Trying to Hold onto Every Moment

            Today I buried my father. I have this feeling that I want to hold onto everything. I just asked mom if we can get dad’s medical records. As I’m putting together his memories, I want everything. What I really want is a giant record of every moment of his life. I know it’s impossible and irrational, but it’s what I want.

            I set up two video camcorders to record people coming in for calling hours and also record the service. I want memories of everything. I tried to record audio on all discussions on my phone, but I don’t think it worked. I don’t want to let go of anything. I’m probably going to become that person that takes pictures of everything, just so this doesn’t happen again. As the video slide show of dad’s life rolled, I didn’t see any pictures of our trips to Cedar Point. That’s a great memory and I don’t know if we have any images to record it. I may have to reconcile with just putting the memories in writing.

            When no one was looking, I was curious if dad’s mouth would open. It wouldn’t. I didn’t pry. I didn’t want to do anything that would spoil the way his body looked. I never really got a good look into his mouth to see the hole in his palate. I know it’s morbid, but I’m curious. It’s not a happy thought, but it’s a detail I don’t have. Right now, I want every detail of his life. Today I was taking pictures of everything—the rooms of my parents’ home, outside around their house, their cats, family members, our limo driver, Dwight Ellis (who I had a brief talk with. He was from Thomas Limousine, so I think we worked together for a short time), the limo and the flowers. I pretty much got everything but pictures of everyone that came to calling hours. I’m hoping that came through on the video I recorded. I just couldn’t talk to people and snap pictures. I did get a few, but not everyone. I don’t want to let go of anything. It’s irrational, but it’s where I’m at.

            I cried harder and more frequently than anyone. Funny, because I’m supposed to be the strong one. When we first went in and saw dad before everyone arrived, I cried seeing his body. Of course, cries came with hugs and then telling people, “I’m okay”. I think that’s a lie. I’m not okay. I’m an open wound.

            One of the biggest cries came when I touched dad’s hands. He was ice cold—probably just room temperature, but he felt like ice. As dad went through treatment with cancer, he got to the point where he was always cold. According to mom, he was cold through the whole thing. I remember him being cold as he went through hyperbaric treatment. Mom thinks the coldness began after the surgery. And then, according to her, he got colder and colder. Dad’s cold hands were too much for me to bear.

            I remember mom and I got dad an early birthday/Father’s Day gift. Both mom and I agree that we ordered dad his gift on Tuesday, June 2^nd and it arrived Thursday, June 4^th. I think it cost around $90 and was over a $100 with shipping. I threw in half--$45 and mom covered the other half and shipping. I usually don’t have much money in my wallet, but had $50 from a third place finish in a comedy competition out at Slim and Jumbos in Garrettsville, Ohio on May 16^th, 2015. I somewhat wish dad would have been able to see more of my comedy performances. And, I kinda of wished I had taken up hunting. I don’t like it, but dad loved it. I know dad and I couldn’t share every moment of our lives together, but I kinda wish it would have been more. I think this loss is going to change how I approach life. I kinda wish I would have just paid a little extra to have Amazon one-day delivery on the gift. It was a heated mattress pad. I just asked mom if he had it soon enough for Thursday when he went to bed. Mom said he did. That helped him sleep warm. He actually became too warm and had to turn it down. I’m so glad we ordered it and didn’t make him wait until his birthday or Father’s Day. His birthday was June 23^rd. Father’s Day this year is the 21^st. I just found myself correcting the previous sentence from “is” to “was”. That’s a bitter pill to swallow. We ordered the heated mattress pad in between appointments at his prosthodontist. It wasn’t a surprise gift to dad. It came up in discussion between dad’s morning and afternoon Prosthodontist’s appointments. He had a 10:00 a.m. appointment and then one later in the afternoon—I think originally scheduled for 2:00 and then changed to 1:30 p.m. In between appointments we went to Red Robin. We ended up in a private booth where mom could tube feed dad. I think we started at a table, but then moved. On our appointments the following week, dad wanted to again go to Red Robin. There was something he liked about it. I think the environment was a little dark and secluded and he was self-conscious. I think he may have felt his surgery left him deformed. It hadn’t. His left check was slightly sucked in, but hardly noticeable. He also had a hardly noticeable scar that went around the left side of his nose and down the little indent on the top of the lip. It was more noticeable after surgery, but it eventually healed to the point where someone would have to look closely to even see it. He also had some mild lines on the left side of his neck where some lymph nodes were removed.

            Because of the surgery, dad couldn’t talk well. He was receiving therapy to recover his speech. At times I understood what he said. At times his speech was garbled. At times we sometimes shaked our heads, pretending to know what he said. Or, dad would just give up trying to explain. He also drooled some. The little stains he left around the house drove mom crazy. She wasn’t mad at him. It was just the situation. At times he lost pills out of the corner of his mouth. I remember finding one in my car. I don’t remember when. It may have been an Ativan. Mom told me over the past few days that she found quite a few pills in his room when she cleaned it up. I think she cleaned it up Sunday or Monday. She couldn’t stand the smell. His room smelled like vinegar. This was due to the cold. He wouldn’t let mom give him a bath. He was often both cold, but also sweating. His body was just all out of whack. I noticed the smell particularly this past trip to the prosthodontist. Mom gave him great care. He was just so cold, he wouldn’t let mom bathe him. In a future blog, I’m going to have to discuss the smells that cancers leave. Maybe it will help others understand.

            Mom told me today she was giving dad enemas. I would have quessed maybe she had given him one, but apparently he had quite a few more as well as some accidents. I think mom somewhat protected me and my brother from all the details of the illness. I’m not sure if this was good or not. Dad probably wouldn’t have had us worrying. But, mom needed the help.

