As a younger teacher, I was lucky to only be a day or so ahead of my students when it came to their assignments.  When it came to their grades, I pulled more than one all-nighter to make certain that I had them entered into the school's computer system on time.  Actually, I remember having to use bubble sheets for my first couple of years ...

Anyway, as a more veteran teacher, I do my best to stay at least a week ahead.  While I'm not scrambling to read through the material like I was in the past (since I have read it before), I try not to refresh my mind on it too far in advance lest I forget key information once it actually comes time to discuss it with my students.  As for grades, thanks to the real-time updating of our online grade program, I make it my policy to update them at least once a week (which still doesn't satisfy students and parents who seem to want the grades updated the moment the student hands the paper over to me).  This way, I'm not spending the weekend before grades are due desperately grading piles of work (and making not entirely insincere prayers for the piles to spontaneously combust).

Even so, I still have to fight the procrastinator within me, often delaying video games or other such pleasures (sometimes sleep) until I have my work accomplished.  Speaking of which, I just finished updating my grades, so I think it's time to get some much needed sleep. 

Terrible events have ways of bringing people together.  As more friends and family have started to pass away, I have found myself being reunited with friends and family with whom I have lost contact over the years.  This was certainly true for the visitation I attended tonight.

As the viewing was for one of my former coworkers, I found myself in the company of many friends who I have missed so much since I left Colon Schools.  The viewing was temporarily closed off as family a friends could say a Rosary or wait outside.  Our group used that opportunity to get back in touch with one another.

While there are number of reasons that I am glad that I left Colon to teach elsewhere, I certainly have missed the people with whom I used to work.  We were very much a family.  I have developed friendships and have worked to bring my coworkers at Lincoln closer together as well, and have felt that our relationships have improved, but it's a bigger school and the chemistry between people is different.

As I approached my former colleagues tonight, it was a joy to see their faces light up as they recognized me and greeted me with smiles and hugs.  While we were gathered for a solemn occasion, we also basked in our renewed friendship.  Somehow, it didn't seem like over nine years had passed since I had seen some of them.  We promised to stay in better contact, and I sincerely hope that we do so.

A colleague of mine from my days at Colon Jr./Sr. High School passed away this Sunday at the young age of 65.  When I first arrived at Colon, he was one of those quirky math teachers (and our school had a few of them ... I'm looking at you, Jenni and Munch) who seemed to genuinely like what he did ... even if the middle school students seemed to be driving him crazy.  

I did not know him well, but all of my memories of him are pleasant.  I also shared some of his concerns about how our government (federal, state, and local) were dealing with education, particularly in how teachers get treated.  While I can't come up with specifics, I know that he gave me helpful advice and was a pleasant lunch companion.

I was sad to see him leave the school, and am sadder still that he has passed away.  I pray that he has reached his heavenly reward and that his family's sorrow will be tempered by knowing that he made a real difference with the time that he had on this Earth.  

Today's first reading and Gospel both use the parable of the vineyard owner.  In both cases, the vineyard owner builds a wall (or hedge), a wine press, and a tower.  In the first reading, wild grapes take over his fields.  In the Gospel, he rents out the land, but when he sends servants for his portion the harvest, the tenants beat, abuse, and kill them.  He then sends his son, hoping they will respect him, but they they abuse and kill him too.  In both cases, the landowner eventually abandons the land or the tenants and seeks others who will be productive.  These aren't nice tales.  They don't have happy endings.  They warn about neglecting the will of God, that the rewards promised to us will go to others if we don't do our part in making the world a better place.

In truth, my focus this mass was not on the readings as much as on the homily.  Our pastor discussed the role of exorcism in the Catholic Church.  It was one of the longest sermons that I can remember.  While it dealt with the presence of the devil and demons in our world (a topic that I wrote about this week, even), I found myself not being entirely accountable.  Instead, I was worrying about the length of the mass, especially since there was also a baptism.  I usually don't mind long services, myself (in fact, I miss Fr. Jim's three hour Easter Vigil), but I know that they stress out my father, and that my wife had a meeting today.  So, as the homily went on, I couldn't help but feel my anxiety grow.

My mind tends to wander anyway.  I even have that problem when I'm praying on my own.  My thoughts drift.  When I was younger, I intentionally brought my daydreams to the forefront of my thoughts as a way to pass the time more quickly.  Now that I have a better understanding of the beauty of the mass, I still find those childish habits returning and my focus disappearing.  I still listened to the parables about the vineyards and the discussion about demon possession, but I did not give them the concentration I feel they deserved.

