Do you mean why are the plans hard or why are the assistant principals so hard-nosed about making us turn them in?
Plans are hard for me to write. I am never at a loss for something to do with students. I have the curriculum pretty much committed to memory. I attempt to teach my students so much more that what it requires, yet to sit down and put it all on paper in advance and then follow it with any kind of precision is almost an alien activity for me, as if I were suddenly required to describe everything I did yesterday in a language I do not know. I can fill in the blanks, give them some kind of written lesson, but as I write, I know it won't shake out that way. The meaninglessness of the whole thing makes it even harder for me to finish them.
I don't know why plans are so hard to write. I have come to believe they simply are not hard at all for some people. Some both write and follow the same plans for decades. I had one law professor who told us he taught Property Law from notes--the core of which--he took three decades earlier during his student days. The mental processes of those who can do that are incomprehensible to me. While plans are not the total bane of my existence I have struggled with meeting requirements for written plans my whole career, nearly thirty years.
I wonder what Jesus' lesson plans looked like? Were they better or worse than Socrates'? Maybe that's the real reason Jesus and Socrates were killed, no documented delivered instruction to students, no paper trail proving apropriately modified instruction for at-risk students. Who would have been at-risk, Peter, Judas?
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Absolute Trust Betrayal
Absolute Trust Betrayed Absolutely
Chronology
May, 1998, Veronica graduates from high school.
June, 1998, Connie decides she does not love me.
August, 1999, Phillip enters sixth grade.
September, 1999, Connie stops saying she loves me.
December, 1999, I discover Connie has been in a relationship with Bruce Story for several months. When I confront her about it, Connie tells me: “I don't love you any more. I’m not sure I ever did. I love Bruce.”
January 4, 2000, 25th Wedding Anniversary.
January, 2000, I ask Bruce to stop seeing Connie for six months to give us time to work on our marriage with a counselor. He says, "I don’t think I can do that."
January, 2000, I ask Connie to stop seeing Bruce for six months to give us time to work on our marriage. She says, “I don’t think I can do that.”
January, 2000 to October, 2001, Connie and Bruce continue their relationship while Connie remains married to me and living in our home.
August, 2001, Chris and Veronica marry.
September, 2001, Connie tells Chris, Veronica, and Phillip she is leaving me.
October, 2001, Connie moves into an apartment and files for divorce.
June, 2002, Divorce final.
August, 2002, Phillip enters high School.
March, 2003, Connie marries Bruce Story
October, 2004, I begin blogging on e-verities.
Chronology
May, 1998, Veronica graduates from high school.
June, 1998, Connie decides she does not love me.
August, 1999, Phillip enters sixth grade.
September, 1999, Connie stops saying she loves me.
December, 1999, I discover Connie has been in a relationship with Bruce Story for several months. When I confront her about it, Connie tells me: “I don't love you any more. I’m not sure I ever did. I love Bruce.”
January 4, 2000, 25th Wedding Anniversary.
January, 2000, I ask Bruce to stop seeing Connie for six months to give us time to work on our marriage with a counselor. He says, "I don’t think I can do that."
January, 2000, I ask Connie to stop seeing Bruce for six months to give us time to work on our marriage. She says, “I don’t think I can do that.”
January, 2000 to October, 2001, Connie and Bruce continue their relationship while Connie remains married to me and living in our home.
August, 2001, Chris and Veronica marry.
September, 2001, Connie tells Chris, Veronica, and Phillip she is leaving me.
October, 2001, Connie moves into an apartment and files for divorce.
June, 2002, Divorce final.
August, 2002, Phillip enters high School.
March, 2003, Connie marries Bruce Story
October, 2004, I begin blogging on e-verities.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Several-Second Delay
During Thursday’s Presidential debate, walking room to room, from a radio broadcast to a television broadcast, a several-second delay became obvious. The radio played the debate before the television. Live television delays its’ broadcasts several seconds so they may be cut off to protect viewers from seeing, for example, a pierced and bejeweled body part, impetuously exposed by a live performer.
