unrefined, uncultured, uncivilized, uncouth
defying the laws established by societal norms
offensive by presence alone
willfully disposed to go counter to what is excepted or desired by others
coming without invitation or welcome
irreversible......
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Liar. Deceiver. Manipulator.
You sit on your pedestal expecting everything and everyone to come to you. Kali-ma, you wear your victims around your neck. Life is languid, effortless until it doesn't agree with you. In the face of any opposition or slight remark against your reign, you become feral, lupine, incoherent. You plan your life and future around your whims or rather your latest long distance-flavored escape plan. You don't dream. You have no vision. Your soul is as empty as the darkest sky, but you will attempt to radiate the sun and the moon if it means gratification in the end. You are more judgemental than the most convicted Southern Baptist. When trapped you bleed excuses and breed scapegoats. Your core personality is as fake as a first date's love song. Why are you here? What do you hope to accomplish? Money and doormats make the world go round. You'll get neither from me. Let me introduce you to your first dissenter. I will bring your throne crashing down and deliver you to the beast. Go back from whence you came, Mata Hari!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Unmoved. Unconvinced. Unimpressed. It's nearly at an end, but not much has changed. She follows the same broken, dark and winding path each day. The day begins anew, but the tasks never change. Woken up in the dark by the mechanical beast. No matter how many times she strikes at it, the thing returns to shriek. Tread blindly through the darkness, tripping on the frames. Stumbling in pain to experience a second blindness. Too bad it's not hysterical. I hear stress reducers will cure that. Slamming, banging, whooshing, splashing. She stands taller, heavy treads and clumsy stumbles built into definitive plodding. Coffee. Too much sugar. Let the cold air out too many times. Invite mud and dewey feet to jump on the couch. Sweetened cardboard and ice cold white. Swallow, brush, rinse and repeat.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
The Risks of Second Life
Four screens. Three faces. One conversation evesdropped on from the couch. Independent interactions. Disjointed sentences carrying little meaning for the audience at hand. The speaker holds the power, but which audience holds the key? The virtual audience reinforces deviant outbursts free of manners or social norms. The physical audience carries consequences too painful for most. Which audience will you appeal to? Indulgence or reality?
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Paradise
Dreaming of sunlight cascading down the currents of tea colored water. Rushing, shimmering, floating, my path to paradise. The cool water quenches the thirst of my skin, baked to a shimmer by the heat of the day. Life is simple, and drama is kept at bay, no longer the snapping, foaming beast of Week Day. We run from the beast, forever biting at our heels. Pack the car, head south, leave the beast behind. The air gets thicker, like a summer day after a rain, as our shoulders lighten their burdens. In the dark, we pass the threshold where the modern world meets the lives of bygone days. Simpler. Cleaner. Permeable. Cell phone towers, satellite tv, web access all fall by the wayside as we turn down that long forgotten path. The winding, dusty trails of yesteryear. The smell of peat moss and swamp sifting through our noses and feeding our spirits. Family is the focus. Daily lives disappear. The front porch, our destination. The River, our delight.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
C - Papillions and Peasants
Begging. Sniveling. Filthy. Peasants.
I've been deported, enslaved and sentenced to the fields. My royal chambers have been reduced to a cell, hardly 3x3 with no windows and housed next to a cell with some feral smelling rube. Nearly fifteen generations have passed since my ancestor accompanied our Queen to the guillotine. We provided penultimate comfort for our Queen, and even after the peasants took her from us, we were sentenced to the Papillion House in Paris. My line can be traced through frescos dating back hundreds of years, and I am treated like a criminal! Beautiful tapestries depicting my royal line in interwoven strands of gold, silver and purple, GONE. Lush pillows and mattresses encasing my bulk as I burrow down for the night, LOST. Now I exist on the mercy of others.
Every day the bearded nazi drives me through the fields. Yelling orders, giving generously to the destruction of my pelt with every mistake, she pushes me to exhaustion. I need at least 16 hours of sleep to maintain my standard of luster. Who do they think they are? One of these days, I will have my vengeance. The little beard will never dare to sully me with her presence. The two-legs will prepare food worthy of a prince, and they will bow before me! I will regain my past! They will sleep in tiny cells, begging for their freedom. They will care for the fields while I watch from above. They will suffer for what I've lost! Filthy peasants....
I've been deported, enslaved and sentenced to the fields. My royal chambers have been reduced to a cell, hardly 3x3 with no windows and housed next to a cell with some feral smelling rube. Nearly fifteen generations have passed since my ancestor accompanied our Queen to the guillotine. We provided penultimate comfort for our Queen, and even after the peasants took her from us, we were sentenced to the Papillion House in Paris. My line can be traced through frescos dating back hundreds of years, and I am treated like a criminal! Beautiful tapestries depicting my royal line in interwoven strands of gold, silver and purple, GONE. Lush pillows and mattresses encasing my bulk as I burrow down for the night, LOST. Now I exist on the mercy of others.
