I realize

how bitter is the irony that I can't find words to express how difficult it was to teach the very basic tenet of the importance of language to my ninth and tenth graders. For the two brief years I taught, my challenges (and joys!) were various and sundry. Chief among the challenges was getting my kids to understand why they had to learn to speak and write English correctly. This question baffled me. As a student, I'd never asked about the relevance of correct usage of the English language because - as an avid reader from a young age - I'd never wondered. If given the opportunity, I could spend hours in a library - going straight to familiar and beloved authors, discovering new ones, browsing cookbooks, rereading childhood favorites - I love language. I will not say that "Reading Rainbow" ignited this fire within me, but I cannot deny that it fanned the flame. As often as I was able, I'd invite Levar Burton's soothing voice and the "butterfly in the sky" behind him into my living room.

The very curiosity about reading that "Reading Rainbow" fostered was what I failed to effectively communicate to my students. The kids who were active readers never questioned why it mattered if a word was spelled correctly or a punctuation mark put in the right place. They had seen enough of how different authors used language to communicate their various messages to know the relevance of these things. My other hundred or so students - not so much. All of this is to say that I believe any language arts educator will tell you how implausible is the notion that phonics can be effectively taught apart from a respect and love for language. How, then, has this beloved show of 26 years been cut off at the knees because it doesn't phocus on fonics? (pun intended) There is no one without the other. If we lose programming - be it "Reading Rainbow" or not - for such a non-reason, how can we ever hope that the phonics rules being taught to kids - via other shows or their teachers - will stick?

I find the whole situation quite sigh-worthy.

And I am sad to think that my children's teachers will be teaching - or attempting to teach - the one without the other. I would love to see "RR" return from its recent demise, but I realize it may simply have run its course - phonics-related reasons or not. But I'd hate to see similar efforts fall by the wayside as a result of insufficient funds. If that happens, then in the end, our children fall by the wayside as well. This is not to say that I won't read to my own children and share my love of language with them. Gabriel is already quite capable of *reading* much of "Brown Bear" or "Good Night Moon" all by his lonesome. But how many more books could a show like "Reading Rainbow" have introduced to him, inspired him to want to read? And how many children simply don't have parents who are able or willing to take the time to read to them? For so many children, Levar Burton filled that role. For the rest of us, he merely helped us along. For all of us, the fun of visiting new, exciting places and meeting all sorts of unforgettable characters remains an absolutely priceless contribution to how we learned the importance of language.

The Diving Bell and the Kind of Jerk?

I won't pretend I'd ever heard Jean-Dominique Bauby's name before today, when I watched the movie based on the autobiography he blink-dictated after suffering a stroke. When I popped in the DVD this afternoon during Gabriel's (blessedly long) nap, I expected two things: to read the movie (subtitled French), and to feel a triumph of the human spirit by its end. I mean, it is a movie about a man who dictated his autobiography by blinking. Doesn't your spirit soar just reading that? I know.

However, the movie left me feeling kind of deflated. From the movie's portrayal, Bauby didn't seem to have been the nicest person either before or after his stroke. He clearly loved his children. Also, he clearly didn't have a special place in his heart for their mother (which makes me wonde why he would have fathered her children...). I thought the whole thing was rather tragic.

There has to be a certain stark clarity that comes with facing one's mortality. One must certainly examine oneself and one's surroundings with newly opened eyes. I guess I prefer to think that such examination brings about honest repentance rather than honestly dictating to one's baby mama that each day one waits for another - while said baby mama translates, and cries.

I guess I thought the end of one's life would bring more compassion? But, honestly, who can criticize how another person chooses to live in such a hugely altered state? How can I say Bauby should not have blinked that message to his former lover?

Watch The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, peeps. Maybe read it too. Hollatme when you do.
Q out.

Heroines and Thyroid Problems

I have a theory.

Recently, I read Kate Jacobs' novel Comfort Food. I found it truly satisfying - like the literary equivalent of a great broccoli and rice casserole or chicken pot pie, complimented by just the right wine. The plot of the book revolves around a cooking show headlined by Augusta "Gus" Simpson, whose livelihood is rapidly, erm, un-living. Her producer is desperate to bring her ratings back up, and one of his many shenanigans involves a contest to allow viewers - well, one lucky viewer - the eopportunity to win a chance to meet Gus. Enter Lucky Contestant: stay at home mom who still loves her family but sees happiness with life only in the past tense - along with her waistline and her hair's luster. I was all set up for another Awakening or Mermaid Chair experience, when I got a shock: The very day Lucky Contestant met her TV cooking hero, she also met Gus's best friend, who connected Lucky Contestant's moodiness, hair loss, and weight gain to a thyroid condition. Badabing, Badaboom, she's a happy camper again.

Dude.

What if Edna Pontellier had an overly active thyroid, and that was the cause of her unrest and drowning. I'm sure that ocean water was pretty cool to a woman having hot flashes? Anybody mind if we exhume Chopin so I can ask her face to face my burning question - get it - burning?

But seriously, isn't it possible that our beloved, discontent heroines of classic literature just had health issues that made them grumpily project and misplace their anger? Isn't it?

Dude.

Jesus Walks

with Mayer, Kanye, and T. I.

Or He'd like to, at least. When Mayer released "Heavier Things" a few years back, I thought for sure that man was looking for Jesus. I still do. I mean, could anyone listen to "Something's Missing" and deny that what's missing is a higher purpose for his life? Really?

And take Kanye. He loses his mom - tragically, suddenly - and releases "808s and Heartbreaks," a tremendously stripped down, heart-on-his-sleeve, Ecclesiastes-esque cry from his soul, wherein the only veil between his audience and his heart is the machine that alters his voice.

And T. I. I hadn't paid a bit of attention to T. I. until recently, when he actually started to make some sense in saying that he was looking forward to serving his jail time, putting it behind him, and moving on. When I caught the end of his Grammy night performance with J. Timberlake, I was literally breath-taken by the images of the jail bars on the screen behind him as he sang, "the old me is dead and gone, dead and gone."

Call me silly and sentimental, folks. Even say I'm reaching for meaning that probably isn't there. But I really believe that God has created each of us for worship of Him. Not ourselves. Not our careers. Not skanky, um, you knows. Not a lifestyle we see in a rap video. He's created us for something more. Blessed are we who have a relationship with our one Creator. Everybody else is still looking for that missing something...

My Prayer Today

is that God will "give [our newly elected leaders] heart[s] so [they] can lead your people well, discerning the difference between good and evil. For who on their own is capable of leading your glorious people?"(1 Kings 3:9).

Amen