My goal is... I'd like a career of something.

Let's start with my career from my previous "lifetime". I am slowly starting to realize that I was a conundrum in the classroom. A "Geographical Oddity" of philosophies, if you will. Until I began to study Education in College, I believed whole-heartedly that teaching was my calling. From as early as I can remember, it's what I wanted to be. As a matter of fact, it was kind of like the family career. My mom is a teacher. My Uncle is a teacher. What would be wrong with being a teacher?

Nothing, if I fit the mold.

Ohhhh, but since when have I ever tried to fit a mold? My first and foremost divergence from the mold, I now realize, was the fact that I do not have the "Bleeding Heart Liberal" sentiment that seems to be the nature of many teachers. Now, I don't mean this in a bad way. In fact, I think it's what a teacher should be. A teacher should see the good in every student, the potential, the spark. But I can't. I see the world as a place where everyone has "their place". Some people are meant to be Doctors. Some people are meant to be brilliant Novelists. Some people are meant to be a CEO, a Lawyer. Whatever. Some people are meant to do the heroic work. The Teachers, the Firefighters, the Policemen, the Military. And some people are just meant to do the work. You know, build a house, fix a car, ppave a driveway. Bag the groceries. Pump the gas. It's not degrading. It's a job. A job someone has to do. Certainly, and I am being totally serious and honest here, the world would cease to function as we know it if everyone decided they were too good to do these jobs.

But that's where the Education System is headed. We are training our students and their parents to believe that everyone has an equal shot to be a Doctor or a Lawyer or whatever White-Collar job they want. And that just isn't true. Yet somehow, we've become conditioned to believe that if we don't let Tommy take Algebra like everyone else, he'll feel inadequate and never try to rise above the bar. Listen, I can tell you from first hand experience that Tommy felt worse trying to do what everyone else could do when he couldn't, all because his parents refused to believe that their son wasn't as capable as the rest of the kids. There's no shame in not getting Math, or not being good at English. There's no shame in not understanding Spanish. I firmly believe that for 90% of the population, the fact that they are not good at one thing (IE School) means that they are good at something else. So why do we insist in Education on treating everyone like they have the same brain, all the while cleverly disguising it under the guise of "Differentiated Instruction", so that to the outside world it looks like we are teaching everyone equally. News Flash! We're really not. We're just soothing egos. We're taking the hard stuff out of the equation for the less capable students so that everyone can say they passed Algebra (yes, pun intended). As if the fact that you gave Tommy a "B" in Algebra is really going to get him through College. Tommy is going to spend thousands of dollars of his parent's money partying his way through Freshman year, just to drop out and end up where the Educational System refused to admit he would end up. At a job that does not require a college education. And it will be hard, but he can make ends meet. He may not own a Million Dollar home, or a Brand New Car. But he could. He could if he found his niche and worked hard enough. That, my friends, is the American Dream. You work hard, you get rewarded. This whole notion created by the Educational System that everyone else is going to work hard to make things easy for you is a disaster waiting to happen. Give it 20 years. You'll see.

My second, and much less troublesome deviation from the teacher mold was the fact that I couldn't just follow the book. Noooooo Sirree, the book never had just the right lesson. I needed it BIGGER and BETTER every time. So, I spent far far too much time creating more work for myself by brainstorming grandiose schemes for Lesson Plans. Which then led to grandiose amounts of work for me to check, which no one ever did anyways. So why did I torture myself so?

And let's not forget the parents, whom I so slightly touched upon in describing my first deviation. Parental Interaction had a tough mold for me to fit in because I just plain wasn't going to give in. I made my rules and I stuck to them. And the more you tried to strong-arm me, the more the rules seemed set in stone. Every teacher knows how to give wiggle room. Every teacher knows how to take wiggle room away when it isn't deserved. And you telling me that I am wrong, that your son deserves to take a test over , or should get a second chance on his Notebook Check (in Algebra Honors) because he has an IEP that "clearly states" he is disorganized will certainly not win you any Wiggle Room. Why not, you ask? See my first deviation from the mold for your answer. If your son can't take the heat, don't put him in the Kitchen. Don't tell me that your a Superintendent and you've "never heard of teaching that way", and that it can't possibly be true that I teach "that way". I don't take kindly to name dropping, or prestige dropping, as it may be. I'm Passive-Aggressive. That means I sit silently, yes-sing you to death, letting you think you've won, when really, I've already planned a retaliation against you so perfectly executed according to the rules that you can't argue with me when you lose. Oh, and you will lose. But, see, teachers shouldn't think that way. Teacher should only have nice bones in their body.

Now I have clearly laid on the line the fact that I just wasn't cut out for Teaching. My heart just wasn't in it. And I will honeslty tell you if you ask, that I think I never gave it my all. I never felt right about Teaching, so I never put myself into it full-throttle. Sure, I had great ideas. But my steam always ran out half-way up the hill. I had dreams of glory every First Day. And by the end of the First Week, I was counting the days to Christmas Vacation, strategically plotting sick days just to get the most out of the one perk of my miserable job. Even things like Women In Technology, a program I truly believed in and wanted so badly to be an intricate part of, became just another escape from my real job.

