public schools

Never Did I Ever…Again

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My apologies for not blogging last week, but I was visiting in both Carolinas. My reflections today are a compilation of my experiences. So, today, I write a list of Never Did I Ever:

  1. Think I would get to be a Grandma, and last weekend we celebrated BJ’s second birthday. What a delightful experience it was! Not only does he love I Spy books, he’s also obsessed with numbers. I was absolutely stunned he can count to 100 and count backward from thirty.
  2. See such a home. My eldest and her husband designed and built a new home on thirteen acres in horse country. (While they don’t have horses, all their neighbors do and practice dressage, hunting, and jumping daily even when it’s cold and rainy.) But my kids’ home is overrun with high-tech remote controls and switches to turn on multiple TV’s and sound systems, adjust the flame and blower on the fireplace, open the family room glass doors across the entire length of screened patio, etc. Obviously, I was so overwhelmed I refuse to touch anything for fear of messing with the wrong remote.
  3. Live long enough to witness such insanity in Washington, DC. It seems our system of checks and balance has been obliterated in three weeks. Traffic lights and stop signs have been replaced with GO, and any judge that attempts to say NO GO is either threatened or fired. I fear for the kind of world BJ will inherit–a world destroyed by billionaire greed and monsterous ego.
  4. Believe I would lose faith in the American people as they sit idly by and witness the demolition of America’s Greatest Equalizer: The Public School. This will create an insurmountable divide between the haves and the have nots. Those who can afford an education will buy one; those who can not will be sentenced to a life of poverty and injustice.
  5. Understand the insanity of cruelty to others. I thought WE were better than that.

I’m Paranoid

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As an 18-year veteran of the school board, the last few months have been the most challenging I’ve ever witnessed.  I experienced both student walkouts for school safety and teacher walkouts for dismal state support for its public schools.  I grew up in an era of protest–the Kent State shootings and Viet Nam War sit-ins.  I watched on TV the riots in Watts.  I’m not Pollyanna; I knew the world wasn’t perfect. I was cognizant of war, crime, and cruelty against others.

I watched in horror the TV coverage of the Twin Towers and the shooting of Gabby Giffords in a Tucson parking lot.  I wept over the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School.  Afterward, our school district remodeled all of our forty-four schools.  Now, when I drive by each of them, the buildings are fortresses.  (If Phoenix water wasn’t so pricey, moats would have been added). Our front office entries are bullet-proof glass, and like the movie theater, I speak into a microphone and slide my ID through the little drawer for the secretary to peruse before I’m admitted.  I’ve undergone background checks and carry a fingerprint card.

Yet, in spite of all these school safety measures, school shootings continue.  Believe me, I’ve bent my head in prayer since Sandy Hook–my only weapon.  Thoughts and prayers are of NO use to dead children and school staff members; they’ve already met Jesus.

I am paranoid of what’s to become of us.  We live in an America rife with bullying, hate, anger, and powerful lobbies which control our legislators.  Each week we lose more of our most precious asset–our youth to senseless violence. Our children are counting on us to resolve this madness.

I Hate Snakes

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Yes, I suffer from ophidiophobia or fear of snakes.  When I walk into a classroom and the teacher has a snake in a glass aquarium, I freak!  I perspire and feel nauseous.  I pray I won’t faint in front of the class.  Lo and behold, this week two encounters almost sent me to an early grave.

I was brunching with a high school assistant principal and merely asked, “What’s up in your world?”

“OMG! I have to tell you what happened.  A teacher called my office to report a kid had a snake in his backpack.”

I gagged on my waffle.  “Dear God!”

“The custodian and I went to the classroom and took the student into the hall.  The young man was wearing a hoodie.  Just as I was about to inquire about the snake, it poked its head out of the hoodie front pouch.”

Again, I gagged.  I would have died in the hallway and been trampled during class change.  “What did you do?”

“Followed protocol.  Took the kid and his snake to my office and had him put the snake in a large plastic container, called the parent, etc.  Look here’s a picture.”

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Lordy it was huge! “What is it?”

“A ball python, named Keith. Mom took it home.  The kid received a restorative discipline.  It was fine.”

Fine?  Doubtful.

Two days later, an unexpected visitor slithered into my backyard.  My dogs were hysterical.  I tried to get them in the house and away from the harmless king snake, but none listened.  Then Max, my cabana boy’s dog and self-appointed defender of me, leapt into action. He grabbed the snake and tossed it in the air three times.  The snake left the earthly world, and Max proudly strutted around as my savior from evil.

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And though it was painful for me to witness, I was delighted Max agreed with me, “The only good snake is a dead one.”

 

Suspension from School

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Call me a heretic.  Call me old and crazy.  I don’t care, but as a 47-year veteran of public education, I believe: NO child should be suspended from school…unless he/she poses a threat to the safety and well-being of others.

