Mamacita says: It makes me sad that so many parents are not allowing their children to dwell in the world of innocent fantasy.  These parents feel that to allow it is equivalent to lying to their children about what is real and what isn’t.

Don’t they understand that to a child, both worlds are real?  I’ll go one further: to all people of any age who retain their believing hearts, and who use their brains as God (and biology) intended, both worlds are real, too.

My daughter was seven when she asked the question I’d been dreading for seven years: “Mommy, is there really a Santa Claus?”

However, thanks to Caroline Quiner Ingalls, I knew exactly how to answer her. And, this answer fully satisfied my little child, and me.

Laura and Mary’s Ma knew how to explain to her children about Santa Claus without destroying their faith in miracles and magic:

. . . then Laura had a chance to speak without interrupting. She said “There isn’t any fireplace.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Ma asked her.

“Santa Claus,” Laura answered.

“Eat your supper, Laura, and let’s not cross bridges till we come to them,” said Ma.

Laura and Mary knew that Santa Claus could not come down a chimney when there was no chimney. One day Mary asked Ma how Santa Claus could come. Ma did not answer. Instead, she asked, “What do you girls want for Christmas?”

. . . “Ma!” (Laura) cried. “there IS a Santa Claus, isn’t there?”

“Of course there’s a Santa Claus, said Ma. She set the iron on the stove to heat again.

“The older you are, the more you know about Santa Claus,” she said. “You are so big now, you know he can’t be just one man, don’t you? You know he is everywhere on Christmas Eve. He is in the Big Woods, and in Indian Territory, and far away in York State, and here. He comes down all the chimneys at the same time. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ma,” said Mary and Laura.

“Well,” said Ma. “then you see – “

“I guess he is like angels,” Mary said, slowly. And Laura could see that, just as well as Mary could.

Then Ma told them something else about Santa Claus. He was everywhere, and besides that, he was all the time.

Whenever anyone was unselfish, that was Santa Claus.

Christmas Eve was the time when everybody was unselfish. On that one night, Santa Claus was everywhere, because everybody, all together, stopped being selfish and wanted other people to be happy. And in the morning you saw what that had done.

“If everybody wanted everybody else to be happy, all the time, then would it be Christmas all the time?” Laura asked, and Ma said, “Yes, Laura.”

–from On the Banks of Plum Creek, by Laura Ingalls Wilder

You’re welcome.

Some people prefer paper; others prefer plastic.  Is it any of my business?  No.  I prefer paper – the kind with handles – but it’s still none of your business.

Cloth diapers?  Disposables?  Honestly, was there EVER a topic less anybody’s business other than the one who has to do all the diaper-changing?

Does it really matter how we dress our children as long as they’re protected from the elements and decently covered?  It does not.  If you don’t like the way my children are dressed, that’s too bad.  I think your kids look like little hookers and pimps, but I’m not going to tell you that.  My kids got to choose their own outfits, and it didn’t bother me in the least that my son wore sweat pants until 5th grade or that my daughter spent most of her “at home” time in a frilly full slip.  Big deal.  As for how they dressed when they played outside in hot weather. . . well, it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it, kids.

Note:  if you DO allow your kids to go out in public dressed like pimps and whores, don’t act all shocked or surprised if someone tries to buy the advertised product.  The world is full of ignorance and perversion, and parents who let their kids dress like that are, in a way, both.

Are you in love with a man?  A woman?  A man who used to be a woman?  A woman who used to be a man?  I don’t care.  I have all kinds of friends, and I like them all.  None of that is any of my business.  Or yours.

Did you choose to breastfeed your kids?  I think that’s lovely.  Did you choose to bottlefeed?  I think that’s lovely, too.  Really, it’s none of my business how you fed your babies, and it’s none of yours, either.  Fighting over which method is best is silly, childish, selfish, and makes me think you’re not all that secure or confident about your own choices.

If your kid is parking his Harley, hanging his leather jacket over the back of a chair, grabbing a bag of Fritos and a ham sandwich, ogling a Playboy, and then demanding to be breast or bottle-fed, expect society to give you the stinkeye, but even so, it’s still nobody else’s business if you’re a bunch of weirdos or not.