            Often when I would help out mom and dad or drive dad to an appointment, mom would treat me to a meal. I have mixed emotions about that. I guess I feel a little guilty, because at times I found myself hoping dad would go to bed early so I could have time with mom. It was like our little date—a vacation away from the situation with dad. At times we would talk about him. Never in a mean way, but we were both frustrated. I guess we had to blow off steam. For a while, I think dad was jealous of mom and me’s little “dates”. But, he later accepted it and then started telling mom to make sure to take me out to eat. I think he started to accept the closeness between mom and I as helpful for mom and he loved mom with all his heart. He also wanted to die and was fully convinced throughout the whole ordeal that he was going to die. I think both his desire to die and his conviction he was going to die came in waves depending on his pain and also the weakness he was feeling. He talked often about being weak, tired, or cold. By often, I don’t mean incessantly. At least to me, he wasn’t constantly talking about it. But, it was a continuous thread of thought that came out. I think this caused a level of frustration between dad and the family. I say frustration, because there was constant love and I don’t think it was grounded in anger. I think at times I may have felt something similar to anger, but it just felt similar. I don’t think I was angry at dad. I may have been the kindest person in his life. Although, my brother Lance is also kind. It’s a trait dad had and a trait my brother and I have to carry on. Mom was more frustrated with the situation, but she had to deal with it 24/7/365.

            As dad was going through radiation treatment, which I think started around November of 2013, just shortly after surgery, he became weaker and weaker. I think it was later in February of 2014 that dad developed cellulitis in his face. If I recall correctly, it was shortly thereafter that he was put in the nursing home out at Pebble Creek. I’ll have to talk with mom to get all these details correct. I think after that point, he started to go downhill and lost his will to live. I believe in June of 2014 he came home from Pebble Creek. He did seem to gain some strength, particularly as he was able to go for walks with mom out at Lake Anna in Barberton, Ohio. I went over there for a few of those walks. He was also receiving therapy and was getting stronger. I think he regained a little will to live, but I don’t think he ever fully believed he was going to make it. With all the pain he was in, that’s understandable. I think later I’m going to have to talk to mom and record all the random hospital visits and the medications he was on. I think it might give me some comfort. In the future, if I don't record these memories, I might think dad was being a big baby for not wanting to live. He wasn’t. He was in great pain. I want to record the pain, so I can appreciate how much of a fighter dad was. He was tough to go through everything he did and keep on fighting. There was a noble strength there to face everything he went through as he did. I think my brother appreciated dad’s willingness to fight more than I did, so I may need to talk to Lance.

            I think it was in the Fall of 2014 that dad took a spill. He was feeling stronger and went out for a walk. He went too far and ended up falling and cutting open his head. Mom noticed he was gone for too long and went around the neighborhood in the car to find him. I remember receiving the call that dad was again in the hospital. I think I’ll save a description of that sinking feeling when I received “the call”, which happened on several occasions, for a future post.

            I remember dad going to Akron City Hospital. His head was pretty cut up. Just yesterday I was looking on my cellphone of the stages of grief. One of those stages is anger. I’m not sure if I was looking this up to or from Hartville Kitchen or maybe both. Mom and I had a dinner and we were talking about and looking forward to the Cavs game. Yes, we watched and enjoyed the game together. We also talked about everything with dad, but the Cavs game was an escape from our grief. When I think about some of the treatment dad received, there is some anger. The medical system can be brutal. I think I’ll have to have a future post about the anger. I’m not just angry at dad’s care, but angry as I think about how our elderly are cared for. I talked to my friend Kevin a few days ago who also shared similar concerns. He called me around 10:44 (according to my call long) p.m. on June 13^th. He was returning a call I made at 11:24 a.m. on the same day. He shared some of the struggles he’s going through with his parents’ failing health.

            When dad was at the hospital, they asked about a Do Not Resuscitate order. We had been asked that before during another one of those terrible calls. I’ll talk about those terrible calls in future blogs. On this particular occasion, it didn’t fully hit me at the moment. The family (as I recall both mom and my brother were there) were handling the immediacy of the situation. He went through a battery of tests. They checked him for everything from concussion to a broken neck. Eventually they treated him by stapling the wound. He wasn’t in the hospital long. I’m not sure, but I think we may have brought him home the next day or it may have been a stay of a couple days. So, we had an opportunity to get away from the situation for a short time while the hospital staff cared for him. I remember it hit me. Why were they asking about a Do Not Resuscitate for what amounted to a bump on the head? It just wasn’t appropriate to the situation. I later mentioned it to mom and she agreed. She remembered dealing with her mom’s deteriorating health and there was the eventual point where they were dealing with not resuscitating. But, in grandma’s case, the situation was appropriate for it. For this particular hospital stint, it just wasn’t appropriate. We talked about how things had changed in recent years and not for the best. 

            Kevin, a good friend that I met at Cedarville, said his mom had something similar happen. We talked a little bit how the so called “death panels” may in fact be a reality. I think we’re both a little angry at the care loved ones have received. When I say this, I don’t take anything away from all the wonderful caretakers dad had. But, the system is corrupt.

            One of the things I’m struggling with is my mortality. I’m 45 and still single. I want a wife and kids. I want to know if I’m ever in the situations that dad was in, that someone will be there to care for me. I’m praying that God will give me a wife and kids. There may be a few things I’ll have to deal with in a personal blog. I really want a more personal encounter with God—to know for sure he is real. I believe he is, but I want something more powerful than what I’ve experienced. I did experience a peace during dad’s service, particularly when pastor was giving the message. I do think this was God’s Spirit, which is real. But, my brain and emotions right now are shaken.

            Last night I requested some information online from Denver Seminary. I think all these situations are pushing me back towards God. I’ll have to share in more detail in later blogs why I’m thinking of Denver. I’m already dealing with that through another blog I’m writing, but it hasn’t been published. So, eventually you may get to hear the tale. Over the past few years I’ve lost my confidence in church—or, it may be more accurate to say the institutional version of church. I have already completed most of an M.Div degree. However, if I go back for training, this time will be different. I will be less inclined to believe what I’m being taught. I really want to get a hold on God and start shaking through my whole belief system and see what remains as true and what is man-made traditions and rituals that man has added. As I go through this, I may need to reconnect with my religious roots. I’ve already contacted Rabbi Eric through email at the Messianic Synagogue I used to attend and left. I thought there might be bad blood (my fault for not handling things well), but from his email, I don’t think there is. I think he and Tikvat Yisrael may play a part in helping me through the grieving process. I also think my friends at Real Life, the singles group (probably 30’s-50’s, but most 40’s) I used to be really active in will help. Real Life is part of the Chapel, which started in Akron. I may also need to connect with Pastor Glenn and Temple Baptist Church. This is my mom’s home church, but I attended there for many years, sang in the choir, preached and taught various classes. I may need to connect around the fringe at several religious groups to help me figure things out. I may even go out to Faith Family Church in Canton. I have had some involvement with a writer’s group out there. I think I’ll have to figure out all these details in a future blog. One of the things I’ve done in the past is to connect and then become committed to one congregation. I don’t think I can do that. It won’t be enough. I’ll deal with my issues with organized religion in other post. However, I do love Christian people and do need Christian fellowship. As I was sitting through dad’s service, it gave me comfort that Christianity is real. I could feel it in the love around me. I also want to work through my faith and make sure I’m right with God. I believe I am, but I want to be sure. For the remainder of my life, I’m going to have to find God in a more powerful way in my life.

