It’s not often that I get a chance to make a serious point about something in which I deeply believe, and offer moving evidence of its worth at the same time. In this post, however, I hope to do just that by using the real-life stories of two people. I learned about them in e-mails I received from friends, and would like to share their stories with you here.
As you probably know, when schools receive funding cuts, among the first things to “go” are activities in the Arts. District number crunchers are usually quick to say that when things need to be eliminated, subjects like art, music, and drama are tossed first because they do not directly contribute to higher test scores and academic achievement. Of course I totally disagree, but that’s a subject for another post. My focus today is specifically on music, and how it had a life-changing effect on a couple of wonderful young people. And while it may not have brought up their test scores, it kept them going when the odds of doing so were stacked against them.
Because their stories are captured in video essays, I invite you to click on the titles, below, and see for yourself. Both are visual tales in the Susan Boyle tradition. When you’re done, I hope you can see why the Arts, especially music, should be an integral part of every young child’s education, and not an annual victim of the chopping block when times become financially tight. And, if you believe strongly enough that what I’m saying is true, and that these video stories are merely more dramatic examples of what music does for kids in the classroom each and every day, I invite you to do THIS. Let your district administrators know, that you want the music to play on for every child they have taken an oath to serve.
These are the links:
The story of a Korean boy.
The story of Jonathan.
It’s time to come out of the closet and tell the truth. I, the Paisano, am a vampire !!
Now, I’m sure those close to me have suspected it for years. After all, they’ve never seen me near the garlic section at the local grocery store. And I never wear the traditional crucifix around my neck as do most Italian males back in the neighborhood. I also avoid direct sunlight when at all possible, and only drink water that comes from high in the mountains where there are no churches. And when mirrors are more than normal height, I cast no reflection. Beyond that, it’s rare that I enter someone‘s home without a formal invitation, or stick around long if they ask me to come in for a steak.
Now, before you report me to Buffy The Vampire Slayer, it’s important to admit that I’m not a vampire in the Bram Stoker tradition. So relax, there’s absolutely no chance I’ll be sneaking up on any of you to bite your neck and remove a pint of plasma. I am, however, an “energy” vampire. That means I siphon energy out of those among us who have plenty to spare, and who share it lovingly and with little resistance. I’ve been feeding on this potent “essence” for years, and it’s kept me mentally young and intellectually healthy throughout. Besides that, it has temporarily distracted me from the pathetic realities of the adult world, and helped me retain the little bit of innocence I still have.
Now, who are these willing but unwitting “donors” to which I refer? You guessed it. They’re KIDS !! I’ve said for years, that every child needs at least one old person in their life, and every old person needs at least one child in theirs. It’s the purest symbiotic relationship of all. From us, they receive the time, patience, and wisdom that usually comes with being at the exit ramp of our lives. From them, we derive a special brand of unconditional love, pure energy, endless questioning, and positive appreciation of life in general. At least that’s how it’s worked for this vampire for almost four decades in the classroom. And that’s how it is for me now, when I go back to school and volunteer my services.
They say that every vampire is the product of another vampire’s bite. Perhaps I was “bitten” by my Aunt (L.T.) who was a teacher when I was very young. Maybe it was my favorite Sunday School teacher (J.D.) who always seemed at his best sharing Bible stories with our class of energetic boys. Or maybe it was my wonderful Church Camp teacher (E.S.) who, without words, convinced me that working with children was a blessing from God. No matter, I’m thankful that I was bitten. And I’m glad to report that over many years, the power of youthful energy that I’ve gotten from children, has never failed to make my life better. And think of this… It was all done without leaving a single puncture wound on anyone’s neck.
One of the realities of getting older, is that you only have a limited number of days left before it’s your turn to part the veil that separates human existence from whatever comes next. With that increasingly on my mind, I’ve noticed that lately I’ve become easily irritated by the dipshits around me that are slowing me down as I go about my daily business.
These transgressors come in all ages, sizes, and shapes. But the one unifying character flaw they share, is that each seems oblivious to the simple concepts of advanced planning and organization. In other words, they’re out there in the world fumbling around in a comatose fashion over things that should be quick and routine. And while they’re doing it, they’re slowing ME down !
Take, for example, the blockhead ahead of me at the drive-through mailbox at our local Post Office. First of all, by the pile of mail he was depositing, he should have been driving a skip loader instead of a car. Were that not bad enough, he had pulled up a little too far and positioned himself at an awkward angle to easily reach the mail slot. Of course, instead of backing up he twisted his arms through the window like a contortionist, then began putting his letters in the box ONE BY ONE. It appeared he was checking the front of each envelope for a stamp and correct address, then flipping it over to make sure it was correctly sealed. (Perhaps he was worried that some sinister bacteria might creep into an inadvertent glue gap and spread plague and pestilence across the postal community.) Anyway, just as I was getting ready to ram his car on behalf of the six ticked-off postal patrons behind me, he finished his delivery. Of course, before pulling away he also took an additional moment to stick his head out of the window and try to look down the mail slot, while feeling inside it as far as his fingers could probe. Perhaps he was trying to determine if gravity had done its job correctly in the deposit process. Or maybe he was just a retired Proctologist.
Then there was that lady lunatic in front of me in the long Costco gas lines, who began to clean out her dumpster of a car after she was done pumping gas. Not only did she remove an assorted array of crap from its interior, she also opened the trunk to remove some empty beer cans and other assorted debris. The guy behind me tried honking at her, but she stared him down as if to say, “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Pal. I still have to change my oil and do a light tune-up!” Of course, before she got in her car to leave, she slowly and deliberately walked around the vehicle inspecting her tires, as if to insure they had enough air and tread to make it safely to the Costco Warehouse just fifty yards away. What a freaking idiot !
There are scores of other lamebrains that slow things up for impatient types like me. I’m sure you know them well. The person who decides what they want to order AFTER reaching the counter at a fast food restaurant, even though they’ve been standing in line under a six by eight foot menu board for the last five minutes. And the financial genius who “just knows” she has a coupon in her bulging pouch which will save her five cents on a purchase, but didn’t take the time to find it before she got to the checkout counter. Or the guy in the crammed parking lot who gets into his car, but before pulling out to relinquish his sought after spot, triple checks his gauges, eats a light snack, sets his GPS, then tweets he’s finally putting it into reverse because a number of motorists have gotten out of their cars and are advancing towards him with tire irons.
Hey, there are only twenty-four hours in a day and I need every second of them. So, as “senior” as it might sound, I absolutely resent being forced to wait just because the “fumble nuts” among us can’t get their acts together. After all, I didn’t retire from teaching to become a waiter !!
