Living Clean: It's Not What You're Thinking

As teachers in graduate school, we are taught to be reflective practioners. This means I am constantly thinking about how I teach, what would make me more effective in my classroom, and what kinds of things I can persue or do in order to help me continuously improve my practice. I am always considering what is working with a particular student, group of students, or an entire class, and also what is not. It means there is no end. There is no arrival. You never get to the finish line, because there isn't one. In the past ten years or so, I've come to realize that being a reflective practioner isn't difficult for me. I don't mean reflection is easy, in that it's easy to face my weaknesses and solve challenging problems in the classroom. I mean that making a habit out of the process of personal analysis and evaluation is not difficult for me, because I do it anyway. I am not just a reflective practitioner. I'm a reflective wife, a reflective mother, a reflective friend. I am simply a reflective person.

Being reflective is a bit of a curse, as it can often lead to over analysis. I sometimes wonder if I'm too worried about the outcome of certain decisions, or the impact my actions and decisions have on others. However, I've always believed if I processed circumstances, especially when things don't go the way I want them to, then I can take away a piece of something to possibly help me in the future. In the same vein, I try really hard to consider impending decisions from every angle. This is what I refer to as clean living. The outcomes of our decisions and our actions can't always be what we want or what we expected, but if we make those decisions for the seemingly right reasons and with the truth as we know it, then the decisions feel somewhat clean.

Take an example from a recent experience I had at work. There is a new teacher at my school with far less tenure than I. Truth be told, no tenure because said teacher is in the first year of teaching. Ever. This newbie is a bit older than your average newbie, as this teacher is a career-changer. I'm pretty sure there's not even a teaching degree, but a degree of some sort and a temporary teaching certificate. Yes, welcome to Florida ladies and gentleman. 

Wait a minute. Who am I kidding? I was trying to keep gender out of it, but I can't. You see, I've met guys like this teacher before. He was involved in another field, probably business. I'm making an assumption here, but it's probably a solid one, that things got tough when the economy took a turn, or jobs were hard to come by, so why not try teaching, right? Let me be clear, this has nothing to do with the idea of a male teacher. We have several great ones and I've met countless others. But this is the type, the guy, who seemed to realize there was some stability in the field of education in that there will always be a need for us (as long as we're willing to take all the shit that comes with job. But that's another post). Besides, they think, I'll just put in a couple of years and then I'll be a principal. So they turn in their suits and briefcases for Dockers and messenger bags, and they become administrators in training. Forget teaching and learning, assessing and progress monitoring, individualized learning. They're more interested in order and discipline. Tear them down to build them up. There seems no true understanding about the stages in human and child development or the learning process. 

This guy, walks around our school like he is in a perpetual audition to be a school administrator. He is from another grade level, but barks at our students when they're in our care or supervision. He seems to find great pleasure in identifying kids who are not following a rule, celebrating with a victorious clipboard fist pump in the air when he catches one. "I got one!" he yells with great delight while he marches down the hall personifying the exact opposite of what is expected of us as teachers in a PBS (positive behavior support) school. One day he backed a student up against the wall, albeit with his eyes and stature, he did not lay a hand on the child. But he was in his face, yelling at him in front of the entire hallway filled with several teachers and all of the 4th and 5th grade students waiting in line for their busses at dismissal. The boy was not in trouble for saying anything disresepctful or for mistreating another student. He was talking. At dismissal. To a friend he probably hadn't seen all day. I realize we expect our students to be quiet so we can hear what's going on, but I don't understand the obsession with silence and soldier like expectations for 10 and 11 years olds who have had to sit down and shut up all day.

Others may be impressed, but my team members and I, we are not. We are disgusted by the joy he seems to derive from catching kids not on point. We are insulted by the attempt to undermine our authority with our students. We are downright pissed off by the false assumption that we can't handle our students without a loud, mean man to come save us. So what do we do about it? I have not confronted or undermined him in front of the kids (though it takes a lot of restraint not to). I have not hauled off on him with sarcasm asking how we could have possibly gotten along before he came to rescue us. I have not stuck my 15 years of experience or the nice Dr. in front of my name, in his face. I simply turned my back to him in the hallway and took it into a venting session with my team that afternoon.

