William Martin
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Don't Think, Just Do

12/26/2013

4 Comments

 
            Call me Mr. Cynic.

            I’ve always wanted to start a blog posting with something like that, but now that I read it on the page, it doesn’t come anywhere near “Call me Ishmael,” the opening line of Moby Dick.

            But I am a cynic and more than a little immature. I’m trying to do better (you’ll notice how I let the ‘Moby Dick’ thing slide right by without calling attention to it in an immature way. Crap, I guess I just did. Dammit.). The point is I am trying to do better.

            The immaturity aspect is still a work in progress, but I’ve made a couple of big leaps on the cynic thing. I’ve always been a glass-is-half-empty-and-will-probably-crack-as-I-drink-from-it-and-bust-apart-shredding-my-lips-to-ribbons kind of guy. I’m 52 years old and so have seen what I think of as my share of ugly things in the world. I’ve also experienced what I hope is enough of my share of ugly things in the world.

            Regrets, I’ve had a few.

            Yet, there have been some things happen the past month or so that have squelched a good bit of my cynicism (and, if you’re one of those who keeps track, I get bonus points for using ‘squelched’ properly in a sentence). I have seen some things and I’ve done some things. And I’m just self-reflective enough to be able to attach some kind of meaning to those things.

            I think it actually started late summer of this year. I took my ancient Sears lawnmower out and mowed our lawn. This in itself is a small miracle, because the mower is over 20 years old and every summer I think it will be its last, but the damn thing just keeps chugging along. Like me, it has some groans, coughs and sounds a bit addled, but it never says die. Once every couple of years I treat it to a new air filter, a change of oil, a new blade and a new spark plug and you’d think I’d taken one of those huge adrenaline syringes and jammed it straight into its heart. It surges onward once again. I think I actually love that old mower. Not like you love your wife when she slinks out of the bathroom in a teddy kind of love, but like an old faithful dog kind of love. There has been a time or two when I’ve even wanted to hug it, but I learned quickly after my first no-hugging lesson with its hot muffler.

            Anyway, back from the digression (but you know, I really do love that mower).

            I’d finished mowing our lawn and was pushing the mower back into the garage when I thought of my neighbor and her lawn. She’s about my age and lives alone and has a small patch of lawn in front of her house. I walked down to the front of her house and saw that her lawn was getting pretty long. And as luck would have it, no one was home. I pushed my mower over to her house, mowed her lawn, bagged up the clippings, and made it home without anyone knowing who did it.

            The best part? I didn’t tell anyone.

            I’d actually done a fairly good deed and didn’t feel the need to climb up on my roof, pound on my chest, and shout out to the world (well, neighborhood) what I had done.

            Crap. Maybe that’s what I just did in writing about it here.

            But anyway, it doesn’t take away from the event because my readership hasn’t really extended into world-wide status yet, so she’ll still probably never know.

            The next events that caused me to be able to cut back the load in my cynical tanker truck were events I witnessed. Two people I know recently had loved ones pass away. Both handled it with strength, grace, and even gratitude to those who supported them. In their place I’d have been calling God out to a street fight, mano a mano, and when he didn’t show I’d have cursed him for a coward and sadist. Yet one publicly expressed her gratitude and shared her story, while the other one still insisted on making her killer sticky buns for an entire staff of well over 100 people the week before Christmas.

            Now, I’ve said I’m cynical, but anyone who can honestly express cynicism in the face of how these two handled their loss not only has a screw loose, but you can still hear it rattling with their head up their backside.

           Finally, the coup de grace to my tanker full of cynicism were two relatively small things I’d done that meant a lot more to the other person than I would have ever realized. The first was when I stopped by my local gun shop. I’m not a hunter anymore, not because I’m against it, only because my work schedule and hunting seasons don’t coincide very well. But I still like to go to the range and do some shooting now and then.

            While in the gun shop I saw that they only had two boxes of .22 caliber ammunition available. One customer picked up one of the boxes and I picked up the other. They were pretty big boxes at a decent price. The store had other ammunition, but the boxes were brighter and shinier or something, so they were priced about half again as much. As I was looking at some other things an elderly man came into the store. He looked to be in his eighties and had heard the store had .22 shells and he wanted to get some for his son for Christmas. The clerk showed the man some of the pricier shells he still had and I could see from the man’s face that the price kind of knocked the wind out of him.

