7 Degrees

It’s funny what a difference 7 degrees can make. 

If you have 7 degrees from universities, that boosts your credibility.

If you have 7 degrees less than 360, you don’t quite have a circle.

If you have 7 degrees lower on your thermostat, you’re sleeping in a cold room.

I came home from school last Wednesday (12/14/11) and noticed a slight chill in the air.  Thanks to our programmable thermostats, I just assumed it wasn’t’ time for the heat to come back on so I didn’t give it a second thought.  

I had been home a couple of hours when I realized something was wrong, and of course by this time it was almost 6:00pm, so there was no way to get anyone there before Thursday.

The repair guy, Ryan, shows up on Thursday (12/15/11) and discovers we have a bad blower motor.  Not a huge problem, fairly easy to replace, not too expensive.  However, they can’t find one Dallas, and it will have to be ordered.  Should be here in a week (12/22/11).  I’m sorry, but we live in Dallas, Texas.  This is a fairly large metropolitan area, and you’re telling me these guys can’t put their hands on a blower motor for a Lennox furnace???  Turns out… they can’t.

To our surprise it shows up on Monday (12/19/11).  Ryan comes back and spends, what seems like to me, a long time up in the attic.  When he reemerges he informs me that they sent the wrong motor.  It looks the same, but it is 240 volts and is designed for Canada’s electrical systems. 

It wasn’t too bad at first, but now we’re down in the 30’s. 

On Friday morning (12/23/11) our thermostat read 55 degrees.  And baby, it was cold.  I bought some space heaters and after about 30 minutes the temperature was at 62 degrees.  So I think we’re going to make it until next Tuesday (12/27/11).

Like I said, it’s funny what a difference 7 degrees can make. 

"coffee"

I wrote this poem for my school, but decided to share it...just to prove that I am still writing!

enjoy,
Hugh

"Coffee"

Our year is almost over, and it’s time for us to shout,
So lift your head, strap on a smile, there isn’t time to pout

We have a lot to do today, before we close the door,
So grab a cup of “coffee,” and down your gullet pour

Yes “coffee” is the PC term, for whatever soothes your pain,
Mrs. Lesher brews a tasty cup, too much you’ll go insane

With “coffee” cup in hand, spiked just the way you like,
It’s with a smile and sweet “Hello!” that we’ll greet every tike

Then any time the day gets hard, just grin and take a sip,
And let your “coffee” warm your soul, and try hard not to slip

For you’re on stage for one last show, the whole class watching you,
So keep your cup close by your side, it’s “coffee” through and through

You’ll play the role fantastically, and wait for curtain call,
Then stagger as you walk them out, and try hard not to fall

And as you wave goodbye to each you can almost hear them say,
“My teacher drinks Mrs. Lesher’s coffee every single day!”

So take your final nip of “coffee” at least until next year,
Have a safe and healthy holiday, that’s filled with “coffee” cheer!

A Day of 2's

I decided to write something brand new today,

But the darn number 2 just would not go away

I could not pinpoint why there was 2 on my brain,

The cause of this quandary I tried hard to gain

With 2 on my mind as I started to rhyme,

When I realized that 2 is not odd, yet it’s prime

And while that brought a smile to this poet’s cute face,

The idea of 2 I still could not erase

As my fingers keep pecking away at the keys,

I suddenly thought, “Hey!  I’ve got just 2 knees!”

I couldn’t keep 2 of things out of my head,

If I’d had big 2 guns, I might just be dead

2 hands and 2 thumbs where too much to bear,

2 ears and 2 eyes, but I just didn’t care

With 2’s all around me I was feeling shut in,

And that when 2 nightmares, they both did begin

2 feet, arms and elbows when would these 2’s stop?

2 left shoes, 2 right shoes Dragnet had 2 cops

My shirt’s missing 2 buttons, so I felt so confused,

If I had 2 narcotics, I think both would be used

I put my head down, feeling much like a fool,

When I suddenly realized, we’ve just 2 days of school!

