Waukesha

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November 22, 2021- The small children, ages 7 and 9, told their mother they never want to go to a parade ever again. There is no more heartbreaking statement that can ever be heard.

A celebration of community, of diversity, of life should never become the stage for the passions of the disaffected, the disgruntled, the deranged. This is true whether one is talking about the United States Capitol, on the day of a Constitutional procedure, or the downtown of a vibrant little city like Waukesha, Wisconsin, on a day of wholesome togetherness. It was true in Las Vegas, on the day of Route 91 Harvest, in 2017, and at houses of worship in North Charleston, Pittsburgh and Sutherland, TX. It was true during the Boston Marathon, in 2013 and in the halls of learning in places like Columbine High School, Sandy Hook Elementary and Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High School. It has been true, every single time a disaffected, disgruntled, deranged person has taken out a twisted sense of entitlement and revenge against the broader public. It is true, whether the individual, or group of same, is a State Actor or just a private person wanting the world to know that he feels wronged, that his rights are above everyone else’s.

Four of the people slain yesterday were grandmothers. They were seemingly targeted by their assassin, for reasons presently known only to him. They were, in my humble estimation, innocent of any wrongdoing. They were there solely to bring “Comfort and Joy”, the theme as it were of the parade itself. There were small children, 18 at last count, injured. There were high school bandmates and cheerleaders, the very epitome of everything that is positive about life. There was a little girl, dancing in a pink suit, narrowly missed by the perpetrator’s vehicle.

I have a family member, five hours from Waukesha, who is a cheerleader. Here in Prescott, the youngest child of two dear friends is in his last year of playing in a high school band. If either of them were to be the least bit injured in an incident such as happened yesterday, I would be apoplectic-even more than I am right now.

Human life is given by the Creator, by God-if you will. Human life is not given, just so that it may be randomly taken, or even threatened, by individuals-no matter how righteously they present themselves or their cause. Human life is given, that its holders may pursue their positive, life-affirming, socially-advancing talents and faculties to their utmost.

Waukesha, may you heal-as the communities afflicted before you have healed; nay, are still healing. America, may we regain our sanity, little by little, until this sort of horror becomes a bad memory.

A Child Is A Child

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November 19, 2021- I have friends and family, on both sides of the Chasm, when it comes to discussions of race. Just so we’re clear, I am dead set against ANY policy or action that limits or prevents a person from following his/her life plan-so long as that plan does not itself involve limiting or preventing another person from following theirs.

It started, in a sense, with Emmett Till. When he was killed, I was four. An older cousin saw the news on TV and commented: “That is just plain SICK!” I asked what was sick and he told me that a kid, not much older than he, was killed by some crazy people in a place called Mississippi. I knew that name, because the older girls in the neighbourhood spelled it out while jumping rope. It bothered me, from that time on, that adults would kill a child.

As time went on, I witnessed and experienced all types of adult behaviour towards children-mostly good, but some very wicked things as well. I was, thankfully, never beaten or abused-but I knew plenty of boys and girls who were.

Growing up in a mostly White town, I saw and heard people of all ages-including some of my mates, express hostility towards people of other racial groups. In fairness, they were just as caustic towards people of other European ethnicities. I never felt such animosity towards anyone, but as the saying goes, “You stand in chalk, you inhale the dust.” It took time in the Army and frank discussions with people of other backgrounds, in which I chose to listen more than talk, for me to truly understand their experiences.

It is the duty of adults to teach teens in the ways of maturity. Maturity, as my father explained to me, means not rushing furiously into a situation, unprepared and likely overmatched. Now, we see what happens when the reverse is true. Kyle Rittenhouse went into battle, in his own mind, against an imagined foe that he barely understood, and of whose diversity he was completely ignorant. Someone in his life owed him a hand of restraint- not a violent hand, but a firm one.

Like many people in adolescence, he seemed to think he was capable of rising to the occasion and fending off those who had trouble in mind. Ironically, it was not the thugs on the periphery of the social justice movement whom he faced down, that awful night. It was three grown men, who likely fancied themselves allies of that movement, coming at him, a boy of 17.

I question how he was able to bring an AR15 with him, when the minimum age for BUYING such a weapon is 18. Yet, there it was, in his hands, after who knows how much training and practice he had been given in its use. Even people in the military, who are, with rare exceptions, 18 and over, have to have a minimum of eight weeks of training in the handling, use and maintenance of firearms, especially automatic weapons. Kyle should not have been there alone. Adults should have been with him, and then as a force of restraint.

