In paranthesis are my responses:
1. I know my child and I know he would never lie to me. (You are living in a fantasy world, mom!)
2. Why don't you worry about the big things like drugs and weapons instead of
wasting your time bothering my kid about dress code and being tardy? (If I bother your child
about these "small" things, I won't ever have to worry about the big ones.}
3. If my child said F$#@ Y&% to you, what did you do to cause him/her to say that? (Are you kidding me?)
4. My child doesn't think that you like her. (I don't...but I still want to facilitate her educational
experience.}
5. He never acts that way at home... (Ha, ha,...that's a good one!)
6. Why are you stressing my child out with all these expectations? (Why aren't you reinforcing my
expectations at home?}
7. Don't talk down to me just because you have a college education... (Sure, I'll express my views intellectually.
The problem is that you won't understand a darn thing I said. So at least give your child the opportunity to
understand some day.}
8. My child says that you are boring... (Which rock did you look under that had a note stating that preparing
children for a solid education was entertaining?}
9. I've talked to many of my daughter's friends and they all say you called her on the carpet. (You are foolish
for listening to a bunch of teenagers that challenge anyone that facilitates brain function... and by
the way, you might try calling her on the carpet as well.}
10. My child is failing your class. What are you going to do about it? (Not a darn thing...he's failing because of
his decisions not because of my actions!}
The goal of this blog is to share ideas supporting an effective anti-bullying national program. I also passionately believe that our ability to provide quality education to kids cannot happen until the pillars of Respect, Discipline and Courage have been restalished in our public schools. Educators, parents, and community leaders must all come together and stand strong to attain a nourishing, safe and thriving school community.
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Saturday, December 24, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
Ten Statements made by Teachers that Enhance your Child's Education.
1. Your brain should be tired by the end of the school day because you challenged yourself today...not because
you wasted brain cells texting until 3:00 AM this morning.
2. Yes....spelling counts!
3. If you would like to do better in my class, take all electronic devices out of your room and hand your
cell phone over to your parents after 8:00 PM every night.
4. Who said anything about being easy?
5. Please use full sentences.
6. When a middle or high school student tells the teacher that they don't have a pencil, paper or their book
after the first week, the teacher's response should be..."That's your problem, deal with it".
7. When I'm talking...you aren't!
8. Work is an expectation, not an option!
9. Studying is hard...Digging ditches is harder!
10. Your parents owe you food, shelter and an education...everything else is a priviledge. If you decide to ignore
your education, there will be no extracurricular activities, no time with friends, no electronic devices, no
name brand clothes, no use of the car, no spending money, no dating, etc., etc.
you wasted brain cells texting until 3:00 AM this morning.
2. Yes....spelling counts!
3. If you would like to do better in my class, take all electronic devices out of your room and hand your
cell phone over to your parents after 8:00 PM every night.
4. Who said anything about being easy?
5. Please use full sentences.
6. When a middle or high school student tells the teacher that they don't have a pencil, paper or their book
after the first week, the teacher's response should be..."That's your problem, deal with it".
7. When I'm talking...you aren't!
8. Work is an expectation, not an option!
9. Studying is hard...Digging ditches is harder!
10. Your parents owe you food, shelter and an education...everything else is a priviledge. If you decide to ignore
your education, there will be no extracurricular activities, no time with friends, no electronic devices, no
name brand clothes, no use of the car, no spending money, no dating, etc., etc.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Has it been worth it?
When I was a young adult, I was such a quiet guy. I didn't share my view and kept most things inside. During my first seven years as a teacher I kept my views guarded. When I shifted to administration in 1998, the passion I had towards facilitating outstanding educational opportunities for all kids, really began to intensify. By the time I took my first principalship in 2002, I was fired up and had a lot to say. My vision for community and academic success drove me forward. So I passionately expressed my views.
I found out that change and strength of character scares people.
1. I went to the school board and superintendent in my second year as principal at Epping Middle high School and presented a vision to turn the Epping school communities into one of the finest in the country. I told them that it would be hard and some would fight the change. I told them I was willing to take all the hits. The superintendent and the board agreed to support me 100%. The school board offered me a four year extension on the spot to validate their support. The superintendent and I came up with a plan for implementation. The process began, people got scared and the superintendent collapsed. She allowed the old guard, that she agreed was the crux of the problem, to take control of the school.
2. I took a position as Head of School for a private education institution on HHI. The owner was a tyrant. When I arrived the teachers had sub-standard pay and no medical benefits. The curriculum was questionable. Half the classes did not have textbooks. SCISA was challenging our legitimacy as a secondary school. The NCAA was challenging the credibility of our graduates. I fought for students and teachers for three years. In the third year the owner called me in and said... "without question this is a better quality school now then when you arrived over two years ago. However, I liked it better when it was a lousy school and I was making more money." Then he convinced the new investors that I was spending over budget when in actuality he had cooked the books shifting other business venture expenditures into my lines. The result, I was convinced to agree to a mutual arrangement that sent me on my way.
3. The superintendent of schools in Beaufort County told me I was the kind of administrator she was looking for. She toldme that I would be a principal in the system in no time. She also told me I could always talk to her if I had concerns. Seven months later I had a concern, so I spoke. I was transferred, demoted and many attempts were made to get me to quit. I expressed my concerns and the papers got a hold of my e-mail to all my colleagues. Between e-mails, phone and personal conversation, over 400 employees in the district have expressed their support for what I said. The standard component of every conversation was a piece in which these people expressed concern about losing their job if they publicly supported me. In the last year I was given a negative review, (I got an attorney. They conducted a new review and I received excellent marks...the district also agreed to shred the bad review.)and not given the opportunity to return to an administrative position despite the fact that I am one of the most experienced administrators in the district.
4. I have been an HHBA little league baseball coach for three years. It has been a joy to coach so many fine young boys and particularly to coach my son. This year I stood up to the chairman of the HHBA committee and to another coach. The chairman is a bully and the other coach is sneaky and demonstrates questionable ethics as a coach. I simply stood up in front of them and called them on the carpet. The vast majority of the other coaches and parents know about these guys and have witnessed their actions. Because of my honesty, I have been banned from coaching my son and was even asked not to come on the field when my son's all-star team was practicing. Never have I ever seen a parent not welcomed onto a field to help out. I have seniority as an HHBA coach and twenty years experience as a high school coach, athletic director, teacher and principal. It would be difficult to find a parent that did not support my philosophy and actions as a coach for their kids.
So I ask myself the question, "Has it been worth it?" Absolutely!!!
No matter how people react, my children will always know and believe that Dad stood up for what he believed in...that he cared deeply about kids...and that he followed the right path, not the easy one!
I found out that change and strength of character scares people.
1. I went to the school board and superintendent in my second year as principal at Epping Middle high School and presented a vision to turn the Epping school communities into one of the finest in the country. I told them that it would be hard and some would fight the change. I told them I was willing to take all the hits. The superintendent and the board agreed to support me 100%. The school board offered me a four year extension on the spot to validate their support. The superintendent and I came up with a plan for implementation. The process began, people got scared and the superintendent collapsed. She allowed the old guard, that she agreed was the crux of the problem, to take control of the school.
2. I took a position as Head of School for a private education institution on HHI. The owner was a tyrant. When I arrived the teachers had sub-standard pay and no medical benefits. The curriculum was questionable. Half the classes did not have textbooks. SCISA was challenging our legitimacy as a secondary school. The NCAA was challenging the credibility of our graduates. I fought for students and teachers for three years. In the third year the owner called me in and said... "without question this is a better quality school now then when you arrived over two years ago. However, I liked it better when it was a lousy school and I was making more money." Then he convinced the new investors that I was spending over budget when in actuality he had cooked the books shifting other business venture expenditures into my lines. The result, I was convinced to agree to a mutual arrangement that sent me on my way.
3. The superintendent of schools in Beaufort County told me I was the kind of administrator she was looking for. She toldme that I would be a principal in the system in no time. She also told me I could always talk to her if I had concerns. Seven months later I had a concern, so I spoke. I was transferred, demoted and many attempts were made to get me to quit. I expressed my concerns and the papers got a hold of my e-mail to all my colleagues. Between e-mails, phone and personal conversation, over 400 employees in the district have expressed their support for what I said. The standard component of every conversation was a piece in which these people expressed concern about losing their job if they publicly supported me. In the last year I was given a negative review, (I got an attorney. They conducted a new review and I received excellent marks...the district also agreed to shred the bad review.)and not given the opportunity to return to an administrative position despite the fact that I am one of the most experienced administrators in the district.
4. I have been an HHBA little league baseball coach for three years. It has been a joy to coach so many fine young boys and particularly to coach my son. This year I stood up to the chairman of the HHBA committee and to another coach. The chairman is a bully and the other coach is sneaky and demonstrates questionable ethics as a coach. I simply stood up in front of them and called them on the carpet. The vast majority of the other coaches and parents know about these guys and have witnessed their actions. Because of my honesty, I have been banned from coaching my son and was even asked not to come on the field when my son's all-star team was practicing. Never have I ever seen a parent not welcomed onto a field to help out. I have seniority as an HHBA coach and twenty years experience as a high school coach, athletic director, teacher and principal. It would be difficult to find a parent that did not support my philosophy and actions as a coach for their kids.
So I ask myself the question, "Has it been worth it?" Absolutely!!!
No matter how people react, my children will always know and believe that Dad stood up for what he believed in...that he cared deeply about kids...and that he followed the right path, not the easy one!
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Three Pillars Education: 10 ways to Improve Respect & Discipline in School....
Three Pillars Education: 10 ways to Improve Respect & Discipline in School....: "10 Ways to Improve Respect and Discipline in Schools.
1. Hire administrators and teachers that couldn’t care less about being politically ..."
1. Hire administrators and teachers that couldn’t care less about being politically ..."
10 ways to Improve Respect & Discipline in School.
10 Ways to Improve Respect and Discipline in Schools.
1. Hire administrators and teachers that couldn’t care less about being politically correct.
2. Eliminate warnings, negotiations and rescheduling in the discipline protocol. The only warning is on day one when the student receives their student manual.
3. Forget about teaching to the test. Teach to the focal point of passion.
4. Expel the 5 % of the kids who couldn’t care less about school and who daily impede upon the educational opportunities of others.
5. Celebrate the quality, heart and passion of teachers and mean it.
6. Tell the parent that comes in looking to find fault in everyone as a cover for their child’s imperfections…to take a hike….then have the SRO escort them out of the building.
7. If a student does not do their homework, prepare for class or study…give them what they deserve…..an “F”.
8. Expect all students in American schools to speak in full sentences, look you in the eye, do the multiplication table through 12, spell properly, exude manners, and speak English.
9. If you pass everything, you play. If you fail anything, you sit.
10. Manual labor should be the standard form of discipline for not doing your homework. Let them get used to what it will be like in 10 years if they don’t carry through with their education.
1. Hire administrators and teachers that couldn’t care less about being politically correct.
2. Eliminate warnings, negotiations and rescheduling in the discipline protocol. The only warning is on day one when the student receives their student manual.
3. Forget about teaching to the test. Teach to the focal point of passion.
4. Expel the 5 % of the kids who couldn’t care less about school and who daily impede upon the educational opportunities of others.
5. Celebrate the quality, heart and passion of teachers and mean it.
6. Tell the parent that comes in looking to find fault in everyone as a cover for their child’s imperfections…to take a hike….then have the SRO escort them out of the building.
7. If a student does not do their homework, prepare for class or study…give them what they deserve…..an “F”.
8. Expect all students in American schools to speak in full sentences, look you in the eye, do the multiplication table through 12, spell properly, exude manners, and speak English.
9. If you pass everything, you play. If you fail anything, you sit.
10. Manual labor should be the standard form of discipline for not doing your homework. Let them get used to what it will be like in 10 years if they don’t carry through with their education.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Bullied: What does she see in me?
Chapter 6
What does she see in me?
Here I was back in school in the spring of 1985 ready to try something new. I was in possession of my business degree from ’83 supported by that 2.01 GPA. However, after attempts at engineering, retail management, sales and an attempt at making the Professional Tennis Tour, it was time for something new. I was ready and focused and I was going to do it. I was going to be a Biologist. The reality was I had never followed through with anything after the age of ten. I struggled with commitment, trust, relationships, winning, and losing, just to name a few. However, I was a fighting survivor of Bullying and I plugged along. Surprisingly, I enjoyed that semester. I made some friends, performed in school and actually laughed at times. Of course, I always had my little yellow pills when things got a bit too tough.
The fall semester began on a very high note. I was excited for the first time in years and jumped into my classes believing that I would do well. Sitting in Microbiology the first day, I noticed a very beautiful girl sitting ahead and to the left of me. I could not keep my eyes off of her. I knew, however, that a girl like this would never go for a chump like me. I had joined the Biology club in the spring and was now an elected officer of the club. About three weeks into the semester, three girls stopped me in the hall and asked if they could join the club. One of them happened to be that gorgeous girl from Microbiology class. My eyes were glued to her as the three girls asked questions about the club. Her name was Kathleen. She was stunningly beautiful, with a nervously curved smile, pale green eyes and long slender fingers. What was impossible to not notice and is still mentioned by so many to this day was her hair. I had never seen a woman with so much gorgeous thick hair and it was intoxicating.
We ended up in the elevator by ourselves after the other girls had moved on. We connected immediately and just started talking and listening. Immediately, I noticed that I was not a nervous wreck around her. I made sense when I spoke to her and I didn’t dry heave as I did with other girls that I thought I liked. By the time that we left the science building and had walked half a block a decision was made. I was going to marry this girl. There was only one problem. Kathleen was gorgeous, bright and talented…and I was me! So I decided to conduct an experiment.
The kids in our department met in groups many nights in the library. A few days later, I “accidently” bumped into Kathleen and told her that we had a study group planned for that evening and she was welcome to join us. At seven o’clock I was seated at the table on the third floor of the library trying to figure out how I would explain the lack of any other participants. As my mind was scrambling, two students from the Middle East sat and started talking. This was great! Now it looked like a study group. As we were talking, she appeared. All three of us stared although I tried not to gawk. As she sat down the other two guys proceeded to talk incessantly to her. Now I was looking at the possibility of a wasted opportunity. However for whatever reasons, after just a few minutes, the two guys excused themselves and headed out.
Here I was now alone with this woman who I couldn’t stop thinking about since our first talk in the elevator. After just a few seconds, my guilt-driven tongue spilled the beans. “There is no study-group, Kathleen; I set this whole thing up”. Kathleen looked at me and just quietly stated, “I know…and you are the only guy in the department that calls me Kathleen. I like that. The others all call me Kathy”. Then we started talking about everything and anything for the next four hours. I walked her to her car, we smiled, and then I just walked to my car. As I searched for my keys, the biggest most legitimate smile came upon my face and the feeling inside was the best I had felt since I was nine years old. She likes me….me… little, plain, lowly me!! As I drove home that night, confusion and emotions of sadness and ecstasy scrambled my thought process. After so many years of struggling within an empty worthless shell……Was it actually possible that I had some value as a human being?
What does she see in me?
Here I was back in school in the spring of 1985 ready to try something new. I was in possession of my business degree from ’83 supported by that 2.01 GPA. However, after attempts at engineering, retail management, sales and an attempt at making the Professional Tennis Tour, it was time for something new. I was ready and focused and I was going to do it. I was going to be a Biologist. The reality was I had never followed through with anything after the age of ten. I struggled with commitment, trust, relationships, winning, and losing, just to name a few. However, I was a fighting survivor of Bullying and I plugged along. Surprisingly, I enjoyed that semester. I made some friends, performed in school and actually laughed at times. Of course, I always had my little yellow pills when things got a bit too tough.
