Today is the last day of school! I still have two more days afterwards where I get to flex my muscles and move desks, boxes, and chairs around, much to the disapproval of our staff union rep (putting union people out of jobs... that's what I do). But the school year is over!

It's bittersweet this year. I had a great class. Sure we had some bumps, but overall it was a tremendous year. Deo Gratias. Next year's group is apparently a nightmare to work with. And by group I mean the parents. Here's a little farewell video I made for my class. Pardon all the inside jokes:

On Being God: A Concerted Effort

Yes, another self-indulgent blog. What else is there to talk about these days anyway?

Our school Christmas concerts are now over. I've had a headache ever since they ended. Lack of sleep catches up to us all. The concert I'm in charge of (grades 3-5) went very well. Thanks be to God. Or is that "Thanks be to ME?" Doing yet another concert has made me feel like God in a way. No, not in the all-powerful way. More like in the way of how God makes things work despite human weakness.

I take charge of almost everything. I do the lights, the sound system, fix the sound system, replace the sound system computers 3x, even minutes before the first performance, backup up all sound system items in two different ways, organize all practices, set up, decorate, clean up, and everything in between. It takes about 100 hours out of my life. I try and spoon feed jobs to other teachers. All the pressure falls on my shoulders. The other teachers are blissfully unaware of what happens behind the scenes. I think of how at our local library we went for a Christmas craft night. The library worker had crafts set up in such a way that you'd have to be a fool to mess up the craft. And sure enough that's what people do, mess up. That's just life.

I think of how God works in the world. He surely spoon feeds us. He is deeply concerned with every little detail, whether we notice or not. He takes on our burdens, all too often with us not even noticing. Relationships break? God works behind the scenes to mend them. Pressure from life? "Cast all your cares on Him, because He cares for you" (1 Peter 5:7). Need beauty in life? Look around you, it's everywhere. Though don't we just take this for granted? We would be fools to mess this life up, and of course that's just what we do. Yes, I get to play God for a month and a half. Right?

To make a festive reply: Poppycock.

I mess up sound systems. Somehow God makes it right. I lose my temper with others. The Lord's peace prevails. I try to create beauty. The voices of little children, surely the most beautiful sound of all, are right in front of me in abundance. I lose sleep from stress of making things perfect. Again, "Cast all your cares on Him..." All the pressure is taken by God. I would have to be a fool to not know this. And surely I still mess up. That's life.

Being in charge of such an event is difficult... if you are in charge of it. It turns out I am not God after all. I'm not even an angel. I'm just like every other person. Messing things up, but being uplifted, unknowingly, all the same. And I think I would have it no other way.

 Our arts ed class practicing.

And on the third day... they finally got to work

Before every school year our division pays for teachers to be in for three full days of work leading up to the first day of school. You might think that this leads to optimal preparedness to the school year, thereby ensuring a perfect and seamless institution of the new academic year. You might also think that the earth is flat, CBC is neutral to Trudeau, and Taylor Swift is capable of a long-term relationship.

So we spend day one talking about rules and meetings. Actually, we even spend time talking about rules of meetings. Like meetings we don't even know exist. For instance, we were split into grade-alike groups and given two and a half hours to plan our meetings for the year. I mean, who will take minutes? Who will time things? Or will meetings be timed? What will we do when there's conflict? How will our personalities affect our meetings? What are our personalities (followed by mandatory personality quizzes)? Will these meetings be confidential? Are guests allowed at these meetings? And we were left thinking... what meetings? We don't need meetings! So we did our best to answer these questions the way they needed to be answered (wink wink).

Day two is always convention day. I got to drive to Melfort and spend the day with all the other teachers in the division. The day always begins with opening welcome remarks. From the NETA president. From the STF president. From the Director. From the mayor. Often from many others as well. Last year we had to endure a 40 minute sacred eagle feather passing on ceremony. And the goal of these opening remarks is, of course, to one up each other. It is mandatory to begin with something like: "Before we begin, I just want to acknowledge that we are on Treaty 6 land..." *pats self on back*. Other highlights include our provincial teacher union president walking up with a cockiness that would make McGregor and Mayweather blush, playing with his phone for thirty seconds (cause he's important and we're not), and then going all NDP yay yay, before walking off. But then we got to choose to attend various sessions on exciting topics such as metacognition in non-ELA subject areas. So that was okay...

Day three involves more sitting on one's butt. A whole day of lectures on formative assessment practices. Cause we all know how formative assessment shapes learning. And it's all about the kids, right? At 3:30pm teachers scramble out of the lecture hall. To the lake of course! Um, not so much. To their classrooms. They have to get work done. They have Professional Growth Plans due, as well as protocol reading assignments, pacing guides, emergency sub plans, newsletter blurbs, and other such exciting tasks to accomplish which were graciously handed out via email that afternoon.

