I began the summer with the intention of blogging once a week. I didn't figure anyone would really read them over the summer; it was really just something I wanted to try since my fantasy career is to be a syndicated columnist. It is not that I don't love teaching, but I watched the movie Marley and Me last spring and it occurred to me that just hanging out and then writing about my life in and interesting and humorous way would be really fun.
Anyway, the first week went by with me taking full advantage of my wife's "grace period" in which I didn't have to do any work around the house. She let me sleep in, watch TV, read, nap, eat massive amounts of children's cereal out of an oversized bowl; it was great. One thing I didn't do in that week was blog. Week two began my summer of home improvement projects. The list was long and most of it was way over my head. To prepare, I DVR'd episodes of Home Improvement to draw inspiration from America's favorite handyman and spent many hours simply staring at the empty space where the patio would go, and the fence, and even sat in the bathroom trying to figure out all I needed to do to complete its renovation. Again, I did not blog.
Soon, I was up to my knees in piles of dirt and busted concrete leveling the patio area for fresh cement. I experienced operating a bobcat for the first time and only almost flipped it about ten times. The concrete truck came, and with a little help from my friends along with some expert supervision from my dad, I had a patio.
At this point it is the first week of July. I had volunteered to be Paris High School's representative at a national conference in Atlanta, and since nobody else was going, I took my wife. We drove down early and did some touristy stuff before I had to start attending the conference. While there I met up with some people I met while student teaching in Charleston and hung out with them. All in all, the conference was a great experience. I learned a lot that I hope I can spread around to colleagues to better serve our students. I should also add that I didn't blog about any of it.
Upon returning from my trip, it was time to begin installing the privacy fence I had ordered a few weeks prior. I had never put up a fence of any kind, so I did what I always do: I called my brothers and we just started guessing at how it should go. It turned out pretty well. In the process of all the fence construction, I also built my kids the mother of all sandboxes. I could have blogged about any of that, but I didn't.
With the privacy fence up and operational, I realized it was one of my brothers' birthday: August 1st. Holy cow! I still have a bathroom to remodel or my wife is going to strangle me. It's not that she is really all that demanding. You see, I began this particular project over a year ago when I decided to replace the tub/shower. I pretty much gutted the bathroom, ripped up the old floor and pretty much left it at that. Sure we had a new tub/shower, but we also had bare drywall and concrete floors.
This all brings me to now. I am writing this blog at about 1:30 in the morning. I started, um continued, the bathroom last Sunday. This week has been spent finishing the demolition, rebuilding a wall, putting up more drywall, mudding, sanding, mudding some more, and as of now, putting up a fresh coat of paint. I have official overshot my budget for the project by about 70% and still have to complete the tile floor, custom cabinet, and finish work before the 17th.
This wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have so much going on this coming week. On Tuesday, my wife, daughter, and I will be traveling to St. Louis to take a tour of Busch Stadium before taking in the game that evening. Then, on Thursday, I think, I have tickets to take my daughter to Sullivan's Little Theatre on the Square to watch Aladdin. Seems like there is something else too, but I can't remember it. Did I mention I have never done a tile floor either? Anyway, I also put up a new garage door and finished out the cabinet space around the dishwasher I installed over Spring Break somewhere in there.
Well, that is how my summer flew by. If anyone is still reading this thing, drop me a comment to let me know what you've been up to. I look forward to seeing everyone back at school next week. It is going to be a great year. I have a new room (Mrs. Sherer's old room), a new class (Creative Writing replaced Eng 10c in my schedule), and a lot of ideas for how to make learning fun (okay, bearable).
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
What's the Plan?
"A goal without a plan is just a wish."
-Antoine de Saint-Exupery
About a month ago, it was time to get my kids into bed for the night, and for whatever reason, I really don't remember why I did it, I told them to settle down in their beds, and I said, "Okay, here is the plan..." I then proceded to detail what they were going to do all the way up until the time I left for work the next morning. They were to snuggle down under their blankets and close their eyes until they fell asleep. Then, they would have sweet dreams and sleep in their own beds all night. In the morning, when they woke up, they were supposed to tip-toe across the hallway and cuddle up with Mom and Dad until it was time to get up and watch cartoons. As I said, I don't know why I came up with this or what I hoped to accomplish with it, but both kids quietly closed their eyes and slept in their own beds all night. The plan worked to perfection!
