Category Archives: children

Extended Family, Reno-Carson: Day One

0
Posted by on in children, Family, Service Activities, Social

May 29, 2016, Carson City- There are several places in the world, where I feel among family.  Over the past five years, the blended family that straddles the burgeoning area of northwest Nevada has provided one of those places.  The Smiths have been friends of ours for over twenty years.  Their children and grandchildren have maintained that tie, and grown into extended family.

The youngest grandchild has been a particular delight- a spirited, highly intelligent 4 1/2-year-old.  I was introduced, this morning, to her Star Wars robot.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Veronica’s Star Wars robot

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Veronica’s Star Wars robot

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Veronica’s Star Wars robot

Okay, that was overkill, but this little lady has given me practice at potential grandparenthood. I am inclined towards a combination of healthy fun mode and diligent oversight, as well as being concerned with the child’s holistic growth.

This day was thus a low-key affair, helping with locating moved items, unpacking some boxes and helping to re-establish the household.  Such will be the order of the next three days, worked around the usual family events.

 

Last Day

19
Posted by on in children, collaborating, Personal goals, Poetry, Striving

May 26, 2016, Prescott-

Standing in line, for a freshly-baked dozen,

I see many ahead, with the same wish.

Treating our charges,

on one last morning of hard work.

Arriving on the scene late in the year,

the farewells of many are muted, fleeting,

but credit is given to those to whom it is due.

A hug for the lady who has done the lion’s share of work,

ends the high school days of many.

My time in this cradle of maturity has resumed.

I will be regular staff,

come August.

How rewarding, to be once again,

the repository of trust.

Shante’s Dream

13
Posted by on in children, Community, Striving

March 27, 2016, Marana-  He has only been among us, here in Arizona, for about ten days, along with his two brothers and two sisters.  None of the kids speaks English, and they only know a smattering of French. Swahili is their mainstay.  Shante (SHAN-tay), age 3, and his siblings, have come to us from DR Congo, by way of Tanzania. The children, and their caretakers, joined thirty-four others of us, at a Unity in Diversity musical festival, on this bright, but thankfully breezy and cool, Easter Sunday.

Despite all his family’s travails, Shante walks with a swagger, and a purpose.  His take on life is strictly one day- or one moment- at a time.  That is the joy of being three, nothing has assumed an air of permanence in life, as yet.  He looks up at the tall, well-built drummers, themselves having come here from the Republic of Congo-Brazzaville, speaking just enough Swahili to make the kids feel welcome.  They show Shante their drums, and lift him up, so that he may tap on the skin and feel his own rhythm start to stir.

After a few minutes of this, and a ping-ping, on the keyboard of a Cuban musician, fresh from the city of Holguin (visited by Pope Francis I, last Fall), Shante comes back down, off stage, and lingers by my seat for a bit, then goes along his way, back to be with his sisters.

They take part in a second-round hunt for plastic eggs, filled with jelly beans.  The girls manage to find all remaining eggs, within two minutes of search.  Shante gets his share of the take- four plastic, jelly-bean filled delights.  He eats one jelly bean, and that’s enough.  For a child who has seen, and tasted, little of sweetness, a little bit goes forever.

Shante has his dream- as yet locked behind the door of linguistic disparity, and development.  A three-year-old’s Swahili is, after all, no more proficient than would be his contemporaries’ Norwegian, Spanish, or Kwa Zulu, in other parts of this hard, but exquisite home of ours.  His eyes, though, are scintillating.  This boy is sharp, and will make his way in the world, regardless of circumstances.  He shows interest in the music, whether African, Caribbean or Bluegrass, and dances to whatever tune is being offered.  He examines a blind man’s Australian bush hat, carefully fingering its strap and felt covering, as the patient man abides the probing. He works the crowd, and sizes each of us up, by looking us in the eye, for a minute or two, before moving on to the next person of interest.  He offers a brief opinion of what he has seen and heard, to his oldest brother, who nods in assent and holds Shante close, for a few minutes.

