Quotation Saturday: Rain
We’ve had nothing but torrential rain for over two weeks. Our grass is so high it can’t be mown with a regular mower; we’ll have to use the tractor and the bush hog. I’ve seen other people who’ve tried to keep their grass mown, but their yards look like a weird combination of nice short grass and mashed long grass. We’ve just had no stretch of ‘dry’ that lasted longer than a couple of hours. Our lawn is several acres of hilly places, and it’s too dangerous to even try to mow when it’s so soaking wet and slippery.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I hate it when the grass gets high. I feel as if I’m drowning. There are places in the low parts of the lawn that are mashed down sideways flat, where the ponds and creeks have overflowed. We usually see a big snapper or two in weather like this, but so far even the animals have had sense enough not to try to come out in the rain. Even the deer are huddling under the trees.
1. A crown is merely a hat that lets the rain in. — Frederick The Great
2. A poet is someone who stands outside in the rain hoping to be struck by lightning. — James Dickey
3. I do pity unlearned people on a rainy day. — Lucius C. Falkland
4. I love to walk in the rain, because nobody can see my tears. –Charlie Chaplin
5. It always rains on tents. Rainstorms will travel thousands of miles, against prevailing winds for the opportunity to rain on a tent. — Dave Barry
6. We will never be an advanced civilization as long as rain showers can delay the launching of a space rocket. — George Carlin
7. Criticism, like rain, should be gentle enough to nourish a man’s growth without destroying his roots. — Frank A Clark
8. There’s always a period of curious fear between the first sweet-smelling breeze and the time when the rain comes cracking down. — Don Delillo
9. Do not, on a rainy day, ask your child what he feels like doing, because I assure you that what he feels like doing, you won’t feel like watching. — Fran Lebowitz
10. Don’t pray when it rains if you don’t pray when the sun shines.– Satchel Paige
11. Some people walk in the rain; others just get wet. — Roger Miller
12. Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather. — John Ruskin
13. The drop of rain maketh a hole in the stone, not by violence, but by oft falling. — Hugh Latimer
14. The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

15. I’m singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feelin’
I’m happy again
I’m laughing at clouds
So dark up above
The sun’s in my heart
And I’m ready for love
Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I’ve a smile on my face
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Just singin’,
Singin’ in the rain
It Is A Terrible Thing Not To Become An Adult When One Ceases To Be A Child
Mamacita says: Oh, there will be people who won’t like this post. Fair warning: some people will be hit below the belt. Perhaps it’s high time somebody aimed at these people below the belt. There’s been far too much rationalizing about this behavior, and there are way too many euphemisms for it.
Each family deals with its own dynamics in its own way. This is, of course, as it should be. I wonder sometimes if each family might benefit from thinking a little more in terms of how decisions made by the parents will affect its various members in locations other than the home itself. As parents, we see only what’s going on at home; we don’t see how what’s going on at home also changes what’s going on at school. Sometimes I think we just don’t want to know.
As a teacher, I saw, year after year, children who went from top-of-the-class to little staring zombies, because of a decision made by parents. I had to watch promising young people deteriorate before my eyes because of a decision made by parents. I watched children become virtual caretakers. I saw kids put in charge of younger siblings, and held responsible for anything that happened. I had to see children carry messages from parent to parent or, worse, wait in vain for some kind of message from the parent who is no longer there. I saw kids standing in front of the school after dark because each parent figured the other parent was picking up that night. I saw kids crying in the hallways because they were going to miss a dance or a party because it was the OTHER parent’s weekend and there was no switching allowed. And so, so often, things the child used to do are no longer possible because the money situation has changed and every little thing now means outraged outbursts from the parent who is supposed to pay. I hated seeing children worrying about lost notebooks and new school supplies because they were scared to tell either parent about yet another expense because it always triggered a fight about whose turn it was to pay. I’ve had kids tell me outright that they feel like the rope in a tug-of-war, and that the winner DIDN’T have to deal with the kids.
I’ve read essay after essay about being forced to share all their things with Mommy’s new boyfriend’s kids, or Daddy’s new girlfriend’s kids. Kids lose their rooms, their possessions, and huge chunks of time rightfully theirs, with Mommy or Daddy, because of, as one of my students put it a few years ago, “. . . kids who pass in the night.” And while it’s hard enough to have to watch Mommy or Daddy kiss and hug someone who isn’t Mommy or Daddy, try to think how hard it must be to watch Mommy or Daddy kiss and hug someone who isn’t you. . . . .
