Life, Death, and Other Mysteries

I don't think I could respect myself as a Catholic blogger if I didn't touch on the Holy Day that just passed. Yeah, that Christmas day.

I could spend time ranting about the commercialization of the feast. I think I'd get carried away and not say anything new. Instead, I'll offer a few thoughts inspired by a biography of JPII that I'm reading and my priest's sermon on the Feast of Holy Innocents.

Christmas, the feast of Christ's nativity, lasts for an octave. That's eight days. In those eight days, we celebrate the feast of St. Stephen, the Church's first martyr; the feast of the Holy Innocents, the children whom Herod murdered to try to kill Jesus; and the feast of Thomas Becket, a martyr of the Church in England. Nearly half of the days (maybe more that we didn't celebrate in my parish) of high celebration of a birth commemorate deaths. The Nativity and the Solemnity of Mary bookend these martyrs nicely.

Father explained that these feasts during the Octave of Christmas call to mind Christ's purpose for coming. The birth is inextricably linked to the passion, death, and resurrection.

While this is of course true, as logic it skips what I see as an important step. The main thrust of Christmas comes from the feast as a reminder of the Incarnation.

To focus on the Incarnation takes Christmas beyond crèches and images of Mary and the Christ child and all that. Christmas is like ogres and onions -- there are layers. Layer One : Santa and Christmas trees. Layer Two : the "holiday spirit" of loving and giving and family time and all those other virtues. Layer Three : the feast of the birth of Jesus. Layer Four : the Mystery of the Incarnation. [More layers which I have not yet discovered might exist. I am far from a theological expert.]

What does the Incarnation mean? I think I need a few years of Theology before I could begin to tackle that question as it should be tackled. But some of the more obvious bits that often elude my daily life come to mind. The Incarnation means God becoming human. A tradition (which I'm not sure I buy) says Mary had no labor pains giving birth to Jesus. But what was the baby Jesus like? Did he cry a lot? Was he ever sick? Even a sinless child might have to wail to let his Immaculate Mother know he is hungry or uncomfortable or tired. And he took on a human body like ours. That means susceptible to heat and cold, hunger and thirst; does it also mean disease and infection. Did he ever get a cold? Did he have acne as a teenager? Jesus did not assume a glorified body until after his Resurrection.

Of course, the answer to none these questions really matters. The implication of the answers and the very idea that the questions can be asked have a far greater reach. They remind us of the great humility that God demonstrated in his birth. They remind us that the child in the manger matters both because of who he would grow up to be and because of Who he always has been. And that is my Christmas Mystery and joy this year.

Talking to Volunteers 101

I've been home for a week now and have had the chance to have life dates with friends whom I have not seen in ages, some of whom I haven't spoken to in ages. And of course, everyone asks the same question: How is life with VSC?

If you really want to find out about someone's life for the past 7 months, this inquiry is not the way to go. It is just too broad. Either I'll find a way to answer in a word or two, maybe a sentence even, or you're asking for the unabridged version of a turbulent, changing time of my life.

Here are some good questions I've heard:

1) Tell me about the other volunteers. What has been your experience of living in community?

2) Do you like your job at the school?

3) What's an average day like?

4) What was it like to transition from college to the "real world"?

5) Describe St. Louis.

6) What are you planning on doing next? [I hate this one, but it's good for me to think about.]

Some questions I haven't heard but would elicit good responses:

1) Who are your favorite students? Who are the toughest?

2) What were some of your proudest moments?

3) What's the other staff at the school like?

4) What have you learned? How have you changed?

5) What is God doing in your life right now?

6) What gives you hope?

If you're really brave, you could add:

1) What has been one of your hardest moments?

2) How had God challenged you?

3) What are the things you've had a hard time letting go? What's kept you up at night?

The key when asking questions to find out about the long-lost parts of someone's life is to elicit stories. If you've taken any sociology or anthropology courses, you learn how to ask open-ended questions that let the person answering take control. The encounter with a returning volunteer is very similar. As long as you provide the opening, she will talk, because she wants to share. But she can't necessarily just verbally vomit five or seven months of life to you.

Honestly, these same questions can serve as a guide for mid-term phone, email, and IM conversations as well. They say, "What you do sincerely interests me, and I want to hear more about it and you," and they offer a path to walk in the conversation. That's about all a volunteer needs, because she actually is bursting to talk to someone who wants to understand.

Travel Plans

Love Actually begins with a voice-over:

"Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there [...] If you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspicion... love actually is all around."

And Robert Pinsky has a line in his poem "Ode to Meaning":

"You in [i.e. I find meaning in] the airport rituals of greeting and parting."

I can't walk into an airport without thinking of both of these. Airports really are non-space, consisting of sterile, nondescript waiting areas, chain eateries, kitschy little souvenir shops. Local time, arrival times, baggage claim labels. TSA men and women in uniforms, flight staff, and all the people getting ready to fly. Businessmen, family men, business women and family women. Families. Young men and women headed on adventures. People headed home, leaving home, excited, nervous, bored. Everyone is in transition and alive because of it. Hence, I love airports.

My father and I dropped my sister off at the airport for a trip to Dublin. I've never been out of the country, but I pretended for a few brief moments as I wheeled her suitcase into the airport for her that I was the one traveling to Ireland. In spite of the fact that I was not going anywhere but back to my grandmother's house, I caught something of an adrenaline rush by simply being in the airport. Part of this came from the energy of the other people there; part of it resulted from classical conditioning : I am used to being filled with excitement in airports.

I think I could sit all day outside a terminal, though, and people-watch the rituals of greeting and parting, holding tight to the outpouring of human emotion in its varied and beautiful forms.

Irony: Gift of the Magi Style

Virginia is getting the largest December snowstorm it's had in my lifetime, and I am still out here in St. Louis. Luckily for me, God was looking ahead on my flight planning, and I don't leave the city till Monday. That's a God-incidence, to use an annoyingly cute cliche, and not irony.

The irony comes from my cousin, stranded at school due to schoolwork and the wintery fun. Like any good college student, he stopped working (really, who works through a blizzard?) to go outside and play. He searched a long time for a sled and didn't find one.

My response to the story: Are your dining halls not opened? Use a tray!

As it turns out, they have gone trayless to combat global warming.

[Disclaimer: I can differentiate between global warming and climate change. I just like the story!]

Just for Kicks

This one cracked me up. I think you should see how it runs first. No point in taking it all apart if it operates smoothly.

Christmas, Christmas Time Is Here

Last night, the school had a Christmas program. Yes, one of those things where the children dress up in green and red and Santa hats and reindeer headbands and sing Christmas songs and tell the Christmas story approximately 8 different ways. Very cliche and cute and enjoyable to all the parents and kids. I apparently had a vital and superfluous role that two other people plus 8 teachers filled, so I spent most of the time trying to figure out if I needed to do my job or not.

It was the first time I had really been around children and parents at the same time. I've heard talk about some parents, some of it good, some of it bad, some of it slanted neither way. At the program, however, all the parents smiled and clapped and politely asked us silly white people to move out of the way so they could see their children. I remembered way back when I was in school, being at events like that and how I never knew quite how to interact with my teachers outside of school. Being on the other side, I was happy with a simply "hi."

Connections

I am currently reading Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry with the 6th grade. I have the upper level reading group, a fun group of kids. They read well enough to understand the story, and they think well enough to discuss it. For example, today the black father of the main characters told them they should not be friends with the white boy who likes them. We had a long discussion about whether they should or should not be friends with him (it might be dangerous, because white men might not like it), if the father was racist (probably, but also wise), and if things would be different today (yes).

The story centers around themes of race, family, and integrity, so that provides a lot of good discussion material. We also delve into elements of literature. I'm not sure if they don't get it in reading class, or they just don't remember, but I've taught them theme, similes, and metaphors.

