Dixie Chicks

The Dixie Chicks have come a long way since their ridiculous banishment from country radio. I remember the unbelievable irony in the reaction to their Anti-Bush comments - we were fighting in Iraq to supposedly give Iraqis the freedoms we enjoy here (life, liberty, etc.), yet instantly individuals and radio conglomerates were willing to do excommunicate them for speaking their minds. Courtney and I recently watched a great documentary called Shut Up and Sing on the making of their latest CD (Taking the Long Way). If you haven't listened to the album, I'd highly recommend it - it's an emotional and in-your-face blend of their hybrid country music.

On that same note, Courtney's sister Kristen, a music major at Florida State, is amazingly talented. She is part of the FSU A-Capella group, Late Night Yahtzee, and helped her team to a regional first place finish recently in competition. They will next be performing at Lincoln Center in New York City. Check her out here on YouTube.


*FYI - for the past two weeks I've been on the mainland for spring break, hence the scarcity of teacher stories.

Wedding Bells

Hosting the perfect Southern wedding? Run for the hills

By Craig Wilson, USA TODAY

Weddings are not to be left to chance, and no one knows that better than Gayden Metcalfe and Charlotte Hays, authors of the new Somebody Is Going to Die if Lilly Beth Doesn't Catch That Bouquet: The Official Southern Ladies' Guide to Hosting the Perfect Wedding.

Hays talked this week with USA TODAY about everything from what not to serve at the reception to the role of the groom, which appears to be negligible.

Q: This follows your book on hosting the perfect funeral. You say Mississippi Delta funerals bring out the best in people, while weddings, which should be happy occasions, bring out the worst. Why is that?

A: Because of the Delta mother. She's a wonderful creature, but she loses it over weddings. You smell her before you see her — we are people of many bottles. And with a funeral, you only have three days to prepare. With weddings, you have months, and that's very dangerous. It becomes an endurance contest.

Q: Is a groom really that necessary for a successful Southern wedding?

A: Still necessary, but the thing he needs to do is stay out of the way. He's an extra. It's a day for the mother and the daughter. He doesn't have a prayer, especially when that mother gets involved.

Q: You have 10 songs that should never be played at a Southern wedding, and Love Me Tender tops the list. What's wrong with Love Me Tender?

A: Well, we think you need a bit more dignity than Elvis. Sheep May Safely Graze would be a better choice for an agrarian society. Would you want the Elvis Presley-themed wedding? It's too much.

Q: You also list the top 10 foods never to be served at a wedding reception, including cocktail weenies and anything on a Ritz Cracker. I'm kind of fond of Ritz Crackers myself.

A: We love Ritz Crackers, too, but for a wedding, don't you think you should have something more than a Ritz and Cold Duck champagne? It's not the place. You don't want a Ritz Cracker at your wedding. Or processed cheese cubes on toothpicks. Please! Have them in private.

Q: What is it with you Southerners and cheese straws? You serve them everywhere.

A: There's no self-respecting Southerner who doesn't have a cheese straw at every important moment of her life. You just have to have them. You're not married if you don't have a cheese straw.

Q: Do Southern mothers really attend other weddings solely to spy?

A: Yes, that is true. You've got to see what other mothers are doing. If you want the champagne fountain, you've got to make sure other mothers don't have it first. But now they're into chocolate fountains, which aren't any better. Probably worse. People dip Rice Krispie treats in the chocolate fountains now. Not good.

Q: You've said Delta mothers are pros at torturing their unmarried daughters. How so?

A: They want you to do everything perfectly. The first form of torture is when they're sending the clippings of other friends' weddings. Another form of torture is the thank-you note (once the daughters gets married). And a thank-you note not written with a ballpoint pen, thank you. You have to say the perfect thing about the present. They torture you about every bit of the wedding. They're trying to avoid every mistake they made.

Q: You even have advice on what to do if your daughter brings home the wrong boy.

A: The best thing to do is to ignore him. Or let him know that he might have to pick up her college tuition. We had a classic case where the groom met with the bride's mother, who told him alcoholism was rampant in the family. He fled. Everyone was happy in the end. That was two marriages back for her. Also, it works if you can never quite get their names right. You know, Harry for Harvey.

Q: You have some advice for Yankees attending a Delta wedding. Can you share?