            I thought about it for a minute, knew that I had .22 shells enough at home to get me by, so I offered to give the gentleman my box so he could purchase it. At first he was skeptical, wondering what kind of ploy I was attempting. Then when he realized that I was just being nice he gave me a huge smile and thanked me. I went out to my truck and as I started it, he left the store with the box of ammo waving and smiling to me with more enthusiasm than I thought was warranted.

            But you know what? Doing something nice really made me feel good. I rode that wave of feeling good the rest of that day.

            The second thing happened last night. Christmas night. There was a knock at the door. As per usual the dogs went apeshit and began barking as though the whole Manson clan was trying to break into the house. As per usual, I beat them with a rolled up newspaper until then ran out the sliding glass door to the back yard to watch what horrors were about to befall us from the knocking menace.

            At the door was an elderly man. It was really cold and he wore only a light leather jacket for warmth. My cynical radar went into hyper-drive. What the hell was he selling on Christmas night? Does he have a weapon? What horrors were about to befall us from this knocking menace?

            He apologized profusely for interrupting our evening and explained that he was in town from Vancouver visiting his son and his son’s family. He had been out for a walk and had gotten lost. He wasn’t sure where his son’s house was, but knew it was near a school and if he could get to the school, he thought he could get to the house.

            I gave him directions to the school and he thanked me, apologized again for interrupting our evening and turned to go.

            I don’t have a little voice inside my head. I have a huge voice inside my head and when it speaks, it usually yells. And it usually starts off with: “You asshole!”

            My inner voice went on to say, “Offer the poor man a ride! You asshole! You just gave him directions to walk down a winding road with no sidewalk and no streetlights in the dark! You asshole! Offer the poor man a ride!”

            Me: “Sir, if you’d like, I could give you a lift. No trouble at all.”

            He turned slowly toward me and smiled.

            Him: “You know, the way I’m feeling right now, I think that would be a good thing.”

            I asked him to wait a minute while I got my coat and keys. As we drove down the road we introduced ourselves and he must have thanked me a half-dozen times. We found his house. He thanked me again. He apologized again for interrupting my evening. (Truth be told, my evening was being spent playing the mind-numbing game of Tetris.) I told him that it wasn’t a problem and that I was glad to do it.

            I felt pretty good about that. I did another good deed. I haven’t felt a drip of cynicism all day today. This doing good deeds shit could become habit forming.

            Just now, the man came to my door again. As per usual I went through the whole barking of the dogs and the beating of the dogs thing before I could open the door.

            Elderly gentleman: “Hi William. I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for helping me last night. It was a very nice thing for you to do.”

            Me: “Honestly, it wasn’t a problem at all. I’m glad I could help.”

            Elderly gentleman: “I’m not always the best with words, so I wrote this and wanted to give it to you.”

            Me: “You really didn’t have to do that. Again, I’m glad I could help.”

            We said our goodbyes and I went back into the house and read his note. This is what it said:

            “Dear William,

            Thank you for being a “Good Samaritan” and my “Guiding Star” on Christmas day. I sincerely appreciate your directions and your offer of a ride to our son’s house.

            I not only had become lost on my walk, but my diabetes had plunged my blood sugar too low and I was disoriented and a bit confused.

            Thank you for your rescue. I will always be grateful for your help…for all Christmases to come.

            Thank you again.

            Sincerely,

            Your friend.”

            I didn’t cry. My eyes got a little watery, but I’m hanging onto my man points and blaming it on the dogs.

            I’m not saying that I won’t ever be cynical again. It wasn’t some Christmas miracle or any crap like that. It was too small and yet so significant that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to build up to the same level of cynicism I had before.

            So who gave who the greatest gift? I think I came out way ahead on that deal.

            This may sound selfish, but I’m going to try more diligently to be on the lookout for chances to do something good just for the sake of doing good. It does wonders for my ego and in keeping my cynicism level under control. When it comes to good deeds, I’m going to try and adopt a “Don’t think, just do” attitude.

            But I’m going to hang onto more than a little immaturity. Otherwise no one would recognize me anymore.

            Be well.                                         --William


4 Comments

Interview With Kathleen O'Donnell!

