Sacramento: The Inside Scoop, Part 1

What I Thought #1: Senators and Assembly members actually read bills before they vote on them. Until I saw Fahrenheit 9/11, I thought this was true of our federal representatives as well.

The Reality As I See It Now: Many don't. Committee staff read the bills and prepare an analysis (which is basically a summary of the bill and its implications) for the committee members. Because there are SO MANY BILLS, it's practically impossible to read them all.

My Commentary: Many bills are looooong and complicated and hopelessly boring, so I suppose this is understandable, but again it goes back to TOO MANY BILLS. It was one of the first things I wrote down as I sat and watched the Senate Education Committee's weekly meeting. They had 5 hours to go through 30 bills. 30 bills! I'm told there is a cap on the number of bills you can introduce, but clearly it's too high.

What I Thought #2: Senators and Assembly members write the bills.

The Reality As I See It Now: They don't write the actual language of the bill. I figured they did, since a lot of them are lawyers anyway and hey, how hard can it be to write a bill? But once they have an idea for a bill, they send it down to some committee that I can't remember the name of (can't find it right now) and those people draw up the proper language so that it's legit.

My Commentary: Maybe if they had to write the bills themselves there wouldn't be so many.

Mr. Evans Goes to Sacramento

You may recall that back in January I declared the theme of this year "My Year in Politics." I was determined that this year I would begin to take real, substantive steps towards a career change to politics. Consequently, I rang in the new year and celebrated the theme by throwing up in D.C. From that glorious but humble beginning, I proceeded to do almost nothing with regard to the theme other than subscribing to the Sequoia High School District's school board email list where I receive the board meeting agendas and minutes and think about attending.

But, thanks to proddings from Pam and a fortuitous connection, I took a trip to Sacramento on Wednesday and Thursday of this week to get the inside scoop on California politics. More details later, but I did spend some time this morning getting the pictures up. You can see them all by clicking here. A big thanks to Brandon of the Capitol museum staff for taking the pics and getting me into places most people don't get to go!

Why I'm a Teacher

Joss began the year about three years behind in reading in English and had one of the lowest scores of any of my students in math. She ended the year as one of the best and strongest students I've had in my entire career. Yesterday she gave me a really nice cloth covered journal and wrote this inside:

Para el mejor maestro en el 5o grado, Mr. Evans!

Dear Mr. Evans,

Thank you for everything. If it wasn't for you and Ms. Obejero, I wouldn't be like this. I think that you were and still are a great teacher. You gave your time to help us and you never gave up. I like that about you.

Love,
Joss

Highs and Lows

Teaching really has its moments, and by moments I mean a wide range of emotions, and by wide range of emotions I mean that there are days or even weeks where I feel like I must be manic because I just swing back and forth between such extremes.

Yesterday was one of those days. It was a factor of being the end of the year - that made everything all the more poignant. We get out of school on Thursday, and these last few days are always bittersweet. On the one hand, I'll be glad to get a break. My patience levels have been way less than usual this year, even though this is my strongest class academically that I've ever had and I've been working with a very strong, very supportive teaching partner. Perhaps, after the *extremely* challenging group I had last year, I just started out the year still somewhat drained and never quite recovered. But on the other hand, I'll be sad to see these 49 kids go. They are an endearing mix of personalities - even the quiet ones are quiet in a unique, interesting way. As a group, they've been incredible in their reading improvements and I'm very confident that a huge percentage of them will score proficient or advanced on the state test in math.

When I woke up and turned the shower on, extremely cold water came out and continued to come out. The water heater wasn't working. The pilot light had gone out.

I figured out how to turn it on, with enough time before school that I was able to get a lukewarm shower rather than a Guatemala-like one.

School starts. 3 kids come late. One kid inexplicably thinks he can get up and get water as the bell rings, as if the previous 177 days of school hadn't taught him otherwise. A third of my kids haven't done their homework.... AGAIN. These are battles I fight every single day. It's the end of the year and I'm tired and I just want to enjoy our last few days together but they're making it impossible because I'm too stubborn to bend my rules or lower my expectations for these last few days and so I have to yell and hyperbolically accuse them of as a group of not wanting to excel, not wanting to be the future leaders of America, not wanting to put in the work it takes to become an educated person, of allowing so many kids in their class to get away with these behaviors.

We have the first ever 5th grade spelling bee. Spelling champions from each of the five fifth grade classes competed in an English bee and a Spanish bee. Of the six spelling trophies (1st, 2nd, and 3rd in English, and same in Spanish), my kids won five of them. It's all the more remarkable because my kids, who are as you know in our bilingual track and receive half their daily instruction in English and half in Spanish, won all three English trophies, despite competing against 7 kids from our English only track who've been learning only in English all day, ever day, for their entire schooling career. I was so proud of them, and they were so proud of themselves. They really cared - and the class really cared. This group I had just been laying into an hour earlier about how they had too little desire, too weak of a work ethic, had wanted to show me that my efforts all year weren't wasted. N. said, "Aren't you proud of me, Mr. Evans? Aren't you going to give me a hug?" I said yes, and I did.

I found out that the grandmother of one of my past students died two days ago. He was orphaned at an early age when his parents died, in separate incidents, from drug abuse. His grandma adopted him and was one of the most loving, caring, involved parents I've ever had the pleasure of working with. She was famous for her brownies, and she made them several times just for me and I didn't even have to share. She also invited me over for dinner on several occasions, just because she was nice, but also because she wanted a male role model around for her grandson as he entered adolescence. I want to call him, but I have no idea what to say.

Hope springs eternal

I've received this a few times in my inbox over the years. It's a work of fiction by Elizabeth Silance Ballard, and unfortunately things don't usually work out this way, but I like it just the same.

There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was Mrs. Thompson. And as she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn’t play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant.

It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X’s and then putting a big F at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child’s past records and she put Teddy’s off until last.

However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy’s first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners...he is a joy to be around."

His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well-liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."

His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother’s death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn’t show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken."

Teddy’s fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class."

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper,except for Teddy’s.

His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume.

But she stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to."

After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy.

As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her "teacher’s pets."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he’d stayed in school, had stuck with it,and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor’s degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.

The story doesn’t end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he’d met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom.

Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."

FedUp with FedEx

Shipping is not cheap.

Maybe it's because FedEx spends money on paying drivers to deliver packages to my door at times when no normal person would be home.

The aforementioned driver places the door tag on my screen, advising me that they've made a first "attempt" at delivering my package to me. Of course, they made the attempt at 1:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday. Why would I possibly be home at 1:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday?

So then FedEx has to pay somebody to take my package off the truck and back into the storage facility, where it awaits a second delivery "attempt" the next day, where again they pay someone to put my package back on the truck and pay the driver to drive to my house at the same ridiculous time the next day and -- big surprise -- I'm not home again.