Canaries in the Classroom

I watched Bella as she sat quietly at her desk, looking at nothing I could perceive. She had done nothing in my class during the first quarter. I knew it was not just my History class, she was like this in all of her classes. It was almost time for report cards and I was discouraged that nothing I said, nothing I did could penetrate the armor she put on each morning before she came to school. I thought I would try another tact, “Bella, what are your parents going to say when you come home with all Fs on your report card?”

She looked at me in a way that spoke to her lack of emotion and replied, “They can make me go to school, but they can’t make me learn anything, can they?”

In my 31 years of teaching I encountered many Bellas, children traumatized by going to school. I did not love going to school, the same with many of my friends. However, I was not traumatized by the experience in the way that Bella was. Why do children choose to follow a gang leader rather than a teacher. What are schools doing that make them such a terrible place for some of the children in America?  

Perhaps a clue lies with another problem I had as a teacher. I taught U.S. and World History to 15-18 year old high school students. Part of my class included testing. Those terrible evaluations that teachers use to prove how little their students learned over a period of time.  I always included some type of question that required a written response. I was always amazed at the number of students who did not even attempt to answer reply to those questions. It was usually the same student who did not participate in class discussions nor particularly care what grade they received. It was the same symptom Bella displayed.

It is important to understand that not all students shut down like Bella, but I believe most students feel this way, even many who thrive at school.  Students like Bella are sending a powerful message to all of us. Something is not right in our education system and they are the first to let us know.  

So, what do we do, we label them, put them in special programs, take away privileges, demean, tutor, and provide all manner of treatment that seems to cause the disease of hating school to spread. It is a virus that has gone viral in our schools. Today we are holding the entire education system hostage until these students perform at 100%.

It seems that society has turned against it’s young, demanding that they be ready to solve the problems we have caused. Somehow our method of making this happens seems convoluted.  We continue to do more of the same, pouring knowledge into the brains of our poor canaries expecting them to sing upon demand, and sing better than all the other canaries. We place them under great stress by expecting everyone to perform in the same way.

In one respect Bella was wrong. She didn’t realize she couldn’t not learn.  

RIP

The heart is where compassion lives.

Without a heart others do not matter.

The heart of a country defines it’s people.

Who will we be after they finish

Ripping out our core?

The Love Fest

Un is very talented,

Intelligent too

What does it matter 

A murder or Two?

Adulation a must or

prison with others

not pc enough

to maintain

a happy God.

What choice do 

His people have?

That is why they

Love him just like

Our president.

Blooper Check

"That ain’t shit',"

Said the young soldier

At the theatre,

In the rear, waiting

For the flic to start.

I was behind him,

watched him arrive.

He and his partner

Had mud on their boots,

No twinkle in their eyes,

They met two others

Who just like them 

appeared to be taking 

a break from  the war.

The four of them

Were talking about

The week before

When a platoon

Just like theirs 

Massacred people

At the vill of My lai 

“Me and my man,"

He explained nodding 

At the soldier next to him,

"We got a new blooper

That had to be checked out.

There in a paddy

Not too far away

Was a Mamasan

And her kid with their

Buffalo planting some

Rice in the mud of a 

Field not far from their vill

We dropped in a grenade

pointed it at them,

Pulled the trigger and

Blew them away, the

Blooper checked out

just fine." He finished

With a grin

What the fuck I thought

To myself, But just then

the music began to play.

As we all stood for the 

national hymn and then

We all calmly watched

An adventure unfold

Before our very own eyes.

They are coming to kill us all

There has been a revolution,

The land of the free and

Home of the brave has 

Been taken hostage

By innumerate ignoramuses

Fearful of Ebola from Africa 

And terrorists from the Middle East

And children from Central America

They do not seem to fear 

Death from a gun

Bought closer to home
Home grown terrorists

Or the sickening rate of 

Carnage on the highway

Because others are coming

To take us away ha ha!

Chasing rainbows

Angel's rainbow is a rabbit 

Rapidly running away

She has never caught one

But, she always chases them

My rainbow is a contented life

I am always trying to find it

Although it is elusive

I am always looking.

The purpose of our lives 

Seem to be the same,

Chasing the dream

Is the important thing.

Once our goal is reached

I wonder what we'll do

will we sit on the rainbow

or find another dream or two?

Looking for the Kahn Kahlili

“ Hello my friends, Welcome to Cairo!” The smiling man said as he peered at us from the doorway of the store where we were window shopping.  

“Hello my friend.”  I replied looking up from the display of souvenirs for tourists in the window of his shop.  

“Come in, come in, there are many things for you to look at many fine souvenirs to take back when you go home.”  He said in accented English.  He stepped onto the sidewalk and gestured for us to enter his store.

“No thanks, We are just looking, we actually live here in Cairo, really in Heliopolis, and we are out on a walk, we’re on our way to the Khan al Khalili.” 

“I have many fine items in my shop, just like you will find in the Khan.  Come in, you needn’t buy anything, we are all friends.  Are you an American?”  he smiled at me under his thick mustache. 

“Yes, I’m an American, so is my wife.  We have been living here for about a year already, we are teachers at the American School of  Cairo, and we love walking around your city.”  I remarked trying to move away from the store and get back to our walk.

The store owner stepped further away from the doorway, he was dressed neatly in a starched white shirt, creased black trousers and shiny leather shoes.   

“Where are you from in America, I have a cousin in Detroit.  Do you know Detroit?”

“No, we’re from Albuquerque, New Mexico and have never been to Detroit.” I replied.

“You are from Mexico, not America?  The store keeper looked puzzled.

“No, no, we are Americans, you know, we live close to Texas.” I said as I took LaWanda’s arm ready to step out on the sidewalk and take off.

“Ah, Texas, please enter my shop and let us share a cup of tea, we will talk, you don’t have to buy anything just look.”  His enticement punctuated by a bow, a gesture to enter his store and a slight movement to block our passage.

“Alright, just a cup of tea and we will talk.” I said worn down by his persistence.  

We entered the shop passing between shelves loaded with souvenirs as he led us to a small sitting area with a coffee table, two chairs, and a small couch that all looked as if they had been plucked from Louis XIVth’s palace.  We sat down and a young woman wearing a black head scarf and a full length black dress covering her body from neck to foot entered, her exposed face expressionless.  She set our tea on the table in front of the couch and withdrew. 

“Many Americans have been here, many famous people.  Let me show you.”  He opened a book on the coffee table and there were pictures of famous people, I even recognized a few.  “Let me show you a some nice things.”  He quickly stood up scurried to the surrounding shelves and picked up a small ceramic statue. 

“Here is something many Americans like, it is the Sphinx, better than you will find at the Kahn al Kahlili.” he said pushing the statue toward LaWanda.  

“No thank you!” she told him refusing to hold the Sphinx, “We are not interested in buying AnyThing!  We want to walk around and find the Khan Khalili!”  

It was as if she had told him to go to hell.  He straightened up, his eyes narrowed and holding the statue, he gesticulated emphasizing his displeasure while he spoke.   “Why you don’t buy anything, it is good merchandise, help Egypt, help me, buy from my shop!”   

He said something in Arabic and the woman reappeared, picked up our unfinished tea and retreated to the rear of the store.  The owner turned his back on us and went back to the doorway ready to cast his line again leaving us sitting all alone on the uncomfortable French furniture.

“Well,” I said, “that sure pissed him off.”  We smiled at each other, got up, walked past him in his doorway, and continued walking toward the Khan Kahlili.