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"Mr. Davis? Can I talk to you about, Will?"
Will hadn't been to class in a while so I was curious and concerned. Betsy and I walked just outside the classroom door, always a tricky position. Was she really concerned about Will or just setting a screen for one of her classmates to conduct some mischief? Betsy wasn't one to worry about. She kept to herself unless Will was kind enough to grace us with his presence. They weren't romantically involved; Will would like that but Betsy was engaged. Sixteen years old and engaged, full of the certainty that comes with being young and in love.
We had a connection, me and the two loners. I think it was rooted in music but you never know what kids identify with. My theory is based on the assent and interest in their eyes when I made a music reference. To Will, the 1990s were the glory years of music. I once made a disparaging comment about that decade, said that the 90s produced very little good music due to a lack of civil unrest, an opinion no doubt taken from some critic and voiced in class to make a point about some period in world history, exploited for the moment. Will looked confused. To a disaffected music loving kid who was now subjected to shitty pop-punk, the 90s sounded like a glorious, grunge infused time when young people made angry noise while sticking it to authority, all the while smelling like teen spirit whatever that was. I wanted to take back the comment.
It's not that I lost him. He was listening to my lecture, devouring it. It's that I lost a piece of our connection if only for that moment. Plus, he was right.
"Will isn't doing well," Betsy told me.
"OK, what's up?"
"I was at his house last night and he started acting strangely. He had a gun, a revolver. He was playing Russian Roulette."
"Was he drinking, doing drugs?"
"No, well, I don't know. But he has been talking about suicide lately and I think he will do it."
"Where were his parents?"
"They aren't around much, haven't been for a while. It was rare for him to be at home. He usually bounces from place to place. He stayed with my family for a while but my parents couldn't take his erratic behavior so my Dad finally made him leave."
This would not be the last bombshell my students would drop on their unsuspecting teacher but it was the first. I told Betsy I would talk with the administration about Will's situation and struggled to stay calm while offering condolences, balancing the need to maintain authority with the essential "I'm cool; I get it and will not judge you or your friend" quality. She sounded satisfied for the moment but I wasn't. I was not qualified to deal with suicide attempts and apparently neither was the County School System. Will was on his own, too old to qualify for help from Williams High School, too young for the real world, lost in the cracks.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
No Commentary Needed
http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2009/04/19/axelrod-suggests-tea-party-movement-is-unhealthy/
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Doubting Slumdog Millionaire
Slumdog Millionaire is underwhelming. It is not a bad film just medium, pedestrian. The fact that it was nominated, let alone selected, for Best Picture is confusing. I have not seen all of the other nominees so I can't comment on whether they were more deserving but I have seen two films from last year that were not nominated, Doubt and The Wrestler, and can say unequivocally that both are better than Slumdog.
The story centers around a poor Indian boy from Mumbai, a slumdog, who by chance ends up on the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Much to the chagrin of the show's organizers, he gets all the questions correct despite having no formal education. The authorities assume he is cheating since no slumdog could ever get these questions correct. Through the course of his interrogation we learn how he knows all the answers. I guess the point of the film is that life isn't all about education and status. Life experiences are educational and we should not draw conclusions about people based on their upbringing. That's all good but it is not an original theme nor is it a particularly inspiring or original take on an old theme. There is no creative cinematography and the script is not particularly good. The film is just average. It leaves you uninspired and slightly unsatisfied.
The story centers around a poor Indian boy from Mumbai, a slumdog, who by chance ends up on the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Much to the chagrin of the show's organizers, he gets all the questions correct despite having no formal education. The authorities assume he is cheating since no slumdog could ever get these questions correct. Through the course of his interrogation we learn how he knows all the answers. I guess the point of the film is that life isn't all about education and status. Life experiences are educational and we should not draw conclusions about people based on their upbringing. That's all good but it is not an original theme nor is it a particularly inspiring or original take on an old theme. There is no creative cinematography and the script is not particularly good. The film is just average. It leaves you uninspired and slightly unsatisfied.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Dreams From Malcolm X
In an effort to better understand our Premier and what he may have in store for our future, I am reading his first book, Dreams From my Father. I attempted to push through it before the election but was so frustrated by the pretentiousness and self importance of the book that I quit reading it after thirty pages. This time I am resolute and open minded, taking his words in their most favorable light and hoping to be proven wrong.
