tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52152921254158746142024-02-07T00:22:04.557-06:00From My Window: A Journey Through Photos and ThoughtsThank You Reader for Checking Out My Story. The Writings Cover Any Topic That Comes Into My Memory. These Memories Are Based on 46 Years of Teaching in Public Schools of Texas, Coaching in Two High Schools, College Professor, My Fabulous Grandmother, and Life as It Unfolds. This is dedicated to My Grandmother, My Fabulous Students, in the Past and Current, and My Friends. All of These Events Shaped Who I have BecomeTwitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-21579499379681306832017-03-17T18:58:00.002-05:002017-03-17T19:00:29.288-05:00LOOKING BACK TO 2009 AT RETIREMENT<br />
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<a href="https://cktwitchell.wordpress.com/2009/05/30/rubber-bands-rocking-chairs-and-remembrances/" rel="bookmark" style="color: #333333; text-decoration: none;">Rubber Bands, Rocking Chairs, and Remembrances</a></h2>
<small style="color: #777777; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 1.5em; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; widows: 2;">May 30, 2009</small><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "lucida grande" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;"></span><br />
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And, so it goes faster than I could ever have imagined! This week I was given a retirement reception to recognize my leaving my chosen career of forty years. It was a most surreal experience to witness in a two hour span a microcosm of my life’s work appear before me. As I do not know exactly how to compress this into something readable, and hopefully, interesting, let me just begin. My first immediate impression is the great fun it was to see former teaching colleagues I have worked with over the years. There we were all survivors of the teaching wars. We were the volunteers in the battle to educate our students. Our decisions were not driven by economic uncertainty or any other thing. Twenty to thirty years ago, teachers were teachers because we wanted to make a difference. We entered teaching knowing we would never be rich in a monetary sense. Some of my friends had arrived at retirement long before me and were smiling with tans and golf shirts on their persons; some are still in the daily throes of navigating the mess that has become Texas education. They have more gray hair and wrinkles than I remember. They are tired, but not out. There were those who started teaching alongside me college as young and enthusiastic teachers full of the energy. I pray that they can keep that enthusiasm for a long and wonderful career. I worry for them as more is asked of them from the bureaucracy that is Texas education, from the parents, and from the students. Those who are “called” to teaching leave a part of themselves on the table of their classroom every year. I hope there is enough left to go around as they continue with their vocation. All of these fellow teachers brought smiles to my face as we reminisced about the craziness and love that comes with working alongside some whom I would call the unsung heroes of the American way of life. To them I say thank you for your mentoring and friendship over the years.<br />
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My heart could not take in the experience of seeing former students whom I had not seen in 30+ years walk through the doors! There they were older, obviously. They looked around; we made eye contact and then the squeals began. And, yes even the guys “squealed” in their own manly ways. There were some of these “kids” that had meant so much to me “back in the day.” Circumstance and activities had brought us into daily contact that went beyond the hour long classroom experience. These men and women are now parents, grandparents (eeek), lawyers, business people, entrepreneurs, doctors, teachers, and on and on. Once I saw their smile and their eyes, their names came to me immediately. To the “man” they all grabbed me, hugged, and we just stood there for a moment taking it all in. How they had gotten word of this event and made it to the CFISD boardroom, I am not sure. I do know there was a network working via Facebook spreading the word to those in the area. I would love to mention specific names; however, I would inadvertently leave someone out and would never want that to happen. All I know is that looking at them enabled me to know FOR SURE that it was a great thing that our paths crossed those many years ago. I know for sure that I made a difference for them and I want them to know that they left a mark on my soul. I do not know exactly what life has handed them over the years, but for those two hours there we were….teacher, student, and friend going back for a bit in our own little time capsule.<br />
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As the reception progressed the time came for me to sit in my rocker that had become a symbol of my later years in the classroom. I had gone from the director’s chair that was with me at Cy-Fair High School and Tomball High School, to a rocker. My students at THS had purchased the first rocker “back in the day.” Eventually, after the death of that rocker, the students at Cy-Creek had purchased the one I now have in my office. The rocker would become my observation window to the 200+ plus people who would listen to the invited speakers. I asked Don Ryan to represent the CFHS days; Stacey Filips Tilley and Delaina Mendel Lewis to represent the Tomball High School years, and Beau Egert to represent the Cy-Creek years. As usual, Don got us off to a rollicking rendition of my earliest years of teaching including my propensity to have “rubber band wars” when things were dull in class. I am sure that sounds familiar to some of you. We laughed a bit uproariously at his memories of me as his teacher/coach/mentor of four years. Ah! The energy I had as a young teacher. Stacey and Delaina brought together my teaching/coaching experience in small town Texas of the Eighties and early Nineties. To those of you from Tomball, we can all attest to the unique adventure of Tomball back when it was small and intimate. Stacey caught me off guard and I found myself revisiting the infamous (?) “Samurai Teacher.” My students of the late 1980’s in THS will remember those antics. And, I think they, too mentioned, something about rubber bands. Beau brought to life my last years of full time teaching at Cypress Creek including my admonition to a group of sleepy disinterested seniors at the end of their semester, to “imagine me naked” in order to get their attention. Was I really that nuts? Yes! Those Creek years perhaps were my best for I had truly become a well-rounded (no pun on my physical stature) teacher with more life experience. All the students who had come before had honed me into a complete, compassionate, and centered educator.<br />
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Over the course of the week of the reception, my Facebook page was filled with the good wishes and love from across the country. These wishes came from all of my former students who are now living in other parts of the USA and the world. I know that many of you wanted to be at the reception. At the expense of sounding like a Hallmark card, “you were there.” You are part of my heart and memories as much as those who were a physical presence. And, for some of you, I will be seeing you this summer as I take my road trip. So get ready.<br />
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I am not done yet. I will finish my formal work on June 30, 2009. Soon after that I will begin a 30 day road trip with my camera in hand. I am heading east for this trip and will be posting to my FB page and my blog. In late August, I will begin teaching again at Lonestar College. I will teach one political science class and one teacher prep course for those entering an alternative certification program. I will spend time with my “10 year old friend,” Madison. I will get to spend time with friends that have been on the back burner too long due to my job’s requirements. I am going to write a little, blog a little, FB a little, and continue to think about what a great life I have had so far. See you down the road…both real and cyber!<br />
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-25967834450640384322017-03-17T18:46:00.003-05:002017-03-17T18:50:56.753-05:00FIRST PRINCIPLE OF TEACHING LEARNED HERE<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 18pt;">Texas, 1898. Weldon,
Texas, to be exact, on a tenant farm in September. According to the historical
weather records the entire nation was experiencing the hottest temperatures in
history. Since Texas is not listed, one can only imagine the heat in this tiny
hamlet of sharecroppers, tenant farmers, and Bible believing people. Among
those who eked out a living with a couple of mules, a few plows, a pig,
chickens, and hopefully a water source lived the Harrington family. Albert and
Mahalia Harrington had come to Texas from Tennessee not too many years after
the Civil War ended. They were extremely religious people calling themselves
“Campbelites” after the Campbell brothers. This back to the Bible theology was
reborn in the Restoration Movement that happened 20 years before the Civil War.
Today we know their branches as the Church of Christ. They believed that the
Bible was to be taken literally with no room for interpretation. They would
sire generations in the Church of Christ. But, that is another story.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 18pt;">Like many of the poor
farmers everywhere, the Harrington’s had a horde of children. According to my
grandmother there were 19 births and 15 live children. It was on that hottest
of days, on a dirt scrub of a farm that my grandmother was born September 19, 1898.
She was in the bottom third of the children. The story goes that my
great-grandmother had run out of names for girls. My great grandfather wanted
to call her Theodora Octavia…. whew! Glad that did not work out. Her much older
sisters just called her “Doll” because she looked like a baby doll. After six
months, her name officially became Dolly Harrington.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 18pt;">The Harrington farm
raised cotton to make the money to pay the rent on the land. If you know
anything about farming, this is a horrible crop to grow and pick. They had to
make the rent first and if any cotton was left over, then a bit of money was
left over for the family. The boys worked the land with their father. They were
up with the dawn and came home at dark. My great grandmother and older girls would
start cooking breakfast with the men getting first and most of whatever they
had. The older girls would eat next and then the little kids…Miss Dolly, Uncle
Leslie, Uncle Archie, and Uncle Newman. Often their breakfast was left over
biscuits with, wait for it…. pork grease poured on top (not gravy). Then there
was lunch and dinner to make. When I would listen to the brothers and sisters
talk about this time, it was amazing they survived. When Miss Dolly was the
youngest, the part of the chicken she would get is called the “pope’s nose.”
It’s the fatty piece that hangs off the butt of a chicken. Some kids got to
chew on the neck bone. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 18pt;">None of the little kids
had shoes. They would get the older kids one pair of shoes when they grew out
of their current pair. The old shoes were passed down to the next girl or boy.
It did not matter if the shoe fit…they wore it. I think that is why when I was
a little girl my shoes were Stride Rites, Poll Parrot, and Buster Browns. My
grandmother’s feet were ugly and the toes were twisted…she disliked them
tremendously, but she never complained about how they got that way…it was what
is was, now move on even if your feet hurt!</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 18pt;">Two stories stand out
from the stories my grandmother told. She really never talked about those times
and when she did it was to impart a lesson to me. The first story happened when
she was about six. Her job, as the youngest girl, was to churn the milk into
butter. I’m not sure how many people reading this even have a concept of what
this is. Basically one stood for several hours with a tall wooden container
filled with raw milk, put the top on the container, and the top had a large
flat paddle on the end. The person working the churn would move paddle up and
down vigorously for one to two hours until something separates from something,
magic happens, and voila! One had fresh butter. A six-year-old was expected to
do this without complaint until the chore was done. Miss Dolly was, according
to her siblings, a bit of a mischievous little girl. One day, in boredom, she
started jumping up and down to the rhythm of the churn. Great Gran told her to
stop and she just ignored it. Catastrophe ensued. She turned over the large
milk vat and it spilled on to the dirt that was the yard. The paddle flew off
and soaked her in her little flour sack shift dress. Yes…flour sacks turned
into dresses for daily wear. Miss Dolly said that the look on my granny’s face
said it all. First, there would be no butter for the next week. This affected
the whole clan. Secondly, Miss Dolly only had two shifts: one for school and
one for home. Now she would have to wear her “good” shift to school and work in
it as well. I’m certain we cannot fathom the production of doing the wash
entailed in those days. Water had to be brought from a creek, fill a large iron
round caldron, heat it over an open fire, soak, scrub on a washboard, and then
go through the same thing to rinse…. Geez! I think this is where she developed
the habit of taking care of her clothes almost to an obsession. My clothes were
always immaculate and pressed. At that young age, she learned that disobedience
had consequences. Deeds both good and bad brought either joy or sorrow.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 18pt;">The second story, to
this day, makes me want to cry for my grandmother. It demonstrates the power of
the spoken word to hurt for generations. Miss Dolly went to a one room school
house in Weldon three days a week. The Harrington kids went there through third
grade. At the age of seven, she was in the third grade lesson books. Like her
brother, Leslie, she loved school. He was the artist in the family. In World
War One, he was a cartographer drawing maps from memory. She was a whiz at
‘rithmatic and figures. She loved school until her new teacher arrived. During
this time many of these one room teachers were men. My grandfather had, for her
seventh birthday, taken her to Lovelady in the wagon to buy a new coat. Each
child received a new coat on their seventh birthday. He saved all year for each
coat. This coat according to Miss Dolly was the most beautiful red velvet coat
ever made. It had a black velveteen collar, buttons, and cuffs. She later
explained that it was the stiffest coat in the world, but her poppa had bought
it just for her. The first day she wore it to school, the teacher said to her,
“Where did you get that ugly coat?” She remembered every nuance, his vocal and
facial expressions. She never wore the coat again; she never forgot those
words. She told me this story when she was 70 years old for the first time.