            Anyhow, this blog is getting pretty long. So, I’m going to have to start editing and proofreading and then publish it. I’ve worked through enough for the moment. I just have to write, because it brings me some comfort. I’m starting to feel a little better about things.

The Fragility of Memory

            As I am working through dad’s death, I think one of the hardest things is the fragility of memory. It’s so fragmented—little pieces here and there—as if I want to have the stone of complete memories, but all I have are tiny ripples that are left.

            Today I was sharing with my brother and mom how dad played Fartula. Neither of them remember that, but I do. He used to wrap a blanket around himself and pretend he was a Dracula character. Obviously he did have a bite, which was more of a nuzzle of the neck, which would cause my brother and me to squeal. I remember he would cover us with the cape (the blanket) as he went in for the “bite”. He also would occasionally use his cloak to cropdust us. It was just dad having fun—loving on his kids in an ornery way.

            I remember the smell and chill of the cold air when dad came through the door on a winter day. I remember his love. His kindness is becoming even more evident as we are talking with others remembering dad. He touched lives. Maybe I took his kindness and humility for granted.

            As mom was going through some of his stuff, we found some of his Red Cross blood donor cards. That was dad—quietly doing things that helped others. He also had his dad quirks. I remember him propping up the push mower and cleaning off the bottom. If I recall correctly, he tied it to a tree and made sure to remove the spark plug. Then, he got in there with a scraper and a hose. I can still see the clumps of grass the cleaning would leave on the ground. I’m not sure as a kid I ever quite cleaned it right or quite mowed the lawn how he would have done it. As I look back now, I can see this cleaning was dad trying to save money. He was always doing little things to save money—from his lawn mower cleaning rituals to working on cars. More to come on that in future blogs.

            Then there’s the times I mowed his lawn when he was sick. He was so appreciative. We had three lawns. He was sick at his last house, the one mom currently lives at.

            The first lawn was a house over on Massillon Road. We were at that house until I was seven. I don’t remember that house all that well. Maybe I’ll ask mom the address. What I remember is the surroundings—our yard out back, our neighbor’s yard and house, and the baseball field not far away. Later that baseball field became a little shopping plaza with a grocery store, pizza shop (I’ll have to ask mom the name), I think a dry cleaners, video rental places and maybe a few other things. I remember playing in the swampy area out back in our yard—looking for things like frogs. I’m not quite sure “swampy” is the right description, but I remember there was an area where the mowed part of the lawn ended. I think dad planted a fairly large garden out there. I also remember mom telling the story how he dug the foundation around that house. Dad was good at moving dirt—both to save money and because he was a hard worker.

            I remember outside that house being confronted by a large, snarling dog. I was petrified, but dad showed up to save me. It’s a weird memory. I was on the west side of the house. I can vaguely picture things. I was facing north and our yard sloped out the back. To this day I still don’t like dogs. Maybe it has something to do with this childhood memory. I’ll have to save my own personal psychoanalysis for future blogs.

            Mom retells the story of dad’s anger at our Philco television set. According to mom’s recollection, he was going to take it out back and shoot it. I don’t remember that, but I do remember trips to Kmart to match up vacuum tubes.

            I remember the time our school was selling oranges. It was for some sort of fundraiser. The oranges came in crates. It was a winter day and mom and dad didn’t see where the parking lot ended and the schoolyard began due to snow. I was in class and remember watching their blue Chevy Malibu (I think it was a ’76) motoring over the lawn. Considering the classroom I was in, this was likely fourth grade (maybe third). I was embarrassed as everyone quickly figured out it was my parents.

            I remember as a kid that dad had big arms. Little boys are amazed at dad’s arms. They don’t look as big in the pictures (although they look toned), but he had a bicep that was solid. As a kid that thing was a rock-hard beachball!

            Our best memories were from our house at 2798 Laura Lane; Akron, Ohio 44312. This was the house were I grew up. We moved there when I was around seven. Dad spent countless hours digging out an area for an above-ground pool. Ours wasn’t like other pools. It was scooped out and deeper in the middle. I think dad lined the bottom (underneath the pool liner) with sand and spent quite a bit of time with a long board (I think probably a 2X4) smoothing it out. He also built a nice deck for that pool. He wasn’t afraid of working hard to do things for his family. I remember we had a ditch out back. My mom had a fit when dad was shooting rats out there with his .22 rifle. She also had a fit when he brought home a deer and hung it up on the trees out back. Maybe I can talk to her and later share more details of that story. We did have some strange things in our fridge in the garage. I believe we had some venison out there as well as squirrel meat. I think the squirrels were gutted and skinned, but they still retained the shape of a squirrel. So, it wasn’t like the packaged meat from the Giant Eagle butcher. It’s a little different when the meat still looks like the animal it came from. I don’t recall ever eating squirrel. I don’t think mom would cook it. And, I think she was also squeamish about venison, although I think I may have cooked some up and it was a little dry. That might not have been the venison’s fault. Dad did take my brother and me on a few hunting trips to hunt squirrels. It never really took. Neither my brother nor I really got into it, although my brother will fondly share the story of his perfect shot. Maybe I’ll add more detail on that after talking to him. I also remember Lucky (our cat) out in the garage. I think I’ll save memories of family pets and dad’s involvement with those for future blogs.

