I am a prime example of the idea that just because someone CAN have children does not mean that they SHOULD have children. Given the fact that I have two boys I can safely assume, barring any unfortunate confessions from my wife in the near or distant future, that I CAN have kids. The question now becomes SHOULD I have kids. I'll leave the following item as evidence that the answer is probably "no".
As mentioned in another post, I have recently introduced my oldest son, Ryan, to one of my favorite rock bands, Metallica. Not exactly children's music by any stretch of the imagination, but his favorite new song is potentially scary even for adults. The lyrics in "Enter Sandman" consist of the lead singer espousing the little boys and girls of the world to say their prayers every evening so that they will be protected from the nameless evil that lurks in the room after the lights go out. Additionally, there is reference to the idea that kids should sleep with one of their eyes open so as to ward off the "things that bite" and the "beasts under your bed, in your closet and in your head". Also, these things might take them to a place called "Never Never Land". Just writing this stuff down makes my bladder weak.
Now every time we get in the car he asks if he can listen to Metallica. I was all for this at first because he seemed to dig the song and I thought it was cool when we would sit at a stoplight with the windows down jamming out to what is arguably one of the best rock songs ever. Then, the other day, I hear a little voice in the backseat.
"something...something...little one don't forget my son...something...something"
Uh oh. I turn the music down from ear bleeding to barely audible. "Ryan?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you singing along?"
He laughs. "No!" He's a little shy when it comes to this sort of thing. He never cops to it when we catch him singing along to something.
"Ok..." Crap. He is singing along and appears to know some of the words. My wife is not going to be happy.
So I turn it back up loud so we can get the whole business of hearing damage out of the way before he hits puberty, and pretty soon I hear "...and of things that will bite..." from his high pitched voice. He is singing more loudly now and appears to be getting his whole body into it with the head banging and his little fists pumping. I can tell because I am secretly watching in the rear view mirror - he'd never do that if he knew I was paying attention.
When the song is over, he wants it played again, and of course I oblige. We both like it, and after all, it's just a song, isn't it?
Jen has already told me that the first time he wakes up in the middle of the night complaining that there is something under his bed or in the closet, I get to deal with it.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Gay Marriage
I feel fairly strongly that gays should be able to marry their significant other. Whether they can participate in the sacrament of marriage is something for the religious leaders to determine, but they certainly should have the same legal rights and privileges that heterosexuals do. To claim otherwise is to basically wish to be back in the days when it was illegal for people of different races to marry. Thankfully that was overturned, and now we are called on to continue the march for civil rights that started so long ago. California, thankfully, has decided to make it legal for gays to marry, which means that we have taken one more step on that march.
There are, of course, detractors who are not fans of gay marriage. One of my favorite blogs has written a nice piece in which the author has been kind enough to deliver a bit of a verbal bitch slap to Dinesh D'souza who has taken offense at the very idea that gays should have this right.
Read and enjoy.
There are, of course, detractors who are not fans of gay marriage. One of my favorite blogs has written a nice piece in which the author has been kind enough to deliver a bit of a verbal bitch slap to Dinesh D'souza who has taken offense at the very idea that gays should have this right.
Read and enjoy.
To homeschool, or not to homeschool...
There is an interesting debate that is going on all around us whether we are aware of it or not. It is the debate about homeschooling kids and it can get a little heated at times. My first reaction to the idea of homeschooling is one of derision and scorn. “Great,” I think. “Religious nuts who want to shelter their kids from the real world.” There are a number of those in the homeschool movement, and if you watch the movie “Bible Camp”, you will get an idea of exactly what I am talking about. These people are fucking nuts and should not be allowed to HAVE children much less hole them up at home and “educate” them.
But then there are those parents who would like to be able to send their kids to public schools and yet don’t feel they can because of the fact that, in general, the public school system kinda sucks. With the overemphasis on testing and the almost complete lack of emphasis on thinking skills, the public school system runs kids through a prescribed curriculum – often written by state administrators and not by educators – which is basically designed around a single test. This means that the entire high school science experience is boiled down to about 40 questions which, in Illinois at least, rely on memorization rather than critical analysis. The schools are then judged based on their test scores, and if the scores don’t measure up the school gets put on probation, or after a few years of not measuring up, taken over by the state.
