Math

My B.A. is in Linguistics, and my teaching certification is in secondary English, so it is probably easy for you to guess that dealing with math would not be my first choice. Still, since I have been working in special education, I have found that I DO deal with it. A lot. And one of the reasons I was asked to take the job that I have is that the Director of Exceptional Education was pretty sure that I could handle the math. A lot of my colleagues, many of them with advanced degrees, CANNOT handle the math, and that really sort of surprised me. I have worked with some people who couldn’t help their kids with math past about fifth grade.

I am not trying to toot my own horn, believe me. In junior high, I used to let my dad check my math because I was A-obsessed. There were always errors, some careless and some not. My dad is not the most patient person in the world, so I decided that I would do things myself in high school, and I remember crying over my math. A lot. I was in honors courses, and I spent all four years trying to get out of honors math. Nobody would listen to me, though.

That was in pre-calculator days. I was in between the slide rules and the calculators. I learned trig with tables and interpolating. We had seventy minute class periods, and our trig tests had four problems on them. Like I said, I was A-obsessed. You missed one, you got a C. You missed two, and you flunked. I wasn’t down yet, though. Even though I hated story problems, not really caring where and when trains A and B met, I tried a semester of calculus in college. As I remember, that was pretty much all story problems, so I fulfilled my math requirement with a course in astronomy and one in statistics.

When I decided to take this job, several people asked me how I would handle the math. I didn’t see a problem with it. After all, I help kids who, for the most part, are not in the higher level math classes. They take algebra and geometry. I was pretty sure I could remember the algebra, and I was hopeful about the geometry.

I didn’t like geometry at all in high school, but I managed to get out of it with the grade that I wanted. The next two years, though, I ended up in Algebra II and Senior Math, both at the honors level despite my efforts. That, actually, is the reason for this post. I would like to thank my math teachers.

I argued with my kids a lot through high school because they said they were learning things that hadn’t even been thought of when I went to high school. Perhaps. But I still think I was taught the basics rather well. My courses did not skim over things the way they seem to do now. As proof of that I would offer the fact that, despite the fact that it has been almost thirty-three years since I took that calculus course, I am still able to handle the high school math. Generally, I can handle it without the benefit of the teachers’ manual.

I barely remember my geometry teacher, Mr. Cook. That, with the proofs, was a really bad year. Yet he must have taught me well because I can help the students I have that are taking college prep geometry. I was a little nervous about it at first, but usually all I need is to look at an example and I’m good. So, Mr. Cook…thank you.

My Algebra II and Senior Math teachers were Mr. and Mrs. Kroggel. They were newly married, and they took their math seriously. What I remember best about both of them is their upbeat attitude. They were always encouraging. I was not the only girl who shed tears over math, and they ALWAYS said, “Slow down. Calm down. You can do this.”

Senior Math involved instruction in logic. Also permutations, combinations and probability, which I hated. Nevertheless, there was Mr. Kroggel, always encouraging. It used to make me mad that I could explain the problems to others, but I could never ace the tests. Somehow, though, I always manged to ace the semester exams, which pulled my grade out of the hole, and I don’t think I could have done it without the encouragement of my teachers. So really, I am tooting THEIR horn. It’s thirty-three years later, folks, and I can still do what they taught me to do.

So, Mr. and Mrs. Kroggel, many thanks to you as well.

I hear a lot of complaining in my job. An all-too-familiar whine is, “When am I going to use this in real life anyway?” My answer to that is that at some point, the whiners will have to help their kids with the same thing. And I know they don’t believe me. But in the process of learning math in high school, I also learned how to encourage students. To tell them that following through was important. To tell them that just because something was hard for them didn’t mean it wasn’t worth learning.

I doubt my high school math teachers knew they were teaching me that lesson. And I couldn’t have verbalized it to them then, anyway. But given the fact that their teaching has served me well throughout my life, I did want to take the time to thank them.  They taught me that I COULD, and that was probably the most important lesson of my schooling.

A Good Fall Meal

In preparation for retirement, the hubby and I have decided that we need to eat at home more. It is hard, sometimes, because of his schedule, to do so. However, with the reduced income that retirement will bring, eating out will be a sometimes luxury, not the twice a week thing it seems to be now.

In that vein, I have been looking for new recipes. The hubby insists on meat most of the time, but he did like this Baked Eggplant Parmesan.