            A fond memory was fishing trips with dad, my brother and me. We went out to Nimisila Lake on several occasions. There was also a bar around there where we went dumpster diving. Dad called himself Dumpster Man, which was him playing a super hero. We were collecting aluminum cans to save up for something (maybe I’ll ask mom, but it may have been for the swimming pool). As I recall, dad did most of the work. Anyhow, back to fishing. I remember standing by the shore underneath the trees. I have a vague memory that at one point my brother snagged him with a hook. I also remember the time when we were over at Grandma Millie and Grandpa Bob’s house (mom’s side and grandpa was actually a step-grandfather). I think it may have been Christmas Eve or around the holiday season. The car wouldn’t start. Dad popped the hood, got out, went around to the front, and then lifted the hood. My brother took this opportunity to honk the horn. The funny thing is, I remember this story and kind of have a vague image in my mind, but I don’t know how much of the story is my memory and how much is hearing my brother retell the story. Dad did yell and hit his head a good one. I believe he had quite a goose egg. It’s lucky he didn’t impale himself on the hood latch, which resembled a spear.

            In another blog I’ll have to share memories of fishing trips at Goodyear Wingfoot Lake Park. I realize if I don’t save things for later, these blogs could end up really long. Dad was a man of few words—me, not so much. I don’t share dad’s humility, liking the sound of my own voice. However, I do think part of my love of writing came from dad. Dad was creative and inventive. But, he’s more like my brother. That creativity was turned to the outside world and fiddling with things, and my creativity is turned toward the inner world of thinking about things.

            Dad had several old Chevy Impalas growing up. We had a ’67. I remember it was hit by an Oldmobile and can vaguely see it sitting in the street with plastic sheeting as the driver side rear window. Dad loved the 283 V8 engine. According to him, it had good power and got good gas mileage. The ’67 was replaced by a ’70 Impala. It was dark green with a black vinyl material. In the summer that vinyl was hot and had buttons that would torch flesh. I think dad really liked that car. We had other cars—a ’77 Malibu classic. Dad helped to repaint that car with Jack Twyman, who lived in the neighborhood and had a decent garage. It was a deep blue with a metallic fleck. If I remember right there was one place where the paint slightly ran. I think that may have been dad’s fault as Jack was a better painter.

            I remember family vacations. Dad drove so slowly on the highway. Of course, it might just be a kid’s memory. Kids want to be there immediately. I suspect part of it was his concern for our safety. He always wanted to start journeys so early in the morning. At times, I honestly wanted to sleep in. As he grew older, I recall his driving became quicker. So, maybe this sense of slowness really was more a result of my impatience.

            I don’t think dad drove after cancer changed his life in 2013. We were hoping he might get back to it.

            Anyhow, I’m getting tired and may have to continue this later—particularly as I talk through this with mom, Lance (my brother), friends and family. For me, writing is a way to process things. By putting things down, I feel like I’m giving his life permanence—a record of things he did and the person he was. I have both good and bad memories, but most of them were good. There was no bad blood between dad and me. I do have some hard memories of health problems he faced and depressions he went through. I think as I grew older, I became more understanding of these problems, as I understood life better and experienced some of these things myself—although not at the same level as dad. I’ll probably share some of those memories, just so others can realize that depression is real. Maybe there are lessons from his life that can help others. I would say the majority of lessons would be from his kindness, humility, compassion and warm smile. But, this isn’t a complete person. He had his struggles just like everyone and I do want to share them as well. I think dad would want me to work through those struggles, so I don’t face them like he did. And, I think he would want to help others. Anyhow, there will be more blog posts to come as I work through all these things.

            If you follow these posts, you may notice they are fragmented and that I revisit things as the memories occur. This is the messiness of the writing process. So, you’ll get to see this messiness in action. I’ll probably later clean up and consolidate all these blogs and put together a book. You’re going to see me use writing as therapy for my grief.

Lebron and Delly: The Destination and the Journey

            Which is more important—the journey or the destination? If you’re a Cavs fan, we’re watching both in the NBA champions.

LEBRON JAMES—THE DESTINATION

            Lebron is the best player on the planet. He can do it all—score, run the offense, pass, rebound, block shots and make steals. He is the team leader—leading a battered Cavs team in hopes of a NBA championship. He’s consistently scoring around 40 points a night and constantly knocking on the door of a triple double.

            In isolation, he brings up memories of Larry Bird doing the same things for the Celtics. His athleticism to the hoop is reminiscent of Jordan. His passing and team leadership has been compared to Magic Johnson. Lebron might be so good that he’s better than these players. He is the Destination—the point where every NBA player hopes to be: the most dominant player on the court playing for a championship.

            Lebron represents where we all want to be—at that point where we’ve found our talent, developed it to a razor’s edge, and now use that talent to lead and impact those around us. Lebron is the Destination.

MATTHEW DELLAVEDOVA—THE JOURNEY

            Delly is the underdog—the guy people wrote off. He’s not supposed to be on that court guarding that guy. He’s only in his second NBA season, and he finds himself in the starting lineup given the task of guarding MVP Stephen Curry. In the last two games, he’s outplayed Curry seven out of eight quarters. He’s made the big plays—finding the offense board, hitting key free throws and finding the loose ball.

            There have been points where Delly has been great. He is an emerging player—finding his game, figuring out his style and learning how to handle himself on the court. He is the Journey.

            Delly represents where most of us are at in our lives. We’re trying to find ourselves. Sure, we have an idea, but we’re just not sure what we can become. But, he is unlike us in that he fearlessly tackles the task before him. He shows us what hard work and determination can accomplish. He shows us to forget about the naysayers and just play the game. Delly’s play is a metaphor for life—dive for the loose ball, take the big shot and be willing to define the game!

            How good can he become? Honestly, we don’t know. We do know he can bring big game to the big game. He can make the tough play when the game is on the line. As he matures, he’s going to also miss the big shot. It happens to every NBA player. As we watch, we can see he’s developing into a good player. But, we also see greatness piercing through. Whether Delly will develop the greatness to meet the fans’ hopes is yet to be known. But, he is good enough to give us that hope!