Every day the bearded nazi drives me through the fields. Yelling orders, giving generously to the destruction of my pelt with every mistake, she pushes me to exhaustion. I need at least 16 hours of sleep to maintain my standard of luster. Who do they think they are? One of these days, I will have my vengeance. The little beard will never dare to sully me with her presence. The two-legs will prepare food worthy of a prince, and they will bow before me! I will regain my past! They will sleep in tiny cells, begging for their freedom. They will care for the fields while I watch from above. They will suffer for what I've lost! Filthy peasants....
Sunday, January 30, 2011
A Day of Disappointment
There are certain unavoidable hazards of my job. There are many interpretations as to why 4 year olds are inexplicably attracted to things that are dirty and sticky. As a result, they themselves become unwashably dirty and sticky. No matter the amount of hand washing, clothes cleaning or hand sanitizing, they remain dirty and sticky while becoming magnets for any other forms of yuck within a fifty mile radius. I understood this theory going in, and I can quantify this theory going out.
During the course of the year so far, I have been urinated on, vomited on, snotted on, sneezed on, coughed on, exploded on and pooped on. It's part of the job, and to date, I have not even experienced dry heaves. Yet this week, I came home feeling filthier and more disgusted with my current situation than ever before. I know you're out there thinking, is there a grosser symptom to working with four year olds? Is there a nastier flavor out there to catch from four year olds? What could possibly be worse than many exploding little bodies of germs?
Well, let me answer quickly and to the point. The best part of the job is the child package, for better or worse. The worst part is the black hole that takes away your professional worth in the eyes of others. Day by day that black hole sucks your credentials dry, becoming parasitic like a leech beneath the depths of murky waters. Unseen, unfeeling, constantly draining. The black hole theory starts at the back of your mind, an unproven theory you can sense out of the corner of your eye. Why do people look at me in pity? Why do they shake their heads? These thoughts eat away pieces of your conscience until that theory develops a life of its own. It becomes a parasite draining your professional life blood, that constant flow of passion and do-goodness that all teachers much possess to be successful. Day by day this parasite drinks. You can see the effects to your body. The hollow eyes, the weight loss, the pale skin and worsening complexion. People know you look sick, but they insist on telling you things like, you're doing a great job, things will get easier, hang in there, and my favorite, well if you hate it so much find another job. Sure I'll find another job at another school experiencing the same level of budget cuts so I can be in this same situation again. Or better yet, how about instead of teaching, I try something else. Who cares that if I break my contract, I can never teach again or if I wait to the end, it may be months before I can find another job to replace the level of unsatisfactory I'm currently swimming through!
How does a teacher turn into this parasite constantly sucking away and riding upon her back? Try living in an environment where your peers, some of whom have the same credentials as you, believe that because you teach pre-k, you're not a real teacher. Does anyone come out and preach their convictions openly? No, but you can see it written across your face. Then the icing on the cake: an administration that thinks your job is so worthless, that they don't read your lesson plans, visit your room or inquire about how your kids are progressing. Better yet, lets all get together for a three hour staff development meeting where everyone discusses and presents on the school professional development texts for the year. It's so important to lay a common professional framework so that students can acquire the language and practices early and build upon them in future grades. Sounds great, doesn't it? How much more foundational does pre-k get? The pre-k program was created to help at risk students get a head start so that kindergarten would not be so difficult. To me, that fits the definition of a foundation.
Nothing makes you feel more worthless than knowing how important pre-k is and not being taken seriously. Do you think I got to participate in the professional development texts? Nope. Never got a copy of those books. Instead, I get to sit in and listen to everyone else, every other REAL teacher discuss what they learned and how they are going to apply their learning. The kicker of it all, the principal stands up and says how important it is to develop a strong foundation. Apparently, pre-k is just the dirt beneath the foundation. Still there, still supporting the foundation, but no one really thinks about how I hold it up. I'm not a real teacher after all.
Before this year, I taught K-3. Third grade was my favorite, and for a beginning teacher with students no one else wanted, my PASS scores rocked. I have a BA in English literature and language and a BS in Early Childhood Education. I'm almost finished with my Master's program. My friends used to make fun of the fact that the abbreviation for Bachelors in Science is also an abbreviation for a phrase meaning "nonsense, lies, or exaggeration" or "to express disagreement." I never thought that my Bachelors in Science would become the more colloquial term. Apparently, the parasite on my back has eaten away all the top layers of my certification, and I am no longer a professional. I am the equivalent of a daycare worker in the eyes of my peers and administration. All I do is babysit.
