Today, my mother explained to me what it was like to experience my birth.
Strange; I have lived, up to this moment, approximately 26 years, 364 days and 23.5 hours and I have never before heard this story. I'd like to say that my birth was a momentous occasion on which stars aligned and planets converged upon one another, but, unfortunately, i have no such legendary occurrence to report.
My birth, rather, like my life, is recounted as a stubborn occasion. Due to my late arrival, it seems clear to me that instead of born, I was removed. Coming into this world as a benign and removable lump of humanity may seem discouraging, but it only furthers the relevance of my emotional status.
The day I was born, the first successful heart transplant took place, but my mother was probably grateful that I was no longer inhabiting her parasitically. I likely went home to a house that had expected me, but wasn't prepared to me, particularly considering a sibling who had lived twelve years sans little brother. Much to her chagrin, I'd imagine, there was someone with whom her family would be shared.
As I have grown into the man I am, I have realized a particularly important aspect of my life that I have previously ignored: birthdays are not celebratory, but rather a reflective occasion.
I have found that there are those people that are very capable at liking birthdays. Those people make me jealous. I find birthdays to be not a momentous day. but rather a day on which I reflect upon the year that has passed. I ask myself: am I happy with what I have done, where I am, WHO I am?
Perhaps my occupation has rendered me inherently reflective, but I refuse to think I am a lost cause. I wish I were the one who was uncannily optimistic, but I am too busy dwelling on what was that I cannot see what will be. It seems inherently unnecessary to predict the unpredictable future, but there's a huge part of me that feels discouraged by my own inadequacy to be more forward-looking.
I don't look at this as a flaw, but rather as something that makes me ME. I may not be looking towards 27, but I will think about 26. The past two years have been interesting, to say the least (and to obscure my true feelings), but I can't help but feel the impending THIRTY. I do not fear the milestone, but do ponder where I will be, but not nearly as much as look back at the version of myself that has thus far inhabited this planet.
For those of you who will say, "You're so young," to you I say, "I am young, but I've lived every year twice, wondering what I could have done to be a better me." At this rate, I'll be sixty before I'm thirty, and certainly prepared for retirement.
Battling anxiety and depression is like fighting a gun fight with a knife; you never get ahead. You are forced to better adapt your skills and resources for those battles I can fight. I can't be everything to everyone, but I can be me, 27, and ready for another year, until the next birthday...
Friday, December 2, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Personal Rage and Dylan Thomas
In all of my personal struggle over the past year and more, I find myself tired of the waxing and waning of my inner emotions. I await a time when I don't feel anxious or worried and I can look forward to pleasantries without said joys being compromised and tainted by the "other" feelings that linger, wafting through the air malodorously, choking and suffocating me.
I have never considered myself much of a fighter, but I also do not consider myself a quitter. The competitor in me has now acknowledge that my greatest source of adversity comes from within. Internally conflicted, developing strategies and approaches for coping is quite the difficult process. Like a migratory animal in a world of global warming, I find myself reactive instinctively, and yet confusedly.
Certainly, I am one to say that I don't care about what other people say about me, but that would be a falsity. I am sure that when people think of me, the first adjective that comes to mind is not "strong". I am not one to argue with my lack of physical prowess, but I would not consider myself weak, in any sense. Part of me suffers through hours of painful tattooing to prove to myself that I can take the physical pains of life, partly associating the endurance with the possibility of the future pain I may have to tolerate. Additionally, I feel as though people may see me as a stronger and braver person because I have never had the opportunity to do so.
I suppose I am considering all of this because, in teaching characterization and character traits to students, the concept of bravery and courage are often associate with heroic characters found within fictional stories. Ironically, the aforementioned traits are so easily identified, yet we often overlook the more difficult and realistic human associations with courage and bravery. Again, I do not feel confident enough to call myself brave or courageous, but I will identify with stubborn.
