Month: November 2022

I’ve always enjoyed programming that features a makeover of some sort. I remember Oprah Winfrey bringing people onto her program who looked especially bedraggled and downtrodden. She’d send them away with experts in hair, makeup and styling then bring them back for a big reveal. They would return to the stage literally looking like different people. I was always amazed by what a good haircut and a bit of highlighting did for one’s appearance. Having clothing that was tailored was rather amazing as well. I often found myself wondering how I would look if the folks who performed such miracles took a crack at me.

I also love shows like This Old House where someone spends more money that I will ever see renovating a downtrodden property. I am always in awe of the architects and builders who bring a neglected home back to glory, but I also realize the expense of doing such things. I often wonder what it is like to have so much income or savings that people don’t have to scrimp on their projects. I also marvel at the outcomes and wonder if the homes are really as lovely as they appear on the screen. 

I suppose that I have reached a point in life of mostly satisfaction with my own appearance and that of my home. I have come to like myself just as I am, and as long as my house is in good working order I am comfortable with it just as it is as well. I believe in a regimen of checkups and repairs for both my body and my household. As the years pass by I find that my desires for a major do over have mostly faded. Somehow spending time and money recreating my looks or those of the rooms in my residence seems to be a waste of resources that might better be used elsewhere. 

I find contentment in liking myself and my home. If I were to make any changes in either of those things it would be to scale back. I find myself moving more and more to a life of greater simplicity. I rarely wear makeup anymore and I clothe myself in mostly jeans and t-shirts. I have way more room and more belongings than I really need. I more often think of sharing than acquiring. I suppose that my change might be attributed to growing comfortably into my own skin. 

It certainly took me long enough to reach a point of satisfaction. I admittedly wanted to please everyone and that often meant putting on a show in my own appearance and the presentation of my home. I suppose that the strange interlude of the Covid pandemic showed me what was really important in life. Somehow all of that time reflecting and seemingly observing from inside a fishbowl helped me to sort out who I really am and how I want to relate to the world. I learned whom I might count on to stand by me, and who would quickly drop me for no real reason. I found out what really made me happy and what mattered very little. I had time to get in touch with my feelings and to better understand those of others. I discovered a new and deeper gratitude for my own good fortune. 

I suppose that it might be argued that I actually had a makeover that was invisible to everyone but me. I walked into the past three years as one person and emerged miraculously different. In a kind of reverse of the usual do over I stripped away the facade that had been hiding the person that I had always wanted to be. It was as though I was born again with more confidence in and appreciation for for my life. The joy of such a realization has been immeasurable. 

I marvel at my good fortune and celebrate each breath that I am able to take. Just thinking about the simple glories of life makes me smile. Nonetheless, I consider what I might do to help those around me and those far away. I want to help them to experience the feeling of contentment and security that I have. I’ve spent more time understanding and speaking up for the souls who are suffering even as I am more satisfied with my own lot in life than I have ever before been. My self criticism and timidity are gone, shorn and reshaped as surely as a new haircut might improve my appearance. 

The old house that resides in my mind has been shored up and restored to glory, maybe even made better than ever before. I’d like to think that the new me is kinder, gentler and stronger than because I have miles to go and much to do before I settle into a long rest. Without having to worry about all that is superfluous my new path is clear. I’m ready to turn my attention to making every breath I take purposeful. 

I will still watch makeovers because they fascinate me, but the envy that once colored my opinion of such things is gone. I have what I need. I don’t require more. I am now freer than ever before.  

It was just after hurricane Katrina had devastated New Orleans. The city was all but uninhabitable and many citizens had to find places to live until the water had receded and the damage to homes and buildings had been repaired. The greatest number of them came to Houston, Texas where the citizens welcomed them and the schools embraced their children. 

I was working at Paul Revere Middle School in west Houston at the time. There was an enormous apartment project adjacent to the campus that had seen better days and therefore had a number of empty apartments. The management made a deal with the city of Houston to offer residences at low rates and so many of the displaced families began to move into the dwellings and to register their children at the school. 

In the beginning the clerks who helped to complete the paperwork for each child and the counselors who assigned them to classes were inundated with applicants. The teachers were overwhelmed by the influx of new students into their classrooms, often having to ask for more desks and chairs and textbooks to accommodate them. All in all the situation was chaotic and tensions were on edge. As an administrator I sensed that all parties were at a breaking point as parents complained and yelled about the long waits and faculty members threatened to quit if they were subjected to anymore overcrowding in their classrooms. I sensed that something had to be done to calm everyone.

I had little idea what might work, but I was ready to try anything. I went to the teachers’ lounge and brewed a big pot of coffee and used all of the change in my wallet to purchase soft drinks. I organized cups, sugar cream, and cold drinks on a rolling cart that I brightened up with a couple of placemats. I rolled my beverages to the area where the parents were waiting and the faculty members were working feverishly. I planted a big welcoming smile on my face.

