Baby drive south

For those folks in the area, we are hosting a little bye-bye shindig on Saturday 5/12 for the new Dr. Wife. Come on by between 3:00 and 6:00pm and say a little goodbye to the good doctor, because on Sunday she moves to Texas. The newly-three-year-old and I will be following her down at the start of June.

Here's another pic of the house. We dig it. Yes I covered the address. If you want to know where it is, let the bribery commence.

So humble

We have had our offer accepted, and will be renting this place until our home sells, at which point we will buy it. The back yard is full of more twisted versions of these trees, and there are already solid anchors for swings and hammocks. It has a lovely room just aching for guest room status, though I do ask that you all come visit a few at a time. If you all visited at once it would be a wild and naughty time in that room that I just don't think Texas is ready for.

It is ready to move in, though it needs new windows. The nice part is, we won't have to move our stuff into storage or an apartment. We can move right on in. I can fill the whole garage with junk, as is the way of my people.

So look out, San Antonio. We's is a comin'.

The man behind the curtain

The haggle for a new car for Dr. Wife is in full swing. It is stressful as hell...

"Let's not talk totals... let's talk monthly payments..."

"Let me go speak with the manager and see how these numbers look..."

"I will have to tell you, this is good news for you..."

It's all a bunch of smoke, mirrors, and hogwash. Luckily, we happen to be good with numbers. Like the pope is good with prayer, we are good with numbers. So we aren't taken in by much. After two hours of haggling, we are now waiting for loan approval tomorrow. Hopefully, a new Mazda 3 is in our immediate future.

It really is a sick little dance. They try not to let us know the numbers they want to hide, and we try not to agree to jack shit. Then they get our money and we get a car. Strange little business, and stressful as hell. I think I need a drink.

Between these tavern walls

Saturday was the last gig with The Resistors. It couldn't have gone off much better, truth be told. We were at a regular haunt of ours, The Music Box. It's a shitkicker of a bar, known only to locals of Weston who don't have the dollars for the nicer bars in town. Whiskey Tango. Perfect crowd for us.

I imagined that the last show would be a tearful farewell, with lots of sappiness and safely hetero back slapping hugs. It was just too much fun to get all choked up, though. We played probably our best set ever right off the bat, and from then on it was dancing, smart assing, and hard rocking blues. It was perfect. At the end of the night, the owner had to cut us off. We were ready for more, even after playing for four hours.

I thought when I joined a band that I was building a hobby. I didn't think I would be developing brothers, a support group, or a piece of my own soul. But I did. I'm not exactly the rock star type; never good looking enough or desirous of that much attention. But damn I love playing on stage. It gets me going when people get up and dance, or when you look out and realize the whole bar is singing along. I even like the smell of beer, smoke, sweat, and pheromones that I reek of as I load my amp back into my truck at the end of the night.

So how do you celebrate a show like that with your buddies? How do you wrap it all up with just the right bow? Waffle House.

I will miss these guys, and the band I helped build. They have a new bassist who is a great guy and a fantastic musician, so they'll still be going strong. As for me, I know that I will just have to find some Sultans of Swing to call my own in San Antonio. It's in my blood. It makes my heart pound.

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.

Scare tactics

Yesterday’s bomb threat was called into the local police. A school (no district or building named) is going to be bombed, said the voice.

Nice. So part way through the first class of the day, we receive an email notifying us of this, and telling us that there is nothing to worry about according to the police. At which point, the rumor mill begins and despite the ultra-secure lock down (21 exits, two security guards, you do the math), students begin leaving in droves. Even after a suspect was arrested and the all clear given, parents continued to call their kids on their cell phones and tell them to get the hell out. Even worse were the kids who called mommy pretending to be scared, then high-fived their friends as they got the clear to go spend the sunny day roaming the town.

In the middle of this, of course, were some of the wonderful standardized tests that No Child Left Behind uses to evaluate our success as teachers. Is there any way to void these test scores and take them under normal conditions? Nope. Kids bail partway through the test, their score tanks. Funding cut. Teachers fired. Class sizes increase. Learning suffers.

Very glad to be leaving teaching. The upside is, I was forced to surrender my lab activities for the day. My seven remaining students and I took the sidewalk chalk outside and made a giant periodic table.

I miss him

"Hi. I know this is odd, but I live in Kansas and I have some bad news for you. Your son/nephew/friend/son-in-law/brother Eddie has died suddenly. I am at the hospital now with his wife. She needed me to call you, because she is hurting right now. We think it was related to a blood clot. It was unexpected, fast, and we are hurting. I am his friend, his mentor, his beer-drinking buddy. He was my poker teacher, my daughter's No-Hair friend, and my hallway companion. Please come if you can, and I will call you again when I know more."

I came when the EMT's called for me. I drove his wife to the hospital, and held her as the Chaplain told us the awful truth. He had beaten Hodgkin's Lymphoma, survived the Marines in Desert Storm, devoted his life to bringing to others a strength to fight. And a damn blood clot took him down as he prepared to go see a doctor. His wife, Jen, is the sweetest, gentlest person and they loved each other dearly. And her world has crashed around her.

It is an awful honor, to make that call again and again. To serve Eddie and Jen, to stand when they couldn't. But oh it has laid me low. And I fear for Jen.

Eddie, my friend, I miss you so much. I keep seeing you in the doorway of my classroom, and I stand alone where we used to laugh and scheme.

How awful to measure my years in Kansas in terms of tombstones. Steve, Eli, Art, Scott, Zach, Pam, Eddie. Is this what years gain me? Is it a growing list of loss? Is there a Sunday in this terrible calendar that will give a day of rest for the wives, the parents, the brothers, the friends?

I pray that my phone doesn't ring, or that I don't have to pick it up to call. "Hi, my name is Colin, and although we have never met, I am handing you pain and sorrow. Forgive me."