A: You never, never, never congratulate the bride. That's rude, rude, rude. Never, ever congratulate her for getting a man.

Q: How many times can a "mature" bride be married in a church?

A: Just once. After that, it's a country club or at the home of a friend.

Q: What about people who bring wedding presents to the reception?

A: Wrong, wrong, wrong. I hope people will quit doing that in real life and in the movies.

Q: What's wrong with dressing up the ring bearer like a miniature man? You seem very much against it.

A: They look silly and unattractive, and it's not nice. Dress him in short pants. They have the rest of their lives to dress up like grown men.

Q: You say it's considered all right to get drunk at a wedding, as long as it doesn't impede doing the right thing. Explain.

A: You can be a well-behaved drunk. You speak to the hostess and tell her what a nice time you had. If you stumble down the receiving line, that's fine, as long as you go down the receiving line. If not, someone will tell your mama, even when you're 60 or 70.

Paradise?

Contrary to what meets the eye, the social challenges in Hawaii are immense. I caught a lot of flack last spring when I told people that I was moving here to teach - especially given the dire straits of much of Louisiana's educational system. But once you venture beyond Waikiki and Pearl Harbor, you're confronted with a reality not that different from some of the most blighted communities of mainland America.

Both the New York Times and USA Today recently attempted to shed light on some of the unique challenges faced by residents of this "island paradise." The New York Times article from December hits especially close to home for Courtney and me. Each day as we drive to school, we pass hundreds of tents lining the beaches of the Leeward Coast where nearly 1000 residents, mostly Native Hawaiian, have set up camp because of the prohibitive cost of living. I had two homeless students in my class during the first semester. Both have since left - one to a temporary shelter set up by the state, and the other has become one of Oahu's thousands of "hidden homeless" - those living with friends or family (sometimes 15-20 family members in a single-family home).

The USA Today article speaks of the underlying racial tension that sometimes manifests itself. As one of America's most recent colonial exploits, some of the wounds within the Native Hawaiian community are still fairly fresh. The overwhelming military presence here can at times magnify the injustices that many feel were committed just one generation ago. Thankfully, Courtney and I haven't felt any of this resentment within the communities where we teach, but the underlying tension is still, in certain situations, palpable.

View from my classroom

Some of My Beautiful Students

Tough Couple of Weeks

I'm afraid I've fallen into a rut. With Spring Break just a week-and-a-half away, motivation has been very hard to come by lately. Teaching is hard!! This isn't a revelation, I knew it was going to be hard, but man, this is exhausting.

The Sunday headline in the Honolulu Advertiser was "Hawaii Teachers Average 15.5 Work Hours Per Day." This was ridiculous for a couple of reasons. The first: it is partially true. As anyone who knows a teacher can attest, we work much more than the typical 40-hour work week. Courtney, being a much better teacher than I, regularly puts in 60 hours per week on school-related matter. This boils down to about 10 hours per day during the week (including time spent after school prepping for the next day) and 8-10 hours on the weekend lesson planning. We can chalk some of this up to the natural inefficiencies of a first-year teacher having to create everything from scratch, but it is still a hauntingly long work week. (I used Courtney as an example because my week is slightly shorter, as my school has implemented a scripted curriculum, thus less planning on my part).

The second reason why this Sunday story was ridiculous is that 60-hour weeks are significantly shorter than 77.5-hour work weeks! The data apparently came from a "study" commissioned by the Hawaii State Teacher's Union, and the HSTA placed a lot of the blame on the data collection required by No Child Left Behind. This is absurd! Courtney and I, inefficient first-year teachers, log an average of 60 hours/week.

This, however largely exaggerated it was, came as no surprise from an organization that couldn't care less about the quality of education our students receive. They care more about the number of recess duties we have to complete each week than the fact that at schools like mine, a majority of students aren't entering the next grade prepared. The HSTA has negotiated such a sweet contract for teachers that we get tenure here in Hawaii after just two years on the job. After that, performance matters very little, which is why only one class at my school had more than 50% proficiency last year in reading(the next highest was 36%), and only 15% of sixth graders finished the year proficient in math (according to statewide standards).

The problems are huge and incredibly frustrating, which has been part of my recent malaise. At the end of the day I am physically exhausted. My students are amazing, and so eager to learn, but I feel like they've got walls closing in around them. All I can do right now is make sure that I'm doing as much as I can for them during their time with me, but what happens next? They've got the worst high school in the state to look forward to (3% of last year's 10th graders were proficient in math).