12/21/2013

6 Comments

 
Picture
I am so excited to present my interview with Kathleen O'Donnell, author of "The Last Day for Rob Rhino."  Of course, Kathleen is a celebrity and I've never interviewed a celebrity (actually, I've never interviewed anyone before), but Kathleen was very gracious and provided me with frank, honest answers to my questions. I think it came off rather seamlessly and I know I learned a lot about a published author's/celebrity's status. Enjoy the depth of the questions and the profundity of Kathleen's answers!

So, are you a traditionalist? Or did you make the switch to low-flow toilets?

I’m a traditionalist. However, low flow has been forced on us. That’s how I knew our country was going completely downhill - when toilets were no longer a choice.

If I were a politician my campaign slogan would be: A High Flow Toilet in Every Pot.

I think I’m onto something.

Be honest with me; how often do you play the “I’m a published author” card to get free stuff?

There’s no card I won’t play to get free stuff.

Don’t tell anyone, but I didn’t really have hip surgery. The scars, the limping, the hospital stay…all a ruse. I’m committed to it though. You’ve got to hand it to me.

Have you ever thrown your book at anyone?

Everyone who ever bought it at a book signing. I had to so they’d buy it. I prefer to call it a marketing technique.

How much (and what kind) of research did you do to determine Rob Rhino’s penis size?

Well, I did write a blog post about my research in general…http://www.authorkathleenodonnell.com/1/post/2013/06/take-a-left-at-the-nipple-clamps.html

But, I’d heard that there was a porn star, also from the seventies, who actually had more impressive dimensions. What could I do? I had to look it up. I am a professional, after all. Turns out, there was a guy…so I didn’t want to exactly copy him so I lopped off an inch.

Um, if you could be a bit more careful with the imagery, I'd probably be more comfortable during this interview. Okay, next question: If you could bitch-slap anyone in the world right this minute, who would it be?

Does a group count as anyone?

Everyone who goes on and on about what a great guy the new pope is.

Don’t get me wrong - I’m sure he’s a nice guy. He wants to provide a voice for the voiceless, serve the poor, embrace the gay community…excuse me?

It’s so uncommon for a pope to act like a decent human being that it’s news worthy?

Shame on everyone for not demanding it all along.

I don't know much about religion, so what the Jews and their Pope do really doesn't throw me off much. Next question: Sometimes when I’m sitting all alone in a room with the TV and everything off and it’s really dark, I just get the giggles. That ever happen to you?

I don’t wait till I’m alone or in the dark. I happen to find myself very funny. Hilarious, in fact. Just ask my husband.

I heard that after your book was published your new fame led to a stalker. That must have been flattering, huh?

Finally, thank God. The advertising was getting expensive.

Writing a book that’s 242 pages long must have been a lot of work. How did you deal with all the writer’s cramps?

The 24 pt. font and triple spacing helped. Next time I think I’ll do pictures only. Except I don’t draw so I’ll have to hire it out.

We’re about the same age. Do women have to deal with ear hair too?

Women don’t have any unwanted or unattractive body hair. That’s our story. We’re sticking to it.

You have a great family. How did you go about selecting each of them?

 A 90-day trial period is key. It takes a while but you get there eventually.

What kind of gas mileage does your car get? ‘Cause my pickup is a thirsty bitch.

I have no idea.  I don’t do gas.

I've heard otherwise, which leads me to my next question: If you could only eat one food recipe until your stomach literally exploded, what would you choose and why?

Anything fried. I don’t think this requires an explanation.

 Do you ride horses? ‘Cause if you don’t, you should.

I used to own a horse and I used to ride it. Although “ride” is a generous term. I got on, she threw me off. I did what they tell you, I got right back in the saddle. She threw me right off again. I took the hint and sold the saddle to buy shoes.

What do you absolutely hate to do around the house that you make your husband do?

Write checks.

Whatever I don’t want to do around the house I hire out. He writes the check.

Pick one: watermelon, a brick, or hair?

 Brick. For reasons I can’t discuss per the court order.

If you were suddenly captured by North Korea, what kind of torture would you fear the most and what kind would you be okay with?

Doing anything Gangnam Style.

Water boarding might be okay. Wouldn’t it?

I always thought water boarding sounded fun --like surfing. I don't know how anybody could complain on that one. Next question: Which kid do you think you can count on the most when you get really old and need a diaper change?

It’s in the will. They all have to. They all know I can’t wait to be a burden. Kayla would complain about it the least though.

Which kid is your favorite?

Whichever one has more money around my birthday.

They say authors ‘write what they know.’ So, how many porn stars do you hang out with?