My Left Shoe

I woke up yesterday morning and wrote this poem. 
It just came out of my head, and that's all the explanation I have.


enjoy,
Hugh

My Left Shoe

I woke up this morning, like I usually do,

And there was no trace of my silly left shoe

I searched and I searched, for what felt like a year,

But my shoe’s AOL, then I let out a cheer

For you see, no left shoe is a wonderful thing,

My mind started soaring, my heart it did sing

If I’ve got no left shoe, then possibilities are endless,

Without a left shoe, I can never be friendless

With my thoughts marching on, I advanced to the door,

I walked with a limp, my left foot touching floor

But that didn’t stop me, I couldn’t slow down,

The floor might be cold, but my face wouldn’t frown

Left shoe revelations were popping up fast,

There was no sign of ending, I knew they would last

My left foot unclothed, made the world come alive,

To feel the world’s wonders, I just had to stride

With my new worldly view, about to explode,

My heart held a message, that I had to unload

I searched for a pulpit, or someplace to speak,

My fingers shook hard, my knees getting weak

And when my left foot found a place it could stand,

I looked down to find my left shoe in my hand.  

Compensation Strategies

I don’ t know what it is about me that makes it extra hard for me to cope with difficult students.  Actually, I do know and it’s called a Closed Head Injury.  I’ve been running and hiding from that label for almost 22 years, but I’m not as young as I used to be and somehow it always seems to sniff me out.    

I think back to a time when I was deep in denial about the severity of my injuries.  I had doctors and therapists telling me that things like multitasking, problem solving and frustration tolerance were typically problem areas for Closed Head Injury survivors and I needed to learn some strategies to help me compensate.  I, however, would listen and think, “Yeah, but you don’t know me!  This may be how it is for your other survivors, but I’m atypical.” But I had no idea.

I have a couple of students this year who, for some reason, just seem to push all my buttons.  It’s driving me crazy.  Top that off with the fact that this time of year is hard for those very same students, and you have a lit bomb with a very short fuse.

For most of my students the Christmas season is fun.  They look forward to the usual things.  Time off from school, seeing family, more food than they can eat, lots of presents, but most of all time off from school.  I grew up in this world and it makes sense to me.  

I know there are other worlds out there, but they always seemed so far away.  I have to keep reminding myself that for some of my students time off from school means staying home alone.  It means no breakfast and no lunch and sometimes no diner.  It means no positive interactions with anyone.  It means watching TV and getting glimpses of what the holiday season means...just not for them.

In 1991, when I was in Cognitive Remediation Therapy working on compensation strategies for my stupid closed hear injury, nobody offered any compensation ideas for how to handle being face to face with a nine year old boy who is ignored at home unless he misbehaves.  And nobody gave me any strategies for compensating when you find a child who is saving empty food wrappers in her backpack.  And no one bothered to tell me that someday it would take every ounce of strength not to burst into tears. 

Yes, I have some students who are pushing my “compensation strategy” buttons on a daily basis. 

But maybe my buttons needed to be pushed.

School Shopping

We spent last weekend in Birmingham, Alabama and Greenville, South Carolina.  No, we weren’t on vacation, (although Greenville does have an amazing downtown!) the three of us were checking out a couple of universities for Macy.

I know what you’re thinking; “Hugh, you’re way too young to have a child who is old enough for college!”  And believe me, that is exactly what I’ve been thinking.  I mean it’s not like I’m a few days away from being 50 or something… but, I digress. 

First, we checked out Samford University in Birmingham.  We were all blown away.  They rolled out the red carpet for us.  The three of us got to sit in two different classes and took a very detailed tour of the campus.  We loved it.

Next, we went to Furman University in Greenville.  Before our trip, I happen to have mentioned to a couple of people that we were going to see Furman.  And each person said the same thing.  “You’re going to love how beautiful it is!”  I would just nod in agreement and go about my business.  I mean how beautiful can it be?  Really? 

Let me go on record here and say, I was, nay, we were amazed.  When you look at it online, it does not do it justice.  If you ever find yourself in Greenville, SC do yourself a favor and stop by for a quick peek.  It’s worth the effort.

We were at Furman on a Saturday, so going to class wasn’t an option, however we had an informative tour, learned great deal and went away happy to have made the trek.  Plus!  We were given a very interesting bumper sticker.  Scroll down and see what you think.

Both of the schools are small liberal arts universities that specialize in faculty and student interaction as the basis of a quality education. 

