SOLSC March 7th - Kindness for the Invisibles

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

A man in an Army green coat, walks down the sidewalk, leaning almost sideways against the weight of the car wheel he lugs on his right hip. His steps are jerky, the tire is flat and vapor streams out into  the chilly air with each explosive exhalation. I'm sure if he took off his hat, his head would quickly be enshrouded in a wreath of  steam. He's on a mission, he's at least middle-aged and he's black. Cars zip by on this early Saturday morning, their tailpipes adding more misty vapor to the atmosphere.

The barista lugs a large patio umbrella towards the front door, the sunshine and pale blue sky promising that today, after weeks of cold and snow, some patrons will choose to sit outside as temperatures reach into the 40s. Shoulder-length straight hair, bangs, glasses, and headset. She's no fashion model but she has smiled cheerily and greeted each person as they have entered today. The umbrella is comically larger than her short but sturdy frame. Will anyone get up to help her navigate the heavy door, or since she's part of 'The Help,' will she be invisible?

A student drops his things and the sounds of papers sliding, batteries rolling away from the calculator, and math textbook slapping the floor reverberate in the hallway. How many students will pass before someone kneels on the ground to help gather materials?

A colleague actually gives the start of a real answer to the, "How are you doing?" greeting rather than saying, "Fine-howareyou?" It's going to take some effort to be an active listener and whatever 'important task' that needs to get done will need to wait for a bit. But they did take a chance to open up. Who will accepts the charges for this call for a real interaction rather than the usual workplace saccharine smiles and head nods?

I get dozens of opportunities each day to show kindness, to participate in people's lives, to slow down and know someone deeper than that first layer of skin. I teach middle school students, who society at large seems to wish were invisible all the time; unseen and unheard. Letting one student, or many, go through the day without an opportunity for a real interaction with me in unacceptable, and on my worst days, that happens. I'm not okay with that. We all deserve to be seen and heard.

SOLSC March 6th - Too Full Inside

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

You know that moment when you think you have a situation under control, but the emotions inside are just too big to contain and they just spill out? Or something blindsides you and the unexpectedness of the incident brings your emotions front and center for the world to see. There will be no holding back once the threshold is reached and here come the tears, or the yells, or the hitting. Afterwards, you are drained, like a sponge wrung dry, needing to be filled before you can reach normal again. I've been having a lot of those moments lately (I don't hit anymore though).

Life is hard. Some days (or weeks, months, etc.) are harder than others. I spent some real time and effort in my life, especially in my younger and teenage years, learning to control my emotional outbursts, or at least the way the outburst happens. I recognize that whatever emotion is bursting out in that moment, can take the shape of another emotion and the consequences are vastly different. Fear can be look like rage, anger like grief, sadness like laughter; any emotion that can be felt and expressed, seem to be interchangeable. The body just needs the release, blowing off of steam.

But being in control of my emotions enough to make sure I am safe, and the people or things around me are safe, is only part of the lesson. The other part is to reflect on the trigger. I'm fairly skilled at putting myself in good situations, or going into tough situations ready for 'IT,' so that I don't hit my emotional threshold that often. But when I do hit that point, especially when it is unexpected, I need to take notice and do some learning. My body, my emotions, my inner Max, is telling me something important is happening and my mind has not truly recognized it yet.

If the emotional result doesn't match the expected outcome, I'm missing something.
photo credit: Overflowed parks via photopin (license)

It was one thing to prepare myself for my grandfather's death last spring. We all knew it was coming soon as his ailing body fought pneumonia for a couple of weeks. I wished him 'safe journey' each time I saw him. The night he died, I knew it was time. I could tell. I said what I expected, knew, and hoped to be final goodbyes, and he was gone in the morning. I was prepared, but finding out he had passed was still too huge to hold in. I'm glad it came out because it needed to.

I remember a girlfriend breaking up with in college. It was unexpected, without warning (at least to me) and pretty soon I was wrung dry. But my reaction was at least expected related to the circumstances.

Goodbyes are often like that I guess. Dear friends, leaving on their next journey, even when it's for their best and you love and are excited for them. Their leaving is too much for the moment, when that moment is nigh. One hug, or a million, one word, or the entire OED is not enough to fill that goodbye with the meaning it deserves, and the emotions cascade over me. Sometimes I didn't know what someone truly meant to me until they were not going to be there any more.

I guess though, what is important to me to realize, is when my body is able to tell me what my heart truly wants, despite what my head has decided about a situation. If the words are right (and often very logical) but I'm feeling horrible or my emotions rush to the surface, I'm missing something vital. It's like trying out for a play, figuring that it will be okay not to get the role, expecting not to get the role, worrying you might get the role. While there is always some expected disappointment in rejection, if that moment in time cuts way deeper than expected, I know it was what I really wanted.