When I got my first teaching job, before I drove off in my Volkswagen Beetle,
she told me “Karen, never make fun of a child’s appearance, their clothes, or
anything they cannot help for themselves. You hear me now; they will never
forget it.”</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 18pt;">That was my first
pedagogical lesson that has never gone out of practice or changed in
student-teacher interaction. Basically you don’t have to be whiz teacher of the
year; you don’t have to be the hardest or smartest teacher in the building. You
don’t have to know the answers to all the questions. You take those students
you are given (whether they fit or not into a mold) and you take care of their
learning. In everything you do HAVE COURAGE TO SUCCEED, BE KIND AND TENDER
HEARTED!</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-76725162154768766492017-03-17T18:44:00.000-05:002017-03-17T18:44:03.169-05:00YOU MRSN MILK COMES FROM A COW? DO FRESH TOMATOES EXIST?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxZZJ54-OKvDCtWfBleEFQS1pykhi1caQUNJ81JYlLlp5GyDcBKXqWkhiyrqRRNPCQej0riXTGMyHUVYWqEKfzCqf7P3jiedNaiEyhIhdT4DICitrTK2grY-jSH5pb4HP8rmEFz6XGE4/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxZZJ54-OKvDCtWfBleEFQS1pykhi1caQUNJ81JYlLlp5GyDcBKXqWkhiyrqRRNPCQej0riXTGMyHUVYWqEKfzCqf7P3jiedNaiEyhIhdT4DICitrTK2grY-jSH5pb4HP8rmEFz6XGE4/s640/images.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">In my Thursday classes I was lecturing over the Texas economy. I gave them the stats of how many people lived on a farm in 1950 vs. 2017. The number is approximately 75%/>10%. I then began talking about AGRIBUSINESS and to my not so much surprise very few knew what this term meant or its significance. So....I began talking about the vegetables and fruits found in the average grocery and asked the following question: "Raise your hand if you have had a fresh tomato from a garden?" Are you ready? in the total of my two Texas government sections 7 people raised their hand! I was in such shock that I asked it again adding squash...nope...cucumbers...nope...watermelon ... I describe the beauty of a runny slurpy tomato with a little salt. "crickets" I am not making any numbers up. These students are college aged. The few that raised their hands were the older non-traditional students and two students wearing their 4H jackets. What does that say about the modern American idea of food and nutrition?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">NOTE: VEGETARIANS/VEGANS MAY NEED TO SKIP THIS PART:) </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">From the time I can remember I did all, at least once, of the following:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">--chased a hen around the yard for Miss Dolly, handed to her and watch ed her dispatch the chicken with one snap of her wrist. We then had a fire, plucked and singed the pin feathers and fried that sucker up!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">--When I was six, I helped slaughter a hog. My job was to sit astride the dead porker after it had been bled out and dipped in a barrel of scalding water rubbing the hair off with hot water and a flat, sharpened stone. then watched the women take EVERY PART of the pig and make something. HMMMM! Pork cracklings. go on now!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">--Milked the cow in our back pen . We did not drink raw milk but it was donated to someone for butter, etc. but the cow had to be milked.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">--picked fresh everything from the seasonal garden of our neighbors. Beans and more beans, peas (good Lord I hated shelling peas of any kind), tomatoes, squash, mustard and collard greens, on and on and on.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">We lived in the original, real FARM TO TABLE culinary world.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">I realize that modern America has changed that entire dynamic. Suburbanites grow small gardens and that's a good thing. But reality is that our daily food comes from the large agribusinesses whose main job it is is to make as much food as possible lasting as long as possible, and keeping as many bugs from them as possible. Products are picked before their time and shipped from whatever foreign nation we have trade deals with. Some like to think that Whole Foods is the answer, but I've been turned down for a credit union loan because "buying groceries was not a proper reason for the loan!!"</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Have you thought about the fact that eating really fresh food, or organic is a privilege of those of us with some money? Since my 180 degree food intake turn around eight months ago, my grocery bill has more than doubled. That's why I went to food delivery because I have to buy groceries weekly. For you that may not be a big deal...for me mission impossible! My point is those who live on extreme fixed incomes; have to supplement their food with government assistance (do not go to the fact that some try to abuse it...); please know that many of our enlisted soldiers with a family has to go on food stamps from time to time, or God forbid, they have to visit the saints who open food banks. Texas has one huge population of poor children and no matter one's political persuasion children in the supposedly richest nation in the world should not go hungry. That's why I support the school breakfast and lunch program. Children can not learn when they are constantly hungry. Heck! I lose my mind if I am 30 minutes late for lunch.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">As one of the 60% of American's who are "too short for their height," I am know that when I started eating 80% fresh fruits and veg, along with discipline of course, I began losing weight. As said before, at a much higher price for weekly groceries. But I am older/somewhat wiser, and I have a good income. Please remember those who have to choose between regular groceries, or medicine...shoes for their children, eating or not eating one day. There's a reason they choose McDonalds....at least for their kids, its doable..</span></span></div>
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</style>Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-52264725916936300772017-03-17T18:38:00.001-05:002017-03-17T18:38:08.659-05:00BLESSED ARE THE MEEK AND THE POOR<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">It's my senior year in high school long ago in 1966. One afternoon my grandmother brings out a shoebox and in that shoebox were greeting cards. There were cards for birthdays, Easter, Christmas, Mother's Day, and new one for graduation. Inside each card was a dollar bill. In a shaky scrawl was written, in each card, "Thinking of you" with an "X" marked and a printed name of Harold. The envelopes were sent to "Baby Girl Twitchell" Woodville, Texas. I remember some of these cards but over the years had lost interest and wondered the heck a dollar would buy "in this day and age." Miss Dolly had continued to keep the cards leaving the later cards with the money in them. She told me that we had a trip planned for that weekend to meet some people she believed I needed to meet. Groans and eye rolls promptly began at this point. Her tone told me I had no choice but go along with her plan. Here's what I learned:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">It's 1950, and a very famous murder trial being held in Texas. Due to the notoriety of the trial it was moved from Hardin County to Chambers County. It was the murder trial of two men named Goldman and Levinas who had ruthlessly murdered a young mother of a six month old baby. The young woman, married to a Chief Engineer of a Mobil Oil Tanker had disappeared in August of 1948 and her body was found nine months later buried in the swamp of the Big Thicket.During this time, her mother had cared for the baby as she waited to hear what had happened to her only daughter. The husband was on the open seas delivering oil to various ports of call worldwide. The picture you see is that grandmother, Miss Dolly, with a baby... that's me. She is holding a letter from my father as they wait to find out what had happened to Eloise Twitchell, whose picture you see. I will write of this event later as it was truly sensational for its time. The picture of Miss Dolly and me was on major magazine covers and newspapers while the search went on for my mother's remains.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Fast forward to the murder trial in 1950. My grandmother drove everyday from Woodville to Anahuac, Texas [about 80 miles each way] to be at the trial. She went alone with me in tow. She had no one with her, except a squirmy and cranky toddler. The courtroom was packed every day with spectators and reporters from Houston, Beaumont, and places in between. The trial lasted several weeks with all sorts of lurid and detailed information evolving around murder, bodies, suppositions, coroners, etc. Modern TV has nothing on what went down in this trial. (BTW: they were found guilty. One was executed and one received life) As a two year old, I would get restless and Miss Dolly, emotionally drained, was at her wit's end. The prosecution wanted us there at the trial for the emotional impact. As the days would progress, a very large man dressed in overalls smelling of snuff would pick me up and walk me around the back of the courtroom or take me outside to run. I do have a dim memory of him. He and his wife were at the trial everyday. This was Harold and his wife. From that encounter came the cards, event after event, months and years for 18 years.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">It was time to meet Harold and wife. We drove to Kountze, Texas and went to the Sheriff's office. The Sheriff proceeded to lead us into the Big Thicket Preserve turning here and there until we were in a swampy area coming upon a house, on stilts . No electricity. No running water. An outhouse. chickens, pigs, dogs...and on the front porch stood an old man in overalls and his wife, in a wheelchair. The Sheriff said he would wait for us. Miss Dolly had worn her "Sunday best" and had me do the same. She opened the trunk of our car and there were boxes and boxes of food. We went into their home: imagine if you will bare wood walls and floors. You could see the earth below the floors...the outside through the walls. A wood stove for heating and cooking. On one wall were 12 school pictures stuck with straight pins...pictures of me! I have included the first and the last picture. Harold just looked at me and said something like "she sure has grown up fine." We visited; they drank coffee. Miss Dolly gave them the food. The sheriff had told my grandmother that these wonderful people were the poorest of the poor eking a living out of the swamps of the Big Thicket. For them to send a dollar for every card was a fortune. I later learned that she had left a "credit" of $200.00 at the grocery in Kountze giving the Sheriff instructions to tell them about it after we left. They were proud people and did not want a hand out. While I was in college, we found out that Harold and his wife had passed away in the swamps and were not discovered until a month after their passing. They had no family or children to look after them; yet, they never forgot a restless toddler and a distraught mother in crowded courthou</span></span></div>
Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-74587951505689958932017-03-17T18:34:00.003-05:002017-03-17T18:35:47.881-05:00YOUNG AND STUPID: NEW TEACHERS LISTEN TO YOUR PRINCIPAL AND LEARN THE PRINCIPLES<span style="font-size: large;">1</span>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s pouring down rain on a Monday morning. One whole day in Houston, Texas with no clue what was happening or what was going to happen. I left Woodville in my Volkswagen Beetle with several suitcases. Found the apartment I would share with two other Lamar graduates off Campbell Road. I had a map and stupid blind faith that I could find this outpost of civilization called Cypress-Fairbanks High School. I had to report in by 8:00 a.m. since school still started a reasonably civilized time. I was winding my way towards Hempstead Highway. Campbell curved and turned, then I took a left on Hempstead, headed West, and to quote Don Thornton who had hired me over Christmas Break, “you’ll know it when you get there” because it was the only dang thing that far out. First thing that told me I was headed somewhere new and different was at the intersection of Huffmeister Road (dirt by the way) and Hempstead Hwy. There was a farm sitting right there with a huge hand painted sign that said: BABY CLAVES FOR SALE. CHEEP! No, these are not my spellings. Sure enough taking the driveway, NOT AN EXIT, a drive way into the huge edifice, I parked my little bug, grabbed my umbrella, and walked in the front doors. There was a receptionist right there and I informed her I was reporting for my teaching position starting that day. I stood there (wettish) ; she looked at me and muttered “Boy is he going to be surprised. Follow me.” So, I did and boy was HE surprised!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Out comes this big man, laughing right out of his office, and his secretary who had this startled look in her eyes said “Mr. Watkins, this is Charlz Twitchell.” The look was priceless. I remember it 47 years later. In typical Carlos Watkins style, he said something like “Damn Don Thornton.” Someone did not tell Mr. Watkins that his new history teacher was named like a boy, but hopefully pulled off the girl thing pretty well. I got this job during the Break and Mr. Thornton left a tennis game and interviewed me at the old Administration building off of Fairbanks Road across from Dean Middle School. HR and Personnel was much simpler then. Bet some of you think you know all the history of CFISD. Mr. Watkins looked at me, welcomed me and called Jan Aragon to come downstairs. Her eyes kind of went wild for she also thought I was a male teacher, but in the Mrs. Aragon’s classy manner she took me upstairs. From there, to be honest, it is a huge blur for at least six weeks. Here’s what I remember:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Four history classes of freshmen.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">No book</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">No lesson plans, no paper, no pencils, no attendance. I did have a box of chalk.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">14 year olds looking at me: Are you a Substitute? Where’s Coach Carr?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">TEA was doing a sight visit and some of the coaches did not have the right number of hours to teach four sections of history. Coach Carr was moved to PE.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">The students kept rolling in. There were four other teachers upstairs, but no one remembered I was there. I sat in stunned “deer in the headlight” panic. It was the first day of a new semester. HELP! HELP! HELP!]</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">I didn’t know when or where lunch was.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">I didn’t know I had a “conference” period…heck! I didn’t know where the bathroom was.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, here comes my 6th period study hall…ALL SENIORS, AGE 18.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">GUESS WHAT? I was 21 years old and would not turn 22 until February. In many ways we were peers. Scary thought if that happened today. Headlines and jail time might happen. You know I’m right.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">The Seniors told me what to do, where things were, and who people were. Times were very different. The school infrastructure was very basic and many of the teachers had been at CFHS for many years. CFHS was much like any other institution…learn as you go…figure out the different pieces… Somehow, I figured out what to do and who to ask for help. Thank you to the God that looks after babies and young uninformed teachers! The kids of this era still respected the teachers and did not lock me in my closet or throw spit wads. I wish I could have those kids back and show them that I actually became a competent teacher. Come Back!! </span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">TRUE STORY: The Seniors and I would sit and talk in the study hall. There were about four boys and the rest were girls. Shout out to Sandy McCain…she “adopted” me introducing me to her family in Cole Creek Manor and to her aunt, the famous Wanda Jowell. About mid-semester, the boys asked to go to the bathroom. Who knew they needed a hall pass? I was so busy chatting with the girls, the boys just asked and went one at a time. I didn’t even miss them. Right before school let out at 3:00, I hear a truck horn outside my second story window. There in the back of the truck were four slightly tipsy boys being returned to school from RIPPERS POOL HALL at the corner of Huffmeister and Telge Road. The assistant principal was Marvin Richards. The boys had run down to Rippers, played pool, and once they had some beers, Rippers called the school. OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! </span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Different days…times…Marvin brought them to my room. Called their parents. We waited for them to be picked up. The parents APOLOGIZED profusely for their kid’s behavior. WHAT YOU SAY? Yep, they blamed their kids, not for drinking and playing pool, but for disrespecting a young teacher. I lived to teach another day. I learned a valuable lesson that day or maybe I should say lessons or as I say “basic principles from two wise principals.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">All new teachers are clueless. Pray for help. Today, the system is in place to guide them</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">But it still is not enough. Still pray for first year teachers as they are like baby gazelles facing down hordes of hungry lions.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Carlos gave me sage wisdom of an old coach: Trust no one under 21…. seriously that’s what he told me. Then he said, “Don’t get mad at something like this…just get even. Yep, that’s what he said. Take charge and don’t let them get away with anything and if they give you any problems, tell them Mr. Watkins will deal with them personally.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Marvin said if given the chance all students will lie to get their way or get out of trouble. Well that shot my idealism straight to hell.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">I survived the debacle. The girls in senior study hall gave me the heads up if the boys were going to try anything and so I looked wise and all knowing. And, by the way, each boy had to write me a letter of apology and offer to help me after school. GOOD TIMES.</span></span></div>
Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-34620854498009992452017-03-17T18:29:00.002-05:002017-03-17T18:31:31.686-05:00<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TAKING MIDTERMS IN THE AGE OF TECHNOLOGY</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Tomorrow my college students have their midterm exams in both political science (Texas Government) and American History from Exploration to Civil War (not much to cover there.) I have done adjunct work for nearly 25 years and each year I find it, like teaching at any level, rewarding, frustrating, and at times, just darn tiring. First, let me say this with the understanding that I may anger someone who stumbles across this; teaching at the college level is a giant piece of carrot cake with a good cup of coffee compared to teaching K-12. It wasn't until I started teaching only at the college level did I realize exactly how RFD (see above adjectives) teaching was. I felt the need to take a step back and remember all of my colleagues/former students still "in the trenches," teaching 7-8 periods per day, with 150 students (secondary level), benchmarking this, testing that, meeting this, meeting that, modifiy this, discipline that, call six parents, do your bus duty, oh! don't forget to eat and go the bathroom! You get the picture. And, should you not understand anything about the previous sentences, talk to a teacher friend immediately. of any time in my teaching career.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Back to the topic teaching at a community college is a unique experience and it, too, comes with its own set of challenges. When I open class tomorrow morning at 6:30 am , I will have the most diverse students walk through that door than I have ever experienced. The diversity is not just based on race/ethnicity; it is based on age, military service, family issues, work issues, language issues, and ones that I don't even know about yet. These students come for many reasons to the doors of a community college. Most of the reasons are legitimate, some are questionable.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">For example: </span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">I didn't have anything else to do.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">I was told everyone had to go to college.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">My parents made me go to college.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">I don't want to work.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Here is what I know: these reasons usually result in wasting money for classes not attended and nothing being learned. You would be surprised how many times those four items are listed as the reason for college. We need a "gap/public service" option in this country. Just saying...</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, there are the students who are there, but don't know what they are going to do past their time at the community college:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Clueless about their skills/talents/personalities. So , they all major in general business or some other generic degree program. Don't hate the messenger; it is a major problem.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Do not know details about how to get to the next level of education or training.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Taking courses they don't need because of their current plans or training. (this happens frequently)</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Believe that what they do at the community college level doesn't follow them FOREVER! </span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Trying to undo the damage done at a four year university that was too big, too much, and they made a 1.5 GPA. Now they have to undo the damage, lose the paid expensive tuition, and do not realize how hard it is to bring that GPA up.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Before I go further, the ONE THING that causes the above list is the student's do NOT know how to become self directed. The information and people are there for almost anything they need, but because college is usually impersonal, transitory, and very few personal bonds are made with professors, they have no guidance. Some of these students are "victims" of the infamous "helicopter" parents who did everything for them leaving their grown child helpless. I spend much time on trying to teach DUE DILIGENCE which is my fancy way of saying "you have to dig out the information for yourself." The other thing I have to tell them is TINSTAFL (?) THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FREE LUNCH...you have to work for that degree...for that A or B. Don't get me started on how everyone wants an "A." These are the kids who a trophy for showing up for soccer, football, etc. I need to be quiet now.</span></span><br />
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">And, then there are the students who</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Work 40-60 hours per week.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Work the over night shift and come to the 7:00 am classes every time.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Work two-three jobs and never miss a class.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">The "older" student who does everything "old school" and actually survives very well "Thank you very much."</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">The veteran who doesn't want "Thank you for your service:" they want the Veterans Bureau to follow through quicker than six months to two years for benefits and services. By the way, Lonestar does have an outstanding Veterans office or some of these men and women would not make it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">The 25-30 year old who realizes that minimum wage is just that...the bare necessities.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">The FIRST in their family to go past high school.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">The student who has left their family in Vietnam, China, Latin America, Africa, etc. and are here ALONE! The look on their faces when the typical American student attitudes surface is awesome. And, then they have to try and comprehend the glory and the chaos that is a democracy and a complicated history.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Most students want someone to say "Good Morning, etc." "How are you?" There are some very solitary students on these campuses, which is another blog.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">As an adjunct professor who is able to teach two separate courses, I have been blessed to have some students take me for FOUR courses. Those students have enabled me to better understand their lives which are rather typical of their peers. It is amazing how they will "latch" on to a professor they believe cares about them for advice and mentoring. Such is the way it has been since the first classroom.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">The overall benefit of teaching at the college level is that there is minimum invasive curriculum limits. There are very few and vague learning outcomes and course expectations, but professors can go where the "teachable moment" takes them. And it is done at the right "moment" it is the one thing the students will recall as their favorite time in the class. There's no "walk throughs" when your "favorite student" decides to have a melt down; there's not professional development to knock out in the summer.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">I believe that the community college is the most democratic institution in America. People of all persuasions, religions, races, political leanings, or however one wants to "spilt" people into sub-categories can come with minimal costs with a bunch of class options: online, face to face, half face /half online, short mini semesters knocking out one course in 15 days, late start, and enough campuses to fit every part of the city. Not everyone wants to go to college now--what if they change their mi</span></span></div>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-37392415768512060302017-03-17T18:27:00.003-05:002017-03-17T18:27:51.795-05:00A TIME WHEN FULL SERVICE MEANT SOMETHING<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: x-large;">About to leave to give a midterm to three classes. But I put off buying gas yesterday; I now have to do it in the dark. Am I the only one who hates self serve gas? Back in the day in Woodville we would pull into Adams Texaco, sit in car while an attendant filled the tank, did the windows, did the tires, and put it on Miss Dolly's tab. Can you imagine that today? One there is no tab in the old sense. We've got credit cards. We had a tab at the grocery store. Just sign and pay once a month. The last grocery on the planet that used to do that was the great Klein's grocery in Tomball, Texas. I loved that store. How many Tomball kids got their first job at Klein's? Here's to Robert Klein the dad and Jeffery Klein his son and my former student. I miss you guys. Praise the grocery gods for Instacart. Where's the at home full service gas? My world would be complete. Gotta go. Tanks to fill and students to fail. JUST KIDDING!!!!</span></span></div>
Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-31901930496874128052017-03-17T18:21:00.004-05:002017-03-17T18:21:47.679-05:00LUCK IS WHEN PREPERATION MEETS OPPORTUNITY<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">The year was 1954. A petite older woman ran up the front steps two at a time to the Citizen’s State Bank in Woodville, Texas. Dragging along behind her was a five-year-old trying to keep up wishing Mama would slow down. She’s always running everywhere dragging this tow headed whiny child behind her. Citizens State was a typical small town independently owned bank. Does anyone remember small independent banks? There was free coffee and food in the lobby. Several old men would sit, drink coffee, gossip, and read the newspapers offered for free. The tellers knew everyone by name; no ID was required. “Oh your Miss Dolly’s daughter, just a minute we’ll get that done for you.” This was done when I would drop by the bank, on my bike, after school around the age of 10. Those were the days my friend. The main shareholder in the bank was Mr. F. He sat on the side of the lobby at this huge desk…no office enclosure…you could see him and he could see everyone. Imagine: about 60, balding head, wire rim glasses, white starched shirt with those elastic things men wore to keep their cuffs in the right place, suspenders that always matched belt and shoes, which were always polished. I know that’s a run on sentence or something, but it had to be. On this one day, he would change my grandmother’s world…and eventually he would change mine.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">During one of our many trips to the bank, he called out to my grandmother asking her to stop by on her way out. What I’m about to tell you is a blending of several of these sessions with Mr. F. He asked her permission to check her bank account. After doing his thing, he made a proposal that today would be unheard of and I am sure there is now some regulatory law somewhere by some bureaucrat making this illegal, but let’s proceed. He told Miss Dolly that he admired her tenacity and her spirit. He could not believe that she had survived my mother’s death and the horrific trial that had ensued and had taken a six month old infant to raise alone. To quote he said “You are the hardest working woman I have ever seen.” “All you need is a bit of help to get started.” Even then certain men in positions of power saw and honored women with drive and spirit. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">His “help” was he knew of the houses that were in foreclosure long before they would be listed on the court house wall for auction/repossession by the bank. (you know there’s a law against that now…has to be). He said that he was going to let her take possession of one of these houses for $500.00. In 1954 that was a fortune! She immediately said that she did not have that kind of money; he said that he knew and would give a line of credit for the $500.00. No collateral…no money down…no credit rating check…just her good name and work ethic. The house was a mess and needed repair work. It would become a rent house. Saying she knew nothing about a rent house, his reply was that he would help her. She did not mention repairs because she knew how fix everything! She could do plumbing, electric, carpentry, and even change the sparkplugs on her car, if needed. So begins the beginning of the next phase of her life. At this time, she is 55 years old.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Miss Dolly took possession of that house. Every day while I was in school she did the repair work including re-roofing the entire roof. She even made me paint with her. I’d do the bottom half and she would be on the ladder. I still hate painting to this very day. When she finished, Mr. F came to look at the little rent house. He then explained what to do: mentoring 101 before it became a cliché:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">1. Find good renters. Check out their clothes, their physical appearance as to cleanliness.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">He believed that if one could not keep their bodies clean, keeping a house clean was not possible. Also, check their cars. He said this was a person’s second most important purchase. If it’s a mess, they will destroy a home. I believe all of that is illegal today [but true] as well. OH WELL!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">2. Set a fair rent.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">He said not to be greedy. Cover the bank note and have some for repairs. He believed that fairness in rent made for good renters.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">3. Have a written list of expectations as the land lord. It was not a lease; it was a list.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">4. Expect rent on time every time, but have a sense of compassion, but don’t fall for ever thing and most of all don’t get fooled twice.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">5. When the house is almost paid off, use it as equity and purchase the second home.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Rinse and repeat.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">So, with this man’s help, Miss Dolly began single handedly purchasing properties all over Tyler County through the bank. She repaired each one herself. She even dug septic lines…gross job and of course I had to help with the wheel barrows of dirt moved from Point A to Point B.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">By 1960, she had over 15 rental properties which paid for themselves very quickly. For a small county that is an unbelievable number of houses. I remember each night she would sit with her ledgers…No Quicken here folks; pencil, figures, and number sense methodically done each night. In these ledgers all costs, incoming and outgoing monies were noted. The dates of all rent money paid with the receipt numbers. She taught me how to write professional receipts at eight years of age and I did it for years! She would often send me to the bank on my bike with a bank bag filled with money to deposit. [NOT TODAY] Notes about the tenants both positive and not so positive were written as well as any reasons for late rents. She also in that same ledger would keep a running amortization table of when the property was near pay off. She knew exactly how much principle and interest was left on each one. And, SHE DID THESE CALCULATIONS IN HER HEAD…DID YOU GET THAT? IN HER HEAD! This woman who left school in third grade did these complex numbers without any mechanical help…did it exist even then? I have such vivid memories of these things as I was in middle school. Here was the order of the evening:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Fix dinner and eat it together. The two of us with china, utensils, a prayer which I had to offer. And it was NOT “Good food, good meat…Good God let’s eat!”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Ask Karen about her day and demand a real answer. We talked about all kinds of things most adults would never discuss with a child. Topics like politics, religion, news events. I never heard “baby talk.” There’s a reason I teach history and political science. I was asked about the book I was reading at bed time. Not to</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">be “cheesy” but in Miss Dolly’s house READING WAS FUNDAMENTAL.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">I had to give specific details about what I learned that day. Make up something Quick!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Clear table and Karen does the dishes. YEA!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Get ledgers and do property work.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Watch a little TV.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Read Bible for an hour. Take notes and write down thoughts. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Go to bed.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">You see Miss Dolly prepared to be “lucky.” When presented with receiving help to start a business, she took it. She was prepared spiritually and mentally. She did not see a hand out…she saw a step up. She never forgot the largess of Mr. F. In fact, he was her financial advisor until he retired. He never charged her a dime for this advice. All he said was that hard work and frugality would pay off in the end. This would start her next “career” which is another posting. And I haven’t even started on what she did before becoming a landlord. Stay tuned for the next installment. The successful people in life and business I know are not “lucky.” They work the program of marriage, child rearing, personal growth, seeking and taking advice. I know it works in God’s time which sometimes happens a little early for some and some of us take a little longer to prepare. WORK THE PROGRAM!