Worship however you please – or not.  Drive any kind of vehicle you want.  It’s none of my business what brand of cheese you buy.  It’s none of my business if your kids know Harry Potter by heart, or if you have banished all things HP to the back of the line behind your row of Disney fairy tales, because of their witchcraft and spell content.  Wait, was that in HP or in your Disneys?  Hmmm.  Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo was a spell, wasn’t it.  Oh dear.

Speaking of inconsistency – that’s really the only thing I despise.  If you’re going to ban Harry Potter ,because of the witches and evil, you’d better not have Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, Little Mermaid, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, etc, in your home, either, because if you ban one and not the others, you’re a hypocrite.  And I loathe hypocrisy.

Even so, it’s still none of my business if you’re a hypocritical git.

Do what you want.  Let others do the same.  Back off.  Shut up.  Lay off.  Etc.

The majority of what other people do is none of your business.  Live your own life, and don’t throw stones unless you’re perfect, yourself.

That would, of course, be nobody.

I worry about the future for different reasons than most people’s reasons.  I worry about the future because present generations aren’t learning about the past.

Seriously.  Our students don’t seem to have anything to make connections to, these days.  They believe ridiculous things on Facebook updates.  They don’t associate Lincoln with the Civil War.  They think the Disney versions of fairy tales are the original versions.  They don’t know that the Little Mermaid died.  They don’t know any nursery rhymes.  They can’t finish a line of poetry.  They don’t know why Paul Revere rode through the streets.  They don’t understand the difference between a comparison and a contrast.  They are uncertain about antonyms and synonyms.  Most of them have never used a thesaurus.  Some of them have never heard of a thesaurus, and when they hear the word, they think it’s a dinosaur.  Most students think a dictionary is good only for a definition, and if they don’t know how to spell a word, they can’t find it.

I worry about a future wherein the so-called “educated” population has nothing filed away in their heads, but rely on Google to find out the simplest things.  I worry about a future that has me picturing, in my head, surgeons googling the whereabouts of the spleen with the patient on the table.  Already, we have a population that doesn’t know how to do math without a calculator.

TV shows make stupid people seem like the norm, and ignorance seem like the ideal.  Our schools are emphasizing conformity and punishing creativity.  Physical ability is trophied even while much of the population’s physical ability is atrophied.  Academic success is pretty much ignored lest some kid’s self-esteem suffer because he/she can’t do “it” as well.

Excellent work that, a generation ago, would have been put up on the wall so all could see and benefit and honor it, is now hastily shunted away because not everybody can do that well.  Kids who can’t do that well now no longer have examples of what things could be like if they worked harder, etc.  Bright, fast kids are advised to slow down, and ignorant teachers “reward” them by giving them more of the same or, even worse, relegating them to the hallway where they spend the day tutoring slow kids.

I worry about the future because people know nothing about the past these days.  I worry about the future because people are spending the present letting other people think for them.

What kind of future is in store for our children if they are not taught about the past, and encouraged to do things more than one way, and encouraged to apply and connect this with that, and that with the other?

Education is about connections.  If our students have nothing in their heads, lives, or experiences, what sense can they make about anything?  How can things be relevant if there is no relativity?

I’ve had students who couldn’t follow the directions on a box of brownie mix.  Oh, they could read the directions, but they weren’t sure about teaspoons, tablespoons, and measuring cups.  Imagine.

Speaking of “imagine,”  I’ve had students who had a hard time imagining anything because imagination requires connections, too.  Image-ing is possible only with prior knowledge – schema.  How can we create the “magic” part of “i-mage-ing” unless we know as much as possible about as many things as possible?

The more schema we can bring to the table, the more connections we’re able to make.  The more connections we make, the more we can understand.  The more we understand, the more we learn.  The more we learn, the more we know.  The more we know, the better able we are to cope and improve the universe.  Not to even mention those  sofa Jeopardy wins.

As for those teachers who advocate “no memorizing, no studying, no homework, no proving knowledge or mastery, and almost total dependence on electronics,” I have only this to say.

Bullshit.  You’re all full of bullshit.

And this from Mamacita, who advocates tech so thoroughly and enthusiastically that my students who don’t use the social networking that they were told to use are left out of the announcement loop altogether.

P.S.  Dear Students:  Midterms are this week.  If you skived off class and didn’t check Twitter, Facebook, Google +, or email, you’ve got a big surprise coming.

And if you aren’t able to make connections, it won’t do you much good to show up, anyway.

I’m tired of my ankles turning because of the nuts. I’m tired of mowing over the nuts and flinging them towards someone else’s yard.