I keep saying this:  We, the elders, are in good hands with the generations that are rising.

Trafficking, and Obfuscation

5
Posted by on in children, distraction issues, Personal goals, Personal Values

March 24, 2016, Prescott- I watched an episode of a network television show, on my laptop, this evening.  It dealt with the abuse of teenaged girls by a sex-trafficking ring.  The piece was outlandish, on the surface, having, as its antagonists, two powerful members of the Roman Catholic Church hierarchy in New York. The piece was fictitious, yet showed how diligent police work, and an appeal to the humanity of a low-level operative in the ring, gave up the culprits.

It was no surprise, though, that during the early stages of the investigation, the ringleaders turned to obfuscation, to role reversal, and smoke-screening, in their attempts to get out from under the encroaching detectives. This is a common modus operandi  of wrongdoers with means.

This stays in my mind, because yesterday I read an article in the Global Post, an online news magazine I have trusted for several years.  The article takes issue with widespread concern over sex trafficking, specifically in the country of Cambodia. The author quotes an “expert”, who has “lived with the sex workers” in that country, as saying that a Cambodian woman who enlisted the aid of U.S. journalist Nicholas Kristoff, in shining a light on the problem of sex trafficking in her country, was exaggerating, had falsified and embellished her reports, and that making human trafficking a cause celebre was, in the case of Cambodia at least, a misrepresentation of the facts.

This is what the powerful do, when their activities, and the income they derive from those, are threatened:  Obfuscate, discredit and go back to business as usual. Maybe there are plenty of women who choose a life of compensated sexual promiscuity, whether out of economic despair or the sense that this is the only way that they will ever know physical intimacy with a man.  They, however despondent their lot, are not the primary focus of those who have taken up the cause of bringing an end to human trafficking.

The shameful attempt by Global Post to becloud this whole matter will never stop those of us who are committed to ending the imprisonment and torture, to which  thousands of women and children are subjected, world-wide, day by excruciating day.  I urge each person reading this to stand up to those beguiled by their own perceived power and authority, and work to free those, in every nation on Earth, who are held in virtual slavery.

Old Sod

14
Posted by on in children, Fiction, Poetry

March 17, 2016, Prescott- 

Paddy, my brother,

what did you find,

while walking the fair isle’s countryside?

Brigid, dear sister,

it gleamed up at me,

a golden shamrock,

which I’ve brought home to thee.

Paddy, o brother,

I fear that you’ve erred.

The golden stone surely

was meant to be interred.

Brigid, dear sister,

do you mean to say

the sprite named Liam

shall spirit it away?

Aye,

I sense his presence,

on the roof.

Liam! Stop,

let us have the shamrock.

Sorry, kiddos-

POOF!

My Life Thus Far: The Nineties

5
Posted by on in children, Family, Inner Struggles, Personal Values, Social

March 6, 2016, Chula Vista- In the scheme of things, my most productive decade, to date, has been the 1990’s.  My forties were, initially, of consternation to my wife, but ended up being a time of relative calm and mutual growth for us.

1990-High Point: Travels with my family, around Jeju.                                                                                   Low Point:  Losing several more aunts and uncles.                                                                                People in the Heart:  My little family; my students; the Korean Baha’is.                                     Places in the Heart:  Jeju; Mt. Halla; Nonsan; Yosu.

1991- High Point:  Continued growth of our community, and in my teaching.                                       Low Point:   None.  This was a very sanguine year.                                                                                 People in the Heart:  Koreans, in general.                                                                                               Places in the Heart:  Jeju; Inchon; Jonju, Busan .

1992- High Point:  Return to the Navajo Nation.                                                                                               Low Point:  Leaving Korea.                                                                                                                              People in the Heart:  My students, both in Jeju and in Jeddito; the long-suffering Mr. Chun; Marty Green, who gave me a fresh start; the proprietress of Mile-Hi Motel, Prescott.                                                                                                                                                                              Places in the Heart:  Jeju; Sorak-san; Prescott; Jeddito.

