Thumper Was Right

"Lord, in the name of Jesus, bless Pres. Obama and his family. Lead him and guide him. Strengthen him to do his job and bring You glory. Help him to repair the mess that he has inherited from the Bush administration. Remove the hatred the Republicans generate. Amen." - Cynthia, after President Obama's 2011 State of the Union Address.

"I can't think of a single public school worth lying to get into...the whole education system is terribly broken. We need to throw the whole traditional [education] system out and start over from scratch." - Marcie from OKC, commenting about the ten day jail sentence a woman from Ohio received after being taken to court by the school district for sending her son to a school outside her district's school/zone.

There aren't many things for which I don't have an opinion. But especially in this day and time where "Social Networking" is all the craze, I try to watch what I say so as to not offend any of my family and friends. That being said, there are simply some things better left to my own musings.

Yes, I know the first amendment of U.S. Constitution avows my freedom to speak without censorship or limitations. Yet to think that "Freedom of Speech" is an absolute is somewhat of a misnomer. Many social institutions have erected "speech codes" on what can be said in order to protect the public. One such limitation is that of "Hate Speech."

Hate speech is that which is considered to be "obscene, defamatory, slanderous, or hateful, and holds a reasonable potential to be harmful" (Lederer & Delgado 1995). It is a form of verbal aggression that expresses hatred, contempt, ridicule or threats toward a specific group or class of people (Asante 1998). It includes but is not limited to verbalizations, written messages, symbols or symbolic acts that are meant to demean and degrade. Hate speech often stems from thoughts and beliefs such as hatred, intolerance, prejudice, bigotry, or stereotyping (Allport 1954). Based on these definitions alone, it is plain to see many of us violate our most basic constitutional right on a daily basis. And to render such comments as those used to start this piece as acceptable, is nothing short of blasphemy and places our country in a precarious situation.

Ironically enough, many of the people behind these diatribes are often the same ones that insist we send our students on their merry way for "winter break" and greet strangers on the street with a "Happy Holidays." In Fahrenheit 451, science fiction author Ray Bradbury predicted this future for our society because we didn't want to upset "...the cat lovers,...the dog lovers,...the Baptists,...the Texans," etc.... As a result, the toes many try to tip toe around are the same toes that kick the rest of us in the gut on a daily basis.

"Remove the hatred the Republicans generate?" Really? What's the latent message there? Not a "single public school worth lying to get into?" Seriously? I guess I bust my ass every single day for a totally worthless cause? And the biggest hypocrisy of it all? The ones most often doing the finger pointing (and I've noticed they usually do that pointing with their middle finger) are the very people the rest of us are trying not to offend.

I think Thumper from Disney's Bambi was right. "If you can't say something nice, then don't say nothin' at all."

I've Always Hated Orange

I grew up in the '7o's. A time of roller skates, banana seats, corduroy pants, and pet rocks. Top movie: "Grease." Top TV show: "The Six Million Dollar Man." Top band: The Bee Gees. #1 Hair style: Feathered. And most popular colors: Avocado Green and Harvest Gold.

Avocado Green and Harvest Gold accented with ORANGE I might add. That began my "hate affair" with the color orange. My trendy parents decided to paint each room of the house a different color: the den - orange, (I still don't understand that one since my father's an OU fan), my brother's room - blue, and my and my sister's room - yellow. I wanted mint green with light blue accents, but no, my parents chose harvest gold and avocado green accented with orange. We had these horrendous floral and plaid bedspreads sporting those dazzling colors and if that wasn't enough, my mom bought my sister and I matching nightgowns and robes. And when I say matching, I don't just mean "matching" in terms of each other. I mean "matching" as in "with the bedspreads!" Then to add insult to injury, we had to pose to have pictures taken. I cried my eyes out.

