Weapon of Choice

In case you aren't aware, school ended Friday! I am officially DONE as a middle school teaching assistant. For the rest of my year, I will be preparing for and working with a summer school program geared to 4th and 5th grade students. While I am intimidated by younger children, I am looking forward to the 3:1 student to teacher ratio!

The last day of school was a half day, and the teachers decided to have a water-fight, due to the intense heat of the past few days. So at 10:15, the 7th grade teachers and I began filling water balloons for the kids who had brought them in. We worked for 45 minutes, until the fight officially began. Whereupon the 7th grade teacher opened fire with the hose in an attempt to clear a radius around herself. Fact : if you want to stay dry in a water fight, do not fire. She ended up soaking wet.

The kids had a ball, and I loved how little time it took to destroy our 45 minutes of water balloon work. They had come up with plans, strategies, and teams, which were promptly forgotten in the hurry to soak anyone and everyone. With the destruction of the water balloons, the kids with squirt guns had the advantage -- but the kids with squirt guns were too few and far between to make that game fun. So instead, they poured into the building and found cups, containers, and anything else that would hold enough water to pour onto someone else. In the end of 45 minutes, every child was soaked and happy.

After the students left, the faculty had a meeting with the administration. Or rather, with two administrations. Our old team is leaving and new one is coming in. The change is going to be difficult, and I am not ready emotionally for it, so the meeting was a little hard. But I at last have a name and face for the incoming principal, which is exciting, even if I won't be working with her. I still care about what happens to the teachers and kids I am leaving behind and want to leave them in loving and capable hands.

Practically in Canada

Remember that post a few days ago where I called my 8th graders' graduation the only one I got to attend this year? ... I was wrong.

This past weekend, the 6-Pack took a long weekend and whisked off to Wisconsin, to visit Byrd's family. Byrd wanted to go home for her little sister's graduation, and she was gracious or foolish enough to bring five tag-a-longs home. As a result, I can cross two more states off my "to visit" list and add them to my "amazing places" list.

The drive to the northern part of Wisconsin took us 9.5 hours, which is a long time if you leave home after 5:30. Now that we've made it there and back safely, I'll let you do the math to figure out what obscene hour welcomed us to Byrd's home. On the way, I had an exciting moment. Triss, Em, and I were riding in one car. We saw blinking red lights in the distance. I had never seen anything quite like it : dozen upon dozens of tiny red dots, winking in and out of existence in perfect unison, covering the land. They confused Triss, Em, and me, until we at last got to a point where the red glow reflect off a white blade that I could see. We were beholding a wind farm at night! I got so excited that I called my sister (the one with the snowman and dinosaur who hate global warming) because she is the only person in the world I know who might share my excitement.

Several hours after the wind farm, we arrived at the log cabin. That's right, dear readers, Byrd lives in a bona fide log cabin, complete with a loft that holds a telescope to look out the skylight and a back porch that wraps around two sides of the house. I fell in love with the house. When we arrived at that obscene hour, I couldn't see much, but the next morning I discovered we were surrounded by woods and the house was designed for someone who, like me, loves to see them. Wide windows let in sunlight, bird song, and fresh cool air. The open kitchen and living room, combined with the loft, gave the whole house an open, airy feeling.

Byrd took us to two bodies of water as well : Lake Michigan and Green Bay. In both cases, the water stretched to such distant shores that in some places it almost looked like ocean -- save for the shadow of land that almost seemed a mirage, the way mountains look when you first begin to approach them. We tried to feed fishes in the Green Bay, but sadly, no fishes came. Instead, we fed seagulls, until we discovered that Byrd didn't like them and they scared Ana. Then I chased them away, making strange noises.

In addition to the 6 of us, Byrd's whole family was there, and her parents, brothers, and sister, made us feel at home all weekend long. Her brothers even cooked us venison burgers Saturday night! I haven't had much venison for comparison, but they were delicious.

Going to someone else's sister's graduation has a high awkward potential, but we slipped in easily and missed the awkward. Byrd's sister spoke as valedictorian and her brother as the commencement speaker, and both spoke well. There were only 23 seniors, so the ceremony was short, sweet, and poignant. Byrd's sister who was graduating was the last of 5 to go through the school. Her oldest brother is my brother's age and her sister is my youngest sister's age, and I kept thinking of what it means to be at the final graduation of the family. So there was a bit of sadness there, that I won't be able to make my sister's. Other than that, I enjoyed the small ceremony.

