A Fable for the Next Seventeen Years

In times of old, a man who had spent his life as a store clerk ran upon hard times and was compelled to leave his chosen field and provide for himself and his family as a farmer.  He had to work the land with oxen, secured within a shared yoke.  One of the oxen had many years of experience at the plow, and worked hard, even in his advancing years.  He did his best to help the master, knowing that he would be loved and cared for by him.  

There was much work to be done, so the master matched the older ox with a younger, much stronger ox, but one with little experience. The younger ox enjoyed the attention of the master but did not understand the principal of cooperation.  He seemed willing to do the work but was not accustomed to sharing a yoke with another ox, in particular, one that was old, had a different view of things, and who has lost some of his youthful vigor. And the older ox had never before worked with an ox so inexperienced and aggressive.

As they started to work, each had their own ideas of what was best. Both were convinced the other was wrong at times. The younger ox, out of frustration would pull too fast, or jerk sideways, causing pain to their shoulders and necks. The older ox would at times have to jerk and pull with all his might, and strain to keep the younger one from doing harm to the plow, the master and even himself. The elder wished the younger would disappear.  The job would be done more easily alone.  The younger ox wished the same, but they both loved the master, and he loved them both.

Each ox, headstrong and convinced of his own truth, was not inclined to give control over to the other.  Moments of cooperation and consideration were fleeting.  Mostly, one tugged against the other and, in worst cases, even kicked one another. The master had to have noticed their conflict but, being new to farming himself, assumed it was the price he had to pay.  In their hearts, the oxen knew they could do better, in service to their master, but their pride kept them at odds.

The elder faced the same dilemma with the dawn of each day. He was convinced the younger ox was unwilling to cooperate, but only wanted to do things his way and only wanted complete control. The elder felt responsible for protecting the master from the younger ox’s mistaken ways.

The master, in whose service the oxen toil, is my grandson Sean. Obviously, I am the old ox. Thy young ox is Sean’s father and is used to getting his way through force or intimidation if need be. We, along with Hannah share a common yoke to do what is best for Sean.  

I am between a rock and a hard place. Realistically, I acknowledge that I have no real authority or control over others. I am not the parent. I am not my brother’s keeper. I am instructed to love my neighbor as myself. I must find a way to protect my loved ones from harm.  In my mind,  ask why me? What lessons am I to learn, and even being prepared for?  I’m not one who easily gives up control to a higher power, unless I have no other choice. I encourage myself and my daughter, we will get through this, it will all be for the best, there are lessons to be learned, and justice will prevail, if not in this world, then the next.  Please let there be Karma.

What would Jesus do? What would Gandhi do? What would Martin Luther King do? What would you do?  What have you done when tethered to someone longer than you felt you could bear?

My sister provides this advice.  Repeat as often as possible “Bless him, heal me.” Until I get something more concrete, it will have to suffice. 

A little Wisdom from all these years

Most of my friends are now my age or older.    After all these years of experience, don’t you want to share your wisdom with others?  Like your kids, or grandchildren?  Do they listen?

Yeah, mine didn’t either.

But I have hope…and a captive audience.  I’m a middle school teacher so I have about 200 kids I can give advice too…if I thought they would listen.

I get to see my students a couple of days a week for two or three years.  Some I relate to more than others, especially the ones that are shy.  I don’t just mean a little withdrawn.  I’m talking about the ones that are uncomfortable in their own skin. The ones that turn beet red when called on to answer a question.  The ones that get sick to their stomach on days they have to get up in front of the class to give a presentation.  At dances, if they go at all, they stand on the side of the room watching others have fun.    

Can you relate to those kids?  I can because I was one of those kids. 

In high school, I was so shy, I had few friends and spent way too much time alone. I was pretty miserable.  I didn’t even want to hang out with myself.  As a result, I struggled with depression, and at times even questioned if it was worth living. 

Shyness resides in a person that isn’t sure of himself.  He asks the question “Am I good enough, smart enough, good looking enough, funny enough…anything enough”.  If the answer is “I don’t know”, then fear and uncertainty set in.  What will others think of me?  Will others will see my weaknesses and reject me, tease me, harass me, abuse me or worst of all, ignore me. 

 Most people that know me now can’t believe I was a wall flower.  Unlike before, I now have friends, a solid connection with a community and work.  I feel appreciated, respected, liked by many and even loved by some.  Believe me, I like this a whole lot better.

 I guess if a student asks how to deal with it.  I’ll tell them what I did.

