End of Year

Posted on May 20, 2016 by Bob Martin

School's outTonight’s posting is dedicated to a number of friends as we reach the end of the year. This is the time when every single emotion is tested, stress levels will be off the charts, and people long for the next week to be done. Yes, I am talking about teachers and the rest of the crew that works in education. The end of the school year is upon us, and oh what a time of year it is. I know that some might think this is premature, but our district now has less than one week left before the halls go silent.

Now, before getting into the heart of the post, I will start by saying that almost every job comes with some form of stress. Employment of any sort brings deadlines, demanding bosses, colleagues that don’t get along, as well as a whole list of items. However, those who work in the public’s eye being paid for “by the tax-payer” deal with something different. Being the son and son-in-law of nurses, as well as a quasi-brother-in-law, of an Angel of Mercy, I know that the men and women who provide loving care to those in need have just as much stress. The same goes for jobs such as firemen, police, and others. While all those jobs bring stress from the public eye, I think education does being an additional level since parents are involved every day. Parents that want the best for their kids.

This is not a martyr piece. I am just writing about what the end of the year is like. I hope that I can provide a little bit of insight into the walls of education about what the end of the year is really like. I do this because, well honestly, I have been asked enough if I am happy about the end of the year. I also am questioned whether I am excited about the upcoming summer, and am I looking forward to the next few months off.

Here is what is going on in the classroom of every child at this time of the year. The children are excited about the upcoming end of school. Depending on their age, that excitement could be in check as they prepare for finals. Yes, even the students are having to complete the job before taking the first breath of summer air. There is stress right now for students in the upper levels as they prepare to spit out facts, figures, equations, chemical information, and other instruction. The worry about getting in to the right college (juniors and sophomores not seniors) is high. Students will spend hours getting ready to do their best. Younger students don’t have those worries. They will spend the last week enjoying the company of their friends. They will dance with their teachers. They will have kickball competitions. Their tests are done. They will enjoy. But what about the teachers? Are they rejoicing like so many in society believe?

Teachers have now kicked into high gear – no matter the level. The upper levels are going through the process of administering the finals spoken about earlier. They must have two hours of silence as the students work through each and every question. This is not a time for them to sit at their desks drinking coffee. They must actively proctor assessments since some students, just like students of the past and future, will find ways to gain assistance during the test. Teachers must be up and moving about the room.

Teachers are also going through stacks of final projects, papers, and other assignments getting them all done so that they matter toward a grade. Many, like I used to be, are also being bombarded with homework from weeks past that miraculously showed up in a binder. Then we have the other aspect starting to turn up. Some parents are just looking at on-line gradebooks for the first time in weeks, and they are shocked.

This is the time of year, like the week before winter break, when parents find your phone number and e-mail address. Requests for extra credit come pouring in so that Johnny can move from a D to a C- or Becky can move from an 88% to that all too prized 90%. “Can you please give my child something extra to do to raise his/her grade?” I have even had parents ask if their child cleaning the classroom could add some points to the final mark. You try to explain that the child has had the last 20 weeks to do the assigned work and get extra help, but that, sometimes, falls on deaf ears. The best is when you are told, “A good teacher would just bump up the grade.”

One must not forget the report cards. Both elementary and secondary teachers are now pouring over the books trying to give each student the grade that he/she earned. On top of the that citizenship and work habits must be marked and comments added. One might think that elementary teachers have the easy end here, they only have one class. However, they must provide grades for all subjects and for all students. Secondary teachers could have up to 175 students if they have a normal 5 classes or 210 if they teach 6. Each student must be given grades and comments.

I think out of the two levels, I have the most sympathy for the elementary teachers at this point. They may not have finals, but they have so much more. The schools all have their final activities – dances, sports, presentations, and more. These teachers are with the students all day with little breaks. They must keep the students engaged all the way to the end. And in the end, they will say good-bye. They have had these students all year, all day. The fourth graders and below will be back next year, but not the fifth. While all teachers will lose students, the younger students are still cute. It is harder for those good-byes.

Good-byes. I almost forgot about these. On top of everything else. Teachers must prepare to say good-bye. 5th graders will move to middle school. 8th graders will move to high school. 12th graders will graduate. At each level, they leave. At each level good-byes must be said. At each level, come next Thursday, the rooms will be empty. Parents and others think that the teachers’ countdown as well. Okay – they do. But then soon it hits. They are gone.

I remember walking the last students out after the last bell rang on the last day. I then would go back to my room and sit down at my desk. The room was a shambles. Papers strewn about. Chairs and desks no longer in line. The walls now had faded marks surrounding where the students’ work hung only days before. I remember those moments when my door would swing shut. The click echoed in the empty room. A lone paper would fall to the floor. I would sit and look at the empty desks. For me this was a hard moment. This was the time I questioned whether or not I did everything possible for those kids who just tore out of the building. Would they succeed? Would they remember my class?

As for the summer, well, teachers may not come to work every day, but the students are never far from their mind. After a bit of a break, or for some no break at all, there will be conference to attend, classes to take, and new curriculum for which to plan. The weeks of summer will pass quickly, and before they know what happened, they will be back in their class lining up the desks, hanging the posters, and getting ready for the next group.

Me. Well, I chose to move out of the classroom. That choice also meant working through a good part of the summer. I will look forward to the summer as well because my phone will go quiet. I will get to help put together ways to help teachers next year with the technology. I will help plan so that maybe, just maybe I can help a teacher worry more about their students and less about other things.

The same goes for principals, assistant principals, and staff. They are busy with promotions, text books, transcripts, parent conferences, building next year’s schedule, and a multitude of other things.

I started this piece by saying this is not a martyr piece. I don’t want people to walk away feeling sorry for teachers. Teaching was a choice – a calling. It is not easy by any means, but then again, one should know enough about their career before entering it to know the difficulty level. No. I do not want you to feel sorry for them. However, I do want the reader, especially parents, to know what is happening right now. If a teacher is unable to drop everything to talk with you, do not take it as a slight. Take it as they are working to get everything done for your child and all the other children in their care. If your child has reached this point of the year with an 89.95, don’t ask for the teacher to, wink wink, bump it up.

More importantly, this is not the time of year to be telling a teacher how to do their job. Unless you have done the job, you do not know. The fact that you sat at a desk for 12+ years does not make you an expert in education. If you must feel like you need to do something, call the school and ask what help they need. If you think of a school as a factory running at high speed all year long then this last month, the factory’s gauges are now all topped off in the red zone.