There is, additionally, the research into the maturation of the human brain. The brain is not completely formed until the age of 25, if then. I look back on myself, in my teens and twenties, and sometimes shudder that I am still alive- my parents’ best efforts to raise me aside.

We are, however, in a crisis of adulthood when, once again, people at the street level are left trying to explain to the wider society why People of Colour are frustrated and angry-while not exactly hearing the voices of reason from those above them, in the halls of power. We are in a crisis of adulthood when a child is castigated in the court of public opinion, publicly coddled by a sitting judge and probably just as confused as he was on that awful night. We are in a crisis of adulthood when the voices of the nation’s leadership use vitriol, rather than step back, breathe deeply and foster healing. We are in a crisis of adulthood, when we just go back to the same sides, across the Chasm, that led us here in the first place.

A good-hearted, gentle family member remarked this evening that she just wants to see love for everyone. She is a conservative Christian. I am a gadfly, who leans progressive, in most matters. My sentiments, though, are the same.

A child is a child; raise him (her)!

Musings On A Day of Rest

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November 18, 2021- As I was leaving the clinic yesterday, the nurse responsible for wrapping the stitched area with gauze and bandages had done a seamless, excellent job. She gave me instructions for carefully showering, not exercising or doing anything strenuous and leaving the covering on for at least 48 hours.

As I had more or less cleared my calendar of work, for today and tomorrow, this set of instructions seemed fortuitous. Although I tend to march to my own drummer, when it comes to following a regimen prescribed by a health professional, there is no question of adherence. It’s just nicer to be around, and fully functioning, for a while longer.

So, I sat inside most of the day, moving around enough so that I stayed relevant. There was the simple task of putting the trash barrels back. There was light food preparation. There was making sure the temperature on my water heater was raised (so that showers are no longer tepid). Most every other activity was mental: Planning Thanksgiving and the days around it, with my little family; sending out notifications for activities this weekend; watching a commemorative video about ‘Abdu’l-Baha, as the Centenary of His passing approaches (November 27).

Life is ever a trade-off. Tomorrow, at 4 p.m., the bandages will be carefully removed, and I will look to be the walking wounded for a week or two. That’s okay. The seasoned doctors and the nurses who tend, very carefully, to the varied needs of their patients deserve nothing but respect and appreciation, the kind that comes from following instructions; the kind that comes from not second-guessing and casting aspersions on their motivation. It’s all just another variation on the conviction that every person, from a student to a retired volunteer, who lives and works honestly, will have my support and encouragement.

Tomorrow will see a bit more activity, but this day was a good one-and productively healing.

The Powers That Be

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November 16, 2021- The various groups of 11-12 year-olds that convened today made a concerted effort to complete their tasks, which were focused on the study of Early Man, with regard to four subtopics: Hunting, gathering/fundamental agriculture, pre-family socialization and intergroup relationships. Some wondered what it would have been like to have encountered pre-historic humans. The boys, in particular, were musing about having to face muscle-bound and aggressive creatures. A couple of the girls talked about always having to work and perhaps having no real status. The focus on personal power was quite telling.

Many today have relinquished their own power-in the face of those tests and trials of which I wrote, in the previous post. This relegation is certainly a contributor to fatigue, and to dis-ease. In the face of such disempowerment, is it any wonder that the pandemic is the “gift that keeps on giving”-and taking? To rely on The Party, on The Movement, on an individual benefactor, or even on a small group of benefactors, is a falsehood, destined to lead to despair and cynicism. My mother calls it magical thinking-and I call that a spot-on assessment.

Every one of us has far more power to achieve than many ever give themselves their due. I daresay that, if we realize, really recognize who we are, then the various “industries” that prey on the masses-the drug cartels, large reaction-oriented pharmaceutical companies, manufacturers of cheap alcoholic beverages, and all manner of “snake-oil” vendors will be desperately seeking other lines of work. Realistically, that likely won’t happen in the next few years-but there will come a time.

The learning, as to the depths of one’s power-given each of us at birth, takes as long as one feels is needed to recognize it and to determine how best to bring it to bear. It is my work to keep on imparting that message to children and youth, to be a way shower, and to persist in reminding those who say they are helpless, that their weakness is an illusion-and that the power of the individual sometimes needs to be reflected by the power of the group.

No one is less strong than s(he) feels.

Exhausted

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November 15, 2021- The young woman looked at the police officer who had come to her assistance, and said, flat-out, “I am just…so…tired. There is no end.”

