Make a Difference, Not Excuses

I don't believe that at college one learns "how to teach". When attending the school of education one learns educational philosophies, best practices, and content knowledge, but the "real" learning takes place in the classroom. It is interesting watching fresh, new teachers enter the field thinking they know everything, and then realizing after just a few weeks in the trenches they know nothing. To become an accomplished musician, one has to make music, and to become a master teacher one has to teach. Just like music has changed and evolved over the decades so must teaching.

This is my thirty-first year of working in the field of education. I have gone through an evolution process throughout my teaching career. When I look back at some of my personal teaching philosophies I roll my eyes, make that tsking noise, and wonder, "What was I thinking?' I am not proud of some of the teaching strategies I have used, but I am proud that throughout my teaching career I have looked to myself to make a change. As the neighborhood I teach in has evolved over the years and has sent my school different kinds of students from military "brats" to English language learners, I have had to change my thinking to accommodate the different socioeconomic students.

In Arizona our "test" is called the AIMS (Arizona Instrument to Measure Standards). Unfortunately, everything revolves around the AIMS. Whether or not a school goes into school improvement depends on how well a school does on the AIMS. The federal government has passed No Child left Behind, and this bill insists that by 2012 one hundred percent of students attending public schools must meet or exceed the standards as measured by the AIMS. 100%!
The grades that are scrutinized are third, fifth and eighth. There is so much pressure on third, fifth and eighth grade teachers to make sure that their students excel on the AIMS. Even though administration touts that everyone is responsible for a school's success on the AIMS, the heavy pressure is placed on third, fifth, and eighth grade teachers. One has to be extremely brave to choose to teach third, fifth, and eigth grade in Arizona.

I was a fifth grade teacher for many years and faced that tremendous pressure to get my students to do well on the AIMS. Eight years ago fifth grade at my school was not doing well on the AIMS, and I fell into a trap. A trap so deep I thought I wasn't going to make it out. I was snared. I fell into the trap of excuses: The test is too hard. The test doesn't measure what we are teaching. The test is too long. The students don't understand. It is . . . . It doesn't . . . . . . . . They can't . . . . . . They don't . . . . . . They won't . . . . . . . STOP! HELP!

Thank God, I was rescued! A colleague reached in and pulled me out of that trap. I started team teaching with Colleen Meyer. At the time we weren't friends, we knew we had the same philosophies and ideas, but what we didn't know was what we would be able to do together. I learned more from Colleen than I did from any college professor or mentor. The most important thing I learned was to stop making excuses and start making a difference. When we looked at data no longer did I say, "Oh great, they didn't get it!", we perused the data, found OUR problem places, and decided where we were going to make a change in our teaching. Over the years our teaching evolved and so did our friendship. I thanked God for Colleen daily because I was driving down the rutted teaching path, and she drove up and pulled me out of those ruts.

For every teaching excuse we made a change:

Our parents can't help our students with their homework. We expected them to do there homework. We gave our students our phone number and told them, "Call us if you need help on your homework or if there is an emergency." I have never had students misuse this privilege.

Our students need more help than we can give them. We expected them to be responsible for their learning. Our classroom was open all day. We arrived early (Colleen arrived really early), and our students started coming in early for help. We ate lunch in our room to help our students during their lunch recess. On days that we didn't have meeting our doors were open for any student to enter and ask for help.

Our students don't care about their progress. We expected them to care. We showed them where they were and where they needed to be, and we conferenced with them individually to discuss how that individual student was going to reach their goal.

Our students aren't motivated to learn. We expected them to be motivated. We created silly incentives, but most important we showered our students with praise. We honored our students. We celebrated their successes no matter how small.

When I stopped making excuses and started making changes with my teaching, my students soared. I believe teaching is the hardest job in the world. It is easy to fall into the excuses trap. If there is a teacher reading this that has fallen into a trap, don't despair, reach out for help. It is okay to ask for help. If the words, "They can't . . . " begins to appear, STOP, and say, "I will . . . ., They will . . . . ., I can . . . . ., They can. . . . " It is difficult clawing a way out of a trap, but it is possible!

Paco's Perspective

"Paco, Flip is just a puppy. He doesn't know about sharing toys." You also shouldn't make excuses for that dog!