The following day I went to speak with the assistant principal assigned to liaison with both our grade levels. I felt the feedback was better coming from her, as I am not his supervisor or even his APPLES (new teacher program) mentor, and he's not on my team. My AP took the information, rolled over ideas of how to address it without "outing me." Truthfully, I was not concerned about my anonymity, but she's a peacekeeper. I left it in her hands.

Here's where the reflection and over analysis kick in. I started to wonder if I should just go into his room and have a respectful conversation with him, expressing both my professional concerns and my personal feelings.  As an adminstrator, as a leader, I always had and always will support and encourage an emotionally clean working environment. Working teams should not be passive aggressive. They should express concerns, be able to exchange ideas without necessarily agreeing with each other. All of this should occur freely without resentment, if the team is truly committed to their work and their students. Easier said than done, right? Not really. It just takes practice and a group of people who buy in to previously stated commitment. The potential problem is when some buy in and others don't. This was my concern. Here are the things that came to mind as I considered how to handle the situation...

What is my real concern here?

Is my ego in check, or is it puffed out and taking a hit?

Am I overstepping boundaries by addressing it?

How will the other (said male teacher) react to me?

Is this a male/female issue?

Is this a veteran/new teacher issue?

Will I offend the other teacher?

Am I intimidated by the other teacher?

Did I "run and tell" because I wasn't willing to deal with it or because it was the right course of action?

Is this about what is right for kids, or is it about me?

The list goes on...

About now you're probably wondering if I'm sick in the head. Maybe she has OCD, maybe she's insecure, a worry wart. I can't think of any way to describe it but how I did at the beginning of the post. I am an extremely and sometimes overly reflective and analytical person (probably why I always did well on analogies- ever take the MIller's?). My ultimate goal- I guess I'm realizing in life, not just work- is to live cleanly. Not just physically but mentally and emotionally. HIndsight is very important to me. It helps improve future foresight.

So after all that, you know what happened? Though I'm not certain, it seemed as thought the AP did nothing. Several weeks went by and nothing changed. I continued to wait patiently for her to handfle it, and I continued to stonewall said teacher in the hallway. The resentment and sarcasm died down a little and I started to just write it off as his problem. I adopted the whatever attitude. He would walk by me and my teammates would glance in my direction as if to say, "there he is." They would have loved for me to open my big mouth and stick it to him (something most of them are never really willing to do so they often stand behind me and cheer me on). But I didn't. Finally my team leader and I had a conversation and she went and spoke to his team leader. Whatever transpired it seems to have worked. Things have died down and he seems a bit more reluctant to interfere with what's happening at our end of the hallway. He even smiled at me while passing me in the hallway the other day. 

But as it's all behind us, I continued to reflect about what my purpose was, and I came to this realization. In a sense, I was bothered by "I think I'm a badass" man with no teaching experience coming down to our end of the hallway, where there were three experienced women teachers handling this just fine. I don't often stick my doctorate and my experience in people's faces, but I do expect people who know me and my record to demonstrate a little bit of respect for what I bring to the table. Yes, I suppose this is an ego issue. I admit it. But what bothered me more- and I really had to check myself to be sure this was at the root, more so than my ego- was this man's pleasure in berating children and celebrating their missteps. I found myself thinking above all: Does he have children of his own? Because all I could think was if anyone ever humiliated my child or treated him in such a way, I would be in the principal's office demanding it be addressed, and refusing to leave until she told me how it would be handled. 

That's when I knew I was clean.

A Laughter Journal- Week 1

October 14th is the birthday of author and poet e.e. cummings. Several of the writing websites and pages I subscribe to posted photos, quotes, and other cummings' musings. It was Monday morning and I was feeling it, so I saw this quote and posted it in a bright and cheery photo to get myself moving. This morning I made the commitment to try and laugh everyday this week.

