Dog, but I’m tired.

The beginning of the semester is a funny time. I love it, but it flat wears me out.

I’m not really sure just how to put into words how much I love my job. I’ve often said that I can’t believe I get paid for this. I’ve said that I would do it even if I didn’t get paid (but please don’t tell the president). I’ve said it’s my calling, my passion, and just about better than a Stuffed Pork Chop with a side of cheese grits, purple-hulled peas and bread pudding from Tim’s Cajun Kitchen.

I love teaching. Having the opportunity to help people learn to love writing or to think critically about something they’ve never considered before is, easily, the greatest job I can possibly imagine.

I’m not kidding.

And the beginning of the semester is the best. All these long faces walk dejectedly into the room, dreading the next 16 weeks cause they didn’t know they would have to take a writing class! Then I’m just on looking for a way to resurrect the love of language in my students. (Being on is really hard for an off-the-scale introvert like me. That’s why I’m so tired right now.)

Cause you see, I love writing. Finding a way to put these disparate thoughts down on the page (or web, in this case) beats away the exhaustion that being on causes.

It’s like that feeling of the first cool breeze of fall when you’re out cutting the grass for what you hope is the final time of the summer.

It’s like waking in the middle of the night feeling like you’ve slept for years, and you notice you still have five hours before you have to get up.

It’s like hearing your boy say, “I love yooooooou” for the first time.

Writing brings clarity to love, to life, to light.

And it’s a light that must, absolutely must, be shared.

As Bill Wheeler says, “Good writing is clear thinking made visible.” And dear god if there’s one thing we need more of in this world it is the light of clear thinking that’s right out there in the open for all to see.

It’s a good day when I can share that with just one other person. It’s a great one when I can share it with a hundred.

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For starters, keep in mind that whatever I post tonight is going to be inadequate; frankly nearly every question asked over the past two weeks has gone unanswered. These are just a few highlights as night turns into day.