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2djQYJ9WQyaHEnajtDPqKSIYKba1e02gbPdvKtRo7quV_79a3-Uma8jXBaPjFjq6OKuVQ5F848TDg-iTgObvWOJgjHLOOjOyw3DJklJ4lnSNkFoa3i3zC8LKtjZwFFncXHU85OIyWJqQ/s1600/LND_AC938997-30C4-4DA2-A802-A69E001CC404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2djQYJ9WQyaHEnajtDPqKSIYKba1e02gbPdvKtRo7quV_79a3-Uma8jXBaPjFjq6OKuVQ5F848TDg-iTgObvWOJgjHLOOjOyw3DJklJ4lnSNkFoa3i3zC8LKtjZwFFncXHU85OIyWJqQ/s640/LND_AC938997-30C4-4DA2-A802-A69E001CC404.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MISS DOLLY'S FIRST FORAY INTO REAL ESTATE</td></tr>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-48258014666016345502017-03-17T18:14:00.002-05:002017-03-17T18:18:22.368-05:00WHAT KIND OF TEST WAS THAT AGAIN?<div class="p1">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNP8NBOPGshL3TS4l7VQH32EO4KEks6Iug5rOCMUEi-c1lsHfXoXe48tABfhqFUbt-Y0MJI84zviYjK3Ize1hg30ui-j3lTWNDllok9jiL_rl7eS4Xn_mKL4YTGso1XU81jhL9XVUIvs/s1600/PRIDGEON.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNP8NBOPGshL3TS4l7VQH32EO4KEks6Iug5rOCMUEi-c1lsHfXoXe48tABfhqFUbt-Y0MJI84zviYjK3Ize1hg30ui-j3lTWNDllok9jiL_rl7eS4Xn_mKL4YTGso1XU81jhL9XVUIvs/s640/PRIDGEON.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">PRIDGEON STADIUM CYPRESS-FAIRBANKS ISD<br /><br />Texas football: a myth, a legend, or a way of life? Honestly, it is all three. In each small town from six-man football to the behemoths that is 6-A football, this sport is embedded in every community across Texas. Of course, we had football in Woodville: the might Eagles of Kirby High. Lamar University had the Cardinals. As a member of the bands in each of these places, I never really took any of it very seriously. Our job in the band was to ignore the cheerleaders for most of the game through heat and freezing cold and enjoy ourselves talking and carrying on. My first true indoctrination into Texas football came through Cy-Fair High School. As one of the few unmarried young teachers in the early 70’s, I was designated the Pep Squad and Cheerleader SPONSOR. Mr. Watkins decided that I had the time and the energy to give to these programs. Seriously? I did not know a pompom from a Pomeranian. Oh! And it would be done with no extra pay. Really? With absolutely no training or will to do this into which I been drafted , I did my job. And, the rest is history. However, this post is concerns one event I have never forgotten that still makes me laugh every time I tell the story. I hope you enjoy.</span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">My first years at CFHS all football games were played in a very traditional small stadium located behind the high school. You know: wooden bleachers giving you splinters in your nether regions, creaky, and bowing under the weight of the spectators. For 6 years every Friday night we would sit on the Cypress prairie through all the elements and watch Coach Ken Pridgeon and later Coach Tommy Ward do their thing. CFHS was the only CFISD school during most of that time. The equilibrium was changed when Jersey Village High School opened around 1974-5. Now two schools had to share the stadium which schedule wise was very easy to do. One Friday, it was the Falcons in Bobcat Stadium (see the problem already?) and the next the Bobcats in Bobcat Stadium (all is right with the world on those nights). Along comes 1976-77 and a third high school was added, Cypress Creek High School, the Cougars. FYI: the split from CFHS to form CCHS is whole other blog/post. More on that later. Scheduling and school pride became entangled on having to play games in Bobcat Stadium. The other major issue was that the schools were moving up in massive numbers of students which resulted in large bands, drill teams, and spectators. It was announced that CFISD would follow Spring Branch and build a central stadium to be named KEN PRIDGEON STADIUM. Once again, cries of joy went out from some circles “CFISD is entering the big boys club!” “A modern monument to football.” We had a group of girls that were fantastic (and two boys: here’s to you Rob Stillwell and Jimmy Jowell) who were awesome at leading large big crowds. CFHS was to play the very first game in Pridgeon Stadium…because Bobcats!</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: large;">On that Friday evening, the cheerleaders, the mascot (Don Ryan, the best mascot I ever had), cheerleader manager (Andrew Reder, someone has to hand out water and stare at the girls), and myself stood on the brand new grass, looking at the white façade in front of us. Now I will not try to guess the cost of Pridgeon Stadium in 70’s dollars, but it was a lot. Newspapers and TV came to the opening. But, back to the pre-game incident. Carlos Watkins, Mr. Bobcat, had purchased a sound system for the cheerleaders so everyone could yell at the top of their lungs “BOBCAT FIGHT NEVER DIES.” We unloaded this ELECTRICAL system, and Becky Reder proceeds to plug it in. She walks up and down the home side wall…no electric outlets. She comes over and tells me this and I think she probably doesn’t know what to look for. (sorry Becky) What did I NOT find…. electrical outlets. I had been instructed to use that brand new sound system. One of the cheer dads ran home and got four or five orange extension cords and duct tape. The dads then proceeded to run the cords all the way up the stadium, across the main walkway, and into the concession stand. VOILA! We’re live.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">I see Carlos Watkins, Allen Labay (the superintendent of CFISD) and Ken Pridgeon, the district athletic director running down the stadium steps to the side line. Here’s what happened:</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">CW: Twitchell, the hell are you doing?</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">ME: Plugging in the sound system?</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">CW: What the hell are these cords doing running all the way to the concession stand?</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">ME: Sir, there are not outlets on the wall.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">CW: Sure there are. You just don’t know what to look for. See here they are!</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">ME: No sir, those are the jacks for the coaches’ headphones.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">CW: Oh. Well we can’t those cords, it’s dangerous and looks bad.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">AL: Carlos what’s the problem? </span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">CW: Allan there’s no damn plugs on the wall for electricity.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">AL: If there’s no plugs, I’ll eat my hat.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">KP: No plugs? We signed off on everything before this. This cannot be right.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">ME: saying nothing, no sir, I’m not stupid. My boss, his boss, and the namesake of the stadium arguing right in front of me. No sir…. I’m as invisible as I can be.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">CW: Ken, go find Larry. (I think it was Larry Cooper who was the manager/supervisor of the stadium. If I am wrong someone correct me. Tell him we need power down here.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">Well, we got the power using a tractor battery, those cables used to jump start a car, and thankfully no one died that night of electrocution. Come to find out, the visitor’s side had all the plugs in the world. Mr. Labay did not eat a hat…and by the next game, plugs were installed.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">As the crowd is coming in oohing and aahing over the new facility, Becky begins to test the mike. The cheerleaders of this year were a funny, funny bunch of girls. Becky was very adept at funny. They were excited losing sight that the band was there, the drill team, and a crowd was growing. I said Becky see if the sound system works. She picks up the mike still giggling over something, and instead of saying “Mike Test…Mike Test” she said “Pap Test.” I mean the sound system worked folks. A call went out for a pap test over several miles (not really, but sounded like it) There was a moment of silence and then a smattering of giggles started in the band, and then general laughter. It was such a random and crazy thing to say. But it was funny! I don’t know what you were thinking Becky Reder, but it was a perfect cap to the great electrical outlet debacle of 1977.</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">Now look what CFISD has come to. A stadium complex many colleges would love to have. But somehow it will never replace the original Bobcat stadium and the cry across the prairie of BOBCAT FIGHT NEVER DIES!</span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-size: large;">(photo is not old Bobcat stadium, a facsimile)</span></div>
Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-73297536376863845432017-03-17T18:12:00.003-05:002017-03-17T18:12:39.052-05:00FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS, TOMBALL STYLE<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1">In 1982, Hap Harrington, superintendent of schools for TISD, called Carlos Watkins to see if the Tomball High School cheerleaders could come observe one of the very famous CFHS pep rallies. Mr. Harrington, when principal of Klein High School, had seen the CFHS cheerleaders in action at a football game and was very impressed with the whole BFND atmosphere. On A Friday, eight cheerleaders and Kit Pfeiffer, an assistant principal, stood in the gym and witnessed a very typically packed gym going wild with school spirit. [and CFHS had a losing season] After the rally, she talked to me about the cheer program, what I taught, and CFHS’ BFND attitude. They left; I went to class. Into the spring semester, I received a phone call from Mr. Harrington who promptly reminded me that we were actually third cousins on Miss Dolly’s side. Tried to pull the family card; yes he did! He asked if I would come to Tomball to interview for a cheerleader coaching position. Yep! You heard correctly. Not a sponsor, but a coach. By this time, I had become a coach: I attended workshops; watched our coaches at CFHS in how they worked with their athletes, etc. I also had grown a bit bored teaching American History for 12 years and wanted a change in subject matter. It was evident that I was not going to move to another course, so off to Tomball HS I went. I had déjà vu all over again </span><span class="s2">:O</span><span class="s1"> Out Telge Road (no houses, farm land, and turned on 2920 which had no businesses like you see today. There was the four corners where the same flag installation stands today. A Gibson’s store (non-existent today), turned left on 149—not 249. Turned at Sandy Lane and there is was. A small one story high school: compared to CFHS it was small.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">I interviewed with John Neubauer and Hap Harrington. The entire conversation was how to build school spirit and an outstanding cheer program. I gave them my thoughts; we talked salary, facilities, and the last question was twofold: What classes would you like to teach? Can you start cheerleading work in June? I said senior government and yes. I walked out of THS stunned and by the time I got back home to Cypress, I had a bit of “buyer’s remorse.” I called Miss Dolly and she was apoplectic! Leaving a very secure teaching position to start over. She called Hap and I still don’t know what was said. But, she gave her blessing. I went to Mr. Watkins and explained what I had done. His hands were tied for there were no openings in either World History or government departments. I resigned my position, and signed a contract with TISD.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Many of you live in what I call the Tomball Greater Area which absolutely looks nothing like the Tomball Lesser Area of the 1980’s. There was “old” Tomball, the movers and shakers of the city. Down 149 to the South was the “new “Tomball who had moved into Lakewood, Gettysburg, Heatherwood, and other new subdivisions. There was nothing at all except mobile home sales places coming into the city. THS had approximately 700-800 students, one junior high, and maybe four elementaries. THS had a relatively new coaching staff headed by Coach Lynn Etheridge. New band director and new drill team director for the Cougar Charms. Hap’s plan was this: BUILD IT AND THEY WILL COME. Let me explain</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Hap was a visionary. The Willowbrook area, 149, etc. was about to explode due to the Compaq computer campus at Louetta and 149. It would become HP and is now Lonestar College, University Park. TISD would be “competing” for new students with CFISD which was setting a very high standard for school districts at the time. More people=more tax dollars=better schools, etc. He wanted TISD to be the best in the state.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">His philosophy today might seem a little out there in these days of testing, accountability, state mandates, bureaucracies, etc. But then, those things really did not exist and it was still local districts controlled most of their destiny. The philosophy was:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Have a great athletic program that wins and gets attention from press.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Have a great band program.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Have a great drill team program.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Have a great cheer program</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Have a great choir program, and on and on.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Fill the stadium on Friday nights and people will start wanting to move to TISD.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Realtors will start pushing the district.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Home builders will start looking at the land surrounding Tomball for future development.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">Which equals what? Say it with me! More tax dollars, better schools.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">As in CFHS I had a marvelous 12 years in Tomball. I got to finally teach Seniors and I had some of the greatest students in the world. My cheerleaders starting in 1982 to 1994 were some of the neatest, most hardworking athletic young women I worked with. They were two TOTALLY DIFFERENT experiences from which I grew as a teacher and a person interacting with others. I have many tales for Tomball as I do for CFHS. I had the honor of teaching at what I like to call the “MOTHER SHIPS” of school districts. No matter how many high schools are built the heart of a district always remains in the first. Take a look at Klein ISD. The mother ship: Klein High School. CFiSD: Cy-Fair High School. Tomball: Tomball High School.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span style="font-size: large;">I read where Hap passed away last year. If you went to THS in the 80’s, can you remember he was IN every pep rally, at every athletic event, or any event that involved THS students? My hope is to write about my experience of working in a “small, rural (at the time)” school district and the joys that come with that experience. Get ready! I have great stories. GO! COUGARS!</span></span></div>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-31796789122402593352017-03-17T18:09:00.000-05:002017-03-17T18:09:05.044-05:00THE ROOM WITH THE RED CARPET. <div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">When I first went to Tomball HS, the building itself was very plain and had a simple floor plan. So typical of the schools of those days unlike now where the facades are architectural wonders all with each new build trying to outdo the last one. The walls were institutional beige-ish and the carpets were institutional grey with some type of small pattern. My room was on the main hall right across from the offices. It was also the cheerleaders “locker” room, meeting room, and hang out room. As part of the program to build up the cheer program, we had a sixth period cheerleading/athletic class. In my first several years, we began to make progress in creating what would become a nationally ranked program. Those early “girls” started from the ground up learning new skills, adjusting some attitudes about what their “job” was, and doing their best to figure out what to do with me. I’m not sure what practice was like before I arrived, but I got the message very quickly that me idea of practice was new to them. I believed that structure, practicing to reach a goal, and repetition was the foundation for success. We would spend the hour of practice with the hour broken up into 15 minute segments of different skills. I had a list and as we finished each skill I would mark out that one thing. Soon, the girls learned to work the list, don’t goof off and slow things down, do better each day, and they realized the quicker we got through the list the quicker they were done. I hated wasted time! Lord oh Lord they hated those drills. We would end the practice doing jump after jump after endless jump. The first times we did this it was a disaster. Some of the new, younger cheerleaders had more training, Shannon Harrell could even do flip-flops! Chris Campbell and Jennifer Wedemeyer had jumps to die for and that was before drills. Using them as the models, and the other girls desire to be as good, we made progress very quickly. Boy did I use those skills and attitudes when we went to camp. This was the earliest beginnings of the need for cheerleaders to be gymnasts, jumpers, and stunters. Within a year we would become known for our “toe touches,” or “open pikes.” They were things of beauty. But pain and frustration precedes many things of beauty. In our second year, we attended summer cheer camp where we took first place every night and in the last day, we won the entire camp and several of the girls made the top cheerleaders of the camp. We had taken the first steps fulfilling what Hap and Mr. Neubauer wanted to happen.