I hire this out too. Hubby offered to do it free. That’s just the kind of guy he is.

Thank you so much for taking time to sit and talk with me Kathleen. I've really learned so much about what it takes to be a successful author. I'm sure our readers will feel the same.


Don't forget to check out Kathleen's website at 
http://www.authorkathleenodonnell.com/. Kathleen also has a Facebook page you can see here:  https://www.facebook.com/kodonnellauthor Last, but certainly not least, check out Kathleen's great book "The Last Day for Rob Rhino" at http://www.amazon.com/The-Last-Day-Rob-Rhino/dp/1615729720/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1387664977&sr=8-1&keywords=rob+rhino

6 Comments

Not-So-Scary Snow Story

12/14/2013

2 Comments

 
            So, it’s happened again. It snowed for the first time this year. It only happens about once a year where I live. The rest of the time it’s raining with a chance of rain, then raining some more with partial raining, until we move fully into the rainy season proper. Then we drift into spring when it’s either raining or just oppressively cloudy.

            But snow is an infrequent thing for us.

            And while many celebrated the downy, white flakes falling with a spirit of love in their hearts, others attempted to drive in it, cursing with words and a tone that seemed to growl up from the bowels of hell.

            Not a pretty contrast.

            Yet every year it’s the same. The weather grows colder. People talk of possible snow. People remember the horrors of trying to drive in it and recount fender-benders or full-blown accidents they’ve either had or witnessed due to the horrid white crap.

            The snow hits, these same good folks go jump in their cars, and move around town like those electric hockey games they had when I was a kid (you know, the one where the players vibrated around and you had no control over them whatsoever). More fender-benders, more accidents, more stories to tell around the water-cooler.

            Although I don’t completely understand this cycle of winter havoc, I can empathize with its participants because I’m often forgetful myself –call it early Alzheimer’s, Mad Cow Disease, whatever.

            I have the advantage though, of having grown up where snow during winter was a typical thing. The first day, if it was really coming down with a chance of freezing, you laid low and let the newcomers (or those who forgot the previous year’s fiascos) go out and bang up their cars for awhile. Then, while their cars were in the shop, you could go out and drive without much trouble. Once the others had their cars repaired, they were much more cautious or stayed off the streets altogether.

            I’ve mentioned in other posts that my mom was not the greatest driver in the world. In fact, she was terrible. If it even looked like it was thinking about snowing she didn’t leave the house until it was completely gone or someone drove her.

            But there was one time…

            I forget the reason (Mad Cow, remember), but mom had to go into town and since there were patches of snow still on the road, she insisted that I go with her. I was fifteen at the time and have no idea how I was going to be of help to her because there was no way she would let me drive. She must have concluded my lack of driving experience was a worse option than her hugely crappy driving skills. In any case, off to town we went. And all was good.

            Until on the way home.

            As we drove home, I relaxed against the passenger door, watching and marveling at my mom’s driving technique. She gripped the steering wheel so tight I thought her knuckles might explode through the skin. Although we were only moving about 30 mph, she kept taking her foot off the gas and then reapplying it, which gave the car a surreal feel –as though it were panting. Her other foot hovered over the brake without touching it. I mentally gave my mom kudos for what had to be rock solid quadriceps to hold her leg up for that long a time.

            That’s when we hit the ice.

            Since we were moving so slowly and the car was the size of a tuna boat, the only indication was our back end very slowly drifting to the left.

            Mom: “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Whadda I do? Whadda I do?”

            I thought it funny both because we were in no real danger and she was freaking out and because she was asking the fifteen year old –whom she didn’t trust to drive—for emergency driving procedures.

            Me: “DON’T touch the brake.” That was always mom’s first instinct, so I thought it best to head it off first.

            Mom: “Okay, okay, okay, okay…”

            Me: “Let off on the gas and just slowly steer a bit to the left –the same direction the back end is moving.”

            Mom: “Okay, okay, okay, okay…”

            She did as directed and as you might guess, turned too much. The back end moved back and began drifting to the right.

            Mom: “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”

            It was kind of funny how she’d shifted from calling to God to calling to shit, but thought it best not to point out the humor of it just then.

            Me: “It’s okay, mom. Just turn the wheel the other way…easy…” Her hands were locked so tight on the wheel her whole body leaned into each turn.

