Grief is a Funny Thing

I struggle with too much time to myself, especially if it's time I should be "resting." Resting feels like punishment when you grew up in a family where performing meant praise. Yes, I'm that person who gives fabulous advice and can't quite follow it herself -- the walkin' the walk, talkin' the talk evades me a bit when it comes to allowing myself to take a break. All of that to say, I've been acutely aware of just how long a day can be when you're afforded the opportunity to exist without being "on." And all of that existing led me to thinking a lot about myself. I'll just say, "you're welcome," in advance...

Growing up in the South meant having a grandfather who literally called me an Old Maid when I was in my 20s and unmarried. We were sitting in a Ryan's, each with about four plates from the buffet, and my Pa-Paw spotted a baby at the neighboring table. Very loudly (bless it, his hearing had all but failed him), he exclaimed, "WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GIVE ME ONE OF THOSE?," referring to the squishy and obviously cute tiny person tossing lord knows what all over the highchair and floor. At the time I laughed it off, still hopeful, conditioned, and convinced that soon I'd be married and have a house full of momma-lovin' boys to complete the Southern dream. Little did I know I'd be 43 and sitting on the couch one random Saturday night in 2026 exposing my feelings about the life I never got to live. 

Yep. Once-upon-a-time, in a land far away I claimed I'd never get married. Twenty-four year old me boldly told my coworkers such, to which one responded by forcing me to write that very statement on paper and sign it because she said I'd eat those words one day. Fast forward 9 years, and I ate them (big time) when I not only married but divorced in record time (we all know how that one turned out). What's funny is although I wasn't sure I'd marry, I had aspirations of a house full of kids, and it took me until my mid-30s to realize those aspirations were fueled by expectation, not desire. 

Don't hear what I'm not saying: I LOVE CHILDREN. But after 16 years of being a teacher, I decided I didn't want or need crotch gremlins sleeping in my house.  Let me be clear, though. Not having children is a decision for me, and I understand it's a decision a lot of people don't understand. There's a stigma attached to those of us who choose to live life against the status quo. To name a few things I've heard over the years -- 

"You must be selfish." 

"Aww, who will take care of you when you're old." 

"Life must not be as fulfilling."

"Aren't you lonely?"

"You must have a ton of free time."

Sadly, the list goes on, and I think the ones that hurt the most are the ones assuming my life has no meaning and/or that I just "don't get it," because I'm not a parent. Even my own mother felt sorry for me and tried to somewhat bully me into changing my mind on having children. We were her whole life, so I'm pretty sure, based on her own experience, she thought I had no chance at clear identity if I didn't reproduce.

Why am I sitting on my couch, random Saturday, sharing this? Because as much as I enjoy the quiet, my time, and the choice I've made not to birth any children, none of that erases the fact that I'm single, 43 and secretly (or maybe for people who know me well, not so secretly) grieving a life I thought I'd have. I am not sad. Please do not for a second think I'm currently wiping droplets from tear-stained cheeks while I drone on about the children I never had -- again, I made that choice -- but know that I sometimes look at the status quo, at how things should have been and wonder if I'm actually the proverbial bearded lady everyone likes looking at but simultaneously feels sorry for. 

Don't. No pity is needed or sought after. 

I live my life, and honestly, after making some pretty bold career choices in the last five years, I'm living it much more freely than I ever have. Since November 2020, I've been crowned Sassy EIGHT times, a pretty high achievement that I feel deserves an actual crown... Timmy? Meagan? I love sparkle; just sayin'. I get to watch the two people I adore the most live their dreams of raising unhinged but very well-behaved littles who think I'm the coolest person alive. 

I take trips, eat what I want, go where I want, and sometimes just stare at a wall in the silence just because I can. I jokingly tell my siblings, "there's a reason this is your life and not mine," because as much as I love tiny humans, I still stand on business that I don't want to birth any. Even in dating, I will make hard passes on kind people if they have super small children. I'm sure some folks will say that's selfish and rude, but for me, it's a choice like any other. I absolutely have no problem potentially loving some man's child as my own, but for self preservation, I don't want to start from scratch, and I cannot and will not introduce myself into parental drama if you and baby momma can't act like adults. 

None of these choices void the "what if" that plagues a 43-year old single person who sits here bearing her soul fully knowing people will have plenty of opinions on the matter. Sometimes people like me don't actually allow ourselves the space to grieve and bury the life we never got to live because, honestly, it unintentionally gets thrown in our faces that "there's still time," and "you might change your mind," both clear indications that some people around us don't actually accept or respect how we've chosen to live but instead think something is fundamentally wrong with us causing us to make the choice in the first place. 

I still date. I still love kids. I still could one day be someone's bonus mom. I do not harbor regret for choosing myself and doing what makes me happy. Yes, loneliness sometimes creeps in, and I wonder what life would feel like if I had a messy house full of loud people, but then I laugh and remind myself that "it's a good thing it's their life and not mine," because I'm the best version of myself just how I am. 

I do hope that one day I'll find a mate, kids or not, who enjoys spending time with me while also encouraging me to maintain my independence and live life boldly. On the flip side, if I stay single forever, I'm capable of continuing to build a life that takes me to new places, introduces me to cool people, and fills the parts of the my spirit that yearn for adventure and respectable company. 