I suppose that this is how some of my students feel as I talk about history.

Were I to get complete control (and I mean complete control) of a school or school system, there are a few things that I would like to change.  Probably the most important of these things would be the structure of the school day itself.

For one, our schools start too early.  Despite a plethora of studies that show that middle and high school students benefit the most from late starts to the school day, we continue to force students to be to school before 8am (let alone the recommended 9am).  Even college age students do their best to avoid 8am classes.  Yet we have some students who, due to practice schedules, actually have to be at the school by 6:30am.  When you add in hours of homework, after school activities going throughout the evening, and television studios putting their most attractive (to high school age students) shows after 9pm,  it is no surprise that many students are yawning through their school day.

To make matters worse, we throw too many subjects to them through the school day.  A full load at the college is between 12-18 credits (with 18 pushing the limit).  That's the equivalent of three to six classes a semester that meet between one to four times a week.  Most high schools run a six-class schedule, with students having to juggle the maximum subjects of most college schedules while meeting for five hours a week for each subject.  Despite what many politicians claim, our students are actually in school too long.

We also need more selection for our students.  Right now they are packed into classes that supposedly teach the same standards at the same time even though we know that students learn differently and at different paces, and even though we know that not all of our students will need the exact same lesson at the same time.

Later starts and a varied class system with fewer on ground hours is a program that has made our colleges and universities some of the best in the world.  I know that we would still need to supervise our students through the school day (something that colleges don't need to worry as much about), but we could do so by allowing students to pick tutoring centers during the time that they are not in direct instruction classrooms.  These centers could range from study halls that provide a quite place to work, recess areas to give some of our students that much needed activity that they are often denied, "reruns" of courses so they get a double hit of the info, student-led group study sessions, or even one-on-one tutoring.

There are flaws with my proposed system, but I think that it's better than most schools are doing right now.  Granted, any system is going to do poorly under the current financial and legislative constraints that public schools are currently under.  Still, it's nice to dream.

It wasn't until my first child was born that I realized how deeply I could care for someone.  My love for my family is boundless.  Especially considering how vulnerable they are when they enter the world, my natural protectiveness towards my children is entirely understandable.  

What might be less understandable is that this protectiveness extends to my students as well.  Although not quite to the same degree as my feelings for my own children, my desire to help my students and keep them safe from the dangers of the world is still embedded deeply in the very fiber of my being.  I know that I can't protect all of them, but I hurt when they are hurting.

I know that part of this is also due to my "hero complex," the condition where I want to solve everyone's problems even though I don't have the qualifications to do so.  I want to be a hero for my students, to give them the chance to be the best possible versions of themselves.  When I hear stories of children who encounter terrible trials, painful events, and early deaths, I can feel the pain keenly as if something has punctured my heart.

This is why teachers at Newtown, Connecticut, stood between a crazed gunman and the children in their care.  Despite the politics, the bad press, insufficient compensation, and sometimes terrible working conditions, teachers still walk into their classrooms every day in the hopes of making their students' lives better.  You might think that I'm being overly dramatic, but I guarantee you that I am not.

Don't mess with my students.

It has been a fast month.  I can scarcely believe that the month is over.  It feels as though school began just a few days ago.  Now we are already half way through the marking period.  I can't help but recap the events of this month in my mind.

School started (and has moved through the first month).  So far, despite any political and economical concerns, it's been a good start to the year.

I am not teaching a class at Baker this term.  I have been able to use some of my time to play outside and spend more time after school getting things done at Lincoln.

Janelle's brother visited for the month, staying at her sister's house.  We got to play Carcassonne, hang out, and watch as the tree house he was building got better and better.

We made our annual visit to the Renaissance Festival.

Rowen started preschool.  While initially unwilling to talk to his teacher or most of his classmates, he seems to be enjoying it more now.

The new TV season has begun.  Janelle loves Outlander (which is why I have read the first book).  Dr. Who has been a bit less than I would hope, but I like the new Doctor.  Gotham shows some potential.  The Blacklist started with a great opening.  The Big Bang Theory's first two shows were quite entertaining.  I'm looking forward to the Flash, Arrow, Resurrection, Bones, the 100, and Elementary.

I made one entry to a writing contest.

I'm certain that there is more, but that hits most of the main points.

