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The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down

If we really want to honor Southern heritage today, more of us should heed the words of the most famous of all Confederate heroes, Robert E. Lee, who in his great wisdom argued against Civil War monuments, saying that these “kept open the sores of war.”

My journey to greater understanding began many years ago in Louisiana when this now old Yankee married a charming daughter of the Confederacy. She is a big part of the reason I fell in love with the South and remain enchanted with much of its culture. Embracing my new life, I mounted a large Confederate battle flag in our living room. I thought it looked cool and was a lot cheaper than other art we couldn’t afford. Continue reading “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down”

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Another Classroom “Monster”

Leroy crashed into my world with deliberate, disturbing intent during the middle of class three weeks after school started in my first year of Texas teaching. My 28 charges were deeply enthralled with CLA III, a low level English program supposedly designed for students not having the ability to master more rigorous subject matter. CLA stood for Correlated Language Arts, but teachers’ lounge interpreters informed me CLA really meant “Can’t Learn Anything.” I soon began calling CLA III “Combat English,” and think it’s a pretty accurate description of the job, if not the curriculum.

After a most belligerent charge, Leroy hovered over my desk like a bear sizing up his next meal. He then proudly announced his extended absences were battle casualties requiring recuperation from six different stab wounds suffered in a gang fight. He tossed a hospital-issued absence excuse in my direction to prove his injuries, and I never questioned the gang part. I already entertained elements of two opposing gangs, one African-American, the other Hispanic, and the additional reinforcement on the African-American team could not have been more unwelcome as the current roster was potent enough. Continue reading “Another Classroom “Monster””

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Charter Schools

I’d like to put a personal face on charter schools from the perspective of a retired public school teacher. I often felt like America wrongly blamed teachers for a slogging war on ignorance much like it unfairly blamed returning Vietnam War soldiers for losing an unwinnable war. The popular insinuation for many today is that teachers have somehow failed our country and the remedy is to bring in the mercenaries, private charter schools, to fight the education war the right way. To anyone who has ever been on the front lines in the war on poverty, the notion is ludicrous, and I’ve taken some solace in my retirement in thoughts that, eventually, just as we did with Vietnam, most Americans will come to the realization a lot of good people were mistreated by the country at large and will some day come to see the light of reason, painful as it may be.

I will have much to share about the “education reform” movement and people like Betsy DeVos as I weave my tapestry, but let’s take a brief look now at the general charter school concept.     Continue reading “Charter Schools”

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Mission Impossible

A master cookie thief, provocateur, trespasser and weird noisemaker of the highest order, JJ won my heart as he destroyed any semblance of serenity. The diminutive rascal toddled more than he walked, often rushing about like a blind man with his pants on fire: arms extend, balance tentative, direction erratic, but still demonstrating abundant enthusiasm that generally made me smile no matter what JJ did, which often involved getting into some sort of trouble. I was tasked to change his life, but don’t believe I did much except to inject a little light into the deep darkness of poverty.

JJ careened like a pinball off of furniture and other kids who rarely became upset as they would if some other kid invaded their space. It seemed everyone understood JJ required a different set of rules. Shorter than a yardstick, he often lived in his own tiny world, almost a cartoon character in behavior but very real all the same. However, JJ’s actual future in a less than hospitable larger world was more than slightly clouded, my responsibility established to improve daunting odds owing to JJ’s disability and misfortune. The brutal reality is that the little black five-year-old born prematurely with obvious disabilities would face many challenges. I tried to make his future a little brighter, but often felt and still feel I hadn’t the time, talent or resources to pull off any major transformation and could only make JJ’s days with me a little better. Continue reading “Mission Impossible”