And I've never gotten over this. I refuse to purchase anything yellow - ever, and I want to vomit every time I see anything orange. Any shade or color combination involving orange sets my nausea into motion. Light, dark, bright, dull --- bring me a barf bag. Mixed with green or blue or purple --- all I can do is ask "Why?" Hell, I don't even like oranges, the fruit. You have to peel them and then those slimy little vein things get stuck in your teeth. Nasty!

So see, this isn't just a football thing. Granted, why you'd put orange with black unless it is part of a Halloween costume is beyond me. And burnt orange resembling Gerber's strained apricots is just completely classless. But when it comes to orange I'm equally prejudice on all fronts. I hate them all!

Live Like We're Dying

Since the inception of my blog, I've tried to come up with a different topic each week. Occasionally, I've had a lot to say in a given week, and therefore posted a bit more frequently. This week I had a bad case of writer's block and decided I'd take a break. I have several things working for future blogs, and felt my time would be better spent working on those drafts. But then I attended a memorial service for a friend and realized that I wasn't quite done talking about him and his untimely passing.

By now, most of you know that Daryl Hunt died July 9, 2010 of a massive heart attack. He was 53 years old. He was an offensive lineman for OU and drafted by and played for the Houston Oilers for six years. Even at the time of his passing, he was a physical specimen and looked as though he could still deliver a hit or two if called upon. This alone negated any consolation I was suppose to find in the fact that the average NFL player only lives to be 59.

Saturday, a modest crowd of roughly 200 gathered at Second Baptist of Houston to remember this remarkable man. There was quite the olio of mourners: his mother and daughter, co-workers from Grocer's Supply and Quail Valley Country Club, congregation members from Brentwood Baptist, fellow Sooner alums, and Dan Pastorini, Mike Barber, Greg Bingham, Spencer Tillman and Barry Switzer to name a few.

I debated on whether or not to attend. I've dealt with my share of death in the past fifteen months, and just wasn't sure how much more I could take. Other than the actual day of his funeral in Odessa, I've managed to hold it together pretty well this time. It's hard to explain, but I didn't necessarily feel the devastation in his passing like I did with my friend Wayman a little over a year ago. Instead, his death has left me with a void that I know will not be easily filled.

Normally when we lose a loved one we talk about the things we didn't get to say or do before they left us. I can honestly say that for the year Daryl was a part of my life, we developed a bond that was unsurpassed. From all the stories I heard this weekend and over the past month, none of them were anything I hadn't heard before and I could have supplied a few of my own. Okay, I take that back. I didn't know he liked motorcycles which is probably just as well since I dream of one day owning a purple Harley. But that aside, it was the fact that I knew so much about someone in such a short time that has made it difficult for me to cope. Watching a slideshow tribute made me realize once again how much I've taken for granted.

And hence, the empty feeling. I didn't talk to Daryl every day, but I sure could have if I wanted. When school resumes in a couple of weeks, there will be no more texts at lunch time on Fridays telling me to "Hang in there. The weekend is almost here." When I work on Thursday nights, he he isn't going to surprise me by showing up for wings. His name and number are on my caller ID for the last time. Yet my only real regret is not being able to touch him again. I didn't stay for the reception Saturday, but instead came home and changed into a pair of his old shorts and a t-shirt. Something about that was profoundly comforting and soothing. It was like I could almost feel him again.

I know Daryl is up above keeping an eye on everyone down here and reminding them to cherish every moment of every day. This was evident during Switzer's eulogy Saturday where he praised Daryl and his family for the impact they've had on others. He shared a story about a dinner he had recently with a man that told him the Hunt's had influenced his life greatly. Right there at the dinner table, Barry called Elayne (Daryl's mom) and then Daryl himself so that the guy could thank them. As the story came to a close, Barry's cell phone rang as if on cue. He apologized to the congregation, looked at the LCD screen of his phone and told us, "That was Daryl calling. He just wanted to say 'Thank you!'"

SUMMER 2010

Today I must come to accept the inevitable: in two weeks I'll be returning to school/work. Summer 2010 will come to a close and it will be time to commence to "molding young minds." Although I am becoming a bit bored, I'm still not really ready to make my return.

