Monthly Archives: July 2024

The Loss of What, Now?

The weekly prompt from my Florida writers’ group was to pick a famous saying or quote, and write a story about it. This is my offering—

“You can take it from me!” the old man says forcefully.  “Gettin’ old ain’t for sissies!”

“Yeah,” his middle-aged son says, scarcely looking up from his phone screen.  “Beats the hell out of the alternative, though.”

‘“Very funny,” the old man says, “an’ easy for you to say.  You’re too young to know the thing ‘bout gettin’ old is dealin’ with loss.  With nary a warnin’, we start losin’ all the things we always took for granted.”

“Like what?” his son says.  He’s sitting in the small suite the old man occupies in the retirement home, his father propped up in bed beside him.

“Everythin’!” the old man declares emphatically.  “Just lookit my skin, f’rinstance.  Used to be smooth an’ tight, now it’s all loose an’ wrinkled.  I look like a cheap suit!”

“That’s to be expected, Pop,” the son says distractedly, eyes still on the phone.  “You’re not a young buck anymore.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’!” the old man replies.  “An’ I’m also losin’ all my muscle underneath the skin.  I’m nothin’ but a bag of bones!”

“You look fine, Pop,” the son says, reaching to pat the old man’s arm reassuringly.  “Just older, that’s all.”

“Exac’ly!  An’ speakin of bones, I’m losin’ all the flex I used to have in ‘em.  All’s I got now is pain an’ stiffness.  Every time I look at myself, all’s I see is me losin’ more an’ more of what I had.”

“So then, don’t look at yourself so often,” the son says.  “Read your magazines, read the books I brought you.”

“Bah!  Easy for you to say!  I don’t see so good anymore, neither.  Vision loss is another thing I’m dealin’ with, an’ it ain’t nothin’ to celebrate, b’lieve you me!”

“Where are your glasses?” the son asks, thumbs busy on the tiny keyboard in front of him.

“Danged if I know!” the old man spits.  “Can’t ‘member where I put things the way I used to, neither!  Doc says it’s just normal mem’ry loss, caused by old age.  I used to prop ‘em up in my hair when I wasn’t wearin’ ‘em, but now that I lost all my hair, they just keep slippin’ off.”

“So, watch TV then.  There’s always something on the movie channels.”

“Yeah, I can still see the TV,” the old man concedes grumpily.  “It’s the up-close stuff I can’t see!  But nobody in them old movies talks loud enough!  I can’t hear a blessed thing ‘less I turn the volume way, way up.  But then the nurse comes in an’ switches it back down.  Gettin’ old means I got hearin’ loss, too!”

“Where are your hearing aids?” the son asks, putting his phone in his pocket.

“Where d’ya think they are?” the old man says.  “In my ears is where they are!  But they’re not workin’ right!  I gotta read lips to know what people are sayin’ half the time!”

“Have you checked the batteries?” the son asks, reaching for his father’s ear.

“Don’t touch me!” the old man says, flinching away.  “All’s I got anymore is pain everywhere.  Nurse says it’s just inflammation, it’ll go away.  But it doesn’t, dagnab it!  Pain is the only thing I don’t seem to be losin’!”

“Okay, Pop, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you should change your attitude a wee bit.  Try to focus on the things that make you happy, the things that are going well.”

“Like what?” the old man says, somewhat miffed by the suggestion. 

“I don’t know,” the son replies, checking his phone again.  “There have to be some things that are going right for you.  Mark Twain once said, Getting old is an issue of mind over matter.  If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!  Try that on for size.”

When the old man doesn’t  answer right away, his son glances up from the phone, thumbs frozen in mid-stroke.  His father’s eyes are closed, his mouth drooping open, his arms still at his side.

“Pop!  Pop!” he yells, leaping from his chair.  “Pop!  Wake up!”  As he stands over his father, phone forgotten, he realizes how aged and frail the old man looks. 

Before he can do anything, however, the old man opens one eye.  “Got ya this time, didn’t I?” he chuckles, a rheumy sound from deep in his chest. 

“Jee-zus, Pop,” the son exclaims.  “You scared the crap out of me!”

“Yeah, well it’s your own damn fault, sonny-boy!  Tellin’ me to change my attitude?  Focus on good stuff happenin’ to me?  At my age?  I may be losin’ a lotta things, but I ain’t never lost my sense of humour!”

“You got me, Pop, I have to admit,” the chagrined son says.  Switching off his phone, putting it in his pocket, he adds, “So, besides your sense of humour, what else haven’t you lost yet?  I’m all ears!”

