To Be a Teacher...

A large part of me really wants to teach. I loved my two years in the Dominican Republic as a missionary. Truthfully I served as kind of a “wandering teacher” of sorts. Not only did I teach the Gospel of Jesus Christ, but I taught people how to read, and how to speak English. Sometimes though things happen that are so reprehensible in the teaching profession, that I am loathe to join the ranks of the public school teachers…

Young Alex Barton, 5-years-old, has had some issues in school. A small part of it is because he is just in kindergarten…a hard first year for kids. The major reason why he acts out has to do with Asperger’s Syndrome—an autism spectrum disorder. His parents know that these issues exist: they search actively for answers on how they can help their little guy. The school administrators know that these issues exist: they have special resource teachers in the class to help him a “couple of times a week.” Then why does Wendy Portillo, Alex’s teacher, feel that she has to destroy the child to build up her power base in the class?

Wendy Portillo held a “town meeting” and a “caucus” in the class. She had each child speak in turn, with Alex standing in front of them, and tell what they didn’t like about Alex. Finally she had them all vote on whether or not Alex “deserved” to stay in class with them. They voted 14-2 to oust Alex out of class.

Did she teach them that the Constitution of the United States of America gives Alex the right to an education? Did she tell them that the same document denies her the power of class dictator, as well as denying them any voting rights as to whether or not Alex “deserved” to exercise his constitutionally granted rights?

No.

That does not even represent the most heinous abuse. When she asked Alex where he would go, now that the class had rejected him, he said that he would go to the office and sit with the principle. She then informed him that the office didn’t want him either. Not only did she take it upon herself to deal direct damage to a young child’s psyche, she dealt untold damage on the other children of the class. She has emboldened future bullies, and maybe shamed children into making bad decisions based on what the crowd around them does.

Here's a link to the news story that I found...
http://www.redlasso.com/ClipPlayer.aspx?id=dbf1f64b-7187-4bbe-a3e4-ae567c2f0cc9


The fact that the school’s administration did nothing punitive to teach this “teacher” the limits to her rights in that classroom sickens me. Usually I will not use the precious space of my blog for venting, but this behavior cannot go un-vented.

Do I want to join myself to administrations that condone such monstrous behavior? Will my tiny actions be noticeable in a morass of ugliness? I may not be able to change the entire educational system, but I can make a difference in the life of one such child like Alex Barton. I can dig a little deeper to find the patience to help him. I can challenge myself to nurture such a child. If my teaching can change just one kid’s life, then it is worth the effort to be a teacher.

With a Gleam in My Eye

“I remember where I was when Kennedy was shot.”

That’s a line that everyone from the generation before mine says with a faraway look in their eyes. Even if they voted for “the other guy” they all remember that day in November when an assassin’s bullet killed our president. I can’t say it, because I was not even a dream in the back my young mother’s mind on that day.

We that the media calls “disaffected Generation Xers” weren’t born back then and don’t have any president’s in our memories who suffered death from the hands of crazed fanatics. Isn't it always the "crazed fanatic" who enjoys our freedom to bear arms a little too much? As a result, we all have to stretch a little to get our eyes to gleam while thinking of the leaders of our days.

Here is my short list of eye gleaming moments…

Anwar Sadat

On October 6, 1981, I was in the 6th grade at Eiber Elementary School. We had strange weather that day, strange even for weather in Colorado. The day started nice, got cloudy, dark, and eventually the sky turned a surreal shade of green.

I was in the “D” wing where we enjoyed art, bemused over science, and endured 6th grade English. I learned that day that the “D” wing had a great design flaw: the north facing walls were floor to ceiling windows. Not bad on a sunny day, but scary in a hail storm...and worse during a tornado.

I remember looking though a microscope that day and trying to figure out why the inner membrane of an egg had no cell structure. The air raid siren on top of our school went off, and Mr. Pecorelli (our oft-time brilliant yet mostly cranky teacher) ordered everyone to crawl under our tables. He brought down a small black and white television and turned on the news.

A tornado had touched down not far from our school and was making its way toward us. As if that news weren’t pressing enough for us, they local news cast was cut off by the national news service who announced that Anwar Sadat had been shot and killed during a parade in Egypt.

At the time I couldn’t even tell you who he was, what he had done, or why he was important enough to ruin a parade by killing him. That night I looked him up in my Dad’s encyclopedia set that we had just purchased. He was the president of Egypt, sought peace with Israel, and shared a Nobel Peace Prize for doing so.

I remember where I was when Anwar Sadat was shot.

Ronald Reagan

It was the hey-day of my bowling career. I, as a young 10-year-old, went from the last place team in the league in my first year of bowling fall/spring league to the 2nd place team in my second year. I credit my private coaching, lots of practice during the week, and switching teams.

On one such day, in March of 1980, I was with my Mom, brothers, and sister at Holiday Lanes getting in my practice. We bowled in the lanes just opposite from the bar, so we had access to the televisions. We were in between frames, waiting for my brother Greg to wipe down his precious ball, when all action on the bowling alley ceased.

Someone had shot Ronald Reagan while he was walking out of a hotel in Washington D.C. I knew who he was, even as a 10-year-old boy. I knew that he was the President of the United States of America. I knew that my parents had voted for him. I knew that he had only recently become president. I just didn’t know if he would live.

Of course he did live. He lived to become, arguably, the greatest president ever (in the eyes of the current GOP regime.) He somehow slept through the taint that was Iran-Contra (of course he wouldn’t need to dirty his hands with that muck.) He brought about the end of Soviet Russia (well, it made for a cool Roger Waters show at the Berlin Wall.) At least we can all agree that he had great hair (which is all that mattered in the 80’s!)

I remember where I was when Ronald Reagan was shot.