We celebrated Sunday night with Byrd's family, and then this morning we left at 10 am -- a much more reasonable hour than our previous hour of departure. We took a pit stop at Mars' Cheese Castle (I kid thee not; they have cheese shaped like Wisconsin), passed the wind farm again, and arrived safe and sound at home.

On Being Hot

I am sore, blistered, and tired... and hopefully triumphant. I spent most of today doing garden work, which makes for a good day, but involves heavier labor than I normally encounter in a school day. When the volunteers laid out our garden a month ago, they had extra soil, so instead of neat rows, they made us a huge plot of dirt. Fantastically fun for the kids -- we haven't put anything there yet and they still love it -- but problematic in one sense. It wasn't cleared of grass first, and, rather than dying, some of the grass grew through the layers of soil and manure.

We've spent a couple days in the garden poking at it with rakes and shovels, but removing grass is heavy labor. I know this may be hard to believe, but middle schoolers do not like heavy labor. So, someone has been procrastinating about bit of the garden project.

Today, at long last, we took care of the grass. Ana and I bought several carloads of peat moss and humus and a big ol' jug of Roundup. I attacked the grass with the weedkiller in the morning, and then we spread the dirt in the afternoon.

The 8th grade, having graduated, is gone from the school (with the exception of the quartet who showed up for no discernible reason for hours remarkably similar to those of which they often complained), but I had small army of 6th and 7th graders. The size of the corps was necessary, because somehow St. Louis skipped spring and went straight into high summer weather. Or maybe spring hit briefly in the midst of the rain and my immune system giving out on me, so I missed it. (My body decided for a while that functionality was not necessary, and I spent an awful lot of the past week and a half sleeping and struggling to breath.) No matter what happened to spring, we nearly hit 90 today... and the school has no air-conditioning.

But through the effort of two very determined and very small people, all the soil got spread. Long after the boys gave up, the smallest 6th grader and a wayward 3rd grade girl kept going until I shooed them away, afraid they'd get overheated or dehydrated. I pulled up a bunch of grass by its roots as well. If, after being sprayed, smothered, and uprooted, this grass lives on, I will find a way to crossbreed it with corn and feed a few third world nations. If not, I won't have solved world hunger, but we will be able to plant pumpkins, cantaloupes, and watermelons before school lets out!

2010

The class of 2010 is obviously awesome. And no, my huge bias doesn't play into that statement at all... I have a number of friends who commenced at my college last weekend and two sisters who will finish high school and college (respectively) very soon. Unfortunately, simple living translates into no flying home over Memorial Day weekend for my sister's college commencement. It means no flying home to wave and cheer for the class behind me. It means I can't skip our closing Mass to be present as my youngest sister completes her career at the top high school in the nation.

Therefore, I only get to attend one graduation this year, and it belongs to the 8th graders I have taught since August. My 8th grade class was given a smile and a wave as we transitioned from one public school to the next. From the way these kids, their family, and the school culture treats this graduation, one would think that they were graduating high school. The very name graduation was a misnomer, but that, in the internal culture of the school, is what it was.

Friday marked the 8th graders' last day of school. In my favorite part of their graduation exercises, they burst onto the playground for the last half hour of the day with water balloons and cups of water to douse the 7th grade. The seventh graders scattered, screaming, to hide behind teachers and in buildings. The 8th grade had the clear advantage : they are 24, as opposed to 13.

Saturday, yesterday, we held the graduation ceremony. One of the parishes with which we are affiliated is located about 2 minutes up the road, so we gathered there. The 8th graders had caps and gowns (royal blue for boys, silver for girls). While these are school colors, I disapprove of the silver; it was not the best color on these girls. They processed in at the beginning of Mass, a feat which they had practiced amply and executed with minor silliness and no disaster.

But putting mortar boards and shapeless gowns on 14 year olds does nothing to change who they are. So after the walking in, which they had practiced amply, they went back to being their normal selves, just in funny outfits. Since the faculty processed in too (which I didn't find out until basically when we were walking), I had a front and center seat to see them chatting with each other and fidgeting with their 2010 stoles.

