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Provence: Day Zero

July 15, 2013

Had a wi-fi problem the first couple of days, so I’m a little behind. Here is the first entry…

We were scheduled to leave for France in 24 hours, and I was in the midst of packing, cleaning the house, and sorting out the last-minute details. It was then I noticed the puddle.

We had a few days of heavy rain (including a tornado just a few miles away), so a small amount of water on the basement floor wasn’t anything new or alarming. However, all of the water had dried up except for this one little spot. Most concerning was its location: right underneath the oil tank.

I leaned over to run my finger through the puddle, hoping to find nothing but dampness. No such luck–it was oil. I reached up to the valve, and it to was covered with oil. That’s a good sign, I thought. A leaky valve is a simple, quick job, probably not too expensive. I’ll call the oil company and see if they can come out today or tomorrow morning.

About an hour later, Mike from the oil company was at our door. Mike knows us pretty well. He installed our furnace, replaced one of our registers, and changed that valve only a few months ago. Part of me believes that Mike is the only person who actually works for this company, so I wasn’t surprised when he showed up.

I of course shared with him my superb diagnosis of the problem, because he clearly needs my help to figure out what it is he does for a living. Hopefully, he took it for what it actually was—not an act of condescension, but a gesture of optimism.

Either way, he spent less than five minutes to determine the real problem: the oil is not leaking from the valve. It’s leaking from the tank on to the valve. And the floor.

Oh. Right. What can you do?

“You need a new oil tank.”

Um…I’m leaving for France at 2:00 p.m. tomorrow. How are you going to install a new oil tank before then?

“Well, we can leave it for two weeks, and take care of it when you get back.”

Hmm. I’m thinking that Melissa—the young woman who will be housesitting for us—probably wants hot water for the next couple of weeks. Not an option.

A quick glance at our furnace, and its connections—all of which were installed by Mike—and he says “Take me two hours. I’ll be done before you leave.”

So while Valerie and I spent the morning before our trip finishing packing, eating any leftover perishable food (mashed potatoes with sliced cucumber and cheese? Sounds great!) , Mike and his assistant worked in our basement. A little more than two hours (and a little less than $2000 later) it was done.

As Rick Steves says: always reserve your museum tickets in advance, and be sure to engage in an expensive capital improvement the morning you fly to Europe. Keep on travelling!

Off to France!

July 11, 2013
Lavender fields in Provence.

Lavender fields in Provence.

This is not a travel writing blog. If you want to read an excellent one, I recommend Lesley Carter’s Bucket List Publications. Aside from being a relentlessly entertaining writer, you will develop an envy for the remarkable life Ms. Carter lives. Partly inspired by Lesley’s blog, I am going to dip my toe into the pond of travel writing.

Leaving on Friday, July 12, my wife Valerie and I will be spending two weeks in France–the first week in Provence, the second in Paris with a one night stopover in Chartres.

We will be bringing along our MacBook Air, so I will have the opportunity to blog about the trip. I have never done travel writing before, and I am excited to see how well I can translate my experiences into the blog.

There will be some photos to go with it, but you will be happy to know they will be taken by Valerie. Unfortunately, the Parkinson’s tremors generally create the illusion that I am taking photographs during an earthquake. However, if an earthquake does happen, I will try to take photos then, because I am curious to see how they would come out.

So that’s what you can expect from me for the next couple of weeks. Hopefully compelling details of our adventures, combined with some intriguing photographs. We will then discover how well I can get my Anthony Bourdain on–aside from snark and a love a street food. Got those already.

An Unexpected Honor

July 5, 2013
With members of the class of 2013, to whom I will always be grateful.

With members of the class of 2013, to whom I will always be grateful.

This was the third remarkable event, which happened just before the end of the school year…

A few weeks ago Diane, an esteemed member of our English department, stopped by my classroom after school.

“Hey,” she wondered, “were you planning on going to the Senior Banquet on Thursday?”

I wasn’t. I usually don’t. It’s a nice event in which the seniors get their yearbooks and enjoy a fun meal together, but I spend a great deal of time at my school already, so it wasn’t an event I considered a priority.