I am not exhausted, though there have been times….. Dan Rather posted a provocative essay, entitled “It’s Okay To Be Exhausted”, in yesterday’s edition of the Blogsite “Steady”. He listed all the things that this modern world has thrown at us, which lead to so many being at the point of zero returns. Part of the issue is the ubiquity of information. No matter where one lives in the world, he or she can be, and often is, bombarded with the plights of those less fortunate-often with urgent pleas for help (preferably financial), on the double. This, on top of politics, social (in)justice, false equivalence, restrictions on travel, restrictions on parental involvement in the schools, ham-handed governance (from both ends of the spectrum, and all points in between), climate change, pro-choice, pro-life, Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, All Lives Matter, vitriol, supply chain issues, inflation, Paul Gosar’s anime, AOC’s pickle jar, Michael Flynn’s Theocracy, income inequality, double taxation of estates. I almost miss the days of “Where’s the Beef?” Wow, I didn’t even mention the pandemic.

What matters to me the most is the well-being of those around me-either physically in the community, by my side when on the road, and children/teens-anywhere I happen to be. What seems to matter the most, to those with whom I talk, is being heard and respected. None of us really need to be told how to raise our children. None of us really need to be told to look out for our sickly loved ones. None of us really need to be told that we’re doomed unless we follow _______________ (fill in the blanks).

What matters most is love-the only source of energy that can restore the exhausted ones who are all around. It is not a product of ideology, of lifestyle choices or of political affiliation. It is not demonstrated by giving all one has, willy-nilly, and making oneself a ward of someone else. It is bestowed on us at birth, and hopefully nurtured by family, community and one’s affiliates-near and far.

“Love gives life to the lifeless”-‘Abdu’l-Baha

Modus Operandi

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November 12, 2021- Three girls came up to the white board, offering their own methods of solving a subtraction problem that, depending on one’s age, involved either borrowing or regrouping. Since both of those traditional methods get the job done, I left the door open for alternative concepts to be presented. As it happened, two of the methods proffered by the students proved faulty. A careful check, that was done by the girls themselves, showed the flaws in their concepts, The third method, which involved diagramming and regrouping, was merely a more cumbersome version of straight-ahead regrouping. Once the class was clear on the process, I continued with an illustrated explanation of borrowing.

There is nothing wrong with allowing a learner to pursue own line of learning. It enhances understanding, when one has to push one’s own boundaries and experiment with new ways of looking at matters, in a controlled setting. There is also, to my mind, nothing wrong with a bit of sass, which shows that a person knows own mind and is working, honestly, to develop a unique personality- so long as other people’s rights are considered.

All in all, this was a perfect day of getting children to think things through, act in accordance with the program set by the absent teacher and still be given room to move in their own directions, even if that movement was faster or slower than the “norm”. Each of us must develop and practice our own modus operandi.

All Hands On Deck

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November 9, 2021, San Diego- Three teams of fourth grade students manned a rope each, and carefully maneuvered the empty steel safe into position, in the hold of the Star of India, a barque that is the world’s oldest active sailing vessel and is the centerpiece of the Maritime Museum of San Diego. Below is a photo of the ship’s miniature, taken during my last visit to the Museum, in 2012.

It is always a joy to see children engaged in an activity that involves a fair amount of thought, and all the better when that activity requires teamwork. There were four sets of students each involved in ship-related activities, during the time I was aboard. It was the only place in the museum where face masks were required. With the children’s safety in mind, all but two people were in compliance. Fortunately, the teachers and parent chaperones made sure those two got nowhere near the kids.

There are two ships that have been added to the Museum’s collection, since 2012: The galleon, San Salvador, a replica of the vessel which Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo used to sail into San Diego Harbor, in 1542 and a Patrol Craft Fast (Swift Boat). I took a fifteen-minute walk around San Salvador, joining a party of visitors from Mexico. Here is a view of the galleon.

It is notable that Cabrillo, one of the wealthiest men in Spanish America at that time, contracted food poisoning either whilst in this area, or shortly after leaving. He never got to see the successful settlement, which was fostered sixty years later, by Sebastian Vizcaino (Viz-ka-YEE-no), who gave the settlement the name, San Diego.

One ship will soon leave the Museum: The B-39 Soviet submarine. I made one visit aboard this vessel, in 2012. Here are the way it looked nine years ago, and how it looks now.

After visiting or re-visiting several of the vessels, I headed over to Little Italy, which lies between the waterfront and San Diego’s downtown core. There, a stop was made for lunch, at an old favourite: Filippi’s Pizza Grotto. It was the first restaurant I visited in San Diego, back in 1979-then, as now, accessible by entering through the market and kitchen.

This was a most gratifying day, made all the more so by the presence of so many young people, who are enthused by embracing their city’s maritime heritage-and learning teamwork in the process.