Children who were finding success were ripped from their classroom, separated from their teacher and from their friends, and placed in a new school more convenient to the parents’ new living arrangements. Children had to adapt not only to a parent moving out, but also to a new school, a new teacher, new friends, new curriculum, new home. . . and you know what? Sometimes, for a child, that’s just too much new stuff at once. What are we thinking? Well, of course, we’re thinking of what’s best for us, the adults, and we’re dragging our children behind us and expecting them to “understand” and to cope. After all, OUR lives are going to be so much better, right? And it’s all about us, right? To some pretend adults, it IS all about them. When Mommy or Daddy doesn’t have the money for his/her children this week, but somehow miraculously has the money for his/her NEW kids, well, naturally the old kids will understand that things have changed. And they sure have.
It’s easy to think that any parental decision will affect the children only in the household, and that if adults work out routines that are mutually beneficial and workable to each other, that the children in that household can automatically adapt. Often, of course, they can. Just as often, they can’t. At least, not for a while. Often, these children are traumatized, and they need familiar surroundings in at least one aspect of their lives. Their home has been destroyed, through no fault of their own, and their trust in adult loyalty has been compromised, and now their school lives are being disrupted, too.
But, but, wouldn’t it be so much healthier for a child to live in a home that isn’t full of venom, dislike, adultery, and arguments? Of course it would. “Staying together for the kids” only works when both parents are adults who love their children more than they love themselves. These days, hormones and MEEEEEE trump self control and regard for a child’s security. Nice, adults. Real nice.
No matter how often and how sincerely parents assure their children that none of these things are their fault, most kids believe that if they’d only been better behaved, if they’d just made the team, or scored higher on that big test, or helped more around the house, etc, their parents wouldn’t have fought so much until one of them moved out. With tiny children it can go even deeper, because they don’t have the communication skills to articulate their pain. They only know that Mommy or Daddy is gone, and all the explanations in the world aren’t sufficient to reassure them about. . . . really, much of anything.
Teachers see this daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, year after year after year. We never get used to it. Even at the college level, I am reading essays about the bewildered heartbreak still inside a grown man or woman, because their parents pulled the rug out from under them twenty years ago and it still hurts.
Sometimes I think it might do these parents good if they read what their children are writing about the home situation. I wonder if these parents realize how severely some of them are disrupting their children’s lives. It’s so easy for adults to do their thing and assume the kids can cope, but the truth is, sometimes, it’s far more important for adults to do their kids’ thing and put their own lives on the back burner. And I also think that many adults simply don’t want to think about the possibility that their decisions have devastated their children. That’s too hard, and it’s not fair, either, because “don’t I deserve a little happiness?” Answer: No, you don’t. Not if it means compromising your children’s lives.

I saw more heartbreak and bewilderment than you could find in a country music playlist. I saw too much disillusionment, and disillusionment is hard enough to take in an adult; when you see it in a child’s eyes, it’s even worse. I saw it every day. I have never been able to build up any immunities to it.
If I seem harsh when I write about such things, it’s because of what I have seen. I think perhaps if parents can look outside of their own situations and see these same things, more people might put their children first and themselves last, because once we have children, we are supposed to cherish them, not desert them, and not require them to change overnight because of decisions we make that are for our own personal benefit.
Children will always come first with me. Promises come second. Yes, I can be severe when I think about adults who put themselves first. Yes, I can be harsh when I think about adults who make and break promises easily. When it concerns people I care a lot about, I can be even harsher. This is ironic, really, because I am by nature a complete and total wuss, and there are footprints all over my back.
I wish parents would try a little harder. I wish parents would put their children first and foremost. I wish parents would cultivate some self-control. I wish parents would work a little harder at honoring promises, no matter how much greener the grass might look, over there on the other side of the fence.
It just seems to me that no matter how “unfulfilled” and “misunderstood” an adult might feel, a little child’s welfare is still more important. I also wonder at a mentality that feels entitled to help break up someone’s family unit. “I fell in love. I didn’t MEAN for it to happen.” This is what people with no self control or conscience tend to say. It’s a rationalization for “I wanted to so I did.”
We had children. Now, we have them. And if we don’t honor these creations by honoring each other and focusing on whatever is best for the family unit, and not necessarily for one ADULT member of that unit, maybe the whole world would be a place where our children would feel secure.
I’m harsh with babyish adults, sure. When someone behaves like a baby, that person needs to be treated like one.
It is a terrible thing not to become an adult when one ceases to be a child.
