Thanksgiving 2011

The post-turkey sewing circle.

Some Children Left Behind

The fundamental reason Yours Truly can not accept the Charter School rational is that Charter Schools, although funded by tax money, are fundamentally not public schools. The bedrock principal of public schools, and the main reason why I choose to remain employed in the public schools, is that they accept any student that crosses their threshold; by law, mandate, and volition. Charter Schools have not, cannot, and will not answer the key symptom of our educational crisis: how to educate our most difficult and expensive to service. Where there is not direct profit, charters will not go. I embrace the free market mentality in the market place. The free market does not address the common good. We do.

Exhibit 2,345,382:

Test Result: No School for Student with Asperger Syndrome

The emperor is butt-naked,

Profesor Suave

La Changa

Li'l Pepinita and the Author  2003

Swimming with my little girl in Lake Michigan is one of a billion great memories I have of being a daddy. Now I serve more as  an ATM  and taxi; back then I was all jungle gym. Li'l Pepinita crawled on me like a monkey no matter if I was playing or if I was trying to do chores.  I remember counting on her to join me when I putzed around the house - she loved to watch and ask all the questions that came to mind.
Still, there are those afternoons when she wants to throw the football around; or when you absently grabs for my hand when we walk the dog, are when she snuggles into me as we sit in church.
I'll take what I can get and count myself the luckiest daddy in the world.
Papi contento,
Peps

Don Fabio

Above is a picture of Don Fabio. I found him working his conuco one morning in late July. We were playing ball with his grandkids and several other villagers on the other side of barb wire fence while he picked at weeds, and chopped branches with his machete. The utility of a dominican man's machete would put an average North American man's tool bench to shame. As we played beisbol, Don Fabio put in a full morning's labor with one hand and a machete, only stopping to ask if his grandchildren were behaving, and offering them a quick blessing.
Below is a picture of Rodrigo catching a mid-day Atlantic breeze from his porch. I shuffled by his house on my way to see the cliffs of Cabrera that look over the Atlantic Ocean. As you can see from the picture, his shaded patio is just yards from the cliffside. As any warm-blooded dominican would do, he invited me to sit with him and charlar un poco. He told me about his career as a resort waiter, the few jobs he maintains as a retiree, and the good fortune he feels he has won by having a healthy family, and a humble home near the sea. Beyond Rodrigo is the scooter he uses to taxi people throughout Cabrera, often serving as a messenger service, as well.

Cogiendolo suave,
P. Suave

Gibby

Each morning, after walking and feeding the mut, I sit down to a bowl of oatmeal and watch Morning Joe. Today, a clip that Willy showed really struck me. It was a shot of Kirk Gibson, former Detroit Tiger god, and presently manager of the Arizona Diamondbacks, walking out to dispute a call with the umpire. My picture of Gibson is always of a long haired stallion; a hard nosed slugger who could out run a horse. Unbridled passion. Vigor. Perpetual youth. To use an overused cliche, he always leaves it all on the field.

It was hard marrying that picture with the older gentleman limping stiff-legged onto and off the field. It hurt to watch the aging hero. I sensed my mortality, and rubbed my sore knee.

Lastimado,

P. Suave

El Viejo Cojo

Hay Pero Que Calor

Dear Readers,

Pepinoville received its first hot spell today - a high of 70- plus degrees. I pulled my shorts from the back of the closet, and bared my stilts to the world. The afternoon was spent out back putzing around with La Hija de Pastora, and my ladies. And the dog.

Now it is time to get back to school...

Sudando,

Peps

Estacionamento

There is no such thing as an extra-wide drive way, nor a two-car driveway. Just a driveway. You see, a driveway is like Chinese food; no matter how big the order, you still could eat more. My dear child bride and I have had a two-plus car driveway, a one-car driveway, and our present two car driveway. We drive compact cars. Still, we run out of room. You have a good twenty feed of smooth, dry cement, and then that sloppy strip of mud and gnarly grass chewed up by a compact car driven by a spatially impaired chofer. For this driver, the concrete slab is just a suggestion, a general target, a place to set a few of the vehicle's tires when parked.

Desaquilibrado,

P. Suave

1984

We moved last fall. La Casa Pepino sold quickly and cheaply mid-summer, and we moved to Hogar Pepino just before the school doors open. It is an 80 year old house, tastefully updated over the years, and offers plenty of room for family and the accompaning livestock (Angel gets the upstairs, Luna downstairs and a portion of the backyard for her thing).

It being spring break and all, I aim to tear through the basement and garage. School and cold began before I could fully unpack and organize these last two portions of the estate. This morning I was pulling apart some anceint shelving in the basement. I grabbed some old newspaper lining the top shelf and read the dateline: August 12, 1984. It was on the masthead for a page of advertising ("Meijer Thrifty Acre 50th Anniversary"). As I continued busting up boards and prying nails, I reminisced about that period in my life. Here is what I remember about the year 1984:

1. I was a sophmore at college with an undeclared major and mounting student debt.

2. I worked summers in the maintainance department at an apartment complex, and midnights as a security guard during the school year.