1. Why has David Blair only attended one of the School Closing Meetings? (Huntsville High. He was at the board meeting at Columbia, but after the press returned to the closing meeting, I didn’t see Blair again. While we’re at it, why hasn’t Mr. Blair offered any response to those data questions I asked him two and a half weeks ago?) Really though, these are minor questions. I’m sure that Mr. Blair had some very important meetings to attend for the past two and a half weeks. Let’s move on to some real questions.
2. Why didn’t Dr. Steve Salmon manage to attend even one of the five community meetings to address questions that seemingly only he could answer? Again, while we’re at it, what was Dr. James Wilson’s actual involvement in the creation of the report before the community meetings. At the June 2nd meeting, he was presented as Dr. Salmon’s assistant. (Of course this was when were were paying Gude Management Group, LLC. to create the report. Now we’re paying Education Planners, LLC for Dr. Wilson’s services.) Come to find out, when you look at Education Planners website, you see that Dr. Salmon actually works for Dr. Wilson. Why do I feel like I’m watching at three card monte game on a street corner? Why am I convinced that the whole city is being scammed?
3. Why do the demographers consistently refuse to discuss their methodology and the guidelines they received in developing this report? Interestingly, in January of this year, Bonvillian of the Huntsville Times reported that 11 schools in Huntsville are operating below 60 percent capacity benchmark that the state placed on Huntsville City Schools earlier that month. This study by the Times was based on 2008 data, but didn’t cost the system $75,000. Notice some of the quotes form the board members in that article: Blair said, “Butler is one of the obvious schools for discussion.” Birney followed up by saying, “We’ve known about Butler for years. It just doesn’t look like anything we suggest to keep it going is taken seriously.” Morrison offered this comment concerning Butler: “I doubt that we’ll close the building. We may put another school in there with it, but I don’t think we’ll close it.” Birney and Blair both claimed that they were most surprised by Mt. Gap’s numbers. McCaulley, speaking about smaller schools like Monte Sano said, ”We have to factor in the size of the school. It may be that a smaller school is not effective for the whole system.” No, Dr. Richardson, there’s no evidence whatsoever that the board directed the demographer to produce any results in the report. For the record, this article was published on January 16, 2011. On January 19, 2011, Mayor Battle sent a letter to the Board offering to pay Dr. Salmon of Georgia the $75,000 fee.
4. Why was the new Lee High built if demographics “prove” that the old Lee High was operating well below capacity? In fact, if you take the extra 1,000 seats found at the old Lee High out of the equation, then suddenly, HCS is operating only 4,500 seats below capacity in 10 years. If you factor Butler into that equation, suddenly we’re down to just 3,500 seats below capacity in 10 years. Two schools and we’ve found 36% of the capacity problem. (Again, assuming that these “very real, exact data” is actually real or exact.)
5. If the demographer’s report is looking at capacity issues ten years out, why does the report only include data and capacity from Old Lee High and not New Lee High?
6. Why are we spending $40,000,000 to build the New Lee High when we’re $20 million (no, $18.5 million . . . er, $15.5 million . . . whatever, WE’RE IN DEBT) in debt? Well when we decided to build New Lee in 2009 we didn’t know we were in debt. Right? No one could have predicted this or seen this coming. Right?
7. Why does Richardson constantly claim that the Huntsville City School Board must decide which schools to close before we can consider any specific data concerning the impact of the closings on academic achievement, actual cost savings, realignment issues, transportation issues, or really anything other than questionable demographic data?
8. Why, if Richardson is correct that we will be a healthy financially in two years without closing schools, are we even considering closing schools? According to his latest numbers, Richardson believes Huntsville City Schools is $15.5 million in debt. If you talk into consideration other cost saving measures he introduced on Thursday, June 16th, you can knock that number down to an even $14 million. On April 21, 2011, Richardson recommended and the board approved personnel cuts in the amount of $23,089,027. In other words, with those personnel cuts and the other million or so Richardson keeps finding, we’re already looking at nearly a $10 million dollar surplus.
9. Why can’t we know what will happen to New Century once it is moved to Lee High before the board decides to move it to Lee High?
10. Why does Dr. Richardson continue to insult parents by stating that “all parents want high standards until their kid brings home a D?”

As I said, these are just a few of the unanswered questions that remain after the five public hearings. Please feel free to add more in the comments below.

The post Unanswered Questions: Huntsville City Schools Closing appeared first on Geek Palaver.

When you have an epiphany, it’s a good idea to write it down. I’ve long since been of the opinion that if you don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. So on those rare moments when a clear thought does wind it’s way up my spine to enlighten my darken mind, I have to put it down. Otherwise that light will go out. And if there’s anything that we must rage against, as Dylan Thomas said, it’s the dying of the light.

And so I write to rage against meaninglessness.

My insight tonight happened as a series of things came together. Thanks to a friend for kicking it off with your post earlier today. You wrote:

[The LEA] only wants to help those who are severe and not the ones who might fall through the cracks that have a chance to make it if they were given just a little bit of help.

While this wasn’t our experience, it did make me stop and ask of myself: Is it possible that my son’s severity is a gift?

It’s important to pay attention to that tickle as it moves up your spine.

When we speak of autism, we speak of it as a spectrum. There is a vast range of gift, talents, and abilities when it comes to the spectrum. There are those who are severely autistic. There are children and adults who’s autism is so severe that they will possibly never find a way to communicate with the world outside themselves. There are those who cannot speak, but learn other ways of communicating. There are people, who like our boy, don’t communicate clearly via speech at the beginning of their lives, but have the possibility of learning as they grow. And there are those who don’t seem to have a problem talking, but instead have difficulty recognizing non-verbal language or (well, this is the case with many who aren’t on the spectrum, too) nuance and sarcasm.

Frankly, I haven’t even begun to describe the range. Autism isn’t just a rainbow of visible light; it encompasses infrared and ultraviolet light as well. Sometimes you can see the disability. Sometimes you can’t.

And sometimes the disability that you can see is easier to deal with than the one you can’t.