Next time you find out someone is older, single, and has no children, don't immediately respond with, "Oh, I"m sorry." My response is, "I'm not." I have made poor choices in mates and now that I know what I want my life to look and feel like, I will stay unattached until a man comes along with the ability to enhance what I've already built for myself. I'll never forget one graduate school professor asking the class circa 2008, "What are you looking for in a mate." She went around the room polling for answers, and no joke, every single one of my classmates said, "someone who completes me." As she continued around the room, I started to sweat a little, knowing my answer was wildly different than everyone else's. When it was my turn to answer the question, I sat up straight, looked her in the eye, and said, "Someone who challenges me." 

So now, we continue living life -- you, yours and me, mine. There is no right or wrong, just a series of choices leading us in myriad directions. I'm not sure what will happen next, who I'll meet, or what the next 43 years will look like, but I will say this for now:

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. 

A Funny Thing Happened in the Last Five and a Half Years...

Well, in the not-so-eloquent words of a former favorite student of mine... "I'm baaackkkk, bitches!"

That's a true story; one that I tell to this day when I drop the bombshell that you, indeed, cannot scare me easily because, yes, it's true: I was a public school teacher. This kid stood in my doorway, hands and feet locked on the frame and proclaimed himself back from the depths of alternative school. I kind of feel like that kid right now -- reemerging from five and a half years of "what the hell was that?!" and forging my own way on the most uncomfortable but soul-cleansing path possible. 

So what's been going on since March of 2021 when I last graced your social feeds with my musings? You literally won't believe this, but here we go...

2022 was supposed to be a banger. My year. The year that we'd finally rise from the ashes of the "bat virus" and, despite my mom's cancer diagnosis and ex-husband's perpetual substance bender, be a year of positive thoughts and prosperity. As you can imagine, that did not happen. Nope. Apparently I forgot to cancel my seemingly life-long subscription to the lessons and hardships package, and on January 2nd got a call that the ex had passed from an overdose. You heard me correctly; I started the year with a death, and a mere ten weeks later stood by my mother's hospital bed as sepsis reduced her to nothing more than a corpse I now have in a cardboard urn with a beach scene printed on the outside. 2022 kicked my ass -- there is just no other way to say it. 

Summer of 2022 was interesting: I was almost a year into my new job but had some misgivings about the owner and some of his, er, personal and professional endeavors. Fast forward to 2023, and not only was I dating someone I'd hired (yes, I know. Not my shining moment), but I was looking for a new job because I'd had enough of illegal transactions, inhumane business dealings, and a man who had more core values than you could shake a stick at but absolutely no intention of living by any one of them, not even in the slightest. While he was building a fake case to claim I embezzled money so that he could get rid of me and continue his torrid affair(s), I was preparing myself to jump ship (admittedly into a proverbial canoe) and paddle my way to something more rewarding. 

The next job was great, running programs. social media, and connecting with and helping businesses and people all over the county. I'll reserve my inner most thoughts on this one for my own brain wrinkles (because I'm classy, y'all) and just say that my time was well spent but ran out, and I decided to tackle, full-time, something I'd only done as a hobby up until December of last year; something I'd sort of forgotten I loved and was good at in the four years I was gone: teaching.

Oh, I forgot to mention the part where the guy I was dating and had broken up with after a year (a guy I knew was bad news from the beginning) made a poor choice is no longer with us. That's a story I won't tell here, but man, you can't make this stuff up. 

Where was I? Oh yes, teaching. I love it. I'm good at it. I decided to get back to it. 

An uncomfortable but very honest conversation and one Christmas parade later, I was off and running, generating ideas and booking workshops for the new year. I worked in more gyms than I can count, took on more one-off workshops and speaking engagements than would be sustainable long term, and somehow have made it almost nine whole months doing something I love. A couple big contracts, some trips for funsies, a Sassy getaway or two, and a new, sustainable gym job that is occupying the time I'm not writing proposals for leadership development, team building, or social media work, and I'm on my way to bigger and better things. 

Why am I telling you all of this? I'm glad you asked, and I have an answer: I want to remind you to remember not to forget all the cool things about yourself that make you, YOU. 

I love to teach, write, and help people. I spent so long working jobs that shaped and refined other people's dreams that I fell into a pattern of forgetting my own. I felt safe with a paycheck and benefits and never allowed myself to "risk it for the biscuit" as they say, and now...well, now I'm paddling down Lake Unknown convinced that the light at the end of the tunnel is not a train. I don't know that this is the comeback I envisioned, but I can tell you the last five years have taught me a lifetime's worth of lessons about myself and others. No one will ever be able to say I'm not a hustler. 80-year old me will look back and be glad I tried, no matter the outcome, and when those eight littles that my siblings are so gracefully raising ask me, "Sassy, what were you like?," I'm going to have a hell of a story to tell. 

If you're into some light reading for the end of 2026, rub your eyes, grab your glasses, and keep an eyeball on the FB feed because I'M BAAAAAACK!

Opinions are like butts: everyone has one, and I'm showing mine.