Private schools don’t seem to do any better. The latest comparisons between private and public schools showed little to no difference in performance between the two groups of students. In some areas the public schools performed marginally better, and in other areas the privates performed marginally better. It was basically a wash.
So with the issues facing both public and private institutions, parents are rightly going to have problems determining how to best educate their kids. But is homeschooling the answer? I contend that it is not. Lets consider me as an example homeschool teacher. I have a 3 degrees – a B.S. in biological research, a B.A. in secondary education, and a M.S. in biology. I love to read and will pick up a book on almost any subject if I am slightly intrigued by it, I have played sports in high school, college, and on adult teams, and in general, I consider myself to be a fairly well rounded, well educated guy. I don’t, however, think I would be a good person to be the sole source of education for my kids. I know they would learn a bunch about nature, conservation, bugs, and other science things (my 4 year old son already knows that he is a tetrapod, a hominid, and that bugs are really swell) but they would probably not get a great exposure to art of literature as I don’t really know anything about that. Sure, I could learn, but I am not passionate about it like some of my friends in the English and Art departments. Their music education would consist of things like “Metallica is meant to be cranked with the windows down, and when we get up to the stoplight, you have to extend your pinky and index finger to make the horns and bang your head fiercely along with the beat…Oh, and here is Beethoven’s 9th.” Art would be almost non-existent, not because I don’t value it but because I know next to nothing about it and in my experience it is not something that can be learned from a book.
So basically here I am, a certified high school teacher with 10 years of experience teaching freshman biology, Advanced Placement Biology, and introductory college biology and I don’t think I am qualified to educate my own kids on many of the subjects they might be interested in. Sure, if all they want to do is science, I can certainly fulfill that requirement, but if they are interested in something else I would rather that they learn from someone passionate about that area.
I have heard many reasons for why parents homeschool their kids, and each of them needs to be considered individually. Quality of education is not a compelling argument in my mind. An involved parent who cares about the education of their kids can participate in the process, contact teachers, discuss options with administrators, and in general, be an advocate for their children. Make sure the kids do their homework and ask questions when they don’t understand. Train them not to be passive in their education and kids can achieve remarkable things no matter how bad you think the school might be. Most importantly, parents and kids both need to realize that education isn’t something done to them but something that they have to do for themselves. Teachers are guides, not the cause of education.
Parents are right to be on the lookout for the best way to educate their kids, but they need to realize that it is a very rare instance where they can provide a better education than the trained professionals in the school systems. They are, of course, free to homeschool if they wish (unless it is illegal in their particular neck of the woods), but I have a better idea. Put your energy toward fixing the problems found in the educational system rather than simply opting out and you will not only be helping your own kid, but all future children who attend public schools.
But then there are those parents who would like to be able to send their kids to public schools and yet don’t feel they can because of the fact that, in general, the public school system kinda sucks. With the overemphasis on testing and the almost complete lack of emphasis on thinking skills, the public school system runs kids through a prescribed curriculum – often written by state administrators and not by educators – which is basically designed around a single test. This means that the entire high school science experience is boiled down to about 40 questions which, in Illinois at least, rely on memorization rather than critical analysis. The schools are then judged based on their test scores, and if the scores don’t measure up the school gets put on probation, or after a few years of not measuring up, taken over by the state.
Private schools don’t seem to do any better. The latest comparisons between private and public schools showed little to no difference in performance between the two groups of students. In some areas the public schools performed marginally better, and in other areas the privates performed marginally better. It was basically a wash.
