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I survived hide and seek

I just finished reading this article, titled Why your kids shouldn’t play hide and seek, from http://www.momtastic.com, that presented an interesting view of a childhood game that many of us grew up with. Hide and seek used to be one of my favorite games when I was young, along with a nighttime version we called “sneaks.” The article suggested that we consider the negative consequences of the game such as promoting secretive play and encouraging children to hide and not come out, not to mention the fact that younger children may not be able to differentiate between hiding for real and hiding for pretend. The article did present an interesting opinion that I had never heard before, but I’m just not convinced that hide and seek could be detrimental to any child’s psychological development. I played hide and seek, and I survived.

Click here to read the full article.

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And we’re back

Good morning fellow teachers! I hope everyone had a restful and relaxing summer. I don’t know about anyone else, but I still get anxious on the first day of school. I’ve chewed my nails down to almost nothing and every dream I had last night was about something going wrong in class…or about different ways I could teach this year. I just could not shut my brain off last night. Surprisingly, I didn’t have any dreams about forgetting kids’ names. Maybe it’s because I know it will probably take me two to three week to learn all their names anyways, and another two weeks or so to stop mixing kids up.

What are your tricks for learning kids’ names?

What interesting get-to-know-you activities do you have planned for the first week of school?

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The Perils of Filling Out Job Applications

job-application-formWhile at a friend’s apartment tonight, I was reminded of how long it actually takes to fill out a job application online. Some applications can take up to an hour to complete. This would be tolerable if it wasn’t necessary for every job you would like to apply to. At times, it can be more frustrating filling out job applications than it is to stand in line at the Welfare office; which, unfortunately, is a never ending cycle that many people fall into. I want to know why someone has not created a universal application that can fit the needs of the general employer. Why should a person have to fill out the same tedious information, for example, at McDonalds, Burger King, and at Wendy’s. And never mind if you attended more than one educational institution; have more than one degree or certification; or have worked for numerous employers. Each one of these things is another section of the application that you need to fill out–for EVERY application. I can’t begin to explain how many hours went into filling out applications to find a teaching position. It has to be one of the most stressful things I have gone through. Sure, they have Monster.com and Indeed.com, but on those sites, you either submit your resume (which is filled out on their sites just like all the other applications) to each job posting you are interested in, and hardly ever get a response; or the site asks you to go to the employer’s website and fill out yet another application. It’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s hard enough to find a decent job today. Why does it need to be even harder to apply for one?

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Daily Prompt A-Z: Argyle Socks

Create a short story, piece of memoir, or epic poem that is 26 sentences long, in which the first sentence begins with “A” and each sentence thereafter begins with the next letter of the alphabet.

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Argyle socks. Beatty always wore argyle socks. Couldn’t understand what in the world he saw in them. Didn’t really care. Everything was perfect in those days. Father took care of us the best he could. Gave us food, shelter, and clothes. He, of course, was the one who gave Beatty his argyle socks. I wasn’t jealous though. Jealousy would mean that I was lacking something, and I wasn’t. Khaki pants and polo shirts lined my drawer. Love letters from my girlfriend were discretely tucked into the back corner. Maybe Beatty knew they were there, but he didn’t seem to care. Never said anything about them anyways. Our relationship was more of the ‘mind your own’ kind. People always said we looked exactly alike, and it was so hard to tell us apart. Quizzical expressions crossed their faces when, in response, we lifted our pant legs and showed them our socks. “Really?” I would ask. “Surely, I would never wear argyle socks.” Together we would laugh at our own private joke and skip away. Until one day, many years later, when it wasn’t funny anymore. Victoria, my then girlfriend and now wife, called me at the office.

“We thought it was you at first,” she sobbed into the phone. “X-rays showed so many broken bones.”

“You sure it’s him?” I asked, completely in denial.

“Zayne, honey,”– she paused– “he was wearing argyle socks.”

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Fox News Anchor-Not Prepared

 

Wow. This lady definitely did not do her homework. How embarrassing it must be for FOX news.  Reza Aslan was very gracious during the interview. He even politely said, “It sounds like you haven’t actually read my book.” Ouch. That must have hurt her career. I’d like to see her publicly apologize for such an unprepared interview.

 

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Write Now Prompt for July 26, 2013

She removed the pendant from around her neck and placed it carefully into the box she kept hidden in her room.

Arlene trailed her delicate fingers over the ornate carvings that decorated the lid of the box–an old, wooden box that belonged to her mother. When she was young, Arlene would peek into her mother’s study when she was supposed to be napping. And there, on a number of occasions, she witnessed the most incredible exchange of power between her mother and the ruby pendant she kept locked away, out of reach.

Arlene’s mother had been missing for three years now. There was no sign of foul play, and the town believed she walked out on her family. Arlene had a different idea. What if her mother’s disappearance had something to do with the pendant? What if she was next?

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Link to Write Now Prompt

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I Used to Be Creative

When I was younger, I felt things so deeply that there was no other option for me, but to write out my feelings. I would write poetry and prose. I would wake up eight times in the middle of the night–each time to add more to a poem I had started before I went to sleep. I would daydream and draw in class. I would spend an entire day starting and finishing a new novel I had just purchased–one that ultimately brought me to tears or scared the crap out of me. I bought books on writing and the writing process. I dreamed of becoming a famous author, of writing for a living.

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I still feel the ache of wanting to write. I have novels- and novels-worth of material waiting to be written, but I can’t seem to write anything of substance. What happened? I used to be so proud of my work. I would share my poetry willingly, and ask others for advice in my writing. Does it flow? Are the characters believable? What should I add or remove or change to make the story even better? Can you feel the emotion behind my poetry?

Maybe I’m scared to write. Scared of what may come out of me. I’ve worked so hard to fight past all the bad, and to break into this person who is caring and strong. What if my writing shows everyone my weaknesses? What will they think?

Or maybe I’m scared that it’s just not good enough. When I was in Middle School, I had an English teacher named Mr. Faulk. I will never forget him. We were doing a poetry unit, and I mentioned to him that I have a book of poetry that I had written. I brought it in the next day for him to read. I knew all the poems weren’t great, but I was proud of what I had accomplished. Mr. Faulk started his critique by telling my he really like a specific poem. And to tell you the truth, I’m not even sure which one it was, because his next words hurt so badly. “…but the rest really aren’t that good.” He handed back my book of poetry. I nodded my head, and returned to my seat. Embarrassed. Disappointed. Ashamed. Nothing like destroying a child’s dream.

I spend my days, wanting to be creative. Wanting to write. But something is holding me back.