I noticed everybody else seemed to have friends and have fun.  I wanted what they had.  I decided if Life could be enjoyable for others, than it should be for me too.  I consulted many how-to books on the subject and discovered the source of my misery… my thoughts and beliefs.  It was time for a change.

I read that there is a reason for everything.  Instead of seeing my shyness as a curse, I decided to see it as a gift and a learning opportunity.     

I had to change myself concept.     Through affirmations and self talk, I started to tell myself “I am a good human being.”  Or “I’m a good friend.” Or “people like me”.   I tried to convince myself that maybe I had something worthwhile to share.

I also decided to quit relying on my feelings to make decisions. Feelings are not a reliable guide for making choices.  Instead, I tried to base my behavior on what was  rational or seemed to be what an outgoing person would do.  As a result, I learned to start conversations even though I was nervous.  I went to social events, often times alone, like contra dances or church, and found that eventually, I made friends there.  This feels pretty risky at times.  I found however that it got easier. 

Being friendly has gotten easier with time.  It’s like that old line “Success breeds success. “  Most conversations I initiate end up pleasant, some very entertaining, and a few, boring.  But rarely painful.  I have found that being willing to initiate a conversation results in sharing of new ideas, networking possibilities, and occasionally friendships take hold. 

  Most of the apprehension has disappeared for now.  I have had so many positive experiences that reinforce me for  being  assertive. 

I know better than to think I can give unsolicited advice to my students and expect them to listen.  But in the event, that one of them asks for help how to overcome shyness,  I’ll say something like:

·       Evaluate your outlook on  yourself, and the world.  Change it if need be.

·       Convince yourself you deserve to be happy.

·       Read a few books

·       B e bold

·       Take reasonable risks.   

·       Remind yourself that. 

·       Change and growth require risk and effort.

·       Persevere.  It won’t happen overnight but I can promise you this.  The world can be a pretty friendly place, full of opportunity, kindness, friends, and yes, even love when you learn to reach out.

Obits. Don’t Believe Everything You Read

I know just a little bit about obituaries.  I don’t read them often but I’ve read my mom’s, and my dad’s.  I have a brother who is a freelance writer and collects a crisp $100 bill for the obits he writes.  Recently, a friend emailed me a link to a former landlord’s obituary.  Her obituary makes for interesting reading, not because of what it said but what could be read between the lines.    

It was beautifully written. Judy, (not her real name),  had lots and lots of money, and made donations to her favorite causes.  She donated many millions to her favorite college.  She supported the arts in the two cities she lived in.

She also made it a point to make sure that she was recognized for her donations.  She was listed first as the primary sponsor of this or that.    She had front row seats for all the concerts she sponsored and was acknowledge both in print and verbally by the master of ceremonies, and she proudly stood and waved.  In other words, if Judy gave money to a charity, it was big enough to warrant lots of attention.  You can find her name on several buildings at her favorite college.  Anonymous was not part of her generosity. 

I found the quotes from her family interesting not for what they said but for what they didn’t say.  She was referred to as “tough as nails”, and “someone you didn’t say no to”. 

What was missing however was heartfelt love and joy for knowing her.  I didn’t read anything about how kind and sweet she was.  And for good reason. 

She made her money as a result of her husband’s good investments in ownership of dog track and gambling casinos.  He died fairly young and Judy never remarried.   But she managed her inherited empire with an iron fist. 

I was a house sitter for Judy.  For three years, I lived in the small servant’s quarters and made sure the $3million home above me was safe from fire and weather damages.  Here is what I learned living there.  She was cheap.  So cheap that she cheated her employees and the government of social security payments and employment taxes. 

How do I know?  I became friends with her maid, Maxine who worked for her for over 25 years when I had met her.  She was on call 24/7, rarely ever got a raise, and was only making about $10/hour…cash and no benefits. 

I  showed my friend Maxine how little she would make from social security as a result of Judy’s selfishness.  Maxine was not alone either.  There were about nine others in the same situation. 

Maxine soon insisted on payment in check and contributions to social security.  My only regret is that I did not report Judy to the authorities for tax evasion and social security fraud.  I was afraid she would assume that Pauline spilled the beans and retaliate.

Even from downstairs, I could hear Judy screaming obscenities towards her children on the phone.  She belittled others who wouldn’t give her exactly what she wanted. 

One day, she introduced me to a group of her well heeled friends as her “boy”.  I told her later, next time, I would counter that she was “my girl.”   She also called me stupid once.  I chided her and told her those two universities obviously didn’t know what they were doing when handing me my diplomas.

