Drew-A-Paw-Looza

My sweet nephew Drew has autism. Many people don't understand what that means, and if they do, it's usually because they remember Rain Man. To truly understand what it means, you have to imagine Rain Man as a little boy, and then think about all the trouble that a little boy can get into.

But as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words, so a video must be worth a million. I made this video about Drew, and it is a true labor of love. So much so, in fact, that I've littered this paragraph with trite phrases. Forgive me.

If you're interested in learning more about the benefit that we're throwing for Drew on Sunday, November 13th, please visit www.drewapawlooza.com for more information.

Confabulation

"You look tired," Michael said to me. He'd come into my office with his best friend Ashley because that's what they do.

I've been getting that a lot lately. Sometimes when you're a teacher you look at administrators and think about all the ways that they're messing everything up and then you become an administrator and you mess things up, all the while thinking longingly of those days when you used to get sleep.

So I told that that I looked tired because I was working hard for them.

They didn't buy it.

"You know what you should get?" said Michael. "It's that thing that Caucasian people wear."

Caucasian people?

"Ooh, yeah," said Ashley. "They put it on their face so people can't tell they're tired. Miss A uses it all the time. You should ask her. She looks good."

Um. I thought hard, trying to figure out what they were talking about. You mean concealer?

"Yeah!" said Michael. "You put it under your eyes. It covers up those dark circles."

I couldn't help myself; I started to giggle like a little girl. They looked at me blankly, unsure what the joke was.

I decided to help them out. So what you're telling me is I shouldn't get more sleep; I should wear more makeup.

Ashley nodded. "Yes." She was so pleased with me. "Because then people can't tell. That's important."

They both told me bye then and ran out of my room so they didn't miss the chicken sandwiches at lunch, which reminded me. I needed to eat lunch, too.

I keep forgetting.

Simple Gifts

My name came over the loudspeaker. Report to the main office, they said.

I'd been expecting it, ever since our Parent Coordinator told me that some kids were looking for me. They had something for me, she said. I shouldn't go too far. So I ran a quick errand but apparently it wasn't quick enough, because a teacher stopped me on the way back to the office saying that she wanted to reschedule our observation. It wasn't a good day, she said, and she knew I had high expectations. I was trying to talk her out of it because really, I'm not that scary, before the announcement gave me an out.

When I got back to the office, three of my former students were standing there, with a large picture wrapped in what looked like the paper we used to cover bulletin boards.

"We're here to give you a present," Jenny said. She was holding a dusty plant, which she immediately thrust into my hands.

"We feel you need it," said Alan. "A present, which we will present to you with great ceremony."

Alan was always one for a clever turn of phrase. This is one of the reasons, in fact, that I enjoy him so. He handed me a somewhat ragged stuffed bear. Dog. Something. It was white and fuzzy.

Jose then presented me with what was clearly the real present. I could tell because they'd gift-wrapped it with bulletin board paper. It was a poster in a tattered frame.

So of course I opened it with great ceremony and even though I knew they'd found these items all over school, I let them hang it with even more ceremony, because when someone goes to this much trouble for a joke, you really need to let them get to the punchline.

Kids. They're funny.

Part-Timers

We decided to stop for a drink after work, Susan and I.

Some guy sat down next to us.

"You girls teachers?"

Susan was showing me some papers that her ESL students had written because I was still relatively new to teaching and couldn't figure out how to grade a stack of 150 essays in less than a week without going quietly crazy. Each one seemed like it took twenty minutes, and the kids never read my comments.

I didn't know what I was doing wrong.

Yeah, I said, and asked to read her comments. I looked them over. They didn't look any different than mine. She maybe even wrote more.

How long did it take you to do this one? I asked.

She shrugged. "Five minutes? Seven?"

Our friend looked over my shoulder. "English teachers?" he said.

Yeah, I said again, and handed the stack back to her. I brooded over my beer. How do you do it?

She shrugged again. "You just get good at it."

Good at it. And clearly, I was not.