The fall semester began on a very high note. I was excited for the first time in years and jumped into my classes believing that I would do well. Sitting in Microbiology the first day, I noticed a very beautiful girl sitting ahead and to the left of me. I could not keep my eyes off of her. I knew, however, that a girl like this would never go for a chump like me. I had joined the Biology club in the spring and was now an elected officer of the club. About three weeks into the semester, three girls stopped me in the hall and asked if they could join the club. One of them happened to be that gorgeous girl from Microbiology class. My eyes were glued to her as the three girls asked questions about the club. Her name was Kathleen. She was stunningly beautiful, with a nervously curved smile, pale green eyes and long slender fingers. What was impossible to not notice and is still mentioned by so many to this day was her hair. I had never seen a woman with so much gorgeous thick hair and it was intoxicating.
We ended up in the elevator by ourselves after the other girls had moved on. We connected immediately and just started talking and listening. Immediately, I noticed that I was not a nervous wreck around her. I made sense when I spoke to her and I didn’t dry heave as I did with other girls that I thought I liked. By the time that we left the science building and had walked half a block a decision was made. I was going to marry this girl. There was only one problem. Kathleen was gorgeous, bright and talented…and I was me! So I decided to conduct an experiment.
The kids in our department met in groups many nights in the library. A few days later, I “accidently” bumped into Kathleen and told her that we had a study group planned for that evening and she was welcome to join us. At seven o’clock I was seated at the table on the third floor of the library trying to figure out how I would explain the lack of any other participants. As my mind was scrambling, two students from the Middle East sat and started talking. This was great! Now it looked like a study group. As we were talking, she appeared. All three of us stared although I tried not to gawk. As she sat down the other two guys proceeded to talk incessantly to her. Now I was looking at the possibility of a wasted opportunity. However for whatever reasons, after just a few minutes, the two guys excused themselves and headed out.
Here I was now alone with this woman who I couldn’t stop thinking about since our first talk in the elevator. After just a few seconds, my guilt-driven tongue spilled the beans. “There is no study-group, Kathleen; I set this whole thing up”. Kathleen looked at me and just quietly stated, “I know…and you are the only guy in the department that calls me Kathleen. I like that. The others all call me Kathy”. Then we started talking about everything and anything for the next four hours. I walked her to her car, we smiled, and then I just walked to my car. As I searched for my keys, the biggest most legitimate smile came upon my face and the feeling inside was the best I had felt since I was nine years old. She likes me….me… little, plain, lowly me!! As I drove home that night, confusion and emotions of sadness and ecstasy scrambled my thought process. After so many years of struggling within an empty worthless shell……Was it actually possible that I had some value as a human being?
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Bullying Scars for Life
Chapter 5A
Bullying can scar you for life. After graduating from high school my life followed a hypersensitive crumbling path. The next eight years are a medicated blur, and yet, simultaneously, a calculated demonstration of survival tactics. Most of the names are forgotten but not the pummeling pain of existence. Just thinking about those days causes me to be physically debilitated as I try to transmit the daily trauma across these computer keys.
I was living in an apartment with one of many different roommates I would have as I scraped towards a college degree. I awoke on this Tuesday in October of the fall of 1980. My first class was at 8:00 and as usual my intention to be prepared had not come to fruition. I showered and consumed my usual two bowls of Captain Crunch. I chewed on the right because two teeth on the left were hurting bad. I hadn’t made it through a dentist appointment in over four years. Fulfilling the minimum hygienic expectations, I then initiated the survival techniques for the day. The pistachio supply was adequate and positioned in all the key locations; a handful in the two front pockets of my jeans, half a bag in my coat inside pocket, and another bag for backup placed under my passenger seat. This was going to be a distinctly tougher day as I had not been able to get my hands on the yellow pills for quite a few days.
Driving towards school, the radio was set on a golden oldies station as I drifted into my safe world of daydreams. I found some peace while I drove since I was in control and it was a place where I could be the person I always wanted to be. Today, I found solace as an amazing tennis player wowing the world with win after win at Wimbledon. Pulling into the school lot, I longed for that John Denver song to just go on and on so that the crowds would keep cheering. As I headed pass the baseball field towards the campus, I transformed myself and was now invisible. This was the absolute key to surviving for the day. I had given up on directing every neuron and fiber towards the cause of looking cool. I wasn’t anything but a piece of dirt that wandered through each day wondering why was I of such little significance in this world.
I took the usual path working my way through the halls passing hundreds of students. They were not peers since there was no relationship or connection. I glanced at the pretty girls, envied the guys they were talking to, and wished so deeply that I could just be a part of all this. As I passed my class room I glanced in, considered entering for a second and then proceeded on by. Like a ghost, shy of any typical frightening intentions of a ghoul, I slipped quietly into the school library. The girl behind the desk was gorgeous. For days I had worked on fooling my internal guards so that I could say hello to this beauty.
As I approached the desk, it started. The symptoms were always centered on my left side. The muscles around my mouth started quivering as I began to bite down hard on my lips. The corner of my mouth started to twitch. The tongue began pushing against the bottom part of my mouth and then slashed across the inside of my teeth. The elbow flickered and the fingers moved almost uncontrollably. Popping a pistachio I chewed feverishly as I got the next nut under my upper lip. It was too late. I was in overdrive and was escalating out of control. As my mind maneuvered feverishly to control my anatomy, the physiological elements finished me off. Breathing rapidly increased, the left leg was gripped by a vise, and the foot felt heavy. The throat muscles tightened as all parts of my mouth moved incessantly. The panic set in as I emptied my last sources of energy to avoid collapsing. I was now a moment away from dry heaving. At this point, I knew there was no way I was going to move forward. Now my only chance of avoiding total embarrassment was to get out. So I did.
I walked around the perimeter of the campus to avoid as many people as possible. As I hit a quiet stretch, I could feel myself slowly settling down. No one was around which meant there was no one to impress… which meant I could return to my safe point of invisibility. Another day at school had been attempted with a recurring result. No classes were attended, no schoolwork was completed and I headed home elevated in stress and depleted in self-worth.
In order to reset my vitals to a functioning level, I had to separate my mind from reality. I got back to the apartment, slouched onto the sofa and turned on the TV. Cable had not yet come to pass so I had to settle for the soaps on one of the three network stations. After an hour, I was feeling better, but was quite aware that phase-two of surviving the day was soon to arrive.
I worked about five days a week at Sears in the paint and sporting goods department. It was time to now get prepared. The problem with this job was that I had to talk with many people during each shift. The bigger problem was that I was paralyzed with fear that I would dry heave while interacting with co-workers and customers. Over time certain foods seemed to be more effective to help me keep cool. Lately, I found that popsicles had become short-term tranquilizers. It just happened that we had a refrigerator just behind the warehouse doors in my department. So before clocking in I went next door and picked up a box of assorted flavored popsicles. Quickly, I noticed that my body and mind was still ultra-tense. As customers asked questions my symptoms were returning. The throat tightened, the mouth muscles went spastic and my left side stiffened. I was good for about four minute intervals before I had to get to that freezer and take a bite of my popsicle. Think about the level of tension that existed over the four hour shift.
After two hours I was drained. The department manager called me over to discuss inventory paperwork. When I was in this state, I felt like I was choking if I couldn’t get to my relief valve. As Tom spoke to me, I couldn’t decipher a thing that he was saying. My mind was totally zoomed in on avoiding a dry heave. Both legs grew heavier and more painful by the second. My mouth was hyper as I tried to survive and acknowledge Tom’s directions. Finally, exhausted I collapsed to my knees placing my head in my arms. Tom was bewildered and asked what was wrong. Holding back tears, I mumbled that I was fighting a flu. The strangest thing was that whenever I gave up, the pressures would cease and I always felt a few moments of serenity. Tom sympathetically released me and I slowly weaved through the stock room to the punch clock. By the time I got to my car, I was numb in a similar way as the night before and the night before that. When I arrived home, I turned on the TV. Two hours later I began to drift off, sadly aware that I would go through all of this again when the sun rose tomorrow.
Bullying can scar you for life. After graduating from high school my life followed a hypersensitive crumbling path. The next eight years are a medicated blur, and yet, simultaneously, a calculated demonstration of survival tactics. Most of the names are forgotten but not the pummeling pain of existence. Just thinking about those days causes me to be physically debilitated as I try to transmit the daily trauma across these computer keys.
I was living in an apartment with one of many different roommates I would have as I scraped towards a college degree. I awoke on this Tuesday in October of the fall of 1980. My first class was at 8:00 and as usual my intention to be prepared had not come to fruition. I showered and consumed my usual two bowls of Captain Crunch. I chewed on the right because two teeth on the left were hurting bad. I hadn’t made it through a dentist appointment in over four years. Fulfilling the minimum hygienic expectations, I then initiated the survival techniques for the day. The pistachio supply was adequate and positioned in all the key locations; a handful in the two front pockets of my jeans, half a bag in my coat inside pocket, and another bag for backup placed under my passenger seat. This was going to be a distinctly tougher day as I had not been able to get my hands on the yellow pills for quite a few days.
Driving towards school, the radio was set on a golden oldies station as I drifted into my safe world of daydreams. I found some peace while I drove since I was in control and it was a place where I could be the person I always wanted to be. Today, I found solace as an amazing tennis player wowing the world with win after win at Wimbledon. Pulling into the school lot, I longed for that John Denver song to just go on and on so that the crowds would keep cheering. As I headed pass the baseball field towards the campus, I transformed myself and was now invisible. This was the absolute key to surviving for the day. I had given up on directing every neuron and fiber towards the cause of looking cool. I wasn’t anything but a piece of dirt that wandered through each day wondering why was I of such little significance in this world.
I took the usual path working my way through the halls passing hundreds of students. They were not peers since there was no relationship or connection. I glanced at the pretty girls, envied the guys they were talking to, and wished so deeply that I could just be a part of all this. As I passed my class room I glanced in, considered entering for a second and then proceeded on by. Like a ghost, shy of any typical frightening intentions of a ghoul, I slipped quietly into the school library. The girl behind the desk was gorgeous. For days I had worked on fooling my internal guards so that I could say hello to this beauty.
As I approached the desk, it started. The symptoms were always centered on my left side. The muscles around my mouth started quivering as I began to bite down hard on my lips. The corner of my mouth started to twitch. The tongue began pushing against the bottom part of my mouth and then slashed across the inside of my teeth. The elbow flickered and the fingers moved almost uncontrollably. Popping a pistachio I chewed feverishly as I got the next nut under my upper lip. It was too late. I was in overdrive and was escalating out of control. As my mind maneuvered feverishly to control my anatomy, the physiological elements finished me off. Breathing rapidly increased, the left leg was gripped by a vise, and the foot felt heavy. The throat muscles tightened as all parts of my mouth moved incessantly. The panic set in as I emptied my last sources of energy to avoid collapsing. I was now a moment away from dry heaving. At this point, I knew there was no way I was going to move forward. Now my only chance of avoiding total embarrassment was to get out. So I did.
I walked around the perimeter of the campus to avoid as many people as possible. As I hit a quiet stretch, I could feel myself slowly settling down. No one was around which meant there was no one to impress… which meant I could return to my safe point of invisibility. Another day at school had been attempted with a recurring result. No classes were attended, no schoolwork was completed and I headed home elevated in stress and depleted in self-worth.
In order to reset my vitals to a functioning level, I had to separate my mind from reality. I got back to the apartment, slouched onto the sofa and turned on the TV. Cable had not yet come to pass so I had to settle for the soaps on one of the three network stations. After an hour, I was feeling better, but was quite aware that phase-two of surviving the day was soon to arrive.
I worked about five days a week at Sears in the paint and sporting goods department. It was time to now get prepared. The problem with this job was that I had to talk with many people during each shift. The bigger problem was that I was paralyzed with fear that I would dry heave while interacting with co-workers and customers. Over time certain foods seemed to be more effective to help me keep cool. Lately, I found that popsicles had become short-term tranquilizers. It just happened that we had a refrigerator just behind the warehouse doors in my department. So before clocking in I went next door and picked up a box of assorted flavored popsicles. Quickly, I noticed that my body and mind was still ultra-tense. As customers asked questions my symptoms were returning. The throat tightened, the mouth muscles went spastic and my left side stiffened. I was good for about four minute intervals before I had to get to that freezer and take a bite of my popsicle. Think about the level of tension that existed over the four hour shift.
After two hours I was drained. The department manager called me over to discuss inventory paperwork. When I was in this state, I felt like I was choking if I couldn’t get to my relief valve. As Tom spoke to me, I couldn’t decipher a thing that he was saying. My mind was totally zoomed in on avoiding a dry heave. Both legs grew heavier and more painful by the second. My mouth was hyper as I tried to survive and acknowledge Tom’s directions. Finally, exhausted I collapsed to my knees placing my head in my arms. Tom was bewildered and asked what was wrong. Holding back tears, I mumbled that I was fighting a flu. The strangest thing was that whenever I gave up, the pressures would cease and I always felt a few moments of serenity. Tom sympathetically released me and I slowly weaved through the stock room to the punch clock. By the time I got to my car, I was numb in a similar way as the night before and the night before that. When I arrived home, I turned on the TV. Two hours later I began to drift off, sadly aware that I would go through all of this again when the sun rose tomorrow.
Bullied: Life throws Curveballs
Chapter 1: Life throws Curve Balls
I’m not sure when it specifically started; the fear, panic, and doubt. I just always remember myself as an uptight kid that was afraid of everything and most everybody. Some have told me that this wasn’t the case, that I was happy, gregarious and personable. However, my home had been rocked by a meteor when I was only one year old. My dad, Leo, was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease. He struggled with it for four years but passed away in March of 1965 at the age of twenty-seven. I was only five. My only memories of dad were of him being sick. So by the time he did die, I was a nervous wreck. I became obsessed with death at a very young age, always thought my mom would be taken away and dreaded getting too close to people.
Fear ruled my life. I was afraid of storms, heights, fast cars, other kids, walking to school, not being accepted and success. I was a severe hypochondriac and always felt that I would die young just like my father. By the second grade I was a nervous ball of energy that had to win every possible competition in school. You see if I didn’t win, I wouldn’t be liked and nobody would want to talk to me. When we participated in the SRL reading program, I had to read faster and get through each color series faster than the other kids. The reality was that I was smart and could read and comprehend at a high level. However, when the sisters (nuns) brought out the books, my heart would pound and I would fire on all cylinders to be the first to get signed off.
The sad part is that the accomplishments never made me feel any better. I couldn’t figure out at the age of six through 12 that it wasn’t about the achievement; it was about the core feelings inside. Through all these elementary years I just could not relax. My mind always seemed to come up with a weird way to remain uptight. One of the most common daily ventures happened during my walk home from school. As I was walking, I would listen for cars approaching behind me. As they got closer, I would rev my internal engine and play a type of Russian Roulette. If the car passed me before I reached a targeted point, then I would die on the spot. So I would walk faster and faster with my heart pounding and sneak past the point just ahead of the death sentence.
You can imagine how this persona of poor self-image and lackluster confidence set me up as the focal point of teasing and bullying. I dripped with a desire to be accepted and tried every possible venture to acquire acceptance. The more I tried the more I was laughed at and teased. These years were highlighted by being picked last in sports, sitting at home alone while my brother was invited out to play, and constantly being reminded that I was skinny, greasy, and my nose was twice the size of my face.
