Tag Archives: children

Wednesday Morning Ramblings


Today, my youngest son turns six.  In some ways, those six years seem like a fraction of a second.  In others, they could be from a different lifetime.  Finn is an incredible child — scary bright, perceptive, strong as an ox, sweet, mischievous, and shy.  I call him my clone because he looks so much like me, especially when I was that age.  Sometimes, when I look at him, it’s like looking in the mirror 34 years ago.  He also acts a lot like me, stubborn, headstrong, and independent.  Whenever I allow myself to think about how he’ll be in 10 years, I honestly get a little scared because I’m certain he’ll be as curious about the world as I was.

Every father should have a son who looks at him the way Finn looks at me.  It’s pure, unconditional adoration, and it melts me every single time.  Collin loves me, but whenever he looks at me, there’s an element of hurt and anger in his eyes because of the scars left by the divorce.  Finn was too little to remember much from that time, so he doesn’t carry the same wounds. All he knows of me is the man who calls several nights a week, the guy who gets them a couple of times a year and showers them with attention, and the daddy who sings him to sleep every night he’s with me.  I know the day will come when he no longer looks at me like that and no longer wants me to sing; I’ve already gone through that with Collin.  Honestly, it will be a hard day, but for now, he enjoys being my youngest child and soaks up the attention.

Finn and I didn’t bond right away.  I was working two jobs and barely saw him for the first year of his life.  Back then, because Collin and I had bonded immediately, I felt tremendous guilt for not having that same connection with my baby boy.  Then, during one of first times they stayed with me just the three of us, it happened.  I had a porch swing and would rock him to sleep each night.  I felt the moment we bonded as clearly as I had with Collin.  We were on the swing, swaying back and forth, me singing about the tenth song to him as he fought sleep.  He buried his head into my chest and wrapped his arms around my neck and shoulder.  He pressed against me as hard as he could, and in that moment, we became father and son.

No amount of time is ever enough with my boys, and nothing will give us back what we’ve lost, but nothing will ever break the bonds we’ve formed, either.  Finn proves that to me every time he’s with me.  Despite having lived the majority of his life outside of my home and barely spending any time with me in person, he loves me deeply and knows I love him.  He’s an amazing child with unbelievable potential, and I couldn’t be prouder of him.  One day, he will accomplish great things.  I love you, my son.  Happy birthday.

Monday Afternoon Ramblings


Here’s another illustration of what’s wrong with education today.  For several years now, the trend has been towards more and more reliance upon technology for virtually every aspect of instruction, from attendance recording to delivery to assessment to grade calculation.  The most current buzz-trend is “Mobilization,” which the best I can figure is allowing kids to watch YouTube videos and play games while they are supposed to be learning.  The powers that be tout the importance of connecting with “digital learners” on their level, which to me sounds like “dumb it down and let the machines do all the work for them.”  Then again, I’m a tad cynical.  Anyway, from these trends to digitize the classroom, now, nearly every aspect of our classes is online to some degree.

This morning, on the first day of classes, the first opportunity to make an impression on many incoming freshmen who have been coddled their entire academic careers by All Children Left  Behind and The Race to a Stop, our internet system was down.  Statewide.  As in ALL Tennessee Board of Regents schools had no internet access.

We couldn’t check email, access course content (including syllabi), administer pre-tests, and in some cases, even check attendance.  Fortunately, since I refuse to swallow my dose of Kool-Aid, I was able to collect my first day writing samples by relying on the outdated analog system.  You know, pen and paper.  I go back to a point I make again and again.  We can put all the bells and whistles and flashing lights in front of the kids we want, but at some point they have to learn how to think.  By forcing us to move so much of our materials online, the powers that be have in effect made us dependent upon those systems to function.  I’m certain that many younger teachers, those who only know the “Mobilization” methodology, were paralyzed this morning.  I’m certain the chaos of that paralysis gave the students a terrible first impression, and those children, raised on an endless diet of entertainment and instant gratification, probably now believe college will be more of the same dysfunction they endured in high school.

As for me, since I still lecture and write on the board (I could point to the body of evidence that proves when students write things down in their own handwriting they are more likely to remember it, but why bother?  The powers that be will keep pouring the digital Kool-Aid because there’s more money to be made from grants and such), I was barely bothered by the outage.  My morning class ran pretty smoothly because I don’t need bells and whistles and flashing lights to teach.  All I need is a board to write on and an instrument to write with.  Teachers, you see, old-fashioned, student-centered, professional, dedicated educators, teach from a deeply-rooted love of and passion for their subject.  Unfortunately, however, we seem to be a dying a breed.

Wednesday Night Ramblings

boys
Dear sons, since you’ve gone back to Florida, I’ve missed you desperately.  When you’re here, I feel whole and alive and happy.  When you’re gone, there’s an emptiness in my heart nothing can fill.  I don’t know why you haven’t been calling me as much as you used to, but I miss talking to you and hearing about your days.  You’re both growing up so fast, and I want to share as much time as I can with you.  You’re my guys, and I love you both more than you can imagine right now.

I’m exhausted from working on this book.  It has taken nearly everything out of me to write it this summer, but I’m almost finished.  One day, if you read my books, I hope you’ll both know that I wrote them for you, to give you something of me that you could cherish and remember and pass on to your children and grandchildren.  You both are my inspiration and motivation, and even though we aren’t together as much as I’d like, I hope one day you’ll find joy in reading this series.

It’s almost time for me to write tonight, and both of you are probably sound asleep right now.  I wish with all my heart I could pop my head in your room, watch you sleep for a few minutes, and kiss your foreheads.  There’s not much harder for parents than to be separated from their children, and for me nighttime is the worst.  While I’m writing, I hope both of you are enjoying happy dreams and resting comfortably.  Please, know that I’m always thinking about you and missing you.  Hopefully, I will see you again soon, and hopefully, we will talk tomorrow.