I decided later in the day that I was also going to try and keep a laughter journal, because I believe cummings is right. Some days I feel like if I don't laugh, I'll cry. I do believe that we should find something to laugh about everyday. Even researchers and health specialists talk about the physical and emotional benefits of laughter. We stretch muscles, increase oxygen flow, and heck it just feels good. (See http://www.webmd.com/balance/features/give-your-body-boost-with-laughter).

Laughter Journal Week 1:

Monday, October 14, 2013

Today I laughed with a student's parents. The first academic quarter came to a close last Friday, and that means parent-teacher conferences at my school. Now keep in mind it's been a pretty stressful year for both parents and teachers. Common core mania has taken over and teachers are overloaded with changes, parents are trying to understand the changes, and states and school districts can often make it even more confusing for everyone. Throw into the mix that this student is new to our school and district, and you just never know what could happen. I had met her parents briefly at a curriculum night earlier in the quarter and they seemed very supportive of both me and their daughter, so I had high hopes for a productive meeting. The details of the conference are not important here, what's important is the occasion to laugh, afterall, this is a laughter journal. Here's what we laughed about:

We laughed about feeling old when we tell our kids we learned math differently when we were kids and they respond by saying, "Well that's not the way my teacher told me to do it!"

We laughed about the silliness of boys and girls writing notes to and about each other when they're ten, and what those notes are going to look like in middle and high school.

We laughed about the fact that the kids think they're smarter than us, and don't realize we see and know just about everything they do... often because we've done it ourselves.

We laughed about how cute this student's biography project was, and how her mom enjoyed helping her because they talked all about Charles Shultz, creator of the Peanuts, and she could tell how much her daighter learned from and enjoyed the book. We also laughed when her father admitted to not only having been the kid who waited until the night before a project was due, but once in awhile showed up to school saying, "Oh we had a project due today?" Needless to say, they left their daughter at home tonight.

We laughed about how badly I felt that I taught a group of students (including their daughter) a hard lesson when they swore to me they read and discussed a book in their literature circle. I made them all take a test, knowing they weren't being truthful, just to prove a point and they all failed it. Mom and Dad had no pity on the children by the way. (I did and I didn't count it because I think they got my point).

I laughed inside and smiled big when they told me how much their daughter loves school and at home constantly says, "Dr. Kemp this, and Dr. Kemp that...."

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Today I laughed as I listened to two of my 4th grade students, a boy and a girl, argue over which I liked better: the Miami Hurricanes or the Miami Dolphins. One of them didn't understand the distinction between college teams and NFL teams. I don't know what was funnier, their argument, or the fact that it was over my favorite sports teams! For the record, I am a fan of both. Though born in New York, I didn't start watching NFL football until high school, and I moved to Florida in 9th grade. I've been a Fins fan ever since, though I also root for the currently pathetic Giants. I earned my undergraduate degree at The U during the glory years, and have been an avid Canes fan since the day I became a Cane. Laughing with the kids over this made today's highlight reel!

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Seems like I laughed quite a bit today. That's a good thing! Lots of little things like giggly moments with my 4th graders, an article about the difficulties had by women with big boobs, and some chaos (though not terribly serious chaos) in the personal lives of my friends. But two things in particular stand out as having generated some good endorphin-releasing laughter. The first was following an invitation to write presented by one of my students. The invite itself wasn't funny. It was a cute rhyming poetry book about valentines. I always write with my kids and today was no exception. I wrote about the pressures of what to write in a Valentine or what gifts one should buy for their Valentine. I ended with a classic quote from my husband that made me (and the kids) chuckle. "I tell you I love you everyday. What do I need Valentines Day for?" What made me laugh even harder was when following dismissal, I walked into the office and found my teammate at the front desk waiting to speak to someone. On the counter in front of her, there were two good size bouquets of flowers (no idea why). I smiled and asked her, "You here to pick up your flowers?" We both laughed rather hard, and I told her about my Valentines Day writing from earlier. We exchanged memories, or what we could muster up in the way of memories, about the last time either of our husbands brought us flowers. Thankfully, what enabled us to laugh so freely, was that we both knew the other had very happy and solid marriages, despite the lack of flowers.