Everywhere I turn, it’s nuts, nuts, nuts.

I can’t even walk without stepping on nuts and tripping.

I’m reminded of a fall drive we once took, when the kids were small. We drove past a farm, and as usual slowed down so the kids could see the animals. In this case, pigs. Huge pigs. Huge male pigs. Huge male pigs who could hardly walk. And why, you might ask, couldn’t the huge male pigs walk around in their pen?

Same reason nobody can walk around in this yard. They kept stepping on their darn nuts.

The kids still talk about that trip. Well, not the TRIP, per se, but the sights. That one, in particular.  In fact, the kids still quote me.  I guess it IS pretty funny, what I said, but the truth was, I was flabbergasted by the sight of those huge nuts being stepped on by those huge sharp hoofs.  I’d tell you what I said, but I’m afraid you might not respect me any more if you knew.  Besides, one of my kids will probably tell you all in the comments anyway.

We used to have the same problem with balls, but that, like this, was purely seasonal.

Bring it on, Google.

Most of the time, THOSE parents never darkened the door of the school for any reason. Occasionally, one of them would actually show up for a conference, and I would sit there on the other side of the table gritting my teeth and gripping a pencil so tight that sometimes it broke, because nine times out of ten, the parent of my raggedy little starveling was dressed pretty darn well, and it was rare that he/she didn’t reek of cigarette smoke. In other words, money WAS being spent, but not on the child.

Cigarettes in the purse, no socks on the child. Beer in the refrigerator, no decent shoes for the child. Nice clothes on the adult, rags on the child.  Warm winter coat on the adult, a t-shirt on the child.

I can feel my blood pressure rising as I remember it.

Why, why, WHY, when these poor kids are constantly removed from these ‘homes,’ are they just as constantly put right back in to be mistreated just like before? Sometimes, in fact most times, ‘keeping the family together’ is NOT important. Sometimes, splitting a family apart is the best thing that could ever happen to it. When parents do not behave like adults, they have no business inflicting it on innocent children. Get the kids out of that house, and put them where they’ll be fed and clothed and loved. Any adult who would buy cigarettes when his/her child has no socks, is a monster, not fit to raise a child. Addictions? Cry me a river. The needs of children always come before any needs of an adult. And especially before an adult’s hobby, toy, or habit.  In fact, the needs of children come before ANYTHING remotely to do with an adult.

“Wahwahwah, don’t I deserve to have a life?”  Actually, no, you don’t.  Not until you have made sure your children’s needs have been taken care of, and, sadly enough for you, sometimes the bars have closed by the time you can go.  Of course, there’s always the 24-hour WalMart – you can throw a t-shirt on over your thong and your spike heels and get your cigarettes there.  Hey, you might even show up later on People of Walmart!  8-year-old Susie can watch the younger kids till you get home.  Wake her up and put her to work; she’s used to it.

Look around. Every person has a story to tell. Sometimes you can tell by their outsides, and sometimes you can’t.

Most of the time, that story has something to do with their home, and who was there, and who WASN’T there.

Some people are parents via biology or adoption, and others are parents via fate. There is no guarantee which kind will be the best kind.

I would bet money, though, if I had any money, that an adult who would put his/her own selfish wants and addictions over and above the needs of a little child, is not even going to be in the running. Shame on them. Shame, and more shame.

I do not understand many things in this world, and one of them is this: when “everybody” knows a home is not a fit place for a child, why does “everybody” talk about that fact, yet allow the child to remain in the home?

“What a shame, those poor kids, alcohol, drugs, prostitution, gambling, live-in lovers, possible molestation. . . . .” and then we watch them get on the bus, knowing they’re going “home” to hell house.

I know that mistakes are made all the time, in removing children from so-called ‘homes,’ but I think even more mistakes are made all the time in NOT removing children. Why should their worthless parents have all the rights, and the children have none?

I am so down tonight. I wish I could gather up all these kids and wash them, and feed them, and put clean socks on their feet, and intact shoes, and pretty clothes. I wish I could fill Christmas stockings and Easter baskets for them, and hug them, and give each one a doll or toy of some kind that would be their very own and nobody else’s. And if their worthless deadbeat parent tried to take it and sell it for drugs or booze, I hope a sensor in it would explode and wipe that bum off the face of the earth. Peace on earth, yes.

Read it right: “Peace on earth to men of good will.”