1 large eggplant
2 cups dry breadcrumbs
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 teaspoon dried basil
1/2 cup reduced fat egg substitute
1 jar reduced fat tomato pasta sauce
1 cup (6 ounces) shredded part skim mozzarella

Peel eggplant and slice into 16, 1/4-inch slices. Sprinkle with salt and place in a colander for about an hour to draw out moisture. Rinse eggplant slices and pat dry with paper towels. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Spray a large baking sheet with nonstick cooking spray. In a shallow bowl, combine breadcrumbs, Parmesan cheese and dried basil. Place egg substitute in another shallow dish. Dip each eggplant slice into egg substitute, coating both sides. Then dip into the breadcrumb mixture, also coating both sides. Place eggplant slices on the prepared baking sheet. Lightly spray eggplant slices with additional cooking spray. Bake at 400 degrees for 25 minutes or until coating is golden brown.

Pour 1/2 of the tomato sauce in the baking dish and spread evenly to cover the bottom. Layer eggplant slices on top of the sauce, overlapping slightly if necessary. Top eggplant with remaining sauce and sprinkle with grated mozzarella cheese. Continue baking approximately 10 minutes or until sauce is heated and cheese has melted.

Makes 8 Servings

I did NOT sprinkle the eggplant with salt since we follow a low salt diet here, but I did let it sit in the colander for an hour. The whole thing took a long time to prep, but I really thought that it tasted better than the Eggplant Parmesan I used to get at The Olive Garden. The hubby’s liking it was just an added bonus.

Mutiny

Maybe I should have foreseen it, but…I didn’t.

Yesterday in Indiana was one of those really nice fall days. You know. Sunny. Sort of crisp in the morning, but it warmed up. When I walked into school, I was thinking and actually did tell one person that I loved my job. I do love my job. Mostly. But there are those times…and third period yesterday was one of them.

I used to teach junior high, so you would think I would be familiar with the ins and outs of the behavior of freshmen. I am, actually. It’s just that I keep thinking that they should, I don’t know? Mature? Act respectful?

Every class has a personality of its own, and the class of freshmen in which I work third period is a rather rowdy one. The teacher just came up from the middle school so, God bless her, this is the third year she has had some of these kids. One day when I was watching two of the boys act up, she came up to me and said that they were actually better behaved than they had been in middle school. I can’t tell you how thankful I am that I didn’t know them then!

So. Yesterday, she asked me to watch the class while she went to the restroom. I readily agreed. I am a little over six feet tall and older (sigh). Most of the time, kids don’t mess with me. But yesterday…

This girl came up from the other side of the room. She was almost as tall as I am, and she looked me in the eye as she said, “I have to pee.”

Now, I know there are some parents out there who think that their kids, even their high school kids, should be allowed to go to the restroom whenever the mood strikes them. And truth be told, I am always inclined to let girls go because some of them in high school are still not real good at managing that girl thing that strikes once a month.

But in this case, I did not think it was a coincidence that the girl had waited until the teacher left before asking. So I said, “Wait until your teacher gets back.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I really have to go, and if you don’t let me, I’ll pee on your floor.”

Wouldn’t you think that would be embarrassing? I used to think that, but after an experience with a junior high boy who threatened and then DID wet his pants, I have decided that the level of embarrassment depends on who you are. This conversation was not about a bodily function. It was about who was in charge.

I said, “That sounds like a personal problem. Your teacher will be right back.”

I was sort of looking for the teacher myself by then.

The girl went over and stood outside the door. It just so happened that I was by the door because I was helping another student. I said, “You can wait inside the door.”

She put one foot in.

Junior high and high school personnel learn pretty quickly that you do NOT block the door. If a kid leaves even though they do not have permission, you call the office. Blocking the door can get you hurt.

The girl said, “What’ll happen to me if I just go?”

“Well,” I said, “you will get written up. But you do what you have to do.”

So she left.

Of course, all this got the rest of the class fired up. Especially the boys I was talking about earlier. After the girl came back, THREE boys came toward me, strutting as only high school boys can. “We have to go to the bathroom,” they said.

Like I said, this was about power. Not restroom issues.

Another thing it pays to know when you work in a school is that generally, each room has an office call button. Most teachers I know refer to it as a panic button. Said call button is generally located near the classroom door. I just happened to be by the door.

I walked over to the call button and held my finger over it.