Much to my suprise, my daughter requested to hear the plan the next night at bedtime. It took me a little while to figure out what my wife was talking about when she came into the living room after going back to tuck the kids in and told me of the request. This routine has now been repeated every night since. After coming to watch one of my baseball games, my daughter insisted that we add a "breakdown" in which we all put our hands in the middle and say "goooooo team!" Not only does my daughter, and to a lesser extent my son, insist that the plan be detailed every night, but if anything does not go according to the plan, she gets very upset and scolds whoever "ruined the plan".
What does this have to do with you? Maybe nothing. Many of you have goals in life that you are very sure and passionate about, and you have gone the additional step of making a plan for yourself to reach that goal. Unfortunately, though, I have an alarming number of students who don't seem to have ever learned to make the connection between what happens next and what they are doing now. I ask students who rarely come to class and pretty much never complete assignments if they want to graduate from high school. With almost no exceptions, I am told that they do want to graduate. Then, when I begin to discuss with them the ways in which they can accomplish this goal, they nod their heads blankly and walk out of my classroom no closer to understanding the importance of making a plan and following through than when we began. Somehow, I accidentally taught my daughter a lesson that no matter how hard I try I cannot purposely teach my students.
I did not sit down to write this blog with a clear plan of where I wanted to end up, which has led to the exact outcome I would have predicted: I am lost, which is exactly what awaits any of you who still has not made the connection between a clear plan and your future.
-Antoine de Saint-Exupery
About a month ago, it was time to get my kids into bed for the night, and for whatever reason, I really don't remember why I did it, I told them to settle down in their beds, and I said, "Okay, here is the plan..." I then proceded to detail what they were going to do all the way up until the time I left for work the next morning. They were to snuggle down under their blankets and close their eyes until they fell asleep. Then, they would have sweet dreams and sleep in their own beds all night. In the morning, when they woke up, they were supposed to tip-toe across the hallway and cuddle up with Mom and Dad until it was time to get up and watch cartoons. As I said, I don't know why I came up with this or what I hoped to accomplish with it, but both kids quietly closed their eyes and slept in their own beds all night. The plan worked to perfection!
Much to my suprise, my daughter requested to hear the plan the next night at bedtime. It took me a little while to figure out what my wife was talking about when she came into the living room after going back to tuck the kids in and told me of the request. This routine has now been repeated every night since. After coming to watch one of my baseball games, my daughter insisted that we add a "breakdown" in which we all put our hands in the middle and say "goooooo team!" Not only does my daughter, and to a lesser extent my son, insist that the plan be detailed every night, but if anything does not go according to the plan, she gets very upset and scolds whoever "ruined the plan".
What does this have to do with you? Maybe nothing. Many of you have goals in life that you are very sure and passionate about, and you have gone the additional step of making a plan for yourself to reach that goal. Unfortunately, though, I have an alarming number of students who don't seem to have ever learned to make the connection between what happens next and what they are doing now. I ask students who rarely come to class and pretty much never complete assignments if they want to graduate from high school. With almost no exceptions, I am told that they do want to graduate. Then, when I begin to discuss with them the ways in which they can accomplish this goal, they nod their heads blankly and walk out of my classroom no closer to understanding the importance of making a plan and following through than when we began. Somehow, I accidentally taught my daughter a lesson that no matter how hard I try I cannot purposely teach my students.
I did not sit down to write this blog with a clear plan of where I wanted to end up, which has led to the exact outcome I would have predicted: I am lost, which is exactly what awaits any of you who still has not made the connection between a clear plan and your future.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Another Hero...Lost
Death Be Not Proud
by John Donne(1572-1631)
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
A little over two weeks ago, I was eating dinner when my phone rang. It was my mother calling to tell me that she had just heard a friend of mine from high school, a guy I played baseball with for three incredible seasons, a guy whose wife was in my graduating class and an even closer friend to me, a guy whose brother had served with me in the National Guard for about five years in both Bulgaria and Iraq, a guy with four small children and a legacy of always doing his best to help those around him had died. Now, I had not really kept in touch with this guy very much after high school. We had both gone our separate ways, meeting occasionally here and there and catching up as best we could. He married his high school sweetheart, and I had immediately gone off to conquer the world. Nonetheless, the news of his death in Afghanistan rocked me. I didn't know what to say or how to respond. I only knew that it was tragic, and that it would stick with me forever.