The old man smiles.  “Ain’t lost you,” he said, “an’ that’s the biggest thing!”

Teaching and Learning

Almost sixty years ago, a brand-new teacher, hired by a brand-new principal, entered his brand-new school for the first time.  Earning what he considered a princely, annual salary of $4100 per year, he could scarcely believe he was being paid to do this job he loved from the very get-go.

Even today—a grandfather now, and long-retired—I can still feel the sense of wonderment and awe that seized me as I awaited my first group of elementary school students.  The mix of opportunity and responsibility confronting me was both frightening and exhilarating.

Over the next thirty-plus years, in three different school districts, I served as teacher, vice-principal, principal, superintendent, and director of education.  Of those postings, the first and last were my two favourites.

Along the way, I met and married a brilliant teacher, and in time, both our daughters grew up to be wonderful teachers, too.

Two of my four granddaughters are currently working towards university degrees in education, one in music, the other in maths and science.  They haven’t asked for my advice—perhaps blissfully unaware of the import of my experience, its scope and depth; or more likely, because I’m bound to be out-of-date now, hopelessly so, after such a long hiatus.

I’ve slowed down, no doubt, but the pace of change has not!

I’ve never been one to proffer advice unsolicited, anyway—although I have been known to hold forth if encouraged.  But if I were to be asked, there are a few bon mots I would probably pass along.

First, teaching—that is, the handing-down of all wisdom from the teacher—is far less significant to students’ growth than learning—namely, opportunities for them to ask pertinent questions, test a variety of possible answers, and settle upon evidence-based conclusions.  Effective learning is a highly-personal pursuit, and happens in a plethora of ways connected to each student’s personality and neural development.  It is the teacher’s job to provide sufficient and varied, open-ended learning opportunities within the prescribed curricula.  Show them, don’t just tell them; involve them, don’t merely lecture them.

Second, the teaching/learning relationship between teacher and student, if it is to yield good results, must be founded on mutual respect for one another—with the emphasis on mutual.  As a pundit posited some time ago, “I don’t care what you know until I know you care.”  The same applies to relationships among students, each of whom will more likely prosper in a caring and secure classroom environment.

Third, it’s far more important that the teacher constantly catch students doing something good, rather than something bad.  It’s not that the bad should be overlooked, but there are effective procedures to deal with it—not simply to end it, but to work proactively to prevent its repeat.  Catching students doing the good things they do is critical, though—letting them know, not just that their accomplishments are noticed, but explaining why those achievements are positive.  When students understand the underpinnings of effective performance, they’ll be more likely to roll it back and expand their repertoire.  So, tell them when their work is good…then explain why.

Over the years, whether engaged as teacher, principal, or CEO of a school district, I forever encountered encumbrances threatening to get in the way of doing the job effectively—budget-cuts; staffing-cuts; overcrowded classrooms; reductions in essential support-services for special-needs students; aging buildings and facilities; changing parental expectations; increasing political demands; the intrusion of pervasive, social-media technology; rising violence in our society; and on and on.  There seems no end to the reasons to decry the state of education.

But that is the reality of the workplace my granddaughters will face.

The most effective strategy to combat the ennui and despair that might imperil what they will try to do in their own classrooms is the fourth piece of advice I would offer them.  Win your people over!  Be they students, co-workers, employees who report to you, the same is true: more often than not, they will respond positively to the learning and growth opportunities provided for them when they feel you hold them in high regard; when they believe they are important pieces of the whole, not mere cogs in someone else’s wheel; when they know you have asked for and valued their opinion; when they believe the ends you are seeking are righteous, and the means to those ends honourable.  And for that to happen—for them to believe you are honest, trustworthy, consistent, and invitational—you must be those things.

And therein lies the final piece of advice I’d offer my granddaughters.  Be visible to your students, be available, be present.  I think of it as management, or leadership, by walking around—and it works.  The best teacher, or leader, is the one who is not just inspiring, but vulnerable, receptive, nurturing, validating—in short, transparent.

Anyway, those are the things I would tell my granddaughters now, almost sixty years since I first stepped foot in that brand-new classroom, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed!  

You know, I sometimes allow myself to imagine I’m heading back in there right now, and waiting just inside the door for me is a fresh-faced kid—Alan, Sylvia, Tony, Mary—so many others whose faces I still see.

“Hey, Mr. Burt!  I was thinkin’ ‘bout what you told us before recess, an’ I’m not sure you’re right.  You wanta know what I think?”

“Yes!” I say, a smile splitting my face.  “Tell me what you think!”

I wanted to know then, and I’d want to know now.  For that’s the essence of teaching and learning.