Thanks to HSTA, I have 18 vacation days (on top of holidays and school breaks). I'll have tenure after teaching for 2 years and 1 day. My school can't require me to stay later than 2:45 on any given day (not even for parent-teacher conferences, so we end school early for those). Thanks to HSTA, I've got a stellar contract.

But who's representing my students?

Can You Sing Happy Birthday With Me?

Wednesday morning Aina was in the office, ready to greet me as I arrived at school. His first words were, "Mr. Landry, do you know why today is a special day?" It was Valentine's Day, so that's how I responded. But that didn't work, there was something today for Aina that was way more special than Valentine's Day. After trying to get me to guess more reasons, he said, "Today's my mom's birthday!"

I'd been thinking a lot about Aina since he told me his mom had died last spring, but this was still one of those comments that you're not quite sure how to respond to. I tried to match his excitement and asked him what he was going to do for his mom's birthday. He said he and his dad were going to her grave that afternoon to bring flowers.

As I walked to my classroom, he tagged along, and when we got inside he asked me if I'd sing Happy Birthday to his mom with him. Man, I haven't had any child psychology classes, so I wasn't sure what the protocol for this was. I tried to shake him by saying that I wasn't sure if I wanted to because I didn't know his mom. His counter-argument was, "Of course you know my mom! She's my mom!" Still not knowing what to do, I left the question hanging ambiguously (which usually works with 4th graders) by saying, "Maybe later."

That seemed to placate him, so he went outside to play before the bell rang. When he came back into class, I noticed a forlorn look on his face. He immediately put his head down on his desk. I asked him if he didn't feel like doing his morning assignment, and he said, "Not really." I stooped down, put my hand on his back and asked what was the matter. After trying to fight back tears, the dam broke and he responded in between sobs that, "Nobody wants to tell my mom happy birthday."

The lump in my throat was so huge that I thought my own dam was about to break, so I asked him to step outside with me. When we got outside I asked him, in between my own tears, if he would feel better if as a class we told his mom happy birthday. He said that would make him feel a lot better. So I gave him a hug and we went back into the classroom.

After correcting our morning assignment, I asked the class why this was a special day. They responded in unison, "It's Valentine's Day!" I affirmed, "Yes, this is Valentine's Day. It's also a very special day for Aina. As some of you know, his mom passed away last spring. Well, today is Aina's mom's birthday, and it would mean a whole lot to him if we sang happy birthday to his mom."

My students didn't quite know how to react to this - both singing happy birthday to his mom, and the fact that I was so choked up, but they're wonderful kids, and we all sang together. Aina was much happier after that. He even came to my class at lunch to say, "Mr. Landry, thank you for singing happy birthday. It really meant a lot to me, and I know it meant a lot to my mom too."

Honolulu Marathon 2007

Courtney and I have already registered for next year's marathon, and we'd like to extend the invitation to any of our friends who'd like to join us. It'll be held on December 9, 2007. Early registration for out-of-towers is $95, but I'd say just put our address down if you plan to come, that way it'll only be $60. We currently have one soft commitment from a friend, but we'll have an extra room in the condo, so it could be a great time for you to come for a visit. Just let me know. http://www.honolulumarathon.org

My Mom's Dead

"Mr. Landry, I have this string hanging off of my pants, what should I do about it?" said Aina

"Well, Aina, I think you should probably ask your mom to cut it off for you when you get home," I replied.

"My mom's dead," he retorted, in a subtle, matter-of-fact way.

"Oh," looooong pause, "well then I'll cut it off for you. When did your mom die, Aina?"

"She died last May. She got really sick and died. It makes me sad," he said.

Aaaahhh! No teacher training prepares you for that. I'm usually really careful when referencing people at home, because so few of my students live in a traditional family. I usually say, "Take this home to your mom, dad, grandma, auntie." A few of my kids have one parent in jail - one for murder this past September, and many of the rest live with an auntie or grandparent. Most of the rest live in modest housing with extended family. It's not uncommon to have 15-20 family members living in a 3-bedroom house.

Part of me wonders if it would be better if I didn't know any of this, if my expectations should be universal, left unhindered by the details of my kids' lives outside of the classroom. I worry because you can't help but soften your perspective when confronted with the reality of their daily struggles, but it scares me to think that in some way, on some level my expectations for them might be lowered as a result.