“Go ahead,” I said.

The boys sat down.

It was at that point that the teacher returned. She had seen the last confrontation and was quick to assure me that the problem was with the class. Not with me. Which I knew. She read them the riot act and then wrote up the individuals involved. Which was fine with me.

Until I saw another aid later in the day.

“Hey, Mrs. C., ” he said, “I hear you were blockading the door.”

Grrrrr. Why do kids always put that kind of spin on a story? Like I said, I’m not stupid. I am middle-aged now. If a kid ran over me to get out the door, something might break.

Needless to say, I was not looking forward to third period today. A lot of the kids were absent, though, and the ones that were there were relatively calm.

So once again, I love my job. And that is despite the fact that I just had to have an X-ray because one of my students, who WAS actually working, hopped off of a desk and onto my foot. High school boys are NOT small. Fortunately, the diagnosis was a contusion with muscle strain. Nothing is broken. (Whew!!)

I just wanted to set the record straight. And maybe to remind you to pray for the people who work with kids.

We ALL need it!

Be true. Be true. Be true.

**WARNING: This post assumes that you are at least minimally aware of the story involved in THE SCARLET LETTER. How once upon a time there was a standard. How Hester Prynne was made to wear a scarlet A on her clothing because she had been caught in the sin of adultery. How her atonement made her stronger. How not confessing destroyed her lover. And how the desire for revenge changed her husband.**

The juniors just got done watching this production of THE SCARLET LETTER. Their teachers chose this particular version because it is pretty true to the book and because, nowadays, it is difficult to get kids to read a whole book. Any book. And one with archaic language is even harder.

The refrain from most of the kids, of course was,”Boring, boring, boring.” That sort of surprised me. Thirteen years ago, when I went back to school for my teaching credentials, my reading teacher was fond of telling a story about a boy who read at third grade level but wanted to read the story about the “ho”(hope I spelled that right–what he meant was whore). That boy, even though he had a hard time with reading, could relate to someone who had made a mistake and had to take the consequences of their actions. So what has changed?

It sort of scares me to think that it’s SOCIETY that has changed that much, although I think that maybe that’s the case. In Ohio, I worked in a parochial school, but the parents weren’t at all shy about asking for favors for their kids. This type of conversation was fairly typical:

“Kyle really didn’t have a chance to study for that test. That’s why he flunked it. Why don’t you let him take it again.?”

“I can’t do that. What about the people who already got As? How fair would that be to them?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

I was silly enough, at that stage of my life, to think that a parochial school should be different but, looking back, I think that my experience there was just foreshadowing for what goes on in the public schools now. Parents are quick to come in and “cuss out” administrators and/or teachers, and kids are not shy about telling you that that is what is going to happen.

I would like to say that such parental visits don’t change anything, but sometimes they do. Sometimes the changes are honestly made out of a desire to help a kid. Sometimes, most people involved think that the best help for the kid would be to take the consequences for his or her actions. You didn’t study? Then flunk the test. You missed forty-two days of school? Then sorry. You DON’T pass.

If there is anything to be gotten out of THE SCARLET LETTER, I think it is that there are always consequences to your actions, and that if you don’t pay them up front, you will still pay them. Hester Prynne actually became stronger because of the letter that she had to wear. It became so much a part of her identity that, even though she was free elsewhere, she chose to go back to the community that had made her wear it. Arthur Dimmesdale, the minister, was destroyed by guilt. And Roger Chillingsworth was destroyed by…what? Regret? Revenge? Maybe a little of both? He certainly did become someone who was quite evil, and he didn’t start out that way.

That’s not the moral that was quoted in the movie, though. The moral there was “Be true. Be true. Be true. ” Said three times why? Once for Hester, once for Dimmesdale and once for Chillingsworth? I don’t know, really. But I have begun to think that our society has changed so much that the kids who heard this story do not know what it means to be true. They come from a society where ethics are situational, where enough complaining WILL get you somewhere regardless of whether or not you are right. Regardless of whether or not you are deserving.

For all the complaining that is done about our schools, I think the reading of books like THE SCARLET LETTER is a good thing. I wouldn’t have wanted to be a Puritan and wear my sins in public for all to see. Yet I think that those actions, whether others can see them or not, will have consequences, and it serves me well to be aware of that. If we cannot teach the next generation that lesson any other way, at least we have the classics. For a while.