For the first time in over eight years, I will not be teaching a class at Baker College of Jackson in a fall semester.  With my wife's broadening schedule and some changes in my school schedule this year, it was not practical to teach an evening class, and due to lower student enrollment, they are not offering the Saturday classes that I used to teach.

It did not fully hit me until I sent the email declining a class this fall, but I have been at Baker for quite a while now.  I have been teaching classes there nearly every term since only two months after we moved to Jackson.  I have been teaching there since almost a year before Connor was born, let alone Rowen.  When I first started working there, George W. Bush was still President, Jennifer Granholm was in her first term as Governor of Michigan, we had not hit the "great recession," and the first iPhone had not yet been introduced.

I am concerned about how this will affect our overall finances, but I hope that I will see an improvement in my health during this reprieve.  Last year at this time, I was teaching two classes (although one was independent study).  The issue with teaching extra classes during the school year isn't just the class time, but the number of hours that I spend every week preparing for class and grading assignments.  During weeks when papers are due, I often lose the entire weekend.

One way or another, this fall is going to be different than any other fall semester than I've had at Lincoln.  I hope that it works out for the best.

As today is the anniversary of the attacks made on September 11, 2001, I wanted to share where I was during the attacks and the aftermath.

I was on my prep hour in my portable classroom at Colon Jr./Sr. High School when the planes struck the buildings.  A student of mine knocked on the door.  He told me that I needed to turn on the television because we were being invaded and New York was being bombed.  This particular student was not the most trustworthy of students, but this seemed to be a rather tall tale even for him.  I didn't believe he was serious, and I told him so, but I wasn't able to figure out what he thought he would gain by getting me to to turn on the television.

I calmly explained to the student that it wouldn't be possible for bombers to make it to the United States and that we certainly weren't being invaded.  (Classic example of an adult thinking that he knew more just because he was older.)  I told him to go back to his class, and I turned on the TV as he left.  I punched in the channel for CNN and was immediately mesmerized.  They had just switched back to a live shot because the first tower was collapsing.

I can't fully express what I felt.  I was horrified, as I believe most of us were.  I was also intrigued, like a gawker at a traffic accident, my eyes and mind wanted to see more due to my natural human curiosity.  The savage within me called for immediate war against whomever might have done this.

The bell rang and I forced myself to turn off the television.  An announcement came over the PA requesting that all teachers turn off their TVs and continue school as usual, that the office would keep us updated.  Of course, that made it so most rooms turned on the TVs right away and kept them running.  I wish I could say that I was one of them.  Instead I tried to keep my scheduled lesson plan running.

I regret that.  I feel that I deprived my students from seeing some of their own history that day.  Maybe I at least provided them with a shelter from the news that was otherwise bombarding them that day, but as a teacher of history I feel I did them (and myself) a disservice.  

If this summer wasn't good for my professional ego, the past few days have more than made up for it.  The number of students who have expressed how glad they are to see me and the number of staff members who have expressed how much they like having me around has added up to a wonderful boost to my self-esteem.

I like what I do, and I feel that I'm pretty good at it.  Sure, there's room for improvement, but I work hard to make certain that my student's benefit from having taken a course with me.  There will always be those who hate me, and some who claim that having me as a teacher was a detriment to their lives.  For a while this summer, it felt like there were more of them than ever before.  These first days of school have changed that feeling.

This is why we as teachers need to remember the power of positive reinforcement.  It certainly works on me.  In truth, everyone needs to remember the power of kind words and friendly faces.  Whether it's on the job, in the home, or out on the town, a positive word or two can make all of the difference between enjoying life or dreading it.  May I make certain that I am providing that positive atmosphere to the people around me. 

I did not sleep that well; I usually don't on the night before the first day of school.  Even after sixteen years of teaching, I still have nightmares (like the one last night) about having a sudden room change and not being able to find it, or suddenly having my classes switch and having to teach something I have never taught before (which has happened).

To counteract this, I usually listen to at least some of the previous weekend's "Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me!" (from NPR) that I record for my beginning-of-the-week drives.  I had discontinued the practice last year unless I was driving alone, but now Mera (my Prius) can play them on her speakers so we can both listen.  The combination of refreshing my mind of the previous week's news and lightening my soul with entertaining wit makes me feel genuinely prepared for the beginning of a week.

