Think Kit Day 23: Around my 'hood

Today's Think Kit topic: Look at your surroundings as if you're seeing them for the first time – take a walk in your 'hood, explore your house, or visit a favorite spot. What do you notice?

Winter is a time when we often don't think of things in the Midwest as very pretty. The grass, if not snow covered, is brown and dead. Trees are sans leaves. Houses' landscapes are barren. Mud. 

I walked around and noticed that our neighborhood is a mix. People are lower-middle class. They take care of their homes, remodeling and doing "upkeep". People keep their lawns mowed. There's junk sitting on lawns or porches. 

All the houses are 2 story homes, mostly older, some even historic. We all have sidewalks in our neighborhood. The sidewalk is bumpy and cracked. We have huge trees on the treelawns and the root systems are buckling the sidewalks. I know how "bad" this is but I like the texture this adds to the neighborhood. It's part of the quirks. 

I worry about the huge branch that hangs over our front porch. The tree is the neighbor's... I don't want the tree cut down, but if the neighbor could take care of the scary branch that would be great. 

Our street is narrow and only one car can drive down in either direction if cars are parked along both sides, which they can do. We're right off a very main highway and sometimes people cut through using our road. Locals know to pull over but those not from the 'hood just drive like idiots.

That's the 'hood...
Maggie

*I didn't actually write this post today but have been back logging post to catch up on the topics. I'm going to finish this project no matter what!

Show me a mother and I'll show you a liar

Mothers are liars. We are. We say there's nothing to be afraid of, we say there aren't monsters, that things that go bump in the night are nothing to be afraid of. Thunder is angels bowling, we encourage the belief in Santa and the Easter Bunny, we say having an imaginary friend is okay, that words will never hurt, that it will all be okay in the morning... mothers are liars.  And what are the alternatives?

There are things to be afraid of and I can't kiss it make it better. I can't wrap my child in cotton batting and protect him from all the evils in the world. It's not right and not fair. He's 20 years old and should be an adult and ready to battle evils because he's a grown up, right?

Motherhood is hard. There's no handbook or instructions. Oh there's plenty of things we are NOT SUPPOSED to do, obviously but what about all the grey areas? How do we handle those?

We lie because it's an act of protection, really, a way to preserve innocence, to stave off the hurts we know life will hand over someday. Then it happens- our child becomes wise to our game. And we are no longer the center of his universe. Anyone with a child older than 15 years old knows that moment when the jig is up. We have been discovered. Now we're given the evil eye. We're the enemy. We're no longer the sun but just another star. We can't fix everything, maybe we can't fix anything. And the things that need fixing are big- bigger than our mother magic- and we have to sit idly by and watch.  We call this a time of letting them make their own mistakes, of trying things on their own, of earning trust, of giving them enough rope but not letting them hang themselves.  It's really just a time when the monsters are bigger the words are meaner and the child is smarter.

I have no conclusions nor answers; readers can come to their own. Nor am I looking for any. Right now this is the stuff straight out of my brain, unfiltered, unrated.

Being a mother is hard and it never ends. And no matter how many lies I told, sometimes I wish it were that easy now so I could use my mother magic and make the monsters go away and the words not hurt.

If it were only that simple,
Maggie
 

Teenage Wasteland

Saturday Mac was going to graduation open houses and then to a bonfire. I know what that means- kegger. Before he left, I told him to not become a cliche nor a statistic and to not drink and drive. If he got drunk, I told him to either call me for a ride, sleep over at the party or sleep in his car. And before he left, my uncle also told him to not be afraid to call for a ride. (Please don't judge my parenting... it was a choice I made.)

Apparently he goes to the open houses and then to the bonfire. He gets there and pretty much everyone he knows is pretty much blatto and the big rumor is that the party is going to be busted by the cops. Mac decides, when he heard that, to stay sober. He hangs out and then the word goes out that the cops are on the way to raid the party so he gets a bunch of kids in his car and they all take off, him being the designated driver.

The girl who was hosting the drunken bonfire we'll call ADumbAssGirl because she posted on her Facebook about her kegger which is how the cops knew about it- idiot. She ended up in Mac's car, as did two of Mac's best buds, R and J. ADumbAssGirl want to go to a little town about 25 minutes from here. Mac said no but she then said she would drive herself, so he decides to drive her and incur the wrath of me later. But just as they get to the edge of town ADumbAssGirl has him pull into a parking lot and she gets out of the car and into another with a guy, leaving Mac and his friends to follow them, to go to another party. Mac is sober and while R and J were fairly drunk they all decide they don't want to go to the party because they guy ADumbAssGirl got in the car with is a known around town drug dealer- they should it was a bad idea.

