Discourse, Disagreement, and Dissent

These are NOT dirty words, but words upon which America was founded and flourished. (I know a little about that since I’m a direct descendant of Patrick Henry.)

I spent my entire fifty-year career in public education as a high school English teacher, a high school principal, a school district superintendent, a deputy associate state department school superintendent, and as an university professor. In addition, I served twenty years as a school board member in a large suburban school district. Fact. Not intended to be bragging. Just fact.

During my fifty-year career, my name was often etched in desks and scrawled on bathroom walls with obscenities. Folk repeatedly critiqued me, argued with me, and sometimes even dissented. When I was on the school board, parents, students, and teachers often confronted me in our public meetings, in the grocery store, or at a football game. My daughter’s friends vociferously objected to a parking policy I endorsed. When social media took off, I was frequently chastised by the members of the greater school community.

I’ve borne my fair brunt of criticism–perhaps deserved. Yet, in my defense, I listened. Because I listened, sometimes I changed my mind. Because I listened, I KNEW I wasn’t as smart as I thought! Because I listened, I apologized when I knew I was mistaken. Because I listened, I, not only learned a lot, but I became a better teacher, principal, superintendent, professor, and school board member. (I dare not say a better parent!)

Given the events of this last week or two, I’m astounded by the national movement of: MY WAY IS THE ONLY WAY. Or in other words: YOU’RE FIRED.

“What Do You Want to Be?”

To a toddler, this question is simple: When I grow up, I want to be a doctor, a fireman, or the Amazon person who brings the packages. To a teenager, this question is more difficult, particularly in the age of Artificial Intelligence with its predictions most human jobs will be replaced with bots.

Earlier this week, my dentist posited, “Sue, your dad, uncle, great uncle, and brother were dentists. Why didn’t you go into some form of health occupations?”

“Tried it. At sixteen, I was a candy striper. I donned my cute pink and white pinafore and walked into the hospital, where I discovered sick people! The hospital smell overwhelmed me. Then I was assigned to feed a stroke patient, who subsequently vomited his green beans all over my uniform. One real-life experience was all it took for me to cross something off my “wannabe list.” In fact, I had other part-time jobs along the way, but each of them ended with “not for me.”

Given the few acceptable occupations for women in my time, I opted for teaching and landed my first job teaching Junior English in a vocational-technical high school. Not only did I fall in love with the brutal honesty of my students, but their diverse career opportunities from culinary arts to automotives, from carpentry to accounting. I even took adult evening classes there in graphic arts and auto mechanics.

Based on my fifty-year-experiences in education, it is just as important to discover what you don’t want to be, as it is to discover what drives your passion. Sadly, the “every student college-ready” movement has seriously impacted the lack of skilled trades people. Don’t believe me? Try finding a roofer, electrician, or plumber. The waiting line is six weeks long.

By the way, an HVAC was here yesterday for ten minutes. “What do I owe you?”

“I charge an hourly flat rate: $89.00. So $89 will cover it.”

Hmm, when as a teacher, a school superintendent or a college professor, did I ever make even half that?

AI and the Old Broad

Unlike the current US Secretary of Education, Linda McMahon, I know the difference between AI (Artificial Intelligence and A1 Steak Sauce.) Earlier this week, I read an article by Mark Zuckerberg, who posited if folk don’t use AI they will be at a serious disadvantage. Hmm. Frankly, I have a serious case of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out,) so I decided to experience this new-fangled notion first hand.

I researched a bit because I assumed such a contraption would be very pricey. However, I bought a basic pair of Meta AI glasses for $300. When they arrived yesterday, I was surprised by the set-up ease and absolutely blown away by what they could do. I put my glasses on, and I could: translate from one language to another, ask questions and receive answers, take pictures/videos, make calls, etc. I walked outside and said, “Hey Meta. What am I looking at?” The instant reply was: your swimming pool and six dogs. I’ve yet to master the app about some of my sick house plants.

When my exuberance with Meta subsided, I wondered about the outcomes of such technology. I could easily wear my innocuous-looking glasses to weekly trivia and get every answer correct. Is that cheating or simply utilizing an available resource to win? As a high school student, I would be able to pass final exams or earn a perfect score on the ACT or SAT. What are the educational implications with AI? A nation of robots? Will our children even be able to think with integrity and creativity, or will they simply vomit back whatever AI says?

