Where's the love?

When Mark and I went on our juice fast last month, McDonald's was soooo unsupportive. I blame Barry Bonds.

Thanks, Al Gore

Ah the wonders of the internet... I have spent the last 90 seconds of my life watching this.

Le Tour de Menlo

I woke up at 5:45 this morning and put on my cycling gear. The new black bicycle shorts, obscenely gripping my mid section, the thick center padding feeling like I was wearing a diaper, the blue gloves with gel padding to keep my hands from going numb after several hours of riding, the borrowed jersey with the zipper pulled down a fashionable few inches, the gleaming yellow helmet. I filled my water bottles, one with Gatorade and the other with water. At 6:15, I mounted my borrowed road bike and set off for the starting line a few miles south of my house, feeling strong, with just enough daylight to guide my way. The streets were empty - the sound of my bike and my breathing relaxed me, put me in the zone. I was ready for what I knew would challenge my mental and physical endurance - the 50 mile Le Tour de Menlo, featuring 5,000 feet of climbs.

I met up with my buddy JLO (José Luis Orduña), an avid cyclist who had persuaded me to enter and had let me borrow the jersey and the bike, and we checked in and got our maps and such, and at 6:58, we were off! Those first 20 minutes or so were invigorating - mostly because I had ditched my sweatshirt at the starting line and the thin, short sleeved jersey offered little protection from the cold wind as we zoomed through the streets of Menlo Park on our way to the first big climb - plus the road was still flat, my back wasn't killing me, and my crotch did not yet feel like it had swelled to 5 times its normal size.

And so, entering the first big climb, the real race began. JLO, who is a very strong cyclist, and I parted ways as the ascent began, and for the rest of the race, I was mostly on my own. Soon disaster struck! Listen!

So I had missed a turn. The 50 mile course markers were red, and for me they easily got lost in the sea of dark pavement. I was a few miles off course (I know, I know - big surprise). I now had a dilemma. Dare I go back, retrace my steps, and get back on track? I would have to go back several miles to the missed turn, a lot of it uphill. Or, should I take the easy way out, cut my losses, and continue on? It took but a moment to make my decision - I had promised myself I would finish the race, and that meant finishing the race, the WHOLE race, so I went back, cursing myself and my horrible sense of direction.

The turn I had missed led to about a 10 mile loop with two steep hills. One of them, Parrott Road, was so steep that, literally, with each push of my pedals my front tire would lift a bit off the ground. It was agonizing. I made my way back down and eventually got back to where I had been previously. I was not in good shape, mentally or physically - I had to will my legs to move and sitting on that bicycle seat hurt.

But I kept going. I knew that only two big hills remained, and I was about 3/4 of the way done. I had promised myself that I would finish, and by golly, I was going to finish!

So I got back on my bike and off I went. Somehow my legs loosened up again and my crotch, which by now felt like it had become something altogether foreign to the rest of my body, mercifully became numb enough that I could pedal without grimacing. I made it up the final and worst of the hills, knowing that I had but to get to the top and then would effectively be done with a final 6 miles or so of relatively flat riding.

The end in my mind's eye, a vision of crossing the finish line floating like Frodo's wheel of fire, my pace picked up. I was going to finish - I was really going to finish.

I approached the finish line alone, no riders in sight ahead of me nor behind me, and I celebrated in solitude, raising my fist into the air and pumping it in a Tiger-esque fashion. I crossed at approximately 1:48, a full 6 hours and 50 minutes after I had begun (in comparison, JLO finished at 10:50!).

So 6 bottles of water and 4 cookies later, I had traveled something like 60 miles, taking into account the ride from my house to the starting line and my little off course shenanigans. And I didn't walk one step of it! Granted, yes, I did stop to rest many times, but I didn't walk - not one step.

And now, brief teacher commentary: Some schools think that self-esteem in children can be fomented by chanting over and over again, every morning, "I am somebody! I am special! I'm important!" Some teachers think that self-esteem comes from recognizing everyone as winners, or by treating everyone exactly the same. But I think the truth is that self-esteem, really holding yourself in esteem, having a resiliently positive view of yourself, comes from real accomplishment. And this was real - I dug deep and found myself not wanting but capable.