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Years ago, the preferred methods of discipline were standing in the corner, being paddled, writing a hundred times I will not…,or calling the parents.  In many schools today, the answer is being kicked out of school for a day, several days, or a week or two.  In this scenario, what does the student learn about his/her behavior?  “Cool.  I get to lie in bed till ten, eat out of the refrigerator, play video games, and watch television.”  What does that accomplish?  NOTHING.

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Forty-four years ago, as a high school principal, I had individual carrels installed in my office area.  Kids who committed an infraction were sentenced to my supervision for several days.  They were given their class assignments, their cafeteria lunch was delivered, and they were escorted to and from the restroom.  They were not kicked out to the comfort of their homes.

Among the current offenses for suspension are such things as swearing, smoking in the bathroom, using a cell phone, violating the dress code, cheating on a test, writing graffiti on a wall, and the most ludicrous…truancy and/or tardiness.  Really?  Why kick a kid out of school for his/her failure to be late or not come to school?  Absolutely, senseless.

So what is the answer to these offenses?  The trendy new phrase is restorative discipline.  While there are a myriad of fancy definitions floating in cyber space, it is simply the proverbial the punishment should fit the “crime” and serve as a teaching tool. Albeit, the perpetrator learns something.  For example, kids who spray paint offensive racial slurs and swastikas should not only be financially responsible for cleaning up their mess, but have to spend “x” number of hours viewing actual footage of the Holocaust and write a research paper on it.  Dress code violations are simple–put on your gym clothes or turn your shirt inside out.  Smoking in the bathroom; research and write a paper on cancer or causes of house fires.

Certainly, there should be consequences for aberrant behavior, but in most cases out-of-school suspension is not the answer.

"I never recommend suspension for students. Why reward poor behavior with time off?"

“I never recommend suspension for students. Why reward poor behavior with time off?”

A Greater Heart

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(This is the last of my series on national heart month.)

Sharen is the owner of my ‘hood bar and grill.  She went to school in the ‘hood, raised her family in the ‘hood, and for the last twenty-some years ran a business in the ‘hood.  Her working day begins at 4:40 AM and sometimes doesn’t end until well after 10:00 PM.  Most of the time, I’m in awe of her energy.

This month she opened her establishment to the high school baseball booster club for a fundraiser.  In fact, she hosts three such fundraisers each year: baseball, pom and cheer, and the marching band.  She solicits donations from her vendors, discounts the food and gives the organization a share of the bar business.  In three hours the baseball boosters raised almost $4,000 to support the team.

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Sharen said, “I’m from the ‘hood and a huge supporter of public education.  Occasionally, I do training for wannabe small business owners, where I remind them to be active contributors to their communities.”  She paused, “Sometimes I just wish I could give more.  I do the best I can.”

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America is jammed with good hearts.  Maybe someday we will applaud them with the same enthusiasm we have for an Oscar winner or a MVP.

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?

#%*+!

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Believe me, I can talk like a sailor, but I was raised with decorum.  I knew people didn’t smoke cigarettes in church, spit in hallways, nor kick puppies.  I also knew there was a time and place when it was not appropriate to use expletives.

In my 18 years on the school board of a large, suburban school district, I never swore from the dais.  I may have thought it, but I didn’t verbalize it.  I knew better.  Further, I didn’t want teachers cussing at students.  Thus, I set an example.  However once, in front of my mom, I accidentally dropped the f bomb.  She heard it fly from my mouth.

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“Sue, when people use gutter talk, it’s the sign of a severely limited vocabulary.  Not to mention a lack of decorum and civility.  Your hero, Mark Twain, was a genius at penning classics without swearing.  We readers fully understood what Huck Finn was really saying, but Mrs. Samuel Clemens edited the base vernacular from his manuscript.”

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Hmm.  Mark Twain was a genius–a stable one.

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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Dr. Suze Is an Immigrant

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In the past two weeks, I’ve experienced what it is like to be the proverbial stranger in a foreign land.  My heart aches for the numerous children that sailed into Ellis Island over a hundred years ago and encountered a new language, culture, and social mores.  My heart aches for the numerous children who fled from poverty and Mexican drug cartels.  My heart aches for the current refugee children fleeing their homelands in search of safety and security.  Most of these children came to American public schools where they not only encountered a new language, but often the feeling of intellectual inadequacy.

I feel their pain.  First, it took me a while to learn teenage slang.  My daughters were continually using words like rad, meh, and tight, which in my mind were meaningless in context.  Then I was forced to learn text talk.  I vividly remember receiving a text from one of them–FOFL.  What does that mean?  And now there’s texting for seniors!  Just yesterday, I texted one of my high school friends and asked, “How are you?”

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His reply, “LOL.”  Hmm.  Why was he laughing out loud?  He wasn’t.  He was Living On Lipitor!  I inquired, “Where are you?”

His reply, “BFF.” Another strange answer, which meant Best Friend’s Funeral in senior speak. 

By now, I was crazy and responded, “WTF?”  I literally meant what the f@#k!

His reply, “Sue, really?  You wet the furniture?”

So as I struggle to learn a new computer and a new printer, I’ve been forced to learn another new language.  Bear with me.  Someday I may understand what an iCloud is.

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