I wish I was a carpenter. I wish I could build something that showed my anger and disappointment. I wish I could craft and smooth a Totem Pole of such fury and intensity and capture all the sounds of rambling, incoherent discontent that swell my ears and deafen my thoughts and jade my reality.
This is a classroom of no particular time of day, place, or purpose. It is merely an unstable room in an unstable school in an unstable institution. It wants for nothing and it begs for everything. It is a classroom, and it is where I teach.
As a veteran high school teacher and a parent, I love it when parents get concerned about anything, let alone such an issue as the showing of R-rated movies to their kids in the classroom...
My grandfather died with a martini waiting for him by his chair in the living room. He stood and walked to the kitchen to get some pretzels to accompany the chilled cocktail he planned on ending his day with and never made it back to his chair. When my uncle found him the next day on the floor between the kitchen and living room, he noticed no signs of a sudden fall. No bruises or evidence of struggle, eye glasses still in place, he appeared to have set himself down, accepting the pain in his chest that took his life. A doctor diagnosed the cause of death as cardiac arrhythmia, or abnormal electrical activity that alters the usual heartbeat. Knowing how his wife died just eighty-eight days earlier, I view it in simpler terms: my grandfather died of a broken heart.