The Maxims of Mr. Evans: Volume 1

* He or she who finishes first usually does the worst.

* It is better to be ahead than to be a behind.

* The only excuse I'd accept for what you just did is that you were dropped on your head when you were a baby. Were you dropped on your head when you were a baby? No? Then you have no excuse.

(yeah yeah, ok, so that third one doesn't really qualify as a maxim, but who asked you anyway?)

Dar-bear

I find my own thoughts to be very interesting.

For example, millions of Muslims around the world are upset about Pope Benedict's comments last week, saying he is portraying Islam as a religion of violence. Which isn't actually true, but no matter. In response, the offended are rioting, issuing death threats, and saying that Islam will fight Christianity until it takes over the world. That's logical. "How dare you call us violent! We will kill you!"

I was such a bear today with my kids. Such a bear. Not a nice cuddly teddy bear, mind you. Not a tame black bear fed by campers, either. But a mean, ornery grizzly kind of bear. I thought that over the summer my patience cup runneth over, that I would approach this final year at Garfield with some sort of superhuman level of patience that I, somehow, had never quite been able to muster over the last 6 years. I thought that if I considered this is my last year there that I would be able to be just a bit calmer, a little less pushy, a little more nurturing than is my traditional style. But I was wrong. Today the kids came back after yet another 3 day weekend (we had training all day yesterday, so the kids got an extra day off), and they just knew absolutely nothing about nothing. It was like going back to the first day of school, except it's actually the 15th day of school and well, I *hate* repeating myself. Should I have to repeat my expectations for how they show me they're listening during class? No way. Should I have to repeat that when they are speaking to the class they are to use a loud, clear voice? No way! They've had plenty of time to internalize my expectations for their behavior. And to make it worse, we've got a couple people from Spain studying our bilingual program and for the first time all year one of them came in to observe my class. And what did he observe? He observed me berating my students in a variety of creative ways for approximately two hours. If I were him, I'd think that I was a mean, horrible teacher. I will never underestimate the value of context.

What's a teacher to do?

How about enter a 50 mile bike race with no formal training? The Tour de Menlo is this Sunday and I'm doing it, even though I've only been bike riding the last few months, and even then only maybe once or twice a week, and even then only a maximum of 25 miles at a time.

I'll take Potpourri for $2,000, Alex

* Last Thursday was Back to School Night. How did it go? Well, let's just say that when you have a room full of 50 parents and several of them seem angry with you because you have been giving A LOT of homework to their kids, and they're complaining in Spanish but so quickly that you can't quite make out the specifics of what they're saying but you can tell by the look on their faces that they're upset, it ain't much fun. But that didn't last long. Mar and I put up our shields to protect against the initial blast of discontent and proceeded to explain how what we were doing was for the good of their children. By the end, all but one parent had joined in our crusade.

I suppose it's difficult, when you're an immigrant from rural Mexico with a 3rd grade education and you live in a community where you can have all your needs met in your primary language, to see the broader perspective. Or, at least, to see things the way that I, a college educated white man from Orange County, see it. For example, each year, as students enter my fifth grade classroom without knowing their times tables or writing without any punctuation or barely being able to read past a first grade level in English, I view the situation as a dire, dire emergency. I feel the pressure right away. The whole school year is a pressure cooker for me. Every single day is a big push. I have got to help these kids catch up. One year of progress just isn't enough. I need to make them jump two, maybe even three years in just 10 months of instruction. I have that sense of urgency because I know what the middle and upper middle class fifth graders in Palo Alto are doing, and that compared to what the majority of my students are currently capable of, the gap in skills, even though they're only 9 and 10 years old, is already so big. And yet R.'s mom complains that her daughter has two hours of homework a night.