I also had a front and center seat for the more beautiful moments. For example, when the principal called the honor roll, he read one name that no one expected to hear, least of all the girl to whom it belonged. Her face registered, shock, surprise, delight, and disbelief, all compete and equal.

When the valedictorian stood up to give his address, I could see his face clearly as well. This kid is a basketball star, a straight-A student, as genuine of a nice guy as you can come by at our school, and has all the confidence of knowing it. He regularly speaks up in class and on behalf of his class. So the idea of giving a speech didn't seem to phase him -- until he stood up in front of the huge crowd. His nerves were written all over his face as he stared out at them and started his address. His first words didn't come from his paper : "I'm really nervous; this's lots of people..."

Then the principal handed out the diplomas. In a class of 24, that's not too painful. And it hit me that although a middle school graduation might seem ridiculous to me, it means something here. Kids in this demographic statistically end up high school drop-outs or flunk outs. They get in trouble on the streets and land in jail before they graduate high school. But as of today, in this moment, in this here-and-now these 24 are on the right track, heading into high schools, looking to become something more than statistics.

And that means something.

Opening Day

Today was opening day for the Farmer's Market where we sell the gourmet dog treats I blogged about a while ago. Remember Louise and our business? We haven't gotten into boutiques or high schools yet (long story) but we do have a tent at this farmer's market.

Although I did not need to be there, I went to the tent today. Louise is there every week with a student to represent the team. Normally, due to Archdiocesan policies, I'll need to be at the booth with Louise, but today another volunteer staffed it -- because the 8th graders were graduating this afternoon. However, I wouldn't miss the first day of something like this event. Besides, Louise and a Farmer's Market can be very intimidating, and I wanted to be there for Jaydin. He just joined our team and is the youngest; we need a future, after all.

My favorite part of the morning was watching Jaydin get a feel for the selling. He was obviously out of his element behind a sales table, targeting upper-middle class women. Despite this fact, he didn't miss a beat. My boss had trained the entire team on salesmanship on Friday, so he had some idea of what he should be doing. Louise and I prompted him every now and then -- when a potential patron walked up to the table, we'd give him a lead-in. Louise would turn to the customer and say, "Jaydin will tell you about the dog bones." I would focus on him : a slight tap forward on the shoulder, or "go ahead."

He held himself with the awkwardness of a confident person who knows he is in above his head. The awkwardness evolved as he got positive responses from customers and made a few sales, for which Louise and I congratulated him profusely. Jaydin's a natural marketer. He played up our fun shapes (squirrels and rabbits) because he had been around Louise enough to hear her tout their importance. He did not hesitate (as I would have) to go greet people walking dogs as they entered the Farmer's Market.

My favorite sale of the day didn't actually happen. A cute little girl, a thin energetic girl with a sprained wrist, who was about Jaydin's age, came up and obviously loved the dog treats. She went running off for her mother, who unfortunately said no.

In future weeks, older students will staff our booth and I'll stay there longer. Supposedly the market will get more crowded and we'll sell even more. While I hope to make lots of money, I saw today how valuable a learning experience it could be for the students working the booth. I can't wait for my 8th graders to take on the challenge!

Film and Literature Class

I mentioned at the beginning of the school year that I had broken down and read Twilight. Remember that rant? Well, now I have come in a full circle. For the "Film and Literature" class Ana and I are teaching (a glorified excuse to watch movies an hour a week), we are treating the girls in the class to Twilight.

The kids are hilarious movie companions. They don't sit quietly through movies and their chatter adds a soundtrack that I love. It brought race to a forefront that it doesn't normally have at school. In case you haven't seen the film, the main characters are pasty-pale, one because her skin is that white, the rest because they are vampires. My girls kept asking, "Why are they so pale? Why is he so pale? Why is she so pale?" After the first ten minutes of this, the seventh grade teacher and I both burst out, "Because they're white! White people get that way when there's no sun!"

Along a similar line, they are all in the Jacob (long-haired, Native American werewolf) fan club, rather than the Edward (carefully put-together, pale vampire) fan club. In general, they hold Edward in confused disdain; he is the hero and Bella loves him, but he is too pretty, pale, soft-spoken, controlled. Unlike the book, he has a subtle sense of humor that my girls were not perceptive enough to appreciate, so his character must have seemed bland.