We can see our boy’s disability and so can nearly everyone else who comes into contact with him. His disability is visible and audible; it isn’t hidden below the surface.

We don’t have to explain to those who interact with him that he isn’t being rude; he has an illness. We don’t have to defend his difficulty with making eye-contact, or his stimming, or his humming, or his bouncing. No one assumes that our boy is just misbehaving. And despite our struggles to understand him when he’s asking for things, or crying, or laughing, everyone knows that we’re telling the truth when we say that our child has a disability.

Sometimes severity drives a spike through my heart. When I know that my boy is screaming at me to get me to understand what he wants, what he needs, who he is, my life stops for a while.

But we find a way through. And the boy learns and talks, and life begins again.

But when I see my friends having to scream on behalf of their child, having to defend their child to others who think the kid is just bad, having to fight for just a little help with reading or writing or math; it’s then that I know, I see and I rage with them.

Sometimes severity is a gift.

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Going . . .

I never wanted to become Polonius: spouting off advice to Laertes and Ophelia when all they wanted was to receive his blessing so they could leave. All I can say is that it started as sort of a joke, but I’ve since realized that it’s much more than a joke to my little girl. And it’s much more than that to me.

Every morning I have the distinct honor of taking my children to school. It’s a blessing that, despite having to circumnavigate two school’s car lines, I would never give up. It gives me just a little more time with both of them in the morning to remind them that I love them and to remind me that there are far more important things in life than papers to grade and bills to pay. Other than tucking them in at night, it is my favorite time of the day. Strange what having kids will do to you; I used to hate the morning commute.

Anyway, each morning I drop the girl off about a block away from school so she can walk in. She LOVES doing this, and it gives me a few more stolen seconds to hug and watch her grow.

And it breaks my heart fresh each morning when she turns to walk away. It’s the reverse of all those stupid car commercials that show the dad talking to a five-year old as she waits, somewhat patiently, behind the wheel for the keys so she can go out. When my girl turns away and starts walking, my seven-year old is suddenly seventeen, complete with a toss of her hair over her shoulder. And I’m left wondering where the time went. (Yep, I was once told by my college Drama professor that if he were to do a production of Hamlet that he would have to cast me in the lead. I was the definition of melancholy. At the time, I took it as a compliment rather than a curse. Strange kid was I.)

Anyway, back to Polonius. I decided one morning to offer my Ophelia (minus the insanity, that is) a bit of advice as she walked away in hopes that she would wait a little longer to turn her back on me and transform into a teenager that I’m having trouble connecting with. As she walked backwards away from me, I looked her in the eye and said, “Learn everything you can.” To which she replied, “Okay.”

Not wanting her to turn, I added, “Have fun!” As she takes another step away from me, she shouts with a grin, “Okay!”

Desperate to keep her eyes on mine a little longer, I reminder her to “tell Mrs. Wrenn thank you and give her BIG HUGS (thank you teletubbies!).” She’s so far down the sidewalk now that she has to shout, “Okay, dad!”

going . . .

“Be nice to your friends!” “Okay.”

“Be nicer to your not so friends!” “I will.”

Knowing now that I’ve got to cut the strings or I’ll be crying all the way to drop off the boy, I shout (to the great pleasure of those sleeping in the house we’re parked in front of I’m sure), “Always remember that I’m proud of you, and I love you!”

At this, she grins, and I die a little inside cause I know she’s about to turn, but before she does, she shouts, “I love you, too, Dad!”

And with that I climb back into the car with tears rolling down my cheeks anyway.

“Be nicer to your not so friends.” I came up with that, as with most things by my seat-pants flying, but other than our “I love yous,” I think it may be the most important of my proverbs. Yeah, I totally stole it from the Gospel of Matthew, but that’s okay, I always did think that Picasso was right about stealing. It’s the one thing that I try to remember myself through the day. And it’s the one thing that I forget the quickest. My memory really sucks.