Three Little Things

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November 5, 2021- I spent the day working mostly with a child who had a reputation for being feisty and insolent. While I saw flashes of those traits, at different points during the day, he was for the most part a delightful student. Many times, a child’s behaviour is a reflection of the attitude of the adults around. Besides, one can say such things about any person, at certain times.

I noted three little things about myself during the course of the day. I can start my day, with or without a cup of coffee, but it is the easing into a day’s activities that is facilitated by hot java-and a look at what is happening in the vicinity and in the wider world. Whether I am addicted to caffeine is debatable-and likely irrelevant. I drink no more than three cups, and then only a low energy day.

Multi-tasking, while rarer than it once was, is made easier by focusing-just for a few seconds, on how to do one thing (driving), while carrying on with another (talking with someone on the phone, using the speaker system). I had to do this, more often than I wanted, during all the years that I was caring for Penny whilst holding down a job. Thank God for the speaker feature-and Bluetooth. Talking with Aram, when he needs me, is ever a priority-and I’m glad when circumstances permit this.

Lastly, it is easier for me to correct my course of action than it used to be. The key is not to get rattled. Hosting Zoom calls is not always a shining moment, if one forgets to click the “share computer audio” button, at the bottom left of Screen Share. My audience, even the most tech savvy members, have become more forbearing than they once were-and in turn, I can correct course in less than thirty seconds. Staying mindful of the task at hand, and not being concerned about what others may be thinking, makes all the difference. As the Star Wars adage goes, “The only way is through.”

Every day has its gems-mine them.

Brightness and Boredom

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November 4, 2021- The bubbly, petite girl was finished, correctly, with each task assigned by her teacher, in five minutes or less. Her groupmates each needed ten-fifteen minutes for the same increments of work. She began to handle this state of affairs with off-the-wall comments and attempts at distracting the rest of the group. That this was only prolonging their time on task did not occur to her-until blank disciplinary reports were place in front of her. Then, there was quiet and a semblance of order.

This is but one of many conundrums in mass education. The most inventive and intelligent minds are commingled with those whose comprehension levels pale in their shadow. Many schemes have been devised to correct this and there is no easy solution-save patience and perseverance. There are batteries of tests, that purport to identify high functioning people-to the level of genius. These, however, are only beginning to take in the full range of intelligence, thirty-eight years after Howard Gardner first published his theory of Multiple Intelligences. There are still too many who minimize these strands of intelligence as “talents” or “special abilities”.

There is likely to long remain a vigorous debate on the matter-but after forty-six years in education and counseling, I am one of those who subscribes wholeheartedly to Gardner’s theory. It could well be that we merely live in an age of specialists, and that the Renaissance Man is the paragon- in need of revival. I have, however, known several such Renaissance People-who seem to be multivariate in ability. They have, each, however, been endowed with a strong emotional support base and have had their intelligences nurtured, consistently, with multiple theaters for practice and strengthening. These are not human beings with isolated elements of talent.

I an not averse to heterogeneous grouping of students. The rub is, however, that EACH student’s strengths need to be identified-by a variety of methods, and each intelligence mode be seen as valuable as any other. We are making slow progress towards this end, and the hope is that the temptation to seek “dumbing down” of learning programs, in the name of “equivalency” and “equity” will go the way of the washboard and the transistor radio.

It goes without saying that we need all hands, and skills, on deck.

Self-Extension

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October 26, 2021-

Who is more uncomfortable teaching math to a group? The question was on both my mind and that of my co-teacher, earlier today. The kids were not too concerned. My group seemed to understand the lesson, and took my fat-fingering the Smart Board graphics in stride. The other group loves their teacher too much, to not cut her some slack, in the one-day absence of her regular co-teacher.

Besides, these two classes are perfect examples of what keeps me connected to education, even after official retirement. They are typical, robust, sometimes devious 11-year-olds, but when it comes to learning, to paying attention, their concept of their role is spot-on. Like the native speakers of Parisian French or Mandarin Chinese, all they ask is that you try.

Trying to explain a concept that is a bit rusty, from decades of scant use, is a temptation for shyness or self-doubt to set in. I said “No”, to that temptation, and took the fat-fingering in stride. It was made all the easier by the students’ assumption that Boomers know nothing of Smart Boards, and their inherent patience. (Disclosure: Penny was in the first group of teachers in Arizona to use a Smart Board, in 2002. I got to try the tool out, several times, on visits to her classroom.) The kids were amazed, at how quickly I learned to use the tool.

There is joy, and power, in extending oneself. That is the most important lesson I hope the students picked up today.