Play the Sunset

I recently had to write a paper explaining why I would want to teach and what kind of teacher I want to be...so I thought I would share a few excerpts.

...Teachers must cultivate not simply students, not young minds alone, but develop children into independent adults. This is the one line phrase of the teacher I most love and the teacher I most want to be. This is also where it gets complicated. How am I supposed to characterize my teaching career so that I might not only give knowledge, but also give tools and a vision for life? Based upon general beliefs of what a teacher needs to be, I must and plan to embody seeming contradictions in my teaching. I want to be a teacher that is like the father who has just let go of his child's bike seat, but is still running next to it guiding the path and giving confidence to the new rider. I need to embody independence and support at the same moment. I also must care about the well being of my students as much as the father cares about the well being of his child. I can mange students getting skinned knees and bruised elbows, but i will not allow for any broken bones or stitches. Not having taught to any great extent, I think I would try to do this by giving assignments that were not always terribly difficult, but a little uncomfortable. I want to drive my students to expand their spheres of learning, take control of their lives, and find confidence in their work. What I most of all do not want are students who are content to stay in class with only what they know and only what they are comfortable with.

...And so as I contemplate what I would like to achieve in my career the question becomes more difficult with more thought. Initially I might think that I want all my students to succeed and have all of my students respect the teacher I am. But this outcome, these achievements do not parallel the drive and reason I have for wanting to teach. No, I believe a teacher cannot ask for respect; he must act and let his actions prove whether he is worthy of it. I do hope that I will prove myself, but I will not ask for a student's appreciation. As for my students going on to succeed, of course I imagine that i will be the teacher of the next great American author or the next genius critic or theorist, but this is not an achievement I will strive for as much as a dream I will hold dear. Instead I hope that I will create students who never forget the humanity of life. I hope to inspire students to never lose the emotion that lies within the logic of writing and reading, of theorizing and analyzing. I want to teach so that I can push and guide not simply students, but a new generation of thinkers, lovers, and doers to achieve their own impassioned dreams.

Some Privacy Please

"Are you at all acquainted with squalor?"

The great author JD Salinger died yesterday at 91 of natural causes. He published very few works in his lifetime and is mostly known for his book Catcher in the Rye, which has sold over 60 million copies since its publication. The interesting thing about Salinger is that he stopped publishing his work around 45 years ago. He's been sitting in his home in a small Connecticut town for half of his life. The townspeople had agreed to keep Salinger and his secret safe. If any traveler should stumble into town asking for the great writer's address they would inevitably be pointed in the wrong direction several times until total confusion set in. It's really what you would come to expect from such a writer. His life and the surrounding details had become one of his eccentric plot lines. But he left a plot twist for all his followers at the end. I wonder if he planned it at all. With the exceeding rate and exponential growth of communication and vying for the spotlight, there was one public figure who was able to stay in the mind of America without saying a word. Beyond this, with his death, could it be that he will rejuvenate the life-blood that once flowed with teenage angst and quenched the thirst of generations. Yes, it is rumored that Salinger could have 15 manuscripts under lock and key. The big question is will they be published? Time will only tell. So, Salinger, I pay my respects to a man who lived his life doing what he loved for no one but himself. You loved writing and you didn't compromise your vision. You gave up a lifetime of fame and fortune, of great celebrity. A man who stayed true to his visions. But I am an anxious reader, I do still hope that you found it in your heart to allow us to see the growth of your genius. Though you will never receive the laud and honor.

"I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody."

Outer Dark

And as he lay there a far crack of lightning went bluely down the sky and bequeathed him in an embryonic bird's first fissured vision of the world and transpiring instant and outrageous from dark to dark a final view of the grotto and the shapeless white plasm struggling upon the rich and incunabular moss like a lank swamp hare.

Here's an excerpt from the Cormac McCarthy novel Outer Dark. It is a passage that describes the experience of the brief flash of light from a streak of lightning. Now I'm doing this off the top of my head, but I would probably write something like, "lightning flashed across the sky." It's the same second being described. And sure you might be able to see my phrase, but you can feel every word of McCarthy's. It's just amazing to me that he can focus so distinctly on such a miniscule amount of time. His description is haunting and it haunts me as an aspiring writer. How can you even have the thought of this vision, much less the words for it. He uses metaphor and other experience to accentuate and exact the perfect feeling and experience he means to derive from this description. And no this is not a brief shining moment within a novel of more plebeian description.

He stood in the center of the square where the tracks of commerce lay fossilized in the dried mud all about him, turning, an amphitheatrical figure in that moonwrought waste manacled to a shadow that struggled grossly in the dust.