Where will Macy end up matriculating?  Your guess is as good as mine, but for now we’re having fun shopping.

Furman University...that's the first thing I thought of too!

Unexpected

A fifth grade boy at my school passed away last Wednesday night.  Yesterday was a hard day at my school.   If you pray, please say a prayer for his family and his very shaken and confused classmates.  At their age, elementary school students shouldn’t have to be asking these kinds of “why” questions.

Thanks

Hugh

If the Walls Could Talk

I’ve written before about the strange and stupid things that have popped out of my mouth while teaching.  And you’d think after almost 20 years of teaching (damn, I’m old!) that I’d have developed some kind of verbal 10-second delay mechanism to help filter my words.  Sadly either that option wasn’t available back in 1964 when I was born, or my parent decided not to pay for the upgrade.  

Whatever the case, I find that every two to three years I’ll be in the hallway with my class after recess and I’ll shout something like, “Boys!  Keep your balls in your hands!” And the whole class explodes in laughter.  Teacher included.

However, this isn’t about something I said, but rather about something I heard.  

Last week I had taken my class to music and I was headed back to my classroom, when I walked by a kindergarten class taking a restroom break.  

I was waving to and high-fiving some of the brothers and sisters of students in my class as they sat in the hall.  (As the only male teacher, I enjoy a kind of celebrity status at my school, and I can’t ignore my fans)  I had just passed the class when from behind me I heard the teacher, in a very calm tone, say, “Steven, is that where your pants belong?”

A smile spread across my face as I fought the temptation to turn around and gawk.  I just walked back to class happy to have been at the right place at the right time.

I’ve been at Moss Haven Elementary for 13 years.  And baby, if the walls could talk...I bet they’d tell some funny stories. 

Gary Update

On the first day of school I barged into Gary’s class (I set this up with the teacher ahead of time) and pointed straight at Gary.  

“Get out in the hallway young man, and you know exactly why!” I barked.

You could have heard a pin drop and all eyes were bouncing between Gary, his new teacher and me.  Looking a little startled, Gary shot a glance back to his teacher.  “You better do as he says,” And Gary followed me into the hall.

I turned around in the hallway and Gary had a grin from ear to ear.  “You’re just trying to fool me. I’m not really in trouble!  And he gave me a hug.  

We’ve had two weeks school, and I haven’t seen anything but a smile on Gary’s face.  This boy who was so cold and closed off has become a whole new person.  It is as if Gary has given himself permission to be a child again.  

According to his teacher, Gary has friends, is working hard and doing a good job.  School isn’t just a place his mother makes him go anymore, it’s a place he enjoys.  And as a teacher, that’s my biggest goal.  Students who enjoy being at school have fun learning.  And when you’re having fun learning…the possibilities are endless.

I do my best to check on Gary each day.  I told him to come see me if he needs anything, and we’ll figure it out. 

Gary should be proud.  

He’s come a long way.

Our New Pool Boy

We moved into our home about three years ago.  I had never owned a pool before and I was a little nervous about taking care of my first pool.  To make matters worse, I had heard horror stories about people who tried to manage the pool’s chemicals on their own.  So I decided to leave it up to the professionals. 

I hired a pool guy who a friend trusted recommended and went about my business.  With the pool guy there were two options: 

Option #1:  He comes and takes care of  balancing the chemicals, empties the skimmer baskets, uses the net and cleans all the leaves and dead bugs out of the pool.  This costs $150 per month.

Option #2: He comes and takes care of  balancing the chemicals and I clean the pool myself.  This costs $75 per month.

I went with option #2.

At first, cleaning the pool really wasn’t all that hard.  However, as time moved on I began noticing small things that I wasn’t happy with.  For example, the green algae that I was cleaning off the walls of the pool pretty much weekly, was beginning to grow at an alarming rate.  What were weekly cleanings, became daily, then twice daily.  I was getting frustrated and exhausted. 

I headed to the Leslie’s pool store for help.  I had become friends with Len, the manger sometime in my first year of pool ownership.  His wife is a teacher in my district and he and I just clicked. 

Len helped me solve the algae problem and I haven’t scrubbed the pool walls in over a year.  He also tried to convince me that I could easily take care of the pool’s chemicals, however, I was still hesitant to do it myself. 