So I'm working to stay open to myself, to the world, and to channel my emotions when they get too big to hold inside. And then part of the refilling is to make sure I see what it is I really want, and to work on getting it.

SOLSC #5 - Mole Infestation in my Classroom

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com


Almost everyone who comes into my room, and happens to look up, usually asks, "What are those things?" Along the ceiling, peering down on us are my moles. They stretch from one end of the ceiling to the other and well into my "overflow" room. My students have been creating them each year for our Mole Day celebration.

A panorama of the 350-450 moles in my classroom. They are just below the ceiling on the far wall!

Mole Day is celebrated at 6:02 on October 23rd of each year by chemistry teachers to honor Avogadro's Number and the Mole. A mole is a number, just like a dozen is a number. A dozen = 12 things. A mole = 602,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 (or 6.02 x 10^23) things. Its the way chemists measure numbers of atoms and relates to using chemical formulas to predict amounts of a product. We celebrate it on October 23rd because it is 10/23 (Just like Trucker day is celebrated on October 4th - 10/4 Good Buddy!).

Go to moleday.org for more information on Mole Day

As a fresh young teacher in my early twenties, I was working to find interdisciplinary ways to teach chemistry. I learned about Mole Day at a science convention my first year teaching and was given a pattern showing how to sew a mole. I gave the pattern to my students and suggested they create a mole for extra credit and then name it with a ridiculous pun. The results were wonderful, with moles such as: Tai-Kwan-Mole, GuacaMole, The Incredible Molk, and Molehammad Ali being created and shared. A few of my students put them around my science lab where they gazed down on us from above the Channel 1 TV, the fire extinguisher, the Chemical Spill kit, The Fire Blanket box, and various other perches. Over the next nine years they MOLE-tiplied and by the time I moved to my current school, there were dozens. Wanting to leave the next teacher a clean slate, I packed up all the moles in a 50 gallon trash bag and moved them across the state to Denver.

While I love travel and experiences, I'm very much about being rooted in one place and going on adventures from there. Moving to a new school and back to Denver was scary. I had been in a great situation before but knew I was also ready to push new boundaries and learn new things. Creating new relationships, teaching middle school instead of high school, relearning my way around Denver: all were unknown and at least gave me some anxiety.

Dark Side of the Mole next to The King of Rock and Mole

Upon entering my new room, it was full of tables, desks, chairs, materials and supplies that had never been mine, were not organized by me, and rather intimidating. I had no idea where to start and was feeling rather lost overall. I had a car load of my own things and luckily, one item was the bag of moles. Along the drop ceiling, was a perfect niche for the moles. I pulled a chair from one of the stacks, opened the bag and started placing the moles along the ceiling. With several dozen familiar faces looking down on me from above, I felt this room was uniquely mine. It was a lot like crafting perfect first line to a poem or slice; you know it will take some work, but it's clear the whole piece will work out. I got down off the chair and got to work setting up my classroom, sure this new adventure would work out.

SOLSC March 4 - Snowflakes

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

Crystal masterpieces, 

Too tiny to follow just one but

Enough to glimpse

As they zip by,

Appear on my cold window

While I wait for the light to turn.

The minuscule perfection of

Each frozen fractal,

Mesmerizes me 

Before the next materializes and also

Draws my attention.

Green

Traffic has no patience for unique perfection.

SOLSC March 3rd - A Staple in Time...

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com.








A Staple in Time...
This couldn't really be happening! It had to be a bad dream. I'd had some bad teaching dreams before, but I knew this was no dream and I was in serious trouble.

The Situation:
Who: Me aka Mr. Maclay. Second year science teacher in a small public high school.
Where: In my classroom by my desk.
When: Second day of school, 8:01am, four minutes before the first bell rang and my Chemistry students started filing in.
Why: Because I made a really dumb decision. It didn't seem dumb at the time but an instant later...it was pretty clear that twenty-four is not much smarter than most of my students.
How: I was putting the class rules on the wall above my white board that we had all agreed to the first day of school. But that spot is pretty high so I stood on my desk chair, which has wheels, and raced away from under my left leg when I put my right leg on my desk. I do not do the splits but...
What: ...My pants do! That's really the issue here and I saved it for last, even if it's a little out of order for the five Ws and one H. A HUGE hole, ripped in the crotch of my pants, from the bottom of the zipper to halfway up my backside.

I told you I was in trouble.