The second laugh came from some slap-happy adults meeting for a Boy Scout parent committee meeting tonight. There were several comments made in joking fashion about how much better the events would be with alcohol. I quipped about the need for a bar at the summer camp, someone else suggested a parents' auxiliary fund that would allow us to have gambling and drinking functions as fundraisers, and others made similar nonsensical comments. Put a bunch of working people around a conference table at 7pm after a long workday, and that's what you'll get. OBVIOUSLY, the comments were all made in jest. Alcohol and games of chance are strictly prohibited at all scout functions.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Today's laugh comes in care of childish banter amongst teacher-friends after school... a charades game of sorts. As we often do while we unwind after dismissal, a few of us gathered in one of our classrooms and recapped the highlights of our day. Though I've been trying extra hard to stay positive this year and block out the stressors I can't control, sometimes the sarcasm bug bites and releasing it with colleagues you can trust is a must. That's what I did with two of my teammates today. We couldn't help but purge the "You know what really bugs me?" thoughts we knew we were all feeling, and I acted mine out! I'm going to leave it at that because our sharing is safe. It might be a rationalization, but it doesn't feel like trash talk because we share it in a closed room to get it off our chests as a common experience, and then we let it go. I would never want one of our colleagues to misinterpret or have their feelings hurt. If you are a teacher, and you never vent with your team or a colleague you trust, you're likely a miserable teacher. Otherwise, you could be a liar. My teammates and I are very lucky. We may not always agree, but we trust each other, respect each other, and laugh together!

Friday, October 18, 2013

Though I know I laughed today, I can't quite recall any significant stimuli. There was probably more of the banter with my colleagues, giggles with my students, but no overwhelming guffaw. I finished work, packed a bag, and drove to Orlando to see my father who had surgery on Monday. Nothing to laugh about up here, but thankfully he is on the mend.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Today's laugh needs little explanation. It comes courtesy of my good friend and fellow writer, Helen, who posted this as her Facebook status today!

Enough said.

Up In Smoke

What if all the advice about taking the highroad is wrong? Hold your head high, walk tall. Keep your chin up. When one door closes, another one opens. If it's meant to be, it will be. Rise above it all; you're better than that. Don't burn any bridges. 

What if, even though I have been told all my life I never should, I wanted to burn a bridge? I'm talking really set it ablaze. Douse it with kerosene and flick a match over my shoulder just like in the movies, and watch it turn into a river of liquid flame. Or pepper it with explosives from one end to the other, flip the switch on my remote control and watch it light up like the Fourth of July, pa-pow!  

What if everything in my head, words of wisdom from my parents, mentors, and quotations books, said take a deep breath and move on, but my heart and my gutt said blow the mother fucker up? Let the proverbial bridge burn down and disintegrate to ashes!

Sometimes I feel tired of being responsible and diplomatic and professional and level-headed. Sometimes I just want to react with emotion, from my gutt instead of calmly stepping back and keeping myself in check. If I see one more of those stupid Stay Calm and... e-posters on Facebook, I think I'm going to scream! I want to speak my mind without fear of repercussions. I want to not care how it will affect me in the future.

We're told that we hold the keys to our own futures, that we control our own destinies. I think I believe this notion too- to a certain extent that is. But is it possible that road blocks, dangerous bridges or crossings can prevent us from reaching our goals. Can it be they are set up by others to sabotage us? Yes, I know usually we need to take physical and or emotional risks to achieve success. After all, we are also told throughout our lives that anything worth having is worth working for. But when does it  become foolish to keep trying to cross what might be a booby-trapped bridge or a road with hidden mines beneath the surface? Is it ever appropriate to blow the bridge to kingdom come and start building a new one?  

Don Henley, of the Eagles is quoted all over the internet as having said, "Sometimes you get the best light from a burning bridge." (I sure hope he wasn't referring to a bridge to and from the Eagles because that would not support the direction I'm headed in here). I wonder if you need the old foundation to start building new bridges or pathways in life. I wonder if I can really wipe an old one away completely and start clean, letting the light from the burning bridge show me the way. So far I haven't ever been brave enough, or is it stupid enough to try. I have been afraid my future relationships or successes will be predicated on those from the past, that I need my history to pave the way to my future. 