But that's ok. Because it's Labour Day long weekend. The teachers get three whole days! Three days to spend on their classrooms and planning... because we had the burden of three "paid" days beforehand.

May it be a blessed school year. Grade 5! Woo hoo!

Now to work a little bit more on my classroom.

New Arrival. Very Exciting!

Brace yourselves! They've arrived at our school! They came in yesterday. There can only be one thing I speak of...

 

Yes. Fidget Spinners. You spin them 'round and 'round. They arrived at our local drugstore sometime on Tuesday. How appropriate to sell them there. The drugstore owners in our town are geniuses. They know how to make money. After our town axed its slogan of: "Tisdale: The Land of Rape and Honey," these owners made shirts with this slogan on it, and sell them for $35 a t-shirt. Now they sell fidget spinners.

I saw a fidget spinner before the first bell began yesterday. I asked if I could check it out. You'll never guess what it does?! You hold it and spin it and... wait for it... it spins! I asked the kid how much he paid for it. "10 bucks!" I saw another one later in the day. I asked the price on that one. "25 dollars!" Isn't that the problem with schools. We spend so much time teaching such things as reading strategies, explaining your work using your metacognition, and a dozen different ways to solve 4X4, but we can't for the life of us teach kids common sense. If I ever have $25 to spend on a fidget spinner, I'll know I've made it in the world.

But alas, we Catholics are guilty too. 

Maybe I should ask the local drugstore to sell these?


UPDATE

The fidget spinners must've had babies last night. They've multiplied tenfold this morning. I can't wait to find some laying around so that I can take them home for the boys and I.

The Ties That Bind

I keep a pair of shoelaces with me at school. The laces are not for use. They are there to remind me of something. To keep me grounded. Like the string on one’s finger, they are a string for my poor, corrupt, beady little black heart.

It all started one year as I endeavoured to teach grade two phys ed for the first time. The class was generally moving along without too much confusion or strife. A few fits of crying here and there, but hey, I soon learned how to control my tearful emotions. Yet there was one little lad that rubbed against me as nails on a chalkboard. A typically energetic youngster who, to speak with simplicity, didn’t get along with me. At all. Things were rough between us.

How one deals with struggles is different for each person. Especially for young children. I’ve seen children handle problems by remaining silent, by screaming, by literally running away. I’ve even seen some try to hit their head on a table. Well this grade two boy whom I taught was a shoelace cutter. He would cut and shred his shoelaces if frustrated. I’ve seen it before. I’ll probably see it again. There’s no judging here. Only observation. He cut laces. Maybe I would too if I had to be taught by this phys ed teacher of his. Needless to say, our relationship as teacher/student was rocky. Nothing would crack it. It seemed relentless. That’s the thing with our troubles in life. Sometimes it seems we’re in an unending hole. There is no escape. No hope.

Christmas came and went. It wasn’t until a gloomy winter day soon into the new year where things came to a head. My young friend was running his warm-up laps in the gym when he tripped end over end and slammed hard onto the floor. There he was. I went over and saw, quite evidently, mangled shoelaces which clearly would have tripped even the most dexterous of professional athletes. I sighed loudly in great frustration. This was it! This was too much! This boy and I had to have it out, right now. I can’t imagine what I was about to say.

Call it a moment of grace, but for an instance I looked on him and saw everything differently. I no longer saw my phys ed adversary, but rather a child who just needed something else. I stopped the rest of the class and had them carry out some harmless activity away from the scene of the fall. Then I sat down beside the student in question. We calmly talked about whether or not he was hurt, as I patiently untied his laces from his shoes. A moment of grace indeed. With the laces off I went out to the hallway and stopped a nearby teacher. I asked the teacher if he had any spare laces. The kindhearted teacher dropped what he was doing and raced back to class to get a pair which he had kicking around. A smart looking set of orange laces. The student and I sat together and laced up his shoes. Finally, I helped tie them up, and phys ed class continued.

That moment was a definite turning point. Everything changed from then on. Sure some days we still rubbed each other the wrong way, but it was all so different now. We chatted. He shared his excitement with me. I gladly exclaimed how happy I was with his work. It was new life for both of us. Sometimes I would ask him how his shoelaces were. This was not a literal question; it was a reference to how he was doing. Were things ok? They were. When I would go for a jog in town often I would see him run out of his yard and wave wildly to me with a smile the size you’ve never seen. Life was good. One day a magician came to our school for a presentation. Evidently the student was wowed by what he saw. We chatted the next recess. He bubbled with excitement. He especially loved the juggling. I told him that I knew how to juggle, and that I would gladly teach him how. His eyes lit up! We arranged to make it happen. I shook my head in disbelief. What a great kid. He was teaching me how to be a teacher.