1993- High Point:  Penny’s return to teaching.                                                                                                   Low Point:  Dealing with a disinformation campaign.                                                                          People in the Heart:  My Navajo and Hopi students; A.T. Sinquah; the Begay family,              of Cienega Canyon; Harry James, who gave his life for his faith.                                                      Places in the Heart:  Jeddito, Keams Canyon; Canyon de Chelly; Flagstaff.

1994- High Point:  Learning about, and implementing, a comprehensive guidance                              program.                                                                                                                                                                Low Point:  Struggling to adapt to new school administration.                                                         People in the Heart:  The Ambrose family; the Melvins, who taught me how to act                 with grace, and patience; all the aforementioned.                                                                     Places in the Heart:  Pinon; Shungopavi; First Mesa.

1995-High Point:  Our first cross-country road trip, as a family.                                                                 Low Point:  The passing of Penny’s paternal grandfather.                                                                  People in the Heart:  Sadie Charley; the Bathkes; the Shuplas; A. C. Fellman.                           Places in the Heart:  Louhelen Baha’i School; Bedminster; Saugus.

1996- High Point:  Continued success in our school’s program.                                                                    Low Point:  The passing of our neighbour, Georgianna T.

           People in the Heart:  The Coin family; Clifford Q., who taught us all patience, in a                  different way; Mark Sacco, who never gave up on the hardest of students; the                            Smiley sisters; the Tewanema family.

          Places in the Heart:  Edgewater, NM (our vacation spot); Sandia Crest; the Navajo                  and Hopi Nations, in general.

1997- High Point:  Our road trip with Lady (our dachshund, adopted in 1995).                                        Low Point:  The suicide of a former student.                                                                                            People in the Heart: Marwin Woody and his family; the staff of Louhelen Baha’i                      School; all my relations.                                                                                                                                  Places in the Heart:  Amarillo; Effingham; Lambertville, NJ; Louhelen Baha’i                           school; Edwardsville, IL.

1998-High Point: My securing a principalship.                                                                                                   Low Point: The accidental death of a key staff member.                                                                       People in the Heart:  Mrs. Lowe and Ms. Young, my strongest classroom teachers.                  Places in the Heart: Chilchinbeto; Kayenta.

1999-High Point: Landing on my feet, at Salome High School.                                                                     Low Point: Aram’s harrowing return visit to Korea.                                                                             People in the Heart:  Tom Riggenbach, the Charley family (who spoke in my                             defense); Paul Lansing; the majority of my constituents in La Paz County.                                   Places in the Heart: Polacca; Salome; Prescott.

The Nineties began with stability and hope, though various storm clouds were always showing lightning,in the distance.  This was a time that began and ended with big moves for us.  I made a stab at being an administrator, and found it was not for me. I am much more at home with counseling, and would have done better to hone my skills in that area, still further.  Penny had a serious fall, in 1998, and we spent much time and energy seeking competent neurological care.  She seemed to have recovered, by the end of the year, when we observed her parents’ 50th Wedding Anniversary.  The decade ended with us working through the joys and sorrows of life in a small Southwestern town.

Still and all, that decade was good for us.  The ten years to come would prove far more challenging.

 

 

Vigils

6
Posted by on in children, Education, Personal Values, Spiritual, Striving

February 13, 2016, Glendale- The slight, bespectacled girl embraced her tall, athletic friend, and caressed her blonde forelock.  “Are you scared?  You are safe now.”, the shorter girl spoke, in comfort and assurance.

There were about 500 of us here, tonight, at Independence High School, in  the southern corner of this vibrant, artsy city, immediately to the west of Phoenix.  Yesterday, two girls, who were openly in a relationship, died in what appears to have been a murder-suicide.  We were here to pray and place lit candles at the makeshift memorial that lines the southern exterior wall of the gymnasium.  Those who felt like talking, did.  Those who needed a hug from someone they knew and trusted, got all the comfort they could handle.

