Love / Hate Mail

Son of Baconator

This is about student apathy.
This is about how I shouldn't talk about student apathy.
It doesn't help. 

The Analogy
My class is like Wendy's. 

• Wendy's: Room 221
• Wendy's Manager: Kyle Nelson
• Wendy's Customer: Student
• Son of Baconator: My lessons

Background
If you've ever had me as a teacher, you know that I often get discouraged. As my wife says, I'm not very good at hiding my feelings. If I'm excited, you'll know it. If I'm annoyed, you'll know it. I'm notorious for voicing my displeasure/inadequacy/doubts with my students. Sometimes that displeasure is with their commitment to my class. They're being tourists. Or sophomores. Or worse. Maybe it's free therapy. Maybe I'm trying to make them feel guilty. I don't know.

This is me realizing that this approach doesn't work.

Explanation
I love Wendy's. I love the Son of Baconator. Almost every one I order is perfect. Because of this, Wendy's is my go-to place. If there's a McDonald's and a Wendy's, I go to Wendy's. If there's a Burger King and a Wendy's, I got to Wendy's. You get the point.

But what if one day I stopped going? I don't know why. Maybe I'm trying to eat healthy. Maybe I'm trying to save money. Whatever. And the next time I pull through the drive-thru, Pete (the manager) comes to the window.

Pete: Hello Kyle.

Kyle: Hey.

Pete: Where you been?

Kyle: Oh. Uh. I don't know.

Pete: We haven't seen you here in a while.

Kyle: Yeah, I've been [enter reason here].

Pete: Well, that makes me feel [enter negative emotion here].

Kyle: Oh. I'm sorry. [mumbles something to himself]

Pete: I spent a lot of time making this Son of Baconator. I don't appreciate when I make something and you don't even eat the whole thing. 

Kyle: Can I just get the burger, please?

[Kyle drives away with weird feeling he didn't ask for with his burger]

Conclusion
If Wendy's bothered me about not eating there enough or made me feel guilty, I would stop going. I go there for the burgers. Not the guilt.

It's up to me whether I'm going to eat there, not them. All they can do is make good burgers.

Dear Flat Stanley

This is a blog analysis for Flat Stanley. She is the sailboat boy. She is the artist who disturbs the comfortable and comforts the disturbed. She was going to name herself Sexual Fetus, but thankfully changed her mind.

Enjoy.

Quotes
 We might die from medication but we sure killed all the pain.

I have grown weary from this game you call Therapy

I am 5'4" with a 6'0" personality. 

Your palms may be a little sweaty, but my hands are a drought that needed the moisture anyway.


Comments

Final Words

I've teased Micah this past week for being a coward. She posted her Video Slam, but then took it down after I told her I'd give her credit. But Micah isn't a coward. She is a very honest writer. She's not afraid to be real, and that's difficult to ask of anyone, especially a teenager. She's not afraid to be vulnerable, and that's inspiring. 
 

We are more similar than you might think.

Her reveal was one of my favorites. She is different and unique and creative and brave and everything I want in a creative writing student.

I'll end with this.

Last Halloween she walked into my classroom and scared the hell out of me. I still see her strange face sometimes when I close my eyes. She said she loves special effects make-up because it helps her "escape from being Micah Mehlhoff for awhile." Micah, you're fine just the way you are.

Pond Slam 2015 aka The Most Alive

These branches hurt when they scratch me.

I've never felt more alive than I do right now. The ducks, the water, young people everywhere. A ten-speed just rode by and I've never felt more alive than I do right now.

In this moment - every sound I hear, a generator, a car driving by, birds chirping, ducks making whatever sounds ducks make, people talking, people walking, a girl screaming, laughing. Everything's good today.

And even though everything isn't good, right now it feels like it is. Right now the sun's shining and my lungs work and Emma just asked if I took roll and I didn't. I didn't take roll today and I've never felt more alive.

I can feel the wind in my hair and even though I don't have any hair, I can still feel the wind and I've never felt more alive.

A weird leaf acorn thing just fell out of the tree and landed on my notebook and it scared me, but I'm still alive - and I'm scared, but I'm still alive. I'm more alive today than I was yesterday.

I'm more alive than you

Sure, you're only 17 and you have your whole life ahead of you and you still have all of your hair and your back doesn't hurt and your legs aren't gonna be sore tomorrow from walking up those freaking stairs, but still

I'm more alive than you

You, who's still talking about last week's prom and did you have a good time and who did you go with? OMG! - You. The one laughing on the fishing deck and chasing the geese across the shore and you're still laughing, you're still laughing, this whole class is laughing.

But I'm more alive than all of you

The 18 of you who didn't even make it to the pond today. I never actually counted because I'm afraid the number might even be higher.