What I strive for, above all else, is a safe harbor my students, and I feel that I've been able to provide that. Knowing the challenges facing my kids helps put what I'm doing into perspective, and keeps me in check on a lot of levels. I won't say that what my 8 and 9 year-olds go through isn't fair, but my aching heart is repaired when I catch a worry-free glean of contentedness when they're in my classroom.

Living Life to the Fullest

Quite a few people have asked why I chose to teach in Hawaii, of all the places Teach For America sends its corps members. For some people, it's an easy answer, but others would've never dreamed of moving so far from the things they knew. Today during my Master's class, I was browsing old files on my computer and came across this column that I wrote while studying in France. I found it to still be pertinent, and was relieved to realize that my perspective on life hadn't changed in the couple of years since.

"I awoke with fright, thinking the train was on fire, but much to my relief, I had only been sleeping in a smoking part of the train (oh how the French love their cigarettes). Thankfully, my dreams had been more pleasant than my waking hours of second-hand smoke inhalation.

These dreams were filled with voyages across the U.S. and the world. I am certain that much of the inspiration for these adventurous dreams came from my current read, Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road.” But I also know that a part of the inspiration comes from the restless spirit I sometimes bury deep inside of me that constantly scratches the surface. It can only be described as the American, or possibly human, instinct to explore and conquer. Of course, I itch to do more of the former than the latter, because there is so much in our world to see and experience. The only things that seem to get in the way are time and money, and perhaps sleep.

I think that too often we accept our place in life without challenging it and without question. But life is too short to bury our desires, our longing for adventure. To do that is dangerous, as it is too easy to lose one’s sense of self. I even do too much of this myself – ignore my need for adventure and individuality in order to live life as it is “supposed” to be lived. Perhaps a part of this can be contributed to being complacent as well – it is much easier to rest where it is comfortable, without testing our limits, or stepping out of our box.

But Mark Twain was right on the mark when he said, “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.”

Ahh! How true is that?? Don’t be scared of the unknown, of change, of adventure. The thing we must promise ourselves is to always work our hardest to keep those dreams alive and live life as our hearts long to live it. We must never bury our natural desire for adventure, but instead always feed it, allow it to blossom. I can’t count the number of people who have told me they wish they’d have taken the opportunity to study abroad when they were younger, but what I ask them is, “Is it really too late?” Sure, maybe studying in another country for a year is a bit impractical for some of you, but packing the car this weekend and taking a roadtrip for a couple of days with your family isn’t impractical. Sleep in the car, sleep in a tent, just get away and uncover the yearning for adventure that you’ve kept hidden for so long.

Our country is so diverse, there are literally thousands of things to see and do, and money doesn’t have to be a hindrance (just ask my good friend Christina Tietje about our very frugal roadtrip). Throw off the bowlines, explore, dream, discover. And do it now, there is absolutely no better time.

Christmas Whirlwind

The overcast skies and miles of brown grassy plains on the road from Houston to Hathaway invoked in my mind a familiar setting of Christmases past. The bleakness was a pointed contrast to the warm, deep hues of blues and greens that I’d left behind in Hawaii, yet it was uniquely comforting. Five years ago I couldn’t get away fast enough, but there’s a warm magnetism that draws me back a few times a year, further cementing Louisiana as “home” in my heart.

Dad picked me up from the airport on December 23 and in four-and-a-half hours delivered me from Houston to Mom’s house where my two sisters, Mom, and 30 lbs of boiled crawfish awaited. Mom told me a day or so before I left Hawaii that she’d have crawfish for me, and unfortunately none of my friends there understood the significance. Dinner was capped off with some of Dad’s home brew (last year’s Christmas gift was put to good use) of a mild Oktoberfest.

The four days I was home flew by as quickly as you’d imagine when splitting time between Mom’s and Dad’s as well as visiting with all the family in town for Christmas. On Christmas morning my sisters and I were afloat in gifts from Santa. We unwrapped them leisurely for at least two hours in what must undeniably be Mom’s favorite day of the year. She was somewhat limited by my luggage allowance on the way back to Hawaii, so she did some investigative research and provided Courtney and I with gift cards to all of our favorite places back on Oahu. In the grand finale of present-opening, I was bowled over by a zoom lens that I’d been eying for a couple of months.