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">We were presented to the school board and took the rest of the summer off. When I returned early from summer break to hold practice with the girls, I opened my classroom door and Behold! Bright red carpet was in my room! Cougar Red. Mr. Neubauer stood behind me to see my reaction which was some explanation like “wow.” He wanted everyone in the school to know this was the cheerleader’s room. Oh, and I taught some government while in there, too </span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Many a laugh took place in that room. Many a tear over some boy took place in that room. Many a “spat” took place in that room from too much familiarity. Many a “chewing out” from me to the group or individuals took place in that room. We demanded so much of those ten young women. I think at times we may have demanded way more than they could handle from time to time. Their grades had to the result of doing their best in class. Their classroom conduct had to be above reproach. Their out of school activities of a social kind was always being watched as someone was always “ratting them” out. Their discipline while performing had no wiggle room for mistakes.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Soon, they became a tight group of ten team members. They began to take great pride in the team picture they presented to the community. They developed team traditions that would linger until I left Tomball. My absolute favorite was known as PARKER FARM. It came from the Renaissance Fair when there was a young helper/gopher whose last name was Parker and his family owned a farm. When his help was needed, someone, in charge, would call out “Parker Farm.” Parker Farm(s) were the newly elected cheerleaders. The idea was that just because you won the position of cheerleader did not mean you had earned it. The PFs toted equipment, put equipment out for use in practice and then broke it down for storage, carried my red director’s chair around, carried the water coolers. When we went to camp they carried in my luggage; had to shower first which meant getting up earlier than the Juniors and Seniors. They waited last to eat in the camp lunch line. You get the picture. If an older girl was elected for the first time, she became the HEAD OF THE PARKER FARMS giving her a bit of dignity. To my knowledge there was no serious hazing dispensed; it was a way for them to build tradition and pride. Every girl on the squad shared being a Parker Farm—in other words, they earned the respect of the older girls.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">There are many stories to tell about my “girls” on the cheer squads and my students who sat in those desks in the room with the red carpet. As I prepare to write what I think will be two books, I want to honor my grandmother’s legacy in one book and the joy that came from teaching at three of the best high schools one could ever work in the second book. I hope that the book about teaching can inspire, help, remind others that teaching is truly one of the greatest professions left in this crazy world. Go Cougars!</span></span></div>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-50617821020806363662017-03-17T18:01:00.001-05:002017-03-17T18:01:36.499-05:00SO TEXAS ON A SPRING DAY<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So, here's what happened today. On a back back dirt road between Magnolia and Navasota I came upon a farm. The cows had the longest horns I have seen in a long time. The manager of the farm stopped in his Gator to check me out. I showed him my camera and all was good. He said these are Butler Longhorns. He told me these are highly coveted breed of cattle. He said the UT type longhorn is this cross bred with others. So, noothing spectacular and grandiose, but yet, it is</span>.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMFLQ7Z_X42se-Ucjqth1Ok6g8M5U1Srbx5QQn1R0c6O2Z2K_FR_s6zSzGe0-wa_mZBBcZhqFJvKcl2KMYdwS7VVXXQy75BHetplPe_0SPpezQmoeWJfApT4fB2JoTfzBjJ8UfXqx9iY/s1600/fullsizeoutput_111.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMFLQ7Z_X42se-Ucjqth1Ok6g8M5U1Srbx5QQn1R0c6O2Z2K_FR_s6zSzGe0-wa_mZBBcZhqFJvKcl2KMYdwS7VVXXQy75BHetplPe_0SPpezQmoeWJfApT4fB2JoTfzBjJ8UfXqx9iY/s640/fullsizeoutput_111.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MOMMA DOES NOT CARE FOR A STRANGER IN THE FIELD. BACK OFF!</td></tr>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-69243623690487188932017-03-17T17:58:00.001-05:002017-03-17T17:58:48.667-05:00Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-23834694855134431282017-03-17T17:57:00.003-05:002017-03-17T17:57:47.059-05:00ONE PERSON CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN THIS WORLD<div class="p1">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Winning has always meant much to me, but winning friends has meant the most. (Babe Zaharias)</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">When looking back over forty-six years of teaching, there are many things that bring a sense of accomplishment and pride. The great majority of those memories center on the actual “art of teaching” in a classroom. The events and students in those many classrooms will always be a part of who I am as a person and educator. However, as in all of our lives, there are times that just stick out as being extra special. It is a strange and “twisty” tale of my extra special memory. Let me begin at the beginning.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">In 1975, I was one of the few single female teachers at Cypress-Fairbanks High School. The principal, Mr. Watkins, was looking for a cheerleading “sponsor.” I was a fairly popular teacher, overly enthusiastic about the Bobcats, worked with the band on the side as a private music teacher, and just had my fingers in every little pie on campus. So, whom did he turn to “sponsor” the cheerleaders? Me, of course! I basically had zero knowledge about what these girls did and frankly had the typical band “kid’s” disdain for the girls who shook their pom- poms However, being the “goody two shoes” I was at the time, I took the job. The first few years, I truly was a sponsor. I knew nothing much, and actually, did nothing much but chaperone. When CFISD started allowing the girls to go to camp in the late 70’s, I had to accompany them. With nothing else to do on a college campus, I began attending sessions for sponsors and watched the really good groups of cheerleaders. Their sponsors were doing more than I was and were winning everything. The band geek came out and I wanted to win everything. I wanted my group to be the best. Over the course of the next four years, I acquired a great deal of expertise on what it took to have an effective cheerleading squad. I was inching away from sponsor towards , dare I say it, coach! From my knowledge gained at Cy-Fair High School, I was recruited to become the cheer coach (yes recruited as a coach) to little Tomball High School.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Tomball High School was the one high school in a very small town 20 miles north of Houston. This was during a time when there were no freeways in that direction, so the little town still bore all the characteristics of a small Texas, semi-isolated/rural community. From 1984 to 1988 I began making significant changes to their cheerleading program. (That process is an entire book). By 1987, we had stepped into the nascent world of cheerleading competition. The cheer world realized the money and recognition that could be made by moving beyond camp competition into the state and national stage. It was a time when ESPN was opening up other athletic type activities to the world of cable television. Remember the times…this was all brand new. The girls of Tomball High School were, that year, hard working, physically sturdy, and I knew just enough about cheerleading that we went to our first national’s competition after qualifying by winning our camp. This type of competition requires a two to three minute “routine” showing all the aspects of cheerleading. From my circle of immediate peers, I pieced together a routine that looking back was fairly crude. Bless those girls. They poured their hearts and bodies into making a “sow’s ear into a silk purse.” We were doing the best we knew how. The first time we went, we placed 16th in the nation. WE tried the next year, a better routine, but in spite of the fact that the girls and I created our own routine; we place second! Seriously, I still don’t know how we did it. And, there were over 75 squads in our competitive group—all girl squad, 12 members and over. As the competition ended, I was sitting on the arena floor waiting for the crowds to clear. At the time, we were happy. Top Ten was great! We would make the “Tomball Potpourri,” the local newspaper. As I sat there, a tall, handsome, well-dressed African –American male approached me. I can still see that he had on a cool hat. He stood in front of me and introduced himself (actually reintroduced himself), “Hi, I am Tommy Amico.” “I worked with your Cy-Fair girls at camp.” WOW! I did remember Tommy. He had recruited Karen M., one of my favorite CFHS girls, to teach summer camps and they were fast friends. Tommy had been working the nationals that week. He sat down beside me and said confidently, “Call me when you are ready to win this thing.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Spring came along new cheerleading squad made up of eight veterans and four new sophomores. The principal asked me what it would take to win the nationals. He had a flair for knowing that these things, while not the most important in the scheme of school, would help get Tomball High School noticed. He asked what would be the number one thing I would need to win. I did not hesitate one minute. I said “Let me hire a choreographer! And, let me hire Tommy Amico from Kansas City, Missouri.” We went through the usual how much, how long, etc. I contacted Tommy, agreements were made, and I scheduled his arrival at THS for two weeks in August to prep the girls for the routine he would create. The day arrived; early morning on campus. Drill team was practicing, Student Council was there doing something, football players were milling, cheerleaders were waiting, and in walks a 6’ black man! Please understand…this was a school of 95% white students. The African-American students we had were still lived in was essentially segregated areas outside the main part of town. The African-American students that were involved played football and maybe basketball. We had our first African-American cheerleader the year before (shout out to Cassandra B). The did not come dressed to, “gasp,” dance! The girls were both in shock and in awe. They knew from nationals that this guy “knew cheerleading,” but he was different. However, like most students, they gave him the benefit of the doubt from day one. Kids are like that.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">He pulled out his work out tape, placed it in the cassette, and immediately began doing simple dance moves to the current R and B music of the time. He was moving his whole body folks, in rhythm to the music. These girls knew country western line dancing…but this? Seriously…move our hips like that? Would this even be allowed? Please understand there was absolutely nothing lurid about the moves, but they were different. Patiently for two days these white bread girls began to get a sense of what was to come. Step by step, arm motion by arm motion, stunt by stunt, the three-minute routine came together in rough draft form. They went home exhausted, stinky, and back early the next morning. As the routine began to take shape, the milling students began to stand and watch as this man worked with these girls. The drill team even got a little “snarky.” Cheerleaders don’t dance and certainly not with the latest music. Tommy would refine, retune, and edit our routine over the course of the next four months. He became a fixture around the campus as he would fly in for super long weekends or even a week. Once the routine was completed, he would come to school dressed like a professional businessman. Quietly, the African-American students began to walk up to him, ask him his name, what he was doing at THS, and where was he from? As we would prepare for workout, he would be surrounded by these students carrying on conversations. By now, my cheerleaders would get jealous because he was “their Tommy” brought to town for them. As December approached, it was decided that Tommy would come to Tomball and fly out with us on the way to Nashville. He would be with us every step. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">December 1989!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">THS CHEERLEADERS WIN NATIONAL TITLE!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Individuals Capture 1, 2, 3, and 5th with $27,000.00 Cash Scholarship Prizes</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Tomball would not be satisfied with one national title. Nope. August, 1989, “Mr. Amico Goes to Tomball for SIX weeks!” My principal, once again, called me and I left with a mandate: Repeat the Championship. I called Tommy and said I have more dinero for you , can you stay for a month? We’ll buy the plane tickets, pay your expenses, and pay for you to travel with us again. He did not think twice. So, began the quest for the second nationals title. We reserved a large practice gym at a local church and began that August the long road to repeating. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">He stayed in my home, shopped in Tomball, discovered the joy of Sonic, and found a place to do “his hair.” After lunch Tommy would come up on campus where people began to recognize him and call him by name. He sometimes ate lunch with the girls and visited with the African-American students who gravitated to him. He crafted a show stopping and extremely difficult routine. He took our uniform seamstress to downtown Houston to a fabric store to hunt for the right material for our nationals uniforms. She even made him two custom suits while he was in Tomball! </span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">December arrived. Round Two, Quest for Nationals; we left for Nashville. This time we had a plane load of parents, community members, school board members, and our entire TISD administration. Not kidding. Had the plane crashed, the head custodian would have been in charge! As we prepared for the competition, people from the staff of the group holding the competition talked to Tommy on the side, asking his opinion of our chances. Knowing Tommy some predictions were made that might have sounded over confident. As we waited, he moved between the various girls saying just the right thing. He kept me calm along with Kimm Carter’s assistance. Not only had Tommy prepared the entire squad for this moment, he had worked with the five girls who had been chosen at camp to participate in the individual competitions. He created cheers and dances for them at no charge. He coached them and gave them just what they needed. Those twelve girls from a small Texas town were poised beyond all comprehension. They demanded the attention of the 1 to 2 thousand people at the prelims. They placed out of prelims and into finals. They would be in the Top 15 out of 80+ large girls’ varsity competition group. The next day I had to let Tommy take over; I was about to toss my cookies. I knew that repeating any championship was difficult. And, now we had all these people who had paid to come watch their hometown girls. Tommy had them calm; Kimm had them groomed, and Peri Copeland who came to watch us from Palestine, rubbed my back. They took the floor and in 3 minutes and 50 seconds, they made history and brought the house down in front of over 5,000 spectators Yes, they won AGAIN! Second National Championship! Four of our individuals placed in the All American category and once again, two of them won first and second garnering another $27,000 in cash scholarships. “Who Rule the World? Tomball Girls Rule the World!” I really don’t think the girls even realized what they had done. Some may still not.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">We made the front page of the “Potpourri,” “The Sun,” and the Lifestyle section of the “Houston Chronicle.” We were on “Good Day Houston” morning program. This put little Tomball on the map alright. We would come in third the next year because frankly we could not be allowed win again. We had taken all the trophies and the money for two years straight. But these accomplishments paled in comparison to the real result. In this context of something that many folks perceive to be a silly activity depicted in the movie “Bring it On (parts I and II)” was the forging of lifelong lessons in human relationships.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">A world of long established preconceived notions were more open to change and the acceptance of others “not like us.” As a teacher, Tommy Amico taught me more than I can type in this essay about African-American literature, music, cooking, ways of thinking, and friendship. This Texas school teacher suddenly became more aware of the needs of her students of any color. I now had ways to relate to them that gave my teaching more relevance and importance. For once, I was able to connect and make a difference to all of my students, not some of my students. I began to, in earnest, pursue ways to deepen these connections. Thanks to Tommy Amico I took a six week Humanities seminar at the University of Virginia in African-American literature and culture. I witnessed girls’ lives be changed for the better because he came into their world. He pushed them to be better athletes. He gave comfort to those who struggled with all types of personal issues. He chastised those who felt it was their “right” to do certain things in relation to the squad. He spoke of moral and ethical behavior, not just getting that flip-flop timed perfectly. And, when he got on that plane for what would be the last time heading off to Kansas City there were a rivers of tears. I am not discounting my part in this process; however, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Tommy Amico changed lives in that small town in Texas.</span></span></div>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-79361262268382111472017-03-17T17:52:00.002-05:002017-03-17T17:52:45.380-05:00TIE A TODDLER ROUND THE OLD PINE TREE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">After my mother’s remains were discovered and it was evident that her baby, now about 1.5 years old, would be raised by my grandmother. My father, Charles, was a Merchant Marine captain of oil tankers with Socony Vacuum. His job took him all over the world; he was “at sea” for three months and home for one. His family from Boston was not willing to take on a toddler. Miss Dolly would not even broach the subject of her NOT raising me and made it clear to my dad that she would do whatever it took to take me in as her own child. Her one caveat was the she wanted to legally adopt me as she knew that my father could be, at times, a stereotypical sailor living a very rootless life and had a dangerous job. My father agreed as long as Miss Dolly would not change my last name. He also promised that if she would leave the dirt farm where she had been for nearly twenty years she would never have money worries again. While he was on compassionate leave, he went into Woodville, purchased a house, bought a car, set up a bank account, and sent word to Miss Dolly that everything was done. All she needed to do was go the bank and pick up house keys and the car was waiting at the Ford dealership.