You do not have to feel sorry for teachers, but at least now you have a little understanding.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

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From the TOP!

Posted on May 17, 2016 by Bob Martin

20160405_182624Oh it is getting close to that time of year again. It is right around the corner, and it will be here before you know it. Now if you have read my past posts, you may be starting to guess the time of year to which I am referring. Can you guess? If you are thinking that my post is about the upcoming summer and school being let out, you would have the time of year and nothing else correct. We are now only weeks away from recital time. Yes, that time of year when a large number of young people take to the stage and dance. Pop-shows, dance recitals, concerts, and so much more going on. As we get closer, the tempo and strictness pick up. Things have to happen and happen correctly for there is little time to make corrections.

Tonight, I sat once again outside the studio where our daughter rehearses. I listened to the music play over and over. I heard the teacher calling out names and corrections. Our daughters name was called on more than one occasion. I could hear a bit of strictness in the instructor’s voice. She was being tough on the girls. They are within weeks of being on stage in front of a packed audience. Will parents be upset if their little ones make mistakes? Of course not, they will smile, clap, and cheer. It will not make all that much of a difference to Moms and Dads. It will make a difference to the dancers. They will know. She her voice got even tougher.

I had the chance to actually sit in the door and watch the routine. I could see the concentration on the faces. Mouths silently counting, hands flying through the air, and feet moving in time. Eyebrows moved up and down as the steps went through the brains. Then the instructor yells “Smile!” Eyes flinch and concentration is replaced by big smiles, for a moment, then the concentration is back.

I was taken back in time to my own pre-teen and teen years. The beginning of summer meant the 40778_423812169529_6931176_nbeginning of competition season for my brothers, a large number of friends, and me. We belonged to a Field Drum and Bugle Corp. If you are not sure what this is, think marching band half time show. The only difference is that there is no football game. On any given night on a summer Saturday 10 or more Corps get together to perform and compete. Back when we first started, in my opinion, the judging was much more stringent. If you were slightly out of line, knees didn’t match in height, or the bell of your horn was lower than others and you were marked off. Later, the judging took a turn to more of overall fluidity and show. Either way, our weekends were spent traveling on busses and competing – two weeks of travel near the end of the season.

Throughout the spring and all summer long we practiced. Our instructors were a great group of people but man could they be tough. I remember them standing on the top of the bus. You could hear them screaming names and “No, NO, NOOOO!” even over the music. They had no trouble calling someone out for not giving their all. They expected you to do it right every single time. I can remember parents talking to my dad about how tough they were. My dad said they were helping us. They were making us better, stronger, and capable.

These men and women did just that. They prepared all of us for competing against the other groups. They taught us to be a team. They taught us to take care of each other. They taught us to be our best and not to quit.

10399647_45548010508_3796_nI then bounce into my basic training. Our TIs (training instructors) were even tougher. There was no being out of line. We were expected to tend to every little detail of every task that we were assigned. It seems stupid to those on the outside to worry about shining boots to the point that you could count the stars at night. But it isn’t. It teaches us to take that same care and do our jobs to the same level. It taught us to work together. It taught us to not quit and be the best. Their toughness was, just like the instructors from the Drum Corp, meant to build us. It did.

So now I am back to listening to the dance instructor. Oooops, our daughter’s name is called out once again. They start from the top. They run the full routine. “Smile!” That was the nice thing about playing a horn – you didn’t have to smile.

One might wonder if it is okay for the instructor to be getting tough on girls this young. YES. I am quite happy that my daughter has someone holding her to a high expectation. I am glad that she is calling her out on mistakes. She doesn’t do it to embarrass; my daughter is learning. Believe me, she sounds tougher than she is. She cares but has just enough in her voice to say do your best.

I sometimes think that we have removed this from people who work with young people. I do not think that instructors have to be drill sergeants, but they should ride them a little. I have seen stories about coaches being removed for going too far. I totally agree that there is a line. However, I have been at sporting events were parents get mad if the coaches even look at their kid in a manner that the makes the parents worry that their child’s feelings might be hurt. I read stories about how we must worry about the child’s feelings and how being yelled at might make them feel inside. This worries me about what happens when they must deal with confrontation later.

So I am okay with hearing the dance instructor calling getting a little tougher today. They are soon going to be on stage where they will stand alone as a group without the instructor. They will want to be prepared to do their best. They will want to know that they did the best job they could. Does this mean a little toughness is needed – Yes, yes it does.

This is no different than when I was in the classroom. I used kindness the majority of the time. However, I made sure they knew the expectations placed upon them and that they lived up to it. Sometimes this meant a stern talking. Other times it meant a sympathetic ear. At all times it meant they weren’t allowed to quit.

So thank you to my instructors from oh so many years ago (and I do mean MANY YEARS AGO), thank you to the Tis, and thank you to our daughter’s instructor for setting expectations and ensuring that young people not only meet the expectations but surpass.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight.

 

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Life of a Different Village

Posted on May 15, 2016 by Bob Martin
Bill Weir takes in the vista after a long climb.

Bill Weir takes in the vista after a long climb.

It has been almost a week since I have had either the time or energy to write. From the last posting, most readers know that my wife went through full knee replacement 6 days ago. I am happy to report that my wife is doing amazingly well. I truly mean that. She has gone through the pain and rehab in a way that one might even wonder if she truly had surgery. This week has had me thankful that we live in the place and time that we do. I am grateful that my wife was able to have this surgery to improve her life. I wondered just where we would be without all of the advances in the medical and technological realms. Then today happened.

This morning we watched on a show titled, The Wonder List. The tag line of the show is, “stories of extraordinary people, places, cultures and creatures at a crossroads.” This morning’s episode was about a Pacific Island Nation in the South Pacific, Vanuatu. This nation might be what some call a “backwards” nation. Yet, I sat and watched the show wondering if they had it right.

The show took me back to my days of being a young person and being given National Geographic Magazines. Yes. I thought it was so cool to see women that were topless and not be yelled at for looking. I remember looking at how the villagers ran around with as little clothes as possible – just covering what was needed. As a kid, I used to wonder what it would have been like to live in those places. I envied the kids not having to go to school or where shoes. The articles would describe people that had only what they needed to live nothing more. As I grew I started wondering how hard it would have been to live without the comforts of home. I never thought about the fact that they didn’t know those things so they never missed them.