In a nutshell, she was one of the most miserable, mean spirited, greedy old ladies I’ll ever know.  I don’t think anyone felt any real love for her.  They just wanted her money or free tickets to the concerts.  

I trust she had a good reason for being so hateful and spoiled.  Maybe it was a mental illness, or brain damage or a loveless childhood. It’s a shame really.

How do you want your obituary to read?  Mine surely won’t have anything to do about giving large sums of money to the arts, or a college, at least not at the rate I’m going.

There are more important than what is printed in the paper. 

For example,  what people will say in private, when no one can hear the conversation might really matter.  I hope that in whatever form my spirit takes, before leaving for some other dimension, I can float around and listen to what people say about me. 

I hope I hear people use phrases like:

·       Kind, hard working, and fun

·       A good friend

·       Generous with his time

·       Wanted the best for others,

·       Made his students laugh. 

·       Or even better, made them think.”

I’ll stop there.  If I tried to tell you what is deepest in my heart about loved ones, it would be too emotional.  But I bet that your hopes for your verbal legacy are similar.  So let’s try to live our lives in such a way that your obituary is consistent with what people say about you in private.  After all, isn’t that what really matters?

Poor Planning or a Sadistic Plot

I’d like to commend all of you today.  Why?  Driving in Boone is not for the faint of heart.  Recent construction has slowed you down as old bridges were modified, lanes closed due to the reapplication of asphalt.  Those inconveniences however were minor compared to the current attempt by the DOT to confuse and bewilder drivers. 

  

Your first but minor challenge is foisted upon you as you enter Boone from 421 traveling west.  You pass Food Lion at the intersection of the old and new 421. 

Mac Brown Chevrolet is on the right, hidden almost due to the road construction and Nissan to the left.  The speed limit is reduced from 55 to 45.  Then, you come to the light at Bamboo.  If you are going straight, you have two lights indicating to go on green or stop on red.  In the far left lane, you have a light, which changes from a no left turn arrow, to a green left turn arrow, and for most of the time, you get an amber turn left arrow but with caution. 

The only confusing part of this intersection is for those turning left.  Traffic coming from the west travelling east has the benefit of two lights indicating stop and go, however, there is a right turn lane, with no light.  Only a yield sign. 

When west bound traffic has a caution signal, and east bound has a yield, then there is something of a reverse game of chicken, each waiting for the other to go, with cars lurching forward, looking like a couple of boxers faking a move to confuse the other.

I will give the DOT credit for one thing.  Traveling west, they make it easy for drivers by putting one light for each of the three lanes; two lights that signal when to go forward into the two lanes and one light signaling a left turn onto Bamboo. 

The challenge has been minor so far.  It gets more interesting and challenging as you proceed west to Boone.  You are approaching the intersection at 105.  The median strip extends from the Toyota dealership all the way to 105.  That means, all the traffic from Toyota, the  laundry mat, Farthing Street, pawn shop, car wash and more must turn right, and hustle over to the far left of four lanes to make a U-turn to head back east.  Waiting for your left turn arrow so you can make a u-turn, you notice a confusing sign hanging next to the left turn only light.  It reads “U-turn yields to right turn.”  This means that if a vehicle is turning right from 105, the u-turner must give them the right of way, despite having a green arrow to turn left. 

What most don’t know is  the u-turner AND those turning right from 105 both have a green arrow AT THE SAME TIME.  Yikes!

Let’s continue driving west on King Street.  The new median strip extends from 105 down to 321 where the Dan’l Boone Inn provides southern style cooking “family style”. 

Here we find the most sadistic of intersections including the suicidal left turn combined with poor signage and disappearing lanes.

To make a u-turn, you still have the problem where U-turners and right turners from 321 converge upon each other.  But there is more.  Heading west, there are four lights.  There are two left turn only lights for two turning lanes.  there are two lights that seem to indicate two lanes going straight. But only one lane goes straight.  I’ve seen some might fancy lane changes at that intersection as the person in the middle lane is expecting to go straight but discovers there is nowhere to go. 

All this confusion could be easily circumvented with some well placed signs.  There are arrows painted on the black top, indicating the left two lanes must turn left, and the right lane goes straight.  This  doesn’t do a whole lot of good when traffic is bumper to bumper and you can’t even see the road.  All it would take is a couple of those road direction signs on the side of the road, about 7 feet up.  Three signs.  Two left turn arrows and one with an arrow point straight ahead.  I bet they could install it for less than the cost of a replacement fender or bumper on an old Chevy truck.   If they really want to do it up right, they could put two left turn lights and one light for going straight. 