 I saw the trailer for a new television show where a black teen complains that reading The Great Gatsby is a waste of time -- it's a book that should be replaced with one about immigrants, black single mothers or other more relatable figures. When the white male student behind her proclaims the book a classic, the white, male teacher chimes in, "Spoken like a true Nick Carraway." She furthermore insinuates that Gatsby is a book that perpetuates the privilege of the white male in all his rich and excessive glory. 

*skiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrttttttttttttt*

Did we read the same book? Did we? Is this the part where I pick up the phone and the TikTok song plays ominously in the background as I zoom into my face and say, "but did we read the same book? Did we? Show me. Show me the privilege in dying alone, framed for an affair and murder you didn't commit."

I'm not sure what book she read, but Jay Gatsby is far from the picturesque white man reveling in his "born-with-it" privilege. West Egg, in and of itself, was Fitzgerald's way of representing Gatsby as a nobody -- someone who didn't come from money and who was secretly acquiring it through the deeply criminal but highly political business of bootlegging. Jay Gatsby is a prime representation of Fitzgerald and other expatriates who hopped the pond back in the early 20th century -- writers and artists who were so disillusioned with America that they wrote about all its pitfalls and terrible people from afar. T.S. Eliot even termed it "The Wasteland"; not an unfair assessment for the debauchery that a story like The Great Gatsby unveiled. 

Anyway, back to this purported waste of time about another white guy with money...

Gatsby was broke. Flat. Out. Broke. His money was as "funny" as the money that floats college students on scholarship. It was all tied up in business, dirty business, that was bound to fall apart and prove the age-old adage that "money can't buy happiness." The Great Gatsby is a sad story about unrequited love -- about a man who thinks he'll only be loved if he can convince people he's something he's not. Yacht clubs, pool parties, rubbing elbows with politicians/businessmen/financiers: Jay Gatsby is convinced that his lies will make people like him and will make him happy. When he gets what he wants, the girl who can't possibly love him back because she's too shallow and simple to understand what true love looks and feels like, his notoriety makes a swift decline, and his anxiousness and tendency to anger quickly prevails. 

This book has nothing to do with a white man flaunting his wealth. As a matter of fact, I'd argue it's very much an embellished version of the hellish existence and relationship of F. Scott Fitzgerald (a raging alcoholic) and his wife Zelda (a diagnosed schizophrenic) and their stark decline in the public eye over the course of their 20ish year relationship. It's also narrated by a one Nick Carraway, the humble, broke-as-a-joke cousin to the shallow biscuit at the end of the pier, who sells bonds (or tries to) and still hardly makes enough money to have a social life. Having Nick's perspective is key to understanding people -- black, white, male, female, polka-dotted, etc. -- Nick believes that we should see the good in people, something that Gatsby holds onto up until the very end of the book as he's falling to his death with whispers of "Daisy" on his breath, truly believing in her goodness even though the dramatic irony is that we know her shallow butt skipped town with her selfish and privileged husband who has not a compassionate bone in his body but sees women as property and playthings...want to argue on that front? 

I've sat in meetings where people told me because I'm white I can't teach A Raisin in the Sun because I can't understand Beneatha's hair. I've been told Atticus Finch was a "White Jesus," clearly martyring himself to save Tom Robinson from the corrupt, white system (um, did we read the same book? Tom didn't listen and got shot 17 times trying to climb a fence -- Atticus didn't "resurrect" anyone); in those same meetings, books like Their Eyes Were Watching God (written by a black, female author and about black people who built their own town, opened their own businesses, etc.) and A Lesson Before Dying (written by a black, male author -- a brilliant look at humanity) were deemed too inappropriate to teach because of one-page scenes that imply sex or mention breasts. Toni Morrison has several books on the challenged and banned lists all because people claim topics like slavery, motherhood, mercy killing, and general violence are too much, yet reading The Scarlet Letter about a Puritan woman who has an affair with a preacher man isn't considered all that scandalous? 

It takes a lot to offend me -- let's just say there aren't many books that will do it -- but my point is that there's a bit of a double standard on what's considered appropriate for our society. The biggest issue I take with some of these proclamations regarding books like The Great Gatsby is that people read them and miss the point, or they haven't read them at all, but the stories are so surface-level that it's clear they're meant to disparage certain races or genders *insert eye roll emoji here.* 

You should read or re-read Gatsby. Just be sure to have the dictionary handy, as the vocabulary is a bit inflated. Fitzgerald didn't sell millions of copies of his book off the rip: the military sent copies to the troops on the idea it was a love story, and their purchase saved thousands of published copies from rotting away in dusty boxes; it wasn't an insta-hit -- people weren't impressed because they didn't get it. It requires some serious thought and deserves more than a 2021 write-off by some Hollywood director who thought it would be cute to tear down a book because the main character is a white man. Funny: F. Scott Fitzgerald was convinced that if the book didn't do well it would be because there were no significant women in the story, and he believed that women were at the height of the fiction world in the 1920s. Chew on that one for a minute.

Books often reveal things about human nature, sometimes culture-specific but often just regarding humanity. Stop looking for reasons to be offended and stop reducing complexities to nothing more than dust to be blown aside as you spread your self righteousness on the proverbial table. 