This morning’s show took me back to those thoughts. Our daughter and I watched the show. At first she was shocked to see women running around in grass skirts and nothing else. She kept asking where their clothes were. She then started asking what the men were wearing. Fortunately, before I had to explain the host of the show asked the head of the village to explain. He went on to explain how a young boy was given one around the age of three to cover his penis. It looked like a large whisk broom and far from comfortable. The chief said it was comfortable and showed how it was also used to sit on. Our daughter started asking the same questions I asked when I saw similar villages all those years ago.

The show did move to other villages where the people dresses in clothes similar to ours and even had cell phones. It showed the contrast between villages and how modern society was starting to permeate into these last places of, what I guess you would call, ancient civilizations. The one island had had an offer from a resort to purchase most of the island. The citizens turned them down. Another island, given a similar offer, struck a deal. The talk turned to how the modern world was invading these beautiful gems and bringing with them their waterparks, spas, and other attractions. The offer was probably less than 10% of the actual worth. I felt sad.

The host talked with a photographer, Jimmy Nelson, about what was happening in these places and how the people feel. One question came right from my own mind so long ago, “Aren’t these people missing out on all of the advances that have been made?” Jimmy answered no. He told the host to look around at the people. People from outside feel the need to bring in new medicines, technology, ideologies, and other aspects of the “modern” world. He then pointed out how these people didn’t need that. They were happy and content with how they lived. They didn’t need our medicine since they didn’t suffer the diseases. It appears that those from the civilized world look at life only from our eyes and feel the need make everybody as happy as we are.

Yet, our daughter and I talked about how these people lived. It was mentioned that there was no formal education offered in the villages. Children could be sent to private schools but at a cost of more than the annual salary of most villagers. The bigger question should be whether or not such an education is required for the life that these people lead. The know how to hunt, fish, and grow food. They know how to settle disputes. They know how to trade with other villagers. Just how much better could a cell phone, computer, or car make them?

One of the villagers had been sent to school to learn English and how to deal with people from the big city. When asked what he would do if one of the boys of the village wanted to move away, he said he would tell them that life was better here. He would tell them how difficult life would be in the city without money. He mentioned that the village life was the life.

As we continued to watch the rest of the episode, our daughter had more questions to ask. I answered the best I could. She thought that it would be cool to be there – I think she liked the no school. I started feeling sad for this society. They mentioned how the road was getting bigger and more tourists were coming. The one area that had sold their land was waiting for the tourist parts to come. The one man said he would be proud if his children could work in the restaurants for the tourists.  I started to question this, but then realized that I too was viewing their life through my society. I tried to see it through theirs. The expansion and tourism was something they wanted and worked for – I hope it works.

In the end, though, I found myself cheering for the island that turned away the resorts. They held a pride in who they are and the way of life that had been theirs for so long. I am not sure if these places will exist during my grand-children’s lives, but one can hope. They are happy. As a matter of fact, I felt envious of them and the way they lived. They woke and went diving for breakfast – there is no such thing as rush hour for them.

So, as I started this post. I am happy that I live in a time in which my wife can get surgery to make her daily life easier. I am glad that I can call my family 3000 miles away just to say hi. I am glad my friends and relatives back east had indoor heat to keep them warm during a May snow. But I still can’t help wonder how happy the island life would be.

Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

 

If you would like to see more on the show, click http://www.cnn.com/2015/02/24/travel/vanuatu-bill-weir-twl/index.html

Jimmy Nelson photography http://beforethey.com/

 

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A Day at the Local Hospital

Posted on May 9, 2016 by Bob Martin

Nurse In HospitalI spent the better part of my day in a hospital. This was a planned visit – my wife just went through the first of two total knee replacements. Now before getting into what I learned by sitting in this house of medicine, I will say that my wife is doing very well. The surgery went better than expected, and, prior to leaving this evening, she was already out of bed and walking the halls. She had a great surgeon, and she is a super woman when it comes to overcoming barriers. I know it will not be an easy recovery, but I will be with her every step of the way as she bounces back.

With that being said, today is more about what I observed during my 12+ hours moving from place to place. The hospital in our city is located in a spot that causes me to pass by it whenever I am getting on to the local freeway. I often look at the building from the outside. Memories of spending 5 days inside after the birth of our daughter often come back to me. I might be strange that a hospital only brings back good memories. I do have the memory of saying good-bye to a friend within the same building, but knowing my friend as well as I do, he would be upset if I allowed that to outdo the joy our daughter’s birth. Yet, for so many, a hospital has more sad connections than happy. Just the same, it is interesting to watch the internal workings of this tall building.

First, I want to pay homage to those who work in the hospital. As part of the education field, I am often singing the praises of teachers and school employees and how hard they work without acknowledgment. Those who work in a hospital are right there with the teachers in their unsung work – if not even at a higher step. I watched nurses this morning and they just made me sit there in awe of their abilities, work ethic, compassion, and ability to put their own feelings deep down. Yes. Teachers deal with a lot – cuts, bloody noses, throw-up, and other disgusting bodily outputs. Nurses, however, deal with all of that and more.

We walked in the hospital at 5:30 a.m. to prepare for my wife’s surgery. These nurses had smiles on their faces as they welcomed extremely nervous people walking in to await a scalpel. These ladies, I know that there are male nurses, but we only had female nurses, spoke with us in such a way that fears started to calm. For the next two hours, I heard and watched what they had to do to prep people for surgery. Unfortunately, with only curtains separating us from the other patients, you get to hear everything – I do mean everything.

These ladies walked the hallway doing their jobs and working as hard as possible to put the patients at ease. This cannot be an easy task considering the lack of modesty that is involved with this job. Yet, I heard them talking with the patients about any and every subject in order to keep their mind off of what was being done and what would soon be happening. I would hear patients who, only a few minutes earlier with their families, were worried about surgery start to talk about their favorite teams, TV shows, or other subjects. The nurses on the floor after the surgery were no different. Every nurse puts aside what is happening in their personal life for the 12 hours that they are in that building. They are amazing.

Just like with a school, the hospital runs thanks to those who are not doctors or nurses. In my time, waiting, I watched transport people, aides, physical therapists, cafeteria workers, and others going about their jobs. Each and ever one of them made it a point to greet me when I walked past. They had no idea who I was, but they could tell I was, most likely, a family member. You could tell that these people knew that a kind word might be needed. I was fortunate in knowing that my wife was in for a surgery from which she would be walking away. There were others that I could see by the look on their face, that didn’t have it so good. I saw pain. I could also tell that every person wearing a name badge also knew this and offered themselves as support.