AI is in its infancy with early predictions positing it will make many jobs obsolete, what will our world look like in twenty-five years? Thankfully, I’m an old broad and won’t know.

A Time of Uncertainty

Perhaps some of you are as anxious as me in this era of flip-flop tariffs, critical changes to health care standards, the demise of revered universities, and the deployment of the Marines and National Guard to deal with political dissent. I’m frustrated that there’s little I can do–cast one vote, and donate some money. Thus, I’ve spent the last six months doing things to relieve my anxiety.

My first act was one I knew was a guaranteed pleasure: I adopted a new puppy, who was immediately dubbed, R. Bader G. She’s just as feisty as her namesake and keeps me entertained with her antics. Secondly, I took steps to mitigate the monetary damage of ill-conceived tariffs. I ordered Christmas lights, I bought a new car and a cell phone with a three-year price lock on monthly charges, and I stocked my pantry with non-perishable goods and spices.

Yet, none of my proactive measures have diminished my feeling of dread. In fact, every day I wake up to a number of incidents that chap my heinie and shake my head: “a big beautiful bill” that increases the debt and cuts funding to such essential services as education and Medicaid and Medicare. Totally incompetent leadership in key cabinet positions, like RFK, Jr., ICE Barbie, Hegseth, Patel, etc. A shortage of farm, construction, and hospitality workers. And the abject disregard to the US Constitution, the legal system, and academic freedom.

In this time of uncertainty–a time I’ve never experienced before, I frequently wonder how can this be? Why does one, severely under-educated and overtly mentally-ill buffoon, who’s a liar, felon, cheater, and draft dodger wield such unchecked power? Congress has 535 members; the US population exceeds 326 million. Hmm. How can this be?

Cheap, Cheap, Cheap

In 2020 when COVID roared through America, over one-half of a million of US citizens died. By the end of 2024, another half-million died, and currently 300 people die from COVID each week. (I could have easily become a statistic but somehow managed to survive.) During the mandatory shut-downs, restaurants, bars, cafes, coffee shops were among the small businesses that suffered. When the closures ended, so did my tipping habit. Gone was my 15% of the bill. In fact, my entire outlook on life changed, for my miracle escape from death made me realize I needed to up my ante and pay it forward.

Now, five years later, I have zero tolerance for cheap people, especially cheap wealthier people. I’m sure you, like me, have a handful of friends that are modern-day Scrooges or Silas Marners. They leave meager tips, they ignore the poor, and they have no interest in charitable organizations. Unfortunately, they surround themselves with others of like behavior, such as the current Presidential Cabinet. Isn’t it odd that many legislators enter Congress as paupers and exit as multi-millionaires? They profess to be good, predominately white Christians, while they slash Medicaid, Medicare, SNAP, School Lunch, and Education with “beautiful” pride.

What happened to the Golden Rule?

The Name Game: Migrant Children

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When I was in the Master’s Leadership program, the professor asked: What’s the most important thing about a person?

Though I loved this professor, I knew he was wily.  Two brave students attempted an answer, only to be told they were incorrect.  The professor walked to podium, cleared his throat, and we knew we were about to learn a very important lesson.  Ladies and Gentleman the MOST important thing about a person is his/her name!  A name that distinguishes him/her from “you,” “kid,” “son,” or “ma’am.”  As an educator you must value people’s names, whether they be teachers, students, and parents.  You’ll be surprised by how much they respect you. A lesson I’ve not forgotten.  

Know I have the utmost respect for migrant workers and am most grateful for their service.  I’m certainly not going to pick lettuce, avocados, nor apples as my career.  Even at my grandparents’ farm years ago, men wandered up the lane to help with haying season and combining wheat and oats.

I am appalled at the separation of children from their migrant families.  I am appalled the US government is spending millions to house these children.  But I am most appalled we do not know these children’s names.  Really?  WTF?  And now, the government is going to spend millions to identify them via DNA testing.  Hmm.  In this technological age, it was not considered to identify them first–through photograph, finger print, or number?  These are children–some toddlers.  I can’t imagine their terror.