The best part comes from the teachable moments. We have impromptu lessons about the Civil War and civil rights movement, about values and morality, about friendship and finances. My favorite moment, however, happened after the play, outside the Fox. We were waiting for the bus to pick us up and watching buses full of students pass us. I asked a couple of my kids if it reminded them of anything. And they remembered the scenes of the bus of white kids passing the main characters on their walk to school! As well as the subsequent prank the black kids played afterwards. Which apparently was the moral of that story.

8th Grade Maths

The title is in honour of a British friend, who pointed out that as teaching philosophy is developed, these newfangled math teachers are more concerned with students understanding why something is true than that something is true. Which I think is what the 8th grade math teacher was going for. Every student in that room understood why

x+3=6 can become x=6-3

Students in the lower level math class sometimes still write it out

x+3+(-3)=6+(-3)

to understand the process. Interestingly, I intuited that my method worked, but as soon as an 8th grader hollered out a different answer, I started second-guessing myself and had to logic through the why of my method.

Nostalgia in Harmony

Our community time for the past 2 nights has taken 2 hours longer than normal, informally, as we sit together to watch The Sing-Off. The show hosts an a capella competition, whittling down to a winner from 8 starting groups. It's fun on our quirky TV. If you walk across the room, receive a text, refresh a Facebook page, or stretch your legs, the sound stutters like a broken record and the visual pixelates.

On our side of the screen, I get to watch 4 girls (self included) swoon over male groups and cheer for the female and co-ed groups. And it takes me back to college, where we have more a capella groups than started on the show. Hands down, a college group called the Beelzebubs takes on the role of the Gentlemen of the College, and I am finding that the swooning is less annoying when television glass and several thousand miles separate them from us. But mostly, it makes me homesick for Wren 10s and Yule Log and the Gala and my EWC team (I can't link a seranade) and beginnings and endings at W&M.

I also have confirmed the fact that I actually like a capella better than music with a band, and it's not just the fact that it's a "cool" college thing. And my barbershop love isn't just because I knew someone who sang it. I'm not sure what it is about only having human voices, but it enchants me. Even "Stayin' Alive," sung in falsetto by a group of Latino men.

8th Grade Math

Friday, I helped out with the advanced 8th grade math class. It brought me straight back to middle school. However, I also realized that my brain works differently from these students. Maybe a great portion of humanity. They did mental math. For example:

x+3=9

Of course, x=6. We also had

8+x=4

x=-4, obviously. But the math teacher asked about how they got the answer. Apparently, most people moved the constant to combine like terms. That is, they rewrote the problem mentally to read

x=9-3=6

x=4-8=-4

On the other hand, I did no math. I simply asked myself, "What do I need with 3 to make 9?" Or "with 8 to make 4?" A subtle difference, but I realized I was in no way doing mental math. It got more obvious with a more difficult problem:

12+x=2x+8-3

The class all matched up terms in their heads:

12+x=2x+5

12-5=2x-x

7=x

Easy as pie, but not what happened in my brain. I didn't combine like terms. I cancelled. Before even combining 8 and 3, I balanced out 12 and 8. Now my problem read

4+x=2x-3

Except, at the same time, I did the same thing for the x terms:

4 = x-3

And them you have x=7. The process happened quickly, so did not cost me time. It was simply completely different from what was happening in the brains of other people in the room. I'm curious to know if this is because they are 8th graders, because of the fact that they have all been taught the same way, or because my mind is a strange place to me.

A Christmas Carol

The history teacher arranged to bring the middle school to the historic Fox Theatre to see Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol. The theater is significant for these kids, although I'm not sure they realize it. Apparently, a few decades back, it was the theater where African Americans used to go, because they weren't allowed in other places. Walking in, I couldn't think of the history of segregation. Instead, I was blown away by the elaborate decorations and elegance of the theater.

As we were seated, I kept admiring. It made me think of days before modern movie theaters, when going to a play or a movie was a big deal. I know I'm romanticizing, but I like the idea of places to see and been seen, to watch people and shows. Dressing up, making it an occasion.

We had the students dress up for the occasion this time. They cleaned up sharply, including a couple of bow ties. Although they clearly had little experience in an elegant setting (cultural capital!), the behavior was overall something to be proud of.

I had a very teacher moment there. Well, actually, several. Other children ran up and down aisles, made loud sounds in loud voices, loitered, and lingered. I had a quash impulses to whip them into line.

Kicking the Vending Machine Doesn't Always Work

Tuesday after work, Ana and I headed further into the city to pick up a friend of hers whose job had brought him to St. Louis for a few days. Brad does lighting at conventions, so we took a quick tour around the convention center where he lit up a stage for us to show off his skills. Other than the perpetual arch, which got annoying fast, it looked pretty awesome, with colors and shapes dancing behind the podium. Plus, we parked in a secret hidden drive right behind the convention center, where only cool people get to park. It had the effect of walking through an "Employees Only" door.

After the tour, we headed out to dinner. As we left the restaurant, we were stopped by a man asking for money. It's the first time that's happened in this particular area, and I don't know if the cold holiday season has made people more desperate or if it makes it easier to play people's emotions. Is it bad that I am getting that cynical?

Well, we handed him a couple dollars and hopped into the car. Then Ana shut her door -- or tried to. With a sound of metal hitting metal, the door hopped back open. She tried again. The door wouldn't close.

Brad jumped out of the car to do the man thing and fix it. He had already fixed our television by turning a button off and on again, but this proved no easy fix. First Brad, then Ana and I, examined the latch, the alignment of the door, the other door, anything we could think of to help. I know I know very little about cars, but Brad was determined to fix it. Finally, he told Ana, "Turn around and don't look." Which she promptly did, and he employed the strategy often used against ornery vending machine: brute strength applied in a generally helpful direction. He slammed the door.

It shut.

Something cracked as it did, and he opened to door to investigate. We heard a rattling inside the door, and Brad felt no click as he pulled the door handle. The latch had broken and sounded to be rattling inside the door. The door now shut, but didn't lock and could be pulled open without the use of a handle.

Ana called AAA and we got the car towed. The end result? Simple living does not provide much spare money, so car repairs mean no Sister Hazel concert.

Seamless Garment, Part III

Today I did something I've been meaning to do for a while. No, I did not attempt to enter seminary, nor did I propose to Prince Caspian, though those were legitimate guesses, if you happened to have made one of them. I finally watched the Law and Order based on the murder of George Tiller. In case you haven't seen it, click here.

It takes guts to present a TV show on abortion to start with, and the makers of Law and Order didn't hold back. Characters discussed the pressure from boyfriends as a reason to abort, genetic defects, and born-alive cases. A mother of a child with a genetic disorder testified about holding her child who lived only 21 hours, with the same kind of love and joy that I have seen in real-life mothers. A nurse told the story of a child born alive in a botched procedure, and the jury listened in horror to how the abortionist killed him. The trial ended with a photo of a baby scheduled for an abortion, who had now been born.

The "law" and "order" people also added to the discussion. Of detective and lawyer pairs, one of each took the pro-life side and one the pro-choice. The debate between detectives got a little preachy at times, but someone had fun with the lawyers. The "pro-life"/"pro-choice" roles were complicated by the fact that the pro-life ADA wanted to win the case (convict the pro-life murderer), while the pro-choice one felt ethically obliged to help the defense. In the end, the pro-choice one began to question her assumptions, something I did not expect to come out of this show.

To my relief, the jury found guilty. I'm not sure how that factors into an overarching message about life/abortion, but the closing argument captured how a lot of the pro-life movement felt about Tiller's murder. No matter what our disagreement on where life begins and what dignity means, we can all agree that the violence of that murder was wrong.