It wasn’t until recently when I happened to be home two weeks in a row when the pool guy came. I watched expecting to see him take water samples and test the chlorine levels then head back to the truck to build the right mixture of chemicals to add to the pool. 

But that was far from reality.

Two weeks in a row all he did was walk up to the pool, throw in a scoop full of what I assume is chlorine and leave.  He was only spending about 60 seconds in my backyard!  That’s only about 4 minutes a month!  At this rate was paying this guy about $280 bucks an hour…and I had to solve the algae problem myself???

I decided to take Len’s advice and manage my pool myself. 

I’m on my third week as the New Pool Boy and I couldn’t be happier.  I take a water sample to Leslie’s pool supply where they test it for free, tell me what I need to add, and I’m out the door.  It takes about 10 minutes.

And for a guy who likes building things and working on stuff… being a pool boy is a dream come true!  

I’m having a blast taking care of the pool, it looks the best it has in three years and I’ve got 75 extra bucks in my pocket.  If I had a beer I’d be in heaven!

But my boss is pretty strict… 

Gary

When you’re a self-contained, elementary teacher each year is a new panorama of people and personalities.   You have students who walk in confident and students who walk in unsure.  You have students who walk in dressed to the nines and students who walk in wearing rags.  You have students who walk in happy to be there and students who walk in angry that summer went too fast.  However, on the first day, almost everyone walks in quiet and a little reserved.

Not so for Gary.

Gary began the year in the class next door, but after an exceptionally difficult first day (a day I won’t go into the details about) he spent the next six weeks in the district’s alternative school.  Suffice it to say, you don’t go to alternative school for being tardy, or throwing French fries at lunch.  It’s for serious offenders, and it’s not a very fun place to be. 

When Gary returned he was, for several reasons, placed in my class.  He walked in loud and mad at the world, a fact that instinctively caused me to spring into drill sergeant mode and I never looked back. 

“Son!  You are NOT going to walk in my class like that ever again…is that clear?”

“Yea…”

“I said, is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes sir.”

“Now, get in your seat, get to work and I’d better not hear a peep out of you!  If you feel like you have something you just gotta’ say you had better raise your hand young man.  Do you understand me?”

“Yea…”

“I said, do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes sir.”

And that was how our mornings began for the next 12 weeks.

Now I feel the need to go on record here and say that for me, “drill sergeant mode” is not a role that I enjoy.  Don’t get me wrong, I play it well, but it’s very out of character for me.  And as you may already know, prolonged exposure to anything can have a detrimental effect.  Just like spending too much time around things like the sun, radiation, or asbestos, if a teacher spends too much time in drill sergeant mode sooner or later it takes its toll.  Drill sergeant mode can keep you tired and make you cranky. 

However, my biggest drill sergeant fear is getting lost.

If you get lost, you get off of your normal path then you can’t find your way back to an area that’s familiar and comfortable.  You wander around and survive as best you can.  The cast of Gilligan’s Island got lost their lives were never the same, but they always seemed to have fun.

Getting lost in drill sergeant mode works much the same way, only without all the comical endings to the trials and tribulations life throws at you.  If you get stuck in drill sergeant mode your teaching effectiveness and your teaching joy fly right out the window. 

Because it was all Drill Sergeant Hugh could do to keep Gary in line, I started getting lost. 

Luckily I had enough students who didn’t need Drill Sergeant Hugh to help me see what was happening.  I made a conscious effort to turn my back on the drill sergeant and fight anger with kindness and acceptance. 

It wasn’t easy…

My emotions, thanks to a closed head injury, are right at the surface, so keeping my cool when I was being ignored and yelled at didn’t always happen.  I took each day one at a time and went home happy if I hadn’t barked at Gary.

It was sometime in late November or early December when I got my first peek into Gary’s personality.  He had been in my class about 10 weeks and I had never seen anything resembling a smile on his face.  I don’t even know what we were doing, but I walked up behind him, patted him on the back and made some kind of goofy remark.  A huge grin spread across his face and he even laughed a little.  I think he could see the surprise in my eyes, and his smile quickly bounced back to a frown.

But it was too late. 

