Parlor Spider...Step In, Little Fly

Insightful thoughts and/or rants from atop the soapbox from one who wishes to share the "right" opinion with everyone.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Why Algoma Really Needs Me

I never really thought of myself as indispensable before. I missed 60 days twelve years ago recovering from aneurysm surgery, and the kids got along fine. In fact, they took great pains to tell me how much they liked my substitute. Ok, Ok...humility is an ok thing. However, it occurred to me today that my students get things from me that they don't get elsewhere. For example, I would guess that I was the only instructor today that asked the students if they knew why the flag was lowered to half staff. A few just shrugged; a few thought that maybe it wasn't exactly half staff...maybe more like two-thirds or seven-sixteenths; there were the "oh, is it?" looks from some, but one energetic young lady offered the answer that the flag had been lowered because of the untimely death of Bob Denver. Yes, THAT Bob Denver, the Skipper's "little buddy" who had passed away yesterday. As we walked into school from the tennis courts, I spent the time explaining a) that is probably wasn't for Bob Denver b) that Bob Denver was not a singer c) that John Denver, the singer, had already died previously in an ultralight crash. "No wonder I never hear any of his songs."
By the time we hit the building, an astute young man had figured out that Chief Justice William Rehnquist had died and was to be buried today. I didn't have the time to explain who HE was or that he was one of Wisconsin's most famous sons because the lunch rush was on.
When Dennis asked me later what "funk" was because some people had asked him to join a funk band, I knew my educational duties were just beginning. I ripped off the Monsters of Rock CD playing in the gym and dragged out Funk Essentials so everyone could learn a bit about expanding their musical horizons. Of course, every rose has its thorn, and Dustin kept screaming "Slipknot! Slipknot!" at me as I slid through the tracks of the CD. Ears perked up and voices sang as one to Brick House, and the realization of what funk was all about dawned ever so slowly across the room just ahead of the point to the last joke I had told. Dennis was uncertain whether or not he wanted to be part of a funk revolution in Algoma High School, but at least he knew what funk involved and what it sounded like. The rest of the lesson concerned itself with tennis footwork, stretch reflex mechanism and racquet face angles. I'll bet they talk more to each other about funk than they do tennis essentials.
Maybe ska tomorrow...there's a lot to learn before the year is over, so sit right back and you'll hear a tale: a tale of a fateful trip.

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