The Scapegoat

"What do you do for a living?" 

Me: "Scapegoat...er...teacher. I'm a teacher."

Maybe that answer is a bit cynical, but I'm increasingly exhausted, working a profession that is synonymous with "scapegoat." Just a mere six months ago, celebrities and commoners alike hailed teachers the heroes of our daily lives, managing the masses all while staying organized and molding tomorrow's minds. After six months at home with "mean-agers" who probably deserve time in a work camp doing hard labor just to learn a little appreciation, the world has decided teachers are lazy and the sole reason why little Johnny can't read, write, or do math. 

STOP THE BLAME GAME. 

"The best teacher is the first teacher." This motto was espoused in a school where I spent the most miserable year of my teaching career. Don't get it wrong: I learned a ton about myself and the world, but I was a scapegoat of magnificent proportion all because of what I look like and where I come from. Forget my three college degrees, my love of children, and my beliefs that ALL people can learn if they put in effort -- none of that mattered because what the children lacked in skills was all my fault. Back to the motto, "The best teacher is the first teacher." PARENTS! That's you. You're the people tasked to teach manners, compassion, basic memory (addresses, phone numbers, etc.), and fine motor skills (why can't some of my 13 year olds tie their shoes?). You are the people tasked with teaching ownership, good or bad, and demonstrating consequences so that children can learn from their mistakes. If you're not teaching them these things at home, they are coming into my room acting a fool. If they're coming into my room acting a fool, learning English isn't first priority. 

Humans love structure. They do. But it seems we live in a world where we'd rather forego discipline, rules and guidelines so that we'll be liked; we live in a world where throwing a fit and blaming others is a "way out" and suffering consequences is considered cruel and unusual punishment if you come from a certain background or have certain beliefs. We actually live in a world where individuals believe their opinions and feelings are so elevated above other's that tearing others down is an acceptable way to prove a point. 

None of this escapes public school classrooms. As a matter of fact, I'm curious at what point I might be "attacked" and forced to leave the profession (if I don't leave voluntarily in the meantime); at what point I might have to watch my back or hide what I do for a living for fear of being lumped in with the bad examples in education. In many ways all of this is happening. Weekends aren't for enjoying family or leisurely activities -- weekends are for lesson planning, catching up on grading, and worrying about upcoming meetings where someone is mad because Susie Q's grade is unsatisfactory. Nights are miserable because my mind reels so much about what needs to be done, what might happen, and whether or not teachers will be the blame keeps me awake. 

It's funny to me how everyone in education preaches compassion and grace, yet so few on the outside have any for the people in the trenches. I may not be hooking up intravenous lines or doing chest compressions daily, but I'm attempting to mainline knowledge and skills to today's youth and losing patients left and right to supposed "malpractice." I've read emails where I've been accused of confusion because upon consulting their 13-year old 8th grader, the parents concluded the work was turned in and I just lost it. They know it's true because their kid would never lie; they taught him better. *insert rolling eye emoji here* My momma taught me not to lie, too, but at 13, if it meant saving my butt, I probably slipped in a lie or ten. 

As a rule, it's never ok to assume that someone's job is easier or harder than yours; every profession has it's pitfalls, perks, and difficulties; however, I will say it's A-ok to offer help or praise where necessary and to recognize the efforts along the way. I celebrate the move from a 50F to a 55F because there was progress; it's not passing, but it's growth, and that is what education is all about. When will the world stop seeing teachers as bonafide babysitters who are lazy and not doing enough? When will people in my county stop demanding a tax cut because they claim teachers don't deserve the pay since we're simply not working as hard? A pandemic didn't do it, so will it require every good teacher walking away from the profession to inspire people to dig deeper for kindness? 

The fact that any good teacher can talk to you very personally about your child while also being able to do the same for 100+ students is impressive account management. Teachers are expected to accommodate every lifestyle, personality, learning style -- EVERYTHING, but when teachers need compassion, grace, or accommodation, they are accused of laziness, narcissism and general ineptitude. 

I'd like to throat punch George Bernard Shaw for saying, "Those who can, do; those who can't, teach." If our society truly believed this, college wouldn't be so expensive, education wouldn't be compulsory, and the tests for obtaining a teaching license wouldn't be so rigorous. Good teachers are walking away in droves; don't let your child's favorite, tough-love educator be the next because you undervalue the profession and education very publicly. 

A Spoonful of Sugar Helps the Medicine Go Down

I'm here to answer the question that everyone in the free world is asking teachers: "I bet you're excited for all your time off?"

No. As a matter of fact, I'm not happy at all. This week is supposed to be Spring Break, a time to enjoy moments away from the stresses of school. Instead of enjoying this week, I've watched ridiculous amounts of national news, cried on my couch, cleaned and disinfected my house more than most humans clean in a year, and contemplated what long-term absence from my job will mean for my students and for me. I'm not happy about my time "off."