THE MAGNIFICENT DUO

            Lebron and Delly make a great pair. They spark each other and they spark their team. They’ve given a city hope—a hope for a championship that has been too long in the making. Lebron is the consummate basketball player—the best on the planet. He is the Destination. Delly is a young player finding his legs and showing us flashes of greatness—the underdog that pulls above his weight. He is the Journey. 

How Teachers are Wired

            As we consider the education system and all its shortcomings, we need to understand how teachers are wired. As we understand these personality traits, we will understand why so many are frustrated with the system.

WE DESIRE INTELLECTUAL STIMULATION

            Teachers are learners. They like to explore the world. They like ideas. They crave deep thought. What happens in the system? As one progresses up the educational caste system, one becomes a specialist—with an increasingly narrow focus. This is how the system is designed—as a funnel that constricts one’s focus into a pinpoint.

            What I’ve found is I’ve become board. I’m been teaching the same basic classes for over a decade. Sure, the students change. I’ve taught at different schools. Sometimes even the textbook or the name of the class will change, but it’s the same basic class at every college and with every group of students.

            There was a point where focusing on one topic was good. It allowed me to gain a mastery of the topic and of teaching that topic. But, after that peak, it became a downward slide. I’ve been type casted and I want to spread my wings, but the system doesn’t allow it.

WE LOVE FLEXING OUR CREATIVE MUSCLES

            One of the great joys of teaching is creating content—organizing materials, creating handouts, figuring out discussions, planning learning objectives and everything else involved in curriculum development. For a teacher, curriculum is our art form. We love our art and creating our art brings us joy.

            Does the system give us the freedom to create our art? No! We must meet department standards, school standards and accrediting standards. Someone else, who has little knowledge of our art and often cannot do it, tells us what to do and how to do it. As things become more standardized, and it has happened in the college system as well as K-12, instructors feel more like glorified secretaries as opposed to teachers. Someone else—someone far less skilled than we—is creating the content. And, what they are creating for us is exactly that. It’s content as opposed to being art.

WE GIVE OUR STRENGTH TO OTHERS

            When a teacher enters the classroom, the atmosphere changes. There is an excitement in the air. True teachers bring their spirits to others and freely gives their spirits. They inspire and impart, and that comes from their own spiritual energy (for lack of any better term).

            Not every person filling the role of teacher has this, but the true teacher does. There is a constant energy drain on the true teacher. They can’t stop that flow of energy. I know, because at times I wish I could. I wish I could give less to my students, because it is draining me.

            This is the double-edged sword of teaching. Yes, we want teachers with that personality. But, do we want to support those teachers? We give them students with behavioral problems and learning disabilities, but do we give them the training to deal with those difficult students? Do we give them the professional recognition and development they need? Do we help give them the means to recharge their batteries? In many cases, we don’t. The great teachers are often in a situation where they are constantly on drain and they are not given recharge. Ever wonder why the best teachers often leave and the worst teachers often stay? The ones that care become burnt out. The ones that don’t aren’t giving energy to their students. They don’t need a recharge, because they aren’t giving of themselves.

            In our system, great teachers are becoming burnt out. They aren’t given an environment where they can learn and spread their wings. They aren’t given the freedom to create their art. They are constantly drained without proper recharge. This is because of the way teachers are wired and because the system isn’t designed to work with this wiring.

Creating an Environment That Fosters Creativity

            I believe everyone is creative. However, most don’t believe it. So, how do you create an environment that fosters creativity? Let me share some pointers.

REMOVE FEAR

            The worst car I ever bought was a ’77 Malibu. The car had been mistreated before I bought it—a fact I didn’t learn until I owned the beast. The previous owners had not changed the oil as they should. The passages that allowed the oil to flow through the engine had become blocked. Oil was sitting on top of the valves. This caused serious oil burning.

            After the passages were cleared, the car ran better and used less oil. It only took a little sludge to cause massive engine problems. The brain has a sludge that blocks the flow of lubrication through its engine. That sludge is fear. Ever have to give a speech and your brain freezes? Ever see people freeze in an emergency situation? Ever had to write a paper and you can’t think of a word? In all these cases, it’s fear—fear of public humiliation, fear of injury, or fear of the instructor’s red pen. When afraid, the brain goes into survival mode and creativity suffers.

            To foster a creative environment, fear must be eliminated. This is so contrary to the education system, where the fear of the red pen is often the prime motivator. It’s also contrary to the work environment, where fear of unemployment is often the prime motivator. As a society, we teach students and motivate employees based on fear. But, why do we do this?

ELIMINATE THE EGO

            So, why do people use fear to motivate? They’re insecure. They don’t believe they have the ability to persuade others. So, instead they use intimidation. Some simply don’t care as long as they get what they want. Much of our education system and industry is based on intimidation. The underlying principles of most of these systems of intimidation are based on reward and punishment. Do what I say and you’ll be rewarded. Don’t do it, you’ll be punished.

            Such external systems of rewards and punishments are only good at one thing—producing compliance. Everyone conforms and creativity grinds to a halt. But, then the buts start:

            “But, if I don’t punish N then X, Y and Z will happen.”

            “But, if I don’t reward N then X, Y and Z won’t happen.”

            And, you’re right. I know what you’re thinking. “So, if I remove rewards and punishment, then people won’t do what they’re supposed to do. But, this is what you’re recommending to foster creativity?” Yes, it’s what I’m recommending. So, how do you break this doomed-if-you-do, doomed-if-you-don’t paradox?

RESOCIALIZE THE MASSES

            We need to understand why removing rewards and punishments doesn’t work—at least initially. People have been conditioned through rewards and punishments. It’s the cornerstone of much of our education systems, our employment systems, and even many of our religious systems. People know the rules of those games. And, they follow those rules.

            What happens when you throw people into a new game? They don’t know the rules and they freeze. Initially they look either like slackers or vagabonds. You need to give them time to adapt to new rules. And, what are those rules:

· Worth is based on humanity, not production. Seems weird, but it’s really just the principal of love. Love people and they’ll produce more. But, it can’t be the fake love that some employers mimic. It must be genuine.

· Rewards are given for challenging the system. New ideas, even if they are wrong, must be rewarded. People need to be free to fail. Once people feel free to fail, they often come up with the best ideas—the ones that lead to success.

