Catholic Guilt, Anyone?

A week or so ago, I discovered that when I sub for a teacher (that time, the 7th grade/history teacher), I feel guilty for not being able to perform my own roles in the school. Today, that teacher was out again. I discovered that I feel guilty for not subbing. Go figure.

Support for My Thoughts

Not too long ago, in the general scheme of things, I posted some ruminations about the Blessed Mother, specifically with regards to her Magnificat. Today, I found support for my amateur musings at Busted Halo and wanted to share.

Happy Teacher Moments

They actually do occur every now and again. Here are three, because three happened this week, and three is a good number when you're writing.

1) I saw progress in my religion class! Not only are the vast majority of the students turning in the vast majority of their work, but they are starting to pick up on how to do things! It doesn't hurt that I have figured out the type of work that goes over best with this group. However, I will not stop insisting upon not using the exact words in the book. As recently as December, this novelty threw them off, so that they could not complete simple, fill-in-the-blank worksheets if I did not take sentences directly from the chapter. Thursday I handed them another fill-in-the-blank that did not even go in the same order as the information on the page. And no one missed more than two questions!

2) During lunch, one of my bright boys came up to me and asked, "Ms. Z, what's that thing where you use 'ain't' and 'y'all' and it's okay because people talk like that?" Reaching back through several conversations I've had with him about "ain't" and "y'all," I remembered : "Dialect." One of my students remembered something I talked about in a class that isn't reinforced or graded!

3) Ana and I had a good chat with one of the most emotionally mature 8th graders. Sometimes she does not fit in because of this, and we talked to her about being at this school. The idea of her meeting new people next year gives me great hope.

Thank You, Loyal Readers

Thank you, loyal readers and devoted friends, for helping me reach 7 comments on my race and Obama post. You guys rock my world!

That Pesky Little Question

George Clooney opened the Hope for Haiti Now telathon/benefit concert by telling his viewers that the one question on everyone's mind was "Why?"

I agreed. I have been asking myself that, especially as a second earthquake shook the debris of the first.

George Clooney carried on, "Haiti was poor before. Why should we help now? Why should we think that we might be able to make a difference?" The question underneath : Why is Haiti a good investment?

Wait. What? That was not the one question on my mind. That was not the question I expected to come out of his mouth. I expected to hear, "Why is this happening?" That's what my why asks. "Why, God, did you allow this to happen to your people? Why did you give so much sorrow to people who had so little?"

And underneath : Why didn't you stop it? What did they do to deserve it? How can anyone deserve something like that? Why didn't you spare the children? Why don't you stop the pain? How is it fair that the poorest country in our part of the world has so much need? How is it fair that the most vulnerable are the most hurt? Why do you let the poor become victims? Why do you let the young become victims? What can I do? How can I stop it? How can I keep my heart from breaking inside of me? If my heart hurts, how much more must hearts be hurting closer and closer to the damage? Is your heart hurting, God? My God, my God, why have you forsaken them?

Ra-Ra-Ah-Ah-Ah

Today during study hall, one of the girls was casually singing as she played a game on a friend's iPod. She had finished her language homework, so I didn't mind the game, but the words that came out of her mouth caused me to glance up sharply at her. "I want your ugly, I want your disease..."

She saw the expression on my face.

"It's not that kind of disease, Ms. Z! It's Lady Gaga," she explained.

Since I couldn't quote the entire song at her and am not sure I want to micro-analyze it with an 8th grader, I gave her my "I don't believe you" look and told her that Lady Gaga is creepy. If you're curious, here's the song she was singing.

I know there is truth to the idea that what surrounds you becomes a part of you. I miss the days of Michael Bluble, Sarah Bareilles, the Dixie Chicks, and Disney. Most of the time, I try to avoid hearing the music my students listen to, because it will end up as disturbing as Lady Gaga.

The question of the day is : What did she think the Lady Gaga song was about? I strongly want to know and strongly do not want to know. I don't know which would be worse -- that she has no idea and is singing the song anyway, or that she knows exactly what is coming out of her mouth.

And, just for the record, Lady Gaga is creepy. Have you listened to the lyrics of "Paparazzi"?