So with the issues facing both public and private institutions, parents are rightly going to have problems determining how to best educate their kids. But is homeschooling the answer? I contend that it is not. Lets consider me as an example homeschool teacher. I have a 3 degrees – a B.S. in biological research, a B.A. in secondary education, and a M.S. in biology. I love to read and will pick up a book on almost any subject if I am slightly intrigued by it, I have played sports in high school, college, and on adult teams, and in general, I consider myself to be a fairly well rounded, well educated guy. I don’t, however, think I would be a good person to be the sole source of education for my kids. I know they would learn a bunch about nature, conservation, bugs, and other science things (my 4 year old son already knows that he is a tetrapod, a hominid, and that bugs are really swell) but they would probably not get a great exposure to art of literature as I don’t really know anything about that. Sure, I could learn, but I am not passionate about it like some of my friends in the English and Art departments. Their music education would consist of things like “Metallica is meant to be cranked with the windows down, and when we get up to the stoplight, you have to extend your pinky and index finger to make the horns and bang your head fiercely along with the beat…Oh, and here is Beethoven’s 9th.” Art would be almost non-existent, not because I don’t value it but because I know next to nothing about it and in my experience it is not something that can be learned from a book.
So basically here I am, a certified high school teacher with 10 years of experience teaching freshman biology, Advanced Placement Biology, and introductory college biology and I don’t think I am qualified to educate my own kids on many of the subjects they might be interested in. Sure, if all they want to do is science, I can certainly fulfill that requirement, but if they are interested in something else I would rather that they learn from someone passionate about that area.
I have heard many reasons for why parents homeschool their kids, and each of them needs to be considered individually. Quality of education is not a compelling argument in my mind. An involved parent who cares about the education of their kids can participate in the process, contact teachers, discuss options with administrators, and in general, be an advocate for their children. Make sure the kids do their homework and ask questions when they don’t understand. Train them not to be passive in their education and kids can achieve remarkable things no matter how bad you think the school might be. Most importantly, parents and kids both need to realize that education isn’t something done to them but something that they have to do for themselves. Teachers are guides, not the cause of education.
Parents are right to be on the lookout for the best way to educate their kids, but they need to realize that it is a very rare instance where they can provide a better education than the trained professionals in the school systems. They are, of course, free to homeschool if they wish (unless it is illegal in their particular neck of the woods), but I have a better idea. Put your energy toward fixing the problems found in the educational system rather than simply opting out and you will not only be helping your own kid, but all future children who attend public schools.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
For my mom
Here it is, Mothers Day, and I am reminded once again that I don’t have one. Well, I did have one, but she died when I was 12 of a massive heart attack brought on in no small part by the way she smoked and drank excessively for most of her adult life. I say this not so you will get the impression that my mom was a bad or weak person, because at least in my memory she was one of the greatest people I have had the pleasure of knowing. I say that so you will simply know a small fact about her to help round out the picture of this amazing person.
I can talk about these things with my wife, family members, and friends, and I do as often as the memories come to mind, but for some reason I just decided that I wanted to write this out as a tribute to my mom. She was something else.
There are many gaps in my memory regarding the first 10 years or so of my life, but when I think of my mom the first thing that comes to mind is that she never met a stranger. She was always able to make a “5 minute Best Friend” wherever she went. These were people who took our order at McDonalds, bagged groceries, or happened to be standing too close when she wondered out loud where the hell the mayonnaise was in this godforsaken store. I have this ability too – more than one helpful soul has helped me locate the goddamn mayonnaise - but I keep it turned off unless I am either really in need of something or really bored. She was always on.
I also remember that she had a mouth like a sailor on shore leave and never hesitated to throw out some expletive laded diatribe when something didn’t go right. “SHITFUCKPISSCUNTWHORE!” was the poetic cry of this damsel in distress, and it would come out for a wide variety of reasons - when she dropped a lit cigarette on her lap and was now slightly on fire, burnt dinner, cut her finger, or simply had enough of the noise my sister and I were generating. I even asked her about it one time when I was around 10.
“Mom, I know what shit, fuck, and piss are, but what’s a ‘cuntwhore’?”
These might be the first things that jump to mind, but they are by no means the most meaningful. There are obviously many meaningful things that I can remember – she was my mom and I would have to write for days to do justice to all the little things – but the thing that sticks out most was her total love for her kids. She used to bring my sister and I little things from the trips she had to take every now and then for work. She’d cheer me on when I was up to bat at little league games (and there was one memorable time when she got the whole crowd to chant my name when I had the chance to knock in the winning run, which I promptly did on the first pitch. That’s right - I was awesome.) She took care of my when I was sick.