Two days post-Christmas, Delta whisked me away to meet up with Courtney and her family in Jackson Hole, WY. My intermediate skiing abilities were further honed under the lustrous protection of the Grand Tetons. The weather was generous during our four days there, and I was soon whisked away once again by Delta with extraordinary soreness, but no broken bones.

Now it’s a brief New Year’s Eve stop in Atlanta, then on to five days in NYC. I hope the next 23 years are as exciting as the last.

Merry Christmas!

It's so hard to believe that half of a school year has already passed, along with a quarter of our anticipated time here in Hawaii. Courtney and I both found ourselves a little emotional at school yesterday as our kids headed home for the holidays. Two of my students won't be back (making 5 lost students this year), and about half of them will be with a different teacher next semester as we implement a new curriculum, so it was tough saying goodbye.

As a teacher I've grown tremendously, but I can still readily see my glaring deficiencies and the areas in which I struggle. This is truly a physically and emotionally exhaustive job - one that brings with it both joys and sorrows each day. It's also a job that never ends. I was talking to my friend Christina on the phone a few months ago and was reminded that some people, maybe even most people, are able to leave their jobs at work when they go home. My, would that be nice. My anchor of sanity through this has been sharing the experience with Courtney. It's been wonderful having a confidante going through the same emotional roller coaster every day.

I'm leaving Hawaii tonight for the first time in four months for a much-needed vacation. My redeye flight will take me to Houston via L.A. where Dad will pick me up and take me home to Hathaway. Mom has 30 lbs of crawfish waiting, and I'm looking forward to recuperating some of the weight I've lost during marathon training. From Louisiana I'm headed to Jackson Hole, WY, on Dec. 27 for a few days of skiing with Courtney's family. Then it's Atlanta for New Year's Eve with Christina and Matthew on the way to NYC for a week. Florence, SC, will be next for our engagement party and other wedding planning fun. Finally, we'll be hitting Las Vegas by storm for two nights on our way back to Hawaii.

Whew, and I thought this vacation was going to be relaxing :)

3:58:53

When our alarm went off at 2 a.m., I couldn't help but wonder, "Why the hell am I doing this?" I've been battling a persistent sinus infection all week, accompanied by an annoying itch in my chest that all the coughing in the world won't squelch. But we'd gone to sleep at 7 p.m. the night before, so I felt pretty well-rested, and after I'd eaten my multi-grain bread slathered with peanut butter, momentum started pulling me into Honolulu.

We left the condo at 2:40 a.m. and parked in our secret, but illegal parking spot in Waikiki by 3:30. Shortly thereafter we boarded a school bus that dropped us off at the starting point by 4 a.m. At this point Courtney and I still had an hour before the start of the race, so we used our time effectively, hanging out by the bathrooms to take care of those needs that can easily add a few minutes to your race time.

By 4:45 we'd lined up with the crowd, and by 5:20 we'd finally crossed the starting line, but I still hadn't quite gotten my mind around the fact that I had 26 miles ahead of me. This was my second marathon, but I still found it hard to grasp that I'd be running a distance that in Hawaii can easily take more than an hour to drive.

The Honolulu Marathon is the 3rd largest in the U.S. with 29,000 runners. We must've been pretty far back for it to take us 20 minutes to cross the line. We spent the first 12 miles or so running with the pack, which weighed down our mile times. Then at mile 15 my ambition got the best of me as I waved goodbye to Courtney in order to attempt to break the 4 hour barrier.

By mile 20 I really started to feel it. My lower back was killing me, my feet were bruised and Diamond Head, Honolulu's Heartbreak Hill was looming. I knew that by keeping a 9-minute pace, I could beat 4 hours, but I also knew that I could walk a bit to try to alleviate some of the fatigue. It was a really tough decision, but I decided to press on. Mile 24-25 was entirely uphill, and I ran a 9:40 - not good enough to get in sub-4. Mile 25-26, thankfully was downhill, and I ran it in 8 minutes, my fastest mile of the race. At this point, there was no quitting as I sprinted the last .2 miles to finish in 3:58:53. Courtney came in at 4:08:10.

At that final moment I remembered why I'd decided to run my second marathon. I was also reminded why 29,000 other crazy people were running beside me, and why millions run one every year. There's no feeling that compares to wanting, working and accomplishing something that on its face seems so daunting.