I’m not sure when it specifically started; the fear, panic, and doubt. I just always remember myself as an uptight kid that was afraid of everything and most everybody. Some have told me that this wasn’t the case, that I was happy, gregarious and personable. However, my home had been rocked by a meteor when I was only one year old. My dad, Leo, was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease. He struggled with it for four years but passed away in March of 1965 at the age of twenty-seven. I was only five. My only memories of dad were of him being sick. So by the time he did die, I was a nervous wreck. I became obsessed with death at a very young age, always thought my mom would be taken away and dreaded getting too close to people.
Fear ruled my life. I was afraid of storms, heights, fast cars, other kids, walking to school, not being accepted and success. I was a severe hypochondriac and always felt that I would die young just like my father. By the second grade I was a nervous ball of energy that had to win every possible competition in school. You see if I didn’t win, I wouldn’t be liked and nobody would want to talk to me. When we participated in the SRL reading program, I had to read faster and get through each color series faster than the other kids. The reality was that I was smart and could read and comprehend at a high level. However, when the sisters (nuns) brought out the books, my heart would pound and I would fire on all cylinders to be the first to get signed off.
The sad part is that the accomplishments never made me feel any better. I couldn’t figure out at the age of six through 12 that it wasn’t about the achievement; it was about the core feelings inside. Through all these elementary years I just could not relax. My mind always seemed to come up with a weird way to remain uptight. One of the most common daily ventures happened during my walk home from school. As I was walking, I would listen for cars approaching behind me. As they got closer, I would rev my internal engine and play a type of Russian Roulette. If the car passed me before I reached a targeted point, then I would die on the spot. So I would walk faster and faster with my heart pounding and sneak past the point just ahead of the death sentence.
You can imagine how this persona of poor self-image and lackluster confidence set me up as the focal point of teasing and bullying. I dripped with a desire to be accepted and tried every possible venture to acquire acceptance. The more I tried the more I was laughed at and teased. These years were highlighted by being picked last in sports, sitting at home alone while my brother was invited out to play, and constantly being reminded that I was skinny, greasy, and my nose was twice the size of my face.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Bullied: Panic Attack
Chapter 5
Panic stricken….
It started midway during the first semester of that freshman year. I had held things together academically and would eventually post a 3.9 GPA. However, I knew that I was losing grip in many ways. Again I had made friends quickly but they slid away as my nightly “Poor me” speeches and over the top efforts to please pushed them away.
On a chilly November morning I headed to my African History class with that anxious, sad, isolated persona that I had grown to accept. Jumping on the campus bus I grabbed a seat and looked around wishing so desperately that I could capture some of the confidence and self-worth that circulated among my fellow passengers. Something was different on this trip. My head was foggy. I couldn’t sit still. Everyone and everything seemed to take up more space as mass and molecules closed in on my space. I noticed my breathing, the pressure upon my chest. I was gasping for air. The muscles in my arms and legs tightened. I felt like I had gained a hundred pounds. “What the hell was going on? I had to get out now! At the next stop I shoved my way by irritated students and jumped off the bus.
The weird feelings continued and seemed to incapacitate me more. Looking around I spotted the signs for the infirmary. I walk/ran trying to look composed as I approached the medical building. Fumbling through the doors, I released all my weight upon the receptionist counter spouting, “I need help…I think I’m having a heart attack”. Nurses responded quickly and got me to the back. They started asking questions calmly as the recorded my vitals. Almost instantly I could feel myself starting to calm down. My head began to clear but my anxiety was still through the roof. After several minutes of questions, a visit from a doctor, they hooked me up to an IV. Almost instantly, I felt better as a peaceful feeling bubbled softly through my veins.
I sat in this room for several minutes really enjoying the peace and quiet. Finally, a woman with a nice smile entered. She pulled up a chair next to mine and introduced herself. I can’t remember her name but she said she was a doctor, a psychiatrist. She asked me how I was doing and then asked me to explain what had happened that led me here on this day. After listening quietly she started to ask questions about how I was feeling about school, life and myself. I was quite comfortable with her and as I started to share my thoughts, I was overwhelmed with emotion…and started to cry, to sob uncontrollably. Everything just came out about my low self worth, anxiety, depression, and fears. This conversation never introduced cause, only affect. Therefore, bullying was never part of our discussion.
The doctor explained to me that I was physically fine but that I had probably experienced a “Panic Attack”. She didn’t get into much detail, but asked that I come in once a week to talk. Then she wrote out and returned with a prescription for Valium. Take one of these little yellow pills whenever you feel anxious, she said. Then she walked out. Twenty minutes later, I left clear-headed with a bottle of pills rattling in my pocket. Little did I know that I would need to hear that rattle for so many years to come.
Panic stricken….
It started midway during the first semester of that freshman year. I had held things together academically and would eventually post a 3.9 GPA. However, I knew that I was losing grip in many ways. Again I had made friends quickly but they slid away as my nightly “Poor me” speeches and over the top efforts to please pushed them away.
On a chilly November morning I headed to my African History class with that anxious, sad, isolated persona that I had grown to accept. Jumping on the campus bus I grabbed a seat and looked around wishing so desperately that I could capture some of the confidence and self-worth that circulated among my fellow passengers. Something was different on this trip. My head was foggy. I couldn’t sit still. Everyone and everything seemed to take up more space as mass and molecules closed in on my space. I noticed my breathing, the pressure upon my chest. I was gasping for air. The muscles in my arms and legs tightened. I felt like I had gained a hundred pounds. “What the hell was going on? I had to get out now! At the next stop I shoved my way by irritated students and jumped off the bus.
The weird feelings continued and seemed to incapacitate me more. Looking around I spotted the signs for the infirmary. I walk/ran trying to look composed as I approached the medical building. Fumbling through the doors, I released all my weight upon the receptionist counter spouting, “I need help…I think I’m having a heart attack”. Nurses responded quickly and got me to the back. They started asking questions calmly as the recorded my vitals. Almost instantly I could feel myself starting to calm down. My head began to clear but my anxiety was still through the roof. After several minutes of questions, a visit from a doctor, they hooked me up to an IV. Almost instantly, I felt better as a peaceful feeling bubbled softly through my veins.
I sat in this room for several minutes really enjoying the peace and quiet. Finally, a woman with a nice smile entered. She pulled up a chair next to mine and introduced herself. I can’t remember her name but she said she was a doctor, a psychiatrist. She asked me how I was doing and then asked me to explain what had happened that led me here on this day. After listening quietly she started to ask questions about how I was feeling about school, life and myself. I was quite comfortable with her and as I started to share my thoughts, I was overwhelmed with emotion…and started to cry, to sob uncontrollably. Everything just came out about my low self worth, anxiety, depression, and fears. This conversation never introduced cause, only affect. Therefore, bullying was never part of our discussion.
The doctor explained to me that I was physically fine but that I had probably experienced a “Panic Attack”. She didn’t get into much detail, but asked that I come in once a week to talk. Then she wrote out and returned with a prescription for Valium. Take one of these little yellow pills whenever you feel anxious, she said. Then she walked out. Twenty minutes later, I left clear-headed with a bottle of pills rattling in my pocket. Little did I know that I would need to hear that rattle for so many years to come.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Bullied: Lonely Birthdays
Chapter 4
Ten Years of Bullying: Lonely Birthdays
The drinking age was eighteen when I was a senior in high school. Therefore starting in early 1977, one by one our rite of passage carried us into the discos of southern New Hampshire. Of course most of us had started before the official date. My first time was at the drive-in theater in the summer of 1976. I was with my brother and two mutual friends. Paul was already a veteran as a member of the athletic in crowd. I had three beers, Colt-45’s and I was wasted. Paul got me into the house and attempted to get me into the bedroom without waking our parents. In hindsight I’m sure they were quite aware and knew everything that was going on.
It was now May 6th, 1977 and it was my birthday. This was the night that I could go out and do as adults do. I was affixed to habits of survival and escape. Thoughts of me were equivocated with dirt. Connections with peers followed a sad pattern. Two friends remained in my court although barely playing. Alex and David had hung in there with me but Alex was near the end. We had become quick friends, and spent a lot of time together. However, the “poor me” rhetoric had grown old for Alex just as it had done for so many other short-term friends.
We had talked during the week at school about going out Saturday night to celebrate my birthday just as we had done to mark Alex’s big day. The saddest sight looking in from the outside had to be looking at me in my family room on Friday night. There I was sitting watching TV alone as I had done on so many Friday nights during those high school years. Every few seconds I would glance at the phone. For years, I was convinced that my life would change and that better things would happen. After so many weeks, months and years of unbearable loneliness, I still could convince myself that someone would call and invite me to be part of something…anything. So I kept picturing that Alex or David would be heading to the phone to give me the call. As time passed into the later evening, I just sighed, lay back on the couch and daydreamed of “Being someone”.
Saturday was my birthday and my mom had already announced that we would celebrate as a family at Sunday dinner. This was great as I still looked excitingly at going to a club on this night. Desperation was setting in as I had not heard from Alex or David. So I did as I had done so many times before, I called them working all my neurons towards sounding relaxed and nonchalant. David’s mother answered and got David to the phone. “Hey David”, I sputtered. We are going out tonight, right? Quite coldly he explained that he was doing things with his family and would not be able to go out. One down and only one left. That empty, yet desperate feeling was building. How could I possibly spend my birthday alone and doing nothing? My mind was moving into high anxious gear.
I dialed Alex. As I mentioned we had spent a lot of time together, but I had come to realize that we always did what Alex wanted to do. His dad picked up the phone and we talked for a few seconds. Alex picked up the other receiver, “I’ve got it dad”, he said. Hey Alex, are we all set for tonight I stated with as much faith as I could muster. Alex, my friend who knew it was my birthday, said I don’t think I’ll go out tonight, I’ve got to work on my car. At this point, the phone just fell on my shoulder as I tried to locate some inner energy to continue the conversation. I should have said good bye and hung up the phone. Instead I groveled; I kept the possibility going…until Alex said well maybe if I can get this car issue fixed up. Alex said he would call me as soon as he was done with the car. Five pm passed with no call followed by six and then seven. So I picked that phone up and called Alex. No one answered. I dialed several times with the same result. In 1977, not only were there no cell phones, but most families did not even own a phone machine.
Here I sat, a young man, a product of ten years of bullying, diminished by the verbosity and physicality, scraping for the tiniest morsel of worth. Feeling numb and sensing nothing around me, I got into my dad’s car and drove to Alex’s house. There he was his head buried under the hood of his car. I walked up and said, “Hey, how’s it coming?” Alex looked out and said, “It’s giving me trouble”. He kept working. I handed him tools. It got dark. The work on the car was finished about 9:00. We went inside and had a beer. I said, “Let’s go out for a few.” Alex looked in a hall mirror and said it would just take too long to get ready. I put the beer can down, got in my car and drove home. As I had done so many other nights during my teenage years, I went into the family room, turned on the television. Slouching into the sofa, I grabbed the clicker, and set my station on “Escape”. Eventually the world in my head got quiet and I fell asleep.
Ten Years of Bullying: Lonely Birthdays
The drinking age was eighteen when I was a senior in high school. Therefore starting in early 1977, one by one our rite of passage carried us into the discos of southern New Hampshire. Of course most of us had started before the official date. My first time was at the drive-in theater in the summer of 1976. I was with my brother and two mutual friends. Paul was already a veteran as a member of the athletic in crowd. I had three beers, Colt-45’s and I was wasted. Paul got me into the house and attempted to get me into the bedroom without waking our parents. In hindsight I’m sure they were quite aware and knew everything that was going on.
It was now May 6th, 1977 and it was my birthday. This was the night that I could go out and do as adults do. I was affixed to habits of survival and escape. Thoughts of me were equivocated with dirt. Connections with peers followed a sad pattern. Two friends remained in my court although barely playing. Alex and David had hung in there with me but Alex was near the end. We had become quick friends, and spent a lot of time together. However, the “poor me” rhetoric had grown old for Alex just as it had done for so many other short-term friends.
We had talked during the week at school about going out Saturday night to celebrate my birthday just as we had done to mark Alex’s big day. The saddest sight looking in from the outside had to be looking at me in my family room on Friday night. There I was sitting watching TV alone as I had done on so many Friday nights during those high school years. Every few seconds I would glance at the phone. For years, I was convinced that my life would change and that better things would happen. After so many weeks, months and years of unbearable loneliness, I still could convince myself that someone would call and invite me to be part of something…anything. So I kept picturing that Alex or David would be heading to the phone to give me the call. As time passed into the later evening, I just sighed, lay back on the couch and daydreamed of “Being someone”.
Saturday was my birthday and my mom had already announced that we would celebrate as a family at Sunday dinner. This was great as I still looked excitingly at going to a club on this night. Desperation was setting in as I had not heard from Alex or David. So I did as I had done so many times before, I called them working all my neurons towards sounding relaxed and nonchalant. David’s mother answered and got David to the phone. “Hey David”, I sputtered. We are going out tonight, right? Quite coldly he explained that he was doing things with his family and would not be able to go out. One down and only one left. That empty, yet desperate feeling was building. How could I possibly spend my birthday alone and doing nothing? My mind was moving into high anxious gear.
I dialed Alex. As I mentioned we had spent a lot of time together, but I had come to realize that we always did what Alex wanted to do. His dad picked up the phone and we talked for a few seconds. Alex picked up the other receiver, “I’ve got it dad”, he said. Hey Alex, are we all set for tonight I stated with as much faith as I could muster. Alex, my friend who knew it was my birthday, said I don’t think I’ll go out tonight, I’ve got to work on my car. At this point, the phone just fell on my shoulder as I tried to locate some inner energy to continue the conversation. I should have said good bye and hung up the phone. Instead I groveled; I kept the possibility going…until Alex said well maybe if I can get this car issue fixed up. Alex said he would call me as soon as he was done with the car. Five pm passed with no call followed by six and then seven. So I picked that phone up and called Alex. No one answered. I dialed several times with the same result. In 1977, not only were there no cell phones, but most families did not even own a phone machine.
Here I sat, a young man, a product of ten years of bullying, diminished by the verbosity and physicality, scraping for the tiniest morsel of worth. Feeling numb and sensing nothing around me, I got into my dad’s car and drove to Alex’s house. There he was his head buried under the hood of his car. I walked up and said, “Hey, how’s it coming?” Alex looked out and said, “It’s giving me trouble”. He kept working. I handed him tools. It got dark. The work on the car was finished about 9:00. We went inside and had a beer. I said, “Let’s go out for a few.” Alex looked in a hall mirror and said it would just take too long to get ready. I put the beer can down, got in my car and drove home. As I had done so many other nights during my teenage years, I went into the family room, turned on the television. Slouching into the sofa, I grabbed the clicker, and set my station on “Escape”. Eventually the world in my head got quiet and I fell asleep.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Bullied: Freshman Year: Day Dreams & Nightmares
Another snippet from my upcoming book, Bullied.
Every few days I'll post an overview of another chapter. Appreciate any feedback.
Chapter 3
Freshman Year: Daydreams and Nightmares
The daily routine from hell was back in session. It was mid-March, as I glanced at the clock and prepared myself for another journey through panic, fear and anxiety. I worked really hard, as I did every day, to look positive until we got through lunch. My smile had worked well that morning and my practiced masculine “How ya doing”? elicited three responses before lunch. After that, it was about preparation and survival. The last period of the day always dragged as my mind waffled between absorbing the teacher’s information and designing the strategic stealth plan. I was up on the second floor, a good distance from my locker. I knew that I would have to think quick, move smart and keep my head down as usual.