Later that evening I was jogging by his house, but he did not run out to wave at me. In fact, I never saw him again. Who knows what terror was unfolding in his trailer house then. This young lad, along with his mom and two sisters, were brutally murdered by a step dad.

A couple of mornings later, in the midst of the shock and chaos, I slipped into his classroom before school. I went over to his desk and looked down at his shoes. There they were. Those sharp looking orange laces. Perfectly intact. Perfect as the day they were first laced up. In the darkness of the situation, there was a little ray of sunshine. The past couple of months he had been by far the happiest I've ever seen.

And so, I keep a pair of shoelaces with me. A smart orange looking pair once worn with pride and responsibility. They remind me of something. Although I still strive to be the ever firm and just teacher, I still try to remember that there is no action too little which can help a student; which can help change a life. Even though the life be taken far too young. In some small way our stories will always be tied together.

Ooh lala, what's a gym teacher to do?

A predicament only a gym teacher can appreciate. Tomorrow is Western Spirit Day at our school. The rodeo starts in town, so we're supposed dress up in our best jeans and cowboy hat to get in the spirit. Sounds fun, right? Well, the problem is I have yet to see a pair of jeans that I can actual do gym activities in. Blech. Thankfully, thanks to nhl.com, I stumbled upon a solution!

Never you mind. Back to the drawing board. These jeans will attract the attention of females a little too much.

Ooh la la indeed. Back to being stuck on what to wear.

What's in a Name? Pt. IV

I'm entering my fifth year at the school, and fourth as a prep coverage teacher. I teach well over 200 students. By now I'm used to the unusual names. But the spelling... everyone needs to be unique. Here's the fourth entry for What's in a Name?

First off, we have our religious names. Yes, they're probably meant as being more hippy than religious, but we'll stick with the religious theme. We have Harmony, and her wonderful sister Serenity. We have theological virtues too! Faith is important. But Faith seldom shows up. Faith needs to come to school. Love is a great little girl, but I still cringe at calling her Love. Sadly we do not have a Hope in our school. And what would the religious theme be without Trinity.

Then we just have a mish mash. Daz, Kael, and Laiden sound kind of cool. Nixon still makes me shake my head. Nixon?! We have country stars Paisley and Shelten, but no Garth or Hank. Ezmera, Hazen, Taiven, Aydrea, Breckin, Ruger, and Genya. I just sort of guess how to say their names. Others, you can have more fun with. Let's build a story...

The Deakan, a former Saylor, took a Jett in the pouring Summer Raine to Foster a Chanse at fighting Isis because he wanted to Cache in on more Merit.

Oh I could go on. But honestly, by year five I am starting to get numb to these names. What shocks me more is that I now teach a George and a Ralph. The two most unique names in the school, if you ask me. Well. Almost. I teach a True. yes, a True. Better than a False (although I'm sure that'll be next, those rebel parents). True is not Vietnamese. Just... True. 

First Day of School

Today was the first day of school. That's me leaving in the morning. No, Joseph was not coming with me. He's, er, going to school elsewhere. I'll let Becca explain later.

After three days of teacher meetings, which I believed are designed to drive teachers so nuts that they actually want school to start (just to get the meetings over with), away we went.

How was it? Oh the usual. For the first half hour the school was flooded with parents trying to find their child's classroom. Then, because I'm scheduled to teach in 30 minute chunks, I proceeded to teach six morning classes in a row (with the exception of a shortened recess). By first recess my voice was shot. I was then emailed an updated gym schedule, which messed up my plans for the rest of the day, so I had to make it up on the fly. Room numbers were switched on me, as were teachers whom I cover. Schedules basically meant nothing. New students trickled in. The bell wasn't working. Then it was. Then the time it rang was changed, a few times. Then it rang at random times. Then the sound of the bell changed. Our new keys we were given didn't work on most doors. I was stuck outside with a class for a while. I was called to the office to receive hot off the press updated court orders regarding two of my students and a current custody battle. The RCMP showed up too, just to check on the situation. The grade two phys ed classes I taught were nuts. I don't know if any of these kids have been told "no" all summer. One kid blew up because he was told to jump over something. You're gonna have a fun life, kid. The afternoon was more of the same. Mix in some computers and projectors not working. More winging it. Crosswalk patrol was busy, and a student helper didn't show up. I'm tired. Why do I do this?

