I'm No Musician

          I have two articulate, intelligent friends that I'll call John and Jane Doe. One day John told me that he and Jane agreed that public schools teach children how to be losers and failures, and in general make kids feel bad about themselves.  I was flabbergasted because, as John knows, I'm a public school teacher.

          "It's interesting that you and Jane have that opinion when neither one of you have experience in education," I said.

          "What are you talking about?" John was incredulous.  "Both of us attended public schools."

          And I love listening to the cello.

          People who have attended public schools have opinions based on their experiences as students.  They may have positive and negative memories of good and bad teachers.  Those opinions are important and should be part of a discussion on how to improve our public schools.  But changes in the schools shouldn't be based on the opinions of people who have no background in education and no experience in teaching.  Changes should be based on input from teachers themselves, and based on solid research.

          Interestingly, John has told me on other occasions that he couldn't do what I do; that he doesn't know how I do it.  Apparently he does know that I'm doing it all wrong.  To be fair, when I told John that I didn't realize he thought I was producing losers and failures each year, he said I'd misunderstood him.  Hmm.  By the way, John and Jane would describe their own public school experiences as positive, and each has a pretty healthy dose of self esteem.  I'm sure neither one of them would describe themselves as losers. 

Iron Lady

My parents separated and divorced when I was about ten years old.  At first, Daddy visited us on our birthdays and Christmas and we spent weekends at his place at the beach.  But slowly the phone calls and visits decreased, and by the time I was around fifteen years old, he had disappeared.

Mom was left to raise us four kids.  She struggled to make ends meet and I imagine it was exhausting to do everything by herself.  I raised four kids too but I had a husband who helped me.  I don't know how Mom managed, but day after day with no one to help her, she did.

When I was 21 years old I heard that my father had had a stroke.  I traveled south to the hospital and twice went to see him.  I don't remember what we talked about and the visits were short.  But I do remember that I told him I loved him, which wasn't something I said very often.  And he said, "Me too, Bug."  That was the last time I saw my father; he died a few days later.

I'm glad I got the chance to tell my father that I loved him because I did love him.  But it wasn't until I was married and had my own children that I fully understood what a lousy thing he did, abandoning his four kids after the divorce.  I forgive him and I still love him, but he wasn't a very good father.

On the other hand, Mom, who is 88 years old now, is still there for me.  Even though we may get impatient with each other, or hurt each other's feelings, or I might not make the choices she thinks I should make, I know she still loves me.  I know that if I need anything at all I can call her and she will help me.  Her strength has been a safety net for me all of my life.  Thanks, Mom.  I love you.