In one swooping motion, the hands of the clock hit 2:20, the teacher’s voice trailed with assignment reminders as I rocketed from the chair. I hit the door quick beating out the majority of the freshmen and made a clean turn to the right dodging the onslaught of my peers. My eyes focused, the legs fired, and I cleared the stairs without a hint of stumbling. The lobby and main staircase at Bishop Guertin High School resounded with historical perspective, philosophy and the ornate points of view of the Catholic faith. There was no time to embrace these spectacles now as I darted down the stairs towards the locker room. My goal had to be achieved; getting to the bus before anyone else.
As I approached the bottom of the main staircase, I turned sharply to the left and faced the most challenging piece of my daily flight. Ahead lay the narrow, sharply descending stairs cluttered with bodies of numerous pubescent boys. Not all were faced with my dilemma. Many of the guys were relaxed, laughing and taking their sweet time rambling down the stairs. Today was more stagnant than normal from both a kinetic and aromatic perspective. I wanted to scream, “Get out of my way, let me breathe and allow me some peace”. Finally when it seemed like the bottleneck would not cease, I spilled out into the cafeteria framed by khaki green cement blocks.
Seconds were cerebrally interpreted as minutes as I sprinted towards the left back corner of the café. Woven within the cement blocks, 700 lockers lay in waiting. In one deliberate motion, the right hand hit the combination lock as my left arm hurdled out of my corduroy sport coat. Three muscle memory turns, and the locker creaked open as my right arm cleared the confines of my coat. The nylon blue paisley tie, absurdly wide in width, was removed in a fraction of a moment and tossed on the hook. It shared time with the brown and yellow striper and the mega-sectional red, white and blue edition. I grabbed my so seventies winter jacket, brown with the fox fur collar, leather gloves and psychedelic stocking hat and booked it for the exit.
The intensity of attaining my immediate objective had to maintain balance with the long range goal of looking cool and calm at all times. I caught myself as I passed through the doors leading to the parking lot and shifted into a calculated and brutally contained cantor. I was struggling to breathe and could feel my heart pounding. Ahead of me, spread out over a large parking lot was a cornucopia of transport vehicles. Standing tall and gleaming brightly among the sedans, (SUV’s and minivans waited twenty years in the future) the yellow chariot called my name. Picking up speed, I galloped towards the bus and hit the stairs hard and fast.
I swept around the corner and slid heavily into the first seat on the right. Finally, I gave myself a chance to take a breath of air and experience a second of relaxation. Phase one of the afternoon obstacle course was complete. Several seconds passed before the next student jumped on the bus. This gave the bus driver, John, a moment to say hello. John always called me John because he said that I looked like John Lennon. As the kids pushed and stumbled onto the bus, I prepared myself for the fifty minute phase two of the journey. The tension again built up in my shoulders and stomach as I placed myself in the position. It was a tremendous struggle every day to become invisible. As the bus began to traverse forward I opened my book, focused all cerebral neurons on my hearing, and deadened my eyes.
In a corner of my brain I held on to the hope that after three months out of site, the focus on terror would have ceased. The possibilities swirled. Would it include being pulled to the back and getting beaten up, igniting my books on fire, having cigarette ashes dumped on my head, or having my personal belongings destroyed? Therefore, you can see why every trip was a dangerous and panic laden trek for me. As I deadened my eyes my saving grace, daydreaming, took hold. On this day, my dream carried me to my dentist’s office. I was sitting in the chair enjoying a conversation with the dental hygienist, Doreen.
We traveled without incident along our route from southern New Hampshire through several northeastern Massachusetts towns. At each stop another bully would prepare to exit. Maintaining my place in dream world, my breathing would come to a halt. As the antagonist meandered down the stairs, a sigh of relief would be accompanied by the thought that one less idea of torture existed on this particular ride. The return home was going as well as could be expected, until the rumbling began. I came out of my dream state when I heard the meshing of words that included “Big Bird”, “faggot”, “runt” and, “spit”. Eventually the words blended into the sentence, “Let’s spit on Big Bird when he gets off the bus”. Anxiety, anger, embarrassment, assessment and preparation all became entangled in my thought process. My stop was approaching and now it was clear what the plan was. There were ten kids still on the bus. Two were leading the charge, three others followed without blinking, two jumped aboard to protect their reputations and three sat and looked away. John, the bus driver heard everything and did nothing.
John enjoyed stopping the bus on a dime and we were jolted forward by the quick pump of the brakes. I grabbed my bag, barely able to breathe as I initiated my launch to safety. I figured that if I jumped from the bottom step of the bus I could take two quick leaps and be out of spittoon range. Unfortunately, it had been raining and the snow banks were slushy and soft. My first jump landed me in a foot of water causing me to slip and bend backwards. I pushed forward hoping to hit the top of the bank and roll to the other side. As I hit the crest of the bank, I could hear the interfacing of gears as the bus moved forward. I also heard the taunting and the laughing as the cruel action took place. When my foot impacted the wet snow, I sunk to my knee in slush. My momentum carried me over the wet mound of snow and I rolled into a bitterly cold puddle on the other side.
I stood, slowly, as my ears and nose still captured soft laughter and diesel fuel dancing on waves of sound and smell. I felt numb, not from the frigid environment but from the internal humiliation. I knew that I had been hit and I also knew there was nothing I could do about it. I checked and found that one lugee had caught me in the back and the other was disgustingly seeping into the cotton fibers of my hat. Picking up my soaked school bag, I turned to walk home with a sad grin protruding from my face. I quickly headed into my house, dumped my wet clothes, went into my room, and traveled back to my safe haven. My day dream continued until mom and dad got home. Small talk ensued, but I expressed nothing to suggest that bullying was part of my daily life.
Every few days I'll post an overview of another chapter. Appreciate any feedback.
Chapter 3
Freshman Year: Daydreams and Nightmares
The daily routine from hell was back in session. It was mid-March, as I glanced at the clock and prepared myself for another journey through panic, fear and anxiety. I worked really hard, as I did every day, to look positive until we got through lunch. My smile had worked well that morning and my practiced masculine “How ya doing”? elicited three responses before lunch. After that, it was about preparation and survival. The last period of the day always dragged as my mind waffled between absorbing the teacher’s information and designing the strategic stealth plan. I was up on the second floor, a good distance from my locker. I knew that I would have to think quick, move smart and keep my head down as usual.
In one swooping motion, the hands of the clock hit 2:20, the teacher’s voice trailed with assignment reminders as I rocketed from the chair. I hit the door quick beating out the majority of the freshmen and made a clean turn to the right dodging the onslaught of my peers. My eyes focused, the legs fired, and I cleared the stairs without a hint of stumbling. The lobby and main staircase at Bishop Guertin High School resounded with historical perspective, philosophy and the ornate points of view of the Catholic faith. There was no time to embrace these spectacles now as I darted down the stairs towards the locker room. My goal had to be achieved; getting to the bus before anyone else.
As I approached the bottom of the main staircase, I turned sharply to the left and faced the most challenging piece of my daily flight. Ahead lay the narrow, sharply descending stairs cluttered with bodies of numerous pubescent boys. Not all were faced with my dilemma. Many of the guys were relaxed, laughing and taking their sweet time rambling down the stairs. Today was more stagnant than normal from both a kinetic and aromatic perspective. I wanted to scream, “Get out of my way, let me breathe and allow me some peace”. Finally when it seemed like the bottleneck would not cease, I spilled out into the cafeteria framed by khaki green cement blocks.
Seconds were cerebrally interpreted as minutes as I sprinted towards the left back corner of the café. Woven within the cement blocks, 700 lockers lay in waiting. In one deliberate motion, the right hand hit the combination lock as my left arm hurdled out of my corduroy sport coat. Three muscle memory turns, and the locker creaked open as my right arm cleared the confines of my coat. The nylon blue paisley tie, absurdly wide in width, was removed in a fraction of a moment and tossed on the hook. It shared time with the brown and yellow striper and the mega-sectional red, white and blue edition. I grabbed my so seventies winter jacket, brown with the fox fur collar, leather gloves and psychedelic stocking hat and booked it for the exit.
The intensity of attaining my immediate objective had to maintain balance with the long range goal of looking cool and calm at all times. I caught myself as I passed through the doors leading to the parking lot and shifted into a calculated and brutally contained cantor. I was struggling to breathe and could feel my heart pounding. Ahead of me, spread out over a large parking lot was a cornucopia of transport vehicles. Standing tall and gleaming brightly among the sedans, (SUV’s and minivans waited twenty years in the future) the yellow chariot called my name. Picking up speed, I galloped towards the bus and hit the stairs hard and fast.
I swept around the corner and slid heavily into the first seat on the right. Finally, I gave myself a chance to take a breath of air and experience a second of relaxation. Phase one of the afternoon obstacle course was complete. Several seconds passed before the next student jumped on the bus. This gave the bus driver, John, a moment to say hello. John always called me John because he said that I looked like John Lennon. As the kids pushed and stumbled onto the bus, I prepared myself for the fifty minute phase two of the journey. The tension again built up in my shoulders and stomach as I placed myself in the position. It was a tremendous struggle every day to become invisible. As the bus began to traverse forward I opened my book, focused all cerebral neurons on my hearing, and deadened my eyes.
In a corner of my brain I held on to the hope that after three months out of site, the focus on terror would have ceased. The possibilities swirled. Would it include being pulled to the back and getting beaten up, igniting my books on fire, having cigarette ashes dumped on my head, or having my personal belongings destroyed? Therefore, you can see why every trip was a dangerous and panic laden trek for me. As I deadened my eyes my saving grace, daydreaming, took hold. On this day, my dream carried me to my dentist’s office. I was sitting in the chair enjoying a conversation with the dental hygienist, Doreen.
We traveled without incident along our route from southern New Hampshire through several northeastern Massachusetts towns. At each stop another bully would prepare to exit. Maintaining my place in dream world, my breathing would come to a halt. As the antagonist meandered down the stairs, a sigh of relief would be accompanied by the thought that one less idea of torture existed on this particular ride. The return home was going as well as could be expected, until the rumbling began. I came out of my dream state when I heard the meshing of words that included “Big Bird”, “faggot”, “runt” and, “spit”. Eventually the words blended into the sentence, “Let’s spit on Big Bird when he gets off the bus”. Anxiety, anger, embarrassment, assessment and preparation all became entangled in my thought process. My stop was approaching and now it was clear what the plan was. There were ten kids still on the bus. Two were leading the charge, three others followed without blinking, two jumped aboard to protect their reputations and three sat and looked away. John, the bus driver heard everything and did nothing.
John enjoyed stopping the bus on a dime and we were jolted forward by the quick pump of the brakes. I grabbed my bag, barely able to breathe as I initiated my launch to safety. I figured that if I jumped from the bottom step of the bus I could take two quick leaps and be out of spittoon range. Unfortunately, it had been raining and the snow banks were slushy and soft. My first jump landed me in a foot of water causing me to slip and bend backwards. I pushed forward hoping to hit the top of the bank and roll to the other side. As I hit the crest of the bank, I could hear the interfacing of gears as the bus moved forward. I also heard the taunting and the laughing as the cruel action took place. When my foot impacted the wet snow, I sunk to my knee in slush. My momentum carried me over the wet mound of snow and I rolled into a bitterly cold puddle on the other side.
I stood, slowly, as my ears and nose still captured soft laughter and diesel fuel dancing on waves of sound and smell. I felt numb, not from the frigid environment but from the internal humiliation. I knew that I had been hit and I also knew there was nothing I could do about it. I checked and found that one lugee had caught me in the back and the other was disgustingly seeping into the cotton fibers of my hat. Picking up my soaked school bag, I turned to walk home with a sad grin protruding from my face. I quickly headed into my house, dumped my wet clothes, went into my room, and traveled back to my safe haven. My day dream continued until mom and dad got home. Small talk ensued, but I expressed nothing to suggest that bullying was part of my daily life.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Bullied: Middle School Years
Chapter 2:
Middle School: Tormented Tradition
It was the summer of 1972 and we had just settled into our rental in Hampton Beach, New Hampshire. I had just come off a miserable seventh grade where puberty had exponentially compounded my bullying experiences.
It was mid-July and I had survived three weeks of constant verbal and physical pounding. I woke up that morning really excited as my best friend from school, Paul, was arriving today to spend a week. I lied in bed thinking of how it would be so nice to spend the next seven days not worried about trying to fit in. Paul didn’t tease me and we always spent lots of time talking, reading and sharing ideas. It was a Monday and Paul was expected to arrive later in the afternoon. As the norm for every sunny day, we spent the morning at the beach. Walking towards the sand, all the scenarios bounced through me head. Would I be allowed to play in the games? Would the kids all head to the jetty and not ask me to come along? Would Andy and his band of friends start calling me “Nose”?
Within minutes, everyone scattered and I found myself alone on the blanket organizing my prized baseball cards. I found solace in this time losing myself in the world of major league baseball. I would arrange the cards in numerous ways by team, statistic or position. Then I could spend hours reading every statistic of each player. To this day, I can rattle off stats in great detail of baseball significance from 1968 through 1972.
Knowing that Paul was arriving soon kept me focused and relaxed. As noon approached the kids reappeared at the blanket. Andy, Ricky and even my brother, Paul started in with the barbed digs. “Four-eyes” was still a popular line among bullies in the early seventies and I got called it often. I was blind as a bat by the time I was six and I wore those dreadful thick black glasses. Since I had to wear them for all activities they were always beat up, crooked and patched with tape. Andy grabbed them from my face and threw them around to Bobby, Dick, Joey and Johnny. David didn’t join in. He was the only one strong enough to not be swayed by the peer pressure. As the glasses were being tossed the comments about my being the smart math guy were being passed along. If only I had realized then that they were, in actuality, complimenting me.
On most days, I could work myself into an internal cocoon and remain, at least on the surface, unfazed. Today, with the accelerated angst of the arrival of my friend, my tolerance was low. I told them to “Shut up” and “Get lost”. This only egged them on and the barrage heightened. We headed off the beach as we did every day for lunch. Today was a little unusual because my grandmother was not back at the cottage. She ran things during the week and my mom and other relatives would come for the weekends. The cottages were very close together and Mrs. G. was watching us today. By the time Mrs. G. had prepared us some spaghetti, most of the kids were already on our porch preparing for the afternoon shift on the beach.
I couldn’t muster the energy to absorb any more teasing so I sat inside to eat. The boys were still caught up in their verbal taunts and they just called out one name after another at me. I told them to stop. I asked them to stop. I raised my voice and insisted that they stop. Finally, I had reached my breaking point. Picking up my plate of spaghetti, I screamed louder than I thought possible, and fired that plate at the window. Exhaling at the peak of my lung capacity I screamed, “Shut up”, “Get out”, and “Leave me alone”. The porch grew immediately silent and you could hear the spaghetti and plate squeaking as it slid down the window. I walked into the front bedroom and covered my head with a pillow. As I drifted off into a daydream, I heard comments such as, “We were just kidding”, and “Your brother takes this too seriously. As I wandered off to sleep, the boys’ conversation faded from my conscientious, as I shifted towards a safe place.
Middle School: Tormented Tradition
It was the summer of 1972 and we had just settled into our rental in Hampton Beach, New Hampshire. I had just come off a miserable seventh grade where puberty had exponentially compounded my bullying experiences.