But the best statement of all came in the last scene. It summed up much of what's wrong with various movements for justice in this world. Jack McCoy: "I used to expect people to be consistent, that pro-lifers would oppose capital punishment, that champions of human rights would claim some for the unborn. I don't expect that anymore. It's a big messy world."

Math Monster

Yesterday, the 6th grade math class had a group project. They had to design a walk-a-thon course, using ratios and fractions to mark food, water, and rest points. Their teacher let them divide themselves into groups, which provided some interesting combinations. Two of my favorite kids were working together and they were pretty much the definition of opposites. Student One is a quiet, studious, meticulous child who does his work quickly and thoroughly. He is a rule-follower, by-the-book type person. Student Two is constantly out of his seat, has difficulty with a lot of his work, doesn't speak clearly, and rarely if ever does his work. But he is constantly creating things and his mind works constantly outside the box.

I came over to check on the pair and see how they were doing. They had settled on the floor. Student One was bent over his paper, hard at work figuring out where to mark things with his paper ruler. Student Two was halfway underneath the teacher's desk. He told me, "The desk is eating me!" And sure enough, he kept sinking farther and farther underneath the desk.

Undaunted, Student One looked up. "I've got it under control," he said. He stood up and shook his hand over the desk. "I sprinkled pepper." And obviously, this would make the desk sneeze Student Two back out.

Sociologist Becomes Teacher

This week, the 8th grade had research papers for history class. They were due Friday, which meant, of course, that Wednesday people started research, and Thursday they wrote papers. Each of those days, I got a group of 8th graders in the library to work with me on their papers. Wednesday, the topic count stood: slavery 3; Middle Passage 2; the lost colony of Roanoke 1. So, unsurprisingly (especially since at least one of the girls came to the library to talk, not work), the research party turned into a discussion. I let it go, however, because it was the first time these girls had talked openly to me about race.

My main talker wanted to know why black people fought black people, when they had come through so much to get where they are today. She also said that she didn't understand people who threw away their opportunity at an education, when their ancestors had fought hard for it. The other girls chimed in, complaining about the lack of leadership from authority figures : for example a black mayor who refused to change the times that clubs were open, in spite of the crime rate that might be reduced by earlier closings.

Then someone came up with the idea of a play, to show their classmates visually what their people had gone through. Another girl had the astute thought that for something to make an impact, they needed to take it to DC. For a second, I thought they were ready to plan a march, but they narrowed down to a petition. I explained 1) that petitions didn't just appear, someone (such as themselves) had to write it; 2) they would need to figure out something more specific than "we want racism to end," if they wanted to make a petition; and 3) there was no reason why they couldn't. Or, we concluded, if they made a play, they could videotape it and send it to Obama.

Because I'm the white teacher, I don't hear very often what my students have to say about race. Even in this impassioned discussion, I got a lot of "I'm sorry"s and "no offense, but"s. So this conversation gave me an insight into how my students perceive and live their race. For them, it seemed that race was more poignant than gender. No one talked about the fact that after slavery ended, only men got the vote. No one talked about the ways that being a black woman was different from being a black man -- in spite of the fact that they used gender-charged language in their discussion, showing that they at least subconsciously picked up on the differences. In all my sociology courses, we talked about how people experience class, age, race, gender, and sexuality, but never about how one becomes more important than another.

I wanted to probe it further to see if and how they thought about class and gender, but the teacher kicked in over the sociologist. Rather than impressing upon them how they were oppressed in another way, I asked questions about how they can change things and how they are going to succeed in the world as is. To my joy, despite the language of oppression, these girls have every confidence that they can take life for all it's worth -- one big fat "gives me hope."

The Office: Spoiler Alert!!!

When I watched Freedom Writers with Em, I expected it to hit hard. That movie is about an idealistic teacher in an urban school. Sound familiar?

But sometimes life hits you when you don't expect it. The Office normally brightens my day. Today, however, half the plot focused on "Scott's Tots," a group of students to whom Michael had promised he would pay for college. He made this promise when they were in 3rd grade; they now were graduating high school. Of course, Michael can't pay for the college education of 15 kids.

It broke my heart. Those kids were my kids in 4 or 5 or 6 years' time. I know how much hope it would give them if someone promised them college, and I know exactly how they would react if someone broke that promise to them. I know only the iceberg's tip of the promises that have been broken for them, of the people who haven't come through, of the ways they've been let down. I couldn't find it amusing to watch that happen on TV.

Underground Adventures

On Saturday after Thanksgiving, Ana and I went to Mammoth Cave National Park. We sped down empty Kentucky highways for two hours to reach the park that boasts the world's largest cave system. We had bought tickets for the historic tour the afternoon before, so we picked up tickets and then set off to explore the park for a few minutes before the tour started.

After turning from the paved path to a lower road, we meandered into a cave entrance. I fell in love with the water dripping from the top of the large cave, creating green growth and a small stream. The same water flow helped to create the caves thousands of years ago. Enchanted, Ana and I skipped down the stairs and into the cave. We walked back a solid few yards until a door of wood and Plexiglas stopped us. We turned around made our way up to the tour's start, promising to return to the nearby trails.

The Historic Tour caps at 120 people, so we head a large group, but after starting the back, Ana and I skipped up to the front of the group. Our guide was the fourth generation of rangers in his family and told us this in the most adorable Southern accent. (There were a lot of those in Kentucky.)

Because we took the Historic Tour, we started from one of the seven natural entrances to the caves. As it turns out, Ana and I had discovered it, and we went behind the door that I had determined was "not for us." Very quickly, we ended up in a huge cavern that still held the remains of a saltpeter mine. I didn't know, but most of the crowd was able to answer our guide's question : saltpeter makes gun powder. From 1812-1815, Mammoth caves produced the saltpeter for the gunpowder used in the War of 1812. The actual gunpowder was produced by DuPont in Delaware. When a woman asked about what happened to production during "The War," the guide stayed in his own place and answered about the War of 1812; she had meant the Civil War. However, the North-South divide did not bother the saltpeter mine; it had stopped production after the War of 1812, and Mammoth Cave was now used for tours. Since Kentucky was divided for the war, I wasn't surprised to hear that Northern and Southern people took tours during that time.

A tour of the caves was a big deal, so ladies would come in hoop skirts, high heeled boots, and corsets. In later years, rangers found discard boots and corsets in the passages. That's not all they found either : while our guide only told us about one mummy found in the cave, when I poked I discovered that other bodies had been found, preserved by the refrigerator-like climate of the cave. The story we got centered around a Native American who had died in the cave in the 4th century B.C.

Our tour group heard the story of the mummy when we had made our way to another larger cavern. After telling the story, our guide turned off all the lights (the caves are lit; the rangers in front and back pressed buttons as we went) and we had a moment of darkness in the cave. It's the complete darkness you can only find in a place like that -- if you hold your hand in front of your face, you can't see it, though your mind wants to find the outline. We had a couple of slower people in the group, though, who had to be told to turn off cameras at this point.

After submerging ourselves in darkness, we began the fun part of the hike. We climbed down narrow stairs, wound around various passages, and admired the formations of the rocks that spiraled and piled and toured in ridges and pillars. One passage, called "Fat Man's Misery," took us through a narrow gap, barely as wide as my hips, and sometimes not even. It led to a low passage, just lower than the one I described in my previous post, where even I had to duck. Then we took a brief respite and waited for half the group to catch up. I realized here that I needed to be up the front of the group. I would be very claustrophobic and impatient in the middle of a slow-moving group.

From our break, we headed up flight after flight of stairs into the "Dome," a high room that doesn't naturally let people climb it; they had to build a whole lot of stairs to help with the exit. I barely noticed the stairs though, because at each landing another sight of rocks towering like cathedral spires.