Boone is not an easy place to drive. 

I suggest we quit blaming our driving frustrations on the tourists, or college kids and start placing the responsibility right where it belongs…on the DOT.  I would have personally gone to their office and complained but I can’t seem to find a good road with signs that will get me there.  

Why bother with high school reunions?

What would make you spend lots of hours in a car, spend money despite being on a tight budget, endure the daytime temperatures of 94 and above, to go to a bar one night, and a dinner/dance on another to see 200 people, only a few of which you even know.  The only common denominator among those folks is this.  About 40 years ago, you walked down the same halls of a high school and inhaled their exhaled co2.  You may have best friends and shared great times with some.  Most however were names and faces but nothing that could be construed as a friendship.  The cynic in me would say, why bother.  I can see the few friends I have from those days when I want to without the social stress involved.  I trust there are some cynical classmates that deprived themselves of an opportunity to create new friendships, that will possibly last the rest of their lives. 

Let’s revisit the cynic who rationalizes that those that do go must have hidden agendas and ulterior motives.  Those might include, seeing how everyone “turned out.”  Who made money, who didn’t, who became a professional whatever, and who didn’t.  Who gained weight, and who is still a hot?  And consciously or unconsciously, most will think, “How do I compare?”  Morbid thoughts but ask yourself if any of those thoughts crossed your mind.  If these are the reasons that you went, I suspect, you discovered better benefits to your attendance.

Here’s my impression.  Many have stayed the same…but only in some ways, but all have changed as well.  Physically, the voices are the same but maybe the words have change, topics have changed some, vocabulary is specialized.  The grins that spread across our faces then are much the same.  A comparison of high school photos with current show the same impish grin of days gone by.   I found the eyes more wise and kinder.  After 40 years, we have all experienced deep joys and deep sorrow. That would include lovers come and gone, parents, children and even mates that died too young. For some of us, our own health provides daily challenges and disappointments.  Many of us now have grand children, and to talk about them is shared joy, something only grandparents understand.

For many, old inhibitions and uncertainties that kept us silent and isolated back then no longer have power.  Whatever mattered then just doesn’t matter now. False assumptions became clarified this weekend.  You might have heard someone say “I thought you were one of the ???? kids” Only to be shocked to hear that one’s perception of self was quite different.  Several shared my sentiment about high school.  It was often a scary place, where I was unsure of myself, and uncertain where I fit in.  I felt like a social misfit but I can’t explain why.  From the outside looking in, it seemed I had everything going for me.  I just didn’t know it.  My shyness may have been misinterpreted as being stuck up. 

Grades, looks, and academic achievements that seemed to be the end all back then, are of little interest to us now.  We look at pictures of the houses we grew up in, which may have meant something then.  Now, it is nostalgic at best. Time is the great equalizer.  Where we are today is of far more importance than were we came from. 

Back to the original question.  Why go to a 40 year reunion.  For me, the reasons are numerous.  The best answer that might apply to us all has something to do with making a connection with ourselves long ago.  In a sense, I came to say I’m no longer who I was then.   I’m kinder and happier. My inhibitions no longer rule my behavior.   And yes, I’ve put on a few pounds…but I’m working on it.  In connecting with people with even the tiniest of common denominator, it is amazing to see where some have come from and where they are now. I am inspired by many of my classmates.  It is no longer competitive.  For me, I simply share in the joy and wonder of the human spirit, and am inspired by seeing what good people can overcome and accomplish.  I admire all of our efforts, and share in the sadness of hardships  or lossof so many of our classmates.

That small common denominator is just enough to renew acquaintances, and create new friendships that just might last the rest of our lives.  In a sense, the reunion was not just for a weekend.  The reunion is “to be continued.”

Money isn't everything.

What is it you say?  I'll tell you.

I've decided I'm going to probably live in my run down log cabin for a few years.  Maybe it won't be so run down when I'm ready to move.  I've made some improvements and lots of plans for more.

In anticipation of sweeping the dust and creosote down the chimney with my wire brush attached to at least  four fiberglass rods, I decided to make it easier.  The roof is a 45 degree pitch on both sides, of the peak and the chimney is right on the end.  I can get up to the chimney easy enough with a ladder laid down on the roof .  The challenge is getting up to the top of the chimney.  For the last four years, I climbed up the rocks and somehow sit on top of the chimney and then sweep it down.  I inevitably scrape the bejesus out of my arms and legs on the mortar.  NOT THIS YEAR.  I'll build this little table, carry it up there, maybe even tie it up there permanently, so I can stand on it.