It was mid-July and I had survived three weeks of constant verbal and physical pounding. I woke up that morning really excited as my best friend from school, Paul, was arriving today to spend a week. I lied in bed thinking of how it would be so nice to spend the next seven days not worried about trying to fit in. Paul didn’t tease me and we always spent lots of time talking, reading and sharing ideas. It was a Monday and Paul was expected to arrive later in the afternoon. As the norm for every sunny day, we spent the morning at the beach. Walking towards the sand, all the scenarios bounced through me head. Would I be allowed to play in the games? Would the kids all head to the jetty and not ask me to come along? Would Andy and his band of friends start calling me “Nose”?
Within minutes, everyone scattered and I found myself alone on the blanket organizing my prized baseball cards. I found solace in this time losing myself in the world of major league baseball. I would arrange the cards in numerous ways by team, statistic or position. Then I could spend hours reading every statistic of each player. To this day, I can rattle off stats in great detail of baseball significance from 1968 through 1972.
Knowing that Paul was arriving soon kept me focused and relaxed. As noon approached the kids reappeared at the blanket. Andy, Ricky and even my brother, Paul started in with the barbed digs. “Four-eyes” was still a popular line among bullies in the early seventies and I got called it often. I was blind as a bat by the time I was six and I wore those dreadful thick black glasses. Since I had to wear them for all activities they were always beat up, crooked and patched with tape. Andy grabbed them from my face and threw them around to Bobby, Dick, Joey and Johnny. David didn’t join in. He was the only one strong enough to not be swayed by the peer pressure. As the glasses were being tossed the comments about my being the smart math guy were being passed along. If only I had realized then that they were, in actuality, complimenting me.
On most days, I could work myself into an internal cocoon and remain, at least on the surface, unfazed. Today, with the accelerated angst of the arrival of my friend, my tolerance was low. I told them to “Shut up” and “Get lost”. This only egged them on and the barrage heightened. We headed off the beach as we did every day for lunch. Today was a little unusual because my grandmother was not back at the cottage. She ran things during the week and my mom and other relatives would come for the weekends. The cottages were very close together and Mrs. G. was watching us today. By the time Mrs. G. had prepared us some spaghetti, most of the kids were already on our porch preparing for the afternoon shift on the beach.
I couldn’t muster the energy to absorb any more teasing so I sat inside to eat. The boys were still caught up in their verbal taunts and they just called out one name after another at me. I told them to stop. I asked them to stop. I raised my voice and insisted that they stop. Finally, I had reached my breaking point. Picking up my plate of spaghetti, I screamed louder than I thought possible, and fired that plate at the window. Exhaling at the peak of my lung capacity I screamed, “Shut up”, “Get out”, and “Leave me alone”. The porch grew immediately silent and you could hear the spaghetti and plate squeaking as it slid down the window. I walked into the front bedroom and covered my head with a pillow. As I drifted off into a daydream, I heard comments such as, “We were just kidding”, and “Your brother takes this too seriously. As I wandered off to sleep, the boys’ conversation faded from my conscientious, as I shifted towards a safe place.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Measuring Success as a Teacher
My philosophy for student success is that there must be a consistent triad system in place. The teacher facilitates learning, the student actively engages in the process and the parents contribute support and assistance. When all these three parts are connecting, we will have successful results for every child. I measure success within interims and within spectrums.
The interim component is broken apart on a daily level, on a unit level, and on a yearly level. Every day I make sure that I have clear objectives, I’m well prepared and I have a back-up plan. As I go through the day with kids, I look for signs of engagement and connection. I have always worked from the gut and I found that it works very well for me. Relationships and effective communication with students and teachers gives me a much more accurate measure of success than data and theory. So if I notice a fire in a student’s eye, a contribution, smile or laugh that connects to the topic, or an intriguing question then we (students and teacher) have been successful on that particular day.
Assessment (Data has its place) is the best measure of success at the unit level. I give a lot of homework and tough quizzes and tests. The intensity of these tests is correlated to the level of the student. However, I refuse to dummy down and I push the kids to make their brain sweat. I always start the year by telling my students that I have never failed anyone in 21 years. If a student does their work, prepares for class, studies for assessments and has a positive attitude, it is impossible to fail my class.
Typically many of my unit grades are quite low particularly with 9th graders. They have come off three middle school years where academic success plays second fiddle to personal survival and identity development. However, once in high school we have got to prepare these kids for the rigors of school and life. As I analyze the results of each unit, I look for small changes that show that the students are starting to get it. The quantity and level of completed assignments improves, and test-taking results demonstrate an enhanced understanding of critical thinking. As the units move forward the amount of students demonstrating improved skills and grades increases significantly. This is my measurement of success at the unit level.
At the end of the year, if my students are well prepared to handle the challenges of the next school year and the pertinent expectations of a typical high school sophomore, then I have been successful.
I also stated that I measured success at a spectrum level. Questions that I pose to myself are as follows: Does the student understand the importance of the integration of courses in their lives? Does the student write, speak, and read more proficiently compared to when we first met? Does the student connect today’s lesson to its purpose in shaping them as future adults. Whenever I interact with these students as kids or as adults in the future, I carefully observe them. If they can intertwine their mastery of science, social studies, mathematics, language, music, etc. together than I along with many of their other teachers have been successful. When I meet a former student years after high school, I look for certain things. If they look me straight in the eye, present a strong handshake, evoke purpose, transcend ideas, and smile with sincerity, then I am one of a team of teachers that have been successful.
The interim component is broken apart on a daily level, on a unit level, and on a yearly level. Every day I make sure that I have clear objectives, I’m well prepared and I have a back-up plan. As I go through the day with kids, I look for signs of engagement and connection. I have always worked from the gut and I found that it works very well for me. Relationships and effective communication with students and teachers gives me a much more accurate measure of success than data and theory. So if I notice a fire in a student’s eye, a contribution, smile or laugh that connects to the topic, or an intriguing question then we (students and teacher) have been successful on that particular day.
Assessment (Data has its place) is the best measure of success at the unit level. I give a lot of homework and tough quizzes and tests. The intensity of these tests is correlated to the level of the student. However, I refuse to dummy down and I push the kids to make their brain sweat. I always start the year by telling my students that I have never failed anyone in 21 years. If a student does their work, prepares for class, studies for assessments and has a positive attitude, it is impossible to fail my class.
Typically many of my unit grades are quite low particularly with 9th graders. They have come off three middle school years where academic success plays second fiddle to personal survival and identity development. However, once in high school we have got to prepare these kids for the rigors of school and life. As I analyze the results of each unit, I look for small changes that show that the students are starting to get it. The quantity and level of completed assignments improves, and test-taking results demonstrate an enhanced understanding of critical thinking. As the units move forward the amount of students demonstrating improved skills and grades increases significantly. This is my measurement of success at the unit level.
At the end of the year, if my students are well prepared to handle the challenges of the next school year and the pertinent expectations of a typical high school sophomore, then I have been successful.
I also stated that I measured success at a spectrum level. Questions that I pose to myself are as follows: Does the student understand the importance of the integration of courses in their lives? Does the student write, speak, and read more proficiently compared to when we first met? Does the student connect today’s lesson to its purpose in shaping them as future adults. Whenever I interact with these students as kids or as adults in the future, I carefully observe them. If they can intertwine their mastery of science, social studies, mathematics, language, music, etc. together than I along with many of their other teachers have been successful. When I meet a former student years after high school, I look for certain things. If they look me straight in the eye, present a strong handshake, evoke purpose, transcend ideas, and smile with sincerity, then I am one of a team of teachers that have been successful.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Academic Solutions start with Knowledgable Parents.
Solutions start with Parent Visits and Observations
I am pleading that every parent with a child in our public school system spends a full day in your child’s school. Walk the halls, have lunch in the cafĂ© and attend classes. I’m willing to bet that almost all that attend will never come in to a school with the same mindset again. Their eyes will be open to the disarray of public middle and high schools. Don’t say anything as the day carries on. Just listen, watch and feel what is all around you. Your senses will allow you to observe and translate the odyssey of your children’s daily experience.
Listen to the inappropriate language that has become filler for our kids’ depleted capacity to articulate. Listen to the breakdown of eloquence, pronunciation and enunciation. Listen to the triviality of conversation. Listen to the shrieks oblivious to the protocol of a civilized society. Listen to the personal degradation, and verbal bullying of other students. Listen to the disrespectful responses to adults beginning with addresses such as “Dood, Dawg, and “Man”. Listen to the abrasive responses towards teachers, and the sound of Nike sneakers carrying students away from a teacher asking that child to stop in the hall and listen. Listen to the teacher that loved coming to school every day, who now greets other teachers on a Monday morning with, “It’s almost Friday”.
Listen to the constant disruptions that slice into a teacher’s well-prepared lesson and the educational opportunities for those students that want to learn. Listen for the absurd regularity of statements such as, “What are we doing today”. Can I get my book from my locker?”, and “Can I borrow a pencil?” If you might hear, “May I borrow a pencil?” Wow, you surprisingly witnessed a rare anomaly in a middle or high school class room. Listen to the enormity of students requesting options for extra work and dummied down assessments, (Why can’t we have a word bank?), when the vast majority of these students do not complete the assigned requirements of the course.
Look into the eyes of students talking and laughing in the halls and then look at that same student’s eyes once seated in a classroom. Notice anything different? See the lack of affect in that child’s eyes, the boredom entrenched in their body language, and deepening lines in the brows of teachers battling an increasing barrage of disrespect and lack of discipline. Look at the cringe in students’ faces when they are asked to “work, critically think or articulate”. Look at the pout on their faces when they are called out for being lazy, unprepared or inappropriate. Look at them scoot out of class rushing to the restroom where they can call their mommy or daddy on their cell phone to complain about that awful teacher that called them on the carpet.
Look at the poorly veiled racial alignment of kids in the hallways and the café. If you have extra time however, visit one of the elementary schools and sit in their café. There is a blend of color and ethnicity sitting at those tables. The intolerance of the older generations has not yet fully tainted the innocent minds of our little ones. Now return to the café of your older student. Look at the adults in attendance. Look how they tend to gather and associate by race.
Look at the blatant disdain for the observance of rules. Look at the quantity of students not adhering to the dress code. Look at the amount of food and garbage left behind on cafeteria tables. Look at students walk over pieces of paper, bottles, etc. in the middle of the hallway. Look at the amount of students walking towards class without books or supplies. Look at the extent of students still socializing in the hallway when the bell has rung. Look at the amount of students not in their chairs when the bell has begun signifying the beginning of class. Look at the students who can’t keep their eyes open because they had access to computers, texting and phones until three in the morning. Look at the miniscule percentage of homework assignments that are handed in upon teacher request.
These are observations based on the two senses of hearing and sight. There are literally hundreds of other observations that we can attain using all of our senses. The important point is that it is time to come up with solutions. This is going to take some very special people with guts.
A school board sets policy. If you are going to bother setting it, expect it to be upheld. A district leadership team is expected to carry out directives that align and adhere to the policy. School principals are trained to instill the district directives within the fabric of the school. Teachers should be motivated to engage the students keeping them on the path of the district directives. Parents need to direct their children towards the best odds for a successful future. Students should open their minds to the educational opportunities presented to them. They need to actively participate in their education.
Of course our level of success is determined by courageous actions and responses. Students should listen a lot more, go to sleep on time, be required to take a 101 course on respect and discipline, be polite, do their homework, be prepared, stop whining, and incorporate, “Please”,
” Thank you”, “Yes, Ma’am”, and “No Sir”, in their ever day dialogues.
When it comes to their children, parents need to get over themselves. We all have struggles and challenges in our lives. Don’t use them as excuses for your child’s behavior or poor academic performance. Don’t bring your marital problems, financial woes, mid-life crises, insecurities and addictions to the table when talking about your children. Have the guts to sit down and say, I’m sorry that my child is misbehaving or not performing. Now what can we all do to improve this situation. This next concern is a tough one, but middle and high school parents have got to accept the fact that almost all kids lie. They don’t lie because they are bad kids. They are wired to focus on the immediacy of their situation. So if a young man or woman knows that they can’t go out this weekend if they get in trouble, they will alter their explanation to assure their short-term freedom. Please try to have that as a reference point before you rush into a school meeting looking to lambast a teacher.
Teachers need to maintain the highest level of integrity, and expectations from themselves and their students. They need to constantly reflect on their purpose, goals and reasons for educating children. If you love kids, love nurturing academic growth, don’t feel the need to punch a clock and love the daily challenge, continue to live out your passion of educating children. Otherwise, initiate worthwhile change or get out!
School administrators need to devise courageous ways to enforce policy, moderate challenging issues and stand by their teachers. District administrators should do the same. No administrator should ever throw a teacher under the bus to protect their reputation or position. A true sign of guts and courage is displayed by an administrator who stands up for what they know is right even when they are pummeled by rhetoric, the press and attorneys’ well-crafted letters.
Finally, the school board is the true source of guts and courage. Before you vote to establish policy, do your homework, be prepared and study! If you have completed your groundwork then you should be comfortable standing up without wavering for any policy that you cooperatively architect.
One last note….don’t ever let an attorney into a school district building. The only possible result will be a lot of wasted time, money-filled pockets for the lawyers and clouded perspectives.
Mike Sanz
I am pleading that every parent with a child in our public school system spends a full day in your child’s school. Walk the halls, have lunch in the cafĂ© and attend classes. I’m willing to bet that almost all that attend will never come in to a school with the same mindset again. Their eyes will be open to the disarray of public middle and high schools. Don’t say anything as the day carries on. Just listen, watch and feel what is all around you. Your senses will allow you to observe and translate the odyssey of your children’s daily experience.
Listen to the inappropriate language that has become filler for our kids’ depleted capacity to articulate. Listen to the breakdown of eloquence, pronunciation and enunciation. Listen to the triviality of conversation. Listen to the shrieks oblivious to the protocol of a civilized society. Listen to the personal degradation, and verbal bullying of other students. Listen to the disrespectful responses to adults beginning with addresses such as “Dood, Dawg, and “Man”. Listen to the abrasive responses towards teachers, and the sound of Nike sneakers carrying students away from a teacher asking that child to stop in the hall and listen. Listen to the teacher that loved coming to school every day, who now greets other teachers on a Monday morning with, “It’s almost Friday”.
Listen to the constant disruptions that slice into a teacher’s well-prepared lesson and the educational opportunities for those students that want to learn. Listen for the absurd regularity of statements such as, “What are we doing today”. Can I get my book from my locker?”, and “Can I borrow a pencil?” If you might hear, “May I borrow a pencil?” Wow, you surprisingly witnessed a rare anomaly in a middle or high school class room. Listen to the enormity of students requesting options for extra work and dummied down assessments, (Why can’t we have a word bank?), when the vast majority of these students do not complete the assigned requirements of the course.
Look into the eyes of students talking and laughing in the halls and then look at that same student’s eyes once seated in a classroom. Notice anything different? See the lack of affect in that child’s eyes, the boredom entrenched in their body language, and deepening lines in the brows of teachers battling an increasing barrage of disrespect and lack of discipline. Look at the cringe in students’ faces when they are asked to “work, critically think or articulate”. Look at the pout on their faces when they are called out for being lazy, unprepared or inappropriate. Look at them scoot out of class rushing to the restroom where they can call their mommy or daddy on their cell phone to complain about that awful teacher that called them on the carpet.