Let’s hope that’s long enough to teach the next generation that there is a standard to which one may hold true.

Grandma Stuff

I am not being very original at the moment. Indiana is doing proficiency testing, and I think I am as tired as the kids. That’s why this post by Cindy Swanson over at Notes in the Key of Life made me smile, and I thought I would share.

All the good stuff people tell you about being a grandma is really true!

Dysfunction, Conviction

Our pastor assures me that it is normal for family problems to show up in times of stress. Like at funerals. That was actually reassuring because it sure did show up in mine along with the death of my sister. But I do have to tell you that, although I was mightily tempted to throw things at several members of my family, I did grow to have new appreciation for them.

God brought me under conviction during that week that I had a poor attitude about at least one family member. And while I didn’t handle things right away, I am beginning to face the fact that I was, well…judgmental. And I shouldn’t have been. I don’t know how, as a human being, you HELP being judgmental sometimes, but there does come a time when you have to deal. So I have begun to. I think.

The fact of the matter is that if somebody in your family has chosen not to be around for big family moments–for years–and then decides that they want to be, you should let them. And, I think, you should recognize the effort. I am old enough to know that you are never too old to turn over a new leaf. And maybe, when you try to, you deserve some encouragement. Besides–it’s not as if I haven’t made my own mistakes.

And if the young people in the family ask annoying and hard to answer questions at a time like this, maybe you should be grateful that they are asking and paying attention, even if the questions make you uncomfortable. Maybe they are asking so that they can avoid the mistakes they have seen their elders–like you–make.

I hate it in a way when God convicts me that I have been wrong. I tend to think of myself as a nice and mostly fair person. HOWEVER…evidently Somebody thinks I need some work in that direction. That Somebody seems to think that I need to be more like Him. And that my sister’s death was a good opportunity to bring that to my attention.

I would have to say that there are probably a lot of good things that came out of the family gathering to celebrate my sister’s life. And not the least of it, for me, was to remember that I need to appreciate the family that I have left. NOW. While I still have them. Although the conviction that I was under was uncomfortable at a time when I already was uncomfortable, if it leads to my being more like Jesus, it is all for the good.

And I am grateful.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.–Romans8:28

All about the Grandpa

This is RJ, the oldest grandson. Today just happens to be his fourth birthday. He lives in Ohio and is big enough, so today is the day that he got to go without a car seat. Hence the picture.

Yesterday, the hubby and I went to Ohio for RJ’s birthday party. We can’t always do this because of the alternate weekends on call. I’m glad things turned out that way because RJ was SO sure that Grandpa would be there. Not me. Just Grandpa.

Three weeks ago, RJ was talking about his birthday and, of course, all of the toys he was going to get from Toys R Us. And his party. I asked who was coming, and he said Grandpa, so I asked which one. (He has three. And one great-grandpa.)

RJ gathered all his almost-four-year-old breath and belted out my husband’s full name. That sort of surprised me because, although he knows our full names, when he asks, we are supposed to reply that we are Grandma and Grandpa. I asked if I could come too and he said, “Oh. Yeah.”

I didn’t think too much more about that until we arrived at the party yesterday. RJ started running, and I opened my arms. And was immediately bypassed. He went straight for the Grandpa.

I wish I had sen my husband’s face, but it all happened too quickly. My son said his face lit up. Whose wouldn’t?

We had a good time in Ohio. The daughter-in-law did a wonderful job with a Superman party. The kids were great. We were able to babysit so the son and daughter-in-law could go out last night and celebrate their fifth anniversary.

But I think the highlight of the weekend was that RJ, who is named after his dad and his grandpa, was all about the Grandpa.

And the Grandpa is still smiling.

Dear Lillie

Dear Lillie,

I thought the hardest part of your mom’s death would be the service, and it was hard, specifically when both your father and mine got up to pay her tribute. Both of them are rather private men; I know it was hard. But when you cried in my arms, that was even harder.

It isn’t that I thought that you shouldn’t have cried. I didn’t see how you hadn’t before. I was so proud of you as you sang and read Faith’s prayer. I could not have done that at my mother’s funeral. I was proud that you stood by your dad’s side during that hard five days, that you went with him to make funeral arrangements. I know that your mom would have been pleased,too. Since she could not be there to support your dad, you were there in her stead.