First, I haven't finished my summer "To Do List." I haven't read the stack of books I wanted to read "for fun." I've gone nowhere, not even Galveston. And until the past two weeks, I haven't worked more than two shifts/week at the restaurant all summer long.

I'm also going to miss my dogs like crazy. They have gotten so used to my being home, and I've become an expert at wasting time with them. I am predicting all three of us will have a rough adjustment period. I know I'll look forward to getting home to them every afternoon.

But on the bright side of things, I've actually made some friends at school: "Shouts out to Ashley, Elise, Kendall, Lydia, and Meggan." This should make the days more fun when you've got friends with other common interests to talk with throughout the day. And of course we'll continue with our fabulous "Girls' Night," so that will be fun!

Yea for me! I've got more AP and GT classes than academic classes this year. This should cut down greatly on behavioral and academic progress documentation. We should actually get some things accomplished during 2010-2011!

Other than "Teacher," I have no other job titles this year. No "Team Leader," no "Mentor." This means I'm pretty much only responsible for me and my students. I'm definitely ready for a break in this area as I've been in charge of something for the last fifteen years. It's nice to finally be able to pass the torch.

A big plus is that I associate the beginning of the school year with the beginning of college (Go Sooners!) and professional (Go Vikings!) football season. That always speeds the first semester along.

Lastly, I'm hoping to follow our school soccer team a bit more closely. Depending on what I see, I may decide to return to coaching somewhere down the line.

So all in all, I'm thinking it's going to be a pretty good year. I've got all my "school supplies," my classroom is already set up, and I've even started writing lesson plans for the first six weeks. Now it's just time to get nervous about the first day!

Top 10 Reasons Being Single Sucks

I've really struggled to come up with a creative introduction for this blog. At almost half a century old, I believe I'm an expert in the field of being single. Therefore let me begin with this: I HATE BEING SINGLE!!!

There. Now that that's out of the way, here are the "Top 10 Reasons Being Single Sucks."

10. There is no "good" way to cook for one. Have you ever seen a recipe for a single serving of pot roast? After the second night of leftovers, you'll never want to see pot roast again.

9. You are responsible for making all decisions. From what kind of car to buy to the color of carpeting to put in your house, all decisions fall squarely on your and only your shoulders. Even trivial decisions such as where to eat dinner can at times seem overwhelming.

8. There's no one to talk to at the end of the day. Humans thrive on interpersonal communication. They need someone to share the day's highs and lows. Even the closest friend or family member cannot provide the emotional intimacy of a significant other.

7. The IRS hates single, childless people. I know this because I've never received a single deduction for my relationship status. My accountant can provide additional proof via my tax returns for the past twenty-five years.

6. There is no one to plan/take vacations with. Whether it's New Orleans or Disney World or Jamaica, traveling alone is unappealing (and in this day and time it's a safety issue). Personally I'm dreading returning to school next month and listening to all the wonderful places people visited and when it's my turn piping up, "Me? I didn't go anywhere."

5. Being the 3rd wheel sucks. Seating arrangements for most events (dinners, football games, weddings) are usually done in pairs. There's nothing like being the one that needs that lone, "odd" chair. And who wants to be a "tag along?"

4. Friday night out consists of takeout and being asleep by 9 PM. It seldom crosses the minds of other couples to include their "single" friends in their plans. And even if they do, the aforementioned #5 comes into play. Most weekends I find my family and friends forget my existence completely.

3. There is no restitution for the amount of money a single person spends on special occasions for couples and their children. Various showers not to mention gift giving times such as birthdays, Christmases, and graduations (especially when kids become involved) are costly for singles. To continually cough up $25-$100 gifts multiple times throughout the year and only receive a $25 gift card at Christmas in return hardly tips the scales in favor of equality.