Look at the poorly veiled racial alignment of kids in the hallways and the café. If you have extra time however, visit one of the elementary schools and sit in their café. There is a blend of color and ethnicity sitting at those tables. The intolerance of the older generations has not yet fully tainted the innocent minds of our little ones. Now return to the café of your older student. Look at the adults in attendance. Look how they tend to gather and associate by race.
Look at the blatant disdain for the observance of rules. Look at the quantity of students not adhering to the dress code. Look at the amount of food and garbage left behind on cafeteria tables. Look at students walk over pieces of paper, bottles, etc. in the middle of the hallway. Look at the amount of students walking towards class without books or supplies. Look at the extent of students still socializing in the hallway when the bell has rung. Look at the amount of students not in their chairs when the bell has begun signifying the beginning of class. Look at the students who can’t keep their eyes open because they had access to computers, texting and phones until three in the morning. Look at the miniscule percentage of homework assignments that are handed in upon teacher request.
These are observations based on the two senses of hearing and sight. There are literally hundreds of other observations that we can attain using all of our senses. The important point is that it is time to come up with solutions. This is going to take some very special people with guts.
A school board sets policy. If you are going to bother setting it, expect it to be upheld. A district leadership team is expected to carry out directives that align and adhere to the policy. School principals are trained to instill the district directives within the fabric of the school. Teachers should be motivated to engage the students keeping them on the path of the district directives. Parents need to direct their children towards the best odds for a successful future. Students should open their minds to the educational opportunities presented to them. They need to actively participate in their education.
Of course our level of success is determined by courageous actions and responses. Students should listen a lot more, go to sleep on time, be required to take a 101 course on respect and discipline, be polite, do their homework, be prepared, stop whining, and incorporate, “Please”,
” Thank you”, “Yes, Ma’am”, and “No Sir”, in their ever day dialogues.
When it comes to their children, parents need to get over themselves. We all have struggles and challenges in our lives. Don’t use them as excuses for your child’s behavior or poor academic performance. Don’t bring your marital problems, financial woes, mid-life crises, insecurities and addictions to the table when talking about your children. Have the guts to sit down and say, I’m sorry that my child is misbehaving or not performing. Now what can we all do to improve this situation. This next concern is a tough one, but middle and high school parents have got to accept the fact that almost all kids lie. They don’t lie because they are bad kids. They are wired to focus on the immediacy of their situation. So if a young man or woman knows that they can’t go out this weekend if they get in trouble, they will alter their explanation to assure their short-term freedom. Please try to have that as a reference point before you rush into a school meeting looking to lambast a teacher.
Teachers need to maintain the highest level of integrity, and expectations from themselves and their students. They need to constantly reflect on their purpose, goals and reasons for educating children. If you love kids, love nurturing academic growth, don’t feel the need to punch a clock and love the daily challenge, continue to live out your passion of educating children. Otherwise, initiate worthwhile change or get out!
School administrators need to devise courageous ways to enforce policy, moderate challenging issues and stand by their teachers. District administrators should do the same. No administrator should ever throw a teacher under the bus to protect their reputation or position. A true sign of guts and courage is displayed by an administrator who stands up for what they know is right even when they are pummeled by rhetoric, the press and attorneys’ well-crafted letters.
Finally, the school board is the true source of guts and courage. Before you vote to establish policy, do your homework, be prepared and study! If you have completed your groundwork then you should be comfortable standing up without wavering for any policy that you cooperatively architect.
One last note….don’t ever let an attorney into a school district building. The only possible result will be a lot of wasted time, money-filled pockets for the lawyers and clouded perspectives.
Mike Sanz
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Way it Should Be!
The principal and assistants will be greeting the students at the door each morning and will walk the halls every moment of every day. If students walk towards the door out of dress code, they won’t pass through it. Students will have a right to the halls only if they are in proper attire. The disruption of electrical devices, inappropriate clothing and other peripherals will disappear. Language will be clean, appropriate and respectful. Students will address adults as Sir, Ma’am, Mr. or Mrs. They will not use words such as dude, dawg, or man in any conversations directed at adults. They can save that for the beach, the mall or their own back yards. Wouldn’t it be great to enter classrooms where the words, “Please”, and “Thank you”, will be embedded within the dynamics of meaningful learning?
Students that break the rules will face consequences every time. There will be no warnings, two-week adjustment periods, negotiations or deals. The warning is put in place the day the student is handed the student handbook. If it is a policy established by the school board, we will enforce it. Student consequences will be effective. Detentions will be served with a purpose. These students will scrub the desks, clean the walls, pick up the garbage and scrape gum from places they put it. If they must sit in a desk, they will write and write and write until they get it right! Major infractions will lead to suspensions and Saturday Detentions. If the infraction involved defiance or verbal abuse toward a staff member, the student will not return without a parent conference and a thoughtful apology written to the teacher.
Discipline will become the norm not the exception. Students will be on time in the morning and for every class. Students will take up the four minutes between the classes to get to class, utilize the rest room and get into their seats. They don’t need to talk to their friends, exchange hellos and greetings, and scurry to their locker. They need to plan ahead and prepare for the whole school day. There will be time for socializing before school, at lunch and after school gets out. Other than that it should be six hours of hard work, intellectual challenge, and critical skills development. They will engage their brain cells from bell to bell. Students will bring their tools of learning to class every day. No longer will well-planned lessons by teachers be tossed away because half the class doesn’t come prepared with pencil, paper, and books. I will not accept a statement from any parent or child that they can’t afford or have that paper or pencil when a cell phone or I-Pod is hanging out of the child’s pocket. Students should expect to be exhausted by 2:30 every day because of working brains not because of wasted hours of useless conversation, doodling or late night Facebook chats with friends.
Students that break the rules will face consequences every time. There will be no warnings, two-week adjustment periods, negotiations or deals. The warning is put in place the day the student is handed the student handbook. If it is a policy established by the school board, we will enforce it. Student consequences will be effective. Detentions will be served with a purpose. These students will scrub the desks, clean the walls, pick up the garbage and scrape gum from places they put it. If they must sit in a desk, they will write and write and write until they get it right! Major infractions will lead to suspensions and Saturday Detentions. If the infraction involved defiance or verbal abuse toward a staff member, the student will not return without a parent conference and a thoughtful apology written to the teacher.
Discipline will become the norm not the exception. Students will be on time in the morning and for every class. Students will take up the four minutes between the classes to get to class, utilize the rest room and get into their seats. They don’t need to talk to their friends, exchange hellos and greetings, and scurry to their locker. They need to plan ahead and prepare for the whole school day. There will be time for socializing before school, at lunch and after school gets out. Other than that it should be six hours of hard work, intellectual challenge, and critical skills development. They will engage their brain cells from bell to bell. Students will bring their tools of learning to class every day. No longer will well-planned lessons by teachers be tossed away because half the class doesn’t come prepared with pencil, paper, and books. I will not accept a statement from any parent or child that they can’t afford or have that paper or pencil when a cell phone or I-Pod is hanging out of the child’s pocket. Students should expect to be exhausted by 2:30 every day because of working brains not because of wasted hours of useless conversation, doodling or late night Facebook chats with friends.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Bullied
Bullied
The daily routine from hell had begun. I glanced at the clock and prepared myself for another journey through panic, fear and anxiety. I’m not sure of the exact date or which class I was in. After so many months of pain and suffering, the process and the specific moment became unimportant. It was early March and I was up on the second floor, a good distance from my locker. I knew that I would have to think quick, move smart and keep my head down as usual.
I worked really hard, as I did every day, to look positive until we got through lunch. My smile had worked well that morning and my practiced masculine “How ya doing”? elicited three responses before lunch. After that, it was about preparation and survival. The last period of the day always dragged as my mind waffled between absorbing the teacher’s information and designing the strategic stealth plan.
In one swooping motion, the hands of the clock hit 2:20, the teacher’s voice trailed with assignment reminders as I rocketed from the chair. I hit the door quick beating out the majority of the freshmen and made a clean turn to the right dodging the onslaught of my 650 male compatriots. My eyes focused, the legs fired, and I cleared the stairs without a hint of stumbling. The lobby and main staircase at Bishop Guertin High School resounded with historical perspective, philosophy and the ornate points of view of the Catholic Church. There was no time to embrace these spectacles now as I darted down the stairs towards the locker room. My goal had to be achieved; getting to the bus before anyone else.
As I approached the bottom of the main staircase, I turned sharply to the left and faced the most challenging piece of my daily flight. Ahead lay the narrow, sharply descending stairs cluttered with bodies of numerous pubescent boys. Not all were faced with my dilemma. Many of the guys were relaxed, laughing and taking their sweet time rambling down the stairs. Today was more stagnant than normal from both a kinetic and aromatic perspective. I wanted to scream, “Get out of my way, let me breathe and allow me some peace”. Finally when it seemed like the bottleneck would not splinter, I spilled out onto the cafeteria canvas framed by khaki green cement blocks.
Seconds were cerebrally interpreted as minutes as I sprinted towards the left back corner of the café. Woven within the cement blocks, 700 lockers lay in waiting. In one deliberate motion, the right hand hit the combination lock as my left arm hurdled out of my tan corduroy sport coat. Three muscle memory turns, and the locker creaked open as my right arm cleared the confines of my coat. The nylon blue paisley tie, absurdly wide in width, was removed in a fraction of a moment and tossed on the hook. It shared time with the brown and yellow striper and the mega-sectional red, white and blue edition. I grabbed my so seventies winter jacket, brown with the fox fur collar, leather gloves and psychedelic stocking hat and booked it for the exit.
The intensity of attaining my immediate objective had to maintain balance with the long range goal of looking cool and calm at all times. I caught myself as I passed through the doors leading to the parking lot and shifted into a calculated and brutally contained cantor. I was struggling to breathe and could feel my heart pounding. Standing tall and gleaming brightly among the sedans, (SUV’s and minivans waited twenty years in the future) the yellow chariot called my name. Picking up speed, I galloped towards the bus and hit the stairs hard and fast.
I swept around the corner and slid heavily into the first seat on the right. Finally, I gave myself a chance to take a breath of air and experience a second of relaxation. Phase one of the afternoon obstacle course was complete. Several seconds passed before the next student jumped on the bus. This gave the bus driver, John, a moment to say hello. John always called me Big Bird because I had such a big nose. I know that his intension was not malicious but it hurt that the other kids addressed me that way. As the kids pushed and stumbled onto the bus, I prepared myself for the fifty minute phase two of the journey. The tension again built up in my shoulders and stomach as I placed myself in the position. It was a tremendous struggle every day to become invisible. As the bus began to traverse forward I opened my book, focused all cerebral neurons on my hearing, and deadened my eyes.
Every day in the morning and more so in the afternoon, I faced with dread the bus ride. I never knew if this would be the day where it would happen. What would happen, you might ask? Well, the possibilities included, being pulled to the back and getting beaten up, my books being started on fire, having cigarette ashes dumped on my head, being called every nasty name possible, and having my personal belongings stolen or destroyed. Therefore, you can see why every trip was a dangerous and panic laden trek for me. The answer precluded by the deadened eyes was daydreaming. I simply placed myself somewhere else where it was safe, peaceful and maybe even fun. On this day, my dream carried me to my dentist’s office. I was sitting in the chair enjoying a conversation with the dental hygienist, Doreen. Without question, I had a teen crush on her but the dream was tailored towards comfort, safety and acceptance.
It is difficult to describe the feelings I experienced as we traveled along our route from southern New Hampshire through several northeastern Massachusetts towns. At each stop another bully would prepare to exit. Maintaining my place in dream world, my breathing would come to a halt. As the antagonist meandered down the stairs, a sigh of relief would be accompanied by the thought that one less idea of torture existed on this particular ride. The return home was going as well as could be expected, until the rumbling began. I came out of my dream state when I heard the meshing of words that included “Big Bird”, “faggot”, “runt” and, “spit”. Eventually the words blended into the sentence, “Let’s spit on Big Bird when he gets off the bus”. Anxiety, anger, embarrassment, assessment and preparation all became entangled in my thought process. My stop was approaching and now it was clear what the plan was. There were ten kids still on the bus. Two were leading the charge, three others followed without blinking, two jumped aboard to protect their reputations and three sat and looked away. John, the bus driver heard everything and did nothing.
John enjoyed stopping the bus on a dime and we were jolted forward by the quick pump of the brakes. I grabbed my bag, barely able to breathe as I initiated my launch to safety. I figured that if I jumped from the bottom step of the bus I could take two quick leaps and be out of spittoon range. Unfortunately, it had been raining and the snow banks were slushy and soft. My first jump landed me in a foot of water causing me to slip and bend backwards. I pushed forward hoping to hit the top of the bank and roll to the other side. As I hit the crest of the bank, I could hear the interfacing of gears as the bus moved forward. I also heard the taunting and the laughing as the cruel action took place. When my foot impacted the wet snow, I sunk to my knee in slush. My momentum carried me over the wet mound of snow and I rolled into a bitterly cold puddle on the other side.
I stood, slowly, as my ears and nose still captured soft laughter and diesel fuel dancing on waves of sound and smell. I felt numb, not from the frigid environment but from the internal humiliation. I knew that I had been hit and I also knew there was nothing I could do about it. I checked and found that one lugee had caught me in the back and one was disgustingly seeping into the cotton fibers of my hat. Picking up my soaked school bag, I turned to walk home with a sad grin protruding from my face. I quickly headed into my house, dumped my wet clothes, went into my room, and traveled back to my safe haven. My day dream continued until mom and dad got home. Small talk ensued, but I expressed nothing to suggest that bullying was part of my daily life.
This painful scenario played itself out in the spring of 1974 at a private Catholic boys’ school in Nashua, New Hampshire. My parents probably had some idea that there were issues, but never caught wind of the intensity or the significance. For three years, from my first day through the end of my junior year, bullying was a silent blunt instrument that I endured. Already shy and reserved when I entered high school, daydreaming and avoidance became my mode of survival. The next twelve years are a blur of depressive episodes, daily anxiety, panic attacks and numerous lost moments of smiles and laughter.
I am one of the lucky ones because of the support from my family, a stunningly wonderful woman who entered my life twenty-four years ago, and a voice inside that whispered, “Don’t quit”. Standing next to an escalator while I was working at Sears one evening, the smoke cleared for just a second. I realized that I had spent so many years blaming my lack of direction, purpose and attainment of goals on those goblins of the past. It was like a brick had hit me on the side of the head and I could think with clarity. My happiness and satisfaction in life was in my hands and not all those past and present around me.
In a rather amusing ironic twist, I returned to school to complete a master’s program in Education. For the last twenty years I’ve experienced the joys and challenges of being a science teacher, coach, athletic director, department chair, assistant principal and principal. My years of struggle have allowed me to recognize, empathize and then devise strategies to eliminate cultures of bullying.
Parents, please be aware of what is happening with your children at school. As difficult as it might be, ask lots of questions. Don’t be afraid to irritate your kids. They’ll eventually open up in some way and they will be eternally grateful that you were a pain in their side. Move that hood away from their face and look carefully into their eyes. If you see a curtain or silent anger, prod until you have an answer. If your child is being bullied end it now. Work with your children, the school counselors, teachers and administrators to assure that your son or daughter will leave school with memories of culture, academic rigor and the warmth of many smiles.
The daily routine from hell had begun. I glanced at the clock and prepared myself for another journey through panic, fear and anxiety. I’m not sure of the exact date or which class I was in. After so many months of pain and suffering, the process and the specific moment became unimportant. It was early March and I was up on the second floor, a good distance from my locker. I knew that I would have to think quick, move smart and keep my head down as usual.