Of all the things I am, a quitter is not me. I don't back down. I may get angry, but often that anger motivates and fuels me. That's where Dylan Thomas, and my English-obsessed ways, surface. I read and reread the following poem tonight in an effort to refocus my life in the face of adversity:
To me, it is clear that the speaker of the poem is attempting to express contempt for a mere resignation towards death. It appears that it is neither honorable or appropriate to accept death and a predetermined fate. We should all fight against impending death rather than passively acquiescing to death's silent request.
Thomas divides the poem into four separate parts in order to build upon the idea that raging against the dying of the light is a valid approach to not only death, but also, more implicitly, against the darkness and tribulations that may frequently arise in life. In the opening stanza, the speaker introduces the message of battling against passivity only to succeed the introduction with four paragraphs of examples of fighting against the dying of the light. The continued repetition of this key phrase, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light," builds upon itself to provide emphasis.
Later, the tone becomes far more emotionally charged and personal as the speaker talks about his father. In many ways, one could read this poem and provide the suggestion in an analysis of "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" saying it is as a statement about living a strong life and refusing to go down quietly.
To my point I come: I shall rage on. I may not always emerge victorious and my sphere of influence is, often times, rather limited and beyond my control, but never will I merely accept the unacceptable. Where I am is where I am meant to be, but it doesn't mean I can't fight for more in a brave and courageous manner, even if it goes unnoticed.
I have never considered myself much of a fighter, but I also do not consider myself a quitter. The competitor in me has now acknowledge that my greatest source of adversity comes from within. Internally conflicted, developing strategies and approaches for coping is quite the difficult process. Like a migratory animal in a world of global warming, I find myself reactive instinctively, and yet confusedly.
Certainly, I am one to say that I don't care about what other people say about me, but that would be a falsity. I am sure that when people think of me, the first adjective that comes to mind is not "strong". I am not one to argue with my lack of physical prowess, but I would not consider myself weak, in any sense. Part of me suffers through hours of painful tattooing to prove to myself that I can take the physical pains of life, partly associating the endurance with the possibility of the future pain I may have to tolerate. Additionally, I feel as though people may see me as a stronger and braver person because I have never had the opportunity to do so.
I suppose I am considering all of this because, in teaching characterization and character traits to students, the concept of bravery and courage are often associate with heroic characters found within fictional stories. Ironically, the aforementioned traits are so easily identified, yet we often overlook the more difficult and realistic human associations with courage and bravery. Again, I do not feel confident enough to call myself brave or courageous, but I will identify with stubborn.
Of all the things I am, a quitter is not me. I don't back down. I may get angry, but often that anger motivates and fuels me. That's where Dylan Thomas, and my English-obsessed ways, surface. I read and reread the following poem tonight in an effort to refocus my life in the face of adversity:
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
To me, it is clear that the speaker of the poem is attempting to express contempt for a mere resignation towards death. It appears that it is neither honorable or appropriate to accept death and a predetermined fate. We should all fight against impending death rather than passively acquiescing to death's silent request.
Thomas divides the poem into four separate parts in order to build upon the idea that raging against the dying of the light is a valid approach to not only death, but also, more implicitly, against the darkness and tribulations that may frequently arise in life. In the opening stanza, the speaker introduces the message of battling against passivity only to succeed the introduction with four paragraphs of examples of fighting against the dying of the light. The continued repetition of this key phrase, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light," builds upon itself to provide emphasis.
Later, the tone becomes far more emotionally charged and personal as the speaker talks about his father. In many ways, one could read this poem and provide the suggestion in an analysis of "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" saying it is as a statement about living a strong life and refusing to go down quietly.
To my point I come: I shall rage on. I may not always emerge victorious and my sphere of influence is, often times, rather limited and beyond my control, but never will I merely accept the unacceptable. Where I am is where I am meant to be, but it doesn't mean I can't fight for more in a brave and courageous manner, even if it goes unnoticed.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Fare thee well, twenty-ten.
I will not pretend by saying that this year has been the best of years. In fact, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."
Leave it to a long-dead Victorian author, Dickens of course, to best articulate this past year. Without going into depth, I'd rather focus on some of the good things that have occurred this year.