· Everyone is creative. This must be preached. People don’t become creative until they believe they are creative. Once that belief is set, creativity explodes.

· People must be secure. This rule is going to bite Corporate America in the butt. People can’t be creative when they’re not paid enough to meet basic needs. People can’t be creative when they don’t have a balance of work and home—one that allows them to take care of themselves and their families. People can’t be creative when they are constantly confronted with inequality and injustice. Corporate America views workers as pieces in a machine. Because of that, it will receive mechanical thinking.

            If you want more creativity, you must change the rules—from rules based on external systems of rewards and punishments to rules based on internal motivation. It’s not easy. You’ll need to drop your insecurities. You’ll need to open up to others and care. You’ll need to give them time to adapt to new ways of working and thinking. But, in the end it will be worth the effort.

Delly Gate

            I don’t normally write about sports, but this is my blog. There has been a controversy brewing over Matthew Dellavedova being a dirty player. This had been based primarily on three plays this post season. So, let’s analyze those three plays.

TAJ GIBSON

            This controversy wouldn’t exist if the announcers and television producers were being fair, but I think what happened is they were doing their job. By that, I mean that were creating controversy for the sake of television drama. They placed the focus on what happened after Dellavedova and Gibson were on the ground. The focus should be on what happened immediately preceding.

            Gibson gave Dellavedova a mild clotheslines as they were fighting through picks. Watch the tape and see Gibson’s body language. He was looking for a fight and was looking to put a hurt on Dellavedova. He was angry, because a smaller guy was playing him tough. After the mild clothesline, he then gave Dellavedova a shoulder on a pick. That shoulder was a foul, and possibly a flagrant 1 if called. Then, as Dellavedova boxes Gibson out, Gibson just steamrolled right over the back of him. It’s clear on the video that it wasn’t just body contact, because Gibson’s arms and shoulders raised as he clearly pushes Dellavedova. This should end the controversy. Right there is the flagrant 2 if the refs are doing their job, and any response from Dellavedova that isn’t malicious is merely the natural reaction of someone protecting themselves from assault.

            So, what about the “leg lock”? I love how the announcers pick that term, as if Dellavedova performed some sort of MMA move. Gibson was looking for a fight. He had already assaulted Dellavedova three times and Dellavedova was letting him know he wasn’t happy about it. Dellavedova wasn’t playing dirty. Gibson was playing dirty.

KYLE KORVER

            Well, the refs weren’t doing their job on this one. Watch the video. The reason the ball was loose was because Dennis Schröder was reaching in. He clearly bumps Dellavedova from behind. Had the refs made the call, the play would have been stopped before the injury.

            After the ball went loose, Dellavedova did what any hustling player would do. He went after the ball. This whole notion that he rolled on Korver’s ankle is ridiculous. He grabbed the ball and spun away from his opponent to protect possession.

            Again, the announcers and the producers seem to be focusing on what makes for controversy and television drama. They failed to point out that Dellavedova was fouled. They failed to point out that had the refs made the call, the play would have stopped before the injury. They also used inflammatory language of Dellavedova rolling onto Korver's ankle. Dellavedova did nothing dirty and the only foul on the play was committed by Schröder.

AL HORFORD

            Seems Al Horford and Taj Gibson are both afflicted by the same malady—that they become enraged when a smaller man plays them tough. First, Horford dropped a shoulder into Timofey Mozgov. It was deliberate and it was dirty. He should have been called for a charge. Demarre Carroll fell over Mozgov, who was on the ground after receiving the shoulder. This started the domino effect of bodies hitting the floor. Horford started it and then he drops an elbow onto Dellavedova. The dirty player was no doubt Horford!

            Horford then goes on to make some post-game comments that can only qualify as imbecile. “He’s got to learn. He’s only been in this league for a couple of years but he’s got to learn that at the end of the day, it’s a big brotherhood here. Guys look out for each other and I don’t think it was malicious but he’s got to learn.” So, apparently Horford was trying to teach Dellavedova a lesson. What could that lesson be? The only lesson that seems likely, considering the facts, is Horford thinks smaller men shouldn’t play him tough.

THE PATTERNS

            Only two patterns seem to emerge from this controversy. 1) Dellavedova plays hard. 2) NBA big men develop tempers when smaller guys out hustle them.

Remember

            Memorial Day is a day to remember. So, what should we remember?

THE TROOPS

            Let’s remember our troops. Some gave their lives. To those, we owe our highest honor. Some lost a limb, a friend or the security of living in freedom. We must remember them, but remembrance doesn’t cut it. Proper medical care, jobs and kind words are deserved for all our service members. They should come back to a land that embraces them and helps them heal the wounds of war.

CIVIL SERVANTS

            Many put their lives on the line on our soil. It could be the police officers who serve with honor. I’m not sure my brother would still be alive if it wasn’t for the help of some kind officers. I’m sure they’d say they were just doing their job, but often that job involves saving lives.

            On 9/11 the towers fell. Into the fray rushed police, firefighters and EMT’s. They were also backed by nurses, doctors and medical aides that helped to treat the wounded. Let’s remember their service—both on that dreaded day and the service they give every day of the week.

            Let’s not forget the teachers who help to impart knowledge to our youth. Teaching is a hard job. I can tell you this from first-hand experience. Let’s remember those who gave their lives—not through death, but by living on and bringing that life to the classroom every day.

LOVED ONES GONE ON

            Let’s not forget our loved ones who have gone on. I remember my Grandpa. We had a special bond the last few months of his life. That bond and the lessons I learned were priceless. I was a light and source of strength, and he responded with great love. My life is better because of that experience.

            I’ve lost two grandmothers. I was the beloved grandchild. Those that have had that relationship know the warmth and you have countless stories. I also remember the grand dad I never knew—who passed away before I was born.

            I also remember my Uncle Ted. He was a kind, gentle man. I wish the world was filled with men like him—men who are willing to show kindness to others. I would love to have a day with him, but I know he’s gone on to heaven. I look forward to seeing him again.

            So, amidst the picnics and family gathering let’s not forget to remember.