Especially interesting to me, the girls do not like the relationship between Edward and Bella. Having taught in their school for a year now, I have seen their life decisions... which are on par for middle school life decisions from their particular demographic. But they see so clearly, more clearly than people from my own demographic, the destructive nature of Edward and Bella's relationship. They think Bella is stupid for staying with him. Which is likely true.

In case you are considering watching the film, I find it a vast improvement over the book. It gets out of Bella's head, which helps alleviate the melodrama that irked me. Furthermore, some of my problems with the Edward-Bella relationship are resolved. Edward has more personality, including a sort of dry humor and appreciation of irony. He also is not as peremptory and controlling as his novel character is. I can see the couple as equals, rather than the parent-child feel I got from the book. They also are delightfully high-schoolish at times, as a couple of seventeen year olds should be.

In addition, the film had to cut out much of the book to fit the story into two hours. Finally, I don't get as tired of close-ups on people's faces as I do of the words "smoldering eyes." However, I have heard from people who have not read the book that the film is a bit confusing, and a few clarifying details did get left out. Still, New Moon is likely on my horizon.

An Old One

An old xkcd, but one I thought you deserve to see:

Heroes

One of my friends who is a seminarian shared this article with me in the Washington Post. It discusses Catholic seminarians, always a fun topic; specifically, it covers briefly the idea of being a seminarian in light of the priest sex abuse scandals.

As you read, look for the quote by Matt Rolling. It made my night. Other than that, I won't comment much on the article, since it's a longer read than most of my posts.

Gives Me Hope 58615

Today, Google Reader streamed this Gives Me Hope to my window:

Today, I was at the mall with two of my friends.

Suddenly, we saw a mother, who was about 16, with her child. One of my friends started talking about how much of a whore she must be.

Then, my other friend said, "Don't make fun of her. My mom had me when she was 16 due to rape."

My friend immediately stopped. My friend's mom GMH.

As a pro-life person, I believe that we need to combat the stigma our society places on young and unwed motherhood. As a Catholic person, I understand the dilemma this proposition creates for religious and morally conservative pro-lifers. After all, pre-marital sex is morally wrong, and as a Catholic, I cannot, in conscience, condone it. However, no one should be driven to take the life of her child because she hates that people in the mall -- and people who supposedly love her -- will see her and talk about "how much of a whore she must be."

The potential for pregnancy creates a unique situation for a woman, whether she has consensual sex or is raped. The consequences of the action will be written on her body in a way that she cannot hide. No sin that I can think of (please let me know, dear readers, if you can think of any) is made so inexorably public as premarital sex that creates a child.

This fact does not make the sin any more grave than other sins which people might commit; her sin is merely no longer private. Even if she gives into temptation only once, she receives a worse part from society than people who have habitual and private sins. Indeed, the societal stigma doesn't come from the fact that the woman was sexually active, but from her pregnancy. The shame is not for the action, but for the consequence.

It doesn't help that right now, women bear the bulk of the responsibility for contraception. We fought so hard in the '60s and '70s for contraception as a mark of equality. Now that "victory" continues to reinforce the idea that a woman has sole responsibility for her pregnancy. Never mind that a man had to help her out there -- the sign of his sin is not on his body. No, it is written on the body of the woman. Even in the case of rape, where the woman bears no part in the moral wrong, the consequence falls on her body.

I believe arguments similar to this one have been used by those in favor of legal abortion : the woman has an unfair burden and to reach equality, we must take that burden off of her. Give her an eraser, to un-write the mark upon her body.

The problem is that pregnancy is not merely a pencil mark, and abortion does not "erase" it. Pregnancy is the existence of life and abortion kills that. That's the simple, "pro-life" answer.

The other problem is that legalized abortion does nothing to change the unfair stigma on women; it merely provides society another way to pretend it does not have this prejudice. If women can hide the fact that pregnancy comes from intercourse, society can pretend that it does not and continue to judge women who defy that lie.

Rather than hiding pregnant women and young mothers, we should support them. Again, I realize this course of action may seem tricky for pro-lifers who cannot, in good conscience, condone a sin. Providing help to a woman who needs support through her pregnancy does not condone any action other than compassion. The mark of a Christian is love, not condemnation.