No, I was remembering when my mother died. You were about Graham’s age, not quite nine. You, Russell and your mom had been over taking care of Grandma just before she died. And when you came to the funeral, you crawled on my lap and cried. You cried so hard that my shirt was wet. You thought that if you had stayed, Grandma would not have died. And I wanted to comfort you, so I told you that Grandma knew you loved her, and you would see her again some day in heaven. You cried harder then, and when I asked you what was wrong, between sniffles you managed to get out that you wished heaven was now. I cried too, then. It was my mom lying in the casket, and someday seemed way too far away. The fact that you missed Mom that way too was a huge comfort to me.

So yesterday, when you cried, I felt like I was holding the little girl again. I was remembering your words of a few days ago, that classes had started and you hadn’t visited her as much as you should have. You felt guilty. Again. And I wasn’t any more help than I had been before. I still can’t make heaven be sooner. And I still can’t take the hurt away. But I can reassure you that your mother loved you, and she would have understood.

I hope the service helped you. It helped me. I liked the way the pastor started out, reading the obituary and then saying that your mom’s life was so much more than just those facts. And it was. I was too little to remember, but did you know that she danced on stage at the Colony Theater with Soupy Sales? She was fearless! And I did not know before Grandpa shared that her Christian witness had started so young. Your mom had the gift of hospitality, and the ladies who spoke yesterday were certainly blessed by it.

And you know what? I don’t think it even mattered to the people there that the last few years have been so hard. I was grateful, too, that the pastor pointed that out. That verse he quoted from Romans 8:38-39 says:

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

NOTHING, Lillie! Not even mental illness. I am so glad that the pastor reminded those of us who loved your mom that no matter what we saw, your mom was NOT separated from the love of God. And I think, maybe, that that’s one of the biggest lessons she would want you to learn from this. She may have been beaten down, but she did NOT lose in the end. And actually, because the pastor gave an invitation to accept Jesus, your mom evangelized just one more time. I know of at least one person seated in that auditorium who has not accepted Christ, and I prayed harder than usual yesterday that he would hear and believe.

Did you get a chance to talk to the cousins that came? I haven’t seen Jeff for more than twenty years. His mom died thirty-four years ago, and he still misses her. He said that sometimes he just cries out, “Mom, I need you! Why aren’t you here?” The statement brought tears to my eyes because I still miss Grandma like that sometimes and I had her for forty years. You only had your mom for nineteen years, and many of those years she was ill.

I can’t promise you that the years ahead of you will be easy. Your brother asked me that as he watched Grandpa. He said, “Does it get easier as you get older? Do you understand more?” And I had to tell him no. You just know that you will live through the things that seem to hard to bear.

So when those times come that you cry out, that you are lonely and miss your mother’s arms, I hope you will remember the celebration of her life. I hope you will remember that she loved Jesus and she told others about him. I hope you will remember the friend that came to the hospital and braided her hair, one last service to her before she left this earth. And I hope you will cry out to Jesus because, honey, she’s with Him. I hope you will let His arms hold you in her stead.

I still can’t make heaven come now, Lillie. But I can remind you of what awaits you when you get there. Like I said, your mom would be proud of you. And when you meet her in heaven, those hugs will be waiting.

Deborah J. Montgomery, 59, of Jerusalem Twp., OH passed away peacefully Friday, September 8, 2006, at the Medical University of Ohio. She was born July 21, 1947, in Fairmount, WV to Clarence and Betty Gump. A devout Christian she was active in various church activities which included, Sunday School Teacher, Jr. Church, Puppet Theater, School Librarian and Church Mission work. Deborah is survived by her loving husband, of 39 years, John; children, Faith E. (Andrew) Furtney, Russell K. (Melissa) Montgomery and Lillie A. Montgomery; grandchildren, Rana Daye, Tasha Rose, Amos and Christa Joy Furtney and one on the way. She is also survived by her father, Clarence Gump and siblings, David Gump, [Rebekah] Carpenter and Amy Fitkin.

For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. Phillipians 1:21

I love you, Lillie.

Aunt Becky

Remembering 9/11

Those who have gone before us live on as long as we remember. That thought led me here, here, here and finally here. Others have spoken in words more eloquent than mine.

And we remember.

Harvest

Dear Lord,

I have been watching people a lot the past week, and I just have one prayer this morning. PLEASE don’t let me sow what I don’t want to reap.

I love you. Thanks for loving me first.

Becky