The general public is clueless about what we do day in and day out. Online, people are complaining about taking care of their own children, but on a regular day, they are down our throats because with 100+ kids each day, lessons, meetings, paperwork, etc. we aren't doing enough for their ONE child. I have to be honest that I'm glad parents are experiencing this period of homeschooling because I hope it causes a shift in attitudes toward education and teachers/administrators/nutrition personnel. I hope higher ups in school systems and county commissioners start working together to fund schools properly, to provide technological options that can be used in the face of crises like the current one we're in as a country. Sumner County doesn't have the technology per student to facilitate online learning; we just don't have it. We do have online programs that are awesome resources for reading, vocabulary, and math skills, but it's parent responsibility to make children sit down and focus on the work. That doesn't happen most of the time when school is in session, so why is everyone freaking out now about options their kids have for online learning? That's a whole post in and of itself...

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Back to the assumption that we're enjoying our time off:

I have fought tooth and nail since August to remediate and progress various skills so that students can move on to high school and feel confident in their abilities. Being out of school for weeks or even the rest of the year worries me to death, maybe selfishly, because everything we've worked for is called into question. I hate standardized testing...always have...but it's an evil over which I have no control. States and districts push the concept, forcing more and more unrealistic expectations, and now what? That joker is canceled. Yet again, state testing is not the determining factor in "did they learn?" Someone asked me recently how I would feel if state testing went away completely: I responded that I hope it does! Public schools are struggling so much these days because we've squashed love of learning and resorted to teaching to a test (something I often refuse to do in many ways but still manage to do in my own way...if that makes sense). We've changed testing companies several times in the last few years, we've given bummed tests that still counted toward teacher and school performance, and we've (in TN) watched the swift decline of our state department of education (it's a mess and too many positions are open and desperately need to be filled by educators NOT business leaders). Again, all of this to say the test won't even be a determining factor in student or teacher success this year -- and I'm ok with that.

I hope that while you're home with your children, you teach them manners (those who have forgotten), how to make macaroni and cheese, how to clean a toilet, how to play a board game without a device, how to tell a corny joke, how to go on a walk/run, how to play with the family pets, how to do laundry, how to have compassion for others, how to read a book before bed, how to watch the news and research the credibility of the information, how to call and check on a grandparent, how to change a bed, how to bake cookies, how to put things back where they belong, how to take care of things that don't belong to them or how to preserve what is scarce but in high demand -- I hope you remind them that you're the adult and they the children. Discipline, routine, and follow through are forms of love that your kids need right now. No. I am not enjoying my time off. As a matter of fact, if I could take on all 100 of my kids and teach them all of these things right now, I would love every minute of it, even the minutes where I want to throat punch them for acting squirrely. I hope this time of self reflection really sheds light on how our perspectives need to change in so many arenas.

Enjoy your time "off," y'all.

An Open Letter to All the "Parents" Out There

Putting on a band aid doesn't make me a doctor. Cooking dinner doesn't make me a chef. Going to school every day doesn't make me a teacher. Driving my car doesn't make a chauffeur. Cleaning my house doesn't make me a maid. Brushing my hair doesn't make me a hair dresser. Painting a wall doesn't make me a painter...

BUT...

No one ever goes out of the way to remind me that I'm not these things. 

Oddly, many parents feel it necessary to remind the childless of their ineptitude regarding tiny humans -- you know, since we don't "own" any ourselves. Well, let me remind you that giving birth/fathering a child, doesn't make you a parent. 

I've wiped noses, kissed boo boos, and braided hair. I've walked behind while holding out my index fingers so baby wouldn't fall; I've wiped tears, spanked behinds, pulled teeth, taught please and thank you/yes ma'am and yes sir. I've hugged a homesick middle schooler at 2am, hugged a kindergartener who just had a potty accident, and hugged the miscreant who acts out just because he/she needs any kind of attention. I've bought clothes, food, and supplies. I've loaned money, time, energy, and emotions. I've celebrated the victories, cried through the failures, and disciplined when needed. 

I've attended musical performances, theatre productions, graduations, birthday parties, competitions and sporting events -- often when you couldn't or wouldn't come. I've received letters, calls, texts, emails, and cards -- some on a random Tuesday, some on Mother's Day. I've changed diapers, played catch, and even done the unthinkable: attended funerals (that's right, multiples), one where I sat down in the middle of the parking lot and cried to my mom because I couldn't handle losing one of my babies. 

For all you know, I don't have kids because I can't have them. Maybe I don't have them because I've chosen not to have them. Either way, me not giving birth doesn't make me any less compassionate or knowledgeable. You know, it's funny to me that we marry complete strangers and call them family; we take on our friends as "framily"; but, when someone doesn't have children, he/she is clearly at a huge disadvantage for dealing with children. WRONG. 

I know plenty of people who have zero clue how to care for children properly...and they have several children. As a matter of fact, I have family members who've had multiple children and don't know as much about parenting as some of the childless in our family. 

You're right: I don't know what it's like to give birth or have "gotcha" day. But you're wrong if you think I'm not a parent. Next time you feel the need to stand in the front office of the school and yell, "you probably don't even like kids anyway!," you should stop and think that many of the people who love and care for your children are childless, yet dedicated folks who love your children more than any human should love other people's children. So yep. I'm just going to leave this right here...

Summer "Break"

Before you say something asinine like, "I bet you're excited to do nothing this summer," please think before you blurt and then remind yourself that the grass isn't always greener, and you aren't involved in some kind of medieval torture because you have to report to an office for the next two months.