I remember clearly the last two times I ran into Jared Southworth. The first was at the armory in Mattoon shortly before I left for Iraq. I was working there full-time getting ready for our deployment, and Jared had just entered the Guard as a cadet with the Eastern Illinois University ROTC program. It seemed fitting to me, seeing Jared in his uniform, showing off all the high-speed equipment he had bought to compliment his basic issue. He had always seemed destined to be a soldier. There was always just something about the way he talked about the military when we were playing ball together. I remember thinking, when his brother enlisted, that it was weird seeing Michael in uniform but not Jared. Little did I know that he was slowly making his way. He just had a little different plan in mind. From hearing the stories of those who served with him after he was commissioned as an officer, I know that Jared's path was the one most suited for him. While he would have made a tremendous enlisted soldier, he was an even better officer. I regret that I never served under his command. It would have truly been an honor.
The second, and last, time I saw Jared was some months after I had returned from Iraq. I was eating lunch with my grandmother in Charleston, and he came in with his wife and kids. Jared was a crazy guy in high school, always cracking jokes, and seldom seeming to take anything seriously, but seeing him as an amazingly loving and attentive father showed me an entirely different side of the man. I guess that was just it; he was no longer the teenage boy I had known, but a man who earned the respect of someone the minute he met them. While I am saddened that I did not keep in touch with he and his wife after we all left high school, I am eternally thankful that I was able to see him like this, because it is an image that will forever be etched in my memory.
In the weeks since I received the news of his untimely death, I have been at a loss for words to express my feelings about it. At the visitation, when I hugged his widow, the girl I had known so well nearly a decade ago, who had since become as strong a woman as any of us would have imagined back then, all I could manage to say was, "I'm so sorry." There was nothing else I could say, nothing else seemed adequate or appropriate, because I felt nothing else; only sorrow that she should have to endure this tremendous loss at such a young age.
It wasn't until I found myself sitting in the packed gym at Oakland High School during the funeral that I began to find words for what I was feeling in my heart. Yet, even then, the words were not my own. The words were from the opening line of a poem by John Donne, which I had read in some literature class in college. I couldn't remember the entire poem, only those first four words: "Death be not proud". I am not sure why, out of the vaulted recesses of my often scrambled memory, this poem sprang to my consciousness like a lightning bolt. I began thinking of all the circumstances and events that can lead to a person's death, and it seemed to me that in this case, death was indeed proud. What more noble or purposeful death could one offer than to die for one's country in service of his countrymen and those in faraway lands hoping desperately for freedom from violence and oppression? I remembered sitting at a training range in basic training, listening to my drill sergeant read the citation for the Medal of Honor awarded to the man whose name had been given to the range as a sign of honor. I no longer remember the heroic deeds of that long-dead soldier, but I clearly remember my drill sergeant looking at us with the most serious expression I had ever seen and saying, "That's how I want to go... in battle." Jared was just that kind of warrior. As much as I know he loved his family, I can't help but think that had he known what was going to happen, he wouldn't have changed a thing. I can't help but think that to Jared, death could be proud. Maybe I am just thinking all of this as a way of softening the blow, but maybe that doesn't matter.
Since the funeral, I have kept running those four words over and over in mind. Today, when I came home from work, I found the poem and began to read it once, twice, three times. I found that there is more in it for me than what I had first thought. It reminded me that death will eventually come to all of us; it will not be avoided, ignored, or forgotten. It will always be present, possibly waiting around the next corner. The last lines of the poem, however, leave a smile on my face because I learned at the funeral that Jared had become strong in his faith. I learned that he regularly attended church, read his bible every day, and even sang church songs to his children before bed. In the last lines, Donne says, "wee wake eternally,/ And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die." I am confident that Jared has awoken to an eternity of life without death. He will look down and see his children grow, learning of the hero that is their father, and he will smile.
by John Donne(1572-1631)
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
A little over two weeks ago, I was eating dinner when my phone rang. It was my mother calling to tell me that she had just heard a friend of mine from high school, a guy I played baseball with for three incredible seasons, a guy whose wife was in my graduating class and an even closer friend to me, a guy whose brother had served with me in the National Guard for about five years in both Bulgaria and Iraq, a guy with four small children and a legacy of always doing his best to help those around him had died. Now, I had not really kept in touch with this guy very much after high school. We had both gone our separate ways, meeting occasionally here and there and catching up as best we could. He married his high school sweetheart, and I had immediately gone off to conquer the world. Nonetheless, the news of his death in Afghanistan rocked me. I didn't know what to say or how to respond. I only knew that it was tragic, and that it would stick with me forever.