The Flip Side

The reason I poop on Breann's floor is . . . . wait, don't make excuses, . . . . . the reason I don't always come when you call is . . . . .oops, don't make excuses . . . . . I'm thinking . . . . .I'm thinking . . . . . I'm thinking I don't get this game.

I Should Have Been a Cowboy

The state of Arizona is experiencing its worse budget crisis in recent history. The state of Arizona has a three billion dollar deficit. Over the past few years the state has got itself into this deficit by borrowing from Peter to pay Paul. Peter is now pissed, and he wants his money back. Peter has friends in the Mafia and so the state has decided to balance the budget. Since, fifty percent of Arizona's budget is spent on education (which happens to be in the bottom five for the amount states spend on education), then the cuts will affect the field of education the greatest. I should have been a cowboy.

Last year, Cartwright School District (whom I happen to work for) had to make a nine million dollar budget reduction. In order to cut this much money, Cartwright had to borrow from Peter to pay Paul. Now, one would think that Paul would have learned his lesson with the state, but he must be co-dependent. Anyway, this year Cartwright has to make a $7.4 million to a $9.8 million cut to the M & O budget. Of course, cuts to the M & O budget involve cuts to the school personnel which includes teachers, principals, secretaries and aides. Aides will be let go, teachers salaries will be cut, teachers will be cut, assistant principals will be cut, class sizes will increase. It is called The Stack 'em Deep and Teach 'em Cheap Theory. I should have been a cowboy. I should have learned to rope and ride.

I have worked for the Cartwright School District for thirty years. This is my thirty-first year, and I should have received an award and gift for thirty years of service. I was overlooked and told that there was no more money for service awards this year. (That damn Peter-Paul thing!) But, really what was I going to do with $100 gift card to Home Depot; paint my room again? One reason I continued to teach for the Cartwright District was it had a great retirement package which is now gone. Now, I continue to work for the insurance which the district is thinking of changing or taking away. I should have been a cowboy. I should have learned to rope and ride. Wearing my six, shooter riding my pony on a cattle drive.

In the past, when there were budget cuts at the district I had no worries. I had seniority. I knew I had a job. Guess what? Not any more. The state of Arizona has taken tenure away from teachers. I no longer have seniority. I no longer have any job security. I could be riffed for no reason. If one is a numbers person, and if one needs to make cuts, it would be obvious to start at the top salary. And that would be me. I should have been a cowboy. I should have learned to rope and ride. Wearing my six shooter, riding my pony on a cattle drive. Just like Gene and Roy.

My New Year's Resolution was to NOT be a pissypants! So, I must look on the bright side. This next school year I will have a job. The Cartwright District has promised to honor seniority, this next year, but, at one time, the district also promised to buy back one's sick days at one's time of retirement. A promise to buy back sick days that the district might now just take away. OOPS! I will not be a pissypants! I will not be a pissypants! I WILL HAVE A JOB! I WILL HAVE INSURANCE (one way or the other)! And I LOVE my job. I really do. I don't like breaks. I would rather work. My job brings me joy. My job fills my heart. Even though I am asked to do more and more for less and less, I still love my job and I wouldn't want to do anything else!

Aw, let's face it, what else could a fifty-four year old crippled kid do? I am not fun, but I am funny. I could be a stand-up comedienne. Oops, I can't stand. I could sing and dance my way to fame and fortune. Oops, I can't sing. I could sell flowers in a tube top on the corner. Yikes, that is an ugly visualization.

I should have been a cowboy.
I should have learned to rope and ride.
Wearing my six shooter,
Riding my pony
On a cattle drive.
Just like Gene and Roy,
Singing those campfire songs.
Aw, I should have been a cowboy.
lyrics written by Toby Keith

Paco's Perspective

Yea, and I should have been a great dane, Miss Pissypants!

The Flip Side

I should have been . . . . I should have been . . . . I should have been . . . . okay wait, give me a minute, I'll think of something.

Uphill, Both Ways

Recently, I just turned fifty-four years. At one time in my life I thought that was extremely old. Then I turned fifty-four, and it didn't seem so old. Turning fifty-four gave me pause to think about my father who died at the young age of fifty-four.