Be nicer to your not so friends. If we love our children and our friends, what credit is that to us? Doesn’t everyone do the same? The truth is that if we really want to make the world a better place for our kids (and we do), then we’ve got to step up to the bullies and be nicer. We’ve got to step up to the despots and be nicer. We’ve got to reach across the aisle and be nicer. We’ve got to hold our arms open wide in one of my daughter’s patented “air hugs” and be nicer to those whom we don’t like, we don’t love, we can’t stand the sight of, we think even God hates.

We’ve got to be nicer to our not so friends in this world because it’s the only way that we’ll survive to see our little girls grow up into beautiful young women ready to change the world with their dreams. We have got to be nicer to the world.

To that young woman, my daughter, I have only this to add: No matter what people try to tell you, love will change the world.

And always remember that I’m proud to be your daddy.

. . .

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Updated Below:

When resources tighten, it is natural to want to look after the needs of those dearest to you first. Even if doing so means that others suffer. As a good friend wrote on one of his blog posts recently, Gandhi said, “If everyone cares enough and everyone shares enough, there will always be enough.”

I’d like to believe that Gandhi is correct, but my experience teaches me that humans are not, by nature, trusting of others. We don’t share very well or easily. We are self-centered. As a Psychologist Egoist might say, we are actually incapable of looking out for anyone else.  Adam Smith famously said, “It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest.” Their ideas are that humans behave most reliably when they are looking out for their own interests, when they are self-interested.

This idea doesn’t often sit well with students when I present it in class. We like to think that we often looking out for the best interest of others. In fact, looking out for the best interests of my child is looking out for the best interest of another. We see ourselves as a Gandhi rather than just another Smith. When I ask my students how they behave, they nearly always reply that they look out for others following Gandhi’s example. Yet, when I ask them how other people behave, they’re convinced that other people only look out for themselves.

Interesting isn’t it? We almost always think better of ourselves than we do others. (Which tends to support the idea that Adam Smith is right, I suppose.)

Well that’s enough philosophy for the moment. On to my point.

Resources are tightening in the Huntsville City School system, and people are starting to look after the needs of those dearest to them. Even if doing so means that others suffer.

On Thursday, March 17, 2011 at a Huntsville City School Board meeting, it came to light that there had been “talks” among Superintendent Dr. Ann Roy Moore, her staff, and the Alabama State Department of Education about what to do with the autistic students in the Huntsville City School system next year. There were “rumors” of a plan to move all of the autistic children in the school system to one school, specifically, the Academy for Academics and Arts. As Dr. Moore said, such a move was designed “to give the best services to our students that is possible.” Dr. Moore pointed out however that no decision had been made yet. You can read more about this meeting here. (Really. Go take a look. I’ll wait.)

I believe, along with numerous parents and children who attended the meeting, that this would be a bad idea. But that really isn’t why I’m writing.

I also have quite strong opinions about why our resources are tightening in the school system, but again, that really isn’t why I’m writing here.

I’m writing concerning the issue of inclusion that was raised in the article and specifically by some of those choosing to comment below the article.

Inclusion is the idea that whenever possible a child, in this case a child somewhere on the autism spectrum, benefits by being included in a non-autism classroom. The article refers to the two types of classrooms as “Special Education” classrooms and “Neuro-Typical” classrooms. In the comments, someone named, “woetoyou,” (ah, the joys of anonymity) asked why his “neuro-typical” child should be slowed down by the inclusion of a special needs student. Other brave posters named: “jabbajabba,” and “wareaglebuck” added their agreement to “woetoyou’s” concerns.

Yes, this is a ridiculously long introduction to my response to their concerns.

Why should inclusion matter to them? Since I don’t believe they’ll be convinced by Gandhi (or Jesus for that matter), let me try Smith. You should want your children included in my child’s classroom out of pure self-interest. You should want it because it is what is best for them.