3. The Detroit Tiger won the World Series against the San Diego Padres. Joe, Pete, and I watched the post-series celebration/inferno from the rooftop of the apartment complex on Jefferson avenue.

4. I rented a $200 a month upper flat in Hamtramck and drove a 76' Malibu (silver/red cloth interior).

5. One semester of full-time tuition at the University of Detroit was roughly $1,500

6. "Owner of a Lonely Heart" Yes

7. "Dancing in the Dark" Bruce Springsteen

8. "Jump" Van Halen

9. The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

10. Miami Vice

11. Hair, hair brush, and shampoo

Mucha nostalgia,

Peps

El Maestro Vergonzado

I bring shame to my name. While others have worked an entire calendar year, year after year, I sop up gobs of vacation time around holidays and summertime. While the Average Joe could lose his employment at whim, apparently it is harder to can me than it is to grow grass in a desert. I receive guaranteed pay raises, no matter if I produce or not, and I get free donuts each time one of my clients has a birthday. Although I have enough college credit to fulfill two PhD programs, I am an expert at zilch. Although both my customers and supervisors would rather have their jobs than mine, they offer unsolicited advice about how I could do mine better, cheaper, and longer. By virtue of my certification and academic major I am an underachiever, suspect of laziness, pedophilia, and ignorance. Were I to debate the above, add whining, too.

Here's the rub: I don't care. Sure, it is annoying and disheartening when the bashing hits a critical mass; when one cannot open a newspaper, scan the Internet, talk to a friend or relative, or overhear a restaurant conversation without absorbing the mass critique of the job (I would hazard to call it "the profession", only to illicit a smirk from Average Joe). I don't care. If I were to leave it behind tomorrow, I know I would miss it. Not miss it nostalgically, but miss it like an amputee misses an arm or a leg. The zillion irritating, mind-numbingly stupid, ourtrageously incompetent things that happen weekly on the job are only bearable because I know I'd miss it. I'd miss the potential of proving Average Joe wrong, whether he ever knows it or not. I'd miss the potential of actually teaching something, which has the same odds as a batter actually hitting a ball - only to leave me feeling most days like I've struck out. I'd miss a captive audience of people at their most precious stage of life - well before they become Average Joes. I'd miss the euphoria of walking the line between having the power to make or break a person's day, while at the same time having no real power at all. I'd miss the perverse daily dichotomy of the huge responsibility I have without any accompanying authority whatsoever.

I should be ashamed.

Con orgullo,

Profesor P. Suave

The Good Rabbi

The Good Rabbi

And it so happened that a tenured teacher approached the conference leader who was speaking to members in the crowd and asked, "Good Rabbi, what must I do in order to teach and be heard and even appreciated like you are?"
"Why do you call me good?" The Rabbi replied. "For it has been said that no one is good but God alone."
After a brief pause, the Rabbi cleared his voice and continued his response,
"You already have The Standards which are spelled out clearly by the County on tablets for you to follow: design interesting, challenging, understandable lessons, have measurable and attainable goals, and forget not to post your teaching objectives clearly in the sand."
The Good Sheppard went on to say,
"Create meaningful assessments and remember always that results reflect as much on you as teacher as they do about even the slowest of `special needs' sheep. Grade them carefully, looking for gaps in their understanding. Don't forget to return graded work promptly, while students still remember and recognize it as their own. Use the feedback to re-teach that which is necessary - although, if they didn't learn it, you didn't really teach it the first time, did you? So try again, coming from a different angle, involving all of their senses and learning styles, until even the `least of these' has that special sparkle in their eyes along with a wide grin of recognition that goes along with that `lit oil lamp moment' and perhaps even a shy look of appreciation on his face. This will be your clue that it is time to press on, traveling cautiously down the sandy and slippery slope ahead,"
The persistent, "all-knowing" teacher replied, "But what if they are too slow? Tending sheep can be frustrating, you know. There is always at least one who gets caught up in the thorny brambles along the way. Should I hold up the entire flock to wake up the one who did not sleep well last night and cannot see straight this morning? He was probably just playing and getting into mischief of one kind or another. Who knows? Maybe he was grazing on alfalfa sprouts or something."
The kind and patient Rabbi kindly replied, "Don't you remember the parable about the shepherd who left his entire flock in order to go look for the one who had strayed off path.?"
Oh yeah, those silly stories. I always remember them," the teacher reminisced. "I remember the songs, the chants, the rhythms and raps… They're hard to get out of my head!"
The Rabbi continued undeterred by the teacher's stubborn demeanor, and continued lovingly trying to teach. "Be proficient in your teaching in order to be worthy of expecting proficiency in return. For what you do unto the least of these is as if you had done it unto me." The teacher beamed and replied confidently, "I have done these things since my first day of teaching. Some sheep just don't seem to want to progress!"
The Rabbi shook his head sadly, and eyeing the teacher with dark, loving eyes, replied, "There is one thing further you must do."
"What is that?" he asked excitedly, hoping to finally hear the true secret to success,
The Rabbi looked deeply into his bright and beautiful hazel eyes and responded,
"Take the student who is most annoying and troublesome to you and treat him as you would your only son."
The teacher walked away sadly, for he was a busy man.

(Adapted by Laura Lytle, March 14, 2011)