Remiss

I'm a bit ashamed of how long it has been since I posted a blog. I suppose I have been a bit uninspired as of late. So I suppose what I will start with is a brief bullet of the weirdness of the Rover life.

• I went to Chicago to work on training teachers. It was a disaster, and left me feeling incompetent and angry.



• I went to Florida with my brother. It was a sunshiny gift from him, and it was some deep contemplative time that I desperately needed.



• I went to Ontario to work on training teachers. I dissected what I did and how I did it. I refocused on new goals and went back to developing skills that needed it. Total success. It left me feeling confident, but exhausted. 8 hours is a long time in a car.



• Yesterday was April 1st. I miss you, Eddie.

And now it's back into the dad role. Miss Neverpoop will be getting a spring break starting on Friday. Really, her preschool teachers will be getting a spring break. So she and I are going to be kicking it this week. I need to find some fun and silly new things to do. I need some silly in my days. Thankfully, an almost-five year-old can provide that.

Minds, hearts, and minnow buckets

I have a lot to write about. I have searched for some connectivity, continuity, or theme under which to tie these things. I have failed. So pardon the complete lack of transition that follows.

The Boomerang Project is in full swing. It's the student mentoring program that I travel with, teaching folks how to build the program in school. It has taken me to Portland so far (hence Goonie Rock), and Austin (just outside the city limits). I love this thing. Very rarely does one get the chance to really examine what they are doing, how they are doing it, and then adapt to all of that. I never feel more professional than when I do this, and it is so immediately rewarding on an emotional and intellectual level. I wish I could do this full time, but that isn't really an option. And the best/worst part, the folks that I work with in this are the type who love, support, challenge, demand, and trust me. I want them in my arms every day.

I returned from the most recent trip just in time for Valentine's Day. Allow me to clarify: I returned just in time for Valentine's Day at an all-girls Catholic school. One large room was closed down and staffed with secretaries. The sole purpose of this room was to receive the massive influx of cards, balloons, bouquets, candies, bears, gifts, and other pink-infused love tokens. The reek of roses rolled out of that room, carrying with it the power to induce drama. Valentine's day seems to divide school-girls into two packs: those with boyfriend drama and those who yearn bitterly for boyfriend drama. Add to this soap-opera scenario the freshman and sophomore class retreats, which took them and their teachers from the building and infused them with church-driven cathartic tears and soul searching.

I overheard things today that no man should have to hear. Stories of teen Valentine lust, two-timing, heartbreak, hatred, jealousy, and angst that ripped all semblence of sanity from my head. At the end of the day, my already ill body felt ripped from my addled head.

The only prescription: more cowbell. No, scratch that. The only prescription: pink Valentine's ice cream with Miss Neverpoop.

A little date with the Snotter Daughter was great. We talked about Valentines cards, and to whom we want to say "I love you", and about swinging on the swings. She was thoroughly impressed that she had a pink spoon and that I had a blue spoon. She talked about her friend Emily, and how she wants to marry her and shower her with gifts of spider-rings, head bands, necklaces, and washable tattoos. It's nice to see her connecting with other kids, even if she does appear to be a tiny lesbian.

My grandfather passed away last night (see? no transition. Just Bam!). His wife had passed a few months back, he had suffered a stroke, and continually fought to recover from that. Riley was a good man: stoic, devoted, hard-working, and honest. I take some pride in that one cannot walk through downtown Kansas City without standing next to a building that either he or my father were involved in building. I am proud of my father, aunt, and uncle who made the choices to make him comfortable during his last months, even though that meant that they might not be prolonging his life. It's the decision I would want made for me. So fire up some barbecue, smoke some strong tobacco in an old pipe, and mow your lawn today in honor of Riley Aquila Killmer. He'd be doing the same for you.

Booty Trap

Guess where I went this weekend. Here's a clue:

Don't you realize? The next time you see sky, it'll be over another town. The next time you take a test, it'll be in some other school. Our parents, they want the best of stuff for us. But right now, they got to do what's right for them. Because it's their time. Their time! Up there! Down here, it's our time. It's our time down here.

Group Hug

I am thrilled to be a part of Link Crew, a division of the Boomerang Project. Let me give you the premise:

A freshman starts high school. On the first day, they enter a gym and are immediately greeted by a hoard of clapping, cheering, smiling upperclassmen. They move to the bleachers, where they proceed to relax and laugh as an outgoing goofball guides them through activities that gradually get them more and more involved with each other. Just as this might get dull, they are pulled from the bleachers and through a series of efficient people moving maneuvers, they find themselves divided into completely random groups. And there to guide them is an upperclassman. A Link Leader.

The Leader then whisks them away to a secluded room, where they work through a series of activities that guide them to getting to know names, personal stories, and which allow them to come together to solve common problems. And then they discover that this group, which they have shared their life story with now, will be with them all year, helping them through all of the challenges ahead with the guidance of their Link Leader.

I have put together this program at my school, and I love it. And this year, I have had the chance to teach other teachers how to put this together as a Coach with Boomerang. And I love it. It feels like being a camp counselor again. I work my butt off for three days with the most creative, supportive, affirming people one could hope to ever see. For a brief time, I enjoy teaching again. I forget the stress, the pain in my heart, and the pain in my body. I sleep little and laugh much. The curriculum is challenging and engaging, and the analytical pedagogical part of my brain has tiny little orgasms.

When it comes down to it, this is the part of teaching that matters to me. Not science, not grades, not administrative silliness. It is helping people understand that the key to making life better for kids is to enable them to rise above their challenges through supporting each other.

Boom boom.