Maui Wowie

Courtney and I jetted off to Maui this weekend, thanks to $80 r/t flights on Aloha Airlines, and a long Thanksgiving weekend. We left early Friday and returned Monday night. We both missed school for the first time, and felt little guilt as we laid on the beaches (it also helped that all I missed was a collaboration day - no students).

Our first day and night were spent in Lahaina, a quaint little port city on the Eastern coast of the island. We spent the afternoon Christmas shopping, and I was even able to find a bar with a great local porter and the LSU-Arkansas football game. (Courtney wasn't too excited about that, but she was a good sport). We spent the night at the Maui Guest House, a recently-remodeled B&B. They had a one-night hole that they let us fill for only $100 - you know if there's a deal, I'll find it.

Saturday we spent a little time at the beach, then made the drive to the plantation-turned-hippie town of Pa'ia. For $85/night we found a nice room in the Mangolani, someone's half home/half vacation rental. We were a half-mile walk from the town, which consisted of a few cafes, restaurants and shops. It was 1950s Main Street meets Woodstock. I felt quite out of place walking around the first night in my collared shirt and khaki shorts, among all of the dreadlocks, flowing skirts, and the wafting smells of "Maui Wowie" (all you hippies or Willie Nelson fans should be able to translate). This was the first time since moving to Hawaii that I've felt like it was a different country. It seemed to be an interesting blend of Europe and West Africa - with very few native Hawaiians.

Sunday, Courtney and I took our Mazda 6 rental on the "Road to Hana." This was the longest 40-mile stretch of my life, with 600+ curves and more than 100 one-lane bridges. This is no exaggeration, but the views were breathtaking. Courtney was fine until the way back when she (in the passenger seat) was the one on the edge of the cliff and began fighting a bout of paranoia. That night, having survived the 2.5 hr. drive each way, we ate at Flatbread Company, an organic pizzeria. I had the mango barbeque pizza with carmelized red onions, pineapple chunks, pulled pork, and goat cheese - magnificent!











We spent Monday morning lazing about on the beach - Courtney tanning, and me sitting in the shade of some palm trees reading The Catcher in the Rye. Our airport security trip was the most eventful, but least desirable part of our day. Being the terrorists that we are, we tried inadvertently to slip a Christmas gift through security in our carry-on. This particular gift was a lei made with mini-bottles of Caribbean rum for Courtney's brother. Well, once on the other side we were told that we could keep the $12 gift, only if we could produce a Ziploc bag to put it in. Not a grocery bag, not a clear Nalgene water bottle, not even a clear plastic box - it had to be a Ziploc bag. Keep in mind, this confrontation occurred AFTER we'd already passed through security. Apparently that Ziploc bag is the only thing keeping us safe from a terror attack by Caribbean rum. The absurdity!!

Now we're back in our comfortable condo counting down the 16 school days until we're mainland bound.

A Rabid Substitute

Judy was subbing for Ms. Williams (my partner math teacher) on Friday. Judy's a short, fat and smiley woman who everyone at school knows. She's best friends with a second grade teacher, so she's here every single day, whether she's subbing or not. I'm sure every school has a Judy. Or maybe every school doesn't...

Ten minutes before the bell rang, I lined Ms. Williams homeroom up at the door, in order to switch and get my kids back so they could pack up. As I leaned into room C209, I could hear a loud ruckus, and my kids were running around like animals. On top of that, Jewel was wailing while Emma laughed and pointed at her. To Jewel, an intelligent, normally mild-mannered girl, this was provocation to haul off and punch Emma in the arm. Needless to say, I was bewildered.

"Silence!" I screamed. The running and yelling ceased instantly, but Jewel's tears were still falling.

"What happened?!" I asked emphatically.

"Oh, it was nothing, Mr. Landry," replied Judy, "I was just playing and Jewel thought I bit her. But I didn't really bite her, she just thinks I did."

You can imagine my shock. "She thinks you bit her?" I asked.

"Yeah, but I was just playing." Judy replied.

At this moment, I wasn't quite sure what to do, so I just gathered my kids up, and sent Ms. Williams' kids into Judy's classroom. On her way into my class, I pulled Jewel aside and asked what happened.

"Ms. G (as the kids call her) was messin' around and she bit my arm," Jewel told me between sobs as she clutched her upper left arm. "I started crying, then the other kids was laughing at me, calling me a crybaby."