From the Dome, we came into the Audubon passage that resembled a Subway tunnel. We ended the tour there, with talk about "cave sings," when musical groups give a holiday concert in the caverns. Ana and I explored a trail afterwards, finding the Green River and the River Styx, which flowed out from underground. Yay, classical allusions!

In a final education note, the Native Americans mined gypsum from the caves. No one knows what they used it for. We use it for dry wall today. Also, it is used in Twinkies.

Kentucky: Where I'm Short

Virginia is far away from St. Louis, and the Thanksgiving holiday is short, so I did not make it home. Instead, I went home to Kentucky with Ana. We left the city roads of St. Louis after school on Tuesday and swiftly left any signs of urban life behind, replacing them with country roads and open skies. I immediately felt at home with Ana's family, which was good because we spent most of the time here hanging out with them.

We celebrated Thanksgiving day with movies and Tripoly, because of how scheduling worked with Ana's family and had the turkey dinner on Friday. Today, we went to Mammoth Cave National Park, the world's largest cave system. I promise another blog about that, but I want to make one point about Kentucky.

When Ana's brother came in Tuesday night, he hugged Ana and me and the first thing he said to me was "Wow, you're small!" When we were at Mammoth Cave, as Ana and the ranger giving us the tour ducked through a passage, I had the revelation that I could stand up straight! Because I had the revelation out loud, this gave the tour guide permission to mock me when we emerged from the passage and he saw me: "You are short!"

So apparently, I'm shorter in Kentucky.

I Don't Wanna Grow Up

After a hockey game to wipe away a difficult week, I had quite a Saturday ahead. First, five of the six of us headed out to Anheuser-Busch brewery. They offer free tours with samples at the end. I don't care too much about large businesses or beer, but the site is old and has some historical significance. So after seeing the Clydesdales, I still had interesting things to see and hear. I saw the parts and pieces that go into beer. While I'm still not 100% sure what hops or malt is, I have seen both of them. Also, I enjoyed hearing their account of Prohibition. They had a crazy fox-man, Bevo, who represented non-alcoholic beer, and sold yeast.

Following the beer tour, we rushed home to unite with Em and head off to City Museum. Oh. My. Goodness. The most magical man-made place on earth. We started by climbing up a ramp that led onto wooden barrels as large as the metal ones at Anheuser-Busch. They led us into the ceiling, through wire tubes, around giant forests, inside tree houses, and down an elephant slide. Next, I peered into what looked like a fountain that had been turned off and discovered a tunnel. It was approximately narrow enough for me to fit through and took us to a cave system beneath and behind other rooms, including a small aquarium. It also took us to a slide seven stories high.

Long story of our adventures short, we ended up in a giant ball pit, an old falling apart airplane, bird cages above the ground, a Romeo-and-Juliet balcony, and more slides. Then on the roof! There we found a school bus suspended above the parking lot, a giant rope swing, more slides (including one to climb), and a Ferris wheel.

After five hours of running, climbing, and sliding, we were worn out. We headed home, tired and content.

Hockey!

Last weekend, the Six Pack went to the one sport in which they use time-outs to make athletes behave. To my everlasting shock, our one north-eastern member had never been to a hockey game! Free tickets, however, brought us to FRONT ROW SEATS! for a Blue's Alumni game and St. Louis Bandits game.

The alum game consisted of old men grinning away as they went back onto the ice. The crowd was sparse but enjoying themselves as fake fights broke out and former hockey players joked about their hearts needing help. (The game was a fundraiser for SLU Hospital Cardiac Unit.) The host, alum Kelly Chase, auctioned off several signed jerseys that went for between $700 and $1000. How crazy is that?

After two periods of out-of-breath slow skating, the real game started, bringing together the St. Louis Bandits and Northern Iowa Outlaws. Only pirates versus ninjas could to Bandits versus Outlaws. Sitting in the front row meant up that every time someone got checked near us, I jumped back about a mile and Triss lunged to protect the small child who had moved near us. After baseball, hockey is my favorite sport to watch, so my bad week melted away as we screamed at the players. Ana and I quickly got out of teacher mode and cheered on the aggression that makes the game appeal to men. Triss did not; she wanted people to be nicer. While Ana and I told the small child who was the "good guy" and the "bad guy," Triss tried to explain that we're cheering for one team, but the other isn't bad.

I decided while watching the game that my job is like being a referee. You run all over the place, watching the kids go at it with each other, until something is about to explode. Then, you're allowed to step in. Most of the time, you just step in-between and shove them apart, distracting them by something more fun going on. But every now and then a fight breaks out.

After an hour and a half of exciting play, the Bandits one! So of course, we went out to celebrate, using a gift card Byrd had won. It was a perfect night -- free parking, free game, free food : the epitome of simple living.

Rule of Thumb

Popular myth (that is likely just myth) traces the origin of the phrase "rule of thumb" to the days when husbands beat their wives with the blessing of the law. According to the myth, a man could not beat his wife with a stick larger than his thumb. The same concept, I assume, could apply to discipline for his children.

Today, parenting experts and marital counselors offer a different school of thought. One that involves no sticks at all. It's generally legally acceptable, and best for all parties involved.

This Is What a Feminist Looks Like

A friend shared this blog with me earlier today. Apparently, I am not supposed to exist. That was a news flash to me.

I like the idea behind the post. Smart, educated, strong, pro-woman, pro-life, religious women exist. I am not the conservative princess that she makes her invisible woman out to be, but I am the strong, pro-life, Catholic woman she finds. Women are more than reflections of the Democratic party and products of the anti-Victorian sexual revolution. We have minds of our own that can synthesize the best of the various worlds that we experience.

My issue with the post (besides the poor organization) is this : I do exist! I know people do not think that women think, feel, act, and vote as I do, but here I am! I would rather an article that proclaimed boldly : I DO EXIST! HERE I AM, AND HERE'S HOW I PLAN TO ROCK YOUR COZY LITTLE STEREOTYPED WORLD! than an article bemoaning the fact that people don't believe their eyes when they see us.

People don't expect us, and while our current position under the public radar certainly does a disservice to our causes, our element of surprise can be our greatest advantage. If we prove the exception to the "rule" that the world sees, we force people to see that the "rules" are not as hard and fast as they might like to think.

What happens when you meet living proof that your worldview simply is not true? You have to form a new worldview to account for that anomaly. My goal : to be the anomaly that keeps people on their toes, until they realize everything that this world can be.

That is what a feminist looks like.

A Very Me Day

... and I didn't even do any of it!

My day started off with a Panera bagel picnic at Wash U to soak up some vitamin D, at the suggestion of Ana. Then we had plans to watch old episodes of The Office with some of the Gateway Vincentian Volunteers. They texted to see if we wanted to go on a brewery tour beforehand. Um, yes.

We piled into the car and took off eagerly. We even successfully navigated the detour where I-64 is closed! But because of the detour we were (unsurprisingly in my life) running late. We got to Schlafly Bottleworks slightly after the 2pm tour we'd hoped to take. As we opened the door, someone remembered -- "Where's my purse?"

We came to the conclusion that she had set it on the ground in the attempt to get everyone settled into the backseat of the 2-door car, and we had driven off without it. She and I ran in to try to find the GVVs and let them know. As we were discovered that they were on the tour, the other 2 girls got out of the car, closing and locking the door behind them. I emerged from the building to see an unfamiliar man trying to break into the car : we had locked the keys in it.

I now know how you use a wire coat hanger to unlock a car door. I'd never seen it done before and had always kind of wondered. I also know that cars with locks like Ana's are very difficult to break into. It took the better part of 45 minutes, as we agonized over missing purses as well. It was a race : Triss was on her way home from another adventure and could bring us a spare key.