Diane was silent for a moment, and then responded in what I could only describe as a deliberate, suggestive tone. “It would be a really good thing if you were there.”

Um…okay. Thanks for that cryptic answer. Perhaps it would have been better in a coded letter?

It took me a few moments to realize what she meant. Diane, being yearbook advisor, is expected to attend, and outside of the class advisors, there is only one other staff member who is invited. And for only one reason. That had to be me.

When I finally absorbed Diane’s true meaning, I smiled and told her, “I’ll be there.”

I arrived at the banquet, and enjoyed mingling with many of the students, the class advisors, and my building principal. When it came time to distribute the yearbooks, the editors—two dear young women named Chelsea and Rebecca—read from a plaque they had prepared. Here were the words:

“Throughout these past four years, this teacher’s involvement with the members of the class of 2013 has been evident. Through his leadership of the GSA (Gay Straight Alliance) and the Connecticut Youth Forum, he has brought awareness and acceptance to the school community. Many students have the opportunity to learn under his guidance in his Civics and Philosophy classes. Prompting debates on important issues, he has inspired many students to respect differences in opinion and has opened their eyes to world issues. He has helped students self-reflect and has taught many in the class of 2013 about life in general. As a result of his investment in the betterment of the school, Mr. Kevin Brodie deserves the yearbook dedication.”

I know this is a blog, but my words cannot adequately express how moved I was by this dedication. I was district Teacher of the Year in 2008, and I was proud to be named so. To have the respect of your peers is extremely important. However, I became a teacher to make a difference in the lives of students. When they take the time to not only acknowledge what you have done, but honor it with their appreciation—that makes it all worthwhile.

I cannot imagine a better feeling as an educator. This dedication will stay will me always.

An Evening With Paul Rusesabagina

July 4, 2013

This is remarkable event number two.  Here is the story…

It had taken eight years.  It was May 2005 when I had first shown “Hotel Rwanda” to my Government and Politics class.  The students were held riveted by the remarkable story of Paul Rusesabagina and the lives of 1,268 he rescued from the Rwandan genocide. Everyone knows the story of Oscar Schindler, and the story of Chiune Sugihara has for years been a fascination of mine.  Unlike those gentlemen, Mr. Rusesabagina was still alive.  Was it possible to reach him, and invite him to our school?  What would it take to get him here?

I looked up Paul on the internet, and discovered he did make public appearances on behalf of his Hotel Rwanda Foundation.  I have always been a great believer in inviting interesting people to my school.  Very often, I get turned down, but occasionally the answer is yes.  A few years back, Senator Christopher Dodd finally accepted an invitation to visit our school and speak to my politics class.  My philosophy has always been: the worse they could say is no, right?

So, for seven years, I contacted the Foundation and left voice mails and emails that were never answered.  It was becoming a yearly ritual for me:  leave the message, don’t get a reply, and try again next year.  Don Quixote had nothing on me.  My windmill was the Hotel Rwanda Foundation.

And then a year ago, someone answered the phone.

This was Paul’s manager, an impressive bundle of energy and passion named Kitty Kurth.  I had a wonderful conversation with Kitty, but was discouraged when it became plain that we couldn’t afford Mr. Rusesabagina’s asking price.  I was encouraged, though, by Kitty’s final words to me:  “Don’t worry.  We’ll figure out a way to make this happen.”  For some reason, I believed her.

A year of exchanged phone calls, text, and emails, and I still wasn’t totally convinced it was going to happen.  Then on April 19, I got a text message from Kitty:  Paul will be at your school on May 14.  This is it!  Paul Rusesabagina is coming!  This is amazing!

Paul R on Stage

Then it hit me:  that left us less than three weeks to put the whole event together.

So, once again, my amazing battalion of students and staff came through.  The plan was that we would charge every patron who wished to attend a $10 donation to the Hotel Rwanda Foundation.  We would do publicity in local papers, local schools and colleges.  We would organize gift baskets to be raffled off, and the foods class would make items to be sold at a bake sale.  An aspiring filmmaker student of mine, Aurora, would videotape the talk and we would sell DVD’s to raise more funds.  Paul would also sell and sign copies of his memoir “An Ordinary Man.”  We would pull out all the stops to make this worth his while.