My father was a country boy through and through from the tip of his cute little nose to end of his toes. He lived on a farm in Princeton, Missouri. He listened to country music. He knew how to country dance. My father had a country boy attitude. He was full of country sayings.

My father passed time when he was young like all country boys. He rode horses, helped with the farm, went hunting, and caused mischief. I remember my aunt telling me about when my father and uncle would go "frog giggin'". My father would make my aunt put on a heavy coat, and he would shoot his BB gun at her. If she yelled, "Ow!", he knew the gun would kill frogs.

I was extremely fortunate to grow up in a home with parents that accepted my brother's and my disability without a single grumble. There was never self-pity. (If there was grumbling and self-pity, my parents made sure we never heard it.) We were given the opportunity to do everything that other kids our age did. When friends of the family were camping and riding motorbikes, my father made sure that our family did the same. He built motorbikes with sidecars to accommodate our disability. I don't ever remember feeling depressed that I couldn't do what my friends could do because, I knew, all I had to do was tell my parents that I wanted to something and they would figure out a way to make it happen. My father was a visionary, and I believed that with his genius I could do anything.

My father never spanked us. I only remember him taking his belt off, snapping it, and threatening to use it, once! The only thing my father had to say was, "I am so disappointed in you!" When he said that I would crumble. Sadly, for my mom, my father left all the disciplinary actions to her.

My father always had interesting wise words of wisdom and odd sayings. We always heard the familiar, "When I was your age . . . . . . ." I remember continually being told, "When I was your age I had to walk to school every day. I had to walk five miles uphill in the snow."

We would reply, "Really, Dad, uphill, both ways?"

"Yes, I lived in a very hilly area," he would explain.

"And always in the snow?" we would inquire.

"Yes, I only went to school on snowy days. I had to work in the fields the days it didn't snow."

My mother would chime in, "Don't let your father fool you. He rode a horse to school. The horse knew the way so well that your father slept both ways, and it wasn't uphill. And it definitely wasn't in the snow."

My father had a unique way of describing people and events. I had a friend in high school that loved my father's saying. She would write down what he said, and she would tell him, "Someday I am going to write a book of your sayings." She didn't write a book, but I am happy to share them with my readers. Here goes:

• He was shaking like a dog shitting razor blades.
• She is homelier than an old mud fence.
• That boy could eat corn on a cob through a picket fence.
• It is colder than a well digger's ass in July.
• It is hotter than nickel night at the whore house.
• It is a vicious circle, like wiping your ass on a hoop.
• He is so skinny he has to run around the shower to get wet.
• You can't carry a tune in paper sack.
  
• She was so ugly we had to tie a pork chop around her neck before the dogs would play with her.

I don't have many memories of my father. If I had known he was going to die at such a young age, I would have been sure to take "mind snapshots" of my father. Remember it is never too late to take "mind snapshots" of your family and friends. Don't forget to make memories.

Paco's Perspective

How's this for clever sayings?

• Flip is dumber than a box of rock .

• Lights are on, but . . . . . . . .

• There are bats in the new kid's belfry!

Don't stop me now, I am on a roll.

The Flip Side

Paco twirls like . . . . . twirls like . . . . . . . .twirls like . . . . . . . ,okay, I give up!

The Patience of Job

I have two dogs. One is a maltese and terrier which makes him a Mallmutt. The Mallmutt was dumped near our home. He was brought home in hopes of finding his owner and if not, then he would be taken to the Humane Society. But, everyone in the family fell in love with Filp, the Mallmut,t and he is now a much loved member of the family. My other dog is a chihuahua and his name is Paco. Paco is not a normal yippy-yappy snarling chihuahua. From day one I made sure that he was socialized. If anyone asked to hold him, it was allowed. He was raised with a five year old girl that carried him around everywhere she went. He has played surgery, beauty parlor, house, school and prison with the five year old. I have found him wrapped in blankets in a stroller and even stuffed inside a box. Paco has the patience of Job.

Paco is now three years old and I get worried that someday he will lose his patience. When Flip showed up Paco had to share his toys, bed, food, and loving. Because Flip is a stray he is a bit food, toy and bed aggressive, and Patient Paco just goes with the flow.