I remember clearly the last two times I ran into Jared Southworth. The first was at the armory in Mattoon shortly before I left for Iraq. I was working there full-time getting ready for our deployment, and Jared had just entered the Guard as a cadet with the Eastern Illinois University ROTC program. It seemed fitting to me, seeing Jared in his uniform, showing off all the high-speed equipment he had bought to compliment his basic issue. He had always seemed destined to be a soldier. There was always just something about the way he talked about the military when we were playing ball together. I remember thinking, when his brother enlisted, that it was weird seeing Michael in uniform but not Jared. Little did I know that he was slowly making his way. He just had a little different plan in mind. From hearing the stories of those who served with him after he was commissioned as an officer, I know that Jared's path was the one most suited for him. While he would have made a tremendous enlisted soldier, he was an even better officer. I regret that I never served under his command. It would have truly been an honor.
The second, and last, time I saw Jared was some months after I had returned from Iraq. I was eating lunch with my grandmother in Charleston, and he came in with his wife and kids. Jared was a crazy guy in high school, always cracking jokes, and seldom seeming to take anything seriously, but seeing him as an amazingly loving and attentive father showed me an entirely different side of the man. I guess that was just it; he was no longer the teenage boy I had known, but a man who earned the respect of someone the minute he met them. While I am saddened that I did not keep in touch with he and his wife after we all left high school, I am eternally thankful that I was able to see him like this, because it is an image that will forever be etched in my memory.
In the weeks since I received the news of his untimely death, I have been at a loss for words to express my feelings about it. At the visitation, when I hugged his widow, the girl I had known so well nearly a decade ago, who had since become as strong a woman as any of us would have imagined back then, all I could manage to say was, "I'm so sorry." There was nothing else I could say, nothing else seemed adequate or appropriate, because I felt nothing else; only sorrow that she should have to endure this tremendous loss at such a young age.
It wasn't until I found myself sitting in the packed gym at Oakland High School during the funeral that I began to find words for what I was feeling in my heart. Yet, even then, the words were not my own. The words were from the opening line of a poem by John Donne, which I had read in some literature class in college. I couldn't remember the entire poem, only those first four words: "Death be not proud". I am not sure why, out of the vaulted recesses of my often scrambled memory, this poem sprang to my consciousness like a lightning bolt. I began thinking of all the circumstances and events that can lead to a person's death, and it seemed to me that in this case, death was indeed proud. What more noble or purposeful death could one offer than to die for one's country in service of his countrymen and those in faraway lands hoping desperately for freedom from violence and oppression? I remembered sitting at a training range in basic training, listening to my drill sergeant read the citation for the Medal of Honor awarded to the man whose name had been given to the range as a sign of honor. I no longer remember the heroic deeds of that long-dead soldier, but I clearly remember my drill sergeant looking at us with the most serious expression I had ever seen and saying, "That's how I want to go... in battle." Jared was just that kind of warrior. As much as I know he loved his family, I can't help but think that had he known what was going to happen, he wouldn't have changed a thing. I can't help but think that to Jared, death could be proud. Maybe I am just thinking all of this as a way of softening the blow, but maybe that doesn't matter.
Since the funeral, I have kept running those four words over and over in mind. Today, when I came home from work, I found the poem and began to read it once, twice, three times. I found that there is more in it for me than what I had first thought. It reminded me that death will eventually come to all of us; it will not be avoided, ignored, or forgotten. It will always be present, possibly waiting around the next corner. The last lines of the poem, however, leave a smile on my face because I learned at the funeral that Jared had become strong in his faith. I learned that he regularly attended church, read his bible every day, and even sang church songs to his children before bed. In the last lines, Donne says, "wee wake eternally,/ And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die." I am confident that Jared has awoken to an eternity of life without death. He will look down and see his children grow, learning of the hero that is their father, and he will smile.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Dawning of a New Quarter
“Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice: It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.” ~William Jennings Bryan
When I was in basic training, we used to sing the same cadence every morning while marching to Physical Training:
Here we go again.
Same old stuff again.
Marching down the avenue.