On May 14, I drove out to TF Green airport in Rhode Island and picked up Paul and Kitty from their hotel.  Paul Rusesabagina was in my car!  After returning to Connecticut and a lovely dinner with a former student and now colleague named Maggie, we headed to the high school.   Paul spoke to a packed audience.  It was a thrilling once in a life time experience for the student and community members who chose to attend.  I still can’t believe it happened.

We ended up raising $4000 for the Foundation, and I am grateful to all my colleagues and students who volunteered their time and energy to make it a reality.  I also discovered why Kitty was so optimistic:  she believes in public education, and makes sure Paul visits public schools–even those that can’t afford him.

Paul and I at his hotel in Rhode Island.  Even my hair was excited to meet him.

Paul and I at his hotel in Rhode Island. Even my hair was excited to meet him.

During his talk, I remember Paul saying this:   “All my life, I had been taught to fight with words.”  Fighting with words, of course, is how he saved all of those people.   That quote will stick with me for the rest of my life, and hopefully everyone else who was there that night.  As it turns out–an extraordinary man.

Observing World Parkinson’s Day

July 2, 2013

I know this actually happened in April, but I am very behind!  The school year was intensely busy, but the last few months were marked by some extraordinary events. I’ll be writing about them the next couple of days.  Here is the first:

I hadn’t really thought about April being Parkinson’s Awareness Month.   Perhaps it’s because Parkinson’s is the illness I live with, so I need no special reminder to be aware.  I was, however, struck by the observation of World Parkinson’s Day– April 11, in honor of Dr. Parkinson’s birthday.  I liked this because I’ve always appreciated the fact that Parkinson’s was not named after the first patient stricken with the disease; it was named after the physician who first diagnosed and attempted to treat it.  In 1980, Dutch horticulturist J.W.S. Van der Wereld developed a tulip in Dr. Parkinson’s honor, and since then the symbol of World Parkinson’s Day has been a red tulip.  Struck by this hopeful and beautiful gesture, I suddenly found myself inspired to do something.

tulip

I teach in a vocational agricultural school with a greenhouse and a dedicated group of students developing their floral design skills.  I began to wonder how possible it is to get red tulips we can sell on April 11, and then donate the proceeds to the Michael J. Fox Foundation.  It would be perfect–an awareness and fundraising campaign built around the day’s symbol.  Convinced of the efficacy of the idea, I spoke to Meagan, the floral design teacher, who assured me it was doable in two weeks.  We would sell 150 tulips at $1 each—not a huge amount, but as my father used to say “Don’t be afraid to piss in the ocean, because every little bit helps.”  Okay, maybe not the most applicable saying for this event, but you get the larger point.

Very quickly, my colleagues and students stepped forward to help advertise the event.  Flyers, posters, and a banner were put in place for all to see.  A student volunteered to help me with an announcement.  Another pitch was made to my colleagues at a staff meeting.  A battalion of students were recruited to help me sell on the 11th.  We began sales at 7:05 am in the atrium of the school, where all students and staff must pass through to reach their classrooms.  We were sold out by 7:35, and even after that, donations continued to trickle in.  One colleague wrote me a check for $100; another paid me $60 for one tulip, so that by the end of the day we had raised nearly $450.  I couldn’t believe the level of enthusiasm and generosity put forward by my colleagues and students.

As wonderful as that was, there were several magical moments from that day that will stick with me always.

–At about 10am, one of the secretaries showed up with two boxes from the Magnolia Bakery in New York. The Magnolia has been selling Fox Foundation cup cakes as a fundraiser, and my dear wife Valerie decided to surprise me with a box in honor of this day.  The second box was sent to me by my good friend and colleague Liza.  That’s right—I got not one, but two boxes of cupcakes!  I shared most of them with the staff members who had been so helpful, but kept two of them for myself because a) they were delicious and b) I am not an idiot.

untitled

–One student was so excited about the success of the fundraiser, he announced “Next year, we’ll tell Michael J. Fox about it and get him to come here!”

