The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

"Well we got no choice
All the girls and boys
Makin' all that noise
'Cause they found new toys

Well we can't salute ya
Can't find a flag
If that don't suit ya
That's a drag

School's out for summer
School's out forever
School's been blow to pieces.

Well we got no class
and we got no principles
And we got no innocense
We can't even think of a word that rhymes.

No more pencils
No more rule-books
No more teachers dirty looks."

--Alice Cooper—School’s Out from the LP of the same name, 1972.

I suppose I could lie, but why? Ah, it’s the most wonderful time of the year for the teachers and the students everywhere. And I am not one of those people who will give this BS on how hard I work all summer—whereas I plan things and correct some errors from the year, I do not put in an eight hour day, seven days a week. Hah! Not even close.

So while I wipe the smirk off of my face, I admit that the salary fits me fine and I will never complain because I have ten weeks off. Ten weeks is not too shabby.

I went to the graduation, sore drained knee and all, for the simple reason that I promised this class I would. Graduations are all pretty much the same program: Intro—Band plays Pomp and Circumstance/Salutatorian address/Valedictorian Address/Principal Speech/Chorus Song/Superintendent Comments/Class Secretary does the roll call of all names—the people yelling the loudest for their kids know that they embarrass the child, but its OK I suppose/Closing Comments/Graduates move tassels over, throw hats in the air/all the while the crowd fans themselves with the programs.

Beforehand I stand around in the commons area and talk to the kids and pose for pictures with some of them. Afterwards, I do the same and bump into former students and pray to all above I remember their names.

Now I rarely do this, but here is my advice for the grads because I have noticed a change with the college grads as new teachers and I noticed this change with the folks graduating high school today. I consider this a direct result of the late end Baby Boomers and the Generation X-er’s who have kids. One of my friends coined the term and I cannot agree more—do not be a “first-round draft pick.”

What is a “first-round draft pick?” That’s the guy on the team who thinks the team revolves around him because he was chosen first. He feels he walks on water and he feels that the world owes him something.

Here’s the deal:
Never forget where you came from and never forget other people came from somewhere as well.

Experience matters more than degrees—I have multiples of both, so trust me.

New ways are not always the best ways—the tried and true ways still work.

Listen in life, learn in life, and suggest—do not demand—in life.

Remember, if you step on people on the way up the ladder, they will kick the crap out of you on your way down.

Life is cyclical. There are ups, downs, rounds and rounds. Go with the flow.

Move on and try not to dwell.

When you dance with the Devil, you will be burned—so watch who you suck up to and beware the burning of bridges.

When you look in the mirror, be proud of whom you see—otherwise, you are not worth much to yourself.

Now I will step off the soapbox—I plan on enjoying the next ten weeks.

Enjoy the Grind…

Male Bonding In The Summer Months

“What I've felt, what I've known Never shined through in what I've shown
Never free, never me
So I dub thee unforgiven.”

James Hetfield of Metallica from “The Unforgiven” from Metallica 1989.


Guinness is our new cat, and I have decided that he is a whiner.

When either my wife or I leave the house, he whines.

When he wants food, even if there is some in the bowl, he whines.

He was urinating outside of the litter box and would whine until we bought two litter boxes—one for excrement, one for urine. Even with two, he sometimes whines.

When we eat, he whines for the food.

If he is corrected, he whines.

He whines when we go to bed and he is afraid of the other cat—which naturally means he will eventually whine at her.

All men must whine. I have had cats for thirteen years and honestly, the females do not whine a tenth as much.

Good Old Guinness reminds me a bit of myself.

Recently during Cardiac Rehab, I jarred my knee and blood flowed into it. After it “blew up,” I hobbled around and whined about it for seven days. Today I went to the doctor, who drained 88 CC’s of blood from it. It was caused by too much Coumadin—as my INR was a 7 (and supposed to be 2.5-3.5). Apparently if one jars a joint, it can bleed in the soft tissue and the more blood thinner leads one to bleed directly in the jarred joint.

Let me tell you, it hurt—hence the whining.

This is just one example in my latest cycle of whining. After surgery Pam bought the wrong cookies—I whined on which were the proper ones to buy.

I whined about my pills and how to store them and where.

I whined about buying a certain type of popsicles (don’t they all basically taste the same?) when Pam bought a different brand.

Today, when I came home, Guinness jumped on my lap, we sat and watched television; both of us slightly falling asleep; both of us waking at the same time when the neighbor started mowing; both of us whining about it at the same time.

Male bonding is a good thing. And after years of playing “ring toss” in the toilet bowl with the seat down while urinating, it is difficult and hypocritical of me to be too angry with Guinness for missing the litter box.

