Bend, Oregon Vacation for the Girls

June 29, 2013

The girls went with their dad to Bend, Oregon for his family vacation for the second year in a row.  Bill is planning to retire in Bend with his wife Laurie in a few years, so he's introducing the area to the girls and to his step-daughters, Kim, Liz, and Morgan.  Morgan wasn't able to join them in Bend this summer, since she's studying abroad in Germany, and Nicholas stayed home this year to help care for his Grammy.  The girls, however, had a good time shopping, hiking, and rafting on the lake with they were there.  I love that they get a chance to bond with Kim and Liz, who are grown and leading busy lives in San Diego and Phoenix, respectively.  This brings them all together once a year to reconnect.

End of the Year Robotics Party

June 26, 2013

Nicholas got to attend the end of the year robotics party today.  There was basketball, swimming, food, and friends.  I just love this group of people and the way they not only work together, but genuinely have fun together.

My Talented Daughter

June 10, 2013

I continue to be amazed by the talent Danielle has in art.  She was bored over the weekend, so she did a little 'doodling' to kill time. 

Closing the Books on Another Year

June 7, 2013

Farewell for now...

Worth It? Absolutely!

June 5, 2013

Hundreds of hours of of planning. Thousands of papers graded. Countless discussions and student interactions with 175+ students. A multitude of phone calls and emails over the course of the year. One heart-felt, handwritten thank you note from one of those students at the end of the year=totally worth it. I can't tell you how much it made my day. No one can tell me that ONE person can't make a difference, because that kid made a difference to ME!

Commencement Address, From the Sidelines

June 4, 2013

Like many hundreds of thousands of people across the country, I will be sitting in attendance at a high school graduation this evening. I will be listening to words of wisdom and acknowledging the amazing achievements of young scholars, the future leaders of tomorrow, in this annual rite of passage. From the sidelines, I’d like to add my own little bit of advice to the graduating class.

Tonight is a momentous occasion, as you well know. Whether you are being recognized for feats of academic prowess above and beyond your classmates, or whether you struggled and sweated out each (barely) passing grade, this is an achievement worthy of note. It is worthy of pride. Some of you saw your path early on and doggedly pursued excellence, and some of you made mistakes or overcame significant obstacles to bring you to this milestone. Either way, you can hold your head high and revel in where you are at this moment.

However, I have always contended that the graduation ceremony is not as much about you as you might like to think. That diploma that you will get to hold in your hand? That’s all about you. But the ceremony? No, the ceremony is a collective effort, and a collective acknowledgment. No man succeeds on his own, just as no man fails on his own. Each student who crosses that proverbial finish line is aided, assisted, cheered on, challenged, and at times even dragged by supporters. This is your opportunity to publically give thanks to those who were instrumental in guiding you along the path that got you here tonight.

So this, then, is my advice: take this opportunity. In this all-about-me society, step back and look at the bigger picture, where you can see and acknowledge all of those people who are holding you up there, or have held you up. It is no sign of weakness to admit that you’ve been given help; rather it is a sign of maturity to be able to view yourself and your achievements in a larger context. You are a part of a whole—an important part, but a part, none the less. This moment of your graduation is a rite of passage for you, but also for all of those who have touched your life or impacted you significantly as you made your way here tonight.

Thank your parents, who have nurtured and supported you for these past several years. You may not have always agreed with them; they might not always have agreed with you, but this ceremony tonight is about them as much as it is about you. They have sacrificed and loved and fretted and worried alongside you more than you could ever know. And your grandparents, your step-mom or your step-dad, your aunts and uncles, your brothers and sisters? They’ve been there with you every step of the way, rooting for you and cheering you on. (Okay, so maybe your brother hasn’t said he was proud of you, and your sister might not have said lately that she looks up to you, but he is, and she does. Brother and sister subtext can be a little deep sometimes; you’ve gotta look really closely.)

