Tag Archives: ramblings

Education Ramblings

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I’ve written on here many, many times about the frustrations of working as an educator and the many failings of our current system.  Over the next few weeks, I will attempt to chronicle in more detail just how badly we as a nation have crippled our future.  The system is broken beyond repair, and professional educators such as myself are being driven from the field because of the inhumane working conditions, tremendous workload, and nonsensical, overbearing regulations enforced by bureaucrats who know little about the true craft of teaching.  True education is about more than stuffing minds with quantifiable data and then measuring their retention of that information.  True education is about preparing human beings to function in the real world as productive members of society.  It’s about instilling work ethic, personal pride, self-motivation, self-discipline, and accountability into individuals while simultaneously providing them with complex skills necessary for success in the workforce and in life.

Here’s one example of our inhumane working conditions.  Today, I got ten minutes for lunch.  That’s ten minutes to heat up a bowl of soup and scarf it down between classes.  Ten minutes is not a reasonable, humane way to treat unskilled labor working at menial tasks.  It’s definitely not reasonable for highly skilled professionals charged with training people how to write, yet that is my reality every Monday and Wednesday.

On paper, my workload is 30 hours a week.  On paper.  Counting Sunday’s marathon grading session, I already have logged about 34 hours with at least 18 to go, and this will be a fairly light week in the semester.  This week alone I have graded 21 essays and a few hundred cold writing responses.  No exaggeration, a few hundred.  Oh, and I’ve taught, too.  And responded to dozens of emails.  And tracked attendance.  And completed several menial tasks that have virtually nothing to do with educating students.  An optimal workload for teaching students how is write is fifteen individuals per course and four courses per semester, or sixty students per semester.  Right now, I have 146 students in six courses.  There is no realistic way I can truly teach that many people how to write.  I can provide them with some generalized information about writing concepts, but I cannot learn their individual strengths and weaknesses and teach them how to improve their personal writing skills, at least not in a substantive way.

So for the next few weeks, the focus of this blog will become my effort to catalog the fundamental flaws within our current system and offer suggestions for how to fix these problems.  I have little hope that any of my suggestions will be taken seriously by those in power because I don’t represent a powerful lobbying group that can donate millions to their re-election bids, but maybe someone somewhere will find this blog in a hundred years and know that in America in 2013 there were professional educators who did care about students and did know how to teach.

Dragon*Con Ramblings

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I expected this to be a much different post.  I expected to write about what a good time I had hanging out with friends and talking about literature and meeting new readers.  But that is not what happened with my second experience at Dragon*Con.

First, a little background.  Some of you already know about my accident, but for those who don’t, in 1989 I was struck in the head by an 8 lb. shotput.  I suffered a concussion, brain contusion, and brain swelling.  Fortunately, the only major long-term effects from this injury have been sensitivity to light, a shift in my internal clock, a little difficulty recalling specific words at will, and disorientation in crowded places.  I’ve learned to live with all of these and typically function without any trouble.  However, on top of this, ever since my children left my home, I’ve also dealt with some anxiety issues.  It’s never been terribly serious, but occasionally I get rather anxious for no discernible reason.  The feelings will sometimes linger anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, but they’ve never been so bad I couldn’t handle them.

On Thursday night, my disorientation in a crowd and the anxiety combined to create a rather unpleasant experience.  I had decided to arrive on Thursday so I could pick up my badge and find the areas where I would be before the crowd arrived on Friday.  Let me emphasize here, I had been to Dragon*Con before in 2009, so I pretty well knew what to expect.  I had seen the lobbies on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights.  I had waded through the Atrium level of the Marriott to reach a panel on time.  I knew what was coming.  I just didn’t expect it on Thursday night and was caught off guard.

It started as I walked my friend Andi Judy, who was gracious enough to offer me a place to crash for the weekend, to the Sheraton to pick up her badge.  At about 8:30 or so Thursday night, the line for badges wrapped around the block.  She assured me she would be okay in line, so I left and walked a couple of blocks over to the Marriott to pick up my badge.  There were few people on the street, and even fewer when I entered the lower level of the hotel, so I figured there had just been some snafu at the regular registration, which had created a log jamb.  As I rode the escalator up to the lobby level, I was not prepared for a crowd, so when I saw the lobby packed like a Saturday night, it was like a sucker punch to the gut.

