to get a Target credit card.  I have had to replace 419 pairs of underwear.

So, as I get the broom and capture her current belongings, I can report that at this time she claims to own the following… the Tampon applicator, just one pair of my compromised underwear!, a couple of wrappers to various food items (and gum), a yogurt container (!), a piece of one of Bryan’s toys, a plastic top to a soda bottle and one to a bottle of medicine (!), and one of Bryan’s stuffed animals.  Also, there are some large dust bunnies, but I don’t think this is part of her stash. 

I suppose we should get the broom and sweep out that spot more regularly, but what’s the point.  Everything's already ruined.  The Bitch.  And I mean that literally.

This hearty, healthy, young dog is the laziest thing ever.  All she wants is human skin contact.  It doesn’t matter that you’re, say, lying down, typing on a laptop.  She just ajflkdjflakjf kljklajkjfd;  khahkjahfkn kjcljkbkljghak;fj;kajdafs will step over whatever  djlkfjda;lkjf ;lj;dlkj  fhdkfk she wants, to find a suitable place to djdfkjsd;kajf;dlksjf lkdjf;lkajslfkjdl;kfpurpu0912uj plop down for a good rest. 

God forbid she ever gets sick and the vet asks us if she seems “lethargic.”   That’s going to be tough to answer.   “Well, Doctor, I think the rate? of her breaths? have remained? consistent?”

It is primarily for these reasons that we've decided to sell her.  If you’re interested, check out EBAY to bid.  (Bidding starts at $1 zillion.  How could it be any less?!—look at that face!  Good luck!)  

No Pluto, No Donald

How come there has been no world outrage that Pluto is, allegedly, not a planet anymore.

Who decided this?  I don’t remember receiving any ballot in my mail, although I do lose things.

So Pluto just wasn’t good enough?  It was like that worksheet in school: circle the one that doesn’t belong?  Someone circled Pluto?

A bunch of scientists go into a bar (do scientists go in bars--?)… one says to the other—“We’ve been studying Mars for years, we still don’t know if there’s life there… we’ll never understand Pluto—we’ll never get to it!”

 Another says, “Let’s just tell people it’s not a planet anymore.  No one will know.  Just say stuff about stars and miscellaneous matter in space.  Believe me, people are dumb.  In America, they don’t even teach science anymore.  Remember No Child Left Behind?  Ha!” 

“But what about all the text books?”

“Who cares.  THE ECONOMY.  It will get the economy going—having to reprint all those books!”

By the way, what happened to Donald Duck?   We went to Disneyland last summer--he’s nowhere!  No Donald merchandise, no Donald rides, no Huey, no Dewey, no Louie.  

This isn’t right. Did the same person who banished Pluto banish Donald?  Who does this?!

I think Antarctica shouldn’t be a continent anymore.  It’s too cold and no one lives there.  Scroll that, CNN.   

Casey Anthony

Here's an example of a thing I struggle with--

The Casey Anthony verdict.  I'm still not over it.

Just thinking about it makes me feel like poison is flowing through my body.

Casey Anthony should be forced to bungee jump from the Eiffel Tower by her hair.  Refusing to repost her image, use your imagination.  

The force of the jump should make her scalp peel off and she should plummet to her death.  I’m not bitter.

They don’t cut hair in prison?  That’s sexist.   How come men can get their hair cut.   They should have to twirl their hair on top of their head too. 

According to Google, this is the guy with the longest hair.  I like that he's smiling.  His neck has got to hurt.  I'm still upset about the murder of a kid I don't know, and he's walking around with a thousand pounds on his head--probably in an impoverished country--plus, he's 452 years old and yet he's smiling.  

Me with long hair is just another reason it’s good I’m not in prison.   Next they’ll tell me I have to wear a skirt.  A prison skirt.  An orange, prison skirt.  With ruffles. 