Valerie, my mom number two, remarried on January 2, 2010. I was so glad to share that moment with her! I wish her nothing but love and happiness.
I had tons of fun with Tara and Marissa, just like old times.
My parents actually took a picture with me.
For Easter, Louanne and I went to Carlsbad and visited the flower fields. I remember that this was the same day my mom called me to ask if I felt the earthquake.
For my birthday last year, Louanne decided to try to kill me. I waited three months or so to finally go. Jumping out of a plane was something I wanted to do later in the year, but without a parachute. Luckily, things turned out all right.
I think my face explains it all.
I lived. Apparently...
Along with jumping out of planes, I flew on a couple as well. I was lucky enough to go to the east coast with the eighth graders last school year. It was a great nine days of so, regardless of how exhausting it was. I was able to see sites that I had never seen and go with a great group of amazing kids. Those students are going to be very difficult to beat in my years of teaching. I feel very blessed to have been their teacher and, in this case, chaperone, for the east coast trip.
On top of the Empire State Building.
Capitol Building in DC.
The summer was an interesting one. I left my last school site under my own volition. I thought that it was what I wanted. If you have read earlier blogs, then you know the story. The gist of it is as follows: I was very excited to change schools to go to a comprehensive middle school, but the work ahead of me was intense. All in all, it was a rough but necessary change. I am glad to have left things behind and to move forward at Lewis.
I also attended Del Mar Race Track's opening day.
In the boxes at Del Mar
Taken by Justin Chung who is, by the way, going to be a hugely famous photographer. He is already on his way! I'm very proud of my little bro. (Below)
Vegas in July... Let me say, I remember why I don't go to Vegas, but Ashley and Joe are two of my new favorite people. I look forward to the many wonderful times to remember (and forget).
@ Crown in the Rio
The real low down: What I expect in 2011...
Biggest Trend: Weddings ... better than the baby trend!
It seems like 2010 and 2011 will be the years of weddings. Everybody is getting married or having children, and this makes me assess my state in life. It is a good thing I enjoy weddings, particularly those with open bars, but I am most excited to see Mary Beth and Brian as well as Sergio and Adriana get married next year. Two of best, closest, and oldest friends are tying the knot with their partners. I am very happy for them, but also a little worried. I am sure I will have an opportunity to speak at both of their weddings.
I suppose this is what happens at this stage in my life; people around me are making long-term life decisions. Buying a home this year reminded me that there are important steps that we all take in our lives, but nothing should be done without consideration. In the long run, there are very few things in this world worth rushing, so I have learned to be patient and ready to make decisions as appropriate and necessary.
Biggest Change:
A big concern I have for 2011 is how I will handle my self in light of my parents moving across the country. I know that it has to happen at some point, but the logical order of events is that the child moves away (as I did) and the parents stay. I didn't expect that they would move away and leave me behind. I know I am old and mature enough to handle it, but it is strange to think that I will have to get on an airplane to visit my parents. In light of the wretched circumstances that tainted most of 2010, the best-case scenario was for them to move away and begin again, but because it negatively impacts me, I am not 100 percent keen on the idea, but rather about eighty-five percent. Hey, I can't be completely selfless in the manner, but I can handle it with a certain degree of grace.
Biggest Concern:
Lay-offs - I don't want to talk more about this. California - get yourself together.
Biggest Accomplishment:
That I can predict - graduating with my master's. There's a part of me that feels like I should have already done this, but I did not rush into a career field that I didn't enjoy, I didn't just continue my education for the sake of doing so, and it was just plain-ol' good timing. I value education so much that I hope to stay in the field as a teacher as long as allowed (see above).
The reflection:
I want 2010 to pass in the night, in its resting state, and fade away into the dark, uncompromising oblivion in which it belongs. It is strange to think that I struggle to reflect this year because of all of the difficulty I have had. In the long run, I have grown exponentially.
By growth, I mean to say that I have learned some important things:
I have learned that my sphere of influence is really rather small, but my focused energy can be placed in more appropriate areas.