This past week a dear friend, Rhonda, and her granddaughter, Lexi, came to visit. Lexi latched onto Paco like a leech to skin. She carried him everywhere. Lexi would pick Paco up under his front legs and tote him around, and Paco would just look at me as if to say, "Hey, I thought we were done with five year olds!" Lexi would fling him on the bed and jump on the bed with him. She would lay on top of him. She would hold him up in the air. She would fling him off the bed. For the entire visit a moment didn't go by that Paco wasn't being kid-handled, and he NEVER growled or snapped at her. Lexi was twenty pounds of energy in a five pound bag!

Lexi said, "Caffy (that's me), Paco is my new BFF."

"Really? You like him that much!" I replied.

"Yes, I love Paco. Paco is the best chickachickahuahua in the world," giggled Lexi.

Lexi is right. I was never a dog person, and I never thought I would become one, but I have. Paco is, also, my BFF. He is always happy to see me. He is so happy to see me he twirls when I come into a room.(Actually, he twirls when anyone comes into a room.) Paco follows me wherever I go. He guards me continuously. Paco knows when he is needed. Paco is the best chickachickahuahua in the world!

Paco's Perspective

Yikes! That giggling Lexi was a handful. I haven't seen her today. Did she go home? Please tell me she went home!

The Flip Side

Hey, what about me? I am good dog! I am a good dog! I am a good dog! Paco isn't as patient as you think.

Explosion at the Goat Lick

My sister, Caren, is like a sprite. She is petite and adorable. She is cute, and she gets cuter with age. Caren looks one hundred times better than she did in high school. She is athletic and competitive. Don't try to beat her at anything because she won't let it happen. If you happen to get lucky and beat her at something, she'll go home and practice and challenge you to a rematch. Caren is everything I am not. That is why I always told her the mailman was her father.

One must have a great self-esteem to hang out with Caren. Everybody loves Caren. She is the life of the party. Caren will make friends at the drop of a hat. Don't sit next to her on a plane, if you don't want to make a new friend. Don't even try to put up that invisible wall. She has special sprite powers and she will break down that wall and become your new best friend.

Children worship Caren. It could be because she is a kid at heart. She will play anything kids want to play a million times, but don't think she will let them win because they are kids; she won't. Caren is a get-dirty-roll-on-the-ground kind of gal. She, also, has a very special talent that all kids big and small love. Caren is a burper and a farter! Kids of all ages line up to worship at the Church of Caren.

One summer a friend that I teach with, Lauri, and her family came to visit Caren and me in Montana. Lauri has two children Seth and Larissa. Seth and Larissa loved hanging out with Auntie Caren. Seth especially loved Caren's "special" talent. He admired her ability to fart a tune and burp the ABCs. Lauri has always said, "Caren corrupted her sweet innocent son. After that summer in Montana, Seth became a regular burping and farting boy."

When we have visitors in Montana we do the regular Montana sight seeing tours: Big Mountain, Bear Park, Jeff Fleming Studio, Horseshoe Dam, Flathead Lake, Moose's Saloon and Pizza Parlor, Huckleberry shakes, and, of course, Glacier Park. Visiting Glacier is a full day trip. When driving through the park there are places where all sight seers stop: Glacier Hotel, Trick Falls, Lake Mary, Glacier Visiting Center, and the Weeping Wall. Montana is one of the most amazing and majestic places I have ever seen. It's beauty is so difficult to explain. it is one of those places one has to see to believe.

We were taking Lauri and her family on our official Glacier Park day trip. We had to take two cars. The girls: Caren, Larissa, Lauri and myself in my van, and the boys: Darrel (Caren's husband), Terry (Lauri's husband) and Seth in the truck. We communicated between the two vehicles with walkie-talkies. Our catch phrase for the trip was, "Hey, where are you aaaaaattt?" This phrase drove the school teachers in Lauri and I crazy because of the dangling preposition. Lauri became somewhat frantic about the phrase because not only were her young vulnerable children being corrupted by the fun loving burper and farter but, they were learning and using improper grammar.