2. Holidays are depressing. Let's skip Valentine's Day altogether. Since no one is in love with the single person, there's definitely no chocolates, flowers, or romantic dates. At Christmas, when everyone shows off what their spouses got them, the single person sits quietly in the corner. There's no one to kiss at midnight on New Years Eve. No one's hand to hold while watching fireworks on the 4th. And on your birthday, if you're lucky, you might get dinner with the folks, a cake, and a present from Mom. (Gee, after reading this one, no wonder I want to crawl into a hole and die on these days).

...And the #1 reason being single sucks...

You always question why you aren't/weren't deserving of of someone else's love. Eventually you reach the point where you continually ask yourself, "What is wrong with me?" "Why did I never get a chance?" "What can I change to make myself more lovable?" "Why am I not good enough?" And the list goes on, and on, and on....

Now I realize there is a topic or two I did not approach today. I did so in hopes of sparing embarrassment for some family members and friends. Just know that if I ever get around to actually writing a book, "Being Single" will be a strong contender for a topic. That being said, I'm sure I will periodically revisit the issue on this blog, at which time I could very well cover omitted sections!

Religion vs. Spirituality

"The essence of religion:
Fear God and obey God.
The quintessence of spirituality:
Love God and become another God."
-Sir Chinmoy

I was raised in a "religious" home. Church on Sundays, (AM and PM), VBS in the summer, Christmas Eve and Easter services.... Around the age of sixteen I told my mom, "I didn't want to go to church anymore." It wasn't that I was turning my back on God. My belief in an omnipotent being was (and continues to be) strong. It was some time later before I could verbalize that my problem was not spiritual, rather my issues were with organized religion.

1. Often religion finds its premise in fearing God. We're told to "do the right thing" so we don't "suffer" in the future. The spiritual approach suggests we find God through love. God is not to be feared, but to be approached through the path of love.


2. In religion, God is referred to as being in the heavens, someone far from our reach. Spiritually speaking, God is omniscient and omnipresent. He is a living presence in one's heart. Not only is he reachable, but we can have an inner realization of God as well.


3. Many religions feel that only their faith can lead to salvation. In other words, their religious beliefs are the "right" ones, and everyone else's beliefs are wrong. This is one of the greatest hypocrisies in the religion debate. Spirituality allows us to accept that we all have the same goal, we just take different paths to get there. One religion is not better than another; it's simply a matter of upbringing and personal beliefs. The important thing is to just have faith.


4. Religion focuses on an outward expression of beliefs and rituals. It's more of a public forum. Spirituality is intrapersonal. The focus is on the individual's one-on-one relationship with God.

Based on these differences, I find religion to often be hypocritical, narrow-minded, and on occasion, even oppressive.

Too many people are "Sunday Saints." It's as if going to worship on the Sabbath and repenting trumps any sins or wrong doings for the week. Publicly proclaiming your faith only to turn around and cheat on your spouse, lie to your boss, and slander other human beings is pure blasphemy.

As previously mentioned, the ultimate goal is to find salvation through the guidance of a supreme being. Religion is merely a means to an end. To profess superiority of one's beliefs over another's undermines God's sole intent. What limited insight to believe that Christian Trial Lawyers and Christian Brothers Auto are most worthy of your patronage.

Lastly, there is nothing uplifting about being preached "at." The last sermon I heard a little over a year ago used the song Amazing Grace as its springboard. The minister began with an anecdote about a C&W band who sang the song but changed the word "wretch" (the lyrics say "saved a 'wretch' like me") to "soul." The message was that the band was wrong for having done this because "all of us in the congregation were wretches" and needed to be reminded of such. Now I don't know about you, but when I go to church I don't expect to be chastised. This is not to say I'm 100% saint and automatically absolved of all wrong doing. But I'm definitely not the evil, vile transgressor this person would have me believe. I left feeling like a dog with their tale between their legs. And obviously the sermon's intent disturbed me enough that I feel the need to bring it up a year later.

In closing, I recognize that for many, religion and spirituality go hand-in-hand. But for others, it does not mean their faith is any less strong because they don't attend church, mass, temple, etc.... Print and media make it easy to learn and spread God's word. The approach is not what's important. Having faith is.