In fact, it’s downright disgusting.
Life is full of choices. If you are an adult, act like one. All actions have consequences – that’s where your kids came from in the first place.
Now, do your adult job. Keep it in your pants, honor your commitments, keep your promises, move heaven and earth to ensure that your children to grow up in a secure, safe, home, and don’t hang out with people who have no scruples about helping destroy families.
And if you don’t “feel” it any more, keep it to yourself. You’re an adult. Buck up and show some spunk.
Wahh, wahhh, I deserve to be happy! Oh, really? Perhaps. But not as much as your innocent children deserve to be.
Shut the hell up. You’ll be as happy as you deserve to be. You might even be surprised at how genuinely happy you can be when you put other people ahead of yourself.
Sadly, this is something far too many “adults” have never done.
Professors Are Mean. Here's Why.
Mamacita says: Today is the first day of the rest of your life the last week of the semester – every student’s favorite week, naturally.
I predict that several students will come to class NEXT week, and be all astounded and sputtery that the semester is over and they can’t take the final. But then, most of this kind of student didn’t even know when the final WAS, or what it was about. It happens every semester, and it’s scary. For the nation, I mean. SCARY. (Did I mention that each student has TWO opportunities to take the final exam?)
Sometimes, even at this level, a parent will call me at home to tell me why Junior was absent and to tell me that he’ll be at the college on such and such a day to take the final which I will please hand-deliver to him at his convenience. To which I reply that I am not permitted by law to even acknowledge that I’ve ever heard of Junior and there is no way I would ever tell someone over the phone who is and who isn’t in my classes. Then the parent will get all huffy and imperious and I’ll start to snicker silently on my end, because after 26 years of having administration force me to kowtow and give in to this kind of parent, I am finally allowed to be sensible and professional about it, and simply hang up on anyone who raises his/her voice to me. If the parent tries to go over my head, it won’t work. At least, it hasn’t yet. My department head is awesome. (Thank you, Carol. You rock.) Helicopter parents are a pathetic joke at any level, but if this attitude extends into a kid’s college years, heaven help the universe!
I am giving exams at both the main campus and at a regional campus, and I’d bet money, if I had any, that at the regional campus, every single student will be there, pencil sharpened, alert, and ready to take that test. On the main campus, I predict, maybe . . . half.
Most of the main campus students are just out of high school, and most of the regional students are older. Have work ethics changed much? Darn right they have. And not for the better, either. Sigh. I’ve had young students, used to years of community classroom supplies, actually expect to find colored bins of pencils, free for the taking, in a college classroom. (Community classroom supplies are the devil.)
Dear Helicopter Parents of College Students: 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 MeaniePants
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. Suck it up. 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 often have students from 17 to 80 in one room, and each has something invaluable to give to the other. The best thing of all? We don’t really have many discipline problems, 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! We can’t expect poor little Helen to do anything; she can’t SEE or HEAR. Just let her be. Cater to her every whim. Put up with tantrums, etc because she’s disabled. Poor, poor little Helen. Annie removed her from her parents’ home and forced her to live up to her potential. It wasn’t pretty. But it worked.
Annie Sullivan knew what would work for her student. Why can’t modern parents and administrators see it? Nowadays, Annie would be in the Rubber Room and Helen would be a smelly obnoxious adult with no future, instead of the successful college graduate, public speaker, and advocate of education that she was able to become thanks to Annie’s unorthodox but successful methods. (Helen was also on vaudeville, and in a couple of movies. She’s one of my heroes.)
Starting next week, I’ll have two weeks of vacation before the VERY busy summer semester begins. I’ve peeked at the rosters and all of my classes, so far, are BIG! Of course, “big” at the college level means between 18 and 22, whereas “big” in the public school meant “over 40.” And yes, I had several 8th grade classes of over 40, where kids had to sit on the floor and lean against the wall because no more desks could be crammed into the room.
Now, if the class grows too big, they lock the door and say “Sorry, try again next year.” Much better!
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.
The world is a mess, but each of us can, at least, create order in our own homes, and creativity out of chaos, if we work at it. It takes a lot of hard work, I hope y’all realize.
Life is good. Dig it.
And when life isn’t good, dig it anyway. If you keep digging, you’ll strike gold eventually.
Oh, and bring a pencil to class on test day. Them nasty professors will show you no mercy; they can’t, because they have no hearts. Nope.
They have no heart, and they never fart. That’s why they’re so mean all the time.
And now you know.