At last, the Good Samaritan unlocked the door and went in for his tour. Triss called to let us know that the missing purse was not in the street. So after we got home and knocked on a few neighbors' doors, the police came over to take a report of what was in the purse. We all kind of hung around outside and waited as moral support.

And then -- as the officer took the report, one of our neighbors came outside, holding the missing purse! He had found it and picked it up, unsure to which house it belonged. Seeing us outside with the cop clued him in. He told us it was the 2nd purse he'd returned today!

Not long after this, a couple of the Gateways showed up on bicycles to watch The Office. We played a rousing game of Super-Uno and started on Season 3. This is after I climbed on a counter to close a window and nearly knocked down the light from the ceiling. (Note to Nunnery inmates: there was no computer underneath.)

To conclude this day, Triss and I walked the Loop in the evening and came across a large hippie van emitting bubbles. We played in the bubbles, watched in awe as the bubble man made on large enough for both of us to fit in, and talked to the bubble man's assistant. Apparently, they are http://teknobubbles.com/ and do black-light bubble shows. Who knew that such things existed? Triss got a wristband from them -- a perfect ending to an adventurous day.

Change of Heart

40 Days for Life recently got some great coverage from Fox News. In addition to offering women loving help rather than abortion, the 40 Days vigil participants have been there for clinic workers who have changed their minds. Apparently, 26 clinic workers have left their jobs as a result of 40 Days action. Here's an interview with a clinic director and Shawn Carney, one of the directors of the national campaign.

While I can't say that I approve of all the questions -- O'Reilly can definitely phrased them in his favor and even when I agree with the blatant bias, I don't like it -- I am so glad that this made it onto something like O'Reilly. It's not the sort of thing that's going to win over people on the opposite side, but it can help motivate those people closer to the middle of the road. Or it can help put ideas of acceptance into the minds of the less tolerant pro-lifers. Responding with anger to those people who work in abortion facilities certainly seems easier; but stories like this emphasize the need for love, prayer, and revelation.

Bright Points

In the more challenging weeks, I appreciate the bright moments more. For example, this week. If Wednesday had been Friday, the weekend would not have come too soon. However, Thursday, the plant manager set up a new desk and chair in the library for me. I now have a small cabinet that locks! Then, today, when I was sorting through a chart that someone in a past life left in the library, I discovered a box of school supplies: dry erase markers, post-it notes, pencils, washable markers, white-out... A fantastic surprise!

Yes, that's right. My bright moments come in the form of school supplies.

Of course, some bright moments are teacher-moments. In our 6th grade reading group, we spent a little bit of time discussing if the teacher was black or white, initiated by a child's question. First of all, I was glad that someone was processing the book on the level of thinking about characters and visualizing them. Secondly, the question got them talking about race. I can tell from overhearing conversations that they talk about race among themselves. But they avoid it with the white girl. I've mentioned it in non-threatening, off-hand ways, for example, when the girls ask me about my hair. Also, when we compared "scarlet" to "scalding," I told them that if you scald your skin it can become scarlet, but had to add the proviso that it might just be if your skin is as pale as mine. We're reading Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, which I think, like To Kill a Mockingbird with 8th grade, will inspire safe discussions about race.

Race and diversity at the school should be a separate post, but I will say that safe discussions of race with a person not from their demographic will be as beneficial for them as for a sheltered upper class white kid.

Myers-Briggs

This weekend led our house on a beautiful retreat to the woods west of St. Louis, where trees talk and you can see stars. The Franciscan retreat center provided a roomy yet cozy house, a statue-studded forest, and a pond that held fish and reflected the night sky. For W&M/EWC readers, it was like Bethel and Eastover had a Catholic baby.

While on retreat, we spent most of the time talking about our Myers-Briggs personality types. We'd taken the test a little while ago, but finally got results this weekend. If you don't know about Myers-Briggs, basically it divides people into 16 "types" based on 4 categories with 2 options each. You end up with a 4 letter code: for example, I am an INTJ. (My opposite, and the other 4 letters, is an ESFP.) Each type has a distinct way of relating to the world, themselves, and other people, which can have career, relationship, and other implications. A friend of mine called it "horoscopes for smart people."

Surprisingly, our house has only 4 types, in spite of our 6 people. We have no Ps (spontaneous, open-ended people) and 6 Js (routinized, like-closure people). We have 5 Feelers (make decisions based on values) and I am the lone Thinker (make decisions based on logic). The Daughter of Charity who provided our results and analyzed with us pointed out that this could make me feel the odd one out. True story in some ways, but looking at my life over the past, oh, 8 years or so, I have been closest mostly to Feelers. So I'm used to it.

Our house types: ISFJ, ESFJ, ENFJ, INTJ. 5 warm, people-oriented women, and one stubborn, independent, driven woman. My being in VSC at all proves that Myers-Briggs may be helpful, but is not the end-all, be-all. A year of service is not exactly an INTJ thing, but it is definitely a me thing.

Interestingly, I think the volunteer last year from my college was an INTJ.

Prisons?

Hello again, Stephen Colbert! In my daily dose of news and satire, today (though it's yesterday's show, played online) I learned that Arizona is privatizing their prison system. I knew vaguely that people talk about such a thing, but I had no real thoughts on it. Luckily, Colbert makes me think.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Word - The Green Mile
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor U.S. Speedskating

From disciplining kids, I know that punishing people is not fun. I do it because it's necessary and I care enough about these kids to want them to grow into decent people; and learning action = consequence will help. A problem comes about when someone wants to punish another person. That's twisted and, well, sadistic. And it's the danger that privatized prisons run. Or else they could simply dehumanize prisoners. Even the worst offenders are still human, something our society has a hard time remembering.

Books, Gender, and Paradigms

Today for the first time, some of the kids took some of my favorite books out from the library. One of the 6th graders chose The Boxcar Children, a favorite from elementary school. Around 1st grade. Granted, I read above grade and he is reading below, so it probably is a good fit.

But the one that really startled me was an 8th grade boy who picked out a Dear America book. He's a sweet, but typical eighth grade boy. A goof, athletic like all the kids, pretty easy going. Definitely not effeminate. I didn't want to create stereotypes by telling him that Dear America books are "girl" books, but I was surprised that he didn't realize it, and none of the girls in the library corrected him. I like it; it's just was a weird moment.

Oh, Bipolar Virginia

Last year on Election Day, I didn't even have to turn on the television or touch my computer to tell when VA went blue or when Obama took the election. The cheers and screams of joy from down the road let those of us who were quietly mourning in my apartment that we had lost.

Today, I barely remembered that it was Election Day. I'd voted absentee last week, so I didn't think much about it. Until I got home a little after 6 here... which means polls had just closed at home. I made myself workout, eat dinner, and socialize before I let myself check election results, however.

No surprises, but Virginia went red. What's up with this, O state of mine? I won't complain too hard, but you are like me; sometimes one color, sometimes another. Sometimes you go against pick; sometimes, you win!

Happy Birthday!

At the beginning of the year, the VSC volunteers received a book of wisdom from previous volunteers. One bit of advice that we read was to make a big deal out of birthdays. In keeping with this advice, we planned a shin-dig of a dinner today for Em's birthday : fondue and cookie cake.

After a long, hard day at school, I stopped at the grocery store on the way home. I picked up necessary ingredients, including cheese, cream, cookie dough, bread, and beer. Considering the last three items, I figured I looked like someone who'd had a really bad day. I need chocolate, carbs, and alcohol for healing!

Instead, we put on some music and had a fondue making and eating party. Fact : mushroom fondue, especially in that state of half-way ready mushroom puree does not look appetizing, but the finished product is delicious!