My life is like a train ride and I am its conductor. There are people who have been passengers for a long time, getting on soon after departure if not immediately thereafter. Then, there are people who got on a little later for the ride. Sometimes, people can no longer take the journey with me and they must stop at a station appropriate for them, some never to return again and others may buy a ticket back. I am often hesitant to let passengers on my train to nowhere and am cautious of the baggage they bring, never really knowing whether it will benefit me or weigh me down. I welcome those who trust me and support me on my journey. I am always looking for new passengers to challenge me and accompany on this treacherous voyage of existence but a fair disclaimer shall be issued: if you buy the ticket you have to be willing to endure the ride. If you cannot, feel free to pull the chain and get off at the next stop. I have learned to let people go. People come and go and I control who rides on the train.
One thing Joe Ferro knows is a lot about himself through the trials and tribulations as well as joys and people that have come into (and out of) his life. I am what I am and that's as realistic as can be.
People who get to know me know that I am not always to be taken at face value. I value my family and friends more than anything. My best friends are most favored because they know me not for who I am, but why I am this way. I like to work diligently, and play even more. I do know how to let loose and, occassionally, it gets me into trouble. I love life and living it to its fullest.
.
To describe me... i am like a mountain climber, always looking for a challenge, but as soon as i get to the top, i can't help but think of the climb down. i never sit at the top and enjoy my accomplishments either. This is an area to work on, but at least I never back down from a new opportunity. After all, "Our greatest foes, and whom we must chiefly combat, are within."
My life has been kind of up and down for the past year, but I am happy... and it feels great. The people who are in my life at this moment make me glad to get up every morning and set forth in in this crazy world. I have amazing family, stellar friends, a fantastic girlfriend - who could ask for more?
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Birthday Blog
I've always found it rather ironic how we spend the first half of our lives trying to grow up faster, wishing for the milestones to arrive more quickly: adulthood, graduations, weddings, etc. Conversely, we spend the latter parts of our life attempting to slow the rotation of the earth and its journey around the sun. I do believe that I am in the first half of my life, hopefully, but this has caused me to assess what it means to be "twenty-six" as I always do with the passing of every age.
At this point in my life, I realize that I may have been acting, fretting furiously upon the stage of life, playing a role, but not really knowing what that means. I know I am an adult and have been for a while now, but I don't necessarily feel confronted with adulthood in the ways that I should. I still feel like a kid trapped inside the body of a grown-up who has responsibilities, but doesn't really acknowledge them fully. The owning a car or a home, having a degree or a job, and even being in a relationship, means that I should feel more mature. However, I often feel like I am engaged in some twisted game of dress-up in which, one day, I will go back to eating cookies and milk.
Life means not worrying about getting older.
Rather, it is about not taking yourself too seriously.
It is about family...
and old friends...
new friends...
love...
and living life to the fullest.
Here's to many more "life anniversaries."
Thursday, December 9, 2010
What have we become?
Tonight I had a rather adult discussion about the world at large. I have been attempting to use current events and topics in my classroom as a means for students to become interested in their own world. It is difficult not to completely indoctrinate students with my own values, especially since may arrive in my classroom with few informed opinions, and many experiential biases. To remain impartial and guide students into their own beliefs that are both flexible and with rationale is difficult, especially when I consider the current status of our world.
I often think about the way things are. My girlfriend's Facebook status yesterday read, "You think life is rough? Watching a single mother trying to buy her child lunch at Walmart while she scrapes the bottom of her purse to find another $1.24 is heart breaking. I bought her groceries that only totaled $5.54." I struggle morally with issues of poverty and homelessness, giving, and the virtue of selfishness. I consider this individual, who was later described as a "non-English speaker" and her battle with the empty purse. Her resignation to be helped came only after she had other methods of payment declined. How is it, I ask, that she approached the register with arms full of items, but not the knowledge of their approximate cost? Was her need for these items more heavy than the weight of potential embarrassment? Did she just not think, or did she not know? Was language the only issue?