So J suggests they go hang out at his patents lake cabin. It hadn't been opened up yet and the floor was covered with rat poop but they decided "what the heck- why not?". As Mac pulls into the cabin driveway, another car comes in behind them and 3 more guy friends spill out. As Mac steps on the break to stop the car, he hears a weird sound from the rear. He thought the guys behind him hit him. They all look at the rear of the car and determine no danger so Mac opens the trunk. And do you know what was there?

Two bottles of 7-Up, a gallon of generic Hawaiian Punch, and two Dirty Thirties. For those of you who don't speak 17-year old boy, that means there were two 30 packs of beer. In Mac's trunk. No one knows where it came from. All they can think is that ADumbAssGirl was supposed to bring it to the next party and when the guys didn't go...

to them, it was manna from the gods.

So what are six 17 and 18 year old boys to do on a Saturday night on the first weekend of summer vacation at a deserted lake cabin when faced with 60 cans of beer? Oh yeah.

So they drank beer and hung out at the lake, sat around being stupid guys and trading stories and just... being.

Mac slept in his car because even he was to weak to withstand the siren call of 60 cans of free beer for the taking.

At this point in my narrative, I would like to point out that I get this entire story from Mac when he got home Sunday morning. Without a shirt. Missing one shoe. When he left the house Saturday night, I distinctly remember he had on a shirt, and 2 shoes.

So Sunday morning he fills me in and all he really remembers is that it was hot outside so they were all sitting around without shirts. (Keep the homo-erotic comments to your collective selves, please). They didn't want to go in because of the rat poop and it was too hot to sleep in the car so he took of his shirt. He can't exactly explain the shoe. I don't think I want to know. It was just a flip-flop.

Two funny things:
1) One kid convinced the others to smoke a joint. They passed it around and Mac said he never smoked pot before but thought- what the hell. (Again, we aren't going there as parents right now) He thought it smelled really flowery and tasted terrible and burned and was awful. Until the kids who got the other 5 to smoke let them in on the joke: they smoked room freshener incense. Dumbasses.

2) Mac came straight in the house and went straight to the bathroom and showered. Because he drank about 14 beers and then passed out and then subsequently peed on himself in his sleep... yeah. I also made him clean the car seat.

At least he didn't drink and drive. And he didn't let his friends drive drunk.

He would probably kill me if he knew I told this story to the blogging world, but I just can't help it. There is so much stupidity crammed into one evening. And when you see those teen comedy drinking movies you can stop wondering what inspires them...

Mac's mom,
Maggie

I am a bad mother

Last semester Mac waited until 4 days before his English class deadline to read a book that was worth 10% of his grade for the entire semester. It was about 600 pages. Oh, it was The Book Thief.

It was hell for four days because I nagged him all the time which caused us to argue which made me mad but I still nagged. I couldn't let it go even though I knew he was making the choice to screw around and the outcome hurt him, not me.

Regardless of all the yelling (both of us), the nagging (me), and the tears (me again) he did finish the book and got an "A" on the test.

I was an English teacher in my past life. I was a fairly decent student in school. He is smart. He is an excellent reader and an even better writer. He practically has a photographic memory. But he just pisses this away because he's bored with high school.

So, this semester, I decided to be a bad mom. Or a bad teacher, but I'm not his teacher but still, what I did would be a "bad teacher" thing. I bribed him. Yes, I stand here before you, ladies and gentleman, hand to heart and tell you I bribed my child to read.

This semester he needs like a million points at his reading level which is like grade 29- he's off the charts, to be honest. This semester his teacher broke the number of independent reading points he needs into some the 3rd quarter and some the last quarter. So I bribed him. If Mac reads one of his "for points at his level" books and completes the book and the test over it by Feb. 1, I'll give him $10. If he has it done by Jan. 15, I'll give him $15. Additionally, if he gets all his third quarter points by Valentine's Day I'll give him an additional $20, so he could make $35. For doing his homework, which is something he should do on his own, at his age.