Darkness

Em turns 23 in a few days. For her birthday, we went to the Darkness, the 3rd best haunted house in the US.

Even the getting there was an adventure. After The Office we piled into our two cars, my car following in the others. Following did not trouble us as it sometimes does, but we missed the turn the first time we passed the haunted house. When we found our way back, the other car turned to wrong way again, away from the parking lot -- and onto the entrance ramp to the eastbound highway. Now, to understand where we were, we got off the "Last Missouri" exit. So getting back on the highway meant that we were headed to East St. Louis with no exits in between. We followed them onto an exit ramp, where the first thing I saw were two graffiti-ed speed limit signs. Not confidence-inspiring. After a brief nerve-wracking detour off the highway, we headed back to St. Louis and eventually wound our way to the Darkness.

We bought tickets and stood in line. Ana and Triss had worked themselves up nicely in the car, both of them claiming to "not do scary." I would have said the same thing but for Busch Gardens haunted houses in previous Octobers. However, the sign above Darkness boasted "America's Scariest Haunted House," which intimidated me. (I fact-checked this. Of the rankings on its website, Darkness has one in which it was rated best; for most, it fell somewhere in the top 10.) Byrd and Meemaw stayed pretty level, and Em was in an excited mood. However, once the line wrapped inside the building and characters started growling at us, I discovered that Em like haunted houses not because of her fearlessness, but rather because she enjoyed the adrenaline rush of being scared. Translation: her courage could not help me!

We finally got up to the front of the line where we joked with the ticket collector before he sent us in. I told Em to go in first, and, with much protesting, she did, with me following behind, holding onto Triss, who had Ana pretty much piggy-back, while Byrd and Meemaw brought up the rear. Almost immediately, when the hall got dark and foggy and things started dangling from the ceiling, Em stopped and started going backwards! I was not about to stop, so I ended up at the front of the hand-squeezing train of Vincentian volunteers.

Highlights of the haunted house include when a man in a hoodie scared Em into running; when Ana told a character in the wall, "We already screamed for you -- you don't need to scare me!"; Meemaw and Ana both cussing; and Em having conversations with the characters we passed. (Example : Crazy woman says, "Get out of my room!"; Em replies, "We going! To the exit! Right here!") Apparently Ana also started a litany of saints and told characters, "You're good at your job! God bless you!"

For one section we had on 3-D glasses, which I discovered I hate as much as I hate strobe lights. Problem with leading : I don't like not knowing where I am going. The floor, the walls, and characters' make-up popped out in a crazy way. We were booking it inside that house, and the group ahead of us had a few too cool for school guys who were dilly-dallying. We figured that earlier, a cloaked man who tried to block us wanted to keep us from running into them. (I think I stepped on his foot because he was in my way.) Well, in the 3-D section, they paused behind a corner to wait for us. I jumped -- Em screamed -- and I got mad at them, so I pointed and glared at anyone who jumped at me for the rest of the haunted house, which was not much.

We spilled into an arcade at the end of the labyrinth laughing and gasping. As we walked out, we sang "Happy Birthday" to Em, and Ana jumped as 2 men came out of porta-potties. And, in spite of fears voiced as we drove there, no one died or peed their pants.

Bosnian Coffee

Yesterday for formation, we had a woman from Bosnia come for dinner and serve us Bosnian coffee. Like coffee from Greece and parts of the Middle East (as per friends' experiences), this coffee is made with grinds mixed in and about 6x as strong as regular coffee. So you drink approximately a shot glassful, and don't get to sleep until midnight.

Before coffee, we had dinner from a Bosnian restaurant in town. Phila dough, plus meat and cheese and spinach equals deliciousness. Our guest told us about her experience moving to the US from Bosnia and some about her culture as a Muslim Bosnian American.

After dinner, she put on the coffee in a tall pot on the stove. While we waited for the water to boil, she explained coffee in Bosnia. They have it twice a day at least, before and after work, always with a sweet and always as a leisurely social event, not like American grab-a-cup coffee. It reminded me of tea with my roommates last year. No matter how busy we were, it seemed like there was often a conversation around the tea. When the water boiled, our guest/hostess spooned in coffee. It boiled again and was ready!

Byrd dressed in traditional Bosnian Muslim prayer clothing, which covers everything other than the face, hands, and feet. The covering of the hair made me think about the question of Catholic veiling. After she explained praying, our guest poured the coffee into beautiful golden shot glass-sized coffee cups. We had little pieces of cake and sugar cubes with the coffee.

After you drink the coffee, you can read the grinds like tea leaves. You flip the cup upside down, wait for it to dry, and read the patterns of the grinds as they flow down the side. Ana read mine. First, she decided, "It's a chicken!" On second consideration, she found the Blessed Virgin Mary, or maybe just a woman holding a baby. This, according to Ana, means that I would have a child. Next Ana found 3 or 4 other figures, who apparently were perhaps bridesmaids, but maybe not.

I told her the important part was the man involved : did it tell her who I would marry? After some more looking, she declared that she had found a clown. It works : I don't think I've ever liked a guy who was not something of a clown.

Our Bosnian guest/hostess told us that a baby meant something new in the future and took her own peek at the coffee grinds. She didn't really offer any insights though. We bid her goodnight and I proceeded to stay up too late.

I didn't have chicken for dinner today so I think Ana's first guess was wrong. However, when I heated up some of the coffee our guest had left and showed the grinds to Ana, she saw a long and winding road. So maybe I have a long path to a chicken dinner.

Try Again

In 7th grade, my class went to the Richmond Science Museum. Every single other year, the 7th grade went to visit the Amish in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I was rather bitter about this change for a long time.

Yesterday, the 7th and 8th grade went to Amish country and guess who went with them? Finally, my life has come in a complete circle... or something like that. The trip took 3 hours each way, which meant we spent more time on the bus than in Amish country. We had a bus tour of the area, then got off at a farm house where the lady of the house cooks and serves meals. After lunch, we got to explore the farm a bit and pet the horses.

I smiled so wide at seeing the small town with the open fields of corn and dark soil. Once again, however, I missed the mountains, thinking how flat the land looked. Our tour guide then told us we were in the flattest county of the flattest state in the country. I felt better about marveling at the flatness.

When we disembarked at the farmhouse, the silence struck me. Without electricity or many cars, the ambient noise dropped to nothing. How beautiful! And the air smelled clean and like food! We went inside, where the smell of the house and the homemade bread on its way out made me certain the entire 6 hours on the bus was worth this one meal.

To my disappointment, the students' xenophobia kept most of them from even placing the food on their plates. Even now, they look at me in disbelief when I say that meal is the best one I've had since arriving at St. Louis. And my housemates cook well! I enjoyed everything: chicken, meatballs, green beans, mashed potatoes, pasta, fresh bread, and pie.

After lunch, we went to the stables, where the kids encountered horses for the first time. Besides a few being terrified and no one knowing how to be quiet, that went well. I enjoyed watching some of them wait patiently for their louder peers to pass so that the horse would come back and they could pet it. The man of the house was shaving a horse that would be sold as a show horse tomorrow. Which I guess means she's already been sold. The chicken and nursing puppies were also a big hit.

Finally, we returned to the little town of Arthur. Watching my students dash across the street made it hit home how much of city kids I have. I knew that each car would stop and wait patiently for them here, as cars would not in St. Louis.

The town had an old fashioned soda and ice cream counter which many students hunted down. The lady working there put the carbonated water and syrup in the cup from separate taps. I was mesmerized!

I hated to leave. Much as I enjoy St. Louis, these past few tastes of the country have made me realize how much I miss that peace. There are no late night Colonial Williamsburg walks here, or afternoons on the river. I can't find peace away from the world in the tiny glories God placed around us.