The other kind can bite me.

Remember that anecdote about the young bride whose husband asked her why she cut the beef roast in half before she put it in the pan?

She told him she did it that way because her mother always did it that way.

So the young husband asked his mother-in-law why she had always cut the beef roast in half before she put it in the pan. Her reply? She did it that way because HER mother had always done it that way.

At the next family dinner, the husband asked his wife’s grandmother why she had always cut the beef roast in half before putting it in the pan. Her reply? Because her mother had always done it that way.

His wife’s great-grandmother was still alive, so he went to the nursing home and asked her why she always cut the beef roast in half before putting it in the pan. Her reply?

“I only had the one small pan, and the only way a roast would fit in it was if it was first cut into two pieces.”

When my children visit, I often think of this story. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it might as well be, because so many of the things we do make no sense except in the context of the past.

Both of my children love grilled cheese sandwiches. I mean, who doesn’t? Secondly, neither of my children will touch a grilled cheese sandwich unless it is made with Velveeta.

Thirdly, and most importantly, I can grant these wishes because A. I won’t eat a grilled cheese sandwich unless it was made with Velveeta, either, and B. Velveeta is a name brand food I can actually AFFORD!

When my son visits, he often requests grilled cheese sandwiches the minute he enters the house.  When he was a little boy, the only way he could eat a grilled cheese sandwich was if I mashed it down flat with the spatula after the Velveeta had melted. THEN his little mouth could close around it, and he could eat the sandwich “like a man.”

He’s an adult now, but he still wants his grilled cheese sandwiches flattened with the spatula. Why?  Because that’s how his mother always made them.

When he gets married, I can’t wait to hear his wife’s reaction when he asks her to mash a perfectly good sandwich flat. Will she question it, or just do it?

Sometimes, family traditions have serious beginnings and funny middles. As for the endings, there aren’t any, not really.

(Rerun.  You’re not crazy.  At least, not on this account.)

Your kid is raised. Stop raising him. If he’s still an immature weenie, let life hand him/her some consequences. It’s about time somebody did.

Love, Professor MeanJane

P.S. Your kid is nineteen years old and still can’t remember to bring a pencil to school. And no, he can’t borrow mine.  There are no soul-sucking “community school supplies” at this level.   If he wants a grade on a test, he can go down to the bookstore and invest in a two-dollar collegiate-licensed pencil. Yes, they are too expensive and yes, it’s ridiculous. At Target he can get a whole package for a dollar, but then he’d have to remember to bring one to class.

You are not allowing your kid to grow up, and he doesn’t have what it takes to do so himself. This is your fault. Back off. Let him struggle and fail, and then perhaps he will struggle and succeed. No, this is NOT being cruel. Cruelty is keeping your kid a kid too long, and doing all the work for him. Step back and don’t give in when he comes crying to you about how hard life is.

This is one of many reasons why I am a firm believer in mixed-age classes. At this level, I’ll have students from 17 to 80 in one room, and each has something invaluable to give to the other. I think every kid needs at least one adult who is not responsible for raising him/her, and I think every adult needs to be around kids for whom they are not responsible for raising.

Something else that’s wonderful?   We don’t really have many discipline problems at this level, and if we do, the student is escorted out of the building immediately. As such students should be at ALL levels, so our nice hardworking kids might be able to climb higher and see farther and accomplish much more, without being constantly albatrossed by discipline problems that are allowed to get worse each year by spineless administrators and parents who can’t see beyond their own child.

Remember Helen Keller, who had to be removed from her doting parents’ home in order to be educated properly, because her parents were so sorry for her that they gave in to her every whim and turned her into a smelly obnoxious beast who demanded her own way and got it in every situation. Poor little Helen, let her have it; she’s been denied so much! Annie Sullivan, however, knew better. Why can’t modern parents and administrators see it?

(Helen Keller has been in the top five of my top ten “most admired people” list since I was a small child. )

I am a firm believer in playing my best with the hand I’m dealt, but that only works when there are 52 cards to be dealt. Add “just a few more,” and the rules are changed, and it becomes a different game.

Life is good. Dig it.

And when life isn’t good, dig it anyway. If you keep digging, you’ll strike gold eventually.