Alas! Don't fret My Dear Reader. For I now know the reason that Teaching was so difficult for me. I was in the wrong institution. And I was in the wrong field. It's no secret, I can crunch numbers. I love Math. But do I have the knack for explaining it to a bunch of 15 year-olds? No, not really.

You know what I CAN explain, and elaborate on, and extend into any situation? Do you know how I can be all that I can be? I'll give you a hint. It's not the Army Reserve. I'll give you another hint. I'd be in a college. I'll give you a third hint. I'm going to start my own school in a college. Pick any Liberal Arts Institution. I'll establish my school there. We'll work out just how to use the Degree later. But, by golly, this is it! This is my dream. My perfect job. The one I can go to everyday, without using another sick day ever again.

Drum Roll please.
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My Dream Job is to be a "Professor of Pop Culture Quotology".

C'mon, take it seriously for one second. Do you know the talent and dedication it takes for a person to speak nearly half of their conversations using quotes from songs or movies? Do you know the incredible amount of brain space it takes for a person to remember where they saw "that actor" first? Or what song was really that bands first single?

And, yes, obviously, I've already planned for Matt to be the Dean of Admissions into my new School. Somebody has to be able to interview the applicant in proper "Quotology" style.




P.S. Was that "more words" enough for you, Mr. Anonymous?????

Oh My God! You Are Huge!

http://www.gap.com/browse/category.do?cid=10700

I have one word.

Why?

I Know Politics Bore You...

There's a reason that I do not enjoy Political Discussions. To put it plainly, the reason is this:

I have friends and I'd like to keep it that way.

But let me elaborate. The idea of a Political "Discussion" is a complete oxymoron. Nobody really "discusses" politics. What they really do is try to shove their opinion into your head and down your throat. And if you disagree, you're the BAD AMERICAN! They say things like "Well my husband serves in the military, and he's out there fighting for something he believes in, and I support him..."

Well, I support our Troops too. I support them because they dedicated their lives to our Country, and they honor that commitment to defend our Country's decisions no matter what. For that, I am grateful. If we did not support their commitment, where would they be when we really needed them???

But I do not have to support what they do just because I support why they do it. And that's why I love living in America. Because in America, I am allowed to have such an opinion. And I can't be persecuted for it. At least, not by the Government. That doesn't seem to stop the average citizen from attacking anyone who doesn't see things "appropriately".

It's like a home-grown version of Torture Methods. In order to convert you, many will speak their Political Opinion (considered "Political Fact" in their mind) with an ever-increasing volume. As if the fact that their voice being louder than mine makes me wrong. Or maybe it's the idea that if they speak louder than me, I will have no choice but to believe them. It's a twisted version of "The squeaky wheel gets the grease."

If their loudest voice can't make you sway, they switch to personal attacks. They use questions like "How can you consider yourself a humane person if you let all those people suffer?" or "How can you live with yourself knowing other people do not have the same comforts and rights as you?" (And these personal attacks are the reason you lose friends when you talk Politics.)

I'd get into my own answers to the above questions, but I don't want to make this about my opinions. I just want to confirm the fact that because I am in America, I can have whatever opinion that I want. I can choose to talk about it if I want. And I do want to talk about it. If you really mean TALK. I want to sit down and exchange ideas, quips, and points of view. I want to walk away knowing that I explained some things to you and you explained some things to me. Neither one of us necessarily has to change our minds. Neither one of us has to be right. Neither one of us should make the other feel like less of a person for believing what they do.

Because here's the thing with Politics. It's all theory. How do we really know which side is right? How will we ever know? I don't think we do, or ever will. It's like Art. What you see as beautiful and inspiring, I can see as a big ol' mess. What you see as genius, I can see as ordinary.

...And neither one of us is ever really "right".

Where Were You?

I've been catching various 9/11 Documentaries on TV today. And I have been hearing clips on the radio from that day. Is it too cliche to talk about it here?

I remember where I was when I found out. I had just finished teaching my first period class. I was walking to the Teachers' Room to make copies, and I saw everyone watching the TV. So I checked it out, and spent most of my free period just staring. Marveling at the images, knowing I was seeing something that would define a generation, like the Kennedy Assassination. I too , would never forget that day, the same as the people in November 1963.

Art was going Underway that morning. I was so afraid he wasn't coming home after the short couple of weeks that were originally planned. I couldn't get in touch with him on his cell phone and at that time I wasn't aware of numbers I could call on the boat. I do know that he tried to call me that morning. I rushed out of my classroom in the middle of a lesson and tried to call him back, but no one knew who I was looking for. It was a scary thought, imagining that he may be gone for an undetermined amount of time and that I hadn't been able to say good-bye properly. As it turns out, he wasn't out too much longer than planned. A relief beyond reliefs.