Or, "he stood, in the moonlit night, looking at the rutted, mud road." You see the second, but feel the character's emotions of struggle and loneliness in McCarthy's version. This is the thing that I think amazes me most about his writing. I am often shocked and impressed with description and characters that I can imagine, see, and believe. But McCarthy goes beyond the call of visualizing and goes straight for the soul of the reader. He creates lines of prose that connect his imaginations directly to the heart of the reader. These characters are not simply believable, they do not simply feel, but they reach out to us and make us empathize, make us feel the loneliness of staring at a deserted square with only our own shadow to wrestle with. Unbelievable. McCarthy is not simply a master of emotion and reader empathy through long, descriptive scenes. It takes the greatest writer to know when it is best not to describe with longevity.

No. No preacher. What is there to preach? It's all plain enough. Word and flesh, I don't hold much with preaching.

Here, a blind man is speaking of religion and life with the protagonist. In other words, he's saying, "I'm not a preacher, I don't want to preach to you about life, I simply mean to remind you about living. It all comes down to the word and flesh. To people and what they say, to God and his children, to the leader and followers, to relationships and how we live them. But, rest assured, it is not preaching that gives this to you, it is living it, plain and simple." McCarthy masterfully fits in not only a paragraph's worth of meaning, but a book's worth, into a mere sentence. He doesn't constrict the reader into reading on the page everything exactly, because that's not the way of the word and flesh. That's not the way of life. He means to draw feeling, emotion, empathy from the reader, not the preach to him. He mean to show the reader's blindness to truly living. So reader, it's all plain enough, experience living.

The Gift of Life

I've been contemplating this phrase, the gift of life, for a little while now. And no, sorry, I'm not talking about birth, well not exactly. I've been wondering what makes the "new birth" of Christianity so unappealing when its presented to me as a gift. I mean it sounds pretty good--it's free and I like free stuff, you get to go to heaven and I'm pretty sure I will like that too. But for some reason it just doesn't sound like something I'm really into--and I'd like to think I trust in God.

About a month ago everybody was gearing up for Christmas and something was pushed in front of me that made my feelings quite clear. It was a present that apparently led the person receiving it to something eternal. I mostly got boredom and smugness out of it, but I'm not sure if that's what they were going for. And with the gift in my hands I suddenly realized what's so off-putting. The present is a lie. I'm sure what it says inside isn't really a lie, but to me (not actually having read it) it certainly felt like one. You see, Christianity is about believing in a God that is bigger than humanity, since, you know, he created it and all. I have a hard time believing you can fit a God like that into a card or a booklet. He managed to begin to explain himself in a few hundred pages, but hey he's God. Even more than the vastness of God is the exact difference between what he claims and what the gift presents. The gift gives a 5 step plan or an introduction to a better life. I'm not sure if God really ever leads with that. As far as I can tell, and Christ is constantly showing this, he let's people fall. Now its the kind of fall that 4 year olds make to skin their knees, not the fall that 7 year olds make to break their arms. It's gonna hurt and its gonna sting, and worst of all its gonna be there for a while. But, like a good father and friend, Christ comes running to pick us up and cradle us. This is the big difference for me.

God is not a gift, not a present, he is something to have a relationship with. And we all know relationships do not fit in cards. They are daily struggles, fights, laughs, and shared experience. This is the truth that God presents. This is the beginning of himself that he fits in those few hundred pages--a relationship. To me, the "Christian gift bag" is filed in with the cards I get from distant friends and family whom I've never met, but I'm assured at one point they were close with a family member two generations ago. It's nice and all, but its not really like the gift I get from a best friend. Before we start handing out gifts left and right to people let's actually get to know each other. It becomes infinitely more meaningful. Now my Christian friends may be doubting this last statement a little and be thinking "but God gives gifts to all his children whether they know him or not." And certainly I must agree, but I have one more brief analogy for you. Think of the new mother and father of a child on his first Christmas. Not much of a two way relationship brewing there, but I've never heard of parents who ignored their child whether or not he was aware of what love was contained inside the wrapping paper.

To be honest I think that's where most of us spend a lot of our time. Seeing a bright shiny new present without concern as to whom it came from (though its particularly specific to my needs and personality). Rarely we might get to the stage those 4 year olds with skinned knees get to. We tear into our presents rushing to get to the next unopened thing, then take a quick run around the room, give a brief hug to whoever gave us the present, say "I love you" then move on. Of course the next day we are crying because no new presents came. But, when we are open to God's grace we sometimes briefly see what he has truly given us amidst all the gifts. And here is the best part, he's been holding up our relationship the whole time, and the moments where I see that loving connection are the most valued of my life. I just wish I could remember to look at who gave me the gifts more than I look at the newest present in my life--because that is a life worth living, one very appealing, one full of relationships rather than full of gifts.