I thought prison was like a mini-Gilligan’s island and everyone has their own job.  Like, someone’s the stylist--Ginger.  The professor is the dude trying to break out or find a loophole in the law.  Maryann cooks.  

I’m not sure what the rest of them do.  Ideas?

Why.

Just what the world needs.  Another blog, right. 

Karen, what the hell are you doing?  Are you really that important?  If you are reading this first blog you are probably a relative or one of my four friends.  THANK YOU.  I LOVE YOU.

There are so many blogs, that even if you were interested in finding one to participate in, where would somebody begin to look for one that felt right?  Instead of searching through the thousands of blogs to find one, I think I’d rather jump on them.  

Like a pile of leaves.  (by the way, this isn’t me: she’s much too happy and carefree).  (And dressed like a girl). 

My whole life, I wanted to be a writer—of novels, screenplays, and plays.  Not blogs.  So, why this?

The publishing world is changing.  Because of this, new writers need a READERSHIP.  And, blogs are the best way to find one.  People will choose to read things if they have a relationship with the writer.  I need RELATIONSHIPS.  There, I said it.  I’m not proud. 

I hope you could fit in one more relationship into your life.  I hope you try one with me. I'm asking for you to do the Special K challenge, but this one doesn't involve your weight or cereal… give me a couple of weeks and see if you notice any results?  (Please don’t tell me you’re already bored. )

I probably talk to four people a day when I’m done teaching.  My partner, my pal from school, my son, and possibly a relative.

So far, four people will read my book.  Publishers are already rushing to fight over my work!

So, I’m trying this.  But do I have anything to SAY?  What’s my blog ABOUT? What would yours be about?  Do you already have one? (remember, this is about RELATIONSHIPS)  (I'll read yours if you read mine--)

My Blog:

My favorite blog that I read is by a friend of mine who is currently fighting for his life in the midst of a horrible disease.  His entries are poignant and important.  

I’m perfectly healthy and have a decent life.  So what should mine be about?

Who am I?  Here’s the easy answer: I'm ALTERNATIVE.  I'll write about my ALTERNATIVE lifestyle.  Let's see: I'm married and have a kid.  I go to work and watch bad TV.  In short, I have a life and no style so this won't work.   

No.  Hmmm.  How about Jewish?  I’m Jewish.  Sure, I haven’t been to temple in 20 years, but I could blog about what it means.  In elementary school, I was one of four Jewish kids in my class and every year or so it was my turn to explain what Hanukkah is.  Fun times.   So, no, I won’t be blogging about Judiasm.

I’m a teacher.  I could blog about teaching.  Thing is, I’m not, say, the traditional teacher.  Whenever there is a teacher in some show, the teacher seems nothing like me.  Most teachers are sweet and kind and patient.  I love my kids and I love teaching, but I’m sort of Judge Judy in the classroom and when the day is over, I take off my teaching hat. 

I know.  I’m a parent.  Parents might come here and we’ll write about cool crafts to do with kids.  We’ll suggest books for children and post information about recalled baby toys.  We’ll exchange cute stories about our little ones and post pictures of them in Halloween costumes.  I’ll write about my son’s milestones and challenges…

What about a blog that focuses on being an ALTERNATIVE, Jewish parent who’s a teacher, but has no lifestyle?

The truth is, instead of any of these things, what I mostly am is a person who struggles.  Luckily, I am not physically struggling like my friend Tim (who will win this battle, gdmt!).  


But I struggle about different things on a daily basis.   For the past 42 years, what I do with my struggles is I crawl into my head and disappear.  Once in a while, I’ll tell someone. 

Thing is, I don’t think I’m that unique.  I bet my struggles are your struggles.  I bet we’re a lot alike.  Some of you may be better at “moving on” than I am, but my guess is that my struggles aren’t ALTERNATIVE struggles or JEWISH struggles or TEACHER struggles or PARENT struggles.  

My struggles are human struggles.  And maybe we share them.  And maybe we could chat or build a relationship.  Are you up for the Special K challenge?