Finally, for people, I have to shout out to the physical therapists. I am not sure how these people do their chosen job. They walk into a room, or have the patients come to them, they have a smile while knowing that they will be causing pain. They do not do it for fun (at least not that I can tell), they do it to make another person’s life better. They must endure the fact that they are causing suffering now so that there is less later. Yet, these people do it in hopes that what they are doing will make a difference. I cannot imagine doing a job where you could be cursed out day after day and would most likely not be remembered fondly. But there they are – doing it with care, compassion, and love for the patient.

Normally when one pictures a hospital, they see doctors in white coats. Yes. The doctors deserve praise for what they are able to do for people. However, without all of the others that work in that same building, the work of the doctors could never happen.

On a side note, hospitals are not a good place for people like me. I have often written about being an introvert. I also am, I believe, a person with self-diagnosed ADD. Focus isn’t always my strong point (except when writing). Finally, I am a writer – this means so many thoughts going flying through my head. These items are not a good combination for a person stuck by himself in a waiting room for hours on his own. Every single scenario of what could go wrong in my wife’s very common procedure ran through my head. I pictured the doctor coming into the room to tell me one bad thing after another. Every call over the intercom for a doctor stopped my current thought pattern and took me into a whole different direction. If not for the kindness of the staff asking me how I was doing the 4 or 5 times I went for coffee, I may have driven myself mad.

So there you have my thoughts of a day in the hospital. If you know a nurse or someone else who works in the medical field – thank them. Thank them for doing a job that so few could do.

Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

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Mother’s Day

Posted on May 8, 2016 by Bob Martin

12809765_1254143464603101_3643748395282162908_nHappy Mother’s Day!

While the roots of this holiday can go back centuries, it had its official start in 1908 by a woman who wanted the country to move away from male based holidays. She truly wanted to recognize the sacrifices that women made for their families. Two interesting facts – the holiday’s origins actually go back to being part of the season of lent, and the woman who originally started the holiday later fought for it to be removed due to how commercialized it had become (the History Channel website is loaded with information). Regardless of which beginnings you choose or whether you believe that it has become a Hallmark day, it is Mother’s Day. A day to thank those who gave birth to us, raised us, suffered with us, celebrated with us, pretty much gave us their all.

This post is dedicated to all those who have filled the role of mother or mom. Just like some fathers are not dads, some mothers are not moms. However, there are so many who have stepped in and filled hearts when needed. Today, should follow Anna Jarvis’ idea – a day to honor the sacrifices of the women who are moms.

12419305_10154050916783254_253601613262430821_o (2)First, I must mention my wife. She is an incredible mom. Our daughter has a special relationship with her mom. She may not fully understand what she has until she is older, but I see it. She has a mom that will be there for her through thick or thin. Our little one has a mom that will help our child to learn and grow even if that means sometimes allowing her to fail. This is, quite possibly, the hardest thing for a mom. She allows our daughter to try things knowing that she will not be successful on the first, second, or even third try. However, no matter how much it hurts my wife to see this, she is giving a great gift in doing this. My wife is a mom through and through. Our daughter will always have her mother’s love.

My wife and I are both fortunate in that we had moms in our lives. Both women gave everything of themselves to raise their children. My brothers and my in-law siblings knew that they would come home every day from school to a person who was going to do everything possible to help them become adults who would be able to stand on their own. This didn’t mean that it was all song and dance at home. We did not come home to a Donna Reed, pearl necklace wearing, cookies and milk, type moms. Ok. Sometimes there were cookies and milk. What we did come home to was a mom that would make sure that we did our homework, didn’t watch too much television, practiced our music (at least in my family), and had a dinner where everyone sat down together.11425760_10152921958525509_2499385566717248182_o

We both knew, while growing up, that our moms would be there to listen, to support, to say no, but most importantly they gave love. They gave it without expecting a return – they received it, but they never asked for it. Again – we were fortunate to grow up in such a house. I am still fortunate to be able to pick up the phone every day and still have that person to speak to, be supported by, and to love. My mother-in-law, sadly, passed this past year. This is the first Mother’s Day without her. It makes one realize all that much more how much of her life she gave for her children.

Today is also about the women who give up so much of their lives for other peoples’ children. This could be aunts, grandmothers, step-moms, teachers, or other people. These ladies see a child that need that love and are willing to step in and give it. What makes them a little different from the normal mom is that they do it knowing that they will never be looked at the same way a child looks at a mom. Some do it knowing that they will be in the child’s life for a short time – never knowing just how much their love will do to affect the little one. These people are just as special as the mom. They sacrifice for the children. I know this because, even though my mom was always there, I had many others who also acted the part. I was fortunate to have close friends whose moms treated me no differently than their own children. They gave to me like they gave to their own. I also have an aunt who would give her all to my brothers and me. I know that I can still call her when I need to. I look forward to our visits when we sit up until 1 in the morning with wine and conversation. These ladies are special.

The last group of people with whom I dedicate this post to are the moms who have lost. I sat in church yesterday and listened to a sermon, ok shocker here, was about moms and their love. I heard a description of a mother’s love. I took in the words describing how much moms suffer for their children. As I sat there I feeling of sadness started to overtake me as I thought of the moms I know who have lost a child or more. This could have been through a miscarriage, a relationship that has broken the bond, or through the passing of a child. I wiped a tear as I thought of the pain that those mothers have endured. I know that the pain must be immense for a dad, but he did not carry that child for nine months. The bond of father to child, while strong, can never match that of a mom. So I end today’s post thinking of those moms. There are far too many to even start naming. Our world can be a cruel place but I think no cruelty can be greater than that of a mom having to say good-bye to a child.

So today, I wish nothing but happiness for all moms. May the day be filled with love and loved ones. May past hurts and injuries find a way to start healing. May your children reach out to you today to tell give back some of the love you gave them. May they say thank you for all you did.

For those whose moms are still around, may you reach out to your moms today. Even if your mom is not the one that gave birth, reach out to that person and say thank you. Use today to return some love given to you.

Thank you for meandering with me on this special day.

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Teacher Appreciation – My Own Story

Posted on May 6, 2016 by Bob Martin

12195063_10153233222710509_2611070779409258287_o (2)So for the final entry during teacher appreciation week, I have decided to share why it is that I ended up in education. Originally I was going to say why I am a teacher. However, considering that I have been out of the classroom for the last four years, I did not feel that that would be honest. So instead, I will share about going into the educational career field.