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Miss Dolly had remarried in 1931 to a Mr. Sturrock. He was widower farmer and owned a bit land outside of Colmesneil, Texas which is about 10 miles from Woodville. He was not a very good farmer and they lived a “pillar to post” on this isolated farm. Her surviving son was career military and stationed in Europe under the Marshall Plan. She told Mr. Sturrock that she was going to take me to Woodville and he was welcome to come. From what I learned over the years with Miss Dolly theirs was marriage of convenience with very little, if any, affection. He refused to go and did not understand why she would leave. No inside water, out house, no electricity, no money, and a falling down house. I mean really who could turn that down? He told her he would not allow her to leave and how I would have liked to have heard her response. Miss Dolly filed for divorce and took nothing from her former husband, like land. She packed two suitcases, two bottles, diapers, tied me to her back, and proceeded to walk to the main highway which was about three miles. When she got to the main highway and was walking to Colmesneil, about 5 miles, a farmer friend picked her up with me in tow. He drove her to the Ford place where she picked up the car: PAID FOR! Then to the banks where she received the keys for the house also PAID FOR from good ole’ Mr. Feagan. He had to tell her where it was. Thank goodness my father had the bank turn on the electricity and prime the water well. We drove to our first home on Cobb Mill Road and thus the tale gets to the point.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">Miss Dolly was 54 years old at this time, going through menopause which meant the health industry had yet to create medicines to help women through this thing. She was, according to her, very undernourished and just plain exhausted. She set about getting some furniture, got a milk goat as I was allergic to cow’s milk. Got some chickens, planted a little garden, and made a nice little home for us. She found her church and we began the routine of being in church three times per week. She would sell eggs and cow’s milk to get her collection plate money. All other expenses were being paid by my father. There’s an entire story yet to be written on Miss Dolly and her stewardship of my dad’s money. But on with the story…</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">I sure many of you will not be shocked to know that I was a “handful” as a toddler. I wore leg braces until I was almost two and once I was able to move, I moved! (oh! How I’ve changed .) Miss Dolly said she could not take her eyes off of me for even a minute and I refused to take a nap. (another change from then) We had no A/C and in the summer she had to move us outside under these towering pine trees. She would try to watch me, but fall asleep on the front porch from the exhaustion. At one point, the neighbors found me walking with my dog down the street. Mortified and scared, she had to come up with a solution. We had no fence and she would not authorize one being built on my dad’s “dime.” So, her solution…Get ready! Call CPS!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">She took small rope of about 20 feet. Tied it around the tree closest to the porch. She then proceeded to tie me with the rope. She configured some type of metal thing that allowed me to circle the tree without getting tangled up. She built a sand box and put some toys under the tree. I could get on the porch if I so desired. If you cannot get the visual, think of an outside dog in the country who is tied to a tree and then runs in circles until the grass is gone around the tree. Miss Dolly would be on a quilt with her Bible and would try to read. I don’t think she ever made it past Genesis on the third day of creation! She would sleep for a couple of hours. Me, I was as happy as a little piglet In the yard. Mr. Harvey from across the road would walk over and check on us. After a year of “tie Twitchell around the tree,” she had a nice fence built with my father’s permission. No more tree…no more freedom</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Women in those days had to make things work. There was no day care, no Mommy and Me play group, no intricate toys or wooden playground sets, no IPhone/IPad…it was the mom alone with the children. I don’t know how she managed, being as “ill” as she was “going through the change” to feed, clothe, clean me and the house, take care of the animals and property. She just did it. Women from that time period who had endured the Great Depression and World War Two faced almost insurmountable issues. They did not shirk their duty often to their own detriment. They were independent women when they had to be and God help anyone who stood in their way. Someone reminded me that the movie “Places in the Heart” is a good representation of those women and Miss Dolly. In spite of being tied to a tree, I turned out just fine. Or, at least I think I did.</span></span></div>
Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-22385582155317056802017-03-17T17:45:00.001-05:002017-03-17T17:45:50.694-05:00AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN BEFORE HER TIME! <div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="s1"><b><i>I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. Maya Angelou</i></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><i>Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.</i></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><i>Jesus</i></b></span></div>
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<span class="s2">It is the years right after World War One and women receiving the right to vote my story begins. My grandmother was married at the age of 14 in 1914 to my maternal grandfather, who shall remain nameless here. She was taken from Weldon to Trinity Texas to another sharecropping farm worked by his family. Within the space of three years, she had two children: Clois Eloise G. and James Basil G. The life on this farm was a living hell. First, besides doing “women’s work” in the house, she had to pick cotton with her babies in tow. She made a “sled out of feed sacks and placed my mother on the sled tying the sled around her waist. She made a cross body sling out of yet another sack, and put her son in the sling…Baby Bjorn for poor people. She spoke of picking a 100 lbs. on good days in the Texas heat with two children attached to her. My grandmother was 5 ft. 1 tall and weighed by herself about 100 lbs. She was carrying double her weight in children and picking cotton. In 1919 she had her third child, Valera G. Her husband, who was ten years older than she, was, for the most part, probably typical for men of that period. Uneducated, domineering, and he believed that women must obey or pay the price. Miss Dolly told me that the verbal abuse began almost immediately upon their marriage. Without too much detail, what passed for intimate relations would be called “rape” today. This information was later confirmed by her sisters, and my great grandmother. With her religious upbringing and the life that many women had to endure, poor women in particular, this was her lot in life. Divorce/separation was unthinkable. While pregnant with the third child, her husband who was 6ft 6in and weighed about 225 would grab her by her hair if she did not have his meals ready on time. He would hold her hand over the wood stove threatening to burn it. She said that if he had been drinking, he would hit her so hard that she would leave her feet and land on her back…while pregnant. These were the days of once one left home, there really was no communication with family and 10 miles was crossing the great divide. One of her older sisters left her home to come be with my grandmother to assist with this birth. She witnessed first-hand the abuse and beatings, but at that moment said nothing. She might have been killed by him or he would beat Miss Dolly even more. Once she returned to her family in Weldon, Texas she told her brothers, non- married and younger than Miss Dolly, what was going on. Two were doughboys from WW I and tough young men. The three brothers got on horseback, loaded with shot guns, and great grandpa Harrington took the wagon and mules to get Dolly.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">It took them nearly two days to get there. When they arrived, they found her husband in the field, surrounded him with loaded guns, righteous anger, and told to stay put. They were coming to take their sister and her children home. He tried to put up a fight, but according to the legend, he heard three shotguns being pumped…they loaded up their sister, their nieces and nephew and what little was hers, went back “home.” Oh, it gets better.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Several months later, in the middle of the night, her husband, with his siblings, came in the house with their guns and took the son, James Basil. He wanted his boy, but did not even approach the little girls. He had the young boy for a couple of months until the brothers went to the Sheriff in Crockett. He had served with one of the brothers in the war and together in a Model T drove to the G family place. The Sheriff basically told the G family that if they tried to take the boy back again, he would not responsible for what the Harrington men might do. I think that is called “frontier justice.” It was at that point that the Sheriff drove Miss Dolly to Crockett where he gave her the money to hire a lawyer. This lawyer did something remarkable for this time in history…he got Miss Dolly a divorce and custody of all her children. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">She said that while she was relieved to not be beaten and afraid 24 seven, she was a divorcee with three children…she felt like a real burden and failure to her parents as they still had three kids at home. In her early twenties, she had to make a choice. She had to survive and raise her kids without depending on her family to take care of her. The Sheriff once again came through. He knew of a job in Colmesneil, Texas running and managing the railroad depot. This was a man’s job, well just because it was . It also involved running a work crew of 10 black men to do repairs, load and unload freight, etc. Picture in your mind:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">1920’s South</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A petite white woman, a divorcee, doing a man’s job.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Under her management were African-American men.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A recipe for disaster maybe? People were still lynching black men. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The KKK had a huge membership in the twenties with the fear of immigrants, Catholics, Jews, and everyone else. Not politics…history.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">This did not scare her; she had survived beatings and much worse. She got the job (thanks to the Sheriff.) Her brothers moved her in a wagon to the house provided by the railroad company. She worked that depot job for almost 8 years. She kept the depot running smoothly. She would take the push car on the tracks to work sights to check on the men’s work while taking them water and food. She helped deliver a couple of African American babies as the white doctor would not do it. During these years, she could not escape tragedy. There was a national typhoid epidemic sweeping the country. Her baby daughter, Valera, age 7 took ill with typhoid and died in a span of three days. Having to be buried very quickly due to the epidemic, she had a funeral and buried her child alone in the Colmesneil Community Cemetery where Valera, Eloise, and Miss Dolly are now buried. Guess who dug the grave, built the coffin and stood with Miss Dolly? The black men and their families.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">When Miss Dolly died in 1986, the people at Edwards Funeral Home marveled and complained a little about the number of “coloreds” who came to pay their respects. Some were old signing the book with their “mark.” There was at least two full pages of "X's" and the signature of old tired people. They came back for the visitation to see Miss Dolly's little girl…there was some consternation on some faces…just sayin.’ Change moves slow in many places in America even today. But I was determined to be Miss Dolly’s child and welcome them to come sit with me. You must understand that whites and blacks had separate funeral homes and separate cemeteries even in the eighties. Some were the very young boys who worked the line under her; some were the children of these men who talked about her being the only white lady that treated them with respect. I cried like a baby…not for her death, but for the excellent life and example she left for the world. The picture you are seeing is when she was 40 years old. She hated every picture made before that. I can understand why.</span></div>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-35851866403033049492017-03-17T17:39:00.001-05:002017-03-17T17:39:07.404-05:00BUMP! SET! SPIKE! I FEEL THE EARTH MOVE BENEATH MY FEET.<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Coming as no surprise to anyone who has known me, athleticism would not be used to describe any part of my being. I avoided sweating for any reason even as a small child. I was a very internal child preferring reading to going outside to run, skip, and you can just forget anything that required jumping. Moving into the teenage years and college years the most athletic thing I did was march with the band while blowing a horn. So, to everyone’s surprise, including mine, for 21 years I lived in the world of cheerleading. That story line has already been introduced. Having spent 21 years sitting on bleachers of every type and safety level in the cold, rain, even a hurricane in stadiums and gyms across the the Gulf Coast, when I left cheerleading behind, I left athletic events in my rearview mirror.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">In 1994 I was lucky enough to go back to CFISD, Cy-Creek High School, as senior government/economics teacher. No extracurricular events and no dragging home late at night after watching one game after another, ad infinitum. I will tell you that Cy-Creek had some fantastic male athletes. Young men who would later become NFL players and Olympic swimmers, state winners on teams that did include young women. However, during their time in my classroom very little was said about their prowess on the field, on the court, or in the pool. School spirit had dwindled almost to nothing in most high schools in Texas, with Creek being one. School spirit was motto driven “you just can’t hide that Cougar pride,” and pep rallies were held at strange times only two or three per year. Honestly, that was fine with me. Until…</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">In 1997 in my fifth period government class, I had an unusual trio of young women. First, let’s remember that I am barely 5”1” on a good day. These three young women walk in my room into my room and they are very, very, very, tall and very athletic. I thought “Oh MY!” “I’m going to have to make them kneel so I can look them in the eye.” This was August so when they told me they played volleyball, I was like “Meh.” Like many standing in the stupid corner, I saw volleyball as the easy sport for girls. At this point, Linda Kubiak and Debbie Jaehne will be cursing me if they were to read this This what people did on the beach or in the backyard or at church camp. I had the same attitude towards volleyball that people had had about cheerleading. There was a part of me that probably thought that these girls were biding their time waiting for basketball to start. (Laveta Christian, you would have killed for the height on these girls.) August begins and they start playing in those early tournaments. On the morning announcements there would be one that would say Creek Volleyball won this tournament; so and so was all-tournament, etc. After a month of the endless wins, save for Friendswood, I thought to myself “I teach Kristy Rhodes. I teach Suzanne Wright. I teach Ashley Sheffield. Heck! I had even taught their Coach!” Maybe I should pay more attention. The other starting seniors were across the hall in Judy Henderson’s (now Thurn) classroom. I think between the two of us, we taught the varsity starting senior line-up. Judy would try to get me to come to the games and I would decline. As September rolled into October, the announcements kept announcing the volleyball team was now first in our district with game after game was being won. I would do my teacher duty and congratulate them. Finally, one of the young women, I think it was Kristy, asked me to come to their game. I figured why not? The one good thing in my mind was that volleyball games were shorter than football or basketball. Here’s what I saw and learned:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">You know warm-ups for anything are tedious and boring. That’s why they are done before a game I noticed the gym was getting crowded and my interest was piqued. Here come the Cy-Creek girls in this line by height running around the court. The coach moves to the net where she throws the ball up as if had been “set” by the setter, Marissa. Here come Kristy Rhodes from the far edge of the court…step, step, step, a little hop/skip, takes off from the floor, rises ABOVE THE FREAKING NET and KABOOM! I had never seen anything like that in my life. She lands, no expression, and walks off like it was no big thing. Then here comes the other girls, Suzanne, Ashley, and Danielle, doing their version of getting the ball over the net with one or two matching Kristy’s spike of death. The other team often would just stand there after hearing the first explosion. I’m sure they were thinking “Winter is Coming. Winter is Coming!” [ that’s for you GOT people reading this.] Or to paraphrase Roy from “Jaws” the coach of the other team was thinking “We’re goanna need a bigger boat full of taller girls.