I cannot help but feel as though we have failed a large number of our own people here in this, the greatest nation. Beyond the obvious lack of math skills, this woman will again have to participate in this unenviable routine for each day that she finds her child hungry and her purse empty. Upon whom does she rely? Where does education and reeducation come into play?
I think about celebrity and the endless power of suggestion they have. Donations of millions of dollars for a flight to an impoverished African nation makes headline news. A select few become inspired and send what they can to build a school or buy malaria nets. As a graduate of USD, a school that promotes human rights and equality, I clearly remember the parades of green t-shirts in support of freeing Darfur and spreading awareness. I resented the idea of freeing and supporting a nation halfway around the world when a stone's-throw away in Linda Vista was a community suffering in its own right.
Where do we begin? Do we serve others who are more needy or do we serve our own? I inquire not to reveal my own personal views, but rather to solicit opinions and thoughts, conversation, and educated discussion.
Consider our detention centers and "justice" system. My students have read articles describing and discussing the juvenile justice system. What we have discovered is the startlingly high rate of recidivism. The vast majority of youth offenders return to prison before they become adults, and likely will find themselves incarcerated thereafter. Prison systems detain individuals for the length of their sentence, yet spend very little time, if any, rehabilitating offenders. Thus, upon their release, they return to our world the same individual that they entered prison. So, after months or perhaps years of pondering their own crime in a facility where they do not have to want for food or a roof, the reality of the outside world is perhaps too overwhelmingly great. Prison may be a refuge from what is outside the cell walls. I have never, thankfully, been to prison, so I am not, by any means, claiming it is a walk in the park, but it may be easier for some than returning to a world without skills or the necessary rehabilitation. There is little incentive to recover independently when someone is taking care of you.
Let me know proceed by issuing an anger alert: some of you may dislike the following words.
Prisons are only one issue. Watching the homeless population grow exponentially in larger cities across the countries concerns me deeply. Many homeless wind up in jail or prisons because it is a better alternative to cold cement beds. Many locals will quickly shell out a couple of bucks to send to Haiti or Indonesia or donate jackets and blankets to needy people south of the border, but they others will turn a blind eye to the man or woman with the Styrofoam cup. Possibly, it is too painful or real to share a sidewalk with someone who is more like you than the individual who lives in a hut thousands of miles away. Granted, those individuals have fewer resources and means by which they may survivebut it still shocks me how little our nation does to support or neediest of citizens. Buying a homeless person a meal is a start, but I even have issues with that.
One of the most famous parables of Jesus involves the fish. “Give a man a fish, you have fed him for today. Teach a man to fish and you have fed him for a lifetime.” We don't always have the means to educate and rehabilitate someone on our way to work or while driving past their cardboard petitions. So, throwing a "fish" is an immediate Band Aid, but not a cure. Whose responsibility is it to educate our most struggling populations? How much can we cure through education and rehabilitation? Our failing welfare system seems to be a permanent crutch for those who know how to abuse the system. I am curious to know who is verifying the nutritional content of the food purchased with food stamps? Who is providing birth control to mothers and fathers of multiple children who are already using government assistance? Who is teaching these people how to be self-sustaining?
Educating those who never received a proper education in the first place seems an overwhelming task. Our head-turning and eye-averting behavior has certainly done nothing to improve what is happening presently. Additionally, there is also the fifty-something year-old who finds themselves out of work, owning their home, and devoid of options. Who will hire a person so close to retirement? How will this indivisual sustain themselves until the meagre Social Security check still years in the distance? Why were they not aware of retirement planning? They may have raised children successfully, but the children cannot support the parent and the parent cannot support themselves. Our economical crisis has no place for them but to fail. Like every other abandoned and unaddressed population, these faceless individuals fade into the background, eking out their lives in quiet resignation.
I believe that I have found the cure to all our ailments. Because I am a teacher, you have perhaps seen the thematic underpinnings of my subtle argument. There is a great equalizing element. If we can only foster the existence of the increasingly more endangered purveyors of such a solution, perhaps those weighty demands on out society would become increasingly less dreary.
Education.