So when we choose not to do too much this summer and people bother us; they better prepare that Guinness and I will whine. Oh, and don’t bother us during reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond—we love that show—lots of whining on that one.

The Reruns of Our Lives

“I’ve got thirteen channels of shi# on the tv to choose from.” Roger Watters of Pink Floyd from Nobody Home from the LP The Wall, 1979.

In A weird sense of irony, I really do not rewatch movies too often or own too many DVD or VHS tapes of films. Usually I see it once, upon occasion twice, and then I am done. Cartoons and Superhero stuff aside—and my classic Rock performances—I am not a fan of rewatching films.

Television is another thing completely.

I have seen every episode of M*A*S*H so often I can recite nearly the entire script. Same is true for Seinfeld and The Brady Bunch. Since TVLAND has entered my life (thanks Satellite Dish and SCREW YOU CABLE COMPANY BASTARDS), I am gaining this power over All in The Family.

It is odd, but I like TV reruns.

Here are my favorites:

M*A*S*H—I love the first three seasons, liked the next three, and am now frustrated with the last few. First season of Winchester is OK, but after that—nope. When Frank Burns left, we saw major shark-jumping. Best episode: Hawkeye and Trapper convince Frank to put stock in Pioneer Aviation.

Everybody Loves Raymond—Funny as can be. Honest assessment of relationships and enough ironic humor to keep me entertained. I never watched the show when it originally aired, until the last half of the final season—but the reruns are great. Best Episode: The PMS episode—hands down among the greatest things ever on TV.

West Wing—Talk about a fantastic show. Many of my friends say I remind them of Josh Lymon—I am not sure if that is an insult or not. Great acting and the only weak season in my opinion was when the daughter was kidnapped. Best episode: The first one is tough to beat.

Honeymooners—Quite frankly, perhaps, the most laugh-filled 30 minutes for every given episode possible. Best episode—The golf one (Hello, ball) or the one where the boys learn etiquette.

The Andy Griffith Show—The Don Knotts years were the best. This was a cleverly written and acted show. I still want to pick up my phone, jingle it, and wait for the operator. Best episode: Barney’s New Car, or The Aunt Bea Pickle episode (Kerosene Cucumbers)

Seinfeld—perhaps I have watched it too much, as I have noted the scripts were weaker when Elaine changed her hair. See if you agree. Best Episode: The Bet—by far among the greatest half hours ever.

All In The Family—Ok, when he bought the bar and the kids moved out, it was time for us to move on—but really a year or so before that it was just as lousy. The show was “groundbreaking” and funny and topical until about 1977. Best Episode: Archie is in jail when going down to get Mike away from a Peace Rally—or Stretch Cunningham’s funeral.

Brady Bunch, yes it is stupid and unreal, but kind of groovy in its own way. There were some great moments on this show. The kids were funny, Marcia was, well—when I was ten, Marcia was pretty damn hot, and the jokes were funny to a ten year old. Best episode: Peter’s Search for a Personality or Marcia’s Broken Nose.

Addams Family—I honestly feel this show was way ahead of its time and very comical—especially Lurch. What a great supporting cast and the sly humor showed a darker side to our world, turned comic. I know it did not last long, but what a clever show. Best Episode: Morticia goes to the school and complains about how cruel Grimm’s Fairy Tales are to the monsters when Pugsly and Wednesday come home crying. It was the first episode.

NYPD Blue—I love this show, it is one of the best ever—if not THE best drama on TV. I know the critics hate seasons of this show and the Ricky Schroeder years were weak, but what a classic show. Best Episode: the first episode with Jimmy Smits.

C.O.P.S.—Love the reruns. I can watch this show over and over. The criminals are morons and the cops are pretty cool. Best Episode—Name One—they are all equally interesting.

E.R.—Ok, once Clooney (the Man who Ruined Batman films—just had to say it) left, the show was terrible. Still, it was fun and interesting for a while. Best Episode: When Carter was late from his vacation—which was the first episode of the second season.

Reality Shows—With the exception of C.O.P.S. there are not many good ones, but Survivor is fun. I cannot pinpoint an exact episode—let’s say the All-Star Cast season was the best. Enjoy jail, Richard Hatch, you MORON!

And from Britain—Fawlty Towers or Monty Python’s Flying Circus. I have tears in my eyes from certain skits. Best Fawlty Towers—Where Basil hits his head and insults the German guests; Monty Python—again they are all great, but THE BISHOP or THE DEAD PARROT skit were my personal favorites. Monty Python was weak when Cleese left, but that gave us Fawlty Towers—so cheers to both.

Thank Goodness for TVLAND, NICK AT NITE, and SATELLITE DISH--did I mention I was not a fan of the Cable Company Fat Cats who extort money in their evil little games?