–Another stopped by to see me during the day to ask me what Parkinson’s was.  When I explained to her the illness, and the difficult symptoms it causes, she smiled at me and said, “But look at you. You do so well.  You’re here every day teaching!”

–While I was explaining the virtues of the Fox Foundation to one of my classes, another student said to me “We know it’s a good cause and everything, but you do know everyone did this for you, right?”

Michael J Fox’s memoir is entitled “Lucky Man,” wherein he describes how in spite of his illness, he feels he has led a very fortunate life.  While I certainly haven’t had the life of the fantastic Mr. Fox, I am beginning to understand what he means.

The Liebster Blog Award Challenge

April 16, 2013

I have been nominated by the superb Adite Banerjie to take the Liebster Blog Award Challenge. The aim is to help bloggers spread the word about each other’s blogs.  Adite is an excellent blogger and screenwriter, and I am looking forward to reading her first novel which will be published this fall.  She is also only one of only two of my Facebook friends whom I actually haven’t met.   As she explains, “Every nominee has to write 11 interesting/little known facts about herself, answer 11 questions set by the person who has nominated her and nominate 11 bloggers to take the challenge (and set 11 questions for them).”  So here we go.

liebster-blog-award1

First, my eleven facts.  I am going to try not to allude to anything I have already written about in this blog, but I may expand on them in later entries.

1.  I was once alone in room with Renee Zellweger.  Ok, it was a restaurant foyer, but both sets of doors were closed at the time, so technically this is true.

2.  I am the President of my local teacher’s union.

3.  Next year I will have my very first second generation student.  I am officially old.

4.  I have Parkinson’s Disease.  This is the only thing I have in common with Muhammad Ali–other than the killer right hook.

5.  I once had a pet tortoise named “Zorro.”  I lost him in a divorce.

6.  I was bullied in high school–by girls, who constantly made fun of the fact that I had no butt.  True, girls were making fun of me, but on the other hand they were paying attention to me.  It was a confusing time.

7.  I was part of a group of high school kids who heaved our lunches, rocks, and assorted bits of landscaping at members of the Ku Klux Klan.  I didn’t have a very nuanced view of tolerance in the tenth grade.

8.  I was cast as Horatio in a junior theatre production of Hamlet because I was the only one in the cast who could cry on cue.  Not sure what it says about me that I could do that at age 16.

9.  I am a recovering alcoholic with 29 years of sobriety.

10.  My college, UC Santa Cruz, at the time had no letter grades and was officially a clothing optional campus.  This was proven each day by the presence of “Naked Frisbee Guy.”

11.  Speaking of UC Santa Cruz, my wife and I had several classes together and some friends in common, but we didn’t meet until 5 years after graduation on the other side of the country.

I will now answer Adite’s 11 questions for me:

1.  What’s your favourite time to write or do creative work? And why?

I like to write late in the evening, I think because it taps into my natural night owlishness.

2. What’s the first thing that crossed your mind when you woke up this morning?

Is that the dog cuddled against me or my wife?

3. What’s the one thing that drives you batshit crazy?

Other than bat shit? Condescension.   It’s a great way to see how short-tempered I can be.

4. Describe briefly any one unforgettable moment in your life.

The day I married Valerie, my wife.  I remember being sublimely happy.

5. Which is your must-do dream vacation?

The Galapagos Islands.  The most unique place on earth.

6. Fill this blank: At age 10 you dreamt of “being _____ when I grow up.”

Someone who could talk without a stutter.  A bit sad, I know, but’s how I felt.

7. If you could travel back in time which “period” would you visit?

I’d go to London in the 1960s, so I could see the Who, the Stones, Yes, and Jimi Hendrix all starting out and playing the Marquee Club.

8. If you could transform yourself into a celebrity for one day, who would you pick?

Colin Firth.  That way I’d still have my wife’s undying devotion.

9. Complete this sentence. Fun is ________

Laughter.

10. If you could change any one of your (bad) habits what would that be? (You’re not allowed to say you don’t have any bad habits!!)

I would eradicate once and for all my social nervousness.

11. Tell us something that excites you about your current project.

It’s a teleplay about a high school, and it’s not silly and filled with autotuned signing.  In other words, its real, which means no one’s ever seen that on television before.