A million thoughts were racing through my head:

I don't have another pair of pants...             
Is there a sewing machine in Home Ec.?
This is the biggest hole I've ever seen. I could put my leg through it!
What time is it? 8:02! 
Maybe they have needle and thread?
There's no time to sew it anyway and it's down two hallways.
Why do I have to make rules for my class with the kids? 
I'm in trouble and I don't even have duct tape...which wouldn't work anyway.
I can't believe I stood on a chair with wheels. I'm an idiot!
Yeah...but I thought I could do it. I almost had it!
What time is it? 8:03! Think, Think, THINK!

And then, necessity (or desperation in this case) became the mother of invention. I grabbed the black Swingline stapler from my desk and checked for a full clip. Holding my planning book casually and strategically in front of me, I sidled from my room to the Teacher's Lounge next door (Thank God it was next door). Awkwardly nodding to the English teachers making copies and the Social Studies teacher topping off his coffee, I made my way into the bathroom and hurriedly shut the door.

My Hero! photo credit: via photopin (license)

There, dropping my pants to my knees, I surveyed the patient and commenced triage. The eight-inch tear was a mostly straight line but there was a wandering rip for a couple of inches about a third of the way along. Carefully, I started stapling from the front to the back, gratified that the staples seemed to be holding along a fairly solid seam. Around the fifteenth staple, the first bell rang. After hurriedly finishing the job, I cautiously pulled my pants up, trying not to get poked or scratched by the thirty-plus staples holding my sanity together.

Walking with care, I entered the classroom just seconds before the tardy bell rang. I rolled my chair behind my desk, picked up the rules paper from the floor, and held it up to show that I had indeed listened to their input and typed them out. We reviewed them and got started on the first 'real' day of Chemistry class.

That's the main story although there are a couple more fun details. While the staples held well enough for a class period, I had to refresh them twice during the day to keep my modesty intact. By the final bell at 3:10, there were probably close to a 100 staples in my pants, only a few of them hanging on for dear life. I chose not to relay the story to my wife that night but a few days later she did a load of laundry. Why I did not just throw those pants away I can not tell you. She came to me in stitches trying to figure out why I had staples all through the crotch in my pants and teased the whole sordid story out of me. I just wish she hadn't told her mom.

SOLSC March 2nd - Putt Perfect

I was lucky enough to play baseball from an early age, all the way through college. I make no claims of being a great ballplayer but I have some varsity letters and had some of my best athletic moments while playing baseball. It used to be that the sweetest moment in sports was swinging and making perfect contact with a baseball. The ball came in slow motion, only reflex on the swing, contact had the right sound, the bat followed through like it hadn't touched anything...all possibilities were open for the next millisecond. Usually it was a hit, perhaps it even cleared the fence, but occasionally a fielder made a great play or it was hit right at them and I could only trudge back to the dugout knowing it was at least a perfect moment.

This summer I turn forty and baseball, and a lot of other sports, have taken their toll on my physically. My knees are in some trouble and my back hurts more than I wish it did. Baseball is out of the picture and I don't really enjoy the softball teams I've played for in the past decade. But the sport of my last fifteen years has been disc golf.

Frisbee golf or "frolf" to some, disc golf involves hurling discs around a park towards a basket in the fewest throws possible. Just like in "ball golf" it's DRIVE FOR SHOW, PUTT FOR DOUGH. A perfectly thrown drive is a joy to behold, whether I threw it or one of the people on my card did. But the mental game of putting is still the hardest part for me to completely control.  Bad putting ruins all but the best drives and great putting makes up for a lot of poor shots off the tee.

Me making a perfect putt at a disc golf tournament last year!

After countless hours of practice, I have found that staring at a basket getting ready to putt is a lot like staring at a pitcher waiting for the pitch. The best results are when there are no thoughts in the brain at the moment of action and the body can do what it has practiced thousands of times. And when I putt, I get to control the pace so everything, including the results and how I react to them, are in my control. Here is my routine which usually takes 10-20 seconds.

1. Mark my drive, put away my disc and pull out my putter (Yes, we have different discs for different types of shots).
2. Put my foot in place and rotate the disc so it feels good in my hand.
3. Look at the basket, feel for the wind and take into consideration possible dangers to missing a normal putt (water behind the basket, a slanting hill that could cause a rollaway, any branches or obstacles to avoid).
4. Once I have the feel of the putt I want to make in the existing conditions, take a deep breath while raising the disc in my hand and pointing it at the basket. Pick the link on the chains I want the disc to hit.
5. Open my mouth, relax my tongue and drop my shoulders. This comes from various mindfulness exercises and usually helps my whole body relax. It's difficult to make a complex athletic movement perfectly with tenseness in my body.
6. Wait until I feel a "Zen Moment." It sounds kinda of corny but an empty mind leads to better putts for me. The distracting thoughts I have about my score, movement of the other players, or memories of missed putts are the worst. I almost always have bad putts when I allow those thoughts to remain in my head.  If I recognize that I have negative thoughts and they don't just flow past and out or my brain, I'm working to step back and start over.
7. Zen moment achieved. That's my trigger and I move into action. My eyes take a quick glance down to the ground and then back to my link of the basket. This hopefully puts my brain and body into reflex mode and refocuses me on my target.
8. As I see my link again, I move my weight onto my back foot and bend my arm to bring the disc to my belt. Once I'm loaded, I shift my weight forward and extend my arm, lofting the putt towards the basket. In a perfect putt, steps 7 and 8 are pure reflex and allow the muscle memory of all my practice  to take over. No thinking required.