1. All children, every single one of them, are special, and as such have special needs. Allowing your neuro-typical children to be included in a classroom with my “special needs” child will allow your children’s specialness to be seen and addressed by a teacher who is trained to identify and meet the special needs of all children.
2. If your children are included in my child’s classroom, your children will benefit from a lower student/teacher ratio.
3. If your children are included in my child’s classroom, your children will be free to learn in an environment that is accepting of differences: even theirs.
4. If your children are included in my child’s classroom, your children will be free to learn at their own pace. In the areas where they are strong, they will excel. In the areas where your children are weak, they will be aided. Some children instantly recognize a smile as a friendly greeting; others know how to solve advanced mathematical problems in their heads because numbers are simply alive to them. Being included helps all of our children learn from each other.
5. My child knows how to learn even though his skin feels as though it’s covered with ants. Your children know how to catch a ball.
6. My child knows how to walk without falling through a tsunami. Your children know how to make eye contact.
7. My child knows perseverance, strength, dedication, love, and how to laugh even when the world is determined to break him. Your children will need all of these skills to survive in this world because, you know what, this world is determined to break them, too. I don’t want that to happen to your children; my son can help.

If we work together, you and I, all of our children can benefit from each other. I care. I’m willing to share. There will be enough.

Having Fun at School

Update:

On Thursday, March 24, 2011 there will be a Making Connections Autism Spectrum Disorder Networking Group meeting from 11:00am – 1:00pm at Faith Presbyterian Church (Corner of Whitesburg and Airport Rd) to help answer questions concerning Individual Education Plans (IEPs), mitigation, etc. As the best approach to fighting against the segregation of our children is to make sure that the IEP requires inclusion, this should be a useful meeting to attend. Representatives from the Alabama Disabilities Advocacy Program (ADAP) will be present to answer questions and help guide parents through the IEP process.

The next Huntsville City Board Meeting will be held on Thursday, April 7, 2011 at 200 White Street.

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“We are always getting ready to live but never living.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” –Buddha

“Do not worry about tomorrow.” –Jesus

I really don’t do resolutions. Always thought they were just, as has been posted often online in the last two days, a clear road to hell. And yet, I do believe in change. I believe that perhaps the greatest gift that life offers us is the ability to become something other than what we have been in the past. So, in that vein, I can change my approach to resolutions even though I’ve spurned them in the past.

The boy loves Buzz and Woody; have I mentioned this? If not, here’s a good reminder:

Best Friends Forever

So, of course, we love Buzz and Woody, too. But perhaps my reason for loving these two T-O-Y-S isn’t as clear as it need be. It goes back to my own childhood, and like any child of the 70s toys came to life in the latter part of the decade with the advent of the Holy Trinity: Star Wars.

Truthfully, there isn’t much that I can say about Star Wars that hasn’t been said better by Kevin Smith, except perhaps that as someone who grew up in a small town, the movies we never as important as the toys. As hard as it is to image today, when Star Wars finally made it to the Boro in (I believe) 1978, I only saw it once in the theaters. I of course wanted to see it more, but dad thought it was silly to see a movie twice. So it didn’t happen. Remember this was about 10 years before the advent of a VCR (at least in our house); thus, the only way to see a movie twice was to convince your dad to pay for it twice. This was not something I was easily able to do.

Instead I read the novelization, the comics, and when I had saved enough money from my weekly allowance of a whopping $0.50, I would rush to Roses, or if I was lucky, Woolworths to buy one the Luke Skywalker action figures with the wrap-around sheet shirt, and yellow light saber with the tip that retracted.

Use the Force, Luke

This little toy, along with a Stormtrooper, Darth Vader, Han Solo, and Chewbacca, (No Leia, of course. These were “action figures” never “dolls.”) I recreated scenes from the movie, and wrote in my head, thousands of adventures for these guys. These toys, combined with a few pieces of twine, resulted in Luke invading Darth’s hideout behind the bed to wipe out the evil Sith Lord by swinging over the treacherous blades of death hanging from the ceiling. Han and Chewy were always there atop the encyclopedias waiting to rush in if Luke should get trapped by the Stormtrooper!