______ more weeks and we'll be through.
Some mornings, I loved this cadence. On other mornings, I hated it. The difference was always my attitude on that particular morning. If I was feeling motivated, the number of weeks remaining seemed so small, so achievable. If it had been a tough morning, the time I had left seemed insurmountable. The only constant was that I knew I could not fail. There was entirely too much riding on my ability to suck it up and continue to press forward no matter how much it hurt, how tired I was, or how much I missed home.
"But Mr. Ogle, what does this story have to do with the quote, and what do both of them have to do with the Third Quarter?" I am glad you asked. The first semester taught me a lot about myself as a teacher, but it also taught me a lot about some of you as students. Those students who work hard everyday to complete assignments on time and participate in class can stop reading now.
Now that I have the attention of the bunch of you who populate my gradebook with zeros and those of you who sit in class day-in and day-out with your head down staring blankly at the wall or the back of your eyelids, I want you to consider both my story and the quote very carefully. The quote tells us that destiny is not something that will just happen, it must be achieved. I know that all of you want something out of life, but you are making the fatal mistake of thinking that if you just wait around long enough it will happen. It doesn't work that way. With the way things are going these days, jobs for high-school dropouts are few and far between. There is no reason to believe that they will not continue to diminish both in number and salary. If you continue to approach school with the attitude that it is just an inconvenience to you, I promise you it will be something you regret for the rest of your life.
Still waiting for the explanation of my basic training story? Okay, here it goes. Much like many of you do not enjoy high school, I was miserable in basic training. Sure, looking back on it, it doesn't seem that bad, but while I was enduring it, I couldn't imagine it ever ending. I remember waking up for PT after only a few hours of sleep (like usual) and thinking to myself, "Will I ever get a good night's sleep again? I don't know how much longer I can keep this up." There were so many days when I just wanted to stay in my bunk, suffer the consequences, tell them I quit. I'm sure that the thoughts going through my mind on those mornings is pretty similar to the thoughts you have about coming to school, but I kept dragging myself out of my bunk and down to formation. I kept marching where they told me to march. I kept running when they told me to run. I kept shooting what they told me to shoot. The entire time hating nearly every minute of it. I could go on and on telling stories about how hard it was, but the point is I kept going even though I didn't want to, and it afforded me more opportunities than I could have ever gotten otherwise. For you, high school is the same way. You don't have to like it. It doesn't have to come easy, but if you just suck it up and do what you are told to do when you are told to do it, it will get over much faster than it will by just sitting around waiting.
So...
Here we go again.
Same old stuff again.
Sitting in the classroom.
Eighteen more weeks and we'll be through.
Then I won't have to look at you.
Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy you.
And you won't have to look at me.
Awesome, awesome, awesome me.
When I was in basic training, we used to sing the same cadence every morning while marching to Physical Training:
Here we go again.
Same old stuff again.
Marching down the avenue.
______ more weeks and we'll be through.
Some mornings, I loved this cadence. On other mornings, I hated it. The difference was always my attitude on that particular morning. If I was feeling motivated, the number of weeks remaining seemed so small, so achievable. If it had been a tough morning, the time I had left seemed insurmountable. The only constant was that I knew I could not fail. There was entirely too much riding on my ability to suck it up and continue to press forward no matter how much it hurt, how tired I was, or how much I missed home.
"But Mr. Ogle, what does this story have to do with the quote, and what do both of them have to do with the Third Quarter?" I am glad you asked. The first semester taught me a lot about myself as a teacher, but it also taught me a lot about some of you as students. Those students who work hard everyday to complete assignments on time and participate in class can stop reading now.
Now that I have the attention of the bunch of you who populate my gradebook with zeros and those of you who sit in class day-in and day-out with your head down staring blankly at the wall or the back of your eyelids, I want you to consider both my story and the quote very carefully. The quote tells us that destiny is not something that will just happen, it must be achieved. I know that all of you want something out of life, but you are making the fatal mistake of thinking that if you just wait around long enough it will happen. It doesn't work that way. With the way things are going these days, jobs for high-school dropouts are few and far between. There is no reason to believe that they will not continue to diminish both in number and salary. If you continue to approach school with the attitude that it is just an inconvenience to you, I promise you it will be something you regret for the rest of your life.