"So what do you girls like to do?" our friend asked. "Got any rulers you can smack me with?"

I sighed and turned my back toward him. If I had a nickel for every time a guy brought up rulers or pointers or desks, I might actually be making a decent salary.

I gave Susan back her papers and she stuck them in her bag. I pulled out some of my graded papers and she looked them over before handing them back. What do I need to do? I asked.

"Nothing," she said. "Just get faster."

Faster. Right.

"So how long you girls been here?" our friend asked, looking at the clock. It was after five. "School day ends at, what, 2:30?"

Automatically, I started to protest. The new teacher contract required that we had to stay at school until 4:45 twice a week for PD, and since she taught an evening class at Columbia and I was in grad school at Brooklyn College on Tuesdays, we figured our bar stop was a good way to kill time until we got on the train again.

Not really time for anything else. And anyway, we needed a drink.

"Yep," said Susan. "2:30. Actually, we left school early, and we've been drinking here since one. It's not as if we were working that hard. Might as well go drink. The kids don't notice. They don't pay attention anyway."

"And you only work nine months anyway," he sneered.

This time, I followed her lead. I didn't correct him and say ten months, eleven if you teach summer school; instead I leaned back in my barstool and faced him fully.

And we get Christmas break, I said. And Easter. We hardly work at all.

"Rosh Hashanah," said Susan. "Yom Kippur too."

I'd like to report that he was properly cowed, but instead he called us bitches and moved to the other end of the bar. I looked up at the clock and drained the rest of my beer. We had to be on the train by 5:30 if we were going to make it on time.

Washington Park

When it finally gets warm in Chicago, I want to spend all my time outside. I mean, I want to sleep outside. I need the time, see, to soak up as much sun as I possibly can before winter comes and I want to hide under a rock. A warm rock.

My students disagree.

I was getting coffee this morning when I noticed Ron sliding into the building, so I stood in the doorway of the teachers' lounge so I could give him some shit. Wow, I said. Look at that. It's 8:45.

"Yeah," he said, and paused. "I overslept."

That's a lot of sleeping, I commented mildly. I glanced over my shoulder -- the coffee was still brewing and I had nothing but time.

"I needed that sleep. I almost got killed yesterday."

Sure you did.

"I did, I swear. I was up at Washington Park with my parents and they started shooting. I had to dive under a car."

That startled me. Washington Park? That's only a few blocks from my house.

"We was up at the park to barbecue, but we got the hell out of there. That's why I'm late to school."

I sent him a long look. When did this happen?

"Eight o'clock."

Eight. No wonder. Running around Washington Park after dark is like running around Central Park after dark: not smart.

Ron said goodbye and took off for his locker.

Washington Park is a pretty historic place -- it was designed by Olmstead and built for the Columbian Exposition as all the most beautiful places in Chicago were. Oddly, it is really the jewel of Chicago's park system, but most tourists don't spend a lot of time there because it's between Hyde Park and the hood. It's the people's park, though, and the people actually use it. My NHS kids and I were talking about doing an end of the year picnic up at the park to celebrate.

I talked to the NHS president midday. Perhaps we needed to shift the day, I suggested. Or maybe we could do it on a weekday, after school. You know, when there aren't guys with guns running around.

We agreed to think on it, and I continued to sweat out the rest of the day in the library. Last summer they installed "air conditioning" in our building, but all it does is blow a bunch of hot air through the vents.

I don't even need to make jokes sometimes, no?

So I had a full house of kids in the library after school today. None of them wanted to leave, but I finally kicked them out around four so I could get some work done. An hour later, I packed up my stuff to leave the building.

As I made my sweaty way down the hallway, I noticed the same group of kids hanging out by the front door. The had the door open, but all of them were still inside. Go outside, I said. It's a nice day. Look, sun.

"Yeah. Sun," said Devaughn.

Devaughn is a senior, and in two weeks he's going to graduate. When I was a senior, you couldn't keep me in school. I'd have breakfast at the Egg & I and wander in to school sometime before third period (I was terrified of my English teacher), and the next day I'd repeat. I couldn't wait to get out of high school, and yet here my kids were, unwilling to go.