Would You Like That Jumbo-Sized?

I thought in leaving Yosemite two summers ago, I was leaving DNC forever. Lies!

We can raise money for our athletics program by working concessions at the Rams' games. The concessionaire is, you guessed it, DNC. Ana and I took registers today.

This was my first time ever selling alcohol. The 30-and-under ID policy made me slightly nervous, because I have a really hard time telling people's ages in the age range of 20ish-35ish. However, everyone I knew I should card was born in the '80s. The people I were unsure about were born in the '70s. The women I didn't want to card but a coworker told me to card were born in the early '70s. So apparently I am a better judge of age than I realized.

I wanted to tell some fun stories about selling food, but I actually don't have any good ones. It was a fairly boring day in the world of food services.

Apples to Apples

Today, we went apple picking! As is the usual in St. Louis (or at least my adventures here), it rained this week. However, I woke up this morning to sunshine -- which also means I woke after sunrise! -- and thanked God for apple weather.

We drove down I-64 East, which can take me all the way home to the 'burg. (It's Homecoming, so I had W'burg in my mind a lot today.) It also took us to an orchard/tourist farm. We rode a wagon out to the trees.

Some of my favorite memories growing up come from fruit picking adventures with my family. While holidays and other formal family occasions brought about stress, I don't remember fruit adventures being that way, although that could be the fault of my memory. The parts I do remember include long car rides out to the mountains, bumpy roads, boxes full of apples, climbing trees to reach the top ones, coming home muddy and sticky with the trunk of our minivan weighed down with the expectation of apple pie and applesauce and fresh apples for weeks to come. And of course the joy of being outside in the mountains, in the air, in the trees, under the open blue sky.

Today, I missed the mountains, but the apples tasted fresh and real. My friends looked for the "perfect" apple, something difficult to find at the orchard, but it lengthened our venture, since we can't afford or use boxes of apples. The trees were small but the air was fresh and the sky was open. The only thing I really missed was the mountains.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I'm actually going to work backwards from the order of my title. I spent most of today grading papers on behalf of the history teacher, who assigned essays as well as a test for the end-of-quarter exam.

I learned some interesting information from these papers. For example, the "lost essential" of social studies is the "use of geography." (Hint: change the o to an a.) Captain John Smith was captured by a "tork." (Try "Turk.") And, my personal favorite -- did you know that Columbus was friends with Lief Eriksson and other Vikings? He explored North America for the first time with them.

In all seriousness, though, I could decode the nonsense, or at least understand where the idea originated. As many times as I shook my head, I laughed out loud. These kids get points for trying, even if they sometimes forget that names get capitalized and sentences get verbs. These crazy, inaccurate, grammatically confusing papers are what I dub "the ugly." I like the ugly. They are indubitably the original work of 6th and 8th grade students trying to understand history, even if they get confused along the way.

However. The ugly sometimes are the bad in disguise. At other times, the bad don't hide. They shine in all their different-voiced glory, shouting to me, "I came off-line!" Their cries are quickly corroborated by a Google search. Most of them came from Wikipedia or free paper and easy fact websites, although one guy got his from a historical society. If you're going to copy, have his sense: use a reliable source. Also, don't use the textbook. That's just dumb. I got some that came word for word from the textbook, spelling and grammatical errors not included. I don't know if they were trying to cheat smart, or if they just were too lazy even to copy right.

The ugly is very depressing and frustrating, which is why I wanted to end on "the good." It has nothing to do with essays. It has to do with two of my most frustrating students. One of them was absent yesterday. He is frustrating because he does nothing most of the time; he just wanders, acting clueless. But every now and then he has motivated spurts, and he does the work well! I just don't know what causes them, so while I encourage him at these points, I don't know how the make them happen more frequently. They are infrequent, though, so he ends up in trouble with me a lot.

Well, today he walked into school and gave me the hugest smile and a wave! I told him that I'd missed him yesterday (which was true), and he kept grinning. All day, he worked hard on today's exams and make-up exams from yesterday, and he smiled and waved every time he saw me. Since he was in a productive mood on Tuesday, that makes two good school days in a row for him!

The other one is a girl who needs attention and will act wild (but not maliciously so) to get it. She says crazy things to get reactions, and she's high-maintenance as far as attention goes, but she is no serious trouble. She too doesn't work most of the time, sometimes because she can't, and other times because she doesn't want to. I'm starting to figure her out though -- she just needs to be away from people and distractions. Escaping distractions is no mean feat in this school, but every now and again it shall be done.

Today, she was one of the few left at the end of the day, so Ana and I took her into the building for study hall. However, since there was no work for our two middle schoolers to do, we let them go to play with the after school daycare. This girl, who had been running her mouth about how she didn't want to go upstairs with us, gave us the quickest sad look before we left.

Those two moments let me know that at least I am touching some kids, somehow. Those sorts of moments are little hugs from God.

Swings

We have a playground next door and have had similar thoughts:

Pretending Hard to Be a Teacher

This weekend, I went with the rest of the middle school faculty to Chicago for the annual NativityMiguel Network of Schools Convention. This weekend was basically an excuse for all schools within the network to get together and party without students, while learning and networking.

NativityMiguel claims to "break the cycle of poverty through education," but since the oldest schools are barely celebrating their 15th anniversary, there is little firm data. I believe in it, however. The ideas behind the model are fairly simple, and based off of two schools: Nativity and San Miguel. (These schools have a richer history than NMNS, which may be part of what convinced me.) Some of the basic ideas : the schools are faith-based, serve in underserved communities, involve families, and keep students in school more hours for more days.

Oh, did I mention that the schools are middle schools? So we face the particular challenge of getting students into high school, seeing them through it, getting them into college, seeing them through it, and getting them into the real world. No one sees results for literally ten years. At least.

The Convention drew together teachers, principals, board members, and grad support counselors from across the country. And I had my first teacher class. I learned how to teach students by using games and the way the parts of their brains communicate. I took lots of notes, which I intend to use in class. I also became very confused about how to identify right and left brain tendencies, something I thought I had known, but not according to the definitions I encountered. I'd share what I was taught, but I really don't get it.

The other teaching session I went attended focused on curriculum, with the ultimate point that teachers should plan by: 1) deciding what to teach, 2) deciding how to assess it; then 3) deciding how to teach it. And not in any other order. It seems very intuitive to me, even though the speaker spent an hour and a half convincing us it's true.

Our keynote speaker blew me away. Father Greg Boyle of Homeboy Industries spoke about his ministry to gang members trying to reform their lives. After David Bereit, he's my hero.

We also had a few minutes Friday night to wander the streets of Chicago, although we didn't get out too much. We ended up at Bubba Gump's Shrimp Company, a Forrest Gump-based restaurant, eating a late dinner and enjoying ourselves. Ana especially loved the transformation of people once you get them out of the school. I know at least one of the teachers was fascinated by the way I changed from Ms. Z to me.

Nobelity

I will try to tone down the sarcasm that I normally aim towards our nation's leader for this post, because Obama did at least have the self-awareness to say he did not deserve the Nobel Peace Prize.

I realize that not all winners can be Ghandis, MLKs, and Mother Teresas. There will have to be a few Elie Wiesels and Gorbachevs thrown into the mix. In all seriousness, if you look at a list of laureates, you see a collection of people who did things for the world. Even the more controversial figures have acted on a global scale. Take Henry Kissinger, for example. Controversial figure, to say the least, but he was working in Vietnam. Or Al Gore. The credibility of his facts is, well, fairly non-existent, but he shared the award with the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change and what happens to the environment matters to the whole world.

President Obama, as best I can tell, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for hope. It makes me feel better about the US education system from a global perspective. Even my slowest students realize that there is a difference between hope and peace. They are also starting to grasp the idea that rewards come after actions, not as motivation to do something.