Lessons from Comedy

            This weekend I was in a comedy competition. I placed 3^rd. Yeah me! I’ve been doing comedy since 2008 and this is the first time I’ve placed in a competition. Of course, I could complain about how unfair comedy competitions are. The best comedian doesn’t always win. But, truth be told, I’m not the best comedian out there. Still, I’ve learned some valuable lessons.

DON’T BE AFRAID OF FAILURE

            This last competition I tried an entirely new approach to the stage. I didn’t plan out where I was going to go. I played off the moment and the crowd. Usually I have everything exactly planned out and that makes me appear a little stiff. I did a little better just riffing.

LEARN FROM YOUR MISTAKES

            Yes, riffing was good, but at a few points I was flat. I need to find a point where I’m both prepared and ready to riff—almost a paint-by-numbers approach, where I have the basic lines drawn in before I take the stage, but am free to play with the colors. Right now, I don’t know how to do that or what that will look like.

KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE

            I’ve played this crowd before and I know the comedians who do the best are the ones that interact with the audience. My last performance there I did that a little. This time I did it much more and it worked—for the most part. Learning comedy is a trial and error affair.

LEARN FROM OTHERS

            One of the areas I’m flat as a comedian is crowd work. Other comedians are far better at it than I am. The winner of the competition really related to and even at points picked on the crowd—in a fun way. There’s much I can learn from watching him and the other comedians. They all have strong points and they all made mistakes.

STAY POSITIVE

            In order to succeed, you need to stay positive. You can’t let one bad performance beat you down. I’ve had some bad—really bad—performance, but so has every comedian. Every time you take the stage, you take that risk. But, as you mature, the likelihood of failure decreases and the likelihood of success increases. You begin to learn how and when to take risks and that wisdom makes all the difference in the world.

The Power of Positivity

            Lately I’ve been learning the power of positivity. Tomorrow I start teaching a new academic term. That’s why I’m posting on Sunday as opposed to my normal Monday. What I’ve found is the first class sets the tone. This is particularly true with my Oral Communication class. If they are laughing and having fun the first day, the rest of the term will go well. In order to get people to open up and share, I need to set a tone. The class must become more of a family than a sterile classroom. When that happens, learning increases and I hear marvelous speeches. There are some other examples I’ve found of positivity.

MY WRITER’S GROUP

            I’m involved in two writer’s groups. I learn from both, but one I absolutely love. Why? It’s because of the positivity. There is an infectious energy when we meet. I’m surrounded by linguistic geniuses. Every week someone else shares something that just wows me—not that it’s-kinda-good wow, but the whoa-this-is-genius wow. Sometimes the writing make me laugh, sometimes it makes my skin crawl and sometimes it just fills me with awe, but every time I meet with the group, I am amazed and it’s pushing me to be better—as both a writer and a person.

MY DAD

            Dad is recovering from stage IV cancer. It’s been a tough battle. One thing I see is how much strength he gains from mom and me. Our presence inspires him and helps him to push on. Part of positivity is supporting others.

MY FRIENDS

            I have some wonderful friends. They have different energies, but I can say that all of them have a positive energy. Some are hopeful. Some are happy. Some are supportive. Some are creative geniuses. My advice to everyone out there is to find these kinds of people and hang around with them. Your life will be better.

MY FAITH

            There’s a Biblical principle that says you reap what you sow. If you’re positive, positive comes back to you. One thing you need to understand about this principle is that it functions long-term. Short-term it doesn’t always work that way. You’ll let someone in front of you in traffic and they’ll flip you the bird. You’ll trust someone and they’ll cheat you. These things happen. But, over the long run, if you treat people well things will work out better for you. It’s a principle that engrained in the universe by the Creator.

A Classroom of Equality

            What do I really want in the college classroom? As an instructor, it really boils down to equality. The system constrains me to be the source of knowledge, the light of motivation and the shepherd for the sheep. While smart and educated, I’m not that knowledgeable. While motivated, I don’t have that much inner light. While caring, I just don’t have that much love to give.

            I long for students to enter the classroom and give their education direction without being prompted and prodded. There’s a certain pack mentality in the classroom. The teacher must be the Alpha Dog. This social structure may work for dogs, but it is entirely insufficient for learning—particularly if that learning is creative.

            Imagine for a moment the ideal creative team. Such a team would function far differently from a classroom. Roles wouldn’t be hierarchal. They would be fluid and vary from situation to situation. Each person would be talented, have input and be driven to fulfill the team’s mission. Each person would have the self-knowledge and self-control to know when to become the leader and when to become a follower. Each individual would be intrinsically motivated and extrinsically focused on the team.

            Our education system is the exact opposite of this ideal team. Students are extrinsically motivated and internally focused on themselves. The prime motivator is the points one earns. From a student’s perspective, it’s a psychological version of capitalism without any customers. From my perspective, it feels like a one-man hunger for democracy. Certainly, students may want democratic procedures in the classroom, but what few want is the selfless desire for collective good that is a requirement for a fully functioning democracy.

            This desire for democratic equality extends to how I fit in the system as a whole. My voice has little to no say in the real decisions concerning education. My voice is underpaid and underappreciated. Quite simply, those above me do not want democracy. They want the status quo, because it protects their profits, prestige and power. They want all the benefits of capitalism, but want their personal accountability to the system’s successfulness shielded behind hegemonic buttresses. This doesn’t just apply to for-profit education. The corporate selfishness of get-mine-even-if-others-suffer permeates.

            My students view me through a subordinate-to-superior relationship. Such relationships always weaken the subordinate, because the driving force is seldom internal—the true wellspring of creativity and fulfillment. Such relationships have two possible effects on the superior. If the superior cares, it leads to burnout, because the intrinsic motivation of one is insufficient to meet the extrinsic motivation of many. If the superior doesn’t care, it sets up a situation where abuse occurs.

            Those above me view me through a superior-to-subordinate relationship. If someone thinks they are superior to another, it leads to callousness, ignorance or often both.

            These thoughts bring a sadness to my heart. I see within my students an entire universe of talent, drive and creativity that the system has blinded them to see. They are more (much more) than they think they can be. It also brings sadness, because I realize I am more (much more) than the system allows me to be. People are ground to the point of being over-burdened or under-utilized, because the system puts us into over and under relationships. What we need is more equality.