Educators don't just sit around and "do nothing" over the summer: most are planning for the upcoming year, attending professional developments and working summer jobs to supplement their incomes (yes, we get 12 paychecks, but it's 10 months stretched over 12 so we aren't destitute from June - September). My version of "doing nothing" is helping to run a state-wide summer camp for student council and then coming immediately home to work at a local elementary school daycare until the week school starts back...IN JULY. The times I'm not working see me cleaning my house (something that's hard to do thoroughly during the school year), doing yard work and running errands during hours when businesses are actually open (here's to all of you who get an hour lunch break and leave your job to seek out food like normal people). Most of us aren't sleeping until noon then spending the majority of the day at the pool, but even if we are, what's it to you?

Yes, we all know that we chose to teach -- a profession that's grossly underpaid, under appreciated, and overly criticized, but that doesn't make your rude comments about what we do with our "summer" break (it's still spring, y'all) acceptable. Since 6:30 this morning, I've answered text messages and emails about summer camp, and the struggle is real. Adults don't read; they don't listen; and they are the first to tell you all about yourself -- as long as they don't have to say it to your face. If you click through TEN liability statements, pay 260 bucks for camp and then have a problem with how you're going to get your kid there, that's not our issue. If you signed up before you knew you were accepted into another summer program, that's not our issue. If you plan to bring something expensive to camp, you are responsible; again, not our issue.

I think parents and other adults imagine teaching and teacher-y things to be all fun: rainbows, unlimited coffee bars, blue jean jumpers, and wooden apple necklaces. While I'm unfurling my brow, I'll assert that it's none of these things (I mean, the coffee bar only shows up a few times during the year, and it's normally during a depressing and desperate time -- thanks PTO!). I've said before that parents are the main complainers about school breaks, not because they are jealous of teachers, but because they don't want to be responsible for finding activities and child care for their own kids. They realize how hard it is to accommodate everyone, to be super available all day long, to feed/occupy/pay attention to/police ALL. DAY. LONG. Imagine 35 of those jokers in one room every single day, multiply that by 4-6 classes per day (depending on the school schedule), and then do some account management by way of occupying/paying attention to/policing/ and sometimes feeding ALL. DAY. LONG. for 180 days. THESE KIDS ARE NOT RELATED TO ME! And yet I spend more time with some of them than their own families.

I try to be super careful when assuming what people do at their jobs, meaning I try not to claim some people have it easier than others. Everyone's job is tough in its own way, and we need to stop assuming that teachers, police officers, nurses, etc. have cushy jobs in authoritative positions. We are essentially powerless, yet the world expects us to teach the masses, discipline the masses, and save the masses. These three categories of people do their jobs with one hand tied behind their backs, so be easy on them before you snub their celebratory breaks from the grind of being emotionally, academically, and physically responsible for 100+ non-familial humans EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

Happy Summer!

Where Education Really Needs to Happen is NOT in School

Society is full of entitled jerks, and adults are fanning the fire of ignorance every single day. As an educator, I bust my rear to teach children, not tests, but each year it becomes increasingly more difficult to teach anything of substance when young people have no regard or respect for authority. People jokingly post memes making fun of the shift from students being disciplined at home to teachers being disciplined for trying to hold students to standards -- a meme I think is far more sad than humorous. 

I could go on, but a news story from this morning is the real reason I'm here, so I'll just hop on my soap box and get to the point:

A local teacher has been suspended for "screaming" at a student. Let's start with that word, screaming. If you listen to the video, he did raise his voice, but he is not screaming. I've had students accuse me of screaming when I only spoke sternly to them, not even beginning to raise my voice. They seem to mistake being told "no" with being verbally abused, and I think it's interesting that our society perpetuates that thought by posting news stories such as the one I've mentioned. 

I'll go on: not only has this teacher been suspended, but he's been suspended without pay and the only accusation is "screaming." He didn't curse; he didn't say anything inappropriate; he didn't even say "SHUT UP!; he became extremely frustrated when a 13 year old continually talked back and wouldn't sit down and stop running his mouth. Parents, raise your hands if you have NEVER raised your voice to your child for continuing to mouth after you've told him to stop. I'd love to meet you and learn your voodoo ways because I've been teaching 14 years, and I'll tell you I've raised my voice a time or two. 

I'll go even further: said teacher also has no previous issues or violations of any sort within the school system and is even a respected baseball coach, I'm sure, loved by his players. Oh wait...let's talk about coaches and players. I've taught in many high schools, and let me tell you, if you stand close enough to the fence on a Friday night, you'll hear some colorful language between coaches and players (coming from both sides). I don't hear parents throwing fits over that -- no, those parents are telling their boys to quit being Pu****s and get their S*** together. That's ok, I guess. But a teacher loudly telling a student to sit down and shut his mouth is scandalous. I'm not sure I really follow the logic.