Now my 11 questions for A Detailed House, Brant Smith, Beneath the Lamp Post, Emily Knudsen, Lesley Carter, Melissa Nosal, Mike Barnett, Sanchari Sur, Sushil Kumar, Ayanna Nahmias, and Valerie Brodie:

1.  What’s the single most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you?

2.  What book do you remember reading as a child that has stayed with you since?

3.  What’s the one thing you would change about the world if you could?

4.  If you had to pick a moment in your life that defines who you are, what would it be?

5.  What song do you want played at your funeral?

6.  You can have any meal on earth tonight, and money is no object.  What do you choose?

7.  What is your greatest fear?

8.  What is your pet peeve?

9.  Who is the person you admire most in the world, and why?

10.  What is it in your life that gives you the most joy?

11.  If you could live in one place on earth (and money was no object) where would it be, and why?

Looking forward to your responses!

Growing Up a Part-Time Indian

February 20, 2013

Just a quick post  to let everyone know about a talk I am giving at Eastern Connecticut State University on Monday, February 25, 3pm, at the Student Center Theater.  As the title of this post suggests, it’s called “Growing Up a Part-Time Indian.”  I hope Sherman Alexie can forgive me for that.

I hope many of you can attend.  If you cannot, I plan on including many of the stories I will tell in future editions of this blog, so fear not should you miss it.

Check out the amazing poster created by ECSU student Melissa Nosal.  One of my former students, it was her idea to have me do the talk.  None of it would have occurred without her efforts, and for that I am grateful.  The poster is here:

Brodie-2-color

Melissa also does an excellent blog, which you can find linked at my blog roll below. Please do check it out.

That’s all for now.

The King is Dead

January 12, 2013

After a brief departure, I am returning to my stories.  I will not be reaching back as far into my past as I have with other posts.  This is a more recent event, as you will see.

It was an old Honda, maybe from 1990.  It looked like it was originally maroon, but so much of it had rusted and faded, it was hard to tell.  Parts of it looked brown, other parts looked positively orange. That wasn’t the most striking part about the car.  It was the way it roared into the gas station and screeched to a halt, tired brakes grinding and straining to freeze its velocity.

I was pumping my gas at a Mobil poised on a congested intersection flanked by two busy shopping malls.  There were also several other vehicles parked at the pumps  It was by no means quiet, but the car’s violent appearance startled me, and I turned to face it.  The one working headlight shut off, and a figure leaped out from behind the steering wheel.  In spite of the shadows, I could still make him out. Olive skinned,  about my age, sporting an unkempt beard matched with a wild head of curly, dark hair.  He appeared to be Middle Eastern–a strange geographic designation that included parts of three continents and was only coherent from the perspective of the Western Hemisphere.

His undetermined ethnicity was enough to cause all of us pumping gas to pause and stare at him in silence.  He returned our stare, still as statue.  None of us knew what was going on, and no one moved or spoke for a very long moment.  Then the Middle Eastern gentleman reached into his back pocket and withdrew a long, black canister.  Even though we couldn’t really see it, the shape was enough to raise the anxiety level in the station–you could almost hear everyone tense up.  The man pointed the cylinder toward the heavens and squeezed a small trigger near his hand.  The trigger snapped like a mousetrap slamming shut, and all of us jumped.

From the other end of the canister out popped…a tiny Egyptian flag.

Suddenly possessed by a spirit we couldn’t see in the darkness, the man threw his hands up in the air in triumph and shouted, “EGYPT! EGYPT IS FREE!!”  He bolted towards us, racing and serpentining through the gas bays, waving his flag and shouting “EGYPT!” over and over again.   This was followed by “NO MORE MUBARAK! EGYPT IS FREE!!!”  He twirled and skipped like a third grader on the last day of school.

Satisfied he had conveyed the necessary message to those of us outside, he darted into the adjacent convenience store and began charging and racing through the tiny aisles.  I could no longer hear him, but I spotted the word “EGYPT” on his lips several times.  His fists pumped the air as he continued to wave his diminutive flag.    After having exhausted the cramped space of the Mobil Mart, he shoved the glass door open, returning to us outside.   I could now clearly see his face bathed in joy as his entire body quivered with giddy laughter.