Your biological family isn’t the only group of people who figuratively stand behind you as you sit up on that commencement stage this evening. You have a host of teachers behind you, from pre-school all the way through this year’s government teacher, who have had a hand in your success this night. They may have taught you to read, they may have taught you algebraic equations. They may have taught you scientific properties, or they may have taught you how to write a research paper. They may have taught you about the causes and effects of World War I, or they might have taught you how to balance a checkbook. More importantly, though, they might have helped you gain confidence, or determination, or might have challenged you in a way you hadn’t been challenged before. They might have helped you not to just know facts, but to think about the ‘whys’ and ‘why nots’—to ponder the bigger questions. They might have shown you that you are not merely a statistic on a STAR test to them; they might have shown you compassion. They might have reached out in a way that spoke to you, that showed you they care. If you have one of those teachers, or two, or ten—acknowledge their influence. Thank them. This night is about them, too. They cried and worried and cheered alongside you, probably more than you know.

Many of you sitting up in the stands have been involved in sports, both on campus and off. Those coaches weren’t just teaching you how to run a football play, or how to hit a baseball, or how to throw a discus. Those coaches weren’t teaching you karate or dance or water polo. Those coaches were teaching respect, teamwork, discipline, and work ethic. These are the characteristics that translate into any field, anywhere. These are the invaluable traits that will make you invaluable in your respective professions as you move out into the rest of your life. It is possible that you will never kick a soccer ball for the rest of your life once you leave the playing field of your high school, but you’d better believe that those other traits will follow you wherever you go from here on out. Thank your coaches. This night is also about them.

Tonight, as you sit up in the stands, also know that this night is about your principal, your vice principal, your counselor, and your staff secretaries, food services folks and grounds keepers. These are often the unsung heroes who make your school the place where you were able to mature into the young men and women you are, on the verge of stepping out into the world you will one day run. It takes incredible energy and effort to run all of the behind-the-scenes operations that are the foundation of your education. It takes caring individuals with great attention to detail to support you all in the work you have done to get here. It might not be something you think about every day, but that’s because it gets done so you don’t have to think about it. Your schedules are built, your buildings are cleaned, your progress is watched, your curriculum is updated, and your books are purchased so that when you come to school, you just have to worry about doing your job. This night also belongs to all of those people who have set the scene behind the scenes to make sure you have all that you need here to succeed. Thank them.

This night is also about the friends who have supported you through the best parts and the worst parts of high school. It is also about your church families, your social workers, and your family friends. It is about your neighbors, and it is about your employers. It is, in short, about community. You are there, and those accolades belong to you. But each of you has a wealth of support behind you that deserves to be recognized. Even those of you who have had difficult relationships with family members or teachers you feel didn’t support you, or those of you who have had a somewhat rocky road with enforcers of a dress code or tardy policy you disagreed with—yes, even those challenging relationships helped put you where you are right now. You persevered; you became stronger through those challenges. People will fail you in the future—not ‘may fail you’, not ‘could fail you’—they WILL fail you in the future. The person who fails you may even be yourself. We are fallible. This may be hard to remember, sitting in the stands on this momentous occasion, but we are fallible. But what you have learned, through experiences you’ve had thus far, is that if you are failed by someone, even if that someone is yourself, it is not final. It is not fatal. You have all had those experiences in some way or another, and yet, you are still here. You have still made it to this moment. Why? Because you are part of a larger whole, and if one fails you, there are ten more still behind you. Look for those people, and thank them. This is about them too, tonight.

No man succeeds alone, and no man fails alone. Be proud of your achievements, and look to the bright future ahead of you. But never forget to look around you and acknowledge those who are standing with you. You are not alone, and sharing in our collective successes is one of the most rewarding things we can do. You’re going to continue to need some of those folks in the future, and they’re going to need you, too. Be sure to let them know you know they’re there. And every once in awhile, especially on a night like tonight, say thank you.

Memory Lane

May 18, 2013

Mike McGough, and old friend and colleague of Mom's from Clovis High, has been scanning and posting all sorts of pictures from his old yearbooks lately.  As I was scrolling through the hundreds of pictures (from several years) that he'd posted, I found a few of myself from my senior yearbook.  It's been really fun to see all of the comments and responses from the many students he's reconnected with as he's taken us all on this trip down Memory Lane.

Pancakes, Anyone?

May 1, 2013

I'm the only one on the planet apparently who doesn't like pancakes.  I don't like waffles and I can't stand syrup, but mostly, I really, really, really don't like pancakes. 