They can ignore the data all they want. I know how important I am. My kids and families know how important I am. Many came to me not even knowing their names due to the fact that everyone uses a different nickname. I had kids that could not count, did not know what a letter was, could not interact with other students, and could not complete a single task independently. Come look at my data now. It's January, and if we had standardized scores, the majority of my students would score in the top percentiles. I have a group that I'm teaching to read, add, subtract and write stories. Who's not a real teacher now? How are your kids doing as you stand behind your desk all day judging others? How is your school doing as you stay in your office all day? I know my kids. I know my families. I build relationships and bridges. Not so worthless after all, huh?
During the course of the year so far, I have been urinated on, vomited on, snotted on, sneezed on, coughed on, exploded on and pooped on. It's part of the job, and to date, I have not even experienced dry heaves. Yet this week, I came home feeling filthier and more disgusted with my current situation than ever before. I know you're out there thinking, is there a grosser symptom to working with four year olds? Is there a nastier flavor out there to catch from four year olds? What could possibly be worse than many exploding little bodies of germs?
Well, let me answer quickly and to the point. The best part of the job is the child package, for better or worse. The worst part is the black hole that takes away your professional worth in the eyes of others. Day by day that black hole sucks your credentials dry, becoming parasitic like a leech beneath the depths of murky waters. Unseen, unfeeling, constantly draining. The black hole theory starts at the back of your mind, an unproven theory you can sense out of the corner of your eye. Why do people look at me in pity? Why do they shake their heads? These thoughts eat away pieces of your conscience until that theory develops a life of its own. It becomes a parasite draining your professional life blood, that constant flow of passion and do-goodness that all teachers much possess to be successful. Day by day this parasite drinks. You can see the effects to your body. The hollow eyes, the weight loss, the pale skin and worsening complexion. People know you look sick, but they insist on telling you things like, you're doing a great job, things will get easier, hang in there, and my favorite, well if you hate it so much find another job. Sure I'll find another job at another school experiencing the same level of budget cuts so I can be in this same situation again. Or better yet, how about instead of teaching, I try something else. Who cares that if I break my contract, I can never teach again or if I wait to the end, it may be months before I can find another job to replace the level of unsatisfactory I'm currently swimming through!
How does a teacher turn into this parasite constantly sucking away and riding upon her back? Try living in an environment where your peers, some of whom have the same credentials as you, believe that because you teach pre-k, you're not a real teacher. Does anyone come out and preach their convictions openly? No, but you can see it written across your face. Then the icing on the cake: an administration that thinks your job is so worthless, that they don't read your lesson plans, visit your room or inquire about how your kids are progressing. Better yet, lets all get together for a three hour staff development meeting where everyone discusses and presents on the school professional development texts for the year. It's so important to lay a common professional framework so that students can acquire the language and practices early and build upon them in future grades. Sounds great, doesn't it? How much more foundational does pre-k get? The pre-k program was created to help at risk students get a head start so that kindergarten would not be so difficult. To me, that fits the definition of a foundation.
Nothing makes you feel more worthless than knowing how important pre-k is and not being taken seriously. Do you think I got to participate in the professional development texts? Nope. Never got a copy of those books. Instead, I get to sit in and listen to everyone else, every other REAL teacher discuss what they learned and how they are going to apply their learning. The kicker of it all, the principal stands up and says how important it is to develop a strong foundation. Apparently, pre-k is just the dirt beneath the foundation. Still there, still supporting the foundation, but no one really thinks about how I hold it up. I'm not a real teacher after all.
Before this year, I taught K-3. Third grade was my favorite, and for a beginning teacher with students no one else wanted, my PASS scores rocked. I have a BA in English literature and language and a BS in Early Childhood Education. I'm almost finished with my Master's program. My friends used to make fun of the fact that the abbreviation for Bachelors in Science is also an abbreviation for a phrase meaning "nonsense, lies, or exaggeration" or "to express disagreement." I never thought that my Bachelors in Science would become the more colloquial term. Apparently, the parasite on my back has eaten away all the top layers of my certification, and I am no longer a professional. I am the equivalent of a daycare worker in the eyes of my peers and administration. All I do is babysit.
They can ignore the data all they want. I know how important I am. My kids and families know how important I am. Many came to me not even knowing their names due to the fact that everyone uses a different nickname. I had kids that could not count, did not know what a letter was, could not interact with other students, and could not complete a single task independently. Come look at my data now. It's January, and if we had standardized scores, the majority of my students would score in the top percentiles. I have a group that I'm teaching to read, add, subtract and write stories. Who's not a real teacher now? How are your kids doing as you stand behind your desk all day judging others? How is your school doing as you stay in your office all day? I know my kids. I know my families. I build relationships and bridges. Not so worthless after all, huh?
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