I am currently eighty pages deep and the hatred this man spews is getting more vile by the page. Barry Obama was not born in Harlem nor was he raised in South Central L.A. He was born in Hawaii, spent his childhood as an expat’s son in Indonesia, and returned to paradise for high school. His account of his experiences in Indonesia does not speak of a child subjected to racism and poverty. His step father had plenty of money in Indonesia; he loved Obama and treated him as one of his own. After his mother split with his stepfather, Obama moved to Hawaii to live with his white grandparents. He attended a prestigious prep school and lived the life of a middle class white man, which he was. The outside observer would be tempted to see Obama’s childhood as normal, even pleasant. But, he was not content to have food on the table, a loving support system, and a first class education. The budding Premier is bitter at the father who left him. He takes the few racial slights he incurs as life altering events that cause him to retreat to his room, pouring over and identifying with, Malcolm X.
His hatred has a clear origin. He describes his mother as the classic liberal- anti American, cynical. Obama recounts an exchange between his mother and her Indonesian husband. Lolo, her husband, is asking her to attend a meeting with some American oil company representatives. She is defiant so, Lolo, confused, says that she should feel comfortable attending because these are her people. “These are not, my people”, she replies. Taking this in the light most favorable to Barry, I read him as trying to say that his mother was not a fan of big business oil types. But, read in the context of his pity party, the underlying message is clear: America is bad.
The book makes this much clear: Obama does not like capitalism. He sees it as a tool that white people use to oppress black people. He sees it as the implementation of American arrogance. He despises our way of life and does not identify with the American way.
Age and maturity have made me more intelligently patriotic. I still believe America is the best place on earth but I do not blindly support American foreign policy, whether promulgated by a President I support or not. Each aspect of American life should be scrutinized and, if lacking or flawed, improved. But, capitalism is still the best way to further individual freedom. Socialism and communism have failed miserably in this goal and will not suddenly work on a 300 million person melting pot.
“You show me a capitalist and I’ll show you a bloodsucker.” –Malcolm X
I am currently eighty pages deep and the hatred this man spews is getting more vile by the page. Barry Obama was not born in Harlem nor was he raised in South Central L.A. He was born in Hawaii, spent his childhood as an expat’s son in Indonesia, and returned to paradise for high school. His account of his experiences in Indonesia does not speak of a child subjected to racism and poverty. His step father had plenty of money in Indonesia; he loved Obama and treated him as one of his own. After his mother split with his stepfather, Obama moved to Hawaii to live with his white grandparents. He attended a prestigious prep school and lived the life of a middle class white man, which he was. The outside observer would be tempted to see Obama’s childhood as normal, even pleasant. But, he was not content to have food on the table, a loving support system, and a first class education. The budding Premier is bitter at the father who left him. He takes the few racial slights he incurs as life altering events that cause him to retreat to his room, pouring over and identifying with, Malcolm X.
His hatred has a clear origin. He describes his mother as the classic liberal- anti American, cynical. Obama recounts an exchange between his mother and her Indonesian husband. Lolo, her husband, is asking her to attend a meeting with some American oil company representatives. She is defiant so, Lolo, confused, says that she should feel comfortable attending because these are her people. “These are not, my people”, she replies. Taking this in the light most favorable to Barry, I read him as trying to say that his mother was not a fan of big business oil types. But, read in the context of his pity party, the underlying message is clear: America is bad.
The book makes this much clear: Obama does not like capitalism. He sees it as a tool that white people use to oppress black people. He sees it as the implementation of American arrogance. He despises our way of life and does not identify with the American way.
Age and maturity have made me more intelligently patriotic. I still believe America is the best place on earth but I do not blindly support American foreign policy, whether promulgated by a President I support or not. Each aspect of American life should be scrutinized and, if lacking or flawed, improved. But, capitalism is still the best way to further individual freedom. Socialism and communism have failed miserably in this goal and will not suddenly work on a 300 million person melting pot.
“You show me a capitalist and I’ll show you a bloodsucker.” –Malcolm X
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Granada 3/7
Journal
I'm glad we got up so early. I felt a little rough but once the day started, things were bueno. We saw all of Granada by about noon.
We climbed a 17th century bell tower, perused the market, and visited a Nicaraguan cigar factory. The factory was run by a local who spoke English fairly well and loved talking about his craft. We each bought cigars that would cost $20 in the States for about $2 a piece. After the cigar factory we went to a Granada Tiburones (sharks) baseball game. For $2.50 we sat in box seats behind home plate, the best seats in the house. The game was pretty well attended. The cheap seat were on either side of a barbed wire topped fence.
I'm glad we got up so early. I felt a little rough but once the day started, things were bueno. We saw all of Granada by about noon.
We climbed a 17th century bell tower, perused the market, and visited a Nicaraguan cigar factory. The factory was run by a local who spoke English fairly well and loved talking about his craft. We each bought cigars that would cost $20 in the States for about $2 a piece. After the cigar factory we went to a Granada Tiburones (sharks) baseball game. For $2.50 we sat in box seats behind home plate, the best seats in the house. The game was pretty well attended. The cheap seat were on either side of a barbed wire topped fence.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
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