You see, by smiling at my dumb joke he showed me that he wanted to laugh and be happy, but maybe he just didn’t have the courage. 

Over the next several months Gary and I bonded.  Don’t get me wrong, Drill Sergeant Hugh was never far away, and he came out of hiding when he was needed.  However, he normally would pop in and be gone in a matter of minutes.  You see I learned that if I simply talked with Gary using a calm voice and expressed my disappointment with his behavior, then drill sergeant Hugh usually wasn’t needed.

Positive changes were happening.  Gary is smart…really smart.  However, his behavior usually got in the way of his learning so I don’t believe his teachers in the past had been able to see it.  Nothing against them, but with some students it can be hard to focus on anything other than their behavior.  Fortunately, for some reason, Gary started to let me peek behind his iron curtain and I got to see how smart he really is. 

But changes were happening in me too.  This boy who took every ounce of my strength, every ounce of my patience was chipping away at my heart.  What I learned is that you can’t fight anger with kindness and acceptance without opening up your heart.  When your heart is open, I mean wide open, you don’t get to pick and choose the people you’re going to let in.  If the door is open all kinds of people, good and bad alike, come shuffling in. 

One day, after a problem in the hallway, I pulled Gary aside and said, “What’s happening?” and “Who are you?  Pal, I thought we had gotten past this kind of behavior.  When you first came to my class this is how you acted, but all this had changed.  I want the New Gary back.  New Gary has become one of my favorite students…please bring him back.”

I was speaking from the heart and even as the words left my lips I knew they were true.  I don’t think Gary had every heard anything like that come out of a teacher’s mouth.  He sat down in the hallway and cried.

He tried to talk, but his blubbering lips couldn’t form words.  I put my arm around him and told him to walk to the restroom and pull himself together. 

I walked back to class wiping tears from my eyes. 

I knew that this fourth grade boy had been bouncing from school to school since kindergarten.  He was actually an overflow student from another school in my district.  A few days later, when the principal told me his mother had written a letter requesting a transfer for his fifth grade year I was shocked.  She talked about all the positive changes she had seen in Gary and how happy both she and Gary are about finally having a good school year.  I told the principal that it would be a mistake not to give Gary a transfer. 

Yep, when you’re a self-contained, elementary teacher each year is a new panorama of people and personalities.   You have students who walk in confident and students who walk in unsure.  You have students who walk in dressed to the nines and students who walk in wearing rags. 

And sometimes you have a student who walks in and changes your life forever…

The Brewery Reopens

Back in September of 2009, I wrote about my beer tree.  You can read that here.

After a recent 3^rd and 4^th grade pool party at my home, I noticed a wet spot on the brick patio that had attracted the attention of several small insects.  I simply assumed that one of the partygoers had spilled their juice box.  I washed it off with the hose and didn’t give it a second thought.

However, when not only the spot, but also the bugs returned on the following day I was a wee-bit more intrigued. 

As I knelt down at the spot to investigate the eight inch diameter, insect infested spot, I was almost hit by a drop of something from above.  Looking up I saw two foaming white spots on one of the lower branches of my red oak tree and the words BEER TREE flashed in my memory. 

That’s when I saw the inch and a half long bugs.  These guys are boring beetles, and they were the brew-misters who had first opened my tree keg back in 2009.  Matthew the Arborist told me that, while it can be a little messy, it doesn’t hurt the tree. 

So what’s up at the Atkinson house? 

Looks like we’re busy brewing tree beer and giving all the critters in the neighborhood an easy fix. 

And so I’ve got this tree growing right in the middle of my patio.

And for now it’s open bar…

It's Somewhere Past Midnight

It’s somewhere past midnight,

But I don’t know quite when

When the urge to start rhyming,

In my brain did begin

I fought the temptation,

With all of my might

I tried to sleep deep,

I fought the good fight

However, I found myself,

Perched at the keys

I was rhyming away,

Sometimes on bended knees

I found I was caught,

In rhyming’s tight noose

I was starting to feel,

A bit like Dr. Suess

I was writing of students,

And teachers and books

Of dwendars and dweeners,

Of grindars and grooks

There were hoopers and heezers,

And mooks by the dozen

 I had mongos and meezers,

There were grooks and one grozen

I awoke with a jolt,

With this thought in my head

Suess would like all my poems,

That is, if he weren’t dead!