There was a time in my life when I was taking medication for asthma which was, for all intents and purposes, adrenaline in a pill form. I had it pretty bad for a while and my doctor had prescribed that I take two of these pills a day, one in the morning (which was no problem – I needed a little pick me up many days as you will soon see) and one at night. The night pill was the worst. I would take it as directed around 7 pm and then proceed to spend the next five or six hours completely wired. Bedtime was around 8, so I’d spend a few hours staring at the ceiling, trying to go to sleep.
Did you ever try to go to sleep? Everyone knows how on Christmas Eve Santa doesn’t come until you fall asleep, and that the sooner you fall asleep the sooner Christmas morning comes. Kids around the world (at least those who believe in Santa and Christmas) spend hours on Christmas Eve, eyes closed, willing themselves to sleep. It never works. These kids spend most of the night worried that they won’t get to sleep in time and that Santa won’t come and that Christmas will be cancelled all because they can’t get to sleep and oh god it is now 11 o’clock and Santa was spotted by the local airport a few hours ago and he’s got to have moved on by now because he has to get to the ENTIRE world in one night and I’ll never get that Transformers toy that I so desperately want and I’ll have to wait another whole year which is really WAY too long and I might just have to go insane because by next year I might not even WANT the Optimus Prime and the milk and cookies and carrots will all be left out and the milk will sour and smell bad in the morning which will be just a GREAT thing to go downstairs to…etc.
I had several months straight of Christmas Eve’s in which I spent many hours each night with nothing much to do except lay in bed. I couldn’t play because my sister’s room was right next door and she’d wake up and tell mom and dad. I couldn’t go watch TV because the only set was downstairs in the basement and I’ll be damned if I was going to go down there all by myself, finished basement or not. Monsters don’t care if the floor is carpeted – in fact it is probably easier for them to sneak up on people because their footsteps are muffled.
Anyway, every now and then it would get to be too much for me and I’d venture into my parents room to tell them I couldn’t sleep. Surprisingly enough, my dad’s response didn’t help much. “You’ll never fall asleep wandering around the house – go back to bed!”
My mom, however, always took the time to give me a hug and walk me back upstairs where she would tuck me in and run her fingers through my hair or rub my back until I was relaxed enough to finally fall asleep. Some nights this was a short process, but other nights it would take 20 minutes or half an hour of this before I was able to sleep. She never seemed put out by this either. No matter how often it happened, she was always willing and able to get up out of her bed to take care of me.
I am now the proud father of 2 young boys who are wonderful in every way. (The littlest one, Ethan, has the ability to make these mind blowing poops that are so big they have their own gravitational pull, so that isn’t very wonderful, but aside from that, I have perfect kids.) It is the memory of my mom, waking up on a regular basis to deal with my insomnia problem, that comes to mind whenever I have to get up in the middle of the night to take care of one of my boys. I am not as willing to get up in the middle of the night as I remember my mom being, but I always try to put on a happy face when either of them calls so that whether I enjoy getting up at 3 am or not, my boys will always feel loved and cared for the same way I did when I was young.
She was great, and while I am sure I learned some bad things from her as well, I gained quite a few positive attributes from watching her over the years. Her memory lives on in my actions. I am who I am today in no small part because of her.
I can talk about these things with my wife, family members, and friends, and I do as often as the memories come to mind, but for some reason I just decided that I wanted to write this out as a tribute to my mom. She was something else.
There are many gaps in my memory regarding the first 10 years or so of my life, but when I think of my mom the first thing that comes to mind is that she never met a stranger. She was always able to make a “5 minute Best Friend” wherever she went. These were people who took our order at McDonalds, bagged groceries, or happened to be standing too close when she wondered out loud where the hell the mayonnaise was in this godforsaken store. I have this ability too – more than one helpful soul has helped me locate the goddamn mayonnaise - but I keep it turned off unless I am either really in need of something or really bored. She was always on.