Everywhere you go they want to know from where you came. New mortgage, what's your payment history? New lease, who did you rent from before? New car, what kind of payments are you making now? College, what did you do in high school? New job, what did you do in college or at your last job? On the other end of these questions, are people expected to answer them about  you- the right way. So it begs the question. If we burn bridges, do we go up in smoke with them?

We're Getting Married, Remember?

Lately, I've been inspired to write by prompts and quotes popping up in my Facebook newsfeed. It forces me to think specifically, rather than agonize over a brainstorming session, or ponderance of What should I write today? Today, when I got home from work, this is what popped up in my newsfeed from Writers Write:

After the Stephen King- inspired post about my worst fears, writing about this sort of brings down the mood of my blog lately, but when inspiration calls the writer must listen. At one time I was almost as fearful of the episode that follows as I was with a reoccurance of the Holocaust. WIth age and security this is no longer a fear, but it did wake me into actual tears and heartache about 20 years ago. To be truthful, as most writers do, I embellished for the sake of interest.

We're Getting Married, Remember?

"Please say it's not true," I pleaded with him. 

"I'm sorry." He looked at me pathetically, probably hoping I'd run away crying. But I didn't. I was stunned. A shock to my system. A love song cliche. An arrow through my heart. We had worked so hard to fight the odds, and come out ahead. We loved each other through so much, I wondered how this could be happening. 

"I didn't mean for it to happen." More cliches, one after the other. "I wasn't looking for anyone else, it just happened. You can't control what your heart feels." Was he serious? I wanted to throw up. Dare I say it, I wanted to die. I always thought I had the upper hand, that if he cheated on me or left me, that I would be angry and spiteful. But that wasn't the case. I felt like a wounded and desperate child.

Not concerned with how it would appear or my strong independent persona, I asked him what I could do to get him to stay. It was an out-of-body experience. I never expected to beg a man to love me. My mother wouldn't have it, and I wouldn't dream of it. Or would I? I fought back the tears, choking on my words, "I love you. I know that you love me too." As if I wasn't in enough pain already, the creases in his forehead deepened, and the corners of his thick dark eyebrows lowered. 

"Ill always care deeply about you, but I'm just not in love with you anymore." I fell to the floor in bellowing sobs, my heart pumped so powerfully I could feel my pulse in my ears. My inner being personified heartache and I lost my breath with the emotional blow to my gutt. I felt like I was drowning, falling without breath to the bottom of the dark ocean floor..

I woke with swollen eyes, and pain in my chest. I was coughing and crying as though the dream had seemlessly become reality, and everything was blurry. I wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. I looked all around me and realized I had spent the night in my friend's apartment, a frequent retreat from my own because I really didn't like my roommate. I still didn't know what happened. I tried my best to swallow the tears and stop crying. I had to know if the conversation was real. I had to know if he was really leaving me. I picked up the phone and called him. He answered and I didn't say anything. "Hello?" he questioned the silence. 

"Hi," I responded tentatively, fearful of what would come next. "You still sleeping?" I asked.

"Not anymore." I sighed and began crying uncontrollably. I tried to explain why, but my words were disjointed and incoherent between the blubbering. "What in the world happened? What's wrong? Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm at Tracie's, we hung out after class and I slept here last night. I had this awful nightmare...wait."

"Wait for what? Are you ok? I'm sorry I missed your call last night. I worked late and then crashed."

"It was awful, I explained. It felt so real. Tell me you love me."

"Of course I love you. We're getting maried, remember?"        