Each year I find myself more stressed out, more helpless, and endlessly jaded by the unrealistic and completely inhuman expectations placed on civil servants. Teachers and police officers really have their hands tied when it comes to doing their jobs, and dare I say I'm about to the point where it makes me so exasperated to know that I have to face the impossible each day that I cry weekly and wonder how much longer I can trudge on. Forget the breaks (don't talk to me about breaks, people) and consider the fact that teachers work about the only job in the world that never really gives them a raise, only after putting them on a pay scale that never updates over time. They work a job that forces them to tear down their "offices" every 10 months and then reassemble them again for the next year of work. They work a job that requires them to go far beyond their academic degrees and be parents, counselors, educators, tutors, confidants, disciplinarians, and account managers. They show up at 7am and have no idea when they'll leave the building, and when they finally leave, they carry giant tote bags and backpacks containing work to do at home. They work a job that holds them accountable by way of standardized tests that never work properly. They work a job that expects them to serve students they can't even talk to because the language barriers are so great. They call DCS when babies cry about being abused; they work extra jobs to make ends meet; they repeat themselves 100 times a day and are expected never to have human feelings and lose their cool.

If I'm anything in front of my students, it's human. I smile, laugh, cry, become frustrated, share (within bounds) personal stories of triumph and failure. I remind them that I am not a robot but a fleshy, exhausted person who spends sleepless nights trying to figure out what will make society "get it." What I am is disappointed in our education system and government for breeding this idea that when we don't understand, we should claim to be offended; when we don't like something we should fight. I'm disappointed when I go to work because I know someone on the state level is telling my district that I'm not good enough because the numbers don't add up. I'm disappointed in a system that is so broken that it is only moving itself into more disrepair. 

It's interesting to me that some folks on the state and federal levels can mess up monumentally and can keep their high-paying positions. They can continue to try different variations of the same things and when they fail, push it off on faulty fibers, downed networks, or hackers. I've taught in schools where there was known sexual misconduct and things were pushed under the rug. Yet, a good teacher -- a human with feelings and nerves and a want for students to do better, to play a good ballgame and to move on to the next grade level with more manners than they walked in with is in the news, probably about to be fired because he raised his voice to a disrespectful kid who just didn't know when to stop. 

Let's be fair and evaluate parents like we evaluate our teachers and police officers. Let's put a number on their heads, hold them accountable for how crappy some of their offspring turn out, and then threaten their livelihood when things don't go as planned. If parents would do their jobs at home and teach manners and respect for authority, then the world wouldn't have to worry about disgruntled people smashing windows in Starbucks when their coffee isn't made correctly. Parents need to discipline their kids and be the authority at home instead of being friends and tolerating the smart mouths and threats of "I'm going to call the police on you." I tried that ONE TIME with my momma, and she picked up the phone and said, "I will dial the number for you." Then she grounded me after popping me on my lips for sassing her...and I deserved it. I'm a well-adjusted, compassionate human, and I don't think anyone owes me anything. 

Who knows, maybe voicing my opinion will call my teaching ability into question -- it seems to be the case that we also work a job where we aren't allowed to exhibit any sign of political leanings, religious beliefs or opinions, so I'm probably climbing out onto the weak part of the limb at this point. Either way, stop and think about how technology is destroying perspective. That man raising his voice at a disrespectful 8th grader is the least of this world's worries. Even a photograph shows only one side of an issue, but perception is reality, and that man's career is probably ruined. Honestly, I think more people need to be yelled at -- if that's the only way to get them to shut up long to hear anything, then so be it. I mean, I may only be typing my opinion, but I assure you, I'm yelling at the top of my lungs, and most of the time, I feel like no one is listening. 

I Can't Feel My Face When I'm With You, But I Love It

I just finished reading James Frey's A Million Little Pieces, and I'm so intrigued and heartbroken and confused and disgusted and elated that when I found out the book has a sequel, I immediately ordered it on Amazon free one-day shipping, and it'll be here before 9 tonight. Yes, Frey's "memoir" received quite a bit of kickback after it was discovered some of the details may have been fabricated and/or embellished; however, I have to imagine that anyone living such a lascivious lifestyle, chemically clouded by substances and racked by poor choices might not remember every single detail of everyday dealings and may also have more intense memories or feelings related to bad experiences. Behavior excused? Absolutely not. But behavior explained with unique perspective? Absolutely.

I've thought a lot about how addiction and poor choices are perceived in our society, and I find it interesting that we are more prone to forgive famous people, or people we see as major contributors to society, for their transgressions than we are to forgive and give chances to regular folks. NFL stars beat their girlfriends, potentially commit murder, or get pulled over for DUIs and we excuse them because they make millions. Reese Witherspoon (love her! HelloSunshine!) has a crazy drinking stint and gets arrested for mouthing a cop, but she's still America's Sweetheart, creating empowering shows for women and running organizations to cultivate strength in young girls. P!nk sold and used drugs as a teenager but is now a successful singer, performer, mother and wife. Fergie was a meth head and admits to hallucinating almost daily. Eric Clapton spent thousands on heroin. Zac Efron and all of his abs hung out with Charlie Sheen a bit too much and ended up in rehab (happy 5 years clean, bud!). Rob Lowe apparently has 25 years clean. Ozzy Osbourne did so many drugs you can hardly understand him, but he's still considered one of the greatest performers of his time. Most country artists drink themselves silly and get in weekend bar fights in Nashville. We roll down our windows and sing The Weekend's "Can't Feel My Face" with wild abandon, never stopping to realize the song personifies Cocaine "but [he] love[s] it." Mike Posner "took a pill in Ibiza, to show Avicii [he] was cool" and now Avicii is a tragic example of what taking pills can do to a person.