Start of a New Term

Dazed looks. That’s what the Monday after having a week off for Thanksgiving looks like from the front of the classroom. I could tell their minds were still on turkey and mashed taters. To be honest, I’d rather be home in front of the tube eating turkey and mashed taters.

Where I teach, we have a week off for Thanksgiving and one for Christmas. We just started a new term. So, it’s three weeks and then Christmas break. The start of a new term is a foggy experience by itself. Add in those nostalgic for the family times of the previous week and those dreaming of sugar drop fairies, snowmen and Santa Claus and the holiday blur begins.

I honestly don’t blame my students for not being entirely there. I’m not entirely there. It doesn’t help that I spent several hours at the emergency room last night. My dad fell and hit his head. He’s going to be fine. Of course, there was the frantic phone call, the unexpected knock on the door and the drive to the ER. I wasn’t looking for all that excitement. Truth be told, I was enjoying a Sunday nap. It wasn’t just a regular nap. I was under deep. When all the excitement woke me up, I was groggy for a good fifteen minutes.

So, the holiday season begins. I wish it could be slowed down—a real vacation from work, no family emergencies, no crazy drivers (boy, the holiday spirit was evident on route 8 this morning), no need for presents or any of the holiday trimmings. It would be nice for one year to just relax and get away from it all. It wouldn’t matter if I was on a beach or in front of the tube. It would just be nice to have no responsibilities—none at work, none with the family, nothing that needed to get done—simply a time to veg with family and friends. Is that too much to ask for?

Reasons to be Thankful

This past year has been rough. Last year at this time my dad was recovering from surgery from 4^th stage cancer. He’s had a rough battle. He suffered, but he is getting stronger. January 2^nd of this year my Uncle Ted passed away—a victim of cancer. I have a good friend from college whose dad passed away earlier this year. When I was in college we’d spend the weekend over at his house and his parents treated me like I was their own son. I also have memories of my Grandpa. Years ago he was diagnosed with terminal cancer the day after Thanksgiving and passed away on January 2^nd.

As I consider all this, I have many things to be thankful for. My dad is still alive. I see him fighting back. His struggle has given me a new vigor for life. I’m less intimidated by things. On occasion I perform standup comedy. I’m less worried about failure. A bad night on stage doesn’t seem so bad. I sent in a tryout video for America’s Got Talent. Will they call? It doesn’t really matter. If they do, I’ll take the stage. I’ve been writing more and pursuing the dream of one day being self-employed—writing, speaking and being creative.

I have had some sad moments thinking of my Uncle Ted. However, I realized one important thing. I don’t have a single bad memory of Uncle Ted—not one! He was a gentle man that showed love to all and brought joy to those around him. I was blessed to know him. My life is better because of his life.

As I think of my friend’s father, I have similar thoughts. He showed me love—true, Christian love. He was kind and intelligent. Perhaps with those I’ve lost, I can take the best parts of them and carry those things forward.

With my Grandpa, I have some great stories. He liked to drink and I can look back and laugh at his antic. The last few months of his life I had a special relationship with him. He called me, “My pastor”. I was comfort to a dying man. I also saw Grandpa put down the bottle as his best friend and grab hold of Jesus. I saw there was a kindness and compassion that alcohol had hidden. Those last few months there was an intimate bond that few share with another person.

I can look at those around me and see blessings. My mom has been a great strength to dad. I admire her character and steadfastness. I’ll have a chance to spend time with mom and dad over Thanksgiving. The antics of their two cats are also a blessing. Gizmo and Bootsy are true characters. I also have my brother. He’s one of the most hardworking and compassionate people I know. He’s also wired differently than anyone else I know, so he has an offbeat, ornery sense of humor that I love. Truly I have much to be thankful for this holiday season.

The Term's End

I’m in week nine of a ten-week academic term. It’s this part of the term that really begins to drag. Students are tired. Faculty are tired. We’re there, but we’re not really there.

It’s now when pleas from failing students can arise. I’ve seen it happen. Someone doesn’t work the whole semester and all of a sudden they want to make up everything at the end. I’m now a seasoned teacher, so I no longer fall for the gambit. I enforce the late policies I established the first day.

While it may seem the worst students would be the most difficult, at this time of the term it’s often the best students. I’ve seen students with high A’s who are so tense and worried about their grade. They scratch and claw as if they are losing grip, when in reality they have nothing to worry about.

I think one of the things that has brought me success as a teacher is that I feel students. It’s like I have a sixth sense. Whatever mood they’re in—happy, sad, frustrated, exhausted or whatever—I feel it. At times the mood hangs in the air. There’s a palpable exhaustion and infuriation that wanders the halls. Unfortunately, it penetrates me. But, I’m the teacher and I have to be the one to supply energy and positivity. I know if I didn’t care, I’d be far less effective; yet, I also firmly believe if I didn’t care, the job would be far less stressful.

Lately teaching has become both more stressful and easier at the same time. It’s hard to explain, but I know I’m burnt out and I question how much good general education classes (which is what I primarily teach) do for students. Most students just do what is necessary to make it through. Without vibrant emotional engagement, little learning occurs. I also ponder how different academia is from the real world and also how incongruent it is with how we learn. In academia we package information, but that information can only be packaged after it has been slaughtered, dissected and sterilized. If the whole system is a flop, does the efforts of one instructor really make that much difference? And, if I don’t make that much difference, why put in the effort? This makes it more stressful, because it’s harder to keep my motivation up; but, it also makes it less stressful, because I’m not giving the same effort. In truth, I’ve grown burnt out.

It’s about this time in the semester that I’m really figuring out how to teach my students. Each student has a unique set of needs, wants, personality traits and learning styles. Each classroom is a unique mixture of individuals and develops it’s own personality and needs. It takes a while to figure out how to adapt what I know to their needs. But, these ten-week terms are too short. I’m just figuring them out when we’re entering the downward spiral of the final weeks. I somewhat envy those that teach elementary students. At least they have time to really develop the needed relationship with students. They actually have the chance to know their students. Of course, I also think this could be a real stressor. There are certain students I only want for ten weeks.

So, this is where I find myself this Monday morning. It’s probably the same place many teachers find themselves—questioning not just themselves, but also the system they exist within.