So I said they needed to get out and do something. You know, have fun.

"Fun?" said Davaughn. "When the sun comes out in my neighborhood, they start shooting you in the head. I'll stay right here, thanks. Look, I'm inside, but I ain't got no hole in my head."

I had no easy comeback. When a kid is right, he's right.

Out of the Darkness Overnight

A few weeks ago, I heard a commercial on the radio for an overnight walk to raise awareness for suicide prevention. I thought about it for about half a second and knew that I had to be a part of this.

You see, every member of my family is a survivor of suicide. Over twenty years ago, my cousin Joey died by suicide, and my cousin Christopher died only a few months ago, in November. I think of my Aunt Tess and my Aunt Dorothy and think that whatever I can do to prevent another mother from living their pain is still too little.

So you know me; I decided to do the walk. It's what I do -- put myself through a grueling couple of days in order to help when I feel helpless.

The Out of the Darkness Overnight Experience is a 20-mile walk over the course of one night. Net proceeds benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, funding research, education, and awareness programs – both to prevent suicide and to assist those affected by suicide.



I'm pledged to raise at least $1000, so any amount that you're willing to give will be a big help. The website makes it easy to donate. By supporting this foundation, you're supporting research that helps us understand suicide and helps with prevention. You're paying for education for professionals so they know better how to spot warning signs. You're paying for publicity for a cause so that people don't need to be ashamed to seek help for depression. You're paying for survivor counseling, because suicide never claims only one victim. It claims a whole family.

You can visit my donor page by visiting the link below:

http://www.theovernight.org/?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=10013177

Bad Dog

Not too long ago, God rewarded me with a dog. You scoff? Of course he came from God. It's no mistake that when you spell God backwards, it's dog.

What I find most hilarious about this turn of events is not only did I get a dog, I got a very bad dog. Seriously. Here. There he is. Just look at him. I had to put a bandana on him because he's such a badass. I've got him as my background on my computer at school and the kids tell me I've got a gangsta dog. Whut up, Atticus-G?

Seriously. He's such a hustla. Every time I turn around, he's stolen something from the garbage can. Next thing you know, I'm going to find him selling my socks at a traffic light. He'll have a good story to tell the cops, too. The fell off the truck, you see, and he only noticed it because he absolutely wasn't chasing squirrels.

Not long after I first got him, I bought a dog-training book because every time I left the house for work, I came home to find he'd chewed up something new. I gated him into my dining room. He broke down the gate. I bought a taller stronger gate. He jumped over it. I installed a fancy gate. He broke into the bathroom and ate the contents of the garbage. I was coming home from lunch every day just to walk him and still he was eating things. When he broke into my bedroom and ate the power cable for my laptop, I knew he had to be stopped.

So I bought the Dog Whisperer book because I have a secret crush on Cesar Milan. He's such an alpha dog, that Cesar. Anyway, I stayed up half the night reading the book and left it sitting on the coffee table. You guessed it -- he ate my dog training book.

Next time I have to teach my students irony, I know what example I'm going to use.

Of course, as an English teacher I had to name him after my favorite character in literature, so I call him Atticus, although everyone I know seems to misunderstand the name. People who think they're hilarious call him Abacus, and one friend even pretends that he can speak binary. He points to my dog, shouts "1!" and Atticus sits down. (Traitor.) My father watched him for me the other day and called him asparagus. Nobody wants to call my dog by his actual name. Even my niece Vicky, who is still learning how to speak, calls him Patticus. This make sense to her I think because what else do you do but pat a dog? He doesn't care. All he wants is the treats that she doles out liberally.

I'm gushing about my dog for two reasons: one, I can't help myself, and two, I can't help myself. The minute someone comes up to me and says, tell me about your dog, I can't stop myself from beginning ten minutes of dog stories. It's bad. I'm like people with children except I have no children. I have a dog. A very very bad dog.