Our future is in our youth. What I do daily is more valuable than I had ever previously imagined. Our governments, however, have failed to appropriately validate and make education significant enough. Budget cuts target education's over-expenditures and look to cut the largest area of categorical spending - teachers. Strangely, teacher salaries are closely rivaled by the cost of imprisoning the average inmate, which varies depending upon facility. I've read that the cost averages approximately $30,000 per inmate annually, which likely includes guard and staff wages, utilities, facility maintenance, legal fees, et cetera. Teachers are as valuable, in some communities, as a convicted felon. How nice.
Furthering the irony, most prison libraries staff a prison librarian, yet our public schools are considering eliminating library positions due to the extra cost. Granted, there are far more public schools than prisons, but it is my belief that the ratio will be less dramatic in the future. There will be an increase in prisons to the point that they rival public schools if our educational system is further ignored and mismanaged. Maybe I'm overreaching for emphasis, however I believe our children will wind up behind bars instead of behind desks, testifying in their own trials rather than becoming testaments to educational virtue, if we do not act.
My frustration is not with the inherent good in people such as those who donate to the people in war-torn or destroyed nations. My frustration is with the lack of vision for our own community's infrastructures and for the future or our youth. If you believe that there is another way to solve the problems we face today, by all means, convince me. Knowing that the 100-plus students that walk through my door depend on me to pave the way for an otherwise (and still) uncertain future has hardened my into believing that a grass-roots movement towards educational support is the key.
If you do not agree, talk to an eighth grade student about what they want to be when they grow up. If that does not persuade you, talk to one of my students and see if you feel differently. It isn't just our world or future for which we make decisions and which we ignore, it is the world of those yet too young to make a change on their own.
I often think about the way things are. My girlfriend's Facebook status yesterday read, "You think life is rough? Watching a single mother trying to buy her child lunch at Walmart while she scrapes the bottom of her purse to find another $1.24 is heart breaking. I bought her groceries that only totaled $5.54." I struggle morally with issues of poverty and homelessness, giving, and the virtue of selfishness. I consider this individual, who was later described as a "non-English speaker" and her battle with the empty purse. Her resignation to be helped came only after she had other methods of payment declined. How is it, I ask, that she approached the register with arms full of items, but not the knowledge of their approximate cost? Was her need for these items more heavy than the weight of potential embarrassment? Did she just not think, or did she not know? Was language the only issue?
I cannot help but feel as though we have failed a large number of our own people here in this, the greatest nation. Beyond the obvious lack of math skills, this woman will again have to participate in this unenviable routine for each day that she finds her child hungry and her purse empty. Upon whom does she rely? Where does education and reeducation come into play?
I think about celebrity and the endless power of suggestion they have. Donations of millions of dollars for a flight to an impoverished African nation makes headline news. A select few become inspired and send what they can to build a school or buy malaria nets. As a graduate of USD, a school that promotes human rights and equality, I clearly remember the parades of green t-shirts in support of freeing Darfur and spreading awareness. I resented the idea of freeing and supporting a nation halfway around the world when a stone's-throw away in Linda Vista was a community suffering in its own right.
Where do we begin? Do we serve others who are more needy or do we serve our own? I inquire not to reveal my own personal views, but rather to solicit opinions and thoughts, conversation, and educated discussion.
Consider our detention centers and "justice" system. My students have read articles describing and discussing the juvenile justice system. What we have discovered is the startlingly high rate of recidivism. The vast majority of youth offenders return to prison before they become adults, and likely will find themselves incarcerated thereafter. Prison systems detain individuals for the length of their sentence, yet spend very little time, if any, rehabilitating offenders. Thus, upon their release, they return to our world the same individual that they entered prison. So, after months or perhaps years of pondering their own crime in a facility where they do not have to want for food or a roof, the reality of the outside world is perhaps too overwhelmingly great. Prison may be a refuge from what is outside the cell walls. I have never, thankfully, been to prison, so I am not, by any means, claiming it is a walk in the park, but it may be easier for some than returning to a world without skills or the necessary rehabilitation. There is little incentive to recover independently when someone is taking care of you.
