The acrimony surrounding the state of our school down the road is almost as upsetting as the conditions inside the school, itself. This sort of upheaval, dividing parents and administrators, including calls for dismissal and wide-ranging expressions of disgust are not an unexpected response when the fortunes of our children are at stake.
We have to keep in mind that the problems presented by the loss of discipline in the classroom are not entirely due to anything the school system has or has not done. The chaos inside the minds of children reflect long-term trends in our society, and are especially concentrated in the lower strata of the socio-economic spectrum.
Typically, we live in these separate strata, and so the problems of one seldom matters to the occupants of another. Racial divisions have long existed along these lines of separation, and the injustice of people of different races attending separate schools is something Americans have worked to solve since the days of Brown v. the Board of Ed.
The desire to move to a color blind culture is the noble imperative behind the legislation that put children together in the same classrooms who before were not. And out of this, the collision that occurs is to some degree the inevitable pains of merging across distinct sets of experiences and expectations.
Out of control behavior by students is nothing new in our schools. My first teaching job was at a school for emotionally disturbed teens that charged $51,000 a year to take these children off the hands of parents and school districts that could afford the tuition. This kind of mania is not isolated to the lower rungs of the economic ladder. However, the frequency and youth of students given to these outbursts is noticeably greater in communities where more children have fewer parents with less education and income.
Our integration of school children is an attempt to break the isolation of minorities in settings that tend to lead to a cycle of poverty. And so we have, after redistricting, more and younger students who are not coping with the classroom setting to the point that the entire student body suffers a consequence. What used to be somebody else’s problem is now ours. And the classrooms that were supposed to be a ticket to a better life succumbs to the chaos that happens when a critical mass of students decide to tip the apple cart just for the hell of it. I saw this happen on many occasions in Haddam Killingworth in the 90s. It is happening today in Farm Hill, but to a degree that is orders of magnitude worse – to the point where it can no longer be tolerated if learning is to occur at all.
We cannot, and should not look to keep people separated by geography that mimics economic, and in turn racial differences. But we must separate the students who disrupt the education of others, and stand to learn nothing in the process. After so many strikes, you have to leave. When violence occurs, and threats are real, even a child does not have the right to stay.
We want the new families at Farm Hill to have an opportunity to send their children to a school where their children can learn and lead to a new future. Redrawing lines on a map without addressing the challenges this poses falls short of meeting the needs of all our children.
Setting standards for student conduct required to earn a seat in a classroom is necessary, overdue, and nowhere in sight in this district. Children can and will respond to adult leadership, as they will falter without our clear and considerate guidance. Until students are clear on what they absolutely can and cannot do in a classroom, this school will not be where I send my children to get their education.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Monday, December 12, 2011
Pages to Turn
In the secretary
I found an old notebook
With notes written long ago
before the children became her work.
Now the only pages of interest
are the ones with no writing.
The blank ones are for me to fill.
The pages from the past
are the ones to turn
so I can reach a place
with room for the thoughts of the day.
I found an old notebook
With notes written long ago
before the children became her work.
Now the only pages of interest
are the ones with no writing.
The blank ones are for me to fill.
The pages from the past
are the ones to turn
so I can reach a place
with room for the thoughts of the day.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Her morning
In the morning I leave her
eyes shut and shades still drawn
to go to another part of our house
where morning chores will not wake her
from her last hour of rest.
The children stir first
awaking with fresh questions for their father,
thoughts nurtured overnight in ceaseless imagination.
Our boy often joins his mother in his father's place
until the shades are raised
in the groggy search for clothes for the day.
What dreams come to her during the days early rays?
Secrets of her soul run deep beneath ample covers.
Reluctantly she draws back the bedding
emerging as from a cocoon
like a butterfly stretching its wings for the first time.
The waking world surrounds her.
Quizzical kids ask her their first questions of the day.
An earth unto herself begins to turn again.
Clothing comes after a while,
after breakfast and a check of the calendar.
Only slowly does she take to the awoken stage.
What beautiful bliss sleep must bring her.
She leaves behind the consolation of rest and silence
the instant she stands to greet her anxious brood.
eyes shut and shades still drawn
to go to another part of our house
where morning chores will not wake her
from her last hour of rest.
The children stir first
awaking with fresh questions for their father,
thoughts nurtured overnight in ceaseless imagination.
Our boy often joins his mother in his father's place
until the shades are raised
in the groggy search for clothes for the day.
What dreams come to her during the days early rays?
Secrets of her soul run deep beneath ample covers.
Reluctantly she draws back the bedding
emerging as from a cocoon
like a butterfly stretching its wings for the first time.
The waking world surrounds her.
Quizzical kids ask her their first questions of the day.
An earth unto herself begins to turn again.
Clothing comes after a while,
after breakfast and a check of the calendar.
Only slowly does she take to the awoken stage.
What beautiful bliss sleep must bring her.