There are many great articles, blogs, and videos about why people teach. The one that makes the rounds most often seems to be the story about a person responding to a high earning person’s request about what does a teacher make. The story differs on the setting and person asking the question. However, no matter the story, the response from the teacher is true to the original. It talks about teachers making a difference. The teacher describes how hard the job can be but that the final pay-off is not in monetary gain, but in other means.

I often credit my wife for getting me into my latest career. I must admit that while she did get me back on course, this path was chosen for me many years ago. My father ran a youth group for the kids in our town, and then, eventually, it grew to the entire area. He was not a teacher, and yet he taught so many kids in the area so much. We learned dedication to a task, perseverance, not quitting, and fair competition. Above all of the teaching, he provided a place for young people to grow and learn in a place that was safe. He did exactly what so many teachers do each and every day. There were many who found the youth group to be their escape from bad situations. Just like so many classrooms. I learned from my dad that if you want to make the world a better place, do it by teaching the next generation to be better than the current group of adults.

Once I left high school, I struggled to figure out what I was supposed to do with my life. Many suggested medicine, some suggested law and politics. I tried. I failed. I failed because neither was what I was driven to do. When I finally voiced a want to become a teacher, family and friends questioned my sanity. During the ‘80s, teachers still were struggling for both respect and pay (many will say they still are). I was talked out of going into this field. Yet, I started teaching.

I have been professionally called a teacher for just under a decade, but I have been teaching for over 30 years. Even though I allowed myself to be talked out of the career field, I could not shake what my dad instilled in me. Teach the next generation – make them better. I have worked with theater groups, rec centers, and Scouts. I have taught and learned throughout all of these. Probably, out of all of them, scouting gave me the first real shot at teaching. I taught first aid, swimming, leadership, and so many others. I learned early on that it is not so much what you teach, but making the kids feel as if they are in a place where they can learn and have people care about them. Scouting isn’t just about learning skills for camping and hiking. It is about gaining experiences to learn about different areas so that you start on a path for adulthood.

What is interesting that in all of the above, I not only taught young people, but I taught adults as well. I learned that age doesn’t matter. If you have something to share with people – do it. Teach. I also learned that if you wanted to grow as a teacher you better be willing to learn. I learned by taking more classes, reading, and by listening to those I teach. I unwittingly was preparing myself for what was to come.

Shortly after becoming engaged to an amazing teacher. We took a trip overseas to help with a scout camp in England. She got to see who I was by watching me work with young people for three weeks. Upon our return to the states, she talked me into using a GI Bill that would soon expire and go back to school. We originally talked about my becoming a counselor, but we had been given bad information that  the district would only allow you to be a counselor once you had three years in the classroom. So off to an English degree and credential I went.

Being a teacher is an amazing job. So many have done a better job of describing the real drive behind being a teacher than I can ever do. Almost every job you can think of, in some way, shape, or form, does something for other people. No job is done just for the person doing it. But teaching……teaching offers the receiver something and the giver even more. I worked at both the high school and middle school level. Each offered something different.

At the high school level, I felt that I was preparing some students for college and other students to enter the work world. I loved being able to sit and have discussions about books with these young men and women. Once they realized that they would not be criticized for their opinions, the discussions took off. You started seeing the next generation forming their own opinion. They stopped mimicking the opinions of the adults in their lives and started stating their own. They dove into topics and decided what they thought. I was amazing to watch them leave their comfort zone.

At middle school, we talked books but at a different level. We also worked on writing. While writing happened at the high school level, at the middle school level it was still a learning process. For me, this is where it really took off. Students didn’t just want to hear how to do something, they asked why. They wanted to know the reason behind the rules that we have for our language.  As for the books, learning to work on personal connections brought literature to a whole new level. Reading books that didn’t always have a happy ending, shocked them into understanding that life isn’t always fair – read The Pearl. Instruction, while focusing on standards, really taught them to look at who they are/were and to make decisions on where they are/were going.

No matter the level, it was the non-English teaching that made the job one worth going to each and every day. I will admit. I was not the happy go-lucky, make the room fun all the time teacher. I had rules, I expected students to live up to expectations, and I wanted them to try. I often joked that I was the meanest teacher at the school. My students told me I lied. Even though I tried to be tough, I couldn’t do it. These young people, 160 a day, came into my room with problems. So many of them looked to find an adult who would listen to them, care about them.

My room was full during every lunch. Having been a kid that didn’t do sports or play physical games during lunch, I knew that there were kids looking for a place to go during lunch to read, play chess, hang out with no fear of bullying. They wanted a place to call home. I gave them that. I cannot count the number of times I spent that period listening to kids talk about their troubles. Many times I offered no advice, just an ear. I listened to one student tell me about a sibling who would soon pass, another talked to me to get through the grief of losing a parent, another needed someone to talk to to get reassurance that the divorce had nothing to do with him or his siblings. Teachers are the adults that kids learn will listen. The students learned that once they set foot in that door, they became my kids and we were a family. On more than one occasion I heard of the students sticking together outside the room to stand up for each other.

My favorite time of year was the last few weeks of school – no I was not counting the days until summer. That time of year became Mr. Martin’s Poetry Café. The kids were allowed to write or find a poem to present. Drinks and food were allowed for the week. The trick was that the poem had to have a personal connection. I still remember my university mentor telling me to not expect much when he visited one day. The third student, one who had been quiet in class, got up and read a poem to his brother who had passed from SIDs the August before. That opened the door for all of them. Both at the high school and middle school level, we had poems that made us laugh, made us think, and made us cry. The tears flowed as both boys and girls found ways to express pain that had been locked up deep inside. One student finally stood in front of his peers and told them how the bullying over his choices had hurt him. The anger came out and forgiveness began. They learned that words are more powerful than any weapon. Words can tear down, destroy, repair, build up – words are stronger than anything else.

Four years ago, I left the classroom. A job opened up to bring technology to the classroom district wide. There is not a day goes by that I do not question my choice. I often long to be back working with the students. I wonder if they have someone who will lend them an ear. I know, because I know the teachers of our district so well, that they are many ears out there just waiting to have a story told. I know that my position was filled by a teacher that cares just as much if not more. I know that they are safe. I still question.

This year the first of the last of my students will graduate. I worry if I did enough for them. Did I set the next generation up to succeed? Only time will tell.

So we have gone through a week of teacher appreciation. Make it a point that if you can read this to thank a teacher.