Still waiting for the explanation of my basic training story? Okay, here it goes. Much like many of you do not enjoy high school, I was miserable in basic training. Sure, looking back on it, it doesn't seem that bad, but while I was enduring it, I couldn't imagine it ever ending. I remember waking up for PT after only a few hours of sleep (like usual) and thinking to myself, "Will I ever get a good night's sleep again? I don't know how much longer I can keep this up." There were so many days when I just wanted to stay in my bunk, suffer the consequences, tell them I quit. I'm sure that the thoughts going through my mind on those mornings is pretty similar to the thoughts you have about coming to school, but I kept dragging myself out of my bunk and down to formation. I kept marching where they told me to march. I kept running when they told me to run. I kept shooting what they told me to shoot. The entire time hating nearly every minute of it. I could go on and on telling stories about how hard it was, but the point is I kept going even though I didn't want to, and it afforded me more opportunities than I could have ever gotten otherwise. For you, high school is the same way. You don't have to like it. It doesn't have to come easy, but if you just suck it up and do what you are told to do when you are told to do it, it will get over much faster than it will by just sitting around waiting.
So...
Here we go again.
Same old stuff again.
Sitting in the classroom.
Eighteen more weeks and we'll be through.
Then I won't have to look at you.
Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy you.
And you won't have to look at me.
Awesome, awesome, awesome me.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Extra Credit Deadline!!
The deadline for extra credit posts is midnight tonight (Tuesday 12/16). Any posts submitted after that time will not count for your second quarter grade. This should not be a problem as you should all be quietly tucked away in bed getting plenty of rest for your final exams long before midnight.
Sweet Dreams.
Sweet Dreams.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Christmas Vacation
Like all of you, I am desperately looking forward to Christmas break. Don't get me wrong, I love my job and getting to spend all day with all of you makes me glad I chose the profession I did, but everyone likes a break now and then. I look forward to spending more time with my family and not having to worry about grading or lesson planning for a week or two.
My holiday plans are pretty hectic, but they should be fun. On Christmas Eve-Eve, we will be going to my parents house in Kansas sometime in the afternoon and will be spending the night. On Christmas Eve morning, we will wake up bright and early to open gifts and spend the day relaxing and enjoying each other's company. That evening, my wife, kids, and I will head home to attend service at our church in Mattoon. We will wake up bright and early again on Christmas morning to open presents. After that, we will pack-up and drive to my wife's grandmother's house in Pana for more holiday food, family time, and presents. Once we leave there, we will go spend the night at my in-law's house, also in Pana. The next morning, we will wake up bright and early once again to, you guessed it, open more presents. Hopefully, we will then be able to relax for the rest of the day and let our hands recover from wrapping-paper-shredding syndrome before making the drive back home to Mattoon.
I hope you all have exciting plans laid on for the holiday season as well. Feel free to share your plans with all of us.
Finally, I would like to ask all of you to keep our brave servicemembers stationed around the globe, as well as their families, in your thoughts. I know from experience that being away from the ones you love during this time of year is difficult. I spent two Thanksgivings, two Christmases, and two New Years in the middle east, and I have a bunch of friends deployed to Afghanistan right now as part of the 33rd Brigade Combat Team.
Happy Holidays!
My holiday plans are pretty hectic, but they should be fun. On Christmas Eve-Eve, we will be going to my parents house in Kansas sometime in the afternoon and will be spending the night. On Christmas Eve morning, we will wake up bright and early to open gifts and spend the day relaxing and enjoying each other's company. That evening, my wife, kids, and I will head home to attend service at our church in Mattoon. We will wake up bright and early again on Christmas morning to open presents. After that, we will pack-up and drive to my wife's grandmother's house in Pana for more holiday food, family time, and presents. Once we leave there, we will go spend the night at my in-law's house, also in Pana. The next morning, we will wake up bright and early once again to, you guessed it, open more presents. Hopefully, we will then be able to relax for the rest of the day and let our hands recover from wrapping-paper-shredding syndrome before making the drive back home to Mattoon.
I hope you all have exciting plans laid on for the holiday season as well. Feel free to share your plans with all of us.
Finally, I would like to ask all of you to keep our brave servicemembers stationed around the globe, as well as their families, in your thoughts. I know from experience that being away from the ones you love during this time of year is difficult. I spent two Thanksgivings, two Christmases, and two New Years in the middle east, and I have a bunch of friends deployed to Afghanistan right now as part of the 33rd Brigade Combat Team.
Happy Holidays!
Bow Before the Altar of Semester Exams!
"As long there are tests, there will be prayer in schools."
I don't know who said this, but it is funny only as long as it is true. Now, I will admit that I have done my fair share of praying before a big test, but I have never felt the need to ask for help from above when I walked into the test knowing I was prepared.