Barbecue Festival

Ana took the 6 of us home for the annual Kentucky barbecue festival. We left after work Friday and drove through the evening and into the night. We invaded Ana's house and enjoyed her parents' gracious hospitality.

Saturday afternoon, the six of us and Ana's brother headed out to the barbecue festival, what has been called "Kentucky at its finest"... though that title may have been a tad tongue-in-cheek. We started off at the car show, where cars of all sizes, shapes, and colored were displayed for people more knowledgeable than myself to enjoy. I wandered it with my community, but that wasn't really my thing.

Next, we came to the vendors. Jewelry, clothing, yard ornaments, woodwork, metal work, and other crafts adorned booths along the sides of the roads. For those of you who are familiar with it, it was like Occoquan Days. But where Occoquan Days has a more upscale edge, the barbecue fest was unabashedly country.

I noticed mostly by the people who walked the streets. You could have taken any of the booths and transplanted it to any other street fair and it would have fit in. However all around me, voices spoke in country accents, more like Ana's than the southwestern Virginia drawl. The air was festive and people friendly. I even won a bag of Tabasco potato chips by throwing a tiny basketball into a hoop... on the 4th try.

Then we got to the food. Of course, we had our choice of fried anything. I chose something I'd never had before : fried green tomatoes. They were delicious! I highly approve and strongly recommend them to anyone in search of fried.

Past the food vendors came the churches and groups competing for the best meat and burgoo -- the highlight of the festival. Prizes are awarded for mutton, pork, chicken, and burgoo. The three meats are pretty straightforward, but the last in the list... The men cook meat and some veggies and spices in huge pots to create a soup/stew that is full and savory and like nothing I've ever tasted, but that ought to be canned and sent to me often. We ate at Ana's church's tent and I tried mutton for the first time, stealing a bite from Em's sandwich. We later found out that we were eating the best mutton and burgoo in town -- Ana's church won first in mutton and burgoo and grand prize at the barbecue festival!

We went home for a fun dinner with Ana's parents, brother, and grandparents and went and raised trouble at Wal-Mart; then Ana, Byrd, MeeMaw, and I returned to hear one of Ana's friends singing back at the festival. He sang acoustic country, which is pretty much my favorite. It was cold though, with a cold wind off the river, which is pretty much not my favorite, so we bolted as soon as he was done.

The weekend ended with another procession to crown Mary for Mother's Day, a brunch with Ana's family, and a trip to a labyrinth on the way home. And then we were back in Saint Louis.

Perspective

The school at which I teach follows the NativityMiguel model. I may have explained it already, but the long and short is that we keep middle school students in school for an extended day. At Central Catholic, that means until 5pm (6pm next year), though in other schools the extended day can go as late as 9pm. The long school days serves a dual purpose : to provide educational opportunities (guided study halls, teacher assistance, electives, etc.) and to keep kids off the streets. The after-school hours are the most dangerous for the demographic we serve.

Of course, if I got antsy waiting for 3:15 each afternoon, I should not be surprised when my students rebel against 5pm. Most of them have no idea why we stay so late, and, being myself, I want to explain, especially to the bright ones, who will listen when I explain.

However, the explanation poses a challenge. While most students have a heighten sense of their race, they have very little sense of their own disadvantage, socially and economically, in society, and I like that. I like that they feel empowered, motivated, capable. But how do you cast a vision of something that exists because they are disadvantaged, endangered, vulnerable?

Luckily, in my most recent attempt at an explanation (to 7th grader, whom I'll call So'Journy), I got a reaction to mentioning that some schools let out at 9pm. I then could play up the idea of safety as a reason for the extended day, without it directly applying to So'Journy. I spoke in terms of "kids at other schools" and "other kids in this school" coming from bad neighborhoods. Of course, So'Journy defended her own neighborhood :

"There aren't even gunshots that often. Only a few every now and then."

Well. What do you say to that? I didn't want to put down her neighborhood -- that is a sure way to alienate one of these children -- however, I did tell her that "I never heard gunshots in my neighborhood growing up."

"Not even at New Year's?" she asked, clarifying that people shoot off celebratory shots, the same way my neighbors light firecrackers. I confirmed that even New Year's Eve was gun-shot-less.