When It Rains, It Pours

Well it's been quite awhile since I've posted anything. Quite a bit has happened in the last month; I'm afraid this will be more of a recap, but I'll try to keep it interesting. Most of December and January I spend on break from school, which should be pretty great, actually it should be really great. Five weeks of doing nothing but sleeping, hanging out with friends, and well pretty much doing whatever I feel like. But break didn't really work out the way I had planned it to. I guess it really started the few weeks before break even began.

My computer was intermittently working near the end of the semester, and the week before finals were due it completely shut down on me. I would find out later that the motherboard had crashed (actually this was the second time in three years, but HP decided to take away the recall that was out a mere three months before the problem occurred). So I was without a computer for a little longer than a month. As you can imagine, this didn't go over well when looking at my bank account. But, I was hopeful, I have a great winter job selling Christmas trees which brings in a good amount and I could get a new computer. But the 20 inches of snow that came the weekend I was going to start work put me out of a job. So now I'm without job and down a computer when what should happen but in the same week my family discovers it has problems with not one, or even two, but all three of the cars we have. Yeah, that one hurt. But, I thought at least I can get away from some of the worry when I go on my swim training trip in Florida; warm, sunny beaches, sparkling outdoor pool (Olympic length), volleyball tournaments. We land in Florida a few days after the New Year in an invigorating (or rather demoralizing) 44 degrees. We were practicing in an outdoor pool in the 40's. Then I come back to PA and need to go to school a week before classes to continue training.

So there it is. The break, the "vacation" I get from all the stress of school; not quite what I was hoping for. But for all the bad, I still enjoyed the break. My computer broke, but due to a student discount I was able to get a much better and more reliable one. I lost out on a great job opportunity, but I was able to spend another week with my family instead of living an hour away. Christmas was actually fantastic, couldn't have asked for it to be better. Florida was cold, really cold, but its way better than spending all of training in lonely Carlisle. And yes, I'm back at school early with no one on campus except the team, but the team will grow closer because of it. Not a bad way to start of the new year.

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow

It snowed last night for the first time of the year in Carlisle long enough to make it through the day and stay--a solid two inches of white. This is certainly cause for celebration, which I assuredly take part in, though not as much as I would like to. See, its the last week of classes, which means finals week is right around the corner, and I'm in the midst of turning that corner as we speak. So I haven't had much time to sit, relax, and enjoy the new fallen snow. Although, I did get a chance to pause for just a moment and think about the gleaming pearls that hung from branch and building alike.

It got me thinking, these couple of weeks are very much like the first snow. With the last week of classes, there is so much excitement on campus. Everyone is itching to get home and sit close to their fireplaces, dozing drearily, and not doing any work at all. It's the promise of a long relaxing winter break that gets us students through the torture of the ending of the semester. But the more I get involved with these last two weeks. The closer paper due dates and finals get, the more stressed I get and the less I begin to think about winter break. Instead, I'm thinking about how I will get through class tomorrow without sleeping tonight. Or, there is no way I'm going to get enough research for this paper. Or, I have no clue what I learned in this class, how am I supposed to take a final in it. And so, the final weeks become more of what feels like perdition, than the good harbinger of sleeping until noon everyday. Because, hell, I've got 35 pages to write in one week. That's a lot of work; I'm not asking for much, but I do like to, you know, eat and sleep. Those things are nice, but work I have so work I must.

When the first snow falls every year, whether you're a child or an adult, I think one of the first things that comes to mind is a snow day. Time to sit by the fire, slowly melt into dreams, and do nothing all day. Snow becomes an omen, a symbol of what is next to come, much like my last weeks of school. Yet after this initial excitement wears off, snow is more of a job than a day off. There is salt to lay, wood to chop for the fire, driveways to shovel. And in the midst of all of this, your lips have gone blue, you can't feel your fingers and toes any more. You're pretty sure that your socks have disintegrated into more of a liquid than a solid. And somehow, even though its 10 degrees outside, all of your stuff is soaking wet inside and out. What comes next? Well only the back pain from shoveling, the shivering from cold, and the bruises from falling. Yeah, gotta love that snow.