As I greeted each parent I told them how happy we were to have their children in our school. I introduced myself and inquired about their names while asking if they wanted something to drink. Most of them chose the coffee and smiled their thanks. I asked how they were doing, where they were living, what they had lost. I wanted to know what the school might do to help them. As I spread my meager effort at good cheer the atmosphere changed. People became calm and even understanding about having to be patient as they waited. The faculty members felt the pressure on them decrease. The environment became almost convivial.

Over many decades as a teacher and a school administrator I learned that most of the anger that I encountered came from the anxieties that parents and students were feeling. When they became overwrought and highly charged the best response was to demonstrate a sense of empathy. Most of the time all they needed was assurance that somebody had heard their pleas and understood what was so upsetting. It never took much to settle their feelings and work toward goals for helping. Only once did I fail to simmer things down.

It was an open house evening that had started quite well. The classrooms were decked out in fine student work and everyone seemed to be having a good time when yelling came from down the hall. I quickened my step in that direction as the insults being hurled were beginning to sound like violent threats. I reached the source of the commotion and saw a parent thrashing her arms and screaming at a teacher who appeared to be on the verge of either crying or hurling her own insults in answer to the parent. 

I introduced myself and quietly suggested that the parent accompany me to my office where we might discuss her concerns. At first the woman meekly followed me into the hallway, but after we had taken a few steps she turned on me, asking who I thought I was to interrupt her session with the teacher. Her vulgar language grew louder and louder as I did my best to let her know that I truly intended to hear her out and then help her. She would have none of it and she began to rage that she was going to follow me to my car at the end of the open house, follow me home and beat me when I got out of my car. 

To say I was stunned was an understatement. I was so taken aback that I rather quietly told her that she was going to have a very long ride because I lived across town from where I worked. I also let her know that many former students resided near me and they had great fondness for me and felt very protective of me. When I told her exactly where I lived her eyes became as big as saucers and she proclaimed that I lived in a gang infested part of the city. I simply smiled and said that I most surely did and that she was welcome to follow me if she still wanted to do so, but I had to admit that my former students might not like it if she tried to beat me up when we got here. 

The woman stuttered nervously  and immediately left. I suppose that I had resorted to a tactic that appalled even me, but it had cooled the situation down and the woman later apologized to everyone. She explained that she was having great difficulty with her son at home and was frustrated to learn that he was doing no better at school. She simply lost her cool. I suppose that I had lost mine as well. 

There is always a reason why someone behaves badly. Take that into account when they are raging. More often than not a bit of kindness will soothe them. Of course there are also times when pushing back is the only way to stop their rants. Bullies only seem to respond to strength.

I have been retired for quite some time, but not really. Within weeks of hanging up my teaching spurs I found myself feeling out of sorts and useless. I suppose that I am just not made to spend all of my days without direction. I missed the interaction with students that had been my lot for decades and found a way to fill that void by tutoring students in mathematics. Some of my charges were from a private high school. Others were my own grandchildren. I worked my leisurely schedule around time spent with young people attempting to master Algebra I, Geometry, Algebra II and Pre-Calculus. I found purpose and joy in studying ways to demystify concepts and build confidence in those who needed a little bit more support. It became my hobby of sorts. 

One day I got a message from my niece whose neighbors were searching for someone to teach mathematics to their sons whose homeschooling in math had moved beyond their abilities. It was an opportunity that I had to seize and I haven’t looked back since. Over time those two young boys have grown and moved on to junior college, but I have continued my relationship with their families as their siblings grew to need my services as well. A few family friends also requested my services so this year I’m working with ten youngsters ranging from grade five to community college age. Because of them boredom has never been one of my companions. 

My husband and I did a great deal of traveling before my father-in-law moved in with us. We’ve put most of that on hold until we find a way to feel comfortable leaving him for a long period of time. I’d probably be feeling a bit confined by our new responsibility were it not for those wonderful students that I teach each week. On Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays I travel to their homes to help them to progress in the knowledge and skills of mathematics. On Thursdays and Fridays I grade their work and plan their lessons. It keeps my mind feeling very much alive and fills time that I might otherwise struggle to make useful. It makes me a better person in every regard. 

I have my guilty pleasures as well. I am a sucker for any kind of word game. In fact I begin each day attempting to discover the answer to Wordle. Sometimes in the afternoons I play Scrabble with the computer and in the evenings Wordscape is my go to game. It may sound funny, but these are my therapies whenever life pushes in on me a bit too much and I become anxious. Focusing my brain on solving word puzzles soothes the beast within me every single time. 