I Can Do That!

The St. Louis Post-Dispatch had a front page piece this morning about race-relations in an Obama United States. The writer posited that Americans discussed race more often and with (slightly) more comfort now than pre-Obama. To prove this point, he interviewed all of 6 "everyday folk," asking them the very simple question: "What effect has Obama's election had on race relations?"

And those six people answered the question, providing the journalistic integrity for this article. As I read, I discovered that the 6 average people actually had careers and/or extra-curricular interests that revolve around race relations. Not quite what I expected. I know I sometimes ask too much in my requirements for surveys, interviews, case studies, and other such people studies. After all, real, reliable studies cost money and take time. But come on! I was sure I could get at least 6 people to offer a short paragraph answering that question on my blog.

So, loyal readers, loyal Facebook link-clickers, friends, loved ones, any wandering strangers... Help me beat the Post-Dispatch! I need at least 7 people to comment below, answering the question:

"What effect has Obama's election had on race relations?"

South Butt

When Louise came in wearing a The South Butt t-shirt and started talking to me as if of course I knew what The South Butt was, I was mostly confused. She explained things about lawsuits and August and the Post-Dispatch, and I smiled and nodded. But I got the joke and laughed at the word play, because, let's be honest, it may be a little crude, but it's my type of humor.

As it turned out, she had a greater purpose than highlighting my cultural ignorance. She had been in contact with Jimmy Winkelmann, who created The South Butt and had arranged for our kids to exchange dog treats for merchandise. He also was willing to give the kids a tour of the warehouse. In record time, my boss and I arranged a field trip. We piled into a shiny black SUV and went five minutes up the road.

We walked into what looked like a clothing storage facility. Various shirts, sweat-shirts, and pants, as well as other odds and ends floated in the room and corridors around a large conference table. We met Jimmy (who is only 19 and had big hair and eyes) and his father and god-father, who had helped the whole thing get started. Louise explained our venture, and the kids introduced themselves. We got to hear the story of how The South Butt started -- basically as a kitchen table, tongue-in-cheek kind of thing that took off when The North Face got upset and sued. Jimmy, like any college kid, loved the cookies that Louise had brought, and she poured offering after offering onto the table.

He took us downstairs to where the t-shirts, sweatshirts, and other branded paraphernalia dwelt. He told the kids to take whatever they liked and offered Louise, my boss, and myself anything we wanted as well. The kids had fun, and my 12 year old boy picked me out a pastel blue shirt, before I had the chance to ask the girl to do it. I also picked out a sweatshirt and t-shirt for Ana at my boss's suggestion.

Upstairs again, Jimmy took inventory of the spoils while his father talked a little bit to the kids about advertising versus publicity and a couple other pieces of business advice. The 6th graders latched onto this speech as the take-home message. The 8th grader picked up more on how close he and Jimmy were in age. Six years isn't that long, and he knew it. He saw possibility.

As a closing side note, I wore the sweatshirt out to an Ice Carnival today and discovered that I was a walking conversation piece. At least four different groups of people stopped me to ask about it. Apparently, it's popular as well as philanthropic to middle schoolers. Who knew?

Funds

I haven't blogged about our gourmet dog treat business yet, and my next story requires that you know something about it.

A wealthy patroness of the school, hereafter know as Louise, came to the school with what she called a sure-fire fundraising idea. She had a plan for a gourmet dog biscuit business. Because any non-profit loves wealthy patronesses and her heart and expertise were in the right place, we brought the project on board. After a good deal of planning, I was placed in charge of a 5 student baking and marketing team. We sell the biscuits at church fairs, retirement homes, and to Louise's friends. Louise is working on getting us into high schools and a couple boutiques. We also will sell at a summer farmer's market.

Snow Days

We had 3 inches of glorious fluff last Wednesday night. The entire school was crazy that day; my mother predicts the weather by her class and now I understand why. By the end of the school day, everyone, principal included, had basically decided we weren't coming to school the next day. And it haven't even started to snow.

By the time our formation Wednesday night was over, we had a beautiful muffled dusting. Em and I walked and danced in the snow, enjoying the peace of a world newly covered. By the time I went to bed, I had a call from our phone tree : no school the next day!