But, in spite of all of this I do love snow; I do love school. As I have a brief moment before I head off to the next "driveway" to shovel, today's snow has me pause, even stop, and think of what is so beautiful about where I am. Looking at clean, white, unbroken snow is one of my favorite joys. Seeing the sun glisten off of the slightly brittle sheet of "snow ice," looking up at the crystal blue sky, and smelling snow. I love the way snow smells; its clean and new and invigorating. I need to enjoy the snow more; not enjoy the hopes of a snow day, but the actual snow, the beauty of the white picture laid out before me, before footprints have ruined it, before shovels have thrown it. I need to enjoy college for what it is, enjoy the classes and the last weeks for the relationships with friends, the late nights learning what I love in the library. Enjoy the snow, even as I shovel it away (so I can work away the cold and prevent the slips and falls). Because it is more than worth it for a little bit of a sore back, for a little bit of a fried brain. Its just another workout, getting stronger, getting smarter, preventing the slips and falls; all the while getting the blessed opportunity to work among a scene of great minds and the crystallized beauty of snow.

Doctor, Doctor Give Me the News

With the impending doom of the swine flu ravishing our campus, students started becoming pretty worried in the last week before Thanksgiving break. It wasn't that they realized papers and project dates were swiftly closing in and they just weren't feeling up to the task. It wasn't that they were afraid of carrying disease to their homes and families. It was the possibility that the college might cancel the Thanksgiving dinner because of the flu pandemic. Normally our dinners are pretty average when it comes to colleges. A few lines ranging from entrees to the grill to the salad bar; in reality, not too bad of a deal. But the Wednesday before Thanksgiving break, the school brings out all the stops.

They open up the cafeteria and set up a table that stretches along each side of the hall. The line for this thing is unbelievable. People start lining up at 4pm, by the time I got out of swim practice the line was outside of the building and nearly into the plaza--thats about 30 yards, and that's just to get into the cafeteria. Once you've gotten through the initial line, you get into line for the cornucopia you are about engorge yourself with. As you move inch by inch, more and more dishes come into view. Finally you grab your plate that is actually too hot to hold and start going at it. You can always tell who the freshmen are because they actually take up room on their plates for the fruit and salad that's laid out at the front of the table. Too seasoned for that mistake I patiently await what's to come next. At my fingertips are vats of stuffing, tubs of green beans, and sweet corn in bowls too big to lift. Here's where the real dinner starts, I need to lay a base level of all three to cover my plate. Then the heavier stuff, you get the mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and fish. Once I've reached this level, I can't expand outward on my plate, since I've already reached about a centimeter off the edge in every direction. The only place to go is up, so I pile it on. At the end of the line are the chefs standing ready to cut off slabs of ham and turkey at your bidding, the missing piece of the mountain I've constructed on my plate. Finally making it through this table--or row of tables--I move on to the gravy, which cascades down the Rockies equivalent of a dinner plate. Now I'm ready to eat right? Well not quite, now you've got your corn bread, rolls, pumpkin bread that I need to shove in every pocket I've got (good thing I decided to wear my jacket). Now the battle of the evening begins. You elbow and shove your way through the masses of starving students to find a table. It's like trying to find a parking space in Walmart on Black Friday. You just need to awkwardly wait at a table where it seems like they might be pulling out, then rush in on it before anybody else gets there. It gets rough out there, I've seen people throwing jackets and bags in front of others, people grabbing and diving for chairs; but my group finally found our seats and the feast could begin.

The hard part is, all of this isn't the end. You need to pace yourself through the dinner, enjoy some of everything, take awhile getting through the meal, and when you've settled yourself enough to actually stand again you leave and make your way to the next room. Give the door person your ticket and you've entered into a wonderland, an entire hall--that's right not just a room, but a hall--filled with the most delicious desserts. They've got everything from blackberry pie to chocolate death cake. Naturally, I like to test the limits and go for the death cake. This is the stage in the night where you actually see people laying down on the floor because sitting in an upright position cramps their stomach too much (and yes I may have been one of those people). After struggling through this massive piece of diabetes waiting to happen, I slowly, painfully begin to stand up and make my way back to the desserts. No, I'm not shoving another one down--well, not immediately. I just take a peanut butter cake for the road and head home to lay down and not move for a few hours.

So, you see, one of the most important days of the year for college students--the college Thanksgiving meal, because what kind of athlete or scholar would go into something without training or studying. The doctors and the school cleared us for our practice Thanksgiving meal, after a night like that you can't be anything but prepared for the real night just a week away. Man, you gotta love this time of year.