Let me know proceed by issuing an anger alert: some of you may dislike the following words.
Prisons are only one issue. Watching the homeless population grow exponentially in larger cities across the countries concerns me deeply. Many homeless wind up in jail or prisons because it is a better alternative to cold cement beds. Many locals will quickly shell out a couple of bucks to send to Haiti or Indonesia or donate jackets and blankets to needy people south of the border, but they others will turn a blind eye to the man or woman with the Styrofoam cup. Possibly, it is too painful or real to share a sidewalk with someone who is more like you than the individual who lives in a hut thousands of miles away. Granted, those individuals have fewer resources and means by which they may survivebut it still shocks me how little our nation does to support or neediest of citizens. Buying a homeless person a meal is a start, but I even have issues with that.
One of the most famous parables of Jesus involves the fish. “Give a man a fish, you have fed him for today. Teach a man to fish and you have fed him for a lifetime.” We don't always have the means to educate and rehabilitate someone on our way to work or while driving past their cardboard petitions. So, throwing a "fish" is an immediate Band Aid, but not a cure. Whose responsibility is it to educate our most struggling populations? How much can we cure through education and rehabilitation? Our failing welfare system seems to be a permanent crutch for those who know how to abuse the system. I am curious to know who is verifying the nutritional content of the food purchased with food stamps? Who is providing birth control to mothers and fathers of multiple children who are already using government assistance? Who is teaching these people how to be self-sustaining?
Educating those who never received a proper education in the first place seems an overwhelming task. Our head-turning and eye-averting behavior has certainly done nothing to improve what is happening presently. Additionally, there is also the fifty-something year-old who finds themselves out of work, owning their home, and devoid of options. Who will hire a person so close to retirement? How will this indivisual sustain themselves until the meagre Social Security check still years in the distance? Why were they not aware of retirement planning? They may have raised children successfully, but the children cannot support the parent and the parent cannot support themselves. Our economical crisis has no place for them but to fail. Like every other abandoned and unaddressed population, these faceless individuals fade into the background, eking out their lives in quiet resignation.
I believe that I have found the cure to all our ailments. Because I am a teacher, you have perhaps seen the thematic underpinnings of my subtle argument. There is a great equalizing element. If we can only foster the existence of the increasingly more endangered purveyors of such a solution, perhaps those weighty demands on out society would become increasingly less dreary.
Education.
Our future is in our youth. What I do daily is more valuable than I had ever previously imagined. Our governments, however, have failed to appropriately validate and make education significant enough. Budget cuts target education's over-expenditures and look to cut the largest area of categorical spending - teachers. Strangely, teacher salaries are closely rivaled by the cost of imprisoning the average inmate, which varies depending upon facility. I've read that the cost averages approximately $30,000 per inmate annually, which likely includes guard and staff wages, utilities, facility maintenance, legal fees, et cetera. Teachers are as valuable, in some communities, as a convicted felon. How nice.
Furthering the irony, most prison libraries staff a prison librarian, yet our public schools are considering eliminating library positions due to the extra cost. Granted, there are far more public schools than prisons, but it is my belief that the ratio will be less dramatic in the future. There will be an increase in prisons to the point that they rival public schools if our educational system is further ignored and mismanaged. Maybe I'm overreaching for emphasis, however I believe our children will wind up behind bars instead of behind desks, testifying in their own trials rather than becoming testaments to educational virtue, if we do not act.
My frustration is not with the inherent good in people such as those who donate to the people in war-torn or destroyed nations. My frustration is with the lack of vision for our own community's infrastructures and for the future or our youth. If you believe that there is another way to solve the problems we face today, by all means, convince me. Knowing that the 100-plus students that walk through my door depend on me to pave the way for an otherwise (and still) uncertain future has hardened my into believing that a grass-roots movement towards educational support is the key.
If you do not agree, talk to an eighth grade student about what they want to be when they grow up. If that does not persuade you, talk to one of my students and see if you feel differently. It isn't just our world or future for which we make decisions and which we ignore, it is the world of those yet too young to make a change on their own.
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