* I went to my second ever quinceañera on Saturday for one of my former students. The word comes from quince (fifteen) and años (years), a girl's 15th birthday. It is a tradition celebrating a girl's passage into womanhood. The first part was a Catholic mass consisting of two priests saying various things with short musical interludes such as this catchy tune: "A-a-a-mennnn..... Aaaa-aaa-a-a-men.... Aaaa-aaaa-aaaa-aa-aa-men!" and "Hallelujah! Ha-a-a-lle-lu-jah! Ha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-llejujah!" Between songs and the priests, everyone kept trying to figure out when they were supposed to stand and when it was ok to sit down. I've found this to be a common theme at Catholic ceremonies - nobody seems to quite know when it's ok to sit.

After the mass the real fun began - a huge reception at a nearby event hall with a live band, dancing, delicious food, a DJ, 300 Latinos, and a white guy. I must admit, I do take some pleasure in the inevitable looks of surprise when I bust out in Spanish.


* This from Mark Twain: "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore, dream, discover."

Fun With Forwards

An old country preacher had a teenage son and it was getting time the boy should give some thought to choosing a profession. Like many young men, the boy didn't really know what he wanted to do and he didn't seem too concerned about it.

One day, while the boy was away at school, his father decided to try an experiment. He went into the boy's room and placed on his study table three objects: a Bible, a silver dollar, and a bottle of whisky.

"I'll just hide behind the door," the old preacher said to himself, "and when he comes home from school this afternoon, I'll see which object he picks up. If it's the Bible, he's going to be a Preacher like me, and what a blessing that would be! If he picks up the dollar, he's going to be a businessman, and that would be okay, too. But if he picks up the bottle, he's going to be a no-good drunkard, and, Lord, what a shame that would be!"

The old man waited anxiously, and soon heard his son's footsteps as he entered the house whistling and headed for his room. He tossed his books on the bed, and as he turned to leave the room he spotted the objects on the table. With curiosity in his eye, he walked over to inspect them.

Finally, he picked up the Bible and placed it under his arm. He picked up the silver dollar and dropped it into his pocket. Then, he uncorked the bottle and took a huge drink.

"Lord have mercy," the old man whispered to himself, "he's gonna be a Republican!"

"Never Forget What We Tell You To Remember"

With regard to my last post...

I was falling asleep so just decided to post what I had. But let me explain that last part.

I think "never forget" is a silly phrase to keep bringing up about 9/11 because, well, obviously we won't. I don't think there's any risk of us somehow "forgetting" that about 3,000 Americans were killed that day. It's too traumatic of an event in too short a time frame. We're much more likely to forget the things that are wrong with America that we see every day. We grow used to those things, numb to those things, but a singular, horrific event stands out in our national memory.

I think "never forget" is especially silly because of all the different political spin that has occurred since then. Never forget? Well, sure, but which version of the events leading up to and following 9/11 do you want us to remember? For example, the ABC miniseries that aired these last two days, which most Americans who aren't in the know or who didn't catch the opening disclaimer about the film not being a documentary would believe is supposed to be a realistic, historically accurate portrayal, makes up characters and conversations and events that greatly distort the viewer's understanding of what really happened. So, while we are implored to "never forget," our memories are being messed with. They're being corrupted. We aren't forgetting - we're just remembering incorrectly. What a horrible tribute to the memory of those whose lives were taken.

5 years later

Five years earlier...

Unusually, I left my radio off on the way to school. I needed some peace and quiet. It was early in the school year and, typically, things weren't going smoothly yet. I didn't want to hear arguing talk radio hosts or silly news segments. I listened (and still listen) to the radio almost every morning on my way to school, but not five years ago.

I arrived around 7 in the morning. That's earlier than my usual time. I had copies to make, and if you want to make copies, you've got to arrive early. We only have 2 copy machines, and chances are that on any given day one of them is out of commission.

About half an hour later, two of my colleagues came up the stairs to the teachers lounge where I was putting together math packets and asked if I had heard the news. I hadn't. They told me, shocked, that two planes had been hijacked and flown into the World Trade Center towers in New York. Back then, I don't think I really knew what the WTC was. But I implicitly knew they were tall buildings, and for some reason, my response was not one of surprise. I don't particularly remember the political climate at the time, but I said something like, "You knew they were going to do something like this. It was just a matter of time but you knew they were going to do something."