A typical first day of school. Of course as I dropped off another class to go and find my next group I was promptly given the biggest hug by a little girl in grade two. I wonder what her name is? She told me that I was the "best gym teacher ever!" Then I was mobbed by another ten little kids all rushing to give me a hug.

See you tomorrow.

Lord of the Dance

One of Don Cherry's favourite lines to say is: "His ways are mysterious indeed." This cannot be closer to the truth. Truly, no one can understand the mind of God, His ways, His methods. It is beyond our imagining.

Sometimes, however, this can lead to bewilderment, if not frustration. Our minds were created to know. Today's great patron saint, St. Thomas Aquinas, explains that: "Man’s ultimate happiness consists in the contemplation of truth, for this operation is specific to man and is shared with no other animals. Also it is not directed to any other end since the contemplation of truth is sought for its own sake" (Summa Contra Gentiles, book 3, chapter 37). We seek clarity. We seek truth. Ultimately we seek the Truth (God). We get dumbfounded when we don't understand something. Flabbergasted. Agog. Mystified, perplexed and even befuddled. I should close my thesaurus. Lest you get appalled or disconcerted.

These thoughts of seeking truth and understanding enter my mind sometimes as I leave the house on a lovely weekday afternoon. I'll have just finished my lunch and I'll be heading back to school for my usual chaotic afternoon of teaching, floor hockey, safety patrol, and archery. No rest for the wicked. Usually not even a bathroom break. As I leave the house I sarcastically say to Becca: "Well, I'm off to save the world." I say so on such days because I know that I have to teach dance. Dance. Me. With apologies to my King Henry VIII character I once played, this is not a dancer's leg. I head out the door and tromp to school. Not exactly with a sissone or waltz in my step.

The dance goes fine. Most of the young girls automatically love it, because they love dance. Interestingly enough, it's my tough little hockey playing boys who seem to enjoy it the most. They get to see me jumping around, or is that goofing around(?), and thus they get to, for a brief few moments, shed the composed cool guy attitude and jump around for the heck of it. They assemble, and scissor kick, and compete (always compete) against each other. It's fun. The next day I know they will have forgotten everything, as probably will I have. We'll practice again. There'll be a little assessment later. Then we'll forget it all over again.

And that's me saving the world.

The bewildering, puzzling, and stupefying part of this is that my busy life as a teacher leaves me virtually no time to spend on my catechism and sacramental prep duties at the church. Never you mind my degrees, training, and dedication to the faith, my dance teaching make me way too tired to care about catechism. Those grapevine steps have a price.

I'm left in a muddled state.

In reality I inwardly despise dance in this town. Every Wednesday night we trudge out to Mass. The church crowd is shockingly sparse. As I leave the church I have a habit of looking across the street to the Tisdale Dance Studio. The place is always packed with people. God is here. They are there. And I wonder... how is it that I'm the busy dance teacher, and not the catechism teacher? How is this God's will? His ways are mysterious indeed.

I'm not really complaining. It is my duty to feed my boys (...and wife). I am happy to have a job. Even if there are aspects I do not really enjoy, I try my best. Yes I am out of my element sometimes, and this is wearisome to me, but deep down I know that it is what I am supposed to do. And yet... why God? Why? Is it to teach me humility? Is it all part of some greater plan? Is it simply for obedience? Is it to somehow, unknowingly, help that one child get through a difficult time? I do not know. It is mysterious to me.

The words of the Charge of the Light Brigade enter my mind. To paraphrase Tennyson: It is not for me to reason why, but to do and die. In the end, perhaps the greatest happiness of man, the contemplation of truth, lies in that God Himself knows why. And we contemplate Him. Not us, our actions, feelings, or anything else. We contemplate Him. He knows best. And I simply need to know and understand that. Perturbed or not. And besides, It is not me who will save the world. It is Him. And there is nothing baffling, bemusing, or flustering about that.

Only amazing.

TES

We're now in Tisdale, SK. This Saturday morning Becca, Joseph, and I made the long trek over to my school (all of a three minute walk). Here is Tisdale Elementary School:

It's an old school, built for the Canadian centennial. The heating/cooling is all messed up, as are all the clocks, tv's, alarm systems, sound systems, and, well, almost everything you can think of. But the old school definitely has character, which is often lacking in newer schools.

Here is the wall on the way to my classroom:

Mr. Millette's number 9:

My Room 102. It still needs a lot of work. But I'll keep chipping away at it:

A little learning centre I put up:

While at the school this morning we had a little exercise session. Becca was talking back to me so I made her run laps!

Joseph and I after a grueling game! He looks no worse for wear!

That's about it for now. I'll leave the blog about our new house to Becca.