She leaves behind the consolation of rest and silence
the instant she stands to greet her anxious brood.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Tornadoes
When the tornadoes come
There is no warning
There is no remembering
Only debris to remind you of their path
Fortune favors no one
When the gyres wind up your world
And toss it to the sky
Scattering far and wide
What on earth was home and heaven
They will pass.
But will we survive?
Time will tell, and soon.
When the tornadoes come
That is all that is certain.
There is no warning
There is no remembering
Only debris to remind you of their path
Fortune favors no one
When the gyres wind up your world
And toss it to the sky
Scattering far and wide
What on earth was home and heaven
They will pass.
But will we survive?
Time will tell, and soon.
When the tornadoes come
That is all that is certain.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Return from Odyssey
Return from Odyssey
I walked again today
along a familiar way.
The sights were all the same,
only my mood has changed.
An old friend came driving by
offering me a ride.
I declined with a smile.
"I need to feel my feet" was all I said.
It is a fine thing to return to a place
that long ago was your home.
The sights are mainly the same,
but my mood has changed.
Some bushes have grown taller.
Some trees older than I have fallen.
By storm or saw, it matters not how.
It will take more time than I have for them to grow back, now.
The children that used to play
have almost all grown and gone away.
I am one of those
whose home is no longer my parent's house.
But, whenever my feelings turn foul
I tend to return to my ancient sod
to feel my feet beneath me,
and my mood never fails to change.
I walked again today
along a familiar way.
The sights were all the same,
only my mood has changed.
An old friend came driving by
offering me a ride.
I declined with a smile.
"I need to feel my feet" was all I said.
It is a fine thing to return to a place
that long ago was your home.
The sights are mainly the same,
but my mood has changed.
Some bushes have grown taller.
Some trees older than I have fallen.
By storm or saw, it matters not how.
It will take more time than I have for them to grow back, now.
The children that used to play
have almost all grown and gone away.
I am one of those
whose home is no longer my parent's house.
But, whenever my feelings turn foul
I tend to return to my ancient sod
to feel my feet beneath me,
and my mood never fails to change.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Black Pond
There is nothing so special
as the sound of rain
falling on a million leaves
early in the morning
early in the summer
along the shores of Black Pond.
The sound of a bull frog
carries across the pond
and returns an echo
off the far stone wall.
This is the pond I sailed
with my wonderful daughter
delighting in every step
of rigging the mast, boom and sail.
We did not have enough time that that day
to make it to the far shore.
Someday perhaps we will.
as the sound of rain
falling on a million leaves
early in the morning
early in the summer
along the shores of Black Pond.
The sound of a bull frog
carries across the pond
and returns an echo
off the far stone wall.
This is the pond I sailed
with my wonderful daughter
delighting in every step
of rigging the mast, boom and sail.
We did not have enough time that that day
to make it to the far shore.
Someday perhaps we will.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
King George, Libya and Elmwood
I took the long way around my beloved Elmwood on the way from Hartford Hospital to my mother’s house, looking to bypass the snarled rush hour traffic crawling from light to light along New Britain Avenue. Along the way, I ran into a delay from a congregation of police cars too numerous to be anything short of grave situation. The local news carried the shooting in Elmwood as its lead story.These days I often think a portion of the Irishman Yeat’s poem that reads,
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
In my mind, I always replace Kiltartan with Elmwood, and wonder what battles around the world are worth a drop of the blood of my neighbors. Canvassing the accounts of great villainy in far off Libya, the spoken words of a King whose eloquence in trying times of epic proportions was made more illustrious by a personal history of stammering applied equally then as today, and equally relevant to the siege of Misurata as to the siege of Abbotsford Avenue:
We have been forced into a conflict, for we are called, with our allies, to meet the challenge of a principle which, if it were to prevail, would be fatal to any civilized order in the world.
I care for the victims of both sieges, but Abbotsford is more familiar to me. I remember a girl in my class at Conard who was a great beauty, and she lived on one the two streets on the other side of Piper Brook still a part of West Hartford. The southeastern point of our town was the home of the lowest of incomes, but every bit as dignified as any other classmate of mine. I can remember how she stood out in my mind as the rose of Elmwood, semi-sequestered by a black ocean of asphalt in front of Caldor’s that bled into the cement banks of Piper Brook like an urban moat between me and her. One day I rode the bus with her all the way to the end of the line just to talk a while longer. The walk back to Corbin’s Corner seemed a small price for the privilege of her company. I can certainly relate to a young man driven by desire to go out of his way to seek the favor of a young woman.
So, the matter of a gang of boys, too foolish to merit a title of adulthood, and who may never grow to be true men, affects me personally. I cherish such memories of my late childhood, and the degree to which Abbotsford causes me to recall recent events in place of more pleasant times is a cause of some distress. Mindful that the current student body at my alma mater is, of course, the future fellow alumnae of a great tradition, I wish to address you all
with the same depth of feeling for each one of you as if I were able to cross your threshold and speak to you myself.