We’ve got children who not only wouldn’t know how to climb a tree to save themselves from a bear attack, they probably wouldn’t know any better than to assume the bear was a sweet thing that welcomed a Kodak moment.  We’ve got children who’ve never walked around their own block without at least one adult present.  We’ve got children who have never in their entire lives played in their own back yard without adult supervision.

Our kids have never organized their own games, made their own friends, walked to the neighborhood store, jumped rope, been outside after dark, put lightning bugs in a jar, or gotten dirty without a scolding.

Today’s kids get passing grades without really passing, sports trophies without really playing, and attendance awards even when they’ve missed six days for orthodontia appointments.  Bullies receive more sympathy and help than their victims.  Disruptive students are allowed to remain in our classrooms, destroying the learning opportunity for other kids.  (Disability or not, no child should be included IF that student presents a danger to other children, or in any way prevents other children from learning.  I’m not backing down on this one.)

These kids have no organizational skills because all their school supplies are in big bins that everyone helps himself/herself to – many of these students will go to college and expect their professors to provide the pencils and paper.  How do I know this?  I am a college professor, and every semester, at least one younger student wonders where the paper, pencils, paper clips, and staplers are kept.  When they are told to supply their own, these students are absolutely flabbergasted.

Many kids these days would not know what “flabbergasted” means.

Their playgrounds look like the toddler room in the church basement, not a single pair of jeans has had to be patched, they’re chastized if they get dirty, and they have never had a broken bone or stitches from just being a kid and playing in their lives.  Simple falls, slips, bumps, and bruises are Benadryl foddder.  They’re not allowed to climb because they might fall.  They can’t whirl and twirl because they might fall. They can’t run because they might fall – or make some child who can’t run as fast feel bad.  They can’t throw or kick baseballs or footballs or kickballs because someone might get hit, or get upset at witnessing another child’s skill.  Imaginative play is forbidden lest it include a pirate sword or a finger gun or some kind of sexist, non-PC labeling.

What’s next?  No walking, because they might fall?  It wouldn’t surprise me.

Many kids are not allowed to make their own friends because unless the parents can also be friends, it just ain’t happening.

Children are allowed to run wild in public places, eat and drink anywhere they want, talk during movies, and pretty much rule the roost in their own homes and anyone else’s, too.

Excuses, reasons, and rationalizations are made for all misbehavior.  It is never the child’s fault.  He can’t help it.

Many children eat what they want whenever they want it.  Parents are so afraid little Lulu and little Tubby will be hungry or their self-esteem will be eroded that they cater to these little monsters in every way.  If anyone objects or finds fault, that person must be a child-hating ogre who just doesn’t underSTAND how sensitive Lulu and Tubby are.

Teachers are too strict and require too much.  Theater patrons who glare have forgotten how it was to be a free-spirited child.  Restaurant servers and customers are just hateful selfish beasts who ought to appreciate children and not expect them to be sentient. Fast-food restaurants FORCE families to eat there every night, and that we are all fat isn’t our fault -it’s the restaurant’s fault for MAKING us go there.

Am I in a bad mood?  Not at all.  I am actually more amused, in a head-shaking, disgusted, sarcastic, snarky way, at so many young parents these days who are making it so difficult all the time when it really shouldn’t be.

When people allow children to be in charge, life is going to be hell.  Plus, these parents are also responsible for encouraging their children to grow into adults who must be ever entertained from without, who can’t sit still for thirty seconds, who have poor eating habits, shoddy entertainment preferences, and a sense of entitlement and blamelessness that should shame the nation.

P.S.  Parents who allow their children to be in charge DESERVE the hell they are nurturing.  Is that harsh?  Bite me.  The truth hurts.

Yes, I am aware that such things have been said about the younger generation for thousands of years.  That doesn’t make it any less true.

I love children too much to stay quiet.  We need to nurture them, love them, cherish them, and require them to genuinely grow up, and that means, to have the knowledge and skills to take care of themselves and of others.

Nobody has the right to be helpless unless he/she really is.

I have seen many teachers fail at the secondary level, because they just simply did not have ‘the knack.’. I have seen a lot of excellent, successful elementary teachers fail at this level, because they did not have ‘the knack.’

It’s easier to do at the upper high school level, because some of those students are more mature than some adults I’ve known. But at the middle school level, and the lower high school levels, it’s harder to do, and even more important to do it.

Once in middle school, students are no longer ‘children.’ Oh, we know they still are, but don’t make the mistake of treating them as you would treat a fifth-grader.