TAKS Poem

I wrote this poem for the faculty at my school.  I hope you enjoy.

In the book of Revelation John tells of a beast

With 666 as its mark

Scholars know that this beast is quite evil

And that our last days will be dark

 

But for us there’s a beast with a much different tag

Yet it’s evil and vile all the same

A beast with a power so awesome

That at times I dare not speak its name

 

It could be I’m just superstitious

Or maybe I’m just being wise

But our beast has a name that’s both tempting and cruel

With a flavor that we all despise

 

Do not be confused by its cute outer shell

For it has several tricks up its sleeve

It will lure you in close…make you think that you’re safe

Then cause pain that you will not believe

 

So stand strong and cheer loud for our heroes!

Our last line of defense…yes they are

Wave your banner with pride don’t be bashful

Cuz these kids, they have really come far

 

And I find myself talking like Yoda

“Mind what you’ve learned…save you it can”

See our beast has an unfair advantage

For it was not created by man

 

Yes, our beast is a hideous demon

And in each of our hearts it strikes fear

But take ease in the words I am saying

It only comes round once a year.

 

HAPPY TAKS DAY!!!

Letter to Legislators

I wrote an email to my state Senator and my state Representatives asking them to do what’s right regarding education in Texas.  I decided to post it here with the hope that it might inspire someone else to do the same thing.   Read what I wrote and feel free to use it as a model for a letter of your own, change it a little to make it your own, or even copy it word for word and pass it off as your own.  You can click on the link below, put in your zip code and find the names and email addresses of your local Senators and Representatives.

Thanks,

Hugh

http://www.fyi.legis.state.tx.us/

Dear  Senator _____________________ ,

As a teacher and parent in your district, I’d like to ask, nay beg, you to work extra hard to do what’s right for the educators in our state.  Ours is not a profession one chooses in order to get rich.  Ours is not a profession one chooses in hopes of becoming famous.  Ours is a profession filled with people who help children.  We work long, sometimes thankless hours in an attempt to make a difference in the lives of young people, as well as the future of Texas. 

We don’t have the luxury time necessary to drop what we are doing to come to Austin and let our voices be heard.  We need you and every legislator to stand up, speak for teachers and do what’s right. 

Thank you for not making a hard job even harder.

Sincerely,

Hugh H. Atkinson

4^th Grade Teacher

Moss Haven Elementary

Richardson, Texas

End of TAKS

I don't think it's big surprise to anyone that I'm not a fan of the TAKS test.  I'm all for accountability, but a flawed system is a flawed system.  That being said, here's my latest Last TAKS Year poem.


Enjoy,
Hugh

 It’s funny how sometimes,

At this time of year

I start to write poems,

Without any fear

I’ll write them with gusto,

I’ll write them with strength

I’ll write them with laughter,

I’ll write them with length

I write about people,

Of every persuasion

I write about people,

From every nation

I write and I write,

And then I write some more

I find that I write,

Sometimes when I snore

But this year’s been different,

Just a wee-little bit

I find that my writing,

Has gone straight to poop!

And I’m not sure what’s different,

I’m not sure what’s changed

Could it be that my students,

All seem quite deranged???

When you can’t take a breath,

And your mind stay at ease

Then you walk out to recess,

But you can’t feel the breeze

If you try to eat lunch,

But you can’t keep it down

And it seems that your face,

Always has a frown

Could mean that it’s time,

For a fun restful break

A nice change of our pace,

Is what we all should take

YES, after next Thursday,

Our TAKS days are through

And I’ve got a plan,

For just what we should do

We’ll each grab a bottle,

Then rush out the door

We lift them up high,

And then start to pour

A bottle with water,

Or soda is fine

But it could have some liquor,

Like vodka or wine

Whatever your passion,

Whatever your taste

You should drink it all,

And let none go to waste

But we’ll each raise a glass,

In the air let it linger

And bid farewell to TAKS,

With a raised middle finger

School Poem

About this time every year, I start writing poems and emailing them to my entire school faculty.  A few people never even open the email.  However, well more than half of my fellow teachers not only read my poems, but they tell me that they look forward to them.  I decided to post them here.