Truthfully, nightmares aside, I love the first day of school.  At no other time in the school year is there such an air of anticipation and determination.  Students arrive ready to prove themselves, to do better than they have ever done in the past.  Often, this energy wears off as the weeks continue, so I like to soak it in as much as possible on this first day.  Also, many of my students from previous years stop by to say hello, shake hands, or even give a quick hug.  It's usually on the first day that my previous students will sagely advise my incoming students about doing their work in my class and how to get on my "good side."

I am exhausted, but it's the good kind of exhaustion.  The kind of weariness that comes from knowing that I have a great job and get to deal with fantastic people.  Here's to another wonderful school year!

One of my favorite philosophical quotes comes from the movie "Back to the Future."  Marty McFly is continually told by his father, "If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything."  When he travels to the past, he tells his high-school age father the same thing, only to have it repeated to him again in his present.

As cliche as the phrase may be, it's one that I truly believe.  I have always supported the idea of the Renaissance Man, a person who attempts to excel at everything, one who is both logical and artistic, reasoning and passionate, cerebral and athletic.  In an age when hyper-specialization has become the way of life, this idea is not always accepted.  I often hear from students that they just aren't good at math (or English, or history, etc.) or that they are just like their parent who can't do math (or English, or history, etc.).

I believe that we are capable of succeeding at nearly everything.  There are some limitations in physical and mental ability, but I'm not talking about being the best in the world at everything.  With training, practice, dedication, and persistence, we humans have a nearly boundless potential.  Most of what stands in our way is our own stubborn refusal to try.

We are an amazing species with a grand destiny ahead of us.  We should not let nay-sayers keep us from doing the "impossible," even if the nay-sayers are ourselves.  

When I first started teaching college courses in the evening, I was desperate enough for money that I taught classes at more than one school.  There was a stark contrast between the two.  One had a friendly and welcoming staff, a shorter term period, and composition classes that included literature.  The other had a staff that rarely responded to my questions, paid better per term but with longer terms, and had composition classes filled with "real world" readings.  There was no question as to which one I preferred.

A couple of years after devoting myself wholly to the first institution, it decided to change the policy of its composition courses.  Too many instructors devoted too much of the course to teaching literature rather than teaching composition through literature.  It's a subtle, albeit profound, difference.  To my horror, the sins of the few brought about a change in policy and literature was dropped from our composition classes.  I say "to my horror" because I had seen so many students open their minds as they were exposed to literature in my courses.  Many had only been exposed to great literature in the spoon-fed manner now common in so many middle and high schools.  For older students, this was their first reintroduction to literature in decades, and they found that life had refined their tastes to readings they had long discarded.  Unfortunately, my concerns were not enough to stop the machine, and literature has been removed from most of our students' lives.

Exposing people to great literature expands their minds and their vocabulary.  It gives them avenues of thinking that are otherwise unexplored.  It helps them to think of the greater world around them, to look a viewpoints other than those with which they are already too familiar.

We need literature, grand literature, in our lives lest they become pale imitations of lives.  We need literature to invigorate our senses and imaginations.  This cold, factory-like approach to teaching reading and writing rather than composition and literature is taking the soul out of our collegiate degrees.

With a little less than a month before our first required day to report to school, I already find myself having nightmares about being back.  Don't get me wrong, I love teaching.  There are just so many things that can (and sometimes do) go wrong.  Probably because teaching is such a part of who I am, these dreams take those things that could go wrong and show them to me in spectacularly vivid ways.

Last night, for example, held one of my classic nightmares: a new classroom.  This one was on the fifth floor (my school only has one level) with only one "working" stairway that was missing a railing.  When I finally got to my room (many of these nightmares have me running late due to circumstances beyond my control), I found most of my students sitting on the narrow landing to the stairs, looking down five flights through broken pipes and wires.  They weren't in my classroom because the classroom was only about fifteen by twenty feet and filled with old materials from other teachers' classrooms.  We moved the stuff around as best as we could, but before I could start teaching, the bell rang and I had to go back down the treacherous stairs to get to a different classroom (I've only been in multiple classrooms one year, and I hated it).

That's most of what I remember (aside from something about a blizzard, parking problems, and MacDonald's coffee), but you get the basic idea.  At least I was teaching (or going to teach) in my subject area.  I have had dreams where I was teaching chemistry, biology, and even Spanish II (not Spanish I, but Spanish II).

It's a little early for the dreams.  They usually wait until early August.  They probably started early because I met with my new student teacher last week.  I could do without these nightmares.  I have enough self-doubt as is.