Never talk to older students as you would talk to younger ones.

A teacher can lose an entire group of seventh-graders simply by referring to them as ‘boys and girls.’ I’ve seen entire classes turn against a teacher because he/she used a tone of voice that connoted ‘elementary.’ I’ve seen principals wonder all year why the students disliked him/her so much, and it was all because of a condescending remark made on the first day of school, that the adult doesn’t even remember but every student knows by heart.

Never talk down to older students. Or younger ones either, for that matter.

Put simply, talk to older students as THEY THINK you talk to other adults. And put simply, that’s not simple.

It is possible to talk to an older student about very serious matters, or matters that are actually frivolous but which are important to the student, in a tone of voice that tells the pre-teen or teen that you consider them capable of reasonable judgment, and that you respect what they have to say. Two teachers can say the exact same thing and one of them will succeed while the other antagonizes and infuriates the student.

There is some kind of internal attitude inside each teacher, and the least astute kid in the entire school can pick up on it.

Being a good teacher is hard work, exhausting and nerve-wracking. Loving kids isn’t enough to be a good teacher. Being organized isn’t enough. Being passionate about one’s subject isn’t enough. Being a member of Mensa isn’t enough. Having been an excellent student oneself, isn’t enough. Ditto on having been a poor student. Having kids of your own isn’t enough. Wanting desperately to have kids of your own isn’t enough. Having had an excellent teacher in one’s past isn’t enough. Having had a terrible teacher in one’s past isn’t enough. Being the favorite Aunt or Uncle to tons of nieces and nephews isn’t enough. Combinations of these things aren’t enough.

Oh, those are excellent parts of a teacher’s background, yes. Definitely. But alone or in any combination, they are not enough.

To be able to deal with secondary students, to be able to communicate and earn their respect, a secondary teacher has to have the right kind of internal attitude.

Can’t some of you still instinctively know when someone is sincere? Do you still have that radar detector in your brain that tells you when somebody can be trusted? Pre-teens have this instinct, and it’s sharp and clear and laced with brand-new hormones, a big hunk of ‘fear of the unknown,’ and an intense desire to be accepted.

A good teacher must understand the pack instinct of teens, and be good at intervening, listening, and helping them to realize that it’s not the best way to live. Some cliques at this level can be brutal; a good teacher watches for such things like a hawk and simply does not permit it
in his/her classroom. A good teacher must have shock absorbers in his/her heart, because some of the things older kids will tell them are real zingers. A good teacher knows how to speak the “language: of all the different social groups within the system. (A REALLY dedicated teacher is bilingual.) A good teacher knows how to encourage individuality and creativity, and be able to stand firm when a student or his parents try to buck the system and gain privileges which that student did not personally earn. Other students know when this happens. Word gets out, and it gets out fast.

Good teachers are probably just a tad on the schizo side, because every time the bell rings, they have to shake off one personality and put on another. No two classes are alike, and a good teacher will not try to teach them in the same way. Secondary teachers are doing stand-up, and audiences differ with every gig.

It goes without saying that a good teacher will not compare a student with his/her older brother or sister, even favorably. Each student stands, or falls, on his/her own merit and work habits. Students respect that, even when they try to sway the teacher. They know that some teachers are easily swayed, more’s the pity. (The good teachers aren’t.)

Secondary teachers, the good ones, know how to talk to the students as the students think one adult talks to another. Read that sentence carefully, for it does not say that a good teacher talks to the students as one adult to another.

Some teachers will not agree with me. That’s fine. All I know is, those things worked for me, and for several other teachers that I know.

I’ll add this, too: A good secondary teachers keeps up. He/she knows what the students are reading, and what they’re watching, and what they’re listening to, and who. This is absolutely vital at this level. If you are conversing with a secondary student and that student happens to drop the name of a band and tells you this band is his/her idol and he/she adores them, and you don’t know ahead of time that this band advocates drugs and violence and kinky sex, and that the lead singer has been arrested for DUI and CDM several times, something ignorant such as “Oh, me too, aren’t they awesome?” might be said. And any teacher who doesn’t know ALL about Facebook and texting and pretty much all other aspects of social networking has no business at either the elementary OR secondary level. Check that stuff OUT, because I’ll tell you what, your students sure are. Get on there yourself so you can communicate.

