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?

Update:

At 6:27 PM I got the call.

"Hello RISD family. This call is to inform you that, due to inclement weather, school is canceled for Wednesday, February 2, 2011."

The message continued, but I didn’t hear a thing.

Looks like I’ll be sleeping late tomorrow!

Hmmm…should I be thinking “Hat Trick”?


I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

19 Degrees

I woke up at 5 o’clock this morning, made a cup of coffee and sat down in front of the TV. I knew, from watching the news Monday night, that there was a good chance that school would be canceled due to the weather. However, it was 35 degrees, so I really didn’t think it was going to happen.

To make a long story short, I got Tuesday off!

Melissa had some pretty important things happening at the hospital today. It was somewhere around 8:30 (she was walking out the door) when she got a message saying the morning meetings were canceled, but come in at noon. She left at about 11:30, and came home about an hour later. Turns out she only made it about five maybe ten miles before she had to turn around and slowly make her way home.

At 3:00, I made my way to he grocery store thinking that the roads had to be better. I mean, come on! It was afternoon and the sun was out.

I was wrong…

Turns out roads were covered in ice. There was some water in the tire grooves, but other than that it was solid ice. When I got to Kroger, the parking lot was a huge sheet of ice about half an inch think in some places. I got my few things, somehow got back to my car without falling down and carefully limped home.

After I got home I checked the weather app on my phone. The temperature was 19 degrees…the high for they day. Tomorrow’s forecast is low 13, with a high of 21.

I’ve been teaching for 17 years, and so far I’ve never missed two days in a row due to the weather.

Maybe this will be one for the record books.

I’ll keep you posted.

Haves & Have-Nots

I have some students in my class who live in half million-dollar homes, get everything their little hearts desire and basically want for nothing. We return to school after the Christmas break (OOPS! I meant to say, “holiday break”)and they have loads of new stuff to show off and exciting tales of amazing trips to talk about.

If that were the case with 100% of my students then we’d come back from the break and all would be well with the world.

However, the percentage of my students who live in the above-mentioned situation, albeit high, is nowhere near 100.

I also have some students in my class who live in government-subsidized housing. These students get far less than what they desire/need. Basically, they want for everything. Sometimes even food.

This is one reason coming back to school after the break is emotionally hard for me. I enjoy seeing the students and I even enjoy hitting the books again. However, what I don’t enjoy is the new awareness. The new and painful understanding I see on small faces. I believe that it is in 3rd and 4th grade when these young minds first see the difference. Innocent eyes are opened to the harsh truth that it may be 2011, but we’re living in a class system.

Sadly, the veil between these two dramatically different worlds usually falls first for the less fortunate. They get a peek into an existence they can’t hope to understand. They see, possibly for the first time, that some kids don’t just have more they have A LOT more.

The differences are subtle, but detectable. They don’t really matter, but they make a difference. They’re faint, yet all too easily seen.

It isn’t about children who are happy or sad. It isn’t about home lives that are healthy or dysfunctional. And it certainly isn’t about academic success. It’s about how much you have and how much you don’t have.

So who are the “Haves” and who are the “Have-Nots”?

I’ve known for quite a while… but my students are about to become aware for the first time.

And for some it’s all too painful.

Fruition

Fruition:

fru·i·tion (noun)

fru-i-tion ( froo ish’n)

1.   Completion
2.     Enjoyment of intended outcome
3.     Plant’s fruit production

Fruition.  It’s a funny word.  To me it sounds like a kind of sports energy drink. 

It’s meaning, however, is all too clear…

If you’ve finished a project, completed a race, conquered a foe in battle, or simply written and posted things on your blog in some semblance of the way you have intended, then you have “Fruition.” 

Sadly, the latter is a chore I have failed to “bring to fruition” for one day shy of a month. 

Let me start by saying that I’m not writing this as anything like an excuse for my lack of posting, but rather as a kick in the pants for myself.  It's an attempt to get back in the habit of writing.  A jump-start if you will. 

This has been an extremely hard first semester at school.  An overabundance of change creates a situation where finding a routine is extremely difficult.  I am a creature of habit.  And as such, I desperately need to have a daily schedule that is consistent and methodical.  I can then plan my lessons and plug them in where they go and my days, and weeks work great. 

I think, as much as I hate to admit it, that it probably has something to do with my head injury.  Even as I’m writing that last sentence it pains me to admit that I have some form of disability.  Could I still be battling denial after 20 years?