I am a stranger here, tonight.  It was 2011, when I last worked in a classroom at Independence High, as well as at the other campuses of Glendale Union High School District.  I had good experiences here, and got on well with the students.  This evening, though, drew me like moth to flame.  I explained my ties to one of the current school counselors, who was introducing herself to anyone who seemed out of place, and making sure we had a connection to the school.  It was enough for me to just stand and silently pray, offer positive thoughts and accept a candle from one of the other teachers.  It was graciously lit by a well-dressed student, and I joined a line of people in placing the candles at the memorial site.  I stayed for about 20 minutes further.

Candlelight vigils have become all too common- as have the acts of despair, of giving up, which lead to the cause of the vigils.  One of my online friends responded to my initial post about the girls’ deaths, with one word:  “Bleh”.  My own response, every, single time is a sinking heart.

This is Valentine’s Eve.  People at other high schools are having dances and parties.  People across this maddening, beautiful Valley, with its frenetic traffic and culture of anonymity are crowding into hotels and motels, paying premium prices for the sake of a holiday. At Independence, suffering proto-adults, and their elders, are doing what far too many of their peers have had to do, since 1997:  Mourn those among them who have fallen victim- sometimes by their own hand, sometimes by the Hand of Anonymous Rage.

It would be nice to be able to simply say:  STOP!- and have it be so.  For now, though, all I can do is be here for people I’ve never met, people who might recognize me from five years ago, people who are part of a generation I have come to love with the highest level of intensity.  I want “my kids” to thrive, to dream, to live to the fullest.

I dream- of the day when vigils may come to an end.

Sleep? Whazzat?

12
Posted by on in animal and plant life, children, Fiction, Striving

January 17, 2016, Prescott-

It had been about four months, since the last sighting of the fishermen.  Nadia, a red head among Romanians who had mostly jet-black hair, could feel the energy of those African fishermen, as they stared at her, and at the two, equally-ginger toned wolf-men who alternately barked orders at her, sometimes literally, and led her, tethered at the neck by a leather-collar, which they had devised from the hide of a small eland they had captured, about five months earlier.  Rather ironic, her plight, Nadia thought- a woman being walked about by wolves.  It all reminded her of an old Korean film she had seen, “To The Rose Inn”, she recalled, in which a man leads his female captive around on a leash, she walking on all fours.  “At least, I am allowed to walk upright”, she mused.

Narcolepsy was affecting the were-creatures, especially as they had discovered the local beer, which they were foolishly imbibing even in the the throes of a full moon.  They had stolen a goodly amount of the brew from some inebriated fisherfolk, whom they found snoozing in midday, about two weeks earlier.  It was this act which led to Nadia Donescu’s recovering her freedom.

On the morning of a waning gibbous moon, Nadia awoke to find her captors snoring, and lying in a copse, about 40o meters away from their usual spot- which was practically right next to where she was tethered.  Across the glade, she heard strange noises:  It seemed someone was slashing brush with a machete, but she couldn’t be sure.  The noises got louder, waking the two brutes.  The vocalist became clear:  It was a bull elephant!   The wolf-men looked at one another, then at the pachyderm.  They chortled to one another,  in delight.  Not paying the slightest mind to Nadia, they each grabbed a roughly-hewn atlatl, which they had fashioned from local flint, and attempted to encircle the snorting beast.

Nadia had her eyes on the elephant, too, but was more concerned with loosening the collar around her neck.  With the men otherwise engaged, and the bull warily eyeing them, she was able to extract herself from the shackle, and dart behind a baobab tree.  The bull elephant suddenly made for the man to his right and lifted the shrieking werebeast clear off the ground, throwing him into the cove.  A  Nile crocodile had an unusual lunch, that morning.

His partner-in-crime readied his makeshift atlatl and aimed for the crazed bull.  The weapon grazed the animal on his left temple, further maddening him and directing his attention to the now-hapless werewolf.  The man could not outrun the elephant, but tried to shimmy up the baobab.  The mad bull wrapped his trunk around the man-wolf, threw him to the ground, and stomped him, in one fell swoop.