Thank you for meandering with me once again.

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Teacher Appreciation – Our Daughter’s Teachers

Posted on May 5, 2016 by Bob Martin

Children in elementary school on the workshop with their teacherSo I have made it to entry four of teacher appreciation, and I would be amiss if I never spoke of present day teachers. My daughter has now preparing to exit the second grade. She is a wonderful, energetic, smart, and curious young lady. While I would like to say that this is all do to the work of my wife and me, that is not the case. Yes. We can take credit for a good portion of who she has become, but there have been so many other people in her life. Each one of those people have also shared in shaping the person we now have. Some of those people who deserve the biggest credit are her teachers.

Our daughter, like so many other children today, started off at the local day care center. She has had teachers involved in her life since eight months of age. Some people might not consider the caregivers of infants as teachers, but they are. They taught social skills, games, how to use imagination, and so many other things. As a baby, I could not tell if she was happy or not, but when we would come in to get her, we always saw what appeared to be a happy child. These teachers gave eight hours of love to little ones. They gave their energy in keeping up with a room full of toddlers. They listened to the fears, dreams, and joys of little people who had to hug their parents good-bye each and every morning. Our little one enjoyed these teachers for her first four years of life. They may not have taught her fractions, but they help to teach her to care and be a wonderful little person.

She spent the first two years of formal schooling at the local Catholic school. We struggled with the decision, but, being that her Godfather was the pastor at the time, we gave the school a try. While one might assume that this would not have been all that different than dropping her at day-care, it was. It helped that Mrs. R. was there every morning with this wonderful smile on her face. She greeted both students and parents with a look of excitement. I had the pleasure of walking our little one to school every morning since it was two blocks from the office. Only a few weeks in, she asked that I stop at the main gate and let her go. Fortunately, for me, this was not allowed. Early 5s had to be walked to their classrooms. Every morning, she would hop, skip, jump, and run to school. She felt welcomed and loved at school. Why wouldn’t a little one want to run to a place like that.

Her kindergarten year was no different – well I wasn’t allowed to walk her to class. She had to line up outside. Ms. C. made sure that our little bug was growing. Kindergarten should be a time for fun, learning to make friends, and starting those ABCs. While when I was in Kindergarten at least. Our little one was taking up reading, working with numbers. Yet, she never knew she was learning. She would come home every night to share with us everything that she took in during the day. Yes, she colored, painted, climbed the jungle gym, and enjoyed life. Another fine teacher that expanded her life.

Then came first grade. We were worried since she moved to public school and away from her friends. However, once again, a great teacher came to the rescue. There is an old saying that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. If this is true, Mrs. M. should feel flattered like no other. We would watch many nights a week as the stuffed animals were lined up in front of her easel to receive the nightly lesson. Mrs. M. showed her class the excitement of the beginnings of life as the class had the chance to care for eggs and then ducklings. She helped the students become excited about reading. She provided them a safe environment to try out new things and new situations.

Finally, we have her first male teacher, Mr. H. The big second grade! This is a teacher who loves to dance. He loves to make faces. He loves Star Wars. He loves to teach. Mr. H. is a young teacher and he is full of energy. She picked up right where she had left off at the end of first grade. This year, though, there are projects. Mr. H. has taught them to space out the work and do their best. She has taken responsibility for these lessons and wants to do her best. Many students have a count-down to summer going. They cannot wait for the freedom. Ours has a count-down going with a sadness. She doesn’t want school to end. She loves learning from this teacher and doesn’t want it to end. Mind you, she is already curious about who her teacher will be next year.

I’ve read many an article by teachers telling why they teach. Tomorrow, I will end my series talking about why I chose to enter the profession. However, tonight it is about looking at teaching from the parent’s point of view. These men and women come in to work every day knowing that they will expend every drop of energy taking care of 20+ children – other peoples’ children. They give it their all and don’t hold any back.

These fine people have made it their life’s work to give knowledge to the future. It is not easy. Gone are the days of a teacher standing in front of the class instructing in one way and no other. Teachers must now know how to show the same lesson in five different ways. They must understand how to check to ensure that each and every student has gained an understanding of the material. If they don’t, they must figure out a way to reteach the material in a new and engaging way.

These teachers are tasked to assess students, fill in reports, grade papers, plan lessons, straighten up the rooms, play nurse, and still figure out a way to have a life. They must also ensure that they follow ed. code to the letter, and deal with parents.

Yet they do all of the above with a smile on their face, a dance in their step, and a plan to keep our future full of hope. Yes. My wife and I are raising our child, but it is only through the help of so many other people. So tonight, I say to the world. Thank you. Thank you to every teacher that has worked with our daughter and every teacher who will work with our daughter. Thank you for taking up a profession that is critiqued by all, but chosen by few. Thank you for being the people you are and helping my daughter follow her dreams. Thank you for all you do for our daughter and every other child.

Thank you, dear reader, for meandering with me tonight.
Children in elementary school on the workshop with their teacher

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Teacher Appreciation – Those Behind the Teacher

Posted on May 5, 2016 by Bob Martin

Male Janitor Mopping FloorNow I was not a math teacher, but I believe that this would make entry number 3 in the postings for teacher appreciation week. I am going to add another entry for those that help our young people live up to their potential and keep this country going. However, this one isn’t exactly about teachers. Today, I want to talk about what it is that makes our teachers as good as they are. The old adage is that behind every great man is a great woman. For today’s writing, it will be behind every great teacher is a support staff. While I understand that there is a professional assistant day and days for others, I truly believe that we would be amiss in not recognizing those that give the teachers what they need to do what they do.

I want to talk about the rest of the staff that make up a school. I was going to call them support staff, and while I do believe that the teachers stand on their shoulders, I would rather picture them side-by-side with the teachers.

Ever since my first days of school, I can always remember seeing men and women around the halls and offices. They were always busy doing something, but never so busy that they did not have time to stop and wave, smile, or say hello to the students. As an elementary student, I had no idea what they did. I knew them as Mr. So-and-so or Ms. So-and-so. We knew they worked with the teachers, but their jobs were secret. Okay. We did know what the custodian did. He was the person who magically made all of the mess disappear. The school would have messes and spills when we left each afternoon, but somehow this person, much like the cobbler’s elves, whisked through the building each night to give us a sparkling school each morning.