I had to cross the lobby to find the hallway I needed, so I turned left and walked around the edge of the crowd, trying to avoid all the commotion.  It’s the chaotic motions and sounds of a crowd that disorient me.  It’s too much to process at once, and my brain kind of shorts out, which is hard to describe.  I literally (not figuratively) feel confused and lost, even in places I know well but especially on unfamiliar territory.  By the time I reached the far side of the lobby, I just needed out of there, so I blindly turned down a hallway to get away from the crowd.  Luckily, I had turned down the right hallway and found where I needed to get my badge.  That area was quiet and peaceful, so I leveled out and felt okay.

After that, I had to go up one level to find the Young Adult Literature Track.  The Atrium Level was twice as packed as the lobby, and I thought I remembered where the panel rooms were, but navigating the crowd and finding the hallway pushed me a shade beyond my limit.  That’s when the anxiety started.  I had never experienced the disorientation and anxiety together, but it was not pleasant.  I hung around the YA Track mixer for as long as I could handle it, which was about five minutes, and then headed for the exit.  Unfortunately, I had to go through the crowd again to get outside.  I went through the first doorway marked exit I found and ended up on a dimly lit stairwell outside.  I wasn’t exactly sure where I was, and I was in one of those urban dead zones where I had no phone signal.

I had never experienced a full-blown panic attack before, so at first, I had no idea what was happening to me.  That only made things worse.  It was one of the three or four scariest moments of my life.  I’m not used to feeling overwhelmed or intimidated by a moment, and I’ve been through some heavy stuff.  It took at least thirty minutes to pull myself back together, and when I finally did, I continued to tremble for hours.  I made my way back to the Sheraton to find Andi, who was still outside in line (at least an hour and a half later), and waited with her until we got inside.  Outside, with everyone moving in the same direction, I was fine, The moment we stepped inside and there were people moving in every direction, the disorientation started again, so I found a quiet corner and waited.

The next morning, when Andi and I returned to the Marriott, I had hoped to find the other tracks I was to participate in and be prepared to move from one hotel to the other relatively efficiently.  While the lobby wasn’t as crowded as the previous night, it was still pretty crowded and hectic.  Andi was working as a volunteer for the show, so I was on my own again, and maybe things would have been different if I had been with someone to help me navigate.  As it was, alone and disoriented in downtown Atlanta, I found myself unable to go anywhere.  I just sat down on the steps outside and watched the cosplayers walk by, and that’s when I realized things were only going to keep getting more crowded and more hectic all weekend.  Though it was a difficult choice to make, I decided to leave the convention and head home.  I’ve never bailed on a convention before, even some that probably should have been left.

I feel like I let a lot of people down, especially Andi, who was expecting me to be with her to and from the train station, but also my friends and readers at the show, my publisher, the college, and myself.  I’m sorry.  It was simply too much for me, and that’s not easy for me to admit.  I feel embarrassed that I couldn’t pull myself together enough to get through the weekend and that the anxiety overwhelmed me so completely.  In my mind, I should be stronger than the emotions, but the reality is that large crowds are too much for me to handle.  I have to accept the facts and not put myself in situations like that again.  For everyone I disappointed this weekend, please accept my deepest apologies.

Venting Ramblings

This post will be highly personal, so if you don’t like that sort of thing, stop reading and find some cat memes.  There’s a high probability that I’ll use a considerable amount of profanity, too.  Just so we’re clear, this post won’t be optimistic or upbeat; it won’t be about my children or my books or education.  No this post is a diatribe directed at the women who have done me wrong, and I don’t care if they ever read it.  There are just a few things I need to get off my chest.  Anyone who disagrees with any of the facts as I state them is free to start their own blog and write whatever version they believe to be true.  However, for this post, I will delete any bullshit comments that I don’t want to see.

I’ll start with what I see as my biggest flaws as a man and partner.  I have a temper.  I can keep my cool really well up to a point, but once you cross that line, I will explode, and yes, I can be quite frightening when I snap.  For clarity’s sake, let me also interject that I’ve never ever struck a woman, so please, don’t get the wrong impression of me.  When I’m tired, I become withdrawn and distant.  When I’m stressed, I become even more so.  I can take this to some pretty far extremes, so I know that can make me a difficult man to live with.  I’m possibly one of the most stubborn assholes you’ll ever meet.  Don’t believe me?  Piss me off or tell me I can’t accomplish something.  I’m also a creative scatter brain and quite messy.  I recognize these flaws in myself and accept that they can make living with me a challenge.