Nadia wasted no time in clearing out of the disheveled camp, and ran towards the road she remembered from one of their infrequent forays into the fishing camps along the lake.  In short order, she happened upon a Chinese construction worker, and his two children, sitting by a koi pond they had devised, in which the children’s pet goldfish were happily at play.  The older child, a girl, took two of the goldfish, placed them in a plastic bowl with some lake water and covered it with wax paper, secured with an elastic band.  This, she proudly offered to the disheveled Nadia.  The father spoke some German, as did Nadia, and offered to take the newly freed woman to the nearest town.  Nadia was only too happy to accept.

Square One Calling

14
Posted by on in children, Education, Striving

December 7, 2015, Chino Valley- This morning, I presented the school’s director with the results of my tests, only to be told that it was too late, and that my replacement would be reporting for work on January 4.

The song is never done, until Mickey Spillane’s woman of size lets loose.  So it is, with my formerly possible work situation at Mingus Springs Charter School. The song has been delivered. The upside, for the children, is that their third teacher of the year has a Special Education background. They need that skill set.  It is imperative, however, that she also prove to be a compassionate, loving soul, and, for now, I am taking it on faith that she is.  I will maintain contact with the families, and will know if things go awry.

This job impelled me to become certified as an elementary teacher, something I had resisted for a while, out of the ignorant belief that it would require a lengthy regimen of coursework and another teaching practicum.  This proved not to be the case, and I will have a certificate in hand, by the end of this calendar year.  That will increase my worth in the Prescott and Chino Valley public schools.

Square One has been my refuge, actually, most of my adult life, and from it, I have gone on to some amazing places, career-wise.  I presently have no way of knowing what 2016 holds in store, but am certain that the possibilities are far wider now, than they were two weeks ago.

I will finish out my six days and be off.  The Spring semester, for now, will be first call, first served.

The Road to 65, Mile 361: Paper Turkeys

5
Posted by on in children, Community, Education, Personal Values, Striving

November 24, 2015, Chino Valley- Today was the last day of school before Thanksgiving Break.  The concept of a two-day work week is a bit foreign to me, but I will take it, gladly.   It’s the season of my birth, after all. I had the kids do homework, last night, and maintained my regular teaching regimen today, with one adjustment:  Many children treasure the idea of making paper turkeys and Pilgrims. So, we spent the afternoon class hour, before P.E., following tradition. One little girl made an Indian headband, with a paper feather sticking out.  Some made separate turkeys and Pilgrims.  Others designed turkeys wearing an Elizabethan-Era hat.

This sort of fun activity, for elementary school students, harms nothing and no one.  Some will say that “The truth about the Pilgrims must be told!”  Yes, it does need telling, and to people who are of an age at which the black, the white and the gray can all be processed, and sifted out.  Sharing such information, too soon in a person’s life, is exactly what has brought on the excesses of Political Correctness.

The Pilgrims and Puritans were dour, narrow-minded people, as regarded those of other faith traditions, both European and Aboriginal American.  So, too, were the Spanish and Portuguese.  Many of the Founders of the United States were slaveholders, men of their time.  The best of these slaveholders were progressive in other ways, and some educated their chattel-people.  None of that excuses their slaveholding, but therein lies a tale of lives lived in the gray.

I teach older students, when I am with them, to avoid throwing the baby out with the bath water, as it were.  There has been, is, and will be, no public figure, aside from the Messengers of God, who is a paragon of perfection.  Every person worthy of emulation also has aspects of his/her life that are less than savory, even despicable.  So, one must choose the good elements, and sift out the bad- Wheat from chaff, as The Christ told us.

I will long adhere to things like playing Hallowe’en and Christmas songs, encouraging holiday art, and having birthday parties, when a child’s parents request them.  Childhood should not be frayed at the edges.  It’s when we have time to learn who we are, and build a firm foundation for life’s course.

Bring on the paper turkeys!