Why did television time-delay the debate? Possibly to protect viewers from seeing one candidate run across the stage to drag down the other’s pants. Would Bush or Kerry be most likely to pants the other? Would the panted candidate attempt a counter-pant?
Would the Secret Service agents assigned to each candidate hurl their pant-clad legs in hand’s way? Would the agents join in the counter-panting and defensively wrestle each other’s pants to the ground? Would President Bush’s agents out-rank Kerry’s and order them to back off and . . . uh, pull up their pants?
It didn’t happen . . . probably. There were no detectable gaps in the broadcast. However, the President and his advisors may be in a war room right now, planning a preemptive panting to safeguard the security of the Presidential privates.
Why did television time-delay the debate? Possibly to protect viewers from seeing one candidate run across the stage to drag down the other’s pants. Would Bush or Kerry be most likely to pants the other? Would the panted candidate attempt a counter-pant?
Would the Secret Service agents assigned to each candidate hurl their pant-clad legs in hand’s way? Would the agents join in the counter-panting and defensively wrestle each other’s pants to the ground? Would President Bush’s agents out-rank Kerry’s and order them to back off and . . . uh, pull up their pants?
It didn’t happen . . . probably. There were no detectable gaps in the broadcast. However, the President and his advisors may be in a war room right now, planning a preemptive panting to safeguard the security of the Presidential privates.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Watch the Tower
Young woman rings my doorbell. Juggling a red leather Bible and an overstuffed planner she introduces herself and the boy wandering around her. Says she is reading encouragement from scripture to those who wish to listen.
“May I read for you?”
I say, “Yes.”
Deftly juggling planner and Bible, she reads from Ecclesiastes. Her voice is serene and assured as she reads God created man to live forever, but he is trapped in a world of decay and death.
“Not very encouraging,” I think.
She levels her brown eyes at me and asks, “Do you believe we were made to live forever?” The boy’s eyes wander everywhere; he shifts and shuffles around the doorway.
Glancing at him, I say, “Yes.”
She shuffles the planner above the Bible, opens it, and angles a copy of The Watchtower slightly towards me. “Would you like to read more about God’s plan for us to live forever?”
I say, “No. I’ve read The Watchtower before and I don’t think I want to look at it again right now.” I’m lost in her brown eyes, wondering if the boy is her son, hoping he is her little brother.
Concern creases her brow, “Do you have a problem with The Watchtower, because . . .”
“Not really, and it would take time to talk about right now, but thank you for the encouragement.”
Pausing mid-sentence, her eyes glance down to the wandering boy, “Thank you for letting me read.” She takes the boy’s hand, turns, and walks down the sidewalk toward the driveway. Her walk is serene and assured.
The boy twists to look back as they go; his brown eyes settle on me, searching.
Glancing at her walk, I think, “Yes.”
“May I read for you?”
I say, “Yes.”
Deftly juggling planner and Bible, she reads from Ecclesiastes. Her voice is serene and assured as she reads God created man to live forever, but he is trapped in a world of decay and death.
“Not very encouraging,” I think.
She levels her brown eyes at me and asks, “Do you believe we were made to live forever?” The boy’s eyes wander everywhere; he shifts and shuffles around the doorway.
Glancing at him, I say, “Yes.”
She shuffles the planner above the Bible, opens it, and angles a copy of The Watchtower slightly towards me. “Would you like to read more about God’s plan for us to live forever?”
I say, “No. I’ve read The Watchtower before and I don’t think I want to look at it again right now.” I’m lost in her brown eyes, wondering if the boy is her son, hoping he is her little brother.
Concern creases her brow, “Do you have a problem with The Watchtower, because . . .”
“Not really, and it would take time to talk about right now, but thank you for the encouragement.”
Pausing mid-sentence, her eyes glance down to the wandering boy, “Thank you for letting me read.” She takes the boy’s hand, turns, and walks down the sidewalk toward the driveway. Her walk is serene and assured.
The boy twists to look back as they go; his brown eyes settle on me, searching.
Glancing at her walk, I think, “Yes.”
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