So enjoy!

Sometimes without warning, my brain starts to write,

It’s an awful compulsion, I’ve learned not to fight

So I sit at computer, or pick up a pen,

And that’s when the terrible mind games begin

From hither and yon, words pop into my mind,

And I cannot escape, I can’t leave them behind

And there are some people, and here’s what they say,

 “I wish that for me words would happen that way!”

But I tell you, my friends, it isn’t all dreamy,

With bright painted flowers, and spas that are steamy

And it isn’t carefree like our dear Dr. Suess,

With his nice dipple-dongers, or the bright schinickel-shnoose

How I wish I had bongers, or wee-willy-winkers,

And glangers and glongers or fee-filly-finkers

But those kinds of words are just too hard to find,

Cause the words that I have are regular kind

Oh sure I’ve got TAKS, and next year I’ll have STAAR,

And I know there is Lesher, Goncalves and Barr

But I need something with just a wee-bit more spice,

An old fashioned scandal, is sounding quite nice

So get out there and dig up some dirt for me please,

That’s right! Work the streets, see whose palm you can grease

For the one thing that makes my poems even odder,

Is having to write them without any fodder

Allow me to close with these words about TAKS,

There are just two more weeks, lift a glass and relax

Chinese Baptist Church

Growing up in El Paso, the son of a Baptist minister, I attended worship in a Chinese Baptist church three or four times before the age of 8.  About the only thing I remember about those services was being able to sing (at least the first verse) of most of the hymns that were sung.  I also remember not being able to understand a single word that was spoken from the pulpit, and being mesmerized by the way the words were written in the bible.  I’m pretty sure I spent the sermon part of the service trying to figure out the Chinese language… I never did.

However, that was probably 40 years ago, so time has neatly stored most of my memories of those days away in the dark recesses of my mind and tagged most of them with the a sign that reads, “unrecoverable.”

I haven’t thought about those days for many years now.  To tell the truth, it wasn’t until I had returned to worship in a Chinese Baptist church that I even remembered I had ever experienced it before. 

Now, it may seem a little odd, but my father is currently the pastor of a Southwest Chinese Baptist Church in Houston, Texas.  The church’s pastor left and Dad is the interim pastor while the church searches for a new pastor.  This new pastor must be a person who can speak, read and preach in Cantonese.

I know what you’re thinking, “Hugh, I didn’t think you were of Asian descent.”  You are correct, I am not.   You many also be wondering about my father’s command of the Cantonese language.   I’m proud to announce that after a couple of years, Dad can quite clearly pronounce several phrases in the native tongue of his congregation.  I’ve heard him say, “Hello,” “Thank you,” “May God be with you,” and of course, “Which way to the restroom?”

Anyway, Melissa and I headed south to Houston last Friday with our good friends Winji and Darryl. Winji and Darryl, both being Chinese, were a little curious about my dad’s current pastorate.  Together, we went down, spent the weekend in Houston, and experienced a service that had to be translated from English to Cantonese, or Cantonese to English depending on who was talking at the time. 

In the end I was really impressed with both the church, my worship experience and my dad’s ability to pause every few sentences and wait for the translator to catch up.  I knew he was going to have to be doing that, but I hadn’t really thought about how it could chop up your thinking as well as you words. 

It was easy to see why my mother and father enjoy Southwest so much.  The people are friendly and very welcoming.  After the service we went out to eat at Dad’s favorite Chinese restaurant.  And I’m here to tell you that the food was good and unbelievably plentiful.  It literally just kept coming and coming and coming. 

In the end a good time was had by all.

So if you’re I Houston and looking for a church whose service is half in Cantonese and half in English, give Southwest Chinese Baptist Church a try.  If you do, tell Pastor Atkinson that you read about it here.  Who knows, maybe he’ll take you to his favorite Chinese restaurant.  

what have i become?

When you’re a teacher, nay, a human being, and your first thoughts are not about the physical and mental well-being of a child, but rather is he or she going to be able to pass the TAKS test, and if not, how it will reflect on you… then baby, you deserve everything you get!

I’m quite positive there is a dark, lonely corner of hell with my name on it…

Dinner With Friends...