Guinness Is Good For Health

“Muscled grey with steel green eye
Swishing through the rye grass
And thoughts of Mouse-and-Apple pie
Tail balancing at Half-Mast
And the Mouse Police never sleeps…”

Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull from The Mouse Police from the LP Heavy Horses, 1978.

We picked out a new friend to share our house with, and quite frankly, he seems more than comfortable.

Meet Guinness the new cat. I think his name, coming from me, is not too ironic. He is a 14 pound male, front paw declawed, part Maine Coone, tabby cat. He is very comfortable sitting on the sofa or love seat and other areas—sometimes where he is not supposed to sit.

He has a strange habit of squatting on someone’s belly, reaching his arms around the neck, and pawing the neck as if to give a massage. It is very odd.

He, (like I am discovering—all male cats—heck, all males) tends to whine often.

The other cat hisses and growls a bit, but she tolerates him, as we sat on the bed last night watching Survivor—if there was justice, Terry would have won by the way. And even though Guinness outweighs the other cat by seven and a half pounds, he is frightened to death of her. I guess a male being afraid of a woman is not too uncommon either.

This was just a short note to introduce you to our good friend and our newest family member. Have a Guinness for health!

My Tribute to my Legacies

“Well the dawn was coming, Heard him ringing on my bell. He said, ``my name’s the teacher, That is what I call myself And I have a lesson That I must impart to you. It’s an old expression But I must insist it’s true. Jump up, look around, Find yourself some fun, No sense in sitting there hating everyone.”

--Ian Anderson, from “Teacher” from the album Living in The Past.


My pride is showing once in a while. The religious scholars say that Pride is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, but what a fun one. When I say, I am proud of something and a religious person says, “well, that’s one of the “Seven Deadly Sins,” I always want to say “the Bible also says that we should not judge people—so shut the %7^& up.” Of course I do not, I just roll my eyes.

I am proud of many things in my career, but the single greatest accomplishment in my opinion is training my student teachers. I am not lying.

Some folks have a student teacher and call it slave labor. Really. I have worked with people who hand their student teacher a grade book, a lesson plan book, and say “If you need me, I will be hiding in the lounge—oh and by the way, don’t need me.”

That, I have never done. I give all of them my simple rules of life—One: Emulate the best teacher you ever had and try to be a teacher that your favorite would respect. Two: remember the worst teacher you ever had (and we all had bad ones) and show them why you are so much better in your actions and your lessons. Three—try and do all those things you ever wanted to do in a class. Four—realize I will advise you, but you may make a mistake and I may let you so you learn. Five—at some point, if I do my job well, you will be pissed off at me—which is OK. Six—you must call me by my first name and think like a teacher, not a student. Take the word STUDENT out of your title. Seven—you have an A to lose.

Wow—seven—just like the deadly sins.

Every single one of my student teachers will tell you I say this—they have all basically listened to the same speech. I have been blessed with unique young people with awesome personalities and I am proud to say that they are my legacy. Students can be inspired, apprentice educators can inspire me. It is very cleansing. They also, each of them, have taught me something about myself—and for that, I thank them.

My first (I will give initials as to not offend) CHS was awesome. She brought in unique sources and wanted (actually WANTED) to work with lower tracked kids because that was where she would help. She was also intelligent enough to have the latest research methods and the latest trends in the social science fields. She taught me the role of education.

My second SB was extremely similar to me in sense of humor and accomplishments. She was clever and creative and popular with a “I may be small, but do not mess with me” attitude. It was among the best speeches I have ever heard when she laid down the law in a class. In reality, she cared about the kids and was willing to try anything. Plus, she had among the best sense of humor I had met—she is a fantastic person. She brought the classes a detailed analysis of the term “social sciences.” From her, I learned to explore relationships between the subjects.

My third PN, well, he had problems. He ended up selling cars, which probably helps education. He was just not right for the job. From him, I learned what NOT to do.

My fourth SH had an incredible mind for historical events and military history. He was fair and creative and shared his military experiences with the classes. He was a very positive person in the class and willing to work extra—even coaching baseball. I always felt a brotherhood of sorts with him. He was very intellectual and from him I learned how to think as a historian should.

My fifth, CS, was a kind young woman who was a bit shy at first. She had so many creative ideas and was willing to try anything. She was pleasant and positive with her students and came out of her shell while student teaching. I also cheered her on because she tried so hard to succeed. From her I learned creativity.

My sixth, AVS, was my psychologist of the group. She was excellent in her study of Psychology and Psychological events—which she used various levels of psychological theories and experiments and tests. She was gave me a fresh approach to teaching psychology. Most of my student teachers have some slight aversion to teaching Psychology, but she loved it.