We're all more alive than you

Because being alive is more than your heart rate or your cholesterol. Doctors can't measure it. It's more than your picture collection or how much fun you're having. I'm more alive than you because I have a pen in my hand. And I'm more aware of this moment than anything else.

I'm paying attention.

I used to have a bumper sticker on my car that said "I'm so broke I can't even pay attention." Well, I'm not that broke anymore. And I haven't driven that car for years.

I've written more today than I wrote yesterday.

And next year you'll be gone.

And I'll still be here, writing.

my first nature poem (live)

Something I wrote about my step-brother, Josh. It started out being about nature, but it ended up being about me, about people, about Josh, about death.

One of those three kids riding bikes is my son, Bo.

Sorry I'm so bald. I shaved my head right after watching this video. 

Just Be Yourself

What does this even mean?

Nobody knows who they are. We're all just trying to figure it out. 

I watched Freaky Friday with my kids, and it made me grateful to be 35. Not that I wouldn't want to be 17 again. I think I could be 17 again. Oh, that reminds me, I want to watch 17 Again again.

There's a lot I would do differently, and I think I could do it better the second time around.
But I would need to actually be 17 again. Not just a voodoo switch where I switch back after I learn a lesson.

Here's what sucks about being a teenager:
-You can't stay out past midnight.
-You have to sit in uncomfortable desks all day.
-Homework.
-Low pay.
-Acne.
-Can't vote.
-Your parents don't listen to you.
-How you could start drinking or smoking at any second.
-Peer pressure.
-Caring so much about jeans.
-Caring so much about brands.
-Caring so much about hairstyles.
-Trying to find money for gas.
-Other things.

Here's what sucks about being an adult:
-You can't go to movies whenever you want.
-Belly fat.
-Male Pattern Baldness.
-Annoying teenagers.
-Bills.
-You can vote, but you're too busy or you don't care.
-Your parents don't listen to you.
-You can't have your friend call and quit for you over the phone.
-Worrying about your kids getting hurt or dying or doing drugs or getting bullied or not eating enough or having low self-esteem or having a parent who worries too much about them.
-Facebook was not created for you, but you still have taken it over.
-You wear shirts and hats and jeans that weren't made for you and you look stupid.
-Monotony.
-You start to notice the sand in the hourglass.
-Other things.

So everything sucks. It sucks to be young, it sucks to be old. Yeah, there's good stuff too, and life is great, but life is freaking hard and it sucks sometimes.

I'm just glad I get to be me today. I don't have to pretend to be you or my son or anyone else. I've been trying to figure out who I am for 35 years now, and even though I still don't know for sure, I'm pretty close to cracking the case. And that's liberating.

Being yourself is liberating.

Sometimes you have to fake it for awhile before you get it down fully. But that whole thing can be fun, too. It's like going to the mall with store credit. You get to try on a bunch of different things and decide what looks good on you and what doesn't. (I've been watching way too much Gossip Girl lately.)

Just don't spend too much time worrying about which shirt will make you popular, because I promise- the shirt that will make you popular will definitely be worn by someone else at your school.

And there's nothing worse than being caught wearing the same shirt as someone else. Nothing.

Here's to not having to pretend to be someone else tomorrow.

x-ray vision

Today I saw a picture of my heart for the first time.

I didn't recognize it.

For all the poems, for all the blogs, the journal entries, the letters...I thought for sure it would look familiar to me. But it didn't look familiar. It looked like a foreign language. A foreign country. My mother's cursive.

Tonight I coughed so hard that I understood math for a second. Tonight I coughed so hard I saw stars. Tonight I coughed so hard that I stopped breathing. There's no poetry there, I just wanted to illustrate how hard I was coughing.

Ever since I was 17, my writing has been angst. My words have been longing. My journals have been wish lists. I wrote about trying to get the girl. I wrote about trying to escape the job. I wrote about trying to find my way. I wrote about what it means to be alive.

But this week, I couldn't breathe.

And poetry may help me breathe metaphorically, but I got at least three prescriptions from doctors and poetry wasn't one of them.

Azithromycin? Yes. Amoxicillin? Yes. Hydrocodone? Yes.
Metaphors? No. Truth? No. Beauty? No. 

I've spent seven years watching some young people struggle to find air. I wrote poems about saving them, then I locked my door during lunch. I took attendance and replied to e-mails and sat through meetings. But only this week did I understand what they were really going through.

There's no assignment I can give that will fix your lungs. There's no lesson plan that will remove the weight on your chest. You need azithromycin, You need need amoxicillin.

I have an inhaler you can borrow, but it's running out of inhalations.

I watched more Netflix than I read and wrote combined. I was too tired to create. I felt like my father. I felt like my father. Damn it, people, I felt like my father. 

This is me trying to breathe again. Please join me.