On the way to Glacier we always stop at the Goat Lick. It is an exposed river bank where goats and other animals come to lick the mineral-laden cliffs. The cliffs are steep, so the mountain goats are the ones that are able to get to cliffs easier. On the opposite side of the cliffs is a paved trail that leads out to an overhang where visitors can stand and view the goats. As we walked toward the lookout with Caren and the kids in the lead laughing and giggling we saw a couple standing at the rail. When they saw or heard us coming they stepped away from the rail and made room for us. Caren was in front blocking everyone's view. Seth pleaded, "Come on, Aunt Caren, move so we can see!"

"Yea, move!" urged Larissa.

"Move, please!" insisted the the ever-correcting mother of Seth and Larissa.

At that moment, Caren lifted her leg like a dog and farted. It made a noise like a Whoopee Cushion being sat on by a fat man. It sounded like a rocket taking off. I am surprised the force of the explosion didn't lift her sprite-like body off the ground and over the rail.We all fell silent. Unbeknownst to Caren the older couple that was originally standing at the rail was still there. As Caren was turning around to face us she giggled, "Come you guys, you have to admit that was a good one." And then she saw the couple and her face went as white as a porcelain doll and she shyly said, "Oooops! Sorry!"

As the couple scurried away in bemusement, we all shouted, "Please, excuse our friend. She is a bit addled!"

"Aunt Caren, you should be ashamed of yourself, " guffawed Seth and Larissa in unison.

"Yea, Aunt Caren, you should be ashamed of yourself," the rest of us chimed in.

"Aaah, who cares? I'll never see them again!" replied Caren. "And you have to admit it was a goodie!"

"It wasn't just a good one it was a great!" worshipped Seth. "I gotta practice some more."

"No you don't!" shouted Lauri.

We continued on our trip through the park. When we were pulling into the Trick Falls parking lot Seth came over the walkie-talkie, "You guys aren't going to believe who is here!"

"Is it someone famous?" Caren asked over the walkie-talkie.

Seth laughed with gusto as he replied, "Yea, your famous fart friends."

And there they were, the couple Caren had so rudely imposed upon at the Goat Lick. And when we stopped at Lake Mary, there they were. And when we stopped at the Glacier Hotel, there they were. Every place we stopped, the people we were never going to see again were there.

Seth and Larissa are now much older. Larissa is a junior in college and Seth is a senior in high school. And when we have the opportunity to get together we still talk and laugh about that summer in Montana. The summer Seth and I came face to face with a bear. The summer Terry fell in love with huckleberries. The summer Seth became a regular boy. The summer of the explosion at the Goat Lick

Paco's Perspective

I love summers in Montana, but I don't love Auntie Caren's farts. I do love it when she shares he wine with me.

The Flip Side

I can't wait to go to Montana. Paco says there are lots of trees. More trees than in a dog's dream.

I Prefer Spinster

Soon, I will be one year older. Since my parents were told my brother and I would die before our sixteenth birthdays, I am not ashamed of my age. I will proudly turn fifty-four on January eighth, which happen to be Elvis Presley's birthday. So when you are driving down the road on January eighth and the radio DJ says, "Elvis Presley would have been seventy-five years old today" you should shout, "Darn, I forgot Cathy's birthday again!"

As my birthday gets closer and closer, I continue to ask myself over and over this question, "Is this the year I officially become an Old Maid school teacher?" On the sitcom Sex in the City, Charlotte became worried that she has become an old maid on her thirty-sixth birthday, and I am turning fifty-four!

What is an old maid? During the Elizabethan era the term old maid referred to a woman or girl of marriageable age who is unwilling or unable to marry and has no children. In the encyclopedia it states, "old maid is sometimes considered an insulting term". Sometimes? Really, does anyone want to be called an "old maid"? Why are childless unmarriageable women called old maids, but childless unmarriageable men are called bachelors? This is the ultimate example of the term double standard. Unmarried childless men have the right to a degrading term. I am thinking maybe . . . . . "old bastards"!

When the term "old maid" is thrown out there what image comes to mind? Is it that scrawny, wrinkled, glasses on the end of the nose, old lady in the card game? Yep, me too!