In between doing laundry, cooking and keeping the house in order I like to read. In fact I often read when I am exercising on my bike or walking on the treadmill. I find exercising to be boring and tedious even though I always feel better after I have completed a session. Reading an article or a good book makes the time that I spend go so much faster. It feels less like a punishment when I use my mind while also keeping my body in good working condition.

My favorite pastime used to be following my friends on Facebook. I liked staying in touch with them electronically. I wanted to know how they were doing and when Covid came around it was an avenue for making sure that everyone was okay. Over those long weeks of isolation I learned how to use Twitter as well and now I am a great fan who follows experts in education, medicine, politics and economics. I’ve even had the joy of getting comments from famous souls whom I have admired for decades. I have learned a great deal of useful information from my forays into the noisy world of social media, but it is also often one of the most frivolous things that I do all day. 

When I first retired I worried that I would soon be bored with my very slowed down life. For over forty years I had left for work before seven in the morning and returned just before dinner time. I spent every evening grading papers and planning lessons until I fell exhausted into bed. On weekends I had to clean my home, do laundry, and shop for groceries. Every minute of every day was filled and I became accustomed to never having time for frivolities. The thought of having a whole day before me without restrictions was horrifying when I finally came home to spend the rest of my life without the direction that work had always given me. 

I’ve found my footing, a way of living with continued purpose at a greatly scaled down pace. I’ve finally had time to write every single day and to visit leisurely with friends. I am able to care for my father-in-law and laugh with my students. When the weather is not too hot or too cold I tend to my garden and pamper my plants. I tweet on Twitter and celebrate life on Facebook. I relax with words, words and words. One day I will hit to road again and travel to places far and near. For now I am quite content in perhaps the most enjoyable phase of my life. I get to decide each day what I want to do, and sometimes I actually allow myself to relax. My chosen frivolities have kept me happy.

A cousin of mine sent me an article about a professor at NYU who had been fired after a group of his students signed a petition outlining complaints about his Organic Chemistry class. The professor had spent over forty years teaching at Princeton University and had even written a widely used Organic Chemistry textbook. He had revolutionized the methodology for working with students by emphasizing problem solving in the class rather than standard lectures. This required the students to ask and answer question and engage in critical thinking. 

The professor insisted that he had been observing a general decline in student engagement that increased during the months of remote learning prompted by the Covid epidemic. He furthermore attested that students were not coming regularly to class and that even those that did were often unprepared. He even bemoaned the fact that he had created a series of videos for the students to watch that many of them never bothered to view. The result was that  students were misreading exam questions and making scores as low as zeroes with almost one third of them failing the class.

The students who signed the petition insisted that they were putting a great deal of effort into learning the material for the class all to no avail. They claimed that the professor was condescending and even insulting at times. They complained that he did not make himself available for tutoring and that he discouraged questioning. In the end they believed that he was doing little to demystify the difficult coursework and that his attitude toward them was openly hostile. 

As a former teacher and a Dean of Faculty I was drawn to this scenario with great interest. I view teaching as an art form. A masterful educator is able to skillfully explain even the most difficult concepts while also challenging students. Engaging all of the students requires both mutual respect and a willingness of all parties to embrace high expectations. The best teachers and professors begin from a place of understanding and then gradually increase the level of difficulty until the majority of the stakeholders reach not just a place of comprehension, but the realization of successful accomplishment in a quest to learn something that is generally difficult.

Years ago I became enchanted by the story of a physics professor who made his lectures so understandable that students were flocking to his class even if they had no intention of majoring in the subject that he taught. His methodology was to use everyday demonstrations to actually show students how a particular concept worked. Once they understood what was happening the formulas and mathematics made perfect sense. He became known not only for his contributions to Physics, but also as an outstanding teacher.  

I am not privy to all of the information regarding this issue at NYU, so I am only able to suggest what may have been happening. In any classroom there are going to be students who work very hard and master concepts with or without a great teacher. There will also be those who arrive with lesser skills, knowledge and study habits. The wise teacher strikes a balance between these kind of disparate groups. Certainly the best and brightest deserve a pace that keeps them interested while the less prepared must never be left to simply sink or swim. A good teacher will reach out to every student with opportunities that encourage them to ask questions, seek extra help, stretch themselves a bit more each day. When everyone realizes that it is safe to admit to deficiencies most will usually take advantage of the encouragement that the teacher is offering.

I suspect from what I have read that this kind of teaching and learning was not happening in the particular Organic Chemistry class at NYU that resulted in student failure and the firing of a legendary professor. I would not expect the professor to coddle students by making the coursework easier, but I would ask him what he might have done to provide more support and encouragement for his students during the learning process. He needed to dialog with them about not just his expectations, but also the avenues by which they might receive the help they needed when they found themselves drowning. Humans are such that they will run from a situation that they perceive to be dangerous. They will also sometimes take advantage of those that do not hold them accountable. Somehow the communication between the students and the professor was tainted with neither side feeling comfortable about the other. 