 

people-id-solutionsUnfortunately, this is just another example of mbsp–management by the seat of the pants. No one seems to understand the consequences of a decision until they’re faced with reality.  Decisions are whimsical, often retaliatory to garner votes.  Certainly, none of the recent decisions can be viewed as thoughtful.  (Just wait.  The tariff position is about to decimate American farmers.)

Yes, I’m a teacher. Yes, I’m a child advocate.  Yes, I would gladly open my home, my extra beds, and my kitchen to six children.  And yes, I would know each of them by name.

A view of inside US CBP detention facility shows children at Rio Grande Valley Centralized Processing Center in Texas

February 14

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On Wednesday morning I awoke before the alarm and laid in bed surfing my memories.  I was in Miss Snell’s second grade class.  Since I was not very good with scissors, my decorated mailbox (shoebox) looked shabby.  I don’t recall if it was a class rule, by every kid got a valentine from each member of our class.

Now this required labor.  We had to punch out cards, write our name on the back, stuff them in miniature envelopes and address them.  Of course, there were only five choices of valentines, meaning at least 4 or 5 students would receive an identical card from me.  I agonized about the one for Meice (Maurice)–the love of my life.  I finally chose a bear holding a heart–it’s message: Be my valentine. I underlined BE.

When it came time to open our shoeboxes, the boys were busily eating homeroom mom cupcakes, and we girls were searching for the onecard from our love.  I read and reread the nondescript message on the card from Meice.  I cherished it.

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At 11:00 AM, I went to my hair dresser appointment and shared my memory with her.  Her response: “my husband doesn’t like Valentine’s Day.”

Wow!  Who doesn’t? “What’s up with that, Addie?”

“Chip went to a small, rural elementary school in Iowa.  He was short, with a slight build.  When he opened his shoebox, he had one or two cards.  Others would have many.”

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Hard to believe.  Today Chip is a beefcake, highly successful entrepreneur.  However, even at fifty years old, he is a broken little boy, due to unconscious cruelty of other children.  Next year I’ll send Chip a box of chocolates!

Then my Valentine’s Day got worse:  Parkland, Florida.  Seventeen children and faculty assassinated by a sick 19-year-old with an AK-15.  My pleasant memories of February 14th have been shattered forever.

When is enough, enough?

The Ultimate Test Question

 

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Please explain:  (Hint:  Be sure you understand the meaning of each word, before you write your answer.)

“If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, it expects what never was and never will be.”  Thomas Jefferson

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I shall await your responses.

Homework

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On Wednesday, the 2017-2018, school year commences in our district.  For the next 9.5 months, I’ll receive phone calls and emails from parents and students who complain about homework.

“My kid has to do 25 math problems every night.  Don’t you understand he plays club soccer?”

“Why do I have to conjugate every Spanish verb and use it in a sentence?  I already know how to do it.”

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“Really?  You expect my child to read to me every night and require me to initial it happened?  I work full-time and have other responsibilities when I get home.  Ludicrous!”

“Why do we have homework anyway?  It’s such a waste of my free time.  Let’s just stop this silliness.  After all, I’m gifted; I get the message the first time.  I’m not in need of mindless repetition.”

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Since I’ve served as a school board member for 17 years, I’ve heard every argument against homework imaginable.  Even in some of my professional journals, I’ve read about the adverse effects of homework.  However, today, it became inimitably clear why school has homework.  Lord, it was a revelation!  Preparation for life.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to go to a casino for dinner and gambling.  True, I do enjoy wagering occasionally.  Yet, I declined.  I had to do homework.  The kitchen floor desperately needed mopped after the monsoon.  My yard’s grass, thanks to the monsoon, would be a foot tall, if I didn’t mow. The swimming pool needed cleaned and nuked with chemicals because of the monsoon.  I had to do homework.

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In fact, this past week I’ve been consumed with homework. The condensation drain on an air conditioner clogged and sent water over my floor.  The patio door handle jammed and had to be replaced.  One of my dogs had poopy butt and had to be bathed.  Washing and ironing needed my attention.

And today is Sunday–a day of rest.  The Sunday crossword awaits my participation. But first, I must pay the electric and the water bills, clean out the refrigerator, dump the trash in the garbage cans for early Monday pick-up, and…ad infinitum.

Based on my epiphany about homework, the next complaint which comes across my radar screen will be answered:  Suck it up, dude.  Welcome to life.

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