My Worst Fear: We Must Not Forget

Today is Stephen King's birthday, and the Writer's Almanac posted a quote by him that stuck with me. I'm not sure why. I haven't read much of his work, but clearly he is an accomplished author. He said he just writes about what scares him. His mom told him when he was little that if he said his worst fears outloud that they would never come true. He said that's been at the root of his career. I've been collecting some bits and pieces for small episode posts. Some of them more serious than others, but most non-ficiton. Today, I decided to follow the inspiration of King and write about a fear I have. It's nothing I've ever listed on things I'm afraid of, but it certainly sits up there as one of the biggest. While the fear is real, the episode is clearly fictional. I'm not sure if I'm going to leave it or finish it. I'd be interested to hear some feedback.

 

I couldn't tell if I was awaking from a dream, or if the sounds around me were real. The awful cries of babies being torn from their mothers, of the men shouting the names of their wives and girlfriends as though it was the last time they would look into each other's faces. The steady clapping beat of marching combat boots, and the single-word sticcato commands shouted harshly in a foreign language. My vision was still foggy with sleep sand and my thoughts were straddled between my dreams and reality. If this dream was to reveal itself as such, it would prove to be a terrifying nightmare. If it was reality, well then what do you call a terrfying nightmare when it really happens? 

As I sat up and my head cleared, I sighed in an instant of relief that it couldn't be happening. I had heard the cliches about learning from history, and certainly the world would not, could not, be doomed to repeat such an atrocitiy. I exhaled, deflating any hope that it was all a dream because I noticed my roommates were gone, and I could hear chaos around me. People scurrying up and down the hallways, whispers, shouts, slamming doors. Outside I heard again, the sounds that awoke me just moments before. 

"Rebecca!" There was pounding at my door, and the corner of my Led Zepplin poster fell off its tiicky tac and rolled over Robert Plant's face. Five booming fist pumps knocked my favorite picture frame off the shelf and followed another plea, "Rebecca, are you in there? Get up, we have to go!" I ran to the door, still not sure what was happening and opened it feverishly. Out of breath, sweating, and screaming, Adam was on the other side looking desperately unsure he would find me. But he did. 

"What's going on?" I asked fearing the answer. 

"Thank God you're still here." No explanation, no conversation, we didn't need any, we never did. My brother just took my hand and we began running, as if our lives depended on it. In the hallways of the dorms, people were frantic. No time to stop and text, everyone was on cell phones or shouting out the names of people they were looking for. In between the electrical room and the study lounge, there was a narrow hallway that led to the back door with a window. We stopped and stood cautiously to see what was going on outside. I was paralyzed by fear when I peered out the window. It was a historical film, it had to be. No way humanity could allow this to happen again. It just couldn't be.

The beautiful green lawn at the center of campus, usually filled on Saturday mornings with friendly football games, readers under shady tress, and young lovers enjoying the warmth of the sun, was seized by soldiers in brown uniforms sinched tightly at the waist with shiny black gunbelts and pant legs tucked into equally shiny black boots. Some of them held small pistols in their hands, others had large automatic combat weapons. But all of them had the same red band around their arms. Recognizable to anyone, the red bands hosted the swastika, symbol of hatred, evil, and cruelty. The commands that had awoken me earlier were the soldiers barking at the ring of prisoners circled around the perimeter of the campus, marching under the duress of armed soldiers' threats.

There they were, like the millions of Jews, Gypsys, Handicapped, and others who were wiped out in the Holocaust. Some of them my friends, all of them my brethren. Our worst fears were coming true right here. In the 21st century. In America. Hundreds of Jewish college students rounded up and stripped clean. Virtually nondiscript and comfortably enrobed in their matching army uniforms, the Nazi's tore off the prisoners clothes, leaving them barefoot, naked, exposed. Each imperfection, each feature of insecurity, on parade for all to see. Each uneven breast, each beer belly, each dimple of cellulite, each flat buttocks or stretch mark, all momentary preoccupations to be replaced by a stripping of much more than clothes. Strong, smart, powerful young people begging for their lives and the lives of their loved ones, knowing what would come in the months ahead. Crying, screaming, begging, they were beaten and threatened and dragged. Three of the young men stepped to the center of the circle synchronously, as though to silently and intuitively make a suicide pact. They were successful.