"And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit." ---Ephesians 2:22

And Then...There Was Jolie!!!

For a long time I wanted a second dog, but when Jackson was diagnosed with cancer that put things on hold. Once I knew he was going to be okay, I also knew that I needed a second dog. "Needed" is a strong word, but Jackson's illness made me realize he wouldn't be around forever, and well, when something did finally happen to him, having nothing else to take care of and love would be my demise.

Anything but another Boxer was never a consideration, but this time around I knew I did NOT want a puppy. They are fun and all, but if I thought time was an issue before, it was really a problem now. I was working two jobs full time (teaching and bartending). Furthermore, there was no way the timing of things was going to work out like before with regards to me finding a puppy just the right age to bring home at the start of the summer. With Jackson being seven years old, a male was out of the question as the "Battle of the Alphas" was bound to eventually erupt. I had never had a Boxer with brindle markings, so I was leaning that direction. And lastly, though I love Jackson dearly, and for him he was worth it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, I will NEVER pay that kind of money for a pet ever again.

This made the decision to rescue or adopt a dog the obvious answer. In Houston we have a wonderful organization called Lone Star Boxer Rescue. Adopting a dog was like adopting a child. There were applications and forms to fill out, visits made to my home to check out its "dog preparedness" and my interaction with Jackson, and meetings for Jackson and I both to get to know other dogs in an effort to find the one "just right" for us. Every weekend for six or seven weeks we drove from place to place looking for the "perfect fit." It was heart-wrenching because needless to say, I wanted to save every dog. There were always more males to chose from than females, and many of the dogs had health issues. Normally I wouldn't have cared about the latter problem, but since I already had one dog with a serious illness, it was unrealistic to bring another one into the household.

That's when I started looking at breeders. I talked with several of them and looked at their pups, but I just was not getting good vibes. AND, I did NOT want a puppy anyway! By now it was the first of March and I was growing frustrated, so while I was out on my Saturday morning run, I decide that the litters Jackson and I were going to look at that morning would be our last for awhile. At peace with that decision, I made the final turn for home ready to sprint the last quarter mile. It was trash pick up day in the neighborhood, and wouldn't you know, propped up against the curb was a wire puppy crate. I froze because I am a firm believer in fate and I knew this was God's message that today was the day. I was coming back with a puppy.

You already know how this turns out. Just know there were two litters and after meticulously running through my "Selection Process Checklist," I came away with Jolie. The name choice was spur of the moment; I was still sticking with a "J" name, but it had to be different, so I took the "J-o" from my brother's name, Joel, and the "l-i" from my sister's name, Juli. The "e" was thrown on for good measure in hopes that people would pronounce her name correctly, (pronounced Joe - Lee, not like Angelina Jolie). It was also a clever name choice because now I got to wave it over my siblings' heads that I named my "kid" after them, yet they never named their kids after me! :)

So other than the fact that Jolie was a puppy, I had just what I wanted. That first week I would run home on my conference period and let her out of the crate. The following week was Spring Break, and bless her heart, every day she was kept in a different room because my house was being repainted after storm damage from Hurricane Ike that previous September. And the schedule never got any better after that. She was unexpectedly boarded for almost a week and a half after the sudden deaths of a friend and a family member. I fault the lack of routine the first six months as to why she was so difficult. Don't get me wrong. She mastered the basics, "sit," "shake," and "lay down" in a timely fashion, and she never really tore anything up. But whereas Jackson had never had to be told more than three times to do/learn anything, Jolie was an entirely different story.