These things have to be done carefully, remember. Don’t make the mistake of trying to ingratiate yourself with students by using their generation’s groovy, out-of-sight, beat-me-daddy-eight-to-the-bar, gnarly vernacular with them. Some words were never meant to come out of the mouths of actual adults. Am I right, peeps?

All of these things, and more, can be done if a teacher has that internal attitude, the right attitude, the one that can’t be detected by anyone except a teenager. Sometimes, other teachers sense something different about a really good teacher, and there are occasional clashes. Age has nothing to do with it; some of the very best teachers are 110 years old if they’re a day, and some of the least savvy ones are 25.

Middle school kids are the greatest; I loved teaching that age level. Teachers who tell you that those grades are a nightmare just didn’t do it right. Such statements are unkind, and untrue.

I am not, of course, referring to NASTY SPOILED BRATS WHO HAVE NEVER BEEN REQUIRED TO BEHAVE PROPERLY IN PUBLIC, but that is their parents’ responsibility and fault. They should arrive at school already knowing how to behave. But I’ve ranted about that too much already. . . . .

Good parents always go to parent-teacher conferences, of course. While you are there, see if you can dredge up some of that adolescent attitude detection you used to have. Check out your kids’ teachers.

I’m not saying to sniff them all over like a dog, but wouldn’t it be cool if we could? Heh.

At any age, we could all use (to paraphrase Hemingway) a good, built-in shock-proof shit detector. Our students need it for us, and we need it for them.

But I know good and well who’s going to get pulled over, even with all the other drivers in the world going around me at a hundred miles an hour.

Everybody I know has a leadfoot except for me.

Sometimes I think the anecdotes are right, and the only people who get tickets are the ones who actually pull over when the flashing lights start up behind them. The police see a big batch of speeders, turn on the lights and the siren, and take a chance. Some timid law-abiding soul will always pull over, the rest speed on out of sight, and the one intimidated driver will get a ticket. And he deserves a ticket, for he was SPEEDING.

Oh, were you looking for sympathy?  Wrong blog, Ignatz.

Item: I have never gotten a traffic ticket.

Unless you count the one I got about 25 years ago for having an expired inspection sticker, which I never paid because when I went to the courthouse and stood in line for over an hour to pay it, I couldn’t pay it because the courthouse wouldn’t accept a check, so I went to the bank and stood in line for a long time and got some cash, and came back to the courthouse and stood in line for another hour, and when I got to the desk I STILL couldn’t pay it because the policeman hadn’t turned it in yet, so I wrote a letter of protest which was never acknowledged, and I still haven’t paid the fine and so far so good. . . . .

And it cost me ten bucks for a sitter for my two babies so I could stand in lines and still not pay my fine. Not that I remember details like that or anything.

I do tend to be a very cautious driver, though. School buses pass me all the time.

SPEEDING school buses.

Which by all laws of logic and safety should have seat belts, but which by all laws of money-saving and convenience-of-school-system never will.

I go 55, when that’s the limit, and  I’ll go 60, if that’s the limit.  Whatever the posted limit is, that’s what I’ll go.  No faster.   I won’t go faster than the posted limit, because there’s a reason for that limit.  My kids think  I’m a poky driver, but I don’t think going the posted speed limit is being poky.  I think going faster than the posted speed limit is breaking the law and purposefully endangering every innocent person within sight of your blurry fast-moving vehicle.

Therefore, I go the limit.  If you’re trapped behind me, read the speed limit sign and stop tailing me. And stop honking, you ignorant, lead-footed goose.

Also?  If you get pulled over for going 65 in a 55, too bad.  You broke the law, and I really don’t care how late you are or how badly you want to get home.

If your personal driving habits harm my children in ANY way, I will find you.

I’m talking to you, speeders, and to you, driving texters and cell phone users.

Oh, and if you get pulled over for exceeding the posted speed limit, shut up about it.  You, of your own free will and choice, broke the law.  Let the natural consequences of your chosen actions wreak havoc on your head.  That’s a darn sight better than your choices wreaking havoc on anybody else’s head.

(If a posted speed limit seems poky to you, too bad. Read the signs and don’t whine if you’re caught.)

Are you a speeder? I hope you all get caught and fined. Yes, I really do.  My children’s safety is far more important than any personal convenience or habit you might have.

And if you’re going really fast on the curvy meandering roads around here, I hope you don’t have any innocent children in your car.  Because if you do, you’re a potential murderer.

I’m not kidding.