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">I, the one who sworn off of attending games, was hooked.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">From that moment I went to every game, to play offs no matter how far. It was the same thing game after game. I’m not sure Coach Jaehne’s strategy, but I like to think she sent Kristy out first to scare the living hell out of the other teams and then turned the others loose. It was not all the earth shaking spikes, I began to see the game play in what they did; the movement of people on the floor and how each position was supposed to work. For example, the setter, Marissa, created the ability for the other girls to “lower the boom.” If she missed her set, the thunder was not quite there. Their 5-A state final in Austin was a sight to behold. The gym was packed on both sides and I was crammed right in the middle of Judy Henderson and Diane Meyer. You would have thought we were at a Super Bowl.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">Here’s what I learned that year. The girls I taught were called the Triple Towers by me. I hit most of them at the waistline. They sat in a line across in my room. I learned that they had been playing for a long time, some doing the league thing travelling across the states. They played often to a slim crowd because, girls’ sports; yet, they played as if there were on national television stage. Their most loyal supporters were, of course, their parents. I know that Kristy’s mom, Karen, never missed a game anywhere. They were not flashy or always talking about what they had done. As they were winning and killing every opponent, the football team was having a losing season and still garnered all the attention. (don’t hate...it was what it was). They were, to my knowledge, never in academic trouble. In fact, they were really good students. They never were sent to the assistant principal’s office for anything. They were kind to other students and as a teacher, they were awesome to teach.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: large;">As they got ready to graduate, the athletic scholarships came pouring in. Four of the starting seniors went on to receive offers from schools in Texas and Tennessee. I think of this from time to time, and once again don’t kill the messenger: had these been four senior young men from one team, the noise would have been heard from coast to coast. We heard about their exploits from the Coach and then had to find out from the girls if it was true. They went on to college, played their sport, and GOT THEIR DEGREES! Some are teachers; some are mothers, and they all have lived and hopefully, will continue to live great lives. Looking back, they were in that first run of female athletes that would change the world of sport In the years to come. We would witness, the USA Women’s Soccer Team, see Mia Hamm idolized, watch Pat Summit and her Lady Vols capture TV audiences and national titles, and the list goes on and on. I look back after 46 years and consider the Creek Volleyball Team of that year one of the best things about my career.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: large;">I can still “feel the earth move under my feet” when Kristy got the spike just right.</span></span></div>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-70303231612653570882017-03-14T21:41:00.000-05:002017-03-14T21:41:38.376-05:00<h2 style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 1.6em; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin: 30px 0px 0px; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
ONE PERSON CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE</h2>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;">BUILDING CHAMPIONS</span></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">Winning has always meant much to me, but winning friends has meant the most. (Babe Zaharias)</span></em></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">When looking back over forty one years of teaching, there are many things that bring a sense of accomplishment and pride. The great majority of those memories center on the actual “art of teaching” in a classroom. The events and students in those many classrooms will always be a part of who I am as a person and educator. However, as in all of our lives, there are times that just stick out as being extra special. It is a strange and “twisty” tale of my extra special memory. Let me begin at the beginning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">In 1975, I was one of the few single female teachers at Cypress-Fairbanks High School. The principal, Mr. Watkins, was looking for a cheerleading “sponsor.” I was a fairly popular teacher, overly enthusiastic about the Bobcats, worked with the band on the side as a private music teacher, and just had my fingers in every little pie on campus. So, whom did he turn to to “sponsor” the cheerleaders? Me, of course! I basically had zero knowledge about what these girls did and frankly had the typical band “kid’s” disdain for the girls who shook their pom poms </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">J</span><span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;"> However, being the “goody two shoes” I was at the time, I took the job. The first few years, I truly was a sponsor. Knew nothing much, and actually, did nothing much but chaperone. When CFISD started allowing the girls to go to camp in the late 70’s, I had to accompany them. With nothing else to do on a college campus, I began attending sessions for sponsors and watched the really good groups of cheerleaders. Their sponsors were doing more than I was and were winning everything. The band geek came out and I wanted to win everything. I wanted my group to be the best. Over the course of the next four years, I acquired a great deal of expertise on what it took to have an effective cheerleading squad. I was inching away from sponsor towards , dare I say it, coach! From my knowledge gained at Cy-Fair High School, I was recruited to become the cheer coach (yes recruited as a coach) to little Tomball High School.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">Tomball High School was the one high school of a very small town 20 miles north of Houston. This was during a time when there were no freeways in that direction, so the little town still bore all the characteristics of a small Texas, semi-isolated/rural community. From 1984 to 1988 I began making significant changes to their cheerleading program. (That process is an entire book). By 1987, we had stepped into the nascent world of cheerleading competition. The cheer world realized the money and recognition that could be made by moving beyond camp competition into the state and national stage. It was a time when ESPN was opening up other athletic type activities to the world of cable television. Remember the times…this was all brand new. The girls of Tomball High School were, that year, hard working, physically sturdy, and I knew just enough about cheerleading that we went to our first nationals competition after qualifying by winning our camp. This type of competition requires a two to three minute “routine” showing all the aspects of cheerleading. From my circle of immediate peers, I pieced together a routine that looking back was fairly crude. Bless those girls. They poured their hearts and bodies into making a “sow’s ear into a silk purse.” We were doing the best we knew how. WE go to nationals in Nashville where we make the Top Ten! Seriously, I still don’t know how we did it. And, there were over 75 squads in our competitive group—all girl squad, 12 members and over. As the competition ended, I am sitting on the arena floor waiting for the crowds to clear. At the time, we were happy. Top Ten was great! We would make the “Tomball Potpourri,” the local newspaper. As I sat there, a tall, handsome, well-dressed African –American male approached me. I can still see that he had on a cool hat. He stands in front of me and introduces himself (actually reintroduces himself), “Hi, I am Tommy Amico.” “I worked with your Cy-Fair girls at camp.” WOW! I did remember Tommy. He had recruited Karen M., one of my favorite CFHS girls, to teach summer camps and they were fast friends. Tommy had been working the nationals that week. He sat down beside me and said confidently, “Call me when you are ready to win this thing.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">Spring comes, new cheerleading squad, and my principal asks me what it would take to win the nationals. He had a flair for knowing that these things, while not the most important in the scheme of school, would help get Tomball High School noticed. He said what would be the number one thing I would need to win. I did not hesitate one minute. I said “Let me hire a choreographer! And, let me hire Tommy Amico from Kansas City, Missouri.” We went through the usual how much, how long, etc. I contacted Tommy, agreements were made, and I scheduled his arrival at THS for two weeks in August to prep the girls for the routine he would create. The day arrives. Early morning on campus. Drill team is practicing, Student Council is there doing something, football players are milling, cheerleaders are waiting, and in walks a 6’ black man! Please understand…this was a school of 90% white students. The African-American students we had, as a rule, were very poor, still living in segregated areas outside the main part of town. The African-American students we had that were involved played football and maybe basketball. They did NOT come in dressed cheerleading workout gear ready to teach, “gasp,” dance! The girls were both in shock and in awe. They knew from nationals that this guy “knew cheerleading,” but he was different. However, like most students, they gave him the benefit of the doubt from day one. Kids are like that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">He pulls out his work out tape, places it in the cassette, and immediately begins doing simple dance moves to R and B . He was moving his hips folks, in rhythm to the music. These girls knew country western line dancing…but this? Seriously…move our hips like this? Will the Lutheran Church allow this? Please understand there was absolutely nothing lurid about the moves, but boy were they different. Patiently for two days these white bread girls began to get a sense of what was to come. Step by step, arm motion by arm motion, stunt by stunt, the three minute routine came together in rough draft form. They went home exhausted, stinky, and back early the next morning. As the routine began to take shape, the milling students began to stand and watch for hours this man work with these girls. The drill team even got a little “snarky.” Cheerleaders don’t dance and certainly not with the latest music. Tommy would refine, retune, and edit our routine over the course of the next four months. He became a fixture around the campus as he would fly in for super long weekends or even a week. Once the routine was completed, he would come to school dressed like a professional businessman. Quietly, the African-American students began to walk up to him, ask him his name, what he was doing at THS, and where was he from? As we would prepare for workout, he would be surrounded by these students carrying on conversations. By now, my cheerleaders would get jealous because he was “their Tommy” brought to town for them. As December approached, it was decided that Tommy would come to Tomball and fly out with us on the way to Nashville. He would be with us every step. WE flew in, we competed, and came in SECOND! Whoa, what a leap in placement. We made the front pages of the “Potpourri” and the “1960 Sun.” That spring, same conversation with the principal. Negotiate with Mr. Amico, as my principal called him. No other choreographer was considered. July, 1988, Mr. Amico Goes to Tomball for SIX weeks! He stays at my house (gasp), shops in Tomball, tries to find a place to do “his hair,” comes up on campus where people begin to recognize him and call him by name. He eats lunch with the girls and visits with the African-American students who gravitate to him. He crafts a show stopping routine. He even takes our uniform tailor to the fabric store to hunt for the right material. She even makes him two custom suits while he is there! December arrives. Round Two, Quest for Nationals, Leave for Nashville, and this time we have a plane load of parents, community members, school board members, and our entire TISD administration. Not kidding. Had the plane crashed, the head custodian would have been in charge </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">J</span><span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;"> As we prepare for the competition, I see these various people talking to Tommy on the side, asking his opinion of our chances, laughing with him about my quirks, and on and on. He moves between the various girls saying just the right thing. He keeps me calm. Not only had Tommy prepared the entire squad for this moment, he had worked with the five girls who had been chosen at camp to participate in the individual competitions. He created cheers and dances for them at no charge. He coached them and gave them just what they needed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;"><strong>December 1989! </strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;"><strong>THS CHEERLEADERS WIN NATIONAL TITLE!</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;"><strong>Individuals Capture 1, 2, 3, and 5th with $27,000.00 Cash Prizes</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">We made the front page of the “Potpourri,” “The Sun,” and the Lifestyle section of the “Houston Chronicle.” We were on “Good Day Houston” morning program. This put little Tomball on the map alright. We would repeat this performance again the following year including the individual placements. We would come in third the next because frankly we could not win that year. We had taken all the trophies and the money. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">J</span><span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;"> But these accomplishments pale in comparison to the real result. In this context of something that many folks perceive to be a silly activity depicted in the movie “Bring it On (parts I and II)” was the forging of lifelong lessons in human relationships.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 10.7333px;">A world of long established preconceived notions was suddenly more open to change and acceptance of others “not like us.” As a teacher, Tommy Amico taught me more than I can type in this essay about African-American literature, music, cooking, ways of thinking, and friendship. This white “under tall for her weight” Texas school teacher suddenly became more aware of the needs of her students of any color. I now had ways to relate to them that gave my teaching real relevance and importance. For once, I was able to connect and make a difference to all of my students, not some of my students. I began to, in earnest, pursue ways to deepen these connections. Thanks to Tommy Amico I took a six week Humanities seminar at the University of Virginia in African-American literature. And Culture. I witnessed girls’ lives be changed for the better because he came into their world. He pushed them to be better athletes. He gave comfort to those who struggled with all types of issues. He chastised those who felt it was their “right” to do certain things in relation to the squad. He spoke of moral and ethical behavior, not just getting that flip-flop timed perfectly. And, when he got on that plane for what would be the last time heading off to Kansas City there were a bunch of tears. I am not discounting my part in this process; however, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Tommy Amico changed lives in that small town in Texas. </span></div>
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Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-10131132777868697362017-03-14T21:25:00.001-05:002017-03-14T21:25:46.043-05:00FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS TOMBALL STYLE. : Living in a Small Town<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS: TOMBALL STYLE</span></div>