The third time I would tell her to do anything, she started barking at me and she would run and hide under my bed. And the bark was not the "Big Dog" bark you'd expect from a Boxer. It was a yippy Poodle bark. I'm pretty sure if I could translate what she was telling me, I'd learn her little a$$ was back-talking me! She was a nightmare on a leash, breaking loose repeatedly and stopping for nothing. She was vicious at meal time, scaring poor Jackson into submission. She gutted my backyard, running like she was possessed when I let her out (hence the early nickname of "Taz" for the Tasmanian Devil). She knocked holes in the fence trying to get to the dog next door. She hated to be petted. She had an affinity for paper, be it plain paper, toilet paper, or even greenback paper. She once ate four five dollar bills. When she pooped them out later, I thought I had my own personal ATM machine until I realized I was missing $20. But probably the most annoying habit was her potty tendencies. I couldn't get her to stop relieving herself in the crate. And this wasn't something that was a result of being in there too long and unable to hold it. She would purposely go into the crate to do her business. By July I'd had it. I called my vet and told him I just didn't think I could do it. Honestly, I was ready to go stand on the street corner and give her to the first person that showed interest. The vet told me to "hang in there," and "not give up yet. She'd come around." He and a friend convinced me to board both dogs for a few days and get away.

I did. It had been a rough year, loosing my roof during Ike, suffering the loss of two loved ones, and repairing my big screen TV when it went out only to have the AC go out the following week. The break helped and when I returned, my head had cleared enough to start again with Jolie.

And slowly but surely, she made progress. I approached her training differently and she got it. Most of the aforementioned issues resolved themselves. By November, she no longer needed to stay in the crate at night and she was only nine months old! But the one habit I couldn't break was the defecating in the crate. In the middle of the night she'd even go in there to use the bathroom. She continued to have no fewer than two "accidents" when I left her there during the day. So once again I returned to the vet, but even he was at a loss on this one. "Dogs didn't usually soil the area where they slept." Okay, let's get serious here. Nothing about Jolie had been "usual," at least by my standards. He was going to contact a behavioral specialist for dogs, but I in the mean time had another problem.

Jackson still had not adjusted to having another dog in the house and he was beginning to mark his territory, usually in the middle of my living room floor. That was the final straw! It was now the first of May (I'd had Jolie for fourteen months), and while it was bad enough cleaning up the crate after her two or three times a day and constantly bathing her, this with Jackson was totally ridiculous. I brought in the second crate, and for the first time in five years, I started crating Jackson too when I left. I positioned the crates side-by-side (with no more than an inch between them) because being a teacher, my rationale was that of "cooperative grouping." The higher level kid, in this case dog, would teach the lower level kid/dog. When Jolie saw that Jackson would "hold it" when he was in the crate, they'd talk in whatever their dog language was, and she'd learn to "hold it" too.

Now if you're done laughing you can pick yourself up off the floor, and I'll tell you that this actually worked. However, not for the reasons I had hoped it would. "Dogs," the vet told me, "do not understand 'cooperative grouping.'" Rather, what he suspects is that Jolie suffered from separation anxiety. Because I had her for five months before there was really any set routine/schedule, he thinks she was scared. Yes, Jackson had always been in the same room as Jolie whenever I left, but he usually laid across the room. The vet thinks Jolie felt alone and abandoned. Placing Jackson right next to her reassured her that was not the case. I am happy to say that it has been two and half months and both dogs seem secure. Jackson has stopped his marking, and while I was typing this, Jolie sprinted into the room, bolted to the back door, and came barreling back down the hall to let me know she needed to go out, NOW!

I can't believe Jolie is the same dog I wanted to get rid of twelve months ago. Yes, she was definitely more difficult than Jackson in the beginning, but she really opened my eyes. She made me realize that her "not getting it" when I first tried to teach her something was not a reason for me to quit or give up. It simply meant I needed to find a new approach. Now she loves to cuddle and play "fetch" with anything. Her favorite place to sleep is under my bed. Since she is as tall as Jackson, I'm not too sure how she fits under there, but hey, it's her "safe" spot and I always get a chuckle when I walk in and see just that nose and a paw sticking out! She is the sweetest, most loving dog I've ever owned.

And oh yeah. I no longer call her "Taz." Now, she's "Momma's Angel."