Stories

One of the various email lists that I occasionally read linked me to an article in the New York Times. A little while ago, a pro-life activist was shot. I wrote about it, but commented that his views were likely not the cause of his murder, based on what I'd read. I don't know anymore, but I do know how fantastic it is for a paper like the Times to cover an abortion story in this manner.

Even if I would prefer being called pro-life.

A Times blog also showed some of the graphic images that some activists use. While I have mixed feelings (mostly a range of disapproval, disappointment, and sorrow) about the use of graphic images, I like the way the blog presented the pictures. There's plenty of warning, but curiosity will drive most people on. And the power of the visual reality, for which so many people fight, will have a chance to work its magic.

Crosses

Yesterday I subbed for the 7th grade and history teacher. It was a challenging day, to say the least. The 6th and 8th grade history classes went well, but the 7th grade had more than a little trouble. The constant rain that kept us inside all day made it worse, and I suppose they were about due for an explosion.

When I got home, I had trouble shaking the day. I was so tired of being responsible for other human beings. That is a lot of pressure! Finally, a late night chat with Em put things into perspective.

She talked about the film, Freedom Riders, which I haven't seen. She made her point however : a lot happens in these children's lives bigger than school. I can forget it easily, because they minimize the harder parts in life. None of them (or few) have any conception even of their socio-economic stati, which is beautiful and frustrating at the same time.

Em also mentioned the importance of our community, in supporting each other and carrying each others' crosses. The image came to my mind of Simon of Cyrene. And instead of my community helping me bear my cross, I realized that these students have crosses that I can't imagine, and I am here to help bear them. No wonder I feel so much pressure. There are 64 middle school crosses and 3 teacher crosses coming at me from that school, for all of whom I am called to be some sort of Simon.

Rather than overwhelm me, however, the idea comforted me and put bits of life into their proper places. I can't deal with all the attitude from the school; I can't solve all these kids' problems; I can't even meet their educational needs. But I can extend a hand, or at least a finger, and help with their crosses. It will take patience and counsel to understand how, but it makes sense, and, with the grace of God, I can do it.

Magical Teacher Moments

I have them every now and then. Today, I had three.

The first two happened while the 6th grade was journaling. One of the boys put up his hand, and when I went over to see what he wanted, he asked me which "there/their" to use. Up until that point, I wasn't convinced that any of them realized that different forms of that word exist/matter, let alone thought about which to use when. But he had "the" written on the page, and his pen poised for the next letter.

To understand the next moment, you must also know that it takes massive amounts of effort, patience, repeated commands, and physical escorts to make the 6th graders settle down for 10 minutes of journaling. One of the bounciest girls, after finally settling down, announced, when we were done journaling, "What if we want to write more? I'm not finished!" And she had written more than most of her classmates!

Finally, during the last block of the day, the "Math Enrichment" class for Ana, a few students, and me, I sat down with one of the brightest kids in the 6th grade. A math teacher from St. Louis University High School had been working with him on Algebra, and today I got to help him. He figured out how to add a negative and a positive number! It may seem small, but he figured it out on his own! And he was doing 9th grade math!

Church and State

Catholic Social Teaching is called the best kept secret of the Catholic Church. It makes sense; think about how often we hear that being Catholic means kneeling nicely at Sunday Mass and praying the Rosary daily. Then think about how often we hear that being Catholic means fighting for the rights of workers, joining the struggle to empower disadvantaged communities, or creating safe havens for pre- or newborn babies? Sure, every now and then we get that image, mostly along with the message that these people are the extremists, sometimes even the loons, not your regular, run-of-the-mill variety of Catholic.

What if it's the other way around? What if those who advocate CST live exactly as a true Catholic should live, and the rest of us are "Catholic Lite" : same surface taste, but no substance underneath?

One of the sad results of our negligence of CST expresses itself in the political realm. Our negligence allows political parties and actors to co-opt passion for justice and tricks people into believing that justice solutions reside in a specific party, politician, or piece of legislation. The belief that we need just political action forms a core part of CST, but so does the idea that political action will not fix the world without the action and support of the faithful outside the political realm.

This dichotomy of political and religious solutions poses a fascinating question in a country that obsesses over the "separation of church and state," which we translate into the "restriction of religious actions and values to the church building and maybe home life." Not quite what our Founders had in mind when they wrote the First Amendment.

The Post-Dispatch today had an article that focused on the breaking down of this false wall with a "church-state disaster relief partnership." Tim Townsend, who wrote the article, explained Missouri's system that facilitates the state government and religious groups to work together at providing disaster aid. Using Katrina as an example of where the government failed and religious groups pulled through, he describes how this cooperation happens at a national level as well. Reading the article brought back memories of Sociology of Religion and Latino/a Migration, when we discussed religious-based justice movements. (We used Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo's God's Heart Has No Borders, a great book.)

Townsend does not discuss any Catholic groups, however. (Hondagneu-Sotelo does. Apparently on a small scale, you find Catholic justice groups all over the place.) Why are Catholic groups not discussed? I can think of a few reasons, and I don't know which is the case. First, they could simply fly under his notice, for a variety of reasons. Second, Townsend could not like Catholic groups. Or, third, they simply are not there, as part of the governmental partnership, or at all. Each of these reasons would have very different implications as to what we need to change to receive the notice that these Baptist and Methodist groups received.

Of course, this begs the question : Do we want that notice? I do. Not for the praise that Townsend rightly gives religious-based groups, but instead for the image change. If we make CST part of the image of a Catholic, maybe we can motivate ourselves to live up to that image and we can become the change in the world.

The Inside of Your Head

I like my new schedule and the chances I have now to work with small groups of students. I hope it will help me get into their heads some. The more time I spend with these kids, the more I see them as individual human beings (duh) and the more I realize that I just don't understand how their minds work.

Some examples:

Yesterday we had a huge thunderstorm while the 7th grade boys were working social studies in the library with me. The first crack of thunder did not resemble thunder -- it sounded like something had exploded outside the building. I actually didn't realize it was thunder at first. I thought someone had crashed their car outside the school. I expected the sirens that I heard soon after to stop at the school. But I kept me seat and my head and kept working.

The boys, however, were out of their seats in seconds. "School's over!" they said, not to cause trouble or be smart, but simply because that was their conclusion, by their use of logic. It took a moment to convince them that yes, we did have to stay in school.

I gave some 6th grade boys a test today. Their history teacher told me that I could help them figure out the answers, just don't actually tell them the answers. I let them get started, and they thought long and hard about the matching. And put down answers resembling a "priest-king" is a "group of territories" and an "empire" is a "type of writing." After thinking. Yet, the moment I pointed to "priest-king" and said, "What type of answer should this have? Is it a person, a place, or a thing?" they could answer "political and religious leader."

Another question read, "Why was the invention of the sailboat helpful?" or something along those lines. The answer their teacher wanted was that they used wind power over muscle power. I tried to help: "What would they have used before sailboats?" "Well, like, a canoe or something." "Then what's the difference between a sailboat and a canoe?" "Well, it can carry food."

What?! I really want to know what goes on in their heads, because I just don't understand. I have the feeling that if I understand the insides of their heads, I will be able to reach them better.

Which is the ultimate point of my third observation about the ways their minds work. When they are out of the classroom at break, they hit the uneven blacktop and start games of basketball, football, and volleyball in and around jump rope, tag, and races. Their attitudes completely change. I realize that this might happen with a lot of people, but I was the same on the water (racing) and in the classroom: intense, goal-driven, optimistic, and focused. They have such good team work, attitude, focus, and skill in sports that I want to figure out where it comes from and how it works so that I can channel it into the classroom.