That whole day is something of a blur. My kids came into school having seen a lot of horrible things on TV already. Spanish language stations often have more graphic news coverage than our typical English stations. They had seen people jumping from the towers in desperation and hitting the ground. They had seen images of the towers smoking and burning.

I don't remember how or when I found out more details, but during recess and lunch I did my best to find out what was going on. At that time the news reports were still pretty vague. I knew very little. My concern at the time was to make sure my kids understood that they were safe at school. As we began to talk about what they had seen and heard, a few seemed to have apocalypic visions of war, of enemy armies flying down from helicopters onto our school grounds or of planes crashing into our campus. It was scary for me, so I can only imagine how it was for my group of 9 and 10 year olds, just a few weeks into the school year. I remember taking a minute or so of silence out of our community circle and asking the kids to send positive thoughts on to the people of New York. I don't think I even knew yet about the planes hitting the Pentagon or going down in Pennsylvania.

After school my co-worker's husband dropped by. I eagerly asked him for what he knew. The death count was wild speculation. Based on the number of people working in the towers, he thought that as many as 50,000 people could be dead.

Today, five years later, I gave my kids the opportunity to share any thoughts they had about it. This group doesn't really remember it. They were only five, half their lives ago. But still many expressed sympathy for all the kids who lost their moms and dads, grandpas and grandmas that day.

September 11, 2001, is a day I have not forgotten and I don't imagine I will. The catchphrase of the today seems to be "Never forget." I've heard and seen it a lot in tributes on the radio and the internet. It was on just about every cardboard sign on Monday Night Football. It seems a silly phrase to me.

We're in the encyclopedia

Have you heard of Wikipedia? It's a wildly popular online encyclopedia that is created and edited and monitored by the internet community at large.

And now Mark and I are in it as "widely considered to be the reigning national instant messaging champions." And if it says it in Wikipedia, it's GOT to be true!

See it here.

Got my new laptop

It has a built-in camera. Fun!

Why I'm A Teacher: Part 3

Last week school started. The first week is always kind of ho-hum for me. You'd think it would be more exciting, since I'm starting fresh with 46 new students and I get to meet them and start to learn their personalities and academic needs. While that is interesting and challenging, it's also a bit annoying.

Imagine buying an old clunker of a car. You rebuild the engine, give it a new paint job, redo the interior, install a lot of upgrades, etc. You spend at least 12 hours a day doing this, you pour your heart and soul into it, and ten months later, you barely recognize it. It's become something very different from what it was - different in a very good way. You're about to take it for a test spin when someone comes along, takes it, and gives you another clunker. You've got to start all over again.

That's a lot like how the beginning of a new school year feels. Like that.

On Friday we had a huge pizza party for my two classes from last year to celebrate their outstanding results on the CST (California Standards Test). I had promised them that if they did well, we would have a party.

At this party one of my former students, S., gave me a folded up piece of paper and told me to read it. S. had been in the United States for about a month and knew not a word of English when she first entered my classroom last August. By June, she was already reading at a second grade level in English and was one of my top math students.

Below is what she wrote. I'm including it here because I want to be able to look at it on those days when I feel like my job is just impossible.

Dear Mr. Evans,

I just want to say I'm so thankfull for show me a lot of new things that I never see on my life. I remember my first day on the school and I didn't know how to express that I'm so happy to be on a new school on English, but thanks to you Mr. Evans I learned how to speak to write and a lot of stuff. I'm really proud of my self for having a great teacher like you. Thanks for helping me a lot. I really enjoyed to be with you.

Love
Your student
S.

The Perils of Using "High-Speed Equipments"

Mercury Insurance Group's official response:

Dear Mr. Evans,

Monthly payments were set-up to be automatically deducted from your checking account. Unfortunately, the policy number was incorrect. As a result, we deducted $6,013.30 from your bank account, in error.

Please accept our apologies for any inconvenience this may cause you. Processing our customers' payments with the use of high-speed equipments is efficient but mistakes do occur in a few isolated cases. Should you have any questions regarding this matter, feel free to contact me at the number above.

Teresa