The shots of the guns firing snapped me into consiousness. I felt as though I had been watching for hours, but it had only been a minute or two. Quite possibly the most horrififc two minutes of my life. Adam grabbed my hand and told me to look at him. With his other hand he endearingly touched my cheek and then he held my chin. "Stay with me, and whatever you do, don't stop running."

"Where are we going to go?" I asked. "There's nowhere to hide. It looks like they're everywhere."

"I don't know. But we can't stay here." He was right.  

Two Worlds Collide

I really didn't want to go. A guy that I went on a couple of dates with went back to Chicago and I was bummed. My mom, as all good moms do, pushed me out with, "Just go, it's a free movie."  My friend came to the door to get me, and we piled closely into a 4-seater. I'm not sure what kind of car it was, but it was green, and it was stick shift. I learned to drive on stick, and we all thought it was pretty cool back then. It was a bit awkward because the other couple and I worked together and the two guys were childhood buddies. It was hard to find conversation that included everyone. 

I don't remember at all what I wore or how I looked. The only definite, was the 80's poof I must have sported up top my curly locks. I likely didn't wear much in the way of make-up, as I never have and I was sportin' a kick ass tan because it was already late July. I do however, remember exactly what he was wearing. I'm not sure why. There was nothing at all wrong with it (for the time period), but nothing particularly notable about it either. All of the brands and styles were specific to the mid to late 80's and early 90's. Faded blue Edwin's jeans, a wide stripe pink and white ID# shirt, and Bean shoes (LL Bean). Of course to match my mall chick hair, he had none other than a mullet. Laughable now, but inconsequential and commonplace at the time.

We finally arrived at the theater, and though I don't remember having any say at all, I found myself walking into the latest installment of the Friday the 13th series. That year, I think it was part 6 or 7. I really didn't care because I hadn't seen any of the others and was less than interested in seeing this one. I had made up my mind the rest of the night would be a drag, and the notion was further reinforced when the guys managed to rig the seating so us girls couldn't gab through the movie. They sat in the middle next to each other flanked by the two of us to each of their outsides. Now I was nervous and a bit annoyed. But I watched the movie. I don't even remember if we shared popcorn or candy. I just remember being mortified when the opening sequence had a topless girl. I think he was a little embarrassed too.

I don't remember any of the movie or the ride out, but I do remember standing awkwardly in the driveway at my friend's house that night trying to make conversation with Paul while our friends engaged in a match of tonsil hockey. It started to get late, and Paul's parents were really strict about curfew. Sometime earlier that night (the details here are blurry) I went home to get my mom's car so I could stay out later or spend the night at my friend's house, and my mom was out with friends or left town. I can't remember exactly. Rather than attempt to pry the other couple apart, we decided it would be best for me to drive Paul home. We shouted a courtesy, "We're going to head over to Paul's," and took off.

We pulled into the driveway just in the nick of time, and saw through the curtain that his parents could see we were there. Safe! Two awkward teenagers, finding common ground in laughing about our friends wrapped up in each other, quite literally, we both started to feel more comfortable. Paul assured me that he was ok sitting in the driveway. The point was that he was home on time. We sat and talked. And talked. Apparently for hours. At about 3am, his friend in the green car tore down the street and pulled up in front of us. Everyone (he and his girlfriend and my sister) were looking everywhere for us, worried frantic (this is long before cell phones were in the hands of teenagers). It's no wonder they didn't hear our shout out. Now he knew we were safe, so he told me to call or go home, then he left.

Trouble was waiting for me at home, but at this point that was coming no matter what. I couldn't go back to my friend's house, and my sister was going to read me the riot act and threaten to tell my mom (she did both). My fate was already sealed so we talked a little while longer, he kissed me goodnight, and he went into the house. I drove home and slid into bed with a growl from my sister.

Never mind the aftermath. Paul came to see me at work the next day, and almost everyday after that. We spent a lot of time together that summer and by August we were pretty much inseparable. At the time it just felt like a high school boyfriend. Someone to hang out with, make out with, and go to school dances with. Who would have thought it was the first day of the rest of my life?

