Not Black and White

The staff of our school is required to participate in cultural competence training this year, which involves monthly large and small group sessions with reading, discussion, and other activities designed to raise awareness of institutional racism and its impact on our students' achievement as well as the implications it has for our practice.

One of the questions we were asked to consider today was to recall an early memory of recognizing race or racial identity. Back in the 1960s, when I was very young, my grandparents employed a woman named Louise to clean their house once a week. I once heard someone refer to her as "the colored maid," but I was very confused about who they were talking about.

"You know, Louise," they kept on saying to me. "Grandma's cleaning lady?"

But I shook my head over and over, because in my mind, I imagined a person with bright rainbow-colored skin, and I was quite sure that I had never met someone like that.

Holiday Trio

I spent some time over Thanksgiving playing Christmas carols on my ukulele with the accompaniment (some might say extreme support) of both of my older nephews on guitar.

Personally? I thought we sounded awesome from the get-go, but those who were subjected to our "rehearsals" did not seem to concur. At the end of the break the three of us parted ways with a set list, sheet music, and a loose promise to practice for a holiday concert to be performed for the family sometime in late December.

I laughed as I told my ukulele teacher about it at my lesson this afternoon, and he laughed, too, but he was into it and very supportive-- we went through three of the four pieces and he complimented me on my improvement.

"I know, right?" I told him. "I don't want to let down the band!"

And the Good News Rolls On

What's that you say? The parking lot at our school will be closed for 2 years? But we can park a half mile away and take a shuttle?

Last morning shuttle: 7:15
Last evening shuttle: 4:45

Oh.

Kay.

Savage Claim

The lesson in my English classes today was by the book. Dubbed "essay boot camp," it involved practice using a box and bullets structure for a quick essay on the Three Little Pigs. For the purpose of expediency, the claim for this familiar tale was a given: the third little pig is an admirable character; the students were tasked with finding supporting reasons and details.

We started with the reasons: common ideas were that he was commendable because he was hardworking, smart, kind (in the version where his brothers survive), and/or brave. But the most popular answer was not one I had anticipated. According to the kids, the third pig deserved our praise because he was... savage.

What about the details? I asked them, but they were well-prepared.

That little piggy does not hesitate to kill the wolf, and the method he uses is nothing short of brutal: he boils him alive over an open fire. And then? He eats his nemesis for dinner.

Yeah, that's pretty savage.

Alpha Girls

"Who? Moved! My! Stuff?' cried a student breathlessly as she slid over to her table just as the after-lunch bell was ringing.

The other girls at the table shrugged, wide-eyed.

"Well!" she proclaimed, "My binder was there," she pointed to a seat to the left of the one that was open and currently occupied by her notebook.

"I moved it," I told her. "That's where I eat my lunch. There are no assigned seats in our class right anyway," I shrugged. "It's really first come, first choice."

She was silent, but continued to glower at the other student. When she thought I wasn't paying attention, she turned to her and hissed, "WHY would you EVER sit in that seat??"

To her credit, the girl was unfazed. "Your stuff was over there," she gestured. "I didn't want to incur your wrath!" she laughed, clearly having no intention to move.

"Humph!" the first student literally exclaimed as she flounced into the unwanted chair.

My Small Hearth

It's been a warm fall and a busy week, but after running errands and catching up on a little school work it was finally time this evening for the first fire of the season. And that is where you will find me: relaxing with a book and a beer as dry wood hisses and cracks in the guttering flames. 

Trifecta

Conventional wisdom macabrely has it that those of renown typically die in trios, and so as with any other paradigm we psychologically stretch reality to make the pattern fit.

Florence Henderson, Fidel Castro, and Ron Glass?

Um...

Yeah.

That's three!