This year, changes from the state and district are trickling down to my level almost every other week.  It feels like some big wig at the top of the educational mountain drops an idea the size of a pebble that begins rolling down to the trenches.  Then it starts a kind of snowball effect as gains size and momentum.  I’m at the bottom of the mountain feeling like I’ve got things under control when this new idea boulder comes bouncing down the pike and shatters my routine to bits.

I also feel like the left hand isn’t always talking to the right hand.  We have every available minute of the day accounted for, yet one of the pebble chunking guys at the top decides that his pebble (since it will only take 20 -30 minutes out of the day) really needs to be a priority.  Never mind that there are dozens of other guys up there.  Each with what seems like a good idea and pockets full of pebbles.  

All that to say, by the time I get home I’m exhausted and even though I’ve thought of several things I could write about, I need something mindless to do.  And writing is far from mindless, at least for me. 

So there you have it… a glimpse inside the world/mind of a Texas teacher. 

I’m off until January 4, 2011.  My plan is to neither think about school nor act in any way on its behalf. 

I’ll try to keep you posted on how that works out for me.

I'm Not Dead...YET!

A lot of new stuff is making this a pretty hard school year.  I think my writing, or rather lack of writing, is a direct result of the stress from school.  I've started a couple of stories, but just haven't had the time or the energy to finish them.  

Please don’t give up on me.  Check back from time to time, if only out of curiosity or boredom.

If you pray, please pray that I can grab this tiger by the tail and not lose my head in the scuffle. 

Thanks,

Hugh

Finding My Sea Legs

I’ve been on four cruises in my life.  If you do the math, that works out to one cruise every 11.25 years.  I don’t know why that makes any difference, but stick with me here.

Every cruise, no matter how large the ship, I always spend the first several hours finding my sea legs.  

Even though the ship really isn’t rocking all that much, I still end up walking with a serpentine motion as I’m headed down the hallway to my room.  At first it is so unfamiliar that I find myself banging into the walls on either side of the hall as I work my way to wherever it is I’m going.  If I’m somewhere without walls to bump into I tend to keep going until something or someone gets into my way.  Which, on more that on occasion, has been more than a little embarrassing.  (But that’s a story for another day)

However, usually by bedtime on the first day I find, that while I may still be moving down the halls with a wee-bit of zig to my zag, I’m not actually running into walls anymore.  I just look like I’ve been drinking, which, come to think of it, I probably have.  Out on the decks I’ve figured out how to navigate with nothing more than the occasional collision with objects or fellow passengers.  I’m not quite sure whether finding my “Sea Legs” has allowed me to move about the ship without swaying, or that the motion of the ship has simply becomes so commonplace that I don’t notice it anymore.  I think it's kind of like white noise. Either way, the waters calm down and I get to enjoy the cruise.

In a lot of ways the beginning of a new school year is exactly like that…that is without all the drinking.  (wink-wink)

Things start out a little rocky and I find myself bumping into walls and the occasional educator.  However, as days become weeks I usually find my sea legs, get into the groove and the water suddenly feels smooth.

This year the water has be exceptionally choppy.  I haven’t had this much trouble finding my sea legs in quite a few years.  I can’t put my finger on exactly what the difference is.  Which tells me it’s bound to be more that one thing. 

One thing is we have a new reading curriculum.  It’s good and I like it, but changing your whole reading program is huge. I also have a couple of very needy students who suck up time and energy.  I suppose that could be part of it as well.   I’m also seeing that it’s not just me.  There are several seasoned veterans at my school (please don't mention that I referred to them that way!) who are also finding the water a little rougher than usual this year.  

This is the seventh week and the waves are still pretty choppy, but at least I’m keeping my head above water.

If you pray, please pray that my seas will settle soon. 

I’m getting tired of wearing a lifejacket.

Mike the Singer... Round II

I’m reposting this for Keith.  I originally posted this back in November of 2004.