"Well it's ok now, Jewel, go pack your things up," was all I could muster in my extended state of bewilderment.

On Monday morning I stopped by my principal's office and relayed the story. She switched between laughter and shock, but I expressed in no uncertain terms that I didn't want this woman subbing fourth grade again. She assured me that she'd look into it.

Well, word spreads fast at an elementary school, and who did I run into on my way to class Tuesday morning? Judy.

"Mr. Landry, I just want you to know that I didn't bite Jewel," she explained.

"Well, that's not what Jewel told me," I replied in annoyance.

"No, no, no, she's just a sensitive girl. I was just messin' and she thought I bit her," she said, trying to convince me. "I just don't want you thinking bad things about me."

"Well," I replied, my annoyance beginning to compound, "I joke around with my kids a lot, but never once have I put my mouth on them. I don't think what happened was excusable."

"No, no, no, it's just a big misunderstanding. I just don't want you to think bad things about me," Judy replied.

"Ok," I said, walking away.

Unfortunately, this was not some piece of prose that I dreamt up last night, but true events. And, even more unfortunate is the fact that nothing will be done about it. The rabid substitute has been here all week, amidst the unlimited fodder of unsuspecting elementary school students.

Is it Safe to Come Out Now?

So, last week the congressional tyranny of the past six years officially came to an end. As Jim Webb was declared the victor in Virginia, a new era in Washington began. When do the impeachment hearings start?

I say that last bit in jest, or perhaps as Al Franken says, "I'm just kidding on the square." This election gives a glimmer of hope that the American public actually can be trusted to make a sound decision, even if it takes them a few years to realize what that right decision is. It's really hurt to watch our trusted political process and our constitutional rights take such a trouncing recently, and I must say that I'm still reeling in disillusionment, even after the good news of the past week.

Maybe it's a coming of age for me - the dreamy-eyed belief in a sound political system has to give way eventually to reality. That reality as of late has been a world of vehement partisanship and back-scratching. Of favors traded and of complete disregard for the plight of middle-class Americans. Of power corrupting absolutely. This is far from the idyllic belief that I grew up with that politicians actually have the public's interest at heart.

Hopefully Congress will use this opportunity to make some meaningful reform - reaching a compromise on immigration, addressing the growing problem of global warming, and passing serious lobbying reform. Maybe then my wounds will heal, and my faith in the political process will be restored.

P.S. I voted for my second and third Republican candidates this election - for Hawaii governor and state senator. Don't get your hopes up though, my confused conservative friends, I'm still a Democrat through and through.

Unbelievable

Hawaii is as beautiful as the pictures, though I've been a bit disappointed by the urban sprawl that is Oahu. Our side of the island (the Western coast) is less congested, but it's still suburbia. I don't know many people, though who can claim a work commute as beautiful as mine and Courtney's. To our left along nearly the entire 10 miles of our drive to work is the Pacific Ocean. The colors through my polarized sunglasses are unbelievable. The 4 varying hues of ocean blue contrast spectacularly with the green of the palm trees. It reminds me of southern France, with the yellows and oranges of the Mediterranean architecture against the azure blue of the Provencal sky.

Teaching isn't quite as rosy as the landscape, though the daily grind is equally as ... shall we say, unbelievable. My kids are awesome - I teach language arts to two classes of 14. They seem to have a perfect combination of maturity and childhood innocence. Their maturity has been formed from the realities of their everyday life - many are adopted, live with relatives or have a dad in prison. As I learn more and more about their life experiences, my disbelief grows.

Even more unbelievable is the gross mismanagement of their education. My school is in constant search of a "quick-fix" that will turn around their failing scores. Thirty percent of my kids scored proficient on last year's standardized test. Seven percent of our school's fifth graders can claim the same. There's bound to be a program out there that can fix it all, though, so we try a new one every couple of months. One storage room on campus looks like a program graveyard, with boxes of materials lining the walls. Hey, at least the publishing and educational services companies are profiting - we're spending $250,000 on programs and consultants this year alone.

Did you know that we spend roughly $115,000 on each public school student in the US, over the course of a K-12 education? I'm by no means qualified to say this, but from my observations at this point it's less a money issue, and more a management issue. Money like that with results like the ones at my school are not sustainable. Something has to be done.