Last night I sat down, and had dinner with friends,

And when we start to talk, well the fun never ends

We’re sitting enjoying a great southern meal,

When the sound of gas passing, broke up the ordeal

I glanced at my wife, and she shot my glance back,

When it happened again, we were under attack!

There is one lovely lady, a lawyer I think,

Who was blaming her husband for making things stink

Not having hard proof, she would not win the case,

Cause there were prime suspects all over the place

And that’s when the voice of our hostess, piped-up,

“Those sounds you are hearing, they come from our pup!”

First a moment of silence, and next a loud roar,

The whole room fell apart, what we heard was dog snore!

Turns out their small dog, had crawled under the table,

They swear he was snoring, but that could be a fable

The evening’s enjoyment, kept rambling on,

We ate fried jalapenos, until they were gone

Playing foosball we learned, with a wink and a nod,

That it’s bad etiquette, if you grab a man’s rod

There was talk of all kinds, soaring round in the air,

Conversations-a-plenty, for we hadn’t a care

One by one couples figured, it was time to go,

And that put an end to, the night’s halftime show

But the one thing that stuck, down deep in my heart,

Is that fact that a dog’s snore, sounds much like a fart!

What’s in a Name???

 I haven’t written in a while.   I’ve think about it almost daily; however, it never seems to get accomplished. 

I blame it on the season.  You see, for me, and every public school teacher (at least those teaching 3^rd to 12^th grade) this is TAKS season. 

Not Tax season, although it is that as well, but TAKS season.

For those of you not in Texas, or who don’t have children in public school, TAKS stands for; Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills.

TAKS season is a stressful time for me.  I tend to worry and borrow trouble, so that only adds to my stress.  Top that off with two days of after school tutoring to 4:30, and Saturday School (an evil spawn of the devil!) and I get home too weary to write.

I know, that you know, that I’ve written and whined about the TAKS test for years.  But what you may not know is that this is absolutely the last year I will ever complain about the TAKS test.  After June 3, 2011, TAKS test complaining is a thing of the past…at least for me.  “Why?” You may be asking.  Well, I’ll tell you.  It’s all because this is the last TAKS test year. 

After this year the test will is called STAAR.  I think it stands for:

 State of Texas, Academic Assessment Registry, or Response, or Retrospective, or some other “R” word. 

Amidst all the hub-bub of the faculty meeting where we first learned of the new test, I found myself wondering not whether this test would be the same format, not whether it would be longer or shorter, and not if it would still be multiple choice or short answer.  In fact I didn’t find myself wondering anything about the test at all.  What my brain had fixated on was “Who?”  Who had the super cool job thinking up the acronyms for these tests?

I WANT THAT JOB!

Here are a few I came up with:

Knowledge Readiness Assessment of Progress – or K.R.A.P.

Progressive Observation Of Progress – or P.O.O.P.

State of Texas Unified Process of Intelligence Determination – or S.T.U.P.I.D.

State Hierarchy of Intelligence Testing – or S.H.I.T. (Sorry Mom!)

Let me know what you think, and feel free to add to the list.  Who know, maybe I’ll email the list to Governor Fancy Hair.


P.S. I didn't realize until after I had posted my story and went back to reread, that three fourths of my acronyms are slang terms for fecal material...Hmmm? I wonder how I really feel?

It Turned into a Six-Day Weekend...

Monday seems so long ago. I woke up at 5:00AM like usual, went to school, had after school tutoring and came home like normal. Little did I know that from Tuesday on, normal and me would become like the poles of a magnet.

I got the first no school call early Tuesday morning.
And my face had smile.

I got the second no school call late Tuesday afternoon.
And my face smiled again.

I got the third no school call late Wednesday afternoon.
And my face had a grin.

I got the fourth no school call late Thursday afternoon.
And I rolled my eyes.

I watched the news Thursday night and all the channels reported that Dallas may get a light dusting of snow, but more than likely travel conditions in Dallas and the surrounding areas would be, for the most part, okay.

I woke up at 6:00AM looked out the window and saw this:

Turning on the news I learned that the storm had taken a “slight” shift. This shift allowed Mother Nature to dump six to eight inches of snow on the city.

While six-day weekends are nice…I wonder when I’m going to be making up those extra days?