It is time to face reality. I fit the criteria:

• I am unmarried. I never ever thought I would be married. There aren't too many men out there that would want to commit to someone with as much baggage as I carry around. When I was young and hanging out in country western bars I never expected a tight jeaned, handsome cowboy to walk in and say to his friends, "Out of the way, boys, the chunky one in the wheelchair with a great smile is mine!"
• I have no children. I have never longed to have children. I like children, but I like them the best when they belong to someone else.
  
• I am wrinkled. Word of warning: Don't drink out of a straw. It is the quickest route to those wrinkles around your lips. I, also, have those horrible school-teacher-glare-at-kids wrinkles between my eyebrows.
• I wear bifocals. I cannot see anything without my glasses. I used to wear contacts, but I always misplace my reading glasses (which I wore on the end of my nose) so I accepted my fate and bought bifocals which I feel is the symbol of old age.
• I am old. I can't see. I have wrinkles in place I didn't know one could get wrinkles. Gravity has caused everything to go south. I can no longer eat spicy food.
  

Yep, it is official. I am an old maid. Worse yet, I am an old maid school teacher. While I was researching the term old maid I came across another term which was "spinster". Spinster is a medieval word that was originally intended to indicate a woman who spun wool, thereby living independently of a male wage. A spinster was a free and independent woman. Medieval people were afraid of spinsters because unmarried women were correlated with witches. Spinsters were free and independent women that could turn people into frogs. In two weeks I will be fifty-four years old, but please don't call me an "old maid"; I prefer spinster!

Paco's Perspective

Hey, Speenster, how old are you in dog years?

The Flip Side

I'm not old. Teach me some tricks.

Whatever You Do Don't Step on the Brake!

I am an Arizona Girl through and through. I love the Arizona heat. What is so bad about Arizona weather? When it is hot a person steps out of their air conditioned house, gets in their air conditioned car, and drives to the air conditioned mall. I can always get cooler, but once my toes get cold there is no turning back. The only way I can get my feet warm is to take a hot, hot, hot shower and jump into a toasty, warm bed. I despise the cold. I believe God is okay with people whining, but only about one thing, so when the temperature gets below eighty I whine.

My aversion for cold leads me to ask this question: Why would anyone want to play in the snow? If one lives in Arizona, one has to drive at least two and one half hours to get to the snow, and then this means driving in the snow. I have only driven in the snow two times, because I purposely avoid cold weather. I was caught in a snowstorm in Texas driving to a family Christmas. Believe when I woke up and saw the snow outside the hotel window I thought about heading for home, but Caren said there was no turning back.

My first snow driving adventure happened in Flagstaff, Arizona. I went there with a dear friend, Jeri, and her kids. I think we went to see the Grand Canyon in the winter and to play in the snow. This was pre-accident, so I was game for just about anything. It was a nice day the drive to Flagstaff was easy with no complications. The drive to the Canyon was the same, but on the way back from the Canyon to the motel it started to snow. Then it started to snow harder and I started to panic. (My van was only equipped for me to drive, so there was no changing places.) Jeri, being the mother of teenage boys that drove, was very calm. I on the other hand was a basket case. I clutched the steering wheel until my knuckles were as white as the new fallen snow and I squeaked, "What am I going to do?"

Jeri replied very calmly, "First, you are going to stop gripping the steering wheel so hard. Ease up a bit. Then you are going to slow down."

"Ooooooo, but what about the people behind us? They are going to start honking and then I am going to get nervous," I whined like a kid wanting a new toy.

"The other drivers can go around us. We don't care about them. Slow and steady," she cooed like she was talking to a new born babe. But then she added with a little bit of an edge on her voice, "But whatever you do, don't step on the brake."

I was lucky there wasn't a lot of traffic in front of me. It was all behind me HONKING! As I drove, the words, "Whatever you do, don't step on the brake", kept going through my head. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do when I got into town and came upon a red light, and I was too frightened and focused to ask. I prayed my way through two stop lights. I slowly pulled into the motel parking lot hoping I would coast to a stop. I coasted into a parking space easing closer and closer to the sidewalk when Jeri's eyes got as big as a fifty cent piece and she shouted, "Step on the brake!"

Paco's Perspective

I am glad Caren drives to Montana. Whatever you do, don't stop giving me treats.

The Flip Side

I don't think I like car rides.