Enjoy,

Hugh

Mike the Singer

Now Mike was a guy

And he loved to sing

And Mike, he would sing

About most anything

Seems his focus was people

On every occasion

And he’d sing about folks

Of most any persuasion

One day, his songs told

Of a guy on a Harley

Whose clothes were a mess

And his face, it was gnarly

By the look of this guy

You could tell he chewed nails

And I’m certain he’d broke

Out of quite a few jails

Without thought for his safety

Mike started his song

And at first the guy sat there

Like nothing was wrong

When Mike got to the part

About a gross nasty smell

The biker guy looked like

Things weren’t going well

The biker guy stared

With a twitch in his eye

And he seemed to be thinking

Of ways Mike could die

When the song turned to baldness

The guy lost his cool

From a bag he produced

A quite strange looking tool

As he headed toward Mike

People started to hide

But the guy dropped his tool

He sat down, and he cried

See, Mike’s song didn’t change

Not even one part

But he touched that mean biker dude

Deep in his heart

The biker got up

Wiped his face with a sigh

Then he drove that weird tool

Right straight through Mike’s left eye

The biker was touched

That’s all I can say

And Mike learned

A valuable lesson that day

You can’t sing about bikers

Without one single care

That is, not unless

You’ve an eye, you can spare

Here is the comment Real Live Preacher, my brother, left back in 2004.  His comment really made me laugh... and I kind of like the idea of Dr. Suess meeting Quentin Tarantino.

Dare I admit I'm your brother?



Yeah, this is real live preacher.



Okay, I remember when you wrote this, some years ago, and sent it to me. When I got to the end, I was horrified and disturbed, then laughed at the "eye you can spare" line.




Then I felt crappy at having laughed. Then I felt mad at you for dragging me all the way to the end and then turning into Dr. Seuss meets Quentin Tarantino.



As if anyone has an eye to spare...



I don't know man, you one weird duckie!

Conversations are Odd...

I went to a dinner party last night at the home of some friends. There were five couples and the conversations were quite engaging. I decided a poem was in order. However, as I was writing the poem this morning I started feeling a bit like Dr. Suess…I think you’ll see what I mean.

Enjoy

It’s funny the way conversations do flow,

At times they start off rather dull and quite slow

They muddle along and don’t go anywhere,

You sit with eyes glazed pulling out locks of hair

You’re sitting there wondering why words have to suck,

When someone blurts out the phrase, “Mickey the Muck”

Then you listen as some bloke recites this odd ballad,

Next someone’s telling tales of massaging a salad!

The night’s conversations take off into space,

No topic’s taboo…no not at this place

We talked about names both funny and strange,

About raccoons and chimneys and goats on the range

We spoke of odd habits and scrum-dilly-dinkers,

We mentioned blum-bloomers and twee-twilly-twinkers

We solved the world’s problems at least in our head,

There was no need to plan the things that you said

There were shots of Tequila that some of us had,

It went down rather smooth and it wasn’t half bad

We laughed and we chatted long into the night,

And everything clicked cause our world was all right

When names of our kids became topic of choice,

I decided I had thoughts I needed to voice

Name your child how you like, on creative wings fly,

If you choose “Kitchen Counter” well, that’s just TMI

It was somewhere past midnight when things settled down,

And our conversations had gone round and round

We hugged and shook hands saying bye to each friend,

Conversations are odd, but they all have to end

Twenty Years Ago Yesterday

Twenty years ago yesterday Melissa and I were in the car accident that would change our lives forever

Twenty years ago yesterday I woke up in the morning and had no idea my life would never be the same

Twenty years ago yesterday in some ways feels so far away

Twenty years ago yesterday in many ways feels like today

Twenty years ago yesterday is a day that took over my life

Twenty years ago yesterday is a day that has haunted me

Twenty years ago yesterday is a day I’ve cursed with every ounce of strength I could muster

Twenty years ago yesterday is a day I can finally thank the Lord for

Twenty years ago today was the first day of a brand new life

History of Cut & Shoot Texas

One of my comments on my last post asked how the small, oddly named town got its name. I had no idea, but in my mind I had dreams of a town named for a descriptive, yet quaint kind of farming or prospecting metaphor. Not so.

Here’s what I found:

Cut & Shoot is a city in eastern Montgomery County, Texas, United States, about 6 miles east of Conroe and 40 miles north of Houston. The population was 1,158 at the 2000 census, at which time it was a town; the community only became a city in August 2006.

The City Hall of Cut and Shoot, Texas

According to local legend, Cut and Shoot was named after a 1912 community confrontation that almost led to violence. According to differing versions of the story, the dispute was either over:

• · The design of a new steeple for the town's only church, or
• · The issue of who should be allowed to preach there, or
• · The conflicting land claims among church members.