The responses I got from my friends on facebook were less than encouraging.  Almost all said to hire a real chimney sweep.  Only one of my friends  thinks like me and offered to bring the video camera so we could win some money on America's Funniest Videos.  And one friend even claimed the benefits of hiring a real chimney sweep.  Armed with a camera, they could video the inside of my chimney, and if there are problems, I can then pay a professional to install a stainless steel flue, and insulate for a gazillion bucks.   

It dawned on me, I live in a very different world than most of my friends.  For one thing, suggesting I pay someone to do something I can do is in my mind absurd.  I can do a lot of things, and with help, who knows.  My buddy Vance can do everything, as well as a few other shop teacher buddies.  I don't ask for help but when they offer, I jump on it.

I keep an eye out for a bargain or even free stuff that can be fixed. Right now on my porch, I have a door to install, and in the shed, a bathroom cabinet and a roll of linoleum.  That will go in upstairs as soon as I finish the downstairs bath.  Need to position the tub, install a sink, run some plumbing, and oh yeah, put up some sheetrock.  I fix things I don't know how to fix even.  I've fixed my washer, a couple of dryers, built sheds, fix lawn mowers, cook and bake some, make peach jam, cut grass.  While I'm not afraid to replace brake rotors and pads, and even changed out a caliper lately, I stay away from drum brakes.  I just don't like them.I'll change the oil of course...doesn't everyone?  I've got some maintenance coming up on the scooter soon, which will also be a new experience.

Do I like doing all these things?  Hell no.  If I had the money, I'd pay someone to do it, just like all my friends suggest.  Like so many others these days, both single and couples, I'm living paycheck to paycheck.  Yep, the guy that used to sell insurance and mutual funds, never followed my own advice.  I had a friend ask me incredulously "Why don't you have any money?"  You are a school teacher.  Don't you save money? My response was "I never have enough left over at the end of the month to set aside."  I am luckier than many though.  At the moment, I have a regular paycheck, and when need be, I hire myself out as a handyman.

I never went into teaching to make money.  In NC, one of the lowest paying in the country, and where we have not seen a raise in 3 years, and with 21 years of experience and a Master's Degree, I still make less than $50k a year.  I'm not complaining.  Just stating the facts.

Two can live cheaper than one but being ornery I guess, I've been single most of my adult life.  The only time I lived with a woman and shared expenses and incomes was my ten years of marriage.  Without going into details, it is not something I've wanted to try again.

My daughter came to live with me full time at age eleven.  Again, I didn't save.  The extra cash went to helping a teenager do teen age things (like get braces), and I eeked out some fun to at times with short trips to NYC or DC or Cleveland.  Lately, my daughter has needed some extra help with transportation and getting into an apartment.  I gladly support her and share what little I have knowing that some day, after she finishes school and gets a good job, I'll be able to catch up on credit card bills.And she can support me in the lifestyle I've grown accustomed to.

So back to the original advise about hiring someone to sweep my chimney?  I've invested in chimney sweeping tools years ago.  I'm pretty darn healthy, strong, agile and pretty safe.  I spent a few weeks crawling all over the roof nailing down shingles last summer so being up there doesn't phase me.  As for hiring an expert to tell me I need to have work done on the chimney.  I already know that.  The firemen told me it should be brought up to code.  Don't you love that word..."should"?  Wouldn't be able to pay to fix it anyway.  And besides, I have home owners insurance.  A nice 3 bedroom, two bath modular in place of this log cabin would be the best thing that ever happened to me.

My first Toast Master's Speech

This is my first speech, where I get to talk about myself.  If I was sitting in your shoes, I might want to get up and leave, please don’t.  I know how you feel.  A lot of people feel that way.  But what others in your shoes have found is that by just listening you might be pleasantly surprised.  Hey, wait a minute.  This is starting to sound like a sales pitch, isn’t it?  That’s not surprising because I spent a couple of years trying to eke out a living in sales.  There were:

·        cars,

·        insurance products,

·        mutual funds,

·        collection services,

·        health drinks,

·        metal buildings

·        satellite dishes,

·        long distance phone packages,

·        and the last effort involved air and water purifiers. 

I don’t own any of the things I tried to sell.  That’s too bad.  Imagine.  If I had put money in a good mutual fund back in 1992, who knows what it would be worth now? Naomi would know.