I worked really hard, as I did every day, to look positive until we got through lunch. My smile had worked well that morning and my practiced masculine “How ya doing”? elicited three responses before lunch. After that, it was about preparation and survival. The last period of the day always dragged as my mind waffled between absorbing the teacher’s information and designing the strategic stealth plan.
In one swooping motion, the hands of the clock hit 2:20, the teacher’s voice trailed with assignment reminders as I rocketed from the chair. I hit the door quick beating out the majority of the freshmen and made a clean turn to the right dodging the onslaught of my 650 male compatriots. My eyes focused, the legs fired, and I cleared the stairs without a hint of stumbling. The lobby and main staircase at Bishop Guertin High School resounded with historical perspective, philosophy and the ornate points of view of the Catholic Church. There was no time to embrace these spectacles now as I darted down the stairs towards the locker room. My goal had to be achieved; getting to the bus before anyone else.
As I approached the bottom of the main staircase, I turned sharply to the left and faced the most challenging piece of my daily flight. Ahead lay the narrow, sharply descending stairs cluttered with bodies of numerous pubescent boys. Not all were faced with my dilemma. Many of the guys were relaxed, laughing and taking their sweet time rambling down the stairs. Today was more stagnant than normal from both a kinetic and aromatic perspective. I wanted to scream, “Get out of my way, let me breathe and allow me some peace”. Finally when it seemed like the bottleneck would not splinter, I spilled out onto the cafeteria canvas framed by khaki green cement blocks.
Seconds were cerebrally interpreted as minutes as I sprinted towards the left back corner of the café. Woven within the cement blocks, 700 lockers lay in waiting. In one deliberate motion, the right hand hit the combination lock as my left arm hurdled out of my tan corduroy sport coat. Three muscle memory turns, and the locker creaked open as my right arm cleared the confines of my coat. The nylon blue paisley tie, absurdly wide in width, was removed in a fraction of a moment and tossed on the hook. It shared time with the brown and yellow striper and the mega-sectional red, white and blue edition. I grabbed my so seventies winter jacket, brown with the fox fur collar, leather gloves and psychedelic stocking hat and booked it for the exit.
The intensity of attaining my immediate objective had to maintain balance with the long range goal of looking cool and calm at all times. I caught myself as I passed through the doors leading to the parking lot and shifted into a calculated and brutally contained cantor. I was struggling to breathe and could feel my heart pounding. Standing tall and gleaming brightly among the sedans, (SUV’s and minivans waited twenty years in the future) the yellow chariot called my name. Picking up speed, I galloped towards the bus and hit the stairs hard and fast.
I swept around the corner and slid heavily into the first seat on the right. Finally, I gave myself a chance to take a breath of air and experience a second of relaxation. Phase one of the afternoon obstacle course was complete. Several seconds passed before the next student jumped on the bus. This gave the bus driver, John, a moment to say hello. John always called me Big Bird because I had such a big nose. I know that his intension was not malicious but it hurt that the other kids addressed me that way. As the kids pushed and stumbled onto the bus, I prepared myself for the fifty minute phase two of the journey. The tension again built up in my shoulders and stomach as I placed myself in the position. It was a tremendous struggle every day to become invisible. As the bus began to traverse forward I opened my book, focused all cerebral neurons on my hearing, and deadened my eyes.
Every day in the morning and more so in the afternoon, I faced with dread the bus ride. I never knew if this would be the day where it would happen. What would happen, you might ask? Well, the possibilities included, being pulled to the back and getting beaten up, my books being started on fire, having cigarette ashes dumped on my head, being called every nasty name possible, and having my personal belongings stolen or destroyed. Therefore, you can see why every trip was a dangerous and panic laden trek for me. The answer precluded by the deadened eyes was daydreaming. I simply placed myself somewhere else where it was safe, peaceful and maybe even fun. On this day, my dream carried me to my dentist’s office. I was sitting in the chair enjoying a conversation with the dental hygienist, Doreen. Without question, I had a teen crush on her but the dream was tailored towards comfort, safety and acceptance.
It is difficult to describe the feelings I experienced as we traveled along our route from southern New Hampshire through several northeastern Massachusetts towns. At each stop another bully would prepare to exit. Maintaining my place in dream world, my breathing would come to a halt. As the antagonist meandered down the stairs, a sigh of relief would be accompanied by the thought that one less idea of torture existed on this particular ride. The return home was going as well as could be expected, until the rumbling began. I came out of my dream state when I heard the meshing of words that included “Big Bird”, “faggot”, “runt” and, “spit”. Eventually the words blended into the sentence, “Let’s spit on Big Bird when he gets off the bus”. Anxiety, anger, embarrassment, assessment and preparation all became entangled in my thought process. My stop was approaching and now it was clear what the plan was. There were ten kids still on the bus. Two were leading the charge, three others followed without blinking, two jumped aboard to protect their reputations and three sat and looked away. John, the bus driver heard everything and did nothing.
John enjoyed stopping the bus on a dime and we were jolted forward by the quick pump of the brakes. I grabbed my bag, barely able to breathe as I initiated my launch to safety. I figured that if I jumped from the bottom step of the bus I could take two quick leaps and be out of spittoon range. Unfortunately, it had been raining and the snow banks were slushy and soft. My first jump landed me in a foot of water causing me to slip and bend backwards. I pushed forward hoping to hit the top of the bank and roll to the other side. As I hit the crest of the bank, I could hear the interfacing of gears as the bus moved forward. I also heard the taunting and the laughing as the cruel action took place. When my foot impacted the wet snow, I sunk to my knee in slush. My momentum carried me over the wet mound of snow and I rolled into a bitterly cold puddle on the other side.
I stood, slowly, as my ears and nose still captured soft laughter and diesel fuel dancing on waves of sound and smell. I felt numb, not from the frigid environment but from the internal humiliation. I knew that I had been hit and I also knew there was nothing I could do about it. I checked and found that one lugee had caught me in the back and one was disgustingly seeping into the cotton fibers of my hat. Picking up my soaked school bag, I turned to walk home with a sad grin protruding from my face. I quickly headed into my house, dumped my wet clothes, went into my room, and traveled back to my safe haven. My day dream continued until mom and dad got home. Small talk ensued, but I expressed nothing to suggest that bullying was part of my daily life.
This painful scenario played itself out in the spring of 1974 at a private Catholic boys’ school in Nashua, New Hampshire. My parents probably had some idea that there were issues, but never caught wind of the intensity or the significance. For three years, from my first day through the end of my junior year, bullying was a silent blunt instrument that I endured. Already shy and reserved when I entered high school, daydreaming and avoidance became my mode of survival. The next twelve years are a blur of depressive episodes, daily anxiety, panic attacks and numerous lost moments of smiles and laughter.
I am one of the lucky ones because of the support from my family, a stunningly wonderful woman who entered my life twenty-four years ago, and a voice inside that whispered, “Don’t quit”. Standing next to an escalator while I was working at Sears one evening, the smoke cleared for just a second. I realized that I had spent so many years blaming my lack of direction, purpose and attainment of goals on those goblins of the past. It was like a brick had hit me on the side of the head and I could think with clarity. My happiness and satisfaction in life was in my hands and not all those past and present around me.
In a rather amusing ironic twist, I returned to school to complete a master’s program in Education. For the last twenty years I’ve experienced the joys and challenges of being a science teacher, coach, athletic director, department chair, assistant principal and principal. My years of struggle have allowed me to recognize, empathize and then devise strategies to eliminate cultures of bullying.
Parents, please be aware of what is happening with your children at school. As difficult as it might be, ask lots of questions. Don’t be afraid to irritate your kids. They’ll eventually open up in some way and they will be eternally grateful that you were a pain in their side. Move that hood away from their face and look carefully into their eyes. If you see a curtain or silent anger, prod until you have an answer. If your child is being bullied end it now. Work with your children, the school counselors, teachers and administrators to assure that your son or daughter will leave school with memories of culture, academic rigor and the warmth of many smiles.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Do your Homework, Be Prepared, and Study!
“Do your Homework, Be Prepared, and Study!”
Michael L. Sanz
Many of us have those few movies that we can just watch over and over. One of mine is “A Few Good Men” starring Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson. I am always mesmerized during the courtroom scene, when Cruise and Nicholson go at it. The classic exchange is when Nicholson’s character barks out, “You want answers?”, and the young attorney Cruise passionately responds with, “I want the truth!”
Here is a Truth: The Educational System in the United States benefits a few, burdens many and does an inadequate job preparing our children for the future. It is time that we face truth and come up with solutions. The greatest deterrent to this is fear of change.
I have come to the realization that “Fear” is really scary! Removal from our daily habits is extremely frightening. If I was told that I could no longer have my morning cup of coffee my fear of falling out of my routine would lead to me being too frightened to function…??? “Change” is the fabric woven into every significant event in the history of this world. Present any name in our past and there is a connection to change and fear. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Gandhi, Robert Oppenheimer (I wonder how many of our high school seniors know who he was.), Dr. Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy are just a few. These guys were very scary dudes. They had the courage to spark change despite the consequences of the resultant fear.
The following is a solution to enhance academic success, improved test scores, and higher graduation rates. These points lead to an environment of inviting culture, compassion, consistency and elevated community self-esteem.
The new catch phrase throughout the district should be, “Do you Homework, Be Prepared, and Study!”
The lobbies, offices and classrooms in every school in the district should clearly display the phrase, “Do your Homework, Be Prepared and Study!”
Wow! Think of how this radical change will evoke fear in the hearts and minds of so many students. Well, tough, it is direct, and it will work. So when a student approaches a teacher and says, “I don’t understand why I’m failing this class”, look them straight in the eye. Raise your hand and slowly open three fingers on your hand while saying, “Do your homework, be prepared and study”. When a parent comes in for a meeting with teachers they will ask questions. The most common is, “What can you do differently to help my child get better grades”. Every teacher in the meeting should address this the same way. “I will continue to facilitate the learning process for your child utilizing my skills and experience. Please instruct your child to do the following: “Do your homework, be prepared, and study”. Finally, when an administrator or guidance counselor meets with a teacher and says, “You need to make changes so that the students do better”. The teacher should say, “Absolutely, I’ll talk to them today and introduce my major expectation: Do your homework, be prepared, and Study!”
…Problem solved!
Michael L. Sanz
Many of us have those few movies that we can just watch over and over. One of mine is “A Few Good Men” starring Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson. I am always mesmerized during the courtroom scene, when Cruise and Nicholson go at it. The classic exchange is when Nicholson’s character barks out, “You want answers?”, and the young attorney Cruise passionately responds with, “I want the truth!”
Here is a Truth: The Educational System in the United States benefits a few, burdens many and does an inadequate job preparing our children for the future. It is time that we face truth and come up with solutions. The greatest deterrent to this is fear of change.
I have come to the realization that “Fear” is really scary! Removal from our daily habits is extremely frightening. If I was told that I could no longer have my morning cup of coffee my fear of falling out of my routine would lead to me being too frightened to function…??? “Change” is the fabric woven into every significant event in the history of this world. Present any name in our past and there is a connection to change and fear. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Gandhi, Robert Oppenheimer (I wonder how many of our high school seniors know who he was.), Dr. Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy are just a few. These guys were very scary dudes. They had the courage to spark change despite the consequences of the resultant fear.
The following is a solution to enhance academic success, improved test scores, and higher graduation rates. These points lead to an environment of inviting culture, compassion, consistency and elevated community self-esteem.
The new catch phrase throughout the district should be, “Do you Homework, Be Prepared, and Study!”
The lobbies, offices and classrooms in every school in the district should clearly display the phrase, “Do your Homework, Be Prepared and Study!”
Wow! Think of how this radical change will evoke fear in the hearts and minds of so many students. Well, tough, it is direct, and it will work. So when a student approaches a teacher and says, “I don’t understand why I’m failing this class”, look them straight in the eye. Raise your hand and slowly open three fingers on your hand while saying, “Do your homework, be prepared and study”. When a parent comes in for a meeting with teachers they will ask questions. The most common is, “What can you do differently to help my child get better grades”. Every teacher in the meeting should address this the same way. “I will continue to facilitate the learning process for your child utilizing my skills and experience. Please instruct your child to do the following: “Do your homework, be prepared, and study”. Finally, when an administrator or guidance counselor meets with a teacher and says, “You need to make changes so that the students do better”. The teacher should say, “Absolutely, I’ll talk to them today and introduce my major expectation: Do your homework, be prepared, and Study!”
…Problem solved!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Triad of Academic Success
Triad of Academic Success
I believe that every child can learn. I believe that every child can embrace the joy of feeling successful. I believe that the bar of academic rigor can be continually raised. However, for too many of our kids, these things do not happen. These children will not enjoy these benefits until a drastic overhaul occurs within our educational system.
First we have got to clear the air, get out of the box, start from scratch, reorganize the bus and incorporate every other clichĂ© that exists in society. All the guidelines that are in place as of today need to be shredded and cleared out. The philosophy of “politically correct” needs to fall off a cliff, lawyers need to go to hell, and parents need to start being parents through actions not just in name. The changes necessary to provide outstanding academic performance will take guts and courage.
The key to success involves the triad model. This is a dynamic triangular relationship existing between students, parents and the school. The only way that effective academic rigor can be implemented is if the links between the three points are tight and strong. The struggle exists where the weak link lies. The withering links develop because of chinks in the pillars. A tone of discipline, respect and courage must be designed and implemented by the parents from the day the child is born. From that very first moment the baby should be nurtured, held, comforted, read to, sung to, told right from wrong, given guidelines,reprimanded and praised. These primary interventions will support the triad when the child is five, thirteen, seventeen and beyond.
I believe that every child can learn. I believe that every child can embrace the joy of feeling successful. I believe that the bar of academic rigor can be continually raised. However, for too many of our kids, these things do not happen. These children will not enjoy these benefits until a drastic overhaul occurs within our educational system.
First we have got to clear the air, get out of the box, start from scratch, reorganize the bus and incorporate every other clichĂ© that exists in society. All the guidelines that are in place as of today need to be shredded and cleared out. The philosophy of “politically correct” needs to fall off a cliff, lawyers need to go to hell, and parents need to start being parents through actions not just in name. The changes necessary to provide outstanding academic performance will take guts and courage.
The key to success involves the triad model. This is a dynamic triangular relationship existing between students, parents and the school. The only way that effective academic rigor can be implemented is if the links between the three points are tight and strong. The struggle exists where the weak link lies. The withering links develop because of chinks in the pillars. A tone of discipline, respect and courage must be designed and implemented by the parents from the day the child is born. From that very first moment the baby should be nurtured, held, comforted, read to, sung to, told right from wrong, given guidelines,reprimanded and praised. These primary interventions will support the triad when the child is five, thirteen, seventeen and beyond.
Labels:
academic reform,
courage,
guts,
success,
triad
Three Pillars revisited
Three Pillars
It is time to stop. It is time to take action on a crucial issue that all of us know is in a critical state. We talk about it at cocktail parties, at coffee shops and at our kids’ ballgames. However, most people are afraid to openly discuss this issue because of concern for the security of their jobs. Educational leaders need to be willing to listen to ideas about academic rigor and success without creating an atmosphere placing an umbrella of distrust, angst and fear over the school district. Every mature, caring, consciences adult cares about the issue. We have talked, soap-boxed, and philosophized long enough. It is time to take action. The three foundational pillars of quality education have eroded and continue to fall apart at an appalling rate. The three pillars are Respect, Discipline, and Courage.