Flying High

I am not a regular flyer. I started flying at an early age though. Growing up in New York, my family traveled quite a bit on vacation to visit relatives mostly in Florida and California, but also throughout New England and elsewhere. I became accustomed to flying at an age younger than my memory permits me to recall. I rarely give much thought to flying beyond cost or convenience. In fact, as an adult most of my flying time has been spent attending to my son when he was little, or my husband who has anxiety about flying. But last week, I was on my own. My sister is getting married, and we had a shower for her in North Carolina. For the first time in several years, I got on a plane by myself and took to the air. In a way I felt like I was flying for the first time.

The evening flight from Florida to North Carolina was no big deal. About a half an hour late due to silly airline nonsense, it got dark during the flight and I listened to music and graded papers. The flight home was a different story. I flew out late morning and traveled into the afternoon. I boarded the final leg of my flight in Atlanta and much to my dismay, I was seated by the window despite my request for an aisle seat. Sitting by the window does not bother me so much as the fact that I am trapped three people in with minimal leg space, and two laps to crawl across if I need to use the lavatory. As upset as I was about the window seat, I was pleasantly surprised when the "full flight" yielded one empty seat- the one between me and the kind older gentleman who got my aisle seat.

I had been listening to my iPad on a lower-than-usual volume, awaiting the announcement to stow all electronics and prepare for departure. I always wait as long as I possibly can to turn off my music, and still do not understand how my listening to music can interfere with the operation of the airplane. But, they insisted anything with a battery or an on-and-off switch was to be turned off and put away until we reached cruising altitude, and I obliged. Last thing I need is a scandalous headline in tomorrow's newspaper reading, "Flight Delayed by Lee County Teacher with Suspect Electronics." I continued my gaze out the window, watching all of the workers involved in preparing aircraft for flight and landing. Luggage carts, catering trucks, maintenance trucks, and other vehicles zip in and around the runways like all of the pieces of a young child's Fischer Price airplane set. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and it appeared to be a good day for flight.

                         

I watched the entire departure through the window. Planes were speeding down the runways and heading off to their destinations. Others were making their way back into Atlanta, which from what I understand is the hub for Delta Airlines. I didn't catch the other planes on camera because just moments before we taxied down the runway, the stow electronics announcement interrupted me. But it really was an amazing sight. One after the other, like graduates being released to the stage at commencement, the jets took off with what seemed like fewer than 60 seconds between them. As one flew into the clouds, another came out, landing in the opposite direction. I never noticed such heavy air traffic while flying, but it probably wasn't unusual for the hub airtport on a holiday weekend.

Our turn came and I decided to watch the entire event through the window, something I probably hadn't done since I was a child fascinated enough by flight to want the window seat. The leisurely taxi to the front of the line gradually turned into a speedy running start. The crew got quiet, the engines got loud, and we darted down the runway and lifted into the air. It was quite exhilarating. The city beneath us shrunk and the clouds felt expansive and majestic. I anxiously awaited the all clear so I could take my iPad back out and snap some photos. My seat was right on the wing, so I enjoyed the view of its long angle jutting out, and the cannon-like barrel of the right jet engine. I realize some people, like my mom and my husband, might find the sight of the engine and the wing disturbing, but I was awed by the enormity of them. Then, I heard the bong accompanied by the announcement that we had reached cruising altitude and we could now use our portable electronics.

I restarted my itunes, and as if right on cue, Kid Rock and Zac Brown's Flyin High began playing. I switched over to my camera, and here are some of the shots I captured on this magnificent flight. 

       

       

                      

        

I took almost 30 photos. Every time I closed the camera and sat back to watch through the window, I couldn't help but open it back up. I don't remember enjoying the flying experience so much. Perhaps its because I'm older and more appreciative. Maybe it's because I now consider myself to be a writer and I try to observe more of what goes on around me. But look at these photos... isn't the sky amazing? Isn't it incredible that human beings have accomplished flight? Rarely do I take time in my busy life to stop and appreciate my everyday experiences, and this just caught me off guard. I wish I could come up with some profound words that eloquently describe the experience, but I think there may be a poem or two in the future. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the photos as much as I am. Here are a few more.