I also remember that she had a mouth like a sailor on shore leave and never hesitated to throw out some expletive laded diatribe when something didn’t go right. “SHITFUCKPISSCUNTWHORE!” was the poetic cry of this damsel in distress, and it would come out for a wide variety of reasons - when she dropped a lit cigarette on her lap and was now slightly on fire, burnt dinner, cut her finger, or simply had enough of the noise my sister and I were generating. I even asked her about it one time when I was around 10.
“Mom, I know what shit, fuck, and piss are, but what’s a ‘cuntwhore’?”
These might be the first things that jump to mind, but they are by no means the most meaningful. There are obviously many meaningful things that I can remember – she was my mom and I would have to write for days to do justice to all the little things – but the thing that sticks out most was her total love for her kids. She used to bring my sister and I little things from the trips she had to take every now and then for work. She’d cheer me on when I was up to bat at little league games (and there was one memorable time when she got the whole crowd to chant my name when I had the chance to knock in the winning run, which I promptly did on the first pitch. That’s right - I was awesome.) She took care of my when I was sick.
There was a time in my life when I was taking medication for asthma which was, for all intents and purposes, adrenaline in a pill form. I had it pretty bad for a while and my doctor had prescribed that I take two of these pills a day, one in the morning (which was no problem – I needed a little pick me up many days as you will soon see) and one at night. The night pill was the worst. I would take it as directed around 7 pm and then proceed to spend the next five or six hours completely wired. Bedtime was around 8, so I’d spend a few hours staring at the ceiling, trying to go to sleep.
Did you ever try to go to sleep? Everyone knows how on Christmas Eve Santa doesn’t come until you fall asleep, and that the sooner you fall asleep the sooner Christmas morning comes. Kids around the world (at least those who believe in Santa and Christmas) spend hours on Christmas Eve, eyes closed, willing themselves to sleep. It never works. These kids spend most of the night worried that they won’t get to sleep in time and that Santa won’t come and that Christmas will be cancelled all because they can’t get to sleep and oh god it is now 11 o’clock and Santa was spotted by the local airport a few hours ago and he’s got to have moved on by now because he has to get to the ENTIRE world in one night and I’ll never get that Transformers toy that I so desperately want and I’ll have to wait another whole year which is really WAY too long and I might just have to go insane because by next year I might not even WANT the Optimus Prime and the milk and cookies and carrots will all be left out and the milk will sour and smell bad in the morning which will be just a GREAT thing to go downstairs to…etc.
I had several months straight of Christmas Eve’s in which I spent many hours each night with nothing much to do except lay in bed. I couldn’t play because my sister’s room was right next door and she’d wake up and tell mom and dad. I couldn’t go watch TV because the only set was downstairs in the basement and I’ll be damned if I was going to go down there all by myself, finished basement or not. Monsters don’t care if the floor is carpeted – in fact it is probably easier for them to sneak up on people because their footsteps are muffled.
Anyway, every now and then it would get to be too much for me and I’d venture into my parents room to tell them I couldn’t sleep. Surprisingly enough, my dad’s response didn’t help much. “You’ll never fall asleep wandering around the house – go back to bed!”
My mom, however, always took the time to give me a hug and walk me back upstairs where she would tuck me in and run her fingers through my hair or rub my back until I was relaxed enough to finally fall asleep. Some nights this was a short process, but other nights it would take 20 minutes or half an hour of this before I was able to sleep. She never seemed put out by this either. No matter how often it happened, she was always willing and able to get up out of her bed to take care of me.
I am now the proud father of 2 young boys who are wonderful in every way. (The littlest one, Ethan, has the ability to make these mind blowing poops that are so big they have their own gravitational pull, so that isn’t very wonderful, but aside from that, I have perfect kids.) It is the memory of my mom, waking up on a regular basis to deal with my insomnia problem, that comes to mind whenever I have to get up in the middle of the night to take care of one of my boys. I am not as willing to get up in the middle of the night as I remember my mom being, but I always try to put on a happy face when either of them calls so that whether I enjoy getting up at 3 am or not, my boys will always feel loved and cared for the same way I did when I was young.
She was great, and while I am sure I learned some bad things from her as well, I gained quite a few positive attributes from watching her over the years. Her memory lives on in my actions. I am who I am today in no small part because of her.
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