My goal is not to kick students out. My goal is to provide an environment that is safe and lends to an atmosphere of academic rigor. This rigor can only exist in a setting in which there is a foundation of Respect, Discipline, and Courage. We have a systemic problem. Unfortunately, we have allowed the crumbling of the pillars to continue to the point where academic rigor is not occurring in most classrooms in this country. Teachers are burning out at an alarming rate. Courageous administrators are becoming increasingly difficult to find and cultivate. Many parents are doing the right thing, but many are not doing their job; making tough decisions that are best for their kids. They are too busy, self-centered, and absurdly concerned about becoming buddies with their children. The long-term result is that you have parents that are neither solid parents nor friends. They provide their children with stuff but lack in provision of values.
What do we really expect from these kids? Values, ethics, morality, and community pride have been buried under the pounding competitiveness of mass media. All of us smile and share the quality memories of the Dick van Dyke show. However, we let our kids watch prime time shows like “Two and a half Men” where you can see sex, hear sex, and laugh about the promiscuous sexual values. We want our children to be honest, well-mannered, and profanity free. However, we allow our kids to watch reality shows laden with an inappropriate language that promote dishonesty, and unethical behavior. We talk about the community pride that existed in our neighborhoods during the day. However, we don’t bring ourselves or our children to church, attend their activities, interact with our neighbors, or support their tough teachers.
The school system of today designates a vast majority of its energy and resources towards testing, curriculum initiatives and data evaluation. Testing has gone totally off the deep end. Some schools test students almost 20% of the time they are in school. The reality is that incessant testing benefits only the superintendent that is applying for a new job and dresses up his/her resume with a 3% test score increase in their previous district.
We are bombarded with so many curriculum initiatives and the reality is that most never come to a point of fruition, most disperse when the superintendent moves on and they just sap the energy from quality teachers that already know what works. We know that real success will occur when the basics are woven together with the selected benefits of technology. However, district leaders are so consumed by advanced technology that they don’t realize that Johnny can’t do his multiplication table, can’t interpret a simple graph, can’t read the town newspaper and can’t write a sentence with clarity, free of grammar and spelling errors.
The morale in this school s in this district is awful. I’m so tired of listening to the company line, “It’s all about the kids”. The focus should be that “It’s all about the community”. A school district’s vision and mission should incorporate a framework of care and concern for the all the adults as well. I’ve been in education for 21 years and I do love working with the kids. However, unhealthy, overworked, stressed adults are not conducive to the provision of outstanding education. Take a moment to look around and listen. The faculty and staff are exhausted, probably half of them are on high blood pressure medication, and a good amount of them are on anti-depressants. Most of them are outstanding human beings filled with ideas, creativity and the drive to help students learn how to learn. However, they are beat, the energy has been zapped and the excitement has been terminated by the ridiculous burdens of new initiatives and the lack of support that they receive from administration.
“Respect” is a term saved for history class in most schools. Teachers are fed to the lions on a daily basis. I have observed so many classes where it takes several minutes to quiet students down and then the disruptions continue throughout the class time. Students interrupt, speak inappropriately and at inappropriate times, refuse to participate, and address the teacher and other students in a disrespectful manner. The result is 55 minutes of waste and the weakening of potentially strong minds. Their vast exposure to life’s hard and cold realities have numbed or nullified their feelings and emotions. They have seen the frailty of human integrity so often that they don’t expect it of themselves, their parents or anyone else of significance around them.
“Discipline” is the backbone of educational quality. Discipline involves hard work, focus, sweat and the engagement of brain cells. This happens in classrooms with greater infrequency on a daily basis. The reason is quite simple. Our culture has convinced students and parents alike, teachers need to make every day fun, to make sure every child feels great about themselves and that each child is in their comfort zone. What a bunch of baloney! We all know that accomplishment and growth cannot occur without some struggle, pain, discomfort and down in the dirt hard work. I remember a great line from the movie, “Lean on Me” spoken by Morgan Freeman playing the character of Principal Joe Clark. It went like this,” Discipline is not the enemy of enthusiasm”. I believe that every child desires and thrives for discipline and structure. It provides direction and purpose for these young adults.
“Courage” is another character trait losing its worth and significance. Our school leaders spend countless hours on policy. Then they proudly announce it to their community. They hire an energized, bright principal to enforce their policies. People fight back and challenge the policy. The principal does the courageous thing and stands firm on the issue. Then we see what happens oh so often. A board member or superintendent gets soft, bends and then the integrity and the purpose of the policy become lost in political and legal umbrage.
Discipline in our schools is not effective. The School Board has set and approved a Discipline Code and policies. The major priority of the assistant principals is to enforce those policies, with the principal in position to handle appeals, high level situations and PR. Discipline is not being effectively enforced in the schools. Let me give you an example. I was asked to supervise in the auditorium, cafĂ© and a classroom during testing last week. Here is what I experienced when I tried to do my job. Two older African American students laughed at me and two had this exchange; “Doesn’t the dood know I’m black? He doesn’t cuz he’s try to tell you what to do…Ha, Ha”. Another male, when asked to follow instructions, said to me, “F#@& you” and B$@* me”. A female student said to me, “Shut up” when I asked her to remain quiet during testing. I wrote up the boy who said “F#@& you” to me and the administrator did not suspend him. That is absolutely absurd. Any student that demonstrates that type of gross disrespect towards a staff member should be suspended without negotiation even if the student is related to a member of the School Board. Administrators must protect the staff from this type of harassment and behavior.
If a dress code is established, we need strong administrators that will be at the door every morning greeting every child with enthusiasm and vigor. No one should be allowed in that is not following directives. They should be sent home, parents called in with appropriate attire for the student and every electrical device, hat, etc. should be turned over at the door….No questions…no exceptions!!. Do that for about three weeks, take the hits from the parents, hold the course…and you will see a whole different place. If an irate parent goes to the superintendent, the principal should be supported without question. If that parent moves to the board, the superintendent should have the Board watching his/her back.
It takes “Courage and Guts” to really make things work. If we want our institution of learning to become a special place of accomplishment, lasting relationships and community spirit, then we have to make tough decisions. You can take all the data and throw it down the toilet. Forty years ago, our students were number one in the world in math and science. Now we can’t crack the top twenty. Forty years ago, the number one discipline issue was gum-chewing. Now it’s lack of “Respect” and “Discipline”, along with all the peripherals associated with those two points. If you truly desire accurate data, set a policy, enforce it and hold the line no matter how many rhetorical punches you have to absorb!
This all needs to be said. The time to change is today…. not tomorrow….not next fall. If you want “Rigor”, then the pillars of “Respect”, “Discipline” and “Courage must be rebuilt. If the foundation is strong, you will see test scores go up, the cultural atmosphere will blossom and students and staff will have fun and work hard with smiles on their faces. Otherwise, our present direction withers the potential of our students, suffocates the fire of idealism and burdens the shoulders of our community. Our driving goal should be that the warm, calm winds of academic rigor, community pride and ethical actions will permeate through the walls of all our schools.
Thanks,
Mike Sanz
It is time to stop. It is time to take action on a crucial issue that all of us know is in a critical state. We talk about it at cocktail parties, at coffee shops and at our kids’ ballgames. However, most people are afraid to openly discuss this issue because of concern for the security of their jobs. Educational leaders need to be willing to listen to ideas about academic rigor and success without creating an atmosphere placing an umbrella of distrust, angst and fear over the school district. Every mature, caring, consciences adult cares about the issue. We have talked, soap-boxed, and philosophized long enough. It is time to take action. The three foundational pillars of quality education have eroded and continue to fall apart at an appalling rate. The three pillars are Respect, Discipline, and Courage.
My goal is not to kick students out. My goal is to provide an environment that is safe and lends to an atmosphere of academic rigor. This rigor can only exist in a setting in which there is a foundation of Respect, Discipline, and Courage. We have a systemic problem. Unfortunately, we have allowed the crumbling of the pillars to continue to the point where academic rigor is not occurring in most classrooms in this country. Teachers are burning out at an alarming rate. Courageous administrators are becoming increasingly difficult to find and cultivate. Many parents are doing the right thing, but many are not doing their job; making tough decisions that are best for their kids. They are too busy, self-centered, and absurdly concerned about becoming buddies with their children. The long-term result is that you have parents that are neither solid parents nor friends. They provide their children with stuff but lack in provision of values.
What do we really expect from these kids? Values, ethics, morality, and community pride have been buried under the pounding competitiveness of mass media. All of us smile and share the quality memories of the Dick van Dyke show. However, we let our kids watch prime time shows like “Two and a half Men” where you can see sex, hear sex, and laugh about the promiscuous sexual values. We want our children to be honest, well-mannered, and profanity free. However, we allow our kids to watch reality shows laden with an inappropriate language that promote dishonesty, and unethical behavior. We talk about the community pride that existed in our neighborhoods during the day. However, we don’t bring ourselves or our children to church, attend their activities, interact with our neighbors, or support their tough teachers.
The school system of today designates a vast majority of its energy and resources towards testing, curriculum initiatives and data evaluation. Testing has gone totally off the deep end. Some schools test students almost 20% of the time they are in school. The reality is that incessant testing benefits only the superintendent that is applying for a new job and dresses up his/her resume with a 3% test score increase in their previous district.
We are bombarded with so many curriculum initiatives and the reality is that most never come to a point of fruition, most disperse when the superintendent moves on and they just sap the energy from quality teachers that already know what works. We know that real success will occur when the basics are woven together with the selected benefits of technology. However, district leaders are so consumed by advanced technology that they don’t realize that Johnny can’t do his multiplication table, can’t interpret a simple graph, can’t read the town newspaper and can’t write a sentence with clarity, free of grammar and spelling errors.
The morale in this school s in this district is awful. I’m so tired of listening to the company line, “It’s all about the kids”. The focus should be that “It’s all about the community”. A school district’s vision and mission should incorporate a framework of care and concern for the all the adults as well. I’ve been in education for 21 years and I do love working with the kids. However, unhealthy, overworked, stressed adults are not conducive to the provision of outstanding education. Take a moment to look around and listen. The faculty and staff are exhausted, probably half of them are on high blood pressure medication, and a good amount of them are on anti-depressants. Most of them are outstanding human beings filled with ideas, creativity and the drive to help students learn how to learn. However, they are beat, the energy has been zapped and the excitement has been terminated by the ridiculous burdens of new initiatives and the lack of support that they receive from administration.
“Respect” is a term saved for history class in most schools. Teachers are fed to the lions on a daily basis. I have observed so many classes where it takes several minutes to quiet students down and then the disruptions continue throughout the class time. Students interrupt, speak inappropriately and at inappropriate times, refuse to participate, and address the teacher and other students in a disrespectful manner. The result is 55 minutes of waste and the weakening of potentially strong minds. Their vast exposure to life’s hard and cold realities have numbed or nullified their feelings and emotions. They have seen the frailty of human integrity so often that they don’t expect it of themselves, their parents or anyone else of significance around them.
“Discipline” is the backbone of educational quality. Discipline involves hard work, focus, sweat and the engagement of brain cells. This happens in classrooms with greater infrequency on a daily basis. The reason is quite simple. Our culture has convinced students and parents alike, teachers need to make every day fun, to make sure every child feels great about themselves and that each child is in their comfort zone. What a bunch of baloney! We all know that accomplishment and growth cannot occur without some struggle, pain, discomfort and down in the dirt hard work. I remember a great line from the movie, “Lean on Me” spoken by Morgan Freeman playing the character of Principal Joe Clark. It went like this,” Discipline is not the enemy of enthusiasm”. I believe that every child desires and thrives for discipline and structure. It provides direction and purpose for these young adults.
“Courage” is another character trait losing its worth and significance. Our school leaders spend countless hours on policy. Then they proudly announce it to their community. They hire an energized, bright principal to enforce their policies. People fight back and challenge the policy. The principal does the courageous thing and stands firm on the issue. Then we see what happens oh so often. A board member or superintendent gets soft, bends and then the integrity and the purpose of the policy become lost in political and legal umbrage.
Discipline in our schools is not effective. The School Board has set and approved a Discipline Code and policies. The major priority of the assistant principals is to enforce those policies, with the principal in position to handle appeals, high level situations and PR. Discipline is not being effectively enforced in the schools. Let me give you an example. I was asked to supervise in the auditorium, cafĂ© and a classroom during testing last week. Here is what I experienced when I tried to do my job. Two older African American students laughed at me and two had this exchange; “Doesn’t the dood know I’m black? He doesn’t cuz he’s try to tell you what to do…Ha, Ha”. Another male, when asked to follow instructions, said to me, “F#@& you” and B$@* me”. A female student said to me, “Shut up” when I asked her to remain quiet during testing. I wrote up the boy who said “F#@& you” to me and the administrator did not suspend him. That is absolutely absurd. Any student that demonstrates that type of gross disrespect towards a staff member should be suspended without negotiation even if the student is related to a member of the School Board. Administrators must protect the staff from this type of harassment and behavior.
If a dress code is established, we need strong administrators that will be at the door every morning greeting every child with enthusiasm and vigor. No one should be allowed in that is not following directives. They should be sent home, parents called in with appropriate attire for the student and every electrical device, hat, etc. should be turned over at the door….No questions…no exceptions!!. Do that for about three weeks, take the hits from the parents, hold the course…and you will see a whole different place. If an irate parent goes to the superintendent, the principal should be supported without question. If that parent moves to the board, the superintendent should have the Board watching his/her back.
It takes “Courage and Guts” to really make things work. If we want our institution of learning to become a special place of accomplishment, lasting relationships and community spirit, then we have to make tough decisions. You can take all the data and throw it down the toilet. Forty years ago, our students were number one in the world in math and science. Now we can’t crack the top twenty. Forty years ago, the number one discipline issue was gum-chewing. Now it’s lack of “Respect” and “Discipline”, along with all the peripherals associated with those two points. If you truly desire accurate data, set a policy, enforce it and hold the line no matter how many rhetorical punches you have to absorb!
This all needs to be said. The time to change is today…. not tomorrow….not next fall. If you want “Rigor”, then the pillars of “Respect”, “Discipline” and “Courage must be rebuilt. If the foundation is strong, you will see test scores go up, the cultural atmosphere will blossom and students and staff will have fun and work hard with smiles on their faces. Otherwise, our present direction withers the potential of our students, suffocates the fire of idealism and burdens the shoulders of our community. Our driving goal should be that the warm, calm winds of academic rigor, community pride and ethical actions will permeate through the walls of all our schools.
Thanks,
Mike Sanz
Discipline that will work
Discipline will become the norm not the exception. Students will be on time in the morning and for every class. Students will take up the four minutes between the classes to get to class, utilize the rest room and get into their seats. They don’t need to talk to their friends, exchange hellos and greetings, and scurry to their locker. They need to plan ahead and prepare for the whole school day. There will be time for socializing before school, at lunch and after school gets out. Other than that it should be six hours of hard work, intellectual challenge, and critical skills development. They will engage their brain cells from bell to bell. Students will bring their tools of learning to class every day. No longer will well-planned lessons by teachers be tossed away because half the class doesn’t come prepared with pencil, paper, and books. I will not accept a statement from any parent or child that they can’t afford or have that paper or pencil when a cell phone or I-Pod is hanging out of the child’s pocket. Students should expect to be exhausted by 2:30 every day because of working brains not because of wasted hours of useless conversation, doodling or late night Face book chats with friends.
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