The rest of the world, however, views them as comfort food, symbolic of home, love, Mom.  Idyllic family around the breakfast table kind of symbolic.  Somehow pancakes are something like the Norman Rockwell nostalgia food.  I don't get it.

When I was a kid, my mom would try every possible way to make pancakes appetizing to me.  Maple syrup?  Nope.  Berry flavored?  (Straw-, blue-, rasp-....whatever.)  Gag.  Plain butter? Mush sticking to the roof of my mouth.  Thin, thick, covered in whipped cream or powdered sugar, spread with peanut butter and rolled up?  Even covered with chocolate syrup?  There may have been melodramatics involved in my reactions to any and all of these offerings, but the response was always the same at its core:  no amount of disguise could mask the unmistakable taste and texture of the awful pancake.

You might not know it to read about my adamant response to pancakes, but in virtually all other ways in my young life I was a people-pleaser.  I wanted to make people happy and have them smile at me.  (Really, I wasn't a brat.  I was a good kid who tried almost any food my mom set down in front of me, at least once.  That was our rule.)

When I was eleven years old, my mom hit a crossroads in her life.  For her safety and well-being, she decided she needed to get herself and her kids out of our home and onto a new life.  We were without home and without most of our belongings, and the youth pastor at our church opened his door to us on that first night while mom tried to figure out what her next step should be.  I knew, as did all of my siblings, that we were to be respectful and thankful guests in his home, since Mom felt guilty about imposing herself and all five of her kids on someone else. That's a lot of baggage. We were quiet, probably a little frightened and stunned by the turn of events that led us to their doorstep to begin with, and having left our home--for good, it would turn out--late in the night, we were exhausted.  Not much talking that first night.  That would come later.

We slept in our clothes and woke up the next morning all huddled together in blanket pallets on the floor.  After all, not many people have an extra five or six beds at their disposal, so we slept together in the living room, Mom on the couch and the rest of us on the floor.  We awoke foggy and not quite remembering where we were, whether or not the events of last night had been a terrible dream.  Our youth pastor's wife, knowing everything we had gone through the previous evening, did what many folks do in those kinds of situations--she cooked comfort for us.  Breakfast was already being served up on sunshiny yellow plates at the kitchen counter as we stumbled out of the living room rubbing the sleep from our eyes.

Hopping up onto the high kitchen stools, she set a plate in front of each of us--three huge, fluffy pancakes each, laden with butter and dripping with gooey, sticky maple syrup.  Sher--the youth pastor's wife--had kind eyes and was wearing an-everything-is-going-to-be-alright smile, one that was meant to be reassuring to us.  "Your mama's still asleep; let's let her get some rest while you eat breakfast."  She noticed me picking at mine and mistook my lack of interest for depression or sadness.  "Honey, please eat up.  Everything is going to be okay, I promise."  And she looked at me with such earnestness, such a desire to make us all feel okay again, that I couldn't let her down.  I felt guilty.  Ungrateful.  And so I ate.  And she smiled.

I choked down every bite of those three over-sized pancakes.  I'm not sure how I did it, honestly.  But I was proud of myself for being the good guest, allowing our host to feel good about making us feel better, and I turned to my older brother to ask about whether or not we'd be going to school that day.  After all, our world had pretty much turned upside down.  Did normal rules apply still?  I turned back to finish off my orange juice just as Sher was coming back with a spatula stacked with three more pancakes.  "Here, Sweetie.  I knew you must have been hungry!  You ate those so quickly, I thought you might want seconds."  I tried to decline, but she insisted, thinking I was just being shy.  Just then Mom came into the kitchen, also still in her clothes from the night before, bruised face and swollen lip still evident from her struggle the night before, the cause of us leaving behind everything we knew.

"Donna, what are you eating?  You don't like pancakes!"

I saw Sher looking a bit crestfallen.  "No, no, Mom.  It's okay!  I like them now!"  Sher went to take back the three new pancakes back.

"You don't have to eat them if you don't want to.  You should have told me!  I would have made you something else, poor thing!"

I felt bad.  I didn't want her to think I didn't appreciate her feeding us all, taking care of us.  "No really!  I want them.  I'm still really hungry.  May I have them, please?"  Ignoring the look from my mother, I watched Sher load up my plate with more butter and syrup, and then I dug in.  And I ate every last bite of pancakes number four, five, and six.