I don't want So'Journy to start to think poorly of her neighborhood, because it is her life and part of her. At the same time, part of the cycle of poverty comes from the fact that these children might see themselves in good jobs, but they don't visualize the simple things that other children take for granted : a quiet night when you do not hear people shooting at each other. If nothing else, I hope this thought sticks in the back of So'Journy's mind : that one day, she can raise her children in a neighborhood where they do not hear guns.

For Your Enjoyment

It made my morning:

Ave Maria

On the first Sunday of May, some Catholics follow the tradition of a May crowning. We got invited to the May procession and crowning at the National Shrine of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, in Perryville, MO.

The May procession and crowning is a way of saying, "WE LOVE YOU, MARY!" with a coronet of flowers and lots of song and pomp. The local Catholic school lined up their first Communion children (in suits and dresses), Confirmation class (red ribbon), and graduating seniors (royal blue boys and sky blue girls) to present roses, petitions, and a crown to the Blessed Mother. The whole procession, starting at the church door and winding its way to the grotto (modeled after Lourdes), was very idyllic and felt like it should have been set decades ago in some picture-perfect film. Its beauty and simplicity contrasted both with the charismatic turn some groups within the Church have take and the "traditional" solemn ceremony that counterbalances it.

Before the procession, we got a tour of the church that contains the Shrine. Because the church holds the Shrine of the Miraculous Medal, it has a distinctly Vincentian flavor. And because I have been learning the Vincentian tradition, including the Saints and holy people, I could almost have given the tour myself. The side chapels, in honor of various Vincentains, were beautiful, but they faded away in comparison to the Shrine.

A larger rich blue side chapel, it stood out in color from the rest of the Church. The imagery, from the statue of Mary showering grace upon the earth, to the Immaculate and Sacred Hearts, flowed from the Miraculous Medal. It also depicted the apparitions of Mary to St. Catherine Laboure. In the chapel, I could feel the peace of my Mother and the presence of the thousands of prayers that had been prayed here. In a tiny room next door, thousands of tiny electric candles twinkled, votives of some of these petitions.

The Shrine immediately pulled me in to pray, and I fully believe I could spend an eternity there, at Mary's feet, asking for her intercession and her Son's love.

Iowa Basics

This week, the 8th graders took Iowa basics and practiced for graduation. These events threw off the schedule for the entire middle school and made me superfluous. I had a very boring week and as a result finished cataloging the non-fiction section of the library. I have entered over 2700 books into the computer.

Not In Kansas

Something I did not realize about Saint Louis before I came here : this city gets tornadoes. Apparently it's in "Tornado Alley." Who knew? This tidbit supports my belief that there is something wrong with too much flat land.

If you grew up in a tornado-prone area, you might be aware of the existence of tornado sirens. They sound kind of like the warning siren from the nuclear power plant in Surry and have a similar function : to warn the surround populace of impending danger. Unlike the Surry siren, however, the tornado one comes with a plan of action. Nuclear sirens haven't had those since they figured out that shelter-in-place underneath a school desk does not actually protect your from radiation.

When the tornado siren goes off, it means that the National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning. At one point in time, a tornado warning meant that someone had seen a funnel. Now, the fun Doppler radars let meteorologists see rotation forming in the clouds, so that they can scare people earlier and better help them protect themselves. If you hear the siren go off, you get home, or to the nearest shelter, as quickly as possible. If you're at home, you go to the basement, near a foundation, so that if a tornado comes near you, it won't be able to suck you out of the house and if your house collapses, you'll be in a supported area. If you're smart, you bring a radio, a flashlight, some blankets, a few snacks, and a couple decks of playing cards.

This Friday, we played run-and-hide for the second weekend in a row. We kept power, unlike last weekend, which made the whole adventure considerably more pleasant. Ever my father's daughter, I sat with one ear tuned into the radio to keep track of the storm's progress throughout the region, informing my housemates, even if they didn't feel the need to be informed. This time, however, a funnel touched down a bit to the south of us.

The radio station kept us informed of the location of the storm as well as reactions of people across the region. The Cardinals were playing Friday night, and, in spite of the weather, a large crowd showed up -- and waited it out until play was stopped and the tornado warning announced. As the radio caster spoke of people sheltering in the stadium, I remembered seeing hula-hooping tornadoes when we went to a Card's game. And all of a sudden, it made sense.