            Mom: “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”

            I should point out that I almost started laughing out loud during this Steve McQueen-esque driving experience. The road to our house was out of town and there was absolutely no traffic. The wide road had shoulders you could land a DC-10 on and were as flat as Olive Oyle’s chest. There was so little danger it was more like a carnival ride than an accident about to happen.

            Mom overcorrected again and the back end of the car drifted to the left again.

            Me: “It’s okay, mom. Just ease a turn to the left…”

            That’s when she shifted into full-blown panic mode.

            She cranked the wheel hard to the left, her body leaning that way until her head touched the driver’s side window. She started yelling “Oh shit!” repeatedly as the back end came back around to the right and kept coming around until the car had done a complete 180 degree turn.

            I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I started laughing.

            The car slid across the other lane and came to a slightly jolting stop on the shoulder of the road. By now, both of mom’s feet had mashed the brake to the floor. Her grip threatened to tear the wheel from the steering column. Her eyes were so wide I thought her eyebrows might meet her hairline.

            Me: (still laughing).

            Mom: “Oh shit, oh God, oh shit, oh God…” The fact that she was now invoking the power of God and the strength of shit made me laugh all the more. After a few seconds I felt bad for her and so managed to stop laughing. She turned her head to me, her eyes still wide with shock.

            Mom: “Now what do I do?”

            Me: “Well, would you rather I drove the last little bit to home?”

            Mom: “Oh shit. Oh God.Yes.”

            I got out and walked around the car while she slid over to the passenger side. It only took a little rocking back and forth to dislodge the car and get back on the road. As I drove us home I glanced over now and then at mom. Her eyes were still a bit wide, but she was catching her breath and regaining her composure. I felt bad then, because she was truly terrified during the incident.

            Me: “Mom, you okay? Look at it this way. It was a learning experience for driving on snow and no harm done.”

            Mom: “I will never drive when there’s snow on the ground again. I hate the Goddamned snow.”

            Mom wasn’t one to use the term “Goddamn” very often, so I knew she meant it.

            And, as far as I know, she never did drive on snow again.

            I only wish those on the road who share my mother’s driving prowess would take the same oath.

           

            ***  Please be careful and be well this holiday season.     --William


2 Comments

The Meeting Part 2

12/7/2013

2 Comments

 
The School IEP (Individual Education Plan) 

*** Again, I debated whether to put this on the Blog page or the Short Story page. And again, I did what every good, self-serving writing would do: I put it on both. The acronyms and mnemonic devices detailed in this satire are real. Well, all except for the very end, but you'll see the point of the fictitious ones. Enjoy.***

“Okay, so it looks like everyone is here, so let me enter into my laptop that Frank, our Assistant Principal and Required Administrator is in attendance, as well as Jim, our required Regular Education Teacher, and myself Sue, the SPED or Special Education Coordinator. Cathy, our school psychologist couldn’t make it today because of a previously scheduled meeting.”

“Hey? At our last department meeting we discussed the issue of pencils and whether we, as a department, considered them to be a potential weapon and I was just wondering…since the school board had previously decided that a pencil could be a potential weapon if it was sharpened beyond a .02 tip and the student had intent to harm…”

“I don’t mean to be rude Jim, but is there a question here somewhere? This is a meeting regarding two students and their potential IEP.”

“Well, Frank, I was just wondering…if we did feel a student was carrying a pencil/weapon with intent, what are the consequences?”

“Jim, didn’t you read the email from the school board secretary? Or the email from Assistant Principal Bob? Or the notification in your mailbox? Or the meeting notes from the school board you were to review? Or the minutes from the last faculty meeting?”

“Um…I probably did, but I’ve been so busy with students that I may have missed that detail. I admit that I may have also been a bit too quick on my ‘delete’ button as well. Sorry Frank.”