Back to you though.  You might be thinking, as I ramble on, “What’s In It for me?”    I’m hoping to broad of your horizons, or just pass the time  pleasantly and hopefully bring a smile to your face.  How am I doing so far? 

Walk with me down memory lane back in Cleveland, Oh, in 1954  where I was the baby of seven.  Childhood consisted of fighting for scraps and wearing my older brother’s clothes until I got my first job at the age of 10 cleaning a bird bath twice a day.  Two dollars a week didn’t buy a lot, but things starting looking up when I got a paper route. At 13, I became a caddy at an upscale country club, followed by several years in and out of food service as a:

·        busboy,

·        fry cook,

·        waiter,

·        bartender and

·        finally a  galley slave and deck hand on Maine’s oldest functioning two masted schooner, called the Lewis R. French. 

It still sails today with a crew of four. It takes out 22 passengers for a week at a time. For those that like bathing, they provide cold sea water showers from a bucket.  Not much has changed since I polished brass and hoisted sails back in 1979.  The schooner industry prides itself on doing things the same way year after year. 

That summer though, I changed.  I developed skills that I still use today, and pass on to my students, like knot tying.  I learned that you can work hard all week, build muscles you never knew you had, and that after 13 weeks of eating lobster once a week, I’d rather eat a couple of hot dogs. I experienced contra dancing for the first  time but not the last. 

 In preparing the ship for three months of sailing, I discovered the satisfaction of fixing things and making things but I only made $65 a week though.   So I searched for a career that blended the pleasure of making things, and helping others do the same thing. 

When I enrolled in Kent State in 1980, my major was Industrial Arts Education.  The focus was drafting, wood shop, metal shop, graphics and a little pottery thrown in for good measure.  After teaching two years in Richmond County, NC, I moved to Boone to get my Masters.  After 21 years of teaching in three different counties, eleven different schools, including the NC School for the Deaf for one year, I am every bit as challenged and excited about my career as ever. 

How can that be?  I have the good fortune of teaching from a curriculum so broad that I choose which topics to teach, based on resources, my personal mastery of the material, and the most important criteria…will it be fun?  I select activities from the Career and Technology Exploration curriculum.  The way I see it, whatever I want to teach can be part of some career or some technology in one way or another. 

What would you see if you were to walk into my classrooms?  If you plan to visit, and you are welcome to, but call ahead.  I work at four different schools: Parkway, Cove Creek,  Mabel and Bethel.  I visit two schools a day, and then the other two schools the next day.  If at Cove Creek, all I have to work with is a computer lab.  At Parkway, I have more of a regular classroom; however, there is a light duty kitchen in the corner, and a greenhouse at the playground.  Bethel, usually considered the orphan of the county schools, has the best set up.  It has a Computer lab upstairs, and downstairs in the dungeon, one classroom with a full kitchen and another room with a workshop for carpentry and small engine repair. 

If you were to walk into my room, you might see students making a video about business etiquette.  Other students might be building a stand out of recycled lumber to support a rain barrel next to our vegetable garden.  you will find students researching a small business idea on the computers, hopefully not too distracted from the music they have playing through their ear buds.

 Others are taking pictures and learning to edit them for their power point presentation. 

Others are taking surveys about careers.  A couple of kids might be taking a part a lawn mower that has seen better days, and destined to never run again.  I tell them we are going to reuse the parts, but in reality, they are just learning to use tools on a machine that they can’t break.  I keep band aids handy. 

On a pretty day, you might find kids hauling mulch, to cover the flowers that we transplanted in a flower bed. 

At all my schools, kids learn to take and edit photographs and create a business like PowerPoint.  This year, with my new found enthusiasm for public speaking, they will present their work in front of the class.

All my students get instruction in using  3D computer assisted design, basic computer programmingand keyboarding, also known as typing.

 You might think traveling and teaching so many different things is challenging.  It is but that is not the biggest challenge.  Neither is coordinating supplies, which with limited funding for my program has gotten easier. 

My challenge is to remind myself daily that kids are kids, and given the chance, they want to learn how to do things that are relevant.  They also want learning to be fun.  I have to remember there will be messes to clean up, broken tools, and wasted materials.  Kids like teachers that like them. Kids, I tell myself, are doing the best they can, and if I were in their shoes, I would do the same thing. 

I have a favorite quote.   “Kids don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” More important than lessons, the grades, the projects, my first priority is to let them know that they matter most and I care.