When I look back now, I know that 9/11 was a turning point in my life, as I'm sure it was for everyone in the U.S. I've always been more apt to stay home and enjoy being with my family. In college coming home for breaks was more than just a vacation from school. It was a time to recharge my feelings of belonging somewhere, no matter what. I would never have given up a Family Party to do anything else. Before 9/11 it was just something that I seemed to do out of habit. Since 9/11 I've come to see things differently.

Now, I spend time with family knowing why. I do it consciously, because I know that the most important thing in the world is your family. Every moment could be the last moment, the most special moment. I try my hardest to always appreciate each moment, and let my family know they are important to me. Always. 9/11 taught me that there are people who lose their families to tradgedies of all kinds everyday. Some tradgedies are personal. Some are wide-spread. But in each tradgedy, no one saw it coming. No one thinks that any day will be the last. But it could be. You never know.

I Need a "Thinking Chair"

It seems that Fate, or God, or other Super-Natural forces are trying to tell me that Art and I are not thinking enough. When it comes to this whole changing Commands deal, it would seem that there are many factors we have left up in the air. Many important factors. And every which way we turn, someone is asking us the same questions. Which makes me wonder: Why didn't we think of that before??

Let's make a list of all those factors, shall we? (I heart lists!)

1. The baby's official due date is April 17th. We are due to transfer at the end of February into March sometime. So, I will not be able to deliver the baby with the doctor that I love so much. She seemed very distraught over this, and even suggested that I stick around, possibly stay with my parents, and she will induce labor in the 39th week so that I will have the baby here.

2. If I do follow the above plan, Art will have to schedule the time off of work. And, we will have to travel 3 hours back to New York (if that is where we end up...) with a Newborn. And a 2 1/2 year old.

3. If I do not follow the above plan, and we do move to New York, I may not have developed a network of immediately local friends that I can lean on for help by the time the baby comes. My fear is that a second baby is harder than a first. Having James barely put a dent in our home routine. It may have changed our social life, but our home routine barely felt a ripple. I fear that a second baby will cause much more upheaval. Not only will I have left my friends behind, but I wont have any family around either. Art's leave will only be for two weeks, tops. What happens after that?

4. Will we even get to go to New York? Although I was at one point OK with Washington, what happens if I really do have to go out there? Am I really ready for that mentally, now?

5. Wherever we go, it means we have to sell the house. The Realtor wants us to put it on the market September 20th. That means there are so many details to fix in the house, it takes all my First Trimester energy just to do it. You best believe I have a list goin' on for all the tasks to be accomplished!

6. Putting the house on the market means giving up all our weekends at home. We're going to have to pack up and run out every time someone wants to see the house. Not looking forward to that, dragging James around all day during nap time and what-not. Plus, during shift work, Art is on Mid-Shift, which means he'll have to leave the house during the time he's supposed to be sleeping.

7. By putting the house on the market on the 20th, we risk actually selling it that quickly. Then, where do we live until the end of February?

8. Art doesn't really have his orders yet. If we sell the house before he gets his orders, what happens if he never gets them? We can't quite go and buy a house in New York without REALLY knowing if we are going there. Right now, we don't really know. So buying a house there would be a big mistake.



The way I have been dealing with this is pretty much by using the Ostrich Method. I'm putting my head in the sand and figuring if I can't see it, then it can't see me. In 10 days, that method is not going to work so well.

I don't really know what the answer is to any of my ponderings are. I suppose one thing to do would be to write down a response to every scenario, with the Pros and Cons. At least if I prepare myself for any possible outcome, nothing will be too daunting.

Why am I so soft in the middle...

...When the rest of my life is so hard?

As I type, I am on hold with HP. Stupid, stupid HP. They "fixed" my Laptop alright. They wiped the entire G-D thing...to replace the fan. Then "Achmed ", who replaced all the hard-working people in America that might actually understand what I'm saying tells me that it's Best Buy's fault for not telling the service people not to delete my files. Because a default in Windows might cause my fan to stop working, so HP's policy is to wipe the hard drive first and ask questions later. Uh. Riiiiiiigghhhhhttt. How about the fact that anyone who knows anything about computers would know that a fan doesn't stop working because Windows has a bug? The guy on the Geek Squad probably just assumed that whomever (grammatically correct, yes??) repaired the computer would at least be as intelligent as him, seeing as they have to actually know something about computers to repair them. Like maybe they'd know that Windows doesn't even control the fan, I'm sure!!!! So why would he make a note not to delete the hard drive; it isn't logically necessary.

Know what the worst part is? It's not the files that I know I've lost. It's the files that I don't know I've lost. Know what I mean? Not to mention all the Favorites I had saved, all the music I have to re-download from ITunes (who thankfully took mercy on me and will let me do it for free...I'll never speak a bad word about Apple again...), all of the programs I have to re-install, and all of the files for the Family Support Group that I have to gather from e-mails and download again as well. Days of work. Days, I tell you...