Missouri snow is different from Virginia snow. It comes (or at least it did this time) with frigid weather, so that rather than fat wet flakes that stick to the roads and trees and each other, fluffy flakes swirl in the wind and fly off of surfaces. The bad news : it does not lend itself well to snowmen or snow balls. The good news : you can go out in jeans and a sweatshirt and sneakers and brush yourself off when you come in and by dry!

Four of us had off of work. We went out to the parking lot next door. The snow had been scraped off into a seven or eight foot high pile, which we used as a sledding hill. We also used the loose chunks to launch a snowball war, and the large chunks to create a snow person-ish thing.

After Em, Ana, and Mee-Maw had tired themselves out, I went for a walk. I am like a small child sometimes. In elementary school, I considered every snow day minute that I did not spend outside a waste. I still have that philosophy. But the cold and the wind and the walk eventually wore me out, and I came home to Bosnian coffee and card games, chilly and content.

Growing Pains

I might be starting to look like a grown-up.

I was standing in line a few days ago, holding a Disney Princess poster painting kit for a friend. Sure I felt a little silly, but what early-twenties female would not enjoy painting her favorite princesses?

The woman behind me, more than a few years my senior, but young, indicated the item. "Something for the girls to do before they go back to school?"

I laughed slightly, not quite sure how to react.

"Are they old enough for school?"

Ho.ly.crow. This woman not only thought I was old enough to be a mother, but to have multiple children old enough to be in school! I may be growing up, but I'm not that old yet.

Mama

Look at how much more quickly I've come to address this feast day! Of course, I do only have one day and not an octave to get to work, but still, I'm proud of myself!

As all good Catholics know, the first of January is a Holy Day of Obligation. That means that they offer Mass in the evenings when people are off of work and out of school. Which makes New Year's Day a confusing holy day, because people tend not to go to work or school, so both Masses happen in the morning. It also means there's something exciting happening in the Church -- like the start of a secular new year?

Actually, we're celebrating the Solemnity of Mary. As I wrote yesterday, it acts as a bookend for the Octave of Christmas, reminding us, as the Nativity does, of the Mystery of the Incarnation.

Our circus-performer-turned-priest (I kid thee not) started his sermon describing a game of cowboys and Indians he played with children on a mission trip to Basque country. During the game, one of his friends held a child "ransom" over a pond, about to dunk him. As he went into details, I began to wonder how this story would tie in with the Marian theme.

"The boy began to yell," he said. "...'¡Mamá! ¡Mamá!" Okay, he's going to urge us to call to Mary, just like little kids automatically call for Mom. "¡Ayúdeme, María!"

I got goosebumps. We all should call out to our Mom like that as we are dangling over 2010, Father continued.

He also mentioned that God allowed his plan of salvation to hinge on a young Jewish woman. We Catholics, despite our love for Mary, very rarely explicitly state what a difference she makes for women. When God wanted to save His world, He chose a woman. We talk about Mary's "yes," her love, her gentleness, but we rarely talk about her strength. We pray the Hail Mary over the Magnificat.

Mary doesn't speak much in the Scripture, and she addresses her longest speech to Elizabeth:

"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;

my spirit rejoices in God my savior.

For he has looked upon his handmaid's lowliness; behold, from now on will all ages call me blessed.

The Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.

His mercy is from age to age to those who fear him.

He has shown might with his arm, dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart.

He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly.

The hungry he has filled with good things; the rich he has sent away empty.

He has helped Israel his servant, remembering his mercy,

according to his promise to our fathers, to Abraham and to his descendants forever."

(Luke 1:46-55)

Considering that the Mighty One, the Lord, this God of Mary was sending a savior to rescue the Israelites from conquerors and captivity, this prayer takes on a gutsy tone. Unlike the docile Hail Mary, the Magnificat is a prayer of justice and vindication. Even "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord" takes on new connotations. The handmaid of a warrior-king sounds more like Beowulf's wife, than a porcelain statue.

Of course, we can learn all the traditional lessons of patience and trust and obedience from our Mommy. But, especially as a woman, I want to see the beauty of her strength.