Seriously though, we loved when the teacher would select us to take things to the office. It gaveBeautiful secretary at office us the chance to go down to the place where the nice ladies answered phones and talked with the students. We wondered what it must be like to just sit at a desk all day and answer the phone. The other adults at the school could be seen all around the building. We could see them in the lunch room, out on the playground, driving the busses, and cutting grass. But again, as far as students knew, the teachers did everything around the school, and these people were just there.

Once I made it to high school, it was a little easier to understand the work these people did. Our school had a good number of after-school activities so we hung out after the 3 o’clock bell. By staying around, I finally got a chance to see how hard these people worked. The office personnel would be sifting through piles of work. The custodians, while working hard all day long, really came out and started moving through the school – follow a custodian for an afternoon, it is disgusting what is left for them to handle. You had a chance to see just how much work it took to keep the school running. These people were always friendly, always willing to help out students, and always hard working.

Let’s jump ahead to being part of education. This is when you really, finally, understand just what it takes to make a school a welcoming place. As a teacher, you come to depend on every single person who works in the building. You also understand that these hard-working people are not always given their due respect. Within the different schools, I have witnessed how those in the front office can be the first line of defense for the teachers. When angry parents come in, they are normally the first person to receive the parents. I have watched as the calm down people to the point that a normal conversation can happen. I watched finance people work with a line of parents at the end of a school year as parent after parent informs them that their child would never have lost a textbook or racked up fines for other things. Walk through the front office and see the work that is happening there and then walk out of the office into the halls. It is like walking into another world. The people in the front office try hard to keep the chaos out of the school.

I know I have already talked about custodians, but I must bring them up once again. The men and women go through their jobs alone. There are times when I would be working late, and as you walk through the halls you see the piles of trash that have been brought of the rooms. I have watched these silent workers down on the hands and knees cleaning up stuff stuck to the floor or repairing things so all would be ready for the students come the next day. I also want to state that as a teacher there was no better friend than the custodian when a student would lose his lunch in your classroom.

Lunchladies beside trays of food in school cafeteriaThen there are people who fill the roles of campus supervisors, cooks, bus drivers, and so many more. Each of these people come to work every day and quietly go about their jobs. So many of them are left off the accolades when it comes to thanking the people who take care of our children. Yet, every day, they do just that.

As a teacher, these people are no longer Mr. So-and-so or Ms. So-and-so. They have names. I know that it is because of them that teachers can do what they need to do. I understand that they work just as hard in making sure that things are done so that teachers can concentrate on teaching and students can have a safe, inviting place to come learn.

So if you have a reason to visit a school, please take a moment to acknowledge these hard working men and women. All too often people walk by them not even recognizing that they are there. Stop for a second, say hello, say thank you.

Thank you for meandering with me today.

 

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Teacher Appreciation – Day 2 St. Peter’s

Posted on May 3, 2016 by Bob Martin

So we continue down the road of looking at past teachers. Tonight is about my three-year stint in Catholic school. My one brother had entered St. Peter’s a year prior to my beginnings. It was a small school; one class per grade. The class average was in the low to mid-20s. I talked with my dad about switching schools during the first year of my brother’s attendance. It was not until a specific day in the summer that my want to try out St. Peter’s became solid. I met the principal.

I think my brother was doing some sort of activity in the summer. I can remember pulling up to the doors of the school with my mom and dad to await him. I looked out my window to see this short – I do mean short, less than 5 feet if I remember – lady weeding the flower beds. She turned when she heard our car pull up and stopped weeding to come say hello. For the next five minutes she carried on a conversation with my parents and me. She made it a point to include me even though I was only 10. She told jokes, had funny stories, and just seemed to know anything and everything. As she stood there in shorts, t-shirt, and hat, I thought that it was so cool that the gardener was so friendly. Near the end of the conversation, she asked my dad about the time. When my dad responded she jumped, I almost want to say an explicative came out of her, and she backed away from the car shouting, “I have to go pick up some nuns coming in from Rome. I’m late.” She waved and ran away. I asked my dad how he knew her. I was shocked when he told me that I had been talking with Sister Jean, the principal of the school. My dad enrolled me shortly thereafter.

Now I know that it is known that I am part of the public-school system. They pay my salary. However, I will admit that I find nothing wrong with the Catholic school system. I know that there are limitations in services offered for special needs children, but for the general student, it is just as good or better. For me it was better since I don’t do well with large numbers. This school was an introverts dream. The school had nuns in the lower classes and as the principal, outside of that we had regular teachers. I learned a lot in those three years. I would have continued on through high school if the cost hadn’t been a problem.

So going back to Sister, I believe that, even without her being one of my formal teachers, she taught me the most during those three years. The lesson I took from her was that you could be yourself while still doing what is expected of you. She never had a problem jumping into a game on the playground with the kids. I watched her dealing with the younger students give them comfort and love. She was as comfortable in a habit, yes they still wore them back then, as she was out in shorts and a t-shirt talking with parents. She didn’t put on a show. You got Sister when you were with her – not somebody she acted she pretended to be. Sadly, from what I can find, she passed in 2006.

At the same time, she could be strict. Man could she lay down the law. I often remember an incident when she was walking past our classroom while a person in the back of the room back-talked the teacher. This flash went by all of the students and, before anyone even knew she was in the room, she had the student by an earlobe while dragging him to the front to apologize to the teacher. She knew every time students were doing something they shouldn’t. We had a priest who ended each sentence “my friends.” The class decided to tally how many times he said it in one class. Somehow Sister found out about it and I can remember writing a good chunk of the A encyclopedia. These kids don’t understand how lucky they are that Britannica no longer prints their books. However, in the end, once the punishment was done so was Sister’s memory of the issue. She did not forget, but she taught me that all things end even reminding students of wrong-doings.

The other teacher that comes to mind from St. Peter’s is Mrs. Smith. She was the eighth-grade homeroom and English teacher. She gave me the first low mark that I can remember. I still think about having to have my dad sign the paper. Mrs. Smith was a person that emphasized the reading and following of instructions. After that one paper, I followed the instructions on the assignments. People think that it was the military that made me understand how to follow instructions – nope – it was Catholic School. Now this may seem like a bad thing – not allowing students to think outside of the box, but that was not always the case. Mrs. Smith made sure we knew when we could go free and times when we toed the line.

While the 6 – 8 grade students changed classes, it is Mrs. Smith’s name that I remember over the others. She knew how to engage us before that was even a buzz word. She connected with us. I still remember feeling sorry for her the one Christmas she sprayed tree scent in her apartment only to find she was allergic to it. Finally, she could take a joke. I can remember a rubber mouse on fishing line being pulled across the room, the entire class turned around, and other pranks. She never got upset. She taught me that you need to roll with the punches and laugh at life. She taught me how to survive in the world.