My seventh, AM, was a well-rounded, highly intelligent, creative person who received many accolades when she graduated. I do not think there is a subject she would not excel in if she was determined to earn the high marks. She reminded me the most of myself when I was her age—well minus the honors and the intelligence—but you follow me on this one. We were very similar in perspective and personality and always had a laugh or a story to share. She was wise beyond her years and she was a fun person to be around. She taught me to be more accepting of people and keep my humor intact.

My eighth, EF, was a very intelligent and hard-working young woman who HAD to rely on self-reliance, as part of her experience was cut short of my influence/guidance during my surgery. She was shared with another teacher, but she eased my transition for my sub and was relied on to really carry the load. She ran my room for a few weeks and for that I will be eternally grateful. She aimed to please and knows that she did a great job for me and the district. She has taught me that self-confidence and self-preservation are truly attainable.

I am proud to say that all (even the car salesman taught for a year or so) aided the educational community. Minus the salesman, the others have all pursued careers in education, all maintain contact with me, and I am equally proud of all of them—and they are polite enough to respond to my corny newsletter email each Spring. I just consider it a bond and I want them all there when I retire in fifteen years.

To my legacies, to my partners in crime, and to the Robins of my Batman—this tribute is for you. They will become the favorite teachers in their districts, they will train student teachers in their careers, and they will maintain excellence in their classrooms. And they all will be successes—sometimes even in spite of my “idiosyncrasies.”

And I am confident each of them has a unique, “I was so pissed at him when he (finish the story here)” Sweetwood tale to tell. It was always for their own good—remember finding yourself occasionally means breaking from my influence. I respect and marvel at them all. Thanks ladies and gents, for being a part of my life, and for renewing my career. I could not be me without each of you.

The Road To Recovery

“Pain in my heart
Won’t let me be
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, I wake up restless night in misery.
Lord.”

Mick Jagger—The Rolling Stones from Pain In My Heart, 1964.

(Note: The above is the last picture of Pepto and I taken: the bloodspot on my eye was a result of being out for a while during surgery.)

News of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

They say, after heart surgery, that one becomes stronger with each passing day. That, I have found, is not true—as I measure the success by weeks. You know, this week was better than last week, and so on.

I am becoming stronger, to be honest. Monday I started Cardiac Rehab and I have been “upped” on my levels of exercise on Wednesday and Friday. My MET level while walking is currently 4.149, and when I left Cardiac Rehab last time, 18 months ago, it was 4.5. That is a huge increase in a short time. That is a positive.

The residual pain in pectorals is slowly diminishing unless I aggravate it; like I did yesterday carrying some text books. I have to learn my limits.

I feel that all will continue to progress well.

Here are some handy dandy tips that I have heard after this surgery and I heard 18 months ago. This is light-hearted (pun intended) so please do not take offense, but live and learn. Remember, it takes a great deal to offend me; but some people need to use their brains more.

Five rules of conduct one should exercise to a recovering surgical patient.

One: Never say, “Wow, you lost weight.” Of course I lost weight—I did not eat food for two and a half weeks. Food tasted like chewy air. Severe weight loss means one is weaker.

Two: Try not to compare similar surgical procedures. Someone from my work place was telling me, “My Uncle had heart surgery three months ago. He was doing fine, and then wham, he had a problem and had to go back in.” Yeah, thanks for that story.

Three: Try not to “one-up” a surgical patient. These are the most evil people in the universe with the exception of #4. Again, a person approached me and said, “You had heart surgery? Yeah, that would suck, but not nearly as much pain as I went through with a Gall Bladder surgery two years ago. Oh the pain was tremendous and I could not sit up for nine months…and blah blah blah.” It is not a contest.

Four: Try not to talk poorly of someone who is out of action because they are sick. These are the sleazy people who try to take cheap shots at someone when they are not present to defend themselves. Remember, sometimes the people you are speaking to will take offense by your insensitivity and then “tattle” to the infirmed person. Then you have given the infirmed person the best reason to live: REVENGE. I have made a list of four people who will soon wish I died on the surgical table.

Five: Try not to undermine the recovery process. These are the people who encourage surgical patients to eat bad food, drink stuff, or do other things that will eventually harm them. Add to that, do not put the patient down with comments like, “Oh a little salt will not hurt you,” or “C’mon, what do Doctors know, you can push it a bit.” Let the patient go at his/her pace.

Hoping you and yours a happy recovery process in whatever ails you now or in your future. I promise to never compare it to heart surgery from which I lost weight, it hurt like a sonofabitch, has been adaptable in the recovery process, not as painful as most surgeries--but nothing to sneeze at (literally because sneezing hurts), and I can no longer add salt to my food to as a result.

See you on a treadmill or eliptical machine soon.