I worked with award winning teachers who unpacked the mysteries of Chemistry, mathematics, and literature in ways that made it not only accessible but exciting for their students. Many young people became so inspired by the classes with these teachers that they changed the trajectory of their lives. Some found confidence and abilities in themselves that they did not know even existed. When everyone inside a classroom is actually enjoying the experience regardless of how much it is challenging them, miracles happen. 

I think the situation at NYU was quite unfortunate. I suspect that there were students who became overwhelmed by the class but were afraid to ask for help lest they be ridiculed. At the same time the hasty decision to fire the professor need not have happened if the Dean had taken the time to discuss ways that the professor might have been more encouraging to his students and thereby helped a few more over the hump. Everyone needed to learn and nobody really did. It was too easy to fail students and make assumptions about why they did so and it was also too easy to simply fire the professor while making assumptions about his work. I suspect that everybody lost in the haste to sweep the issues under the rug. Sadly the university ended up failing as well. This would make a great case study for educators everywhere to consider. Haste makes waste as the saying goes and this time it had very unfortunate results.

My mother never wanted us to worry about our financial position. She protected is from the reality of our economic situation that must have left her lying awake on most nights after my father had died. Somehow she managed to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table at every meal. We always had just enough to feel safe, but her best gift to us was love and the understanding that there was always a way to help those less fortunate than ourselves. 

I have always been observant and being so has sometimes cause me to worry about things. It did not take me long to realize that my mother had to be very creative to keep our family afloat. I often wondered how she remained so calm about her responsibility to me and my brothers with so few resources to reassure her. She would notice my concerns and boast that my anxiety was uncalled for because she had a money tree that provided her with funds whenever she needed them. 

I would smile when she told me such a tale, understanding that I needed to just take a deep breath and act as though I was not the least bit uneasy about our security. I did not want to add to the challenges that she faced, so I pretended that I believed that there was some magical source of gold at her fingertips. I tried to keep my requests for funds at a minimum because I knew how much she was sacrificing for me and my brothers. 

I suppose I grew up watching my sweet mother angling to keep our family fed and housed from one paycheck to another. My goal in life became to create more stability in my own finances as an adult. To that end I suppose that I have never stopped fretting over the thought of living on the edge of monetary doom either for myself, those I love, or the poor people of the world. I viscerally feel the desperation of those who are homeless or starving. If I had one incredible dream that I would want to come true, it would be to be wealthy enough to be able to help people so much more than I presently have the income to do.

I listen to NPR whenever I am driving alone. Right now I am particularly concerned about the people of Haiti who can’t seem to get a break from privation. I have shed tears over what is happening to the people of Ukraine. I hear of starvation in different parts of the world and I wish that there really were some kind of money tree like mother often boasted. I would rush to it with every intention of sending relief all around the world. I’d be investing in shelters for the homeless and food aid for places besieged by famine. As it is my meager donations seem to be too little to even make a dent. 

When my mother died I found evidence that even in her own state of poverty she had given five dollars here and ten dollars there to more causes than I was able to count. It was so like her to think of others before treating herself. She went without to provide for people whose situations were even more difficult than hers was. When I think of her sacrifice proportionately with regard to her income she was possibly one of the most generous people on earth. 

If every single person were to live and give as Mama did many of the world’s problems would be solved. We often gripe about ten dollars of the taxes we pay being sent to some person or group in need even as we spend that much on coffee drinks or snacks without hesitation. Therein lies the secret of my mother’s money tree. She found what she needed from what she had by changing her own budget. If I needed a new pair of shoes she would cook more beans, turn out lights at night, make fewer trips in the car. She saved a penny here and dollar there and suddenly the money she needed seemed to magically appear. The only sorcery was the generosity in her heart.

I hear so many people worrying and complaining, including myself. We would all do well to take some cues from Mama. She lived an extraordinary life that was filled with joy and optimism. People loved her because they saw her amazing resilience and thoughtfulness. As my mother-in-law once said of my mother, “She was the most extraordinary woman I have ever known.”

Some people judge others by success and accumulation of wealth. If that had been the yardstick my mother would have been a failure. Instead she modeled her life on more important goals like focusing on others more than herself. In that regard she surely should have been on a list of the most outstanding people of her time. 

I have so many resources at my fingertips because of my mother’s influence. I know how to survive and most of all how to sacrifice. I place more importance on the service of people than the accumulation of material things. I can be happy with dinner at a five star restaurant or a couple of ninety-nine cent tacos from Jack in the Box. A ride to the nearby beach is good as a European trip. Mama taught me to be happy and grateful for what I have and then to remember to share whatever I can. She taught me how to find the money tree to help those in need. Her gift to me was spectacular.