All of this matters only if you're willing to think about why these people get a break and others don't. I personally know a felon, but he's not a bad guy. I have had family members addicted to drugs, alcohol, control; family members with horrible tempers and a propensity to violence who are still family and still working on themselves. Anger, resentment and frustration are par for the course when we're dealing with certain issues in our lives; however, I'm trying more and more each day to realize that people who truly want change let their actions speak louder than their words and only have those actions to move on from their wrongs. There's no "fixing" some things, but there is an opportunity to move beyond and start anew for all involved. The question is whether we're willing to shift perspectives and risk being burned (maybe even for the millionth time). My bank account has been hacked before, but I didn't shut it down permanently and vow never to have a debit card again. The bank proved they could keep my information safe 99% of the time, so I gave them another shot (twice, actually). I've ripped a seam in a dress while standing in front of a class full of teenagers, but I didn't stop buying dresses or shopping at Kohl's because that's where it came from. I just became more aware, more cautious, more discerning. Maybe those are stupid examples, but those of you who understand and are open to what I'm saying will make something of them.

I don't think my examples could be exhausted if I chained myself to a desk and wrote constantly until the day I croaked out, but I hope that some of them make people think about how they perceive others. Life is a battlefield. Time will tell. Actions speak louder than words. *insert your own cheesy life lesson here* or just read the Tao Te Ching. :)

Cryptic Musings

This summer is different. Hotter temperatures, thicker air, busier schedules...a change in perspectives. I've learned a lot in the last year and a half, and while I can hardly articulate eloquently exactly what I've learned, I can share a little of what has enlightened me, popular or not, and just leave it here so that it's not simply sitting in my head.

Some things don't discriminate. Judging a book by its cover (while totally cliche) is, I've discovered, the most horrible thing anyone can do. Those who appear to have it all together may be screaming on the inside...they may be struggling with demons larger than they can handle, and appearances are all that stand between them and a happy face or rocking back and forth on the closet floor in tears because "fixing" the problem seems impossible. 

It's easier to villainize a person or problem and simply to make up your own version of why things happened than to understand the intricacies of what really went down. Some of us aren't familiar to mischief, addiction, or the like and, therefore, have a propensity to devise victimized scenarios of how we became tied up in a life that involves such things. The reality ties back to "Some things don't discriminate," and I've decided recently that studying to understand diseases far beyond cognitive control often has more layers than we can feasibly comprehend, especially if we aren't accustomed to such behaviors. 

Trust is a tricky thing. I'm like a dog - loyal to a fault. Burn me, and I'll come back for more, simply because I desperately need to see the good in people and in the world. Does this get me into trouble? The short answer is yes. But, is it a bad quality to have? The shorter answer, I've concluded, is NO. Sometimes bad people do bad things to good people, but through research, fact checking and consulting relevant sources, I've discovered that sometimes good people do bad things to good people because they are influenced by things that quickly get out of control. Most people don't want to be bad, but once they fall into poor decisions, behaviors, and abuse of substances, their brains are plagued by altered states of reality that see them living much unlike the "normies" of society. 

Trust gets even trickier. Sometimes people who sell you on how great they are actually are worse than the folks who get caught up in the messes that influence their poor choices. Seemingly good people who intentionally deceive others under no influence other than to deceive are, in my opinion, far worse than those who make ridiculously awful decisions and find themselves in trouble, in need, or desperate enough to commit crimes to survive. 

Everyone has a past, and for some, it's so ugly, it's hard even to comprehend. My past is relatively squeaky clean; however, some folks have lived hard lives and tried, without avail, to shake their bad habits and do the right thing, only to find themselves caught up right where they were in the first place. The unfortunate part is that our government, society, and general human perception doesn't allow these folks chances to prove their goodness but, instead, marks them with a scarlet "A" and affords them fewer opportunities than the rest of us, ultimately pushing many of them right back into their proverbial holes. This isn't fair. Do we take the risk of being burned or mistreated by giving people who've served time for their bad choices actual chances to become productive citizens? Yes. Do we help society or ourselves by constantly holding their transgressions against them? No. Even good people go bad, but why is it that we mark some and not others? I've thought a lot about this. 

Despite people's opinions of my actions, my words, and my decisions, I want to villainize less and understand more. I want to form my own opinions instead of doing what I've done in the last six months and trust the words and actions of people around me who, unfortunately in some cases, had ulterior motives or simply a lack of understanding of the situation. I want to be a person who sees the need to provide opportunity and understanding to people who have monumentally messed up and even all but destroyed the good in their lives because even they deserve to be happy as long as they continue on paths of goodness. 

I know this is cryptic, but those who know me well understand my musings. Just think about what kind of person you want to be. Think about all you don't understand, people you've written off as "bad" people and really consider the situation, the actions (they speak louder than words any day) and how society is helping those people lead productive lives despite their muddy pasts.