I found myself smiling, and to my surprise, envying hin.  I grew up in the United States in the late twentieth century.  I have never lived without the privilege of taking my freedom for granted.  I wondered how delicious it must taste to wrestle it away from a tyrant.  Before I could contemplate that thought any further, the Egyptian man was suddenly before me. I briefly considered giving him a thumbs up, but I changed my mind, unsure whether Egyptians found that offensive.

As I turned out,  I really needn’t have been concerned.  Yanking me into a firm embrace,  he shouted “NO MORE MUBARAK!” into my ear.  I would have happily returned the hug, but my arms were trapped under his, and his forearm strength was deceptively robust.  I noticed the other gas station patrons discreetly climbing back into their cars, no doubt fearful they were next.

Finally, he released me, and we enjoyed a hearty laugh together. Even though we had just met, and didn’t know each other’s names, and hadn’t really had a conversation, we laughed like old friends remembering an inside joke no one else understood. We collected our breath, and he gazed at me before shouting “EGYPT!” again.

This was followed by the gesture that surprised me the most:  he squeezed my shoulders and planted a kiss on my right cheek, and then another on my left.  He then grabbed both my hands and pulled them to the sky. This time, I knew my cue:  we both shouted “EGYPT IS FREE!” as a chorus.

He let go of my hands, and then almost as quickly as he arrived, climbed back into his depleted Honda.  Peeling out onto the road, he honked feverishly, and I could hear the faint cry of “EGYPT!” disappear into the night.

This Needs to Stop. Now.

December 16, 2012

After the horrible school shootings in Newtown, Connecticut on Friday, I felt the need to reach out to several friends and tell them I was glad they and their children were safe, and to also express my love for them.  Dan Blair, one of my dearest friends on earth, wrote this in response to my email:

“When I heard CT State Police say that the public was safe and the scene had been secured, I wondered what sort of dark humor that was … when have we been safe from …that?  We’ve returned to what things were the moment before it started and we weren’t safe then, either.”

There’s a reason we all thought Dan was the smartest guy in our grad program a few years back.  He was right a lot back then, and he’s right about this.  My school district’s Superintendent–after saying nothing about this to her staff the entire school day–sent out an after school robocall to everyone in the district assuring us that the schools were safe, and that we had instituted new safety procedures.  The problem was not simply that the Superintendent clearly read this prepared statement in a Watson Compter-like monotone.  It’s that many of those new procedures were also in place at Sandy Hook Elementary School.

When you are an educator and something like this happens, it affects you in a very particular way.  You look at you school differently, you look at your leadership differently, you look at your students differently, you look at yourself differently. You can’t help but think:  that could have been here.  If it had been, what would I have done?  What could I have done?  Every time something like this happens, all of us in this profession lose something we can’t get back.  And while statistically schools are still some of the safest public places in the world, we become very cognizant of what can go tragically wrong in the environments we work so hard to cultivate as positive, secure spaces.

A recent Mother Jones article showed that over the last thirty years, there have been 62 mass killings in the United States, defined as a public killing of more than four people.  That’s an average of more than two a year, but that doesn’t tell you the whole story.  Seven of those have been in the last twelve months.  The profile of the killers is very consistent: males in their twenties who suffered from untreated mental illness who had access to legal automatic weapons.  Morbid as it may have been to study this, it tells us two very important things about the country we live in.  One, our mental health system has failed.  Two, our gun safety laws have also failed.  This is clearly what we have to address.

We need to make mental health a priority again. It hasn’t been in quite some time, because it is deemed too expensive.  There are also no political consequences for attacking the mentally ill, as we generally have little or no sympathy for them in our society.  Programs get cut, few people notice or care.  Yes, it will be expensive–but we certainly have the money for costly wars and drone attacks.  Having a fully developed mental health care system would be a lot cheaper and actually keep us safer than attacking farmers in the Pakistani mountains.  Also, notice the irony that we have billions of dollars to commit acts of violence around the world, yet no money to help a mentally unstable person who might somehow get the impression that violence is an acceptable solution to his problems.