I can't let it go. It's a reading thing. It's a book thing. It's a teacher thing. It's an English teacher thing. It's a control thing (maybe). Hell, it's the mother-of-a-really-smart-teenage-boy-who-is-being-lazy thing.

I'm a bad mother.

Book bribing,
Maggie
_____________
On another note....

I like this song. There's no video here, just a picture of the singer from the group Train, but I like the song: "Hey Soul Sister" by... Train. Enjoy!

What the hell are we thinking?

It's been going on for years and years and while I'm going to bitch about it, I've no solution. I know I usually say, don't be part of the problem, be part of the solution, I just don't have one.

I think the idea what high schools should be abolished. I sit there day after day and watch kids come through the doors and wonder why we as adults and parents and society put the kids through the torture of high school.

Kids come in and it's sad. Some are fat and some are thin. Short and tall. Pretty and ugly. Fashionable and trendy, and thrift store and Wally World special- and someone picks on them, or looks at them and giggles as they walk by, or roll their eyes, or slams them into a locker. Or mutters nasty names at them under their breath. Or worse. Or much worse.

Kids who are friends stab each other in the back, leave other kids out of stupid things, tell secrets, use each other... the list goes on and on. It doesn't matter. And there are kids who try to fit in and it's obvious they don't. There are kids who want to be nice to others but aren't because of what the 'popular' crowd might think. They get labeled and are then stuck.

Kids in high school treat each other like no other groups I've ever seen. They say things to other kids that no other age group could get away with. I also wonder what happens if parents REALLY knew how their off spring behaved. How the girls hike their skirts or flash their tits. How the boys smack girls on the ass. The names they call each other. The way they push, shove and grab at each other in the hallways. What would happen if a mother heard her call her best friend "bitch" because of a t-shirt.

Yet we as adults take these kids who are nothing but raging hormones who are trying to find their way in the world, trying to figure out who they are and where they belong and we lock them up in a building together and forced to function, to learn, to think, to study, to focus all while surviving the jeers of their peers.

I now know why we have school shootings, why kids kill themselves, why they're cutting, they they're binging and purging and are anorexic, why they fuck around, why they drink, why they're depressed.

Teenagers are mean. They are cruel. And yet we let them get away with the minor bullying and chalk it up to growing pains, or "that's high school" or "that's life" bullshit. And that's what it is: bullshit. We let teenagers behave unacceptably yet if the same behavior happened in the work place, or in elementary school, we would never accept it. What makes it OKAY to let this happen? How do we stop it? Why do we continue to send kids to high school?

Do you think it's not as bad as I say it is? Then you're wrong. Go sit in a high school classroom for a day and just watch. Watch and learn and be appalled.

Two days ago a girl called Mac a "fatass" to his face. First, he's not a "fastass." He might be about 10 pounds over weight, and it certainly isn't in his ass at all. And he isn't fat. Second, according to everyone who was around when this happened, said Mac was listening to his iPod and the kids he was with were talking about who was single and who was hooked up. Cam said "Mac's single" to the only single girl and she said "ewwwww no. He's a fatass."

What. The. Fuck!?!

He wasn't picking on her, being a high school teenage boy douche bag. He was just sitting and talking with folks he thought were friends and she ripped off with that. That fucking skanky little bitch. I want to rip every hair out of her head. I want to tell her parents and see if that's how they raised her. I want to call her out on it. I want to shame her into feeling like a piece of shit. I hate her.

And how did he respond? He got up and walked away.

It hurt him. Deeply.

And that got me thinking about everything I've seen since I've been subbing and teaching high school and it all comes together in the rant that is this post.

I'm done. I'm not going to teach any more. I'll sub until I get another job and I might venture back into teaching college, because there wasn't these sort of issues when I was teaching at the college level- and if there were, they were out of my sight and earshot. Done. I'm done.

If you loved high school, then lucky you. It you thought it was the best time of your life, I feel sorry for you. If you never suffered any type of cruelty or unhappiness at the hands of your high school peers, you are most certainly in the minority.

More (and hopefully the last of the) ice cream tales

Number 1:

"Tom" comes in 3-4 times a week, usually with his wife to get a flavored soda. They are obviously regulars. They've always been super nice to me. They're the chatty type and we've gotten to know each other. Tom came in one day last week alone and stood and talked to me for about 15 minutes (it was actually slow at the point since it was thunder storming outside). he told me how great my hair looked and I said thanks. Then he asked me what I was doing that night and I said I was working. He said it was too bad because he wanted to take me to dinner at his favorite place on the lake. I think I said something about "wouldn't his wife mind?" and I 'haha-ed' and he said "she doesn't have to know. If you go with me, she won't be."