“Okay, Jim. Here it is in a nutshell: If a student is caught with a pencil that is sharpened beyond a .02 tip and has the intent to use it as a weapon: the first offense, the teacher takes the pencil away from the student and gives it back to them at the end of the period. The second offense, the teacher takes the pencil from the student and gives it back to them at the end of the day. On the third offense, the teacher takes the pencil away from the student and delivers it to the office. The student then has to come to the office to collect his pencil at the end of the day. If there is a fourth offense, the teacher confiscates the pencil, turns it into the office, the student goes to the office to retrieve the pencil and is given a stern talking to by an Assistant Principal. On the fifth offense, teacher takes pencil, delivers it to the office, student has to come to the office to pick up the pencil and is given an even sterner talking to by an Assistant Principal. On the sixth offense, teacher takes pencil, delivers it to the main office, and the student has to come to the office to retrieve the pencil and receives a stern talking to by thePrincipal. On the seventh offense, teacher takes pencil, leaves it at office, and if the student wants it back, they have to have a parent come with them to collect the pencil. After that, if a teacher takes a pencil away from a student, the parent has to pick it up and will receive a stern talking to by an Assistant Principal. On the ninth offense, teacher takes pencil and drops it at office. Then an administrator, a counselor, and the teacher have a conference with the student and parent, primarily to determine to what extent the teacher is at fault in the apparent conflict. On the tenth offense, pencil confiscated, taken to office, meeting of administrator, counselor and teacher and possible one day suspension –but only on a Friday or Monday so it doesn’t inconvenience the student or the parent. Eleventh offence, possible three day suspension. Twelfth offense, possible expulsion hearing for the student. Thirteenth offense, expulsion. In the event that during this process the student injures or kills a student with the pencil, then we skip right to the suspension part. Is that clear enough?”

“Uh, sure, I guess so, in a nutshell. Wow. I’ll have to get with another teacher to get a copy of that. I may not be able to remember it. Oh, I don’t mean to be a pain, Frank, but who keeps track of the number of offences and the consequences that have been handed out?”

“Obviously the teacher Jim. Administration’s overloaded as it is.”

“Oh, okay…”

“Gentlemen, can we please get back to the IEP meeting?”

 “I’m sorry to throw things off Sue. Hey, if this is an IEP meeting, shouldn’t a parent or guardian and possibly the student be here?”

“Jim, this is a preliminary meeting to discuss two students, one of whom may have SN and the other who isn’t necessarily SN, but who may be ED or require the intervention of the MDT.”

“Huh?”

“Okay, Jim. I realize this is your second year teaching and you’ve only been to a couple of dozen IEP meetings, so I’ll try to make things clear as we go along.”

“Okay. I’d appreciate that.”

“We are here to discuss two students, one who may be Special Needs and the other who may not be Special Needs, but who may have an Emotional Disturbance which could require the support of the Multi-Disciplinary Team. We’re simply here conducting a preliminary meeting to see if we need to pursue either case to the next level.”

“Oh, okay. I understand, I think. Thanks.”

“Okay. The first student, Timmy, may be SN because he definitely has a BD which could be ADD or ADHD, however we’re probably looking at an ED that will require either a BIP or a BMP or possibly even an FBA.”

“Um…what?”

“Okay. Jim. We don’t have an unlimited amount of time to go over this because of our departmental and school-wide agreement to honor each other’s time.”

“I apologize. Honest. I’m just not real familiar with all the acronyms and mnemonic initializations yet.”

“Hmm. Okay. Jim. The first student, Timmy, may be Special Needs because he definitely has a Behavioral Disorder which could be Attention Deficit Disorder or Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, but we may have an Emotional Disturbance that could require a Behavior Intervention Plan or a Behavior Management Plan, but we should probably do a Functional Behavioral Assessment first.”

“Uh, okay. I think I’ve got it. You know, you don’t have to speak so slowly to me Sue. I can keep up with the pace, it’s just all the letters that throw me off a bit.”

“Okay then Jim, how is Timmy’s BD in regards to the classroom versus his BD in regards to his other interactions?”

“BD means “Behavior Disorder” right? Then I can positively say that I have no idea how Timmy’s possible BD manifests itself outside of the classroom, because my only interactions with Timmy are within the classroom.”

“That’s not much help Jim. Do you not do your assigned hallway supervision between classes?”

“I try to, but to be honest, I often have students who require help for a few minutes between classes which makes it difficult to monitor the hallways every time.”

“I appreciate your honesty Jim. Perhaps we can discuss a few constructive techniques for you to more effectively perform your assigned tasks at your next evaluation.”

“No…honestly Frank. It’s only a minor thing I can make some adjustments on and take care of.”

“Gentlemen, can we please get back to the business at hand?”

“Sorry Sue. Where were we?”

“We were attempting to determine whether Timmy requires a FBA to determine whether he is ADD or ADHD or some other BD. What do you guys think?”