As a student, the worst feeling in the world is looking at the first page of a test and realizing that you did not study enough. I remember taking a midterm exam in a poetry class in college. I don't remember how or why I was so unprepared for this test; I only remember sitting there for over an hour fumbling through this monstrousity and feeling like I was drowning. As painful as the experience was for me, I learned a valuable lesson: The pain of really preparing for a test is far less than the pain of taking a test for which you have not prepared.
When the final exam for that class rolled around, I spent two days prior to the test doing nothing but living, drinking, and eating poetry. I had done the math, and my grade was such that getting an A on the test would not bump me up from a B to an A in the class, and all I had to do was not fail the test in order to keep from dropping to a C, but that was not important to me. Proving to myself that the content of this class was not more than I could handle was the only thing that mattered to me. I wanted to crush this test just to prove that I belonged in the class.
I realized early in my college career that judging my value or intelligence based on a series of five letters was about the most useless and destructive thing I could do. I have seen brilliant students get C's because of circumstances outside of their control and complete baffoons get A's because they are really good at "school". What really mattered to me was whether or not I got what I needed or wanted out of every class. Don't get me wrong, good grades can open a lot of doors, but do not make the mistake of thinking that getting less than perfect grades closes all doors. You may just have to find a window here or there.
What is the point of all this babbling? The point is that many of you either need or deserve to do well on the semester exams next week. However, I can tell you that needs, wants, and aspirations will not translate into a good grade. The only way to ensure that you do well on the semester exam is to pull out the material from the semester and make sure you know it forward and backward. It will be painful, but not nearly as painful as taking the class again next year.
Now, since you need to be studying instead of reading my musings, I will leave you with a final morsel for thought. After you finish your tests next week, you have sixteen days straight in which to recover. All you have to do is push yourself for seven days, and then you get to rest. Why does that sound familiar? Anyway, you all can do it. I know you can, or I wouldn't waste my time trying to help you do it.
GOOD LUCK!
*Author's Note: I totally owned that poetry final --I think I got one of the highest test scores in the class. I still got a B for the course.*
I don't know who said this, but it is funny only as long as it is true. Now, I will admit that I have done my fair share of praying before a big test, but I have never felt the need to ask for help from above when I walked into the test knowing I was prepared.
As a student, the worst feeling in the world is looking at the first page of a test and realizing that you did not study enough. I remember taking a midterm exam in a poetry class in college. I don't remember how or why I was so unprepared for this test; I only remember sitting there for over an hour fumbling through this monstrousity and feeling like I was drowning. As painful as the experience was for me, I learned a valuable lesson: The pain of really preparing for a test is far less than the pain of taking a test for which you have not prepared.
When the final exam for that class rolled around, I spent two days prior to the test doing nothing but living, drinking, and eating poetry. I had done the math, and my grade was such that getting an A on the test would not bump me up from a B to an A in the class, and all I had to do was not fail the test in order to keep from dropping to a C, but that was not important to me. Proving to myself that the content of this class was not more than I could handle was the only thing that mattered to me. I wanted to crush this test just to prove that I belonged in the class.
I realized early in my college career that judging my value or intelligence based on a series of five letters was about the most useless and destructive thing I could do. I have seen brilliant students get C's because of circumstances outside of their control and complete baffoons get A's because they are really good at "school". What really mattered to me was whether or not I got what I needed or wanted out of every class. Don't get me wrong, good grades can open a lot of doors, but do not make the mistake of thinking that getting less than perfect grades closes all doors. You may just have to find a window here or there.
What is the point of all this babbling? The point is that many of you either need or deserve to do well on the semester exams next week. However, I can tell you that needs, wants, and aspirations will not translate into a good grade. The only way to ensure that you do well on the semester exam is to pull out the material from the semester and make sure you know it forward and backward. It will be painful, but not nearly as painful as taking the class again next year.
Now, since you need to be studying instead of reading my musings, I will leave you with a final morsel for thought. After you finish your tests next week, you have sixteen days straight in which to recover. All you have to do is push yourself for seven days, and then you get to rest. Why does that sound familiar? Anyway, you all can do it. I know you can, or I wouldn't waste my time trying to help you do it.
GOOD LUCK!
*Author's Note: I totally owned that poetry final --I think I got one of the highest test scores in the class. I still got a B for the course.*
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