A married guy. Who's old enough to be my dad. EEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!

Number 2:

Mother and her three screaming brats come in and order dinner and decide to eat in. The kids run all over the place and scream and yell. I fix their food and take it to the table. Kids continue to scream and yell and mother continues to do nothing. When the woman standing at the counter who was trying to order and I asked her to repeat herself for the third time and I still COULDN'T hear her, I decided I had enough. I marched over to the table and got down on the kids' eye level and said in a very loud and nice voice, "LOOK! You need to be quiet right now. I can't hear. You need to use your inside voice or your mommy will need to take you home. Got it?" The looked at me and nodded. I looked and mommy and she refused to make eye contact with me and never said a word. They left about 5 minutes later.

Number 3:

Our ice cream store is located between a liquor store and a local restaurant. We get some interesting people who walk, drive, bike, and skateboard passed the parlor.

Yesterday is was cool- the first really cool day we had, in the middle 50s, there was a HUGE wind blowing and it was raining- basically the cold, wet nightmare of a day. And a woman walks passed. She is an older lady, probably in her late 50s, early 60s. She had a cane and a limp. And she walked passed my store and about 15 minutes later she goes back the way she came, struggling along with her cane, her limp, in the rain, against the wind and carrying a bottle in a brown paper bag.

Number 4:

Every day, around the same time of day, a guy rides his bike passed. He looked like the version of Forest Gump who ran across the country a few times. He rides a bicycle and goes by with carry out food in a Styrofoam container in the basket of his bike. He wears leathers. There's so much about this that makes me smile: that a guy who looks like him rides a bicycle with a basket or the carry out or that he looks like "Running Forest Gump." Hey, I'm just observing.

Number 5:

The ice cream is owned by 2 sisters, their mom and their uncle. The uncle is sort of the "silent" partner in that he does all the finances for the company. And because he's such an early bird, he stops in the shop each morning and puts cash in the register. Since I've been opening, the Uncle comes in each day before I get there and leaves some money in the register and he also turns the alarm off, but keeps it locked. That way I don't need to have the alarm code.

So one day I open the doors, walk half way across the dining room and hear a beeping- the alarm! Shit, it wasn't turned off! I drop my stuff, dash across the room, back out the door, and I throw the lock hoping I can keep the alarm from beeping. Unfortunately, it doesn't. The blares; a cacophony of sirens that sounds like 17 police car sirens all at once.

I have no code so I need to call someone before I had the entire police department at my feet. I start to grab my phone and... I dropped my purse inside. I unlock the door, get my purse and then I get the cordless store phone because the "Very Well Known and Reputable Nationwide Alarm Company" will be calling. I stand outside and call one of the owners. She gives me the code, I shut it off and go inside. And start through the opening procedure. And guess what? The alarm company has never called. The police never called. I could've been robbed or killed or something and no one would've known. Yeah.

And to top it off, the Uncle forgot to leave me cash in the register. Feh.

Parental Advice

Daddy-O, Mac and I are sitting together in the living room and I'm bemoaning my life and declare with authority and control: "I need a routine!"

Without missing a beat, Daddy-O starts dancing: step, ball change, step ball change- jazz hands!

That's So NOT what I meant!
Mags

Letter to parents- reprise

About two years ago when I was teaching grades 7-12 in a small high school in the Wild West I was extremely frustrated with parents and their lack of caring or participation in their children's educations. I was really angry that they were quick to criticize teachers and place blame on us for all the wrong doings of their children. I was pissed after parent- teacher conferences when parents thought I went into teaching just for summers off. I knew I couldn't tell the parents how I really felt so I used my old blog as an outlet.

As I've been subbing, I'm having lots of these same feelings creep up. Talking to other teachers, I'm hearing the same things. Daddy-O is in the classroom daily and he hears this crap as well. Parents blame the teachers for everything and never want step up and take any sort of responsibility for the actions of their children.

I'm re-printing the letter I wrote, with a few minor changes... I think it's relevant whether I'm a sub in Civilization or a full time classroom teacher in the Wild West (hence the references to ranches and cows...).