Immediately after I finished, I excused myself and promptly went to the bathroom to throw up.  Thirty-five years ago, and I haven't eaten a pancake since.

That incident didn't cause my intense dislike for pancakes, but I'm pretty sure it sealed the deal. 

 

A Good Day At Work

April 23, 2013

I love it when my students do well and earn their As and Bs, but there is just nothing like the satisfaction of telling a kid who struggled and worked to bring up a well-below-the-line F to a solid mid-range D that he's passing (and will graduate if he keeps it up). I almost cried twice today telling these kids how proud I am of their turn-arounds!

Ya Think They'll Notice?

April 16, 2013

I found myself in line at Walmart yesterday behind perhaps the dumbest criminal I've personally encountered.  He was in the express lane with four items:  a very large 'assembly-required' above ground pool (not a kiddie pool, mind you-a full-sized pool), two additional jumbo outdoor waterslide contraptions, and an expensive outdoor speaker set.  When the cashier rang up the first item, the pool, it rang up $1.88.  The cashier looked a little puzzled and said, "That doesn't seem right.  I wonder if there's another barcode on the box somewhere."  She turned the box over and found another barcode, scanned it, and seemed a little more satisfied with the price--closer to the $100 mark than the price of a king-sized candy bar.  She kept going on about how strange it was that the pool had the wrong price tag on it while the customer shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.  All the while, the cashier continued to ring up the remaining three items, not paying much attention to the prices as she scanned them, engaged as she was in the conversation with the young man trying to deck out his back yard for summer fun.  She finalized the sale and gave him is total: $148 and change.  Still waiting patiently behind this guy, I thought, "Seriously? That's the grand total?  Those speakers alone seem like they'd be worth more than that."

Before the young man went to make payment, the cashier summoned over a manager, who had been hovering nearby.  She required his assistance, since the speaker set had one of those security locks wound around it, which he had to unlock.  He came over and scrutinized the receipt and informed her that the SKU on the speaker box was not represented on the receipt.  She had scanned the barcode, but that barcode did not represent the product sitting before them, since the speaker set was a $499 set (thus, the security cable).  She kept trying to explain that she had, in fact, scanned what was on the box, while the manager continued to tell her that the items and the barcodes did not match up.  After several minutes of back-and-forth, finally the customer threw his hands up in the air and said he wasn't waiting around for them to figure out their system problems.  He walked out, empty handed.

After he left, the manager explained what had really happened:  he said the guy was  known as a frequent thief, one who regularly switched barcodes and changed prices.  He said he had stood there and watched him put the $1.88 price tag on the pool while he was waiting in her line, and another tag on the speakers.  She was upset that no one had told her to watch out for the guy if he was known for this sort of habitual fraud.  The manager was just waiting to thwart him and turn him away, hopefully without incident, by refusing to sell the items at what was clearly the wrong price.  I was surprised that they didn't want to go after him, but I suppose if he didn't actually complete the purchase, he didn't commit a crime in the strictest sense of the word.  (All of this explanation happened in front of me, the next customer in line, with several side-long, almost conspiratorial glances at me, as if to include me in the incident--it was us against that customer, and we'd won.)

So, although I don't necessarily think the cashier was as quick on the uptake as she could have been, I also think that the would-be criminal was criminally stupid.  If you're going to switch price tags--which I'm not in any way advocating, mind you--why on earth would you switch the price tag with an absolutely implausible one?  Wouldn't you think you'd want to put a tag on it that wouldn't arouse suspicion by any reasonable and half-way intelligent person?  Also, if you're going to try to get away with something like that, why would you choose an item which REQUIRES a manager to come over and remove a security tag?  There was nothing low-profile about the moves he was trying to pull.  Some might say audacious; I would venture to say just plain ol' stupid.  

Was it amusing to watch this guy feign first ignorance and then indignation (at the supposed incompetence of the Walmart barcoders who were clearly out to cause him problems)?  Well, sure.  But mostly it was a great source of irritation that while I watched this bungled sitcom of an attempted fraud unfurl before me, I wasted about fifteen minutes in line, impatiently tapping my toes waiting for my turn to purchase my three measly, correctly barcoded items.