But I still believe my positives as a man and human being far outweigh my negatives.  First and foremost, if I’ve ever told you that you were the only woman in my life, I fucking meant it.  You never had to wonder where I was or who I was with, ever.  I went to work and came home to you.  If I hadn’t wanted the commitment, I would’ve remained single.  If you had doubts about that, those were your own insecurities coming out, not anything I intentionally did.  If my fidelity wasn’t valuable to you, I don’t know what to tell you.  You had men before me who were unfaithful, so you should’ve known what it was worth.

Okay, so I’m not romantic.  I get that you want that unrealistic, Hollywood version of the man who never forgets flowers and always knows the perfect thing to say, but guess what?  That’s fucking make believe.  I expressed my love by doing the dishes, putting up the laundry, mowing the yard, holding your hand, touching you tenderly, and sharing the deepest parts of myself with you.  I don’t know how how else to show my feelings without it seeming phony to me.  Maybe I didn’t do enough in your eyes, but I know I tried my best.  I tried to comfort you when you were distressed, give you a shoulder to lean on when you wanted it, and listen when you needed to rant.  Unless you pushed me beyond my limit, I was kind, considerate, and gentle (if you made my temper flare, you saw a side not so kind and considerate).  I treated you as my equal, not my servant or nurse or personal chef.  I rarely ever asked you specifically to do something for me, and I often returned the favor if I did, whether it be stopping at the store or grabbing something from the fridge.  I know that’s not romance, but god damn isn’t being treated decently worth anything?

I stood by you through difficulties, like infertility or your teenage son running away for a fucking month.  I held you to sleep on nights when you cried.  I gave you something strong and stable to lean on, and if I ever ran away, it was because you made me feel like all that I am and all that I gave was not appreciated or respected.  I only turned my back on you because you made me feel unwanted, and I’m too proud and too stubborn to stay any place where I’m not wanted.  However, my loyalty for standing by you through your lowest was never repaid, at least not in full.  You can argue that if you like, but I know it in my heart.

I can accept when a relationship ends.  I can accept that people grow apart or realize things aren’t working.  I can move on.  I can allow feelings to dissolve over time.  What gets to me is cruelty.  Whether it was leaving me on Christmas Day, cheating on me, sending me insulting messages, spreading rumors about me that simply aren’t true, or finding ways to twist the knife just one more time, it bothers me because I know I fucking deserve better.  I’ve never in this life done anything to deserve some of cruel things you did to me.  You’ve tried to twist it around to somehow make me the bad guy, but I know I didn’t hide an affair behind your back for eleven years or misplace anger that should’ve been directed at your sons.  I tried everything I could not to start fights and avoid them, but I will admit my fault of allowing you to push me beyond my limit and then getting ugly.

I admit that working in education has made me financially strapped.  I admit I can’t afford nice things, especially now with child support.  I live humbly and don’t really mind.  You claimed you wanted a simple life.  You claimed you didn’t want or need me to support you, but whenever things got rough, you made damn sure to throw in my face that I can’t give you all the materialistic bullshit.  You made damn sure to tell me about those who could.  In the end, it really was all about the money.  Deny it all you want, but I’m fairly certain my good qualities would’ve been more than enough if Brotherhood had roared up the charts.  If you’re reading this, yes, you.  You can say whatever, but actions speak louder.

I have no idea what my future holds.  I have no idea if I’ll ever have another relationship or if I’ll grow old and feeble alone.  I’m trying my damnedest not to grow cold and bitter, but when I think about unappreciated I’ve been, it’s not easy.  You didn’t appreciate the person I am, the kindness and decency and simple goodness.  You didn’t accept my faults.  You may say you did, but you always found a way to criticize me in some way.  If you’re reading this, yes, you.  I’m not willing to allow another woman ever to disrespect the decency I offer again.  I’m far from perfect, but I fucking damn sure deserve better than what you gave me, and I won’t ever allow anyone to treat me as a doormat ever again.  Deny it if you want, but I know how you made me feel, and I didn’t deserve that.  Time will be my test.  I hope to live long enough to see what one day after the other reveals, and if it reveals that I’m completely wrong, I’ll swallow my pride and reexamine myself.  Until that day, I will try to keep love and decency in my heart and push back against the creeping bitterness.