For those of you who read this before, enjoy again... this was my most popular post ever, from my last blog so... enjoy- or skip it and go look at shoes and purses on ebay while drinking a Cosmo.

To: Lazy, Ignorant Parents
From: Pissed off Teacher

Are you people freaking crazy? I spend 5 days a week, 8 hours a day, of my life with your child and you begrudge me time off? Why is that? Because you don't want to have to worry about who your little darlings are out screwing or what they are drinking or who purchased the alcoholic beverage of their choice? Because you don't want to step up and finally be a parent, a role model or a good example?

I spend 184 days a year with your little darling. I don't get a break from time school starts in August until Christmas vacation except Thanksgiving because you parents want your child to get out of school earlier at the end of the year so you have your little babies around to do ranch work. I don't have a day off from January until April for the same reason! But think about this- what about My jpb that I'm supposed to be doing? You know, teaching your kids?

I see your child for at least 50 minutes each and every day, and usually more. I have to patrol them in the bathroom and hallways and in the rec center and library. I have to monitor them at lunch. I give up my break and prep period to help your child with homework. I stay after school to type your child's paper because you won't buy a computer, but you have a $3000 bar tab. I take calls from them at night when they call to ask for help with an assignment. Because I live a 5 minute walk away from the school, I go back to the building at least one time per week to let your forgetful little teen in to get that forgotten math book- did I mention I don't teach math?

How about some of these easy questions: Did you know your child loves to read mysteries? I do. Did you know your child is a talented artist, and likes Monet? I do. Did you know your child can sing and dance? I do. Did you know that when your child laughs hard, she snorts? I do. Did you know your child hates beef jerky even though her dad is a cattle rancher? I do.

How about these- let's step it up a bit shall we? Did you know that your child is an alcoholic and who supplies him beer? I do. Did you know your daughter had gonorrhea? I do. Did you know your daughter's boyfriend beats her up? I do. Did you know your child can't read past a 3rd grade level? I do. Did you know your child is afraid to go to college? I do. Did you know your child cuts herself? I do. Do you know your daughter is bulimic? I do. Did you know your son smokes pot? I do. Did you know your son would run away if he weren't scared? I do. Did you know your daughter had an abortion? I do. Did you know your son took his girlfriend to have an abortion? I do. Did you know your son tried to commit suicide more than once? I do.

And how do I know all this? Because I spend more time in a day, in a week, in a year, with your child than you do. And when I'm with your child I LISTEN to him or her. We TALK. I don't use them as my ranch hands or to staff my family owned business, as my personal slave. I read their journals, I grade their papers, I find them scholarships, I give them a ride when they are out of fuel, I loan them money, I tutor them. I hold them when they cry in the girl's bathroom. I give credence to their thoughts, feelings, emotions and fears. I go to their games, track meets, class meetings, play performances, and band and choir concerts. I chaperon their dances. I helped decorate for their proms. I'm at parent- teacher conferences. Where the hell are you?

I know where the parties are, and where the bodies are buried, and I know all the stories. I have inside jokes with your child. I can make them laugh and smile. I know the birthday of every sophomore off the top of my head, what students have tattoos of what and where, and I know what each senior plans to do after graduation. I know favorite foods, beverages and candies.

Do you have a clue that I spend vast quantities of my own money on paper and pens/ pencils because for some reason you can't seem to purchase school supplies for your child? Did you know I decorate my room with your child's art work and A papers because you can't seem to find a damn magnet or tape to hang it on your own refrigerator? Did you know I had your child to my house for dinner and to study for their history test because you wouldn't- and did I mention I'm not the history teacher? Or that your child came to a Shakespeare party at my house because it makes learning fun? Did you know that I LIKE YOUR CHILD and I HAVE THEIR VERY BEST INTERESTS AT HEART? Do you?

Did you thank me for helping your child get a $5000 scholarship? Did you thank me developing creative lesson plans, helping your child write complete sentences, educating them in pop culture and literature and providing all their English education? No, actually, you didn't. And why is that? You're there to complain when they miss 9 days of school in one quarter and you can't figure out why they failed my class. You're there when your child has failed to turn in any homework assignments even though I called you daily for 3 weeks to keep you abreast of this situation.

Yeah, I'm just a teacher and I get my summers off. What am I complaining about? It's not like I do anything important anyway...

Sincerely,
You CHILD'S Teacher