Whatever the circumstances were, a small boy at the scene reportedly declared "I'm going to cut around the corner and shoot through the bushes in a minute!"

This statement apparently stayed in the residents' minds and was eventually adopted as the town's name.

Sadly, the townsfolk must not have been all with us. I mean come on! You’re building a church and having a fight about the steeple, BEFORE you even have a name for your town? What kind of people are we talking about?

And then the best name you can come up with is something a boy yelled about cutting around a corner and shooting through some bushes…I can’ believe the town lasted more than a week. What’s more I guess they’re lucky the town’s not called, “I stepped in dog poop!”

Using Cut & Shoot logic I’m surprised we don’t have a string of towns across the state called, “Tag, you’re it!”, or “Dad! I’ve got to pee!” or “Here, pull my finger!”

And there you have it…more that you ever wanted to know about the less than romantic name origins of an obscure little town in southeast Texas.

Note:

I could be wrong, but I do believe my mother actually lived in Cut & Shoot back in the 1940’s. Maybe I should ask her about the name. However, by the time she lived there those poor people had been living with that goofy name for over 30 years. My guess is that boy had been strung up, or run out of town long before she got there.

Update:

I realize, thanks to the poetically worded comments from the one of my blog’s readers, as well as conversations with my mother and a friend who may or may not be that same poet/commenter that my postings have not been very regular. I’m working on that. Be patient. However, I decided to write a kind of update to let you know what's been going on.

Snakes:

I wrote twice about the reptile fun we’re having here, so I thought I should let you know what’s up with the snakes. I haven’t seen any more like the three I wrote about. My hope is that the extreme heat is keeping them all back at the creek. I did find a pencil-sized snake in my pool a few days back. He was black… which automatically makes me think Water Moccasin. However, he was so small and so quick in the water that I couldn’t tell if his head was a triangle.

Playing it safe, I simply chased him around the pool for about five minutes with my net. After wearing him out I scooped him up and dumped him over the back fence so he could find his way back to the creek.

My hope is that he went back and told all of his snake friends to stay out of that crazy man’s yard.

Bridge Fishers:

Shortly after writing about the city bridge fishers I drove by and there were about 15 people standing on the bridge looking over into the water. They were laughing, talking and having a grand time. I only saw about 5 poles, but there were a lot of people excited about the day’s catch. However, the temperature here began to rise and Dallas started its 18 to 20 days in a row of triple digit temperatures. Ever since then I haven’t seen any of our city bride anglers. Maybe they’re out there after dark.

Fun Lunch:

I had lunch with some of my friends from college a couple of weeks ago. I hadn’t seen most of them in over 20 years. It was fun. The only strange thing was how much everyone but me had aged. Hmmm, I wonder why? Maybe it’s the long hair…who knows?

Anyway, someone brought a yearbook from my sophomore year. I don’t remember doing anything strange or weird, however, it doesn’t run contradictory with any of the other things I did in college. So when they showed me my picture from that year, while it made me laugh, it really wasn’t a big surprise. Check me out below and see what I mean. Oh! Be sure to check out my hometown. If you ain’t from Texas, and even if you are, you may not be aware that there really is a city (let’s call’er a town) with that name.

Bob and Suzy Dance:

My daughter is on her school’s drill team. This drill team has an annual tradition called the “Bob and Suzy Dance”. This is a dance at the halftime show of a home football game in which the girls and their fathers dance together.

For those of you who know me, allow me to clarify: Hugh Atkinson will be dancing, on purpose, in the halftime show at a regular season football game. The date is October 29, 2010. The place is the Wildcat Stadium on Church Street right next door to Lake Highlands High School. The time is right after the second quarter. If you come to the game, come prepared to be amazed!

Back to the Books:

I’ve been back at school officially since August 16^th. However, I’ve been up there off and on in my un-air-conditioned classroom since about August 5^th, just to set things up. It’s only been about 2 ½ months, but I tend to get used to not being there, so I like to ease back into things. I find that working my way back up to a full day makes the whole year much better. I’m not sure why that’s true, but I think they call it age. I prefer to call it teaching experience.

When school’s back in session my writing tends to dwindle. I’m not sure how much less of it there could be, but trust me; I’ve got a plan to help me stay focused and write. I can’t tell you what it is, because that will jinx it.

Thanks for stopping by