“Well, Sue. I think we should do the FBA to see the extent of the BD in order to implement an EDP which will cover Timmy’s SPED needs as well as the school’s SET needs. In addition, the FBA will contribute to the schools AYP report which helps our Accreditation process and lists us as an appropriate FAPE facility.”

“Huh?”

“Thanks, Frank. Please, do try to keep up Jim. Okay, that takes care of Timmy for now.”

“It does?”

“Jim, please sign this form, initial on this form, and sign this form.”

“Okay…what is it that I’m signing, specifically?”

“Jim. Okay. These are the usual IEP forms. The first states that you’ve attended this meeting.”

“Okay, that’s easy enough.”

“Your initials indicate that you’ve reviewed the elements we’ve covered today.”

“Um…okay.”

“You’re second signature indicates that you agree with our determinations in regards to this student and their individual needs.”

“Well, hell….why not? Okay.”

“Thank you, Jim. I’m glad you are able to contribute to the important issues regarding individual students that we are covering today.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

“The second student is Johnny. Now, we’re pretty sure Johnny does not require an IEP, but does require either a BIP or BMP because he definitely has a BD. Now this isn’t necessarily the result of his being ADD or ADHD, but could simply be because he is an ELL or ESL or LEP. We’ve attempted a BIP and a BMP and he does have a CASA, but we’ve not yet been able to perform a FBA to determine whether his previous ISS’s and OSS’s are because of a specific BD or because of a societal BD. The MDT will correlate with the OJJDP to better decide the educational needs of Johnny.”

“Does Johnny have a CASA because of his girlfriend who entered the YPP and obtained a TRO which resulted in his interaction with the SRO and contributed to Johnny’s OSS’s and TRO?”

“Exactly, Frank. Now she’s in the YPP as mandated by the ESA, but she has a CASA who will work to insure her PBIS so she will be prepared for the PSAT and eventually the SAT.” 

“Good. That will help insure the SET contributes to the AYP which directly effects the school’s accreditation and standing as a member of a FAPE. Of course, this is all so the school can adhere to the CC which took the place of NCLB.”

“That’s funny, Frank! You’re spot-on. What do you think, Jim?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I concur completely. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Um. Excuse me, Jim, but are you attempting to be sarcastic?”

“Nope, I was just TTT of WTF you were TA and trying to decide if IGAD or if I should PAWTBSBINTJ.”

“I’m sorry Jim, but I am not familiar with the mnemonic devices you are employing.”

“Okay. Sue. Let me say this slowly. I…was…just…Trying To Think of What the F**k you were Talking About and trying to decide if I Give A Damn or if I should Play Along With This Bull-Shit Because I Need The Job.”

“Ahem. As your administrating supervisor Jim, I have to say that I’m shocked and that your attitude and response will be noted in your next evaluation and directly reflect your CSPD. Needless to say, because of your attitude, this meeting will not be added to your PDU’s and could result in your being put on a PA.”

“Okay. Sure. What’s a ‘PA’?”

“It’s a Plan of Assistance, Jim. It’s evident in this meeting that you likely require help to better integrate into and contribute to the advancement of all students.”

“Okay, Frank. But doesn’t that PA go into my professional file, in effect making it a Scarlet Letter, so I would virtually be unemployable in other school districts as well as setting me up on a chopping block for the school’s administration?”

“That is just one more negative statement that reveals your overall attitude towards our mission statement. Jim.”

“I’m sorry, Frank, but I’ve forgotten. What is our overall mission statement?”

“Jim, everyone knows that our school’s mission statement is “Every Student Going for Their Goals.”

“That’s fairly vague Frank. Maybe it would be easier if we just said ESGTG.”

“Hmm. This is sad Jim. That’s just one more black mark against your professionalism.”

 “You know what though, Frank? Just yesterday I had a student, one who has had a very difficult time on a familial, social, and peer level tell me something.”

“What was that?”

“She told me my class ‘rocks.’ Funny thing is, is she didn’t use one acronym or mnemonic device to say it.”

“Okay, Jim. You’ve pushed it too far now. We wll take a look at your CSPD and PDU’s to see if you need a PA in order for the school to maintain its AYP and accreditation while continuing to be a FAPE entity. I hope I’ve made myself clear on this.”

“Yes, Frank, you have. But at this point IDGAF and it’s no BFD.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, Sue. You don’t want to know.”  

2 Comments

    William Martin

    Just observing, sometimes remembering, often shaking my head, then writing.

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