You see, the principle that good King George VI spoke of, out of duty to nation that defined his being, with no great affection for the task of putting one’s feelings on public display, is the same that calls me to draft this text.
Such a principle, stripped of all disguise, is surely the mere primitive doctrine that might is right, and if this principle were established through the world, the freedom of our own country and of the whole … Commonwealth of nations would be in danger.
But far more than this, the peoples of the world would be kept in bondage of fear, and all hopes of settled peace and of the security, of justice and liberty, among nations, would be ended.
How sad to read in wild wonder of accounts of so many held in the bondage of fear in far off lands and then know that the same is true in your own backyard. Can the count of the victims be the sole driver of whom we should rally to defend and of whom we should refrain from defending? If so, I am sure the masses of those deprived of any sense of security in the face of the onslaught of selfish brutality are greater here in our own country than the tallies of even those besieged by an entire army fighting against defenseless cities. Lucky for the Libyans, we have armed forces to counter those that seek their subjugation. We have the will and the ability to rush to their defense.
For the sake of all that we ourselves hold dear, and of the world order and peace, it is unthinkable that we should refuse to meet the challenge.
But our defense of the roses of the Abbotsford Avenues of our nation face a fortune in isolation, often hidden from view, and commonly undefended in the face of violent deprivations of their safety.
It is to this high purpose that I now call my people …
I ask them to stand calm and firm and united in this time of trial.
The task will be hard. There may be dark days ahead, and war can no longer be confined to the battlefield, … If one and all we keep resolutely faithful to it, ready for whatever service or sacrifice it may demand, then with God's help, we shall prevail.
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
In my mind, I always replace Kiltartan with Elmwood, and wonder what battles around the world are worth a drop of the blood of my neighbors. Canvassing the accounts of great villainy in far off Libya, the spoken words of a King whose eloquence in trying times of epic proportions was made more illustrious by a personal history of stammering applied equally then as today, and equally relevant to the siege of Misurata as to the siege of Abbotsford Avenue:
We have been forced into a conflict, for we are called, with our allies, to meet the challenge of a principle which, if it were to prevail, would be fatal to any civilized order in the world.
I care for the victims of both sieges, but Abbotsford is more familiar to me. I remember a girl in my class at Conard who was a great beauty, and she lived on one the two streets on the other side of Piper Brook still a part of West Hartford. The southeastern point of our town was the home of the lowest of incomes, but every bit as dignified as any other classmate of mine. I can remember how she stood out in my mind as the rose of Elmwood, semi-sequestered by a black ocean of asphalt in front of Caldor’s that bled into the cement banks of Piper Brook like an urban moat between me and her. One day I rode the bus with her all the way to the end of the line just to talk a while longer. The walk back to Corbin’s Corner seemed a small price for the privilege of her company. I can certainly relate to a young man driven by desire to go out of his way to seek the favor of a young woman.
So, the matter of a gang of boys, too foolish to merit a title of adulthood, and who may never grow to be true men, affects me personally. I cherish such memories of my late childhood, and the degree to which Abbotsford causes me to recall recent events in place of more pleasant times is a cause of some distress. Mindful that the current student body at my alma mater is, of course, the future fellow alumnae of a great tradition, I wish to address you all
with the same depth of feeling for each one of you as if I were able to cross your threshold and speak to you myself.
You see, the principle that good King George VI spoke of, out of duty to nation that defined his being, with no great affection for the task of putting one’s feelings on public display, is the same that calls me to draft this text.
Such a principle, stripped of all disguise, is surely the mere primitive doctrine that might is right, and if this principle were established through the world, the freedom of our own country and of the whole … Commonwealth of nations would be in danger.
But far more than this, the peoples of the world would be kept in bondage of fear, and all hopes of settled peace and of the security, of justice and liberty, among nations, would be ended.
How sad to read in wild wonder of accounts of so many held in the bondage of fear in far off lands and then know that the same is true in your own backyard. Can the count of the victims be the sole driver of whom we should rally to defend and of whom we should refrain from defending? If so, I am sure the masses of those deprived of any sense of security in the face of the onslaught of selfish brutality are greater here in our own country than the tallies of even those besieged by an entire army fighting against defenseless cities. Lucky for the Libyans, we have armed forces to counter those that seek their subjugation. We have the will and the ability to rush to their defense.
For the sake of all that we ourselves hold dear, and of the world order and peace, it is unthinkable that we should refuse to meet the challenge.
But our defense of the roses of the Abbotsford Avenues of our nation face a fortune in isolation, often hidden from view, and commonly undefended in the face of violent deprivations of their safety.
It is to this high purpose that I now call my people …
I ask them to stand calm and firm and united in this time of trial.
The task will be hard. There may be dark days ahead, and war can no longer be confined to the battlefield, … If one and all we keep resolutely faithful to it, ready for whatever service or sacrifice it may demand, then with God's help, we shall prevail.
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