Secondly, our gun control laws must change.  Yes, I am aware that guns don’t cause violence and people do.  I am not suggesting we ban all guns.  I am suggesting we make it much, much harder for people to obtain automatic assault weapons like the Glock.   If you make it harder for a mentally ill person to kill dozens of people at once, two things are going to happen:  the violence will either not occur or it will be far less extreme.  The reason the people in Arizona were allowed to stop Jared Laughner was that he had to pause and reload after firing off dozens of rounds.  What if he had to after firing off just a few?  The situation would have been far less tragic.  Will this stop all of the mindless killings?  Of course not.  But since we can’t stop them all, why is it we can’t take any steps to stop some?

Yes, there are professional criminals who still be able to get automatic weapons illegally, but we aren’t talking about criminal mafias and drug cartels.  We’re talking about mentally ill loners unable to grasp the consequences of their actions.  Does anyone actually think that any of the mass murderers of Columbine, Aurora, and now Newtown would have been savvy enough to obtain their automatic weapons illegally?   This is not a radical idea.  We already agree there is a line. Even the most vociferous gun rights advocate would not argue that the average citizen should have access to rocket launchers, hand grenades, and weapons grade plutonium.  I am just arguing where I think the line should be.

Maybe you disagree with that, and that’s fine.  What you cannot claim is that nothing should be done to address our failed mental health system.  So argue that people should still have access to automatic weapons. But argue just as strongly that we need to invest in and overhaul our mental health system so the Adam Lanzas of the world get the treatment they need.  We won’t be able to help everyone, I know.  But we can help some, and that to me seems like a worthwhile endeavor.  Imagine what would happen if the National Rifle Association (who believe it or not, used to support gun control)  actually put its considerable political clout into lobbying for an increased investment and expansion of mental health in this country, instead of worrying about really important things like President Obama sending in UN troops to confiscate their shotguns.

So it’s up to us. All of us.  We need to fix this, and we know how.  We just need to have the courage to say that we want all of our communities to be as safe as they can be, and do what needs to be done.  And we need to do it now.  We failed the children in Sandy Hook.  We can’t fail any others.

When a Student Gets It

November 12, 2012

As if often the case this time of year, I have fallen behind on my blog.  The reason for this is because of the beginning of the school year, which has been especially busy for me this year. Classes are larger, staff is smaller, responsibilities are spread amongst fewer teachers, and I have stepped forward to be my district union president.  Before I knew it, the first quarter had ended, but I had not yet managed to get back to the blog until now.

Spending so much of my time thinking about the stress of  teaching got me reflecting on the rewards of the job.  Sure, the frustrations are legion, and I have certainly expressed those in this space before.  I don’t want to do that today, though. I want to share with you an assignment that made me extremely proud to do what I do.   In the high school philosophy class, the students’ final exam is to watch Randy Pausch’s powerful “Last Lecture” and then go off and create their own version of the lecture as high school juniors and seniors.  It is, by design, an extremely unstructured assignment.  Some students are intimidated by the lack of structure, and find themselves at a loose end trying to figure out exactly what it is they want to say, and how it is they want to say it. Others find this challenge exciting, and relish the opportunity to create a project that is truly their own–which is the whole reason I leave the assignment so unstructured.  Mind you, not every assignment calls for a lack of structure, but I believe strongly that this one does.

I am not certain if Morgan, the student who produced the video below, was intimidated or excited, or perhaps a little of both.  All I know is that I was totally moved by what she produced, and the thought of the work she did has gotten me through some very trying days in the classroom.  When a student does work like this, I am reminded why it is that I do my job, and why I still want to keep showing up every day, in spite of the stress and irritation it presents.   Check it out–I think you’ll enjoy it:

 

 

In his lecture, Pausch discusses the notion of the “head fake”–the idea that we learn something best when we think we are learning something else (recall Daniel-San learning to “wax on, wax off” in the “Karate Kid”).  Morgan cleverly includes her own head fake when she mentions at the end that her video wasn’t really for my assignment–it was for her kid brother.  And if you are concerned, Morgan has given me permission to show this video here.  She is now a college freshman at Ithaca college, no doubt impressing her TAs and professors up there.