If all that goes as planned, it's a perfect putt, no matter the result. There will always be mistakes my body makes, an unexpected wind gust, or the occasional basket that just spits your putter right back at you.

But there is nothing else that feels so perfect to me these days, as watching a putt fly true to the basket and knowing it's going to bang the link I focused on.



My class of twenty-three middle school students is slicing as well! Here is the link to the class blog where they are linking up daily. Cheers!

SOLSC March 1st - The Coffee House

Happy SOLSC everyone! This is my second year doing the March Challenge and I'm both excited about the writing and apprehensive of the time needed for it over the next 31 days. But last year was so worth so I'm back. Also, for the second year, my class of twenty-three middle school students will be slicing! Here is the link to the class blog where they are linking up daily. Cheers!


Usually when I have work to do over the weekends, I go to a nearby coffee house instead of school. It is conveniently on the way to school so I can drive another five minutes and do some printing and whatever else needs to be done before kids show up on Monday. I find I get better work done, and more writing because there are fewer familiar distractions and since I'm paying too much for coffee I feel like it should be at least worth it.

Pulling into the parking lot, I notice it's full and hope I can find a space nearby. At the end of the row, I crunch into a space between a yellow taxi and the curb, my car tilting to one side as it rides up on the edge of the snow pile. Three more taxis dot the parking lot and two drivers sit on the sunny but cold patio, freshly cleared of snow.

Messenger bag over my shoulder, coffee mug in one hand and pile of student work in the other, I pinky-pull the door open (a move perfected by most teachers and probably parents) and step inside, my eyes blinking to adjust to the dimmer interior. The tables, stools and arm chairs are full of the entire diversity of Aurora, Colorado and I hope I can find a table to spread out, set up my computer and work.

Against the wall-high windows, between a young woman with fading blue hair that is now a light sea-green, and two Africans, who likely drive the cabs outside, is an empty table. I put the student work there to save it and then head to the counter for some coffee. Usually I am in the minority here, with my pale skin color, and today is no exception. English is the language of the baristas but most of the customers speak their native African tongues, or Russian, or Italian, or Spanish, to each other.

After getting my coffee, I link my computer and phone to the WiFi and then see about getting to work. It usually takes me some time because I check my social media and school email so there is hopefully nothing lingering in my mind when I work. However, it's an easy procrastination technique and time-suck so I try to at least be aware of the choices I making with my time. The people are another easy distraction.

Since I usually am here for a couple of hours, it is possible to observe many interactions and groups of people. Students come to study, families come after church, and it's clearly a place to see and been seen by some groups of people. Friends run into each other and are met with hand shakes, hugs and cheek kisses. Parents meet to trade custody of the children that will bind them, long after their ability to live together has past. Often a cop to two comes in, uniform and purposeful stride the showing their power, but their face and need for coffee showing their humanness as they also make their way through their shift. An aging man used to make his way here from a nearby retirement community on his walker, sitting for hours nursing his drink and copying words from his bible in a shaky but old-world cursive onto a yellow legal pad. He would say hello or give a nod to everyone who looked his way but,  I have not seen him for over a year.

Another reason I like this coffee house is I am unlikely to run into my students or parents here. While I do love seeing them outside of school, I am here to work. There is a certain satisfaction to seeing school families see me working on weekends but this is time I am not spending with my wife and young daughter. I want the time to be worth it, even more than I want the coffee to be worth it. But spend enough time in a coffee house and the entire world will come by. I sometimes see another teacher from school who is doing the same thing I am. Twice, I have seen former students I taught 10-15 years ago in a high school on the other side of the state. Once I walked into another local Starbucks to find a former student was the manager. Those are truly happy occasions to connect with people special in my life a well worth the time not spent working.

After getting my procrastinations and people watching out of the way, I put on my headphones, tune into my own music and get to work. The race starts to see how much work I can get done before I need more coffee, a bathroom break or my attention wanders to the next interesting part of the world wanders through the front door.