Watching the abandon with which Matthew plays with Buzz and Woody takes me back to those hours that I somehow put aside as I approached my teen years. Although I’m sure putting away childish things was a necessary part of growing up (there are many “geeks” who claim that the toys never go away, they just get more expensive), I’m worried that I also lost something when I did. And not just something that’s okay to lose. I think I lost that ability to be lost in the moment, to live in the now. And I want it back.

When we play, as children at least, everything else disappears. Our guilt over the past drops away. Our fear of the future fades into the background. There are no bills, or leaky faucets, or service engine lights.  The barrier of autism that separates me from my little boy disappears.

All that is left is the moment. The now. And such is a gift too precious to lose. It is all that we actually have.

So this year, because it’s all that I actually have any influence over, I’m going to play. I’m not going to dwell in the past. I’m going to not fear the multitude of futures that might be waiting. As Matthew walks down, grabs my hand and tugs me to where he’s playing, I’m gonna go. You wanna come play, too?

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Geeky Beer Service

Recently I was forced, on two separate occasions, to consider and report on my favorite bible verse.  I’m not a real bible verse kind of guy.  I don’t find a verse particularly useful and rarely find them meaningful.

This is not a judgement on the entire bible, rather it is how I look at individual verses.  A verse, taken out of context not only from the words written around it but the culture and time it was written, can come to mean anything to anyone.  So I’m more of a bible story person rather than a bible verse person.

But a bible story didn’t fulfill the requirements, so I went in search of a verse.  And I found one.  One that I can embrace and claim as my favorite.

Then I commended mirth, because a man has no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry: for that shall abide with him of his labor the days of his life, which God gives him under the sun.
- Ecclesiastes 8:15

This is where the oft quoted phrase of “Eat, drink and be Merry” comes from.  And I happen to be a fan of all three activities.  And to know that God commands me to do them is proof that he loves us, is it not?  Or as another great American put it:

Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.
- Ben Franklin

So, that got me to thinking.  What else have great people had to say about this topic.  And by this topic, I do mean beer.  Because, if Mr. Franklin is right, and I’m not going to tell him he’s wrong, then beer is the de facto proof of God’s existence.

Abraham Lincoln had a high opinion of Beer.  In fact, he believed that enough beer could save our nation!

I am a firm believer in the people. If given the truth, they can be depended upon to meet any national crisis. The great point is to bring them the real facts, and beer.
-Abraham Lincoln

But it is not national leaders alone that understand God’s love through beer.  The common man can appreciate beer too.

Without question, the greatest invention in the history of mankind is beer. Oh, I grant you that the wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does not go nearly as well with pizza
- Dave Barry

And of course, our own president can appreciate the miraculous powers of common beer.

I have always believed that what brings us together is stronger than what pulls us apart.
- President Barak Obama
2009 Beer Summit

So if so many wise people can see that beer is good and godly, why is it so often looked down upon?  That is a mystery I’ve often contemplated, and I think I have some answers.

1. Beer tastes like horse piss.  It’s true, most American beer does.  Or worse, American light beer tastes like…  nothing.  Call me a beer snob, but I do not like the weak American style beers.  But attacking all beers based on the poor taste of a few is akin to attacking all religious people for the extra-bedroom activities of Ted Haggard.
2. Beer makes one silly.  But only if beer is drunk in excess.  Which should be measured by kegs, not cases, and by activity, not occasion.  I can’t help that pot bellied rednecks drink to much while watching football.  That neither lessens football or beer, both of which are Good.  Instead, it shows that rednecks really “get” the holy concept of “Eat, Drink and Be Merry.”  Instead of a negative, they should be held up as the example!
3. Beer is expensive.  But that’s just silly.  Beer is the single reason that mankind developed civilization.  Without beer, we’d all still be small clans of hunter-gatherers, or perhaps advanced to the point of quilting bees and scrapbooking.  But nothing civilized.

So let’s accept, shall we, that beer is holy.  And needs to, at times, be consumed.  For God did command it.

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