My time in St. Peter’s was short, but I learned a lot. I can remember having to travel to the local university for PE classes. I remember that it was not all about being Catholic – otherwise we would never have sung the 12 Days After Christmas where the singer shoots the partridge.

I learned that public school or private school. Both have great teachers who care about their students. Both have teachers who go above and beyond to make sure that this country has a future. Both give students a place to learn and grow. I think the only downside would have been that most of my classmates moved together on to Parochial High School. Considering that our class was three girls and the rest boys, I lost a chance to keep some friendships going.

So if you can, thank a teacher this week. Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

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Teacher Appreciation

Posted on May 2, 2016 by Bob Martin

yearbookFacebook is full of comments for teachers’ appreciation week. I guess it might have something to do with the fact that I am part of that world that so many people are posting about it. Though I will admit that I have also seen posts by people thanking those who are teaching their children. So I thought, why not? There are plenty of people for me to thank. I will do that tonight while sharing some stories of those people.

I was fortunate that most of my school days were spent at Lewiston Porter. I did have a short span of three years at St. Peter’s in Lewiston. Both schools are special to me as I look back at those days. During my recent visits and in talking with younger relatives, I am not sure if Lew-Port is the same school that I graduated from in 1983. I wonder if the school has changed that much or if, as in my days, students were itching to get out and experience the world outside of WNY.

As I reminisce on my school days, I know without a doubt that I entered into teaching due to the men and women that worked so hard to share their wisdom with me and the other 310 students of our graduating class. Of course school was a lot different back then. We all know how difficult it was to walk the ten miles to and twenty miles from each day – uphill – in snow – all the way through June. So here is my thank you to just a few, but it is meant for all of my past teachers.

I thank them for the time, patience, perseverance, and willingness not to give up on students. I, like so many people, always thought that teaching was such an easy gig. I imagined how nice it was to wander in to school ten minutes before the day started and walk out with the students. Teachers have all that time off in the summer and at holidays. That was what I thought, then I learned. The teachers who stood in front of the class each and every day came in early, left late, spent many hours after-school running clubs, somehow managed to grade our papers, and, hopefully, had time for their families. I now have a better idea just how much they did for all of us. What really is interesting is the teachers that I remember the most.

Mr. Presutti, my AP English teacher in 12th grade, often comes to my mind when working with students. I never really knew where I stood with that man. In the first few days of school, I remember him pulling me out of class to tell me that I didn’t belong in his AP class. He asked me if I wanted to go back to regular English. I didn’t. He told me that I had five weeks to prove to him that I belonged. I felt that I spent the entire year proving that I belonged there. He never let up. I worked in that class because I had been challenged. I ended up passing my AP exam because this man made me reach higher than my own expectations.

The one thing I seem to remember about his class was that he set the bar high for all. While he raised his expectations, he did so knowing that the students could reach new heights. I cannot remember everything about his class, but I seem to recall that he was a man with rules. If you followed the rules all was well. In a way, I used him while teaching. I did not let my students be mediocre. I let them know that there was so much that they could do, and I expected them to do it. Students did not have to be A students to succeed in my class; they did have to work and grow. Mr. Presutti, whether he liked me or not, made me grow to new levels. In a way, I often wonder if he knew just what he did for me. I truly believe I never would have published my first book if he hadn’t been the teacher that forced me to search inside to see who was there.

While Mr. Presutti may have been tough the next teacher for me was the opposite. I hope I don’t offend him, but when he tried to be tough, for the most part, it never worked. Although I will admit he could throw a baton across a room. Yes. I am referring to a band teacher; this would be Mr. Brasure. This man, though not the first, brought music into my world. I think I may have had the pleasure to have been part of Lew-Port during the best time of the band/orchestra period. Band was the class I loved to go to get a break from the rest of school. There was something about being able to pick up a horn, play music, and forget about any tests that were coming up. It was an escape.

The one thing I remember, outside of our Disney and West Point trips, is the fact that Mr. Brasure gave us a chance to break loose from the norm. During my senior year, he got rid of the boring weekly lessons that most band teachers put students through. He allowed students to build quintets and quartets and do some self-study. While he would sit with the groups during practice, he allowed us to work out what the group worked on and how we corrected and improved. He moved us away from the rigidness of most classes, even music, and gave us freedom. Of course being able to perform in the band, Jazz band, orchestra, and brass quartet gave me times to look back on. This man worked hard to open up the world to us as he brought music from around the world and time periods into our lives.

There were so many great teachers during my 12 years of learning. Mr. Gullet made geometry fun. Mr. Daniels tried his hardest for me to get through physics – didn’t happen, and I still remember Mr. Wellington’s method for solving Sine, Cosine, and Tangent. Each and every teacher gave a part of themselves to make future a better place. They put up with so much – okay maybe my partner and my dancing our dissected fetal pig across the table may have been a little too much. So what was the biggest thing I learned?

My teachers taught me to be a teacher who never gave up on a student. I easily could have been the student that teachers could have given up on. My high school years were not that easy. I was learning to live without my dad, and I figured that I could get through high school without trying. I found many ways to get to stay home. I really didn’t care. Yet I made it because of those adults who didn’t have to care but they did. They taught me that the future is something that we need to nurture and we do that through helping those who need it the most.

When I was in the classroom, I channeled those teachers of my past. I never gave up on a kid. I even had students ask me why I cared about them so much. I would sit at my desk and have to fight back emotions. Why would a student ask people to stop caring? Every time I found myself in that scenario, I brought back Mr. Presutti, Mr. Brasure, Mr. Kilroy, and the rest. I could see them talking with me. I could see them wanting me to succeed. I could see them with pride each year at graduation (I played in the band at three of them) as even the hardest to reach pupils crossed the stage.

Back then you were teachers. Today, you are people to whom I owe much more than I can ever pay. Sadly, over the last few years, I have read about the passing of more and more of those who helped me. With each passing, I realize that there is another one that I will never be able to thank. So this is my thank you. They may never get a chance to read it, but now the rest of the world knows how great these people are or were. I know that not everybody had a great experience in school, but I hope each person had at least one teacher that was as great and caring as anyone of the ones who stood and poured out their knowledge each and every day. May I be half the teacher of anyone of them.

Thank you for meandering with me today.

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