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<span class="s2">In 1982, Hap Harrington, superintendent of schools for TISD, called Carlos Watkins to see if the Tomball High School cheerleaders could come observe one of the very famous CFHS pep rallies. Mr. Harrington, when principal of Klein High School, had seen the CFHS cheerleaders in action at a football game and was very impressed with the whole BFND atmosphere. On A Friday, eight cheerleaders and Kit Pfeiffer, an assistant principal, stood in the gym and witnessed a very typically packed gym going wild with school spirit. [and CFHS had a losing season] After the rally, she talked to me about the cheer program, what I taught, and CFHS’ BFND attitude. They left; I went to class. Into the spring semester, I received a phone call from Mr. Harrington who promptly reminded me that we were actually third cousins on Miss Dolly’s side. Tried to pull the family card; yes he did! He asked if I would come to Tomball to interview for a cheerleader coaching position. Yep! You heard correctly. Not a sponsor, but a coach. By this time, I had become a coach: I attended workshops; watched our coaches at CFHS in how they worked with their athletes, etc. I also had grown a bit bored teaching American History for 12 years and wanted a change in subject matter. It was evident that I was not going to move to another course, so off to Tomball HS I went. I had déjà vu all over again </span><span class="s3">:O</span><span class="s2"> Out Telge Road (no houses, farm land, and turned on 2920 which had no businesses like you see today. There was the four corners where the same flag installation stands today. A Gibson’s store (non-existent today), turned left on 149—not 249. Turned at Sandy Lane and there is was. A small one story high school: compared to CFHS it was small.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I interviewed with John Neubauer and Hap Harrington. The entire conversation was how to build school spirit and an outstanding cheer program. I gave them my thoughts; we talked salary, facilities, and the last question was twofold: What classes would you like to teach? Can you start cheerleading work in June? I said senior government and yes. I walked out of THS stunned and by the time I got back home to Cypress, I had a bit of “buyer’s remorse.” I called Miss Dolly and she was apoplectic! Leaving a very secure teaching position to start over. She called Hap and I still don’t know what was said. But, she gave her blessing. I went to Mr. Watkins and explained what I had done. His hands were tied for there were no openings in either World History or government departments. I resigned my position, and signed a contract with TISD.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Many of you live in what I call the Tomball Greater Area which absolutely looks nothing like the Tomball Lesser Area of the 1980’s. There was “old” Tomball, the movers and shakers of the city. Down 149 to the South was the “new “Tomball who had moved into Lakewood, Gettysburg, Heatherwood, and other new subdivisions. There was nothing at all except mobile home sales places coming into the city. THS had approximately 700-800 students, one junior high, and maybe four elementaries. THS had a relatively new coaching staff headed by Coach Lynn Etheridge. New band director and new drill team director for the Cougar Charms. Hap’s plan was this: BUILD IT AND THEY WILL COME. Let me explain</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Hap was a visionary. The Willowbrook area, 149, etc. was about to explode due to the Compaq computer campus at Louetta and 149. It would become HP and is now Lonestar College, University Park. TISD would be “competing” for new students with CFISD which was setting a very high standard for school districts at the time. More people=more tax dollars=better schools, etc. He wanted TISD to be the best in the state.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">His philosophy today might seem a little out there in these days of testing, accountability, state mandates, bureaucracies, etc. But then, those things really did not exist and it was still local districts controlled most of their destiny. The philosophy was:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Have a great athletic program that wins and gets attention from press.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Have a great band program.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Have a great drill team program.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Have a great cheer program</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Have a great choir program, and on and on.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fill the stadium on Friday nights and people will start wanting to move to TISD.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Realtors will start pushing the district.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Home builders will start looking at the land surrounding Tomball for future development.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Which equals what? Say it with me! More tax dollars, better schools.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">As in CFHS I had a marvelous 12 years in Tomball. I got to finally teach Seniors and I had some of the greatest students in the world. My cheerleaders starting in 1982 to 1994 were some of the neatest, most hardworking athletic young women I worked with. They were two TOTALLY DIFFERENT experiences from which I grew as a teacher and a person interacting with others. I have many tales for Tomball as I do for CFHS. I had the honor of teaching at what I like to call the “MOTHER SHIPS” of school districts. No matter how many high schools are built the heart of a district always remains in the first. Take a look at Klein ISD. The mother ship: Klein High School. CFiSD: Cy-Fair High School. Tomball: Tomball High School.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I read where Hap passed away last year. If you went to THS in the 80’s, can you remember he was IN every pep rally, at every athletic event, or any event that involved THS students? My hope is to write about my experience of working in a “small, rural (at the time)” school district and the joys that come with that experience. Get ready! I have great stories. GO! COUGARS!</span></div>
Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-9157579424540134522017-03-14T21:20:00.001-05:002017-03-14T21:20:40.046-05:00On A Backroad You'll See the Most Unique Things
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, here's what happened today. On a back back dirt road between Magnolia and Navasota </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVRWJsMpkSfh7RWCCkV6RsyrwUJ1RUBzF2GcPFP4ue9ESSIck0lfC1fY3k6WyzWHSbeC-vQkL4ERj1QA_NviLTidh7NOUW5ThCjK7AFlUqQTUjVqFAaNZJeWfo-4oVNiVVzIYGcUm9PQ/s1600/fullsizeoutput_111.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVRWJsMpkSfh7RWCCkV6RsyrwUJ1RUBzF2GcPFP4ue9ESSIck0lfC1fY3k6WyzWHSbeC-vQkL4ERj1QA_NviLTidh7NOUW5ThCjK7AFlUqQTUjVqFAaNZJeWfo-4oVNiVVzIYGcUm9PQ/s320/fullsizeoutput_111.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I came upon a farm. The cows had the longest horns I have seen in a long time. The manager of the farm stopped in his Gator to check me out. I showed him my camera and all was good. He said these are Butler Longhorns. He told me these are highly coveted breed of cattle. He said the UT type longhorn is this cross bred with others. So, nothing spectacular and grandiose, but yet, it is.</span></span></span></div>
<a name='more'></a>Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-70956539989545963192017-02-11T14:30:00.000-06:002017-02-11T14:30:23.896-06:00YOU NEVER KNOW WHERE SOME ENCOUNTERS WILL LEAD<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Each time I see my dog from in a perspective, I am reminded of how people come into our lives in random and fantastic ways. Several years ago, I was contemplating moving after having lived in one place for eleven years. At the same time I had taken on this puppy, Dolly, forgetting the time and commitment they take from their humans. My main dilemma at the time was "dog sitting services" as I work part-time as a college professor. This requires my being gone for many hours a couple of days per week. She, who would NOT be crate trained, created this need for a "sitter." My first thought was "this is just stupid." There are children who don't have reliable care...Cutting to the chase; I was sitting on a stair by the condo I was thinking about moving in to with dog in tow. She had to meet the future landlord. As I sat there, I heard the tinkling of dog tags, looked up, and there was a woman with two Yorkies! She stopped and indicated she lived next door. We chatted for a bit and I asked if she knew of any dog sitters/walkers in the complex. "Well, I am a dog walker." SERENDIPITY!!!<br />
I am embarrassed to say that she begin to refuse payment after a month.<br />
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After one month Dolly stayed with her and her husband many days. She would go over for "playdates." Fast forward to 2014 when I was diagnosed with cancer (now long gone). My #1 worry...Dolly. I knew that this would require Dolly being not with me for stretches of time as she is little and my feet are slow. Debbie and her husband had moved by this time to a nearby home. When I told her of my diagnosis, she quickly put me on notice that I was not to worry that Dolly would be well taken care of.<br />
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Indeed she was and is well taken care of! Not only did Debbie take care of my dog, she became my driver, grocery shopper, prescription getter, and on and on and on. Today she or her husband texts to see if Dolly can come over. She goes and sometimes spends two or three days😊😀😀 I had others who could and did help me. However, Debbie had the ability and time to put me at ease about the life's daily requirements. She is one of my dearest friends whom I would have never met if not for a dog and a move.Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-72572399713991567302015-07-17T19:48:00.001-05:002015-07-17T19:48:26.210-05:00And, So It GoesAnd, so it goes...<br />
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Exactly one year ago I was in the midst of teaching two summer school classes at the college and took on a third in an emergency. That was about as busy as I cared to be at the time. I felt "tired" a lot and insomnia had become the norm. One thing led to another and I was forced to make a "lady doctor's" appointment for stuff I had not thought about in years. And, here's where my personal God thing began its journey.<br />
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I went through a web program hunting a female physician, who took my insurance, and practiced near my home. I came across this one doctor who had ONE appointment open in the week and no more for months. She met my criteria so I snagged the appointment! The name sounded familiar, but I have met so many people that everyone sounds familiar. With paper work in hand I headed off for "that" exam....ladies you know what I mean.<br />
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Sitting on the table, half-dressed, and nervous as a cat in a room full of rockers, I waited. The door opens and OMG there stands Dr. Stephanie Bruce, nee Swafford. Tomball High School class of late 80's, drum major of the band (all 5' nothing), big bows in her hair (thus nickname "Bowhead"), and my new doctor. We laughed and hugged. I won't go into the gory details, but within 4-5 days she had diagnosed me with uterine cancer. She looked at me and to paraphrase told me we would get through this together. I knew that God had brought us together and I looked at her and adopted my mantra for the upcoming adventure, "What's next?" She went into gear and hooked me up the fantastic Dr. Richard Drake of Texas Oncology at Willowbrook Methodist. He later told me that he knew he had to get me well because he did not want to deal with Dr. Bruce :)<br />
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As things go with cancer, I had to have two major surgeries, three radiation treatments, and three chemoes. In the scope of cancer, it was nothing compared to what I saw people going through in the treatment rooms. At each turn Dr. Bruce was kept in the information loop and called to check on me about halfway through. I said something to her at one point that I could never thank her enough for her kindness and pushing through paperwork, etc. to get me on the road to a cure. She replied that it was the least she could do because of what I (and she mentioned others) taught her in high school. She said she always wanted to repay us. That did it. I realized that all those years of teaching all those students were indeed for a purpose. Here was this great physician whom I had not seen since graduation day at Tomball High School and 30 years later...she would begin the steps to my eventual wellness.<br />
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Yes, the cancer is gone! I have new purpose (that's another blog) and I can close my eyes and be in Room 106, second row on left, last desk of three...there sits "Bowhead" who would save my life so many years later. <br />
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Thank you Dr. Bruce!Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-81630808248712545192014-01-08T16:39:00.000-06:002014-01-08T16:39:30.563-06:00SONG REMAINS THE SAME<br />
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This Tuesday, my very long vacation from college teaching ends. My teaching is done through the Lonestar College System, Cy-Fair College, Fairbanks Center. I have done adjunct work for nearly 25 years and each year I find it, like all teaching at all levels, both rewarding, frustrating, and at times, just darn tiring. First, let me say this with the understanding I may anger someone who stumbles across this, teaching at the college level is a giant piece of carrot cake with a good cup of coffee compared to teaching K-12. It wasn't until I started teaching only at the college level did I realize exactly how RFD (see above adjectives) teaching was. So, I felt the need to take a step back and remember all of my colleagues still "in the trenches," teaching 7-8 periods per day, with 150 students (secondary level), benchmarking this, testing that, meeting this, meeting that, modifications this, disciplinary that; you get the picture. And, should you not understand anything about the previous sentences, talk to a teacher friend.<br />
Back to the topic: teaching at a community college is a unique experience and it, too, comes with its own set of challenges. When I open class on Tuesday, I will have three sections of some of the MOST diverse students one can imagine. The diversity is not just based on race/ethnicity; it is based on age, military service, family issues, work issues, language issues, and ones that I don't even know about yet. These students come for many reasons to the doors of a community college. Most of the reasons are legitimate, some are questionable.<br />
For example: <br />
<ul>
<li>I didn't have anything else to do.</li>
<li>I was told everyone had to go to college.</li>
<li>My parents made me go to college.</li>
<li>I don't want to work.</li>
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Here is what I know: these reasons usually result in wasting money for classes not attended and nothing being learned. You would be surprised how many times those four items are listed as the reason for college. We need a "gap/public service" option in this country.<br />
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Then, there are the students who are there, but don't know what they are going to do past their time at the community college:<br />
<ul>
<li>Clueless about their skills/talents/personalities. So , they all major in general business or some other generic degree program. Don't hate the messenger; it is a major problem.</li>
<li>Do not know details about how to get to the next level of education or training.</li>
<li>Taking courses they don't need because of their current plans or training. (this happens frequently)</li>
<li>Believe that what they do at the community college level doesn't follow them FOREVER! </li>
<li>Trying to undo the damage done at a four year university that was too big, too much, and they made a 1.5 GPA. Now they have to undo the damage, lose the expensive tuition, and do not realize how hard it is to bring that GPA up.</li>
</ul>
Before I go further, the ONE THING that causes the above list is the student's do NOT know how to become self directed. The information and people are there for almost anything they need, but because college is usually impersonal, transitory, and very few personal bonds are made with professors. Simply, they have no guidance. Some of these students are "victims" of the infamous "helicopter" parents who did everything for them leaving their grown child helpless. I spend much time on trying to teach DUE DILIGENCE which is my fancy way of saying "you have to dig out the information for yourself."<br />
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And, then there are the students who<br />
<ul>
<li>Work 40-60 hours per week.</li>
<li>Work the over night shift and come to the 7:00 am classes every time.</li>
<li>Work two-three jobs and never miss a class.</li>
<li>The "older" student who does everything "old school" and actually survives very well "Thank you very much."</li>
<li>The veteran who doesn't want "Thank you for your service:" they want the Veterans Bureau to follow through quicker than six months to two years for benefits and services. By the way, Lonestar does have an outstanding Veterans office or some of these men and women would not make it.</li>
<li>The 25-30 year old who realizes that minimum wage is just that...the bare necessities.</li>
<li>The FIRST in their family to go past high school.</li>
<li>The student who has left their family in Vietnam, China, Latin America, Africa, etc. and are here ALONE! The look on their faces when the typical American student attitudes surface is awesome. </li>
<li>Want someone to say "Good Morning,etc." "How are you?" There are some very solitary students on these campuses, which is another blog.</li>
</ul>
As an adjunct professor who is able to teach two separate courses, I have been blessed to have some students take me for FOUR courses. Those students have enabled me to better understand their lives which are rather typical of their peers. It is amazing how they will "latch" on to a professor they believe cares about them for advice and mentoring. Such is the way it has been since the first classroom.<br />
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The overall benefit of teaching at the college level is that there is minimum invasive curriculum limits. There are learning outcomes and course expectations, but professors can go where the "teachable moment" takes them. And it is done at the right "moment" it is the one thing the students will recall as their favorite time in the class.<br />
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I actually look forward to Tuesday morning at 7:00 am for History 1301: Pre-Columbian Exploration to Civil War. Thank heaven for McDonald's early opening with good consistent coffee. Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-69725475794577976032014-01-07T03:48:00.001-06:002017-03-17T17:30:50.516-05:00Polar Vortex vs. Spring in Texas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I realize that there are many things about the state in which I was born that are just hard to take. Our political leaders are truly one of a kind (thank God). We have issues with women's rights, gay rights, children's health care, and on and on and on. We have much to be grateful for: a booming economy, in most places. Great roads and highways, almost everywhere. A great accent when traveling to "Yankee" territory. That experience is akin to traveling to a foreign country where the natives just want to stand around and talk to you because you speak English. We are not Southern, but we are not western either.<br />
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However, the single one thing that we have 9 months of the year, is excellent weather! Spring in Texas is simply glorious...it is our time when people travel to see the wildflowers. This time of the year is akin to heading to the Northeast to see fall foliage. Through out the state between March to the first of May, all kinds of wildflowers pop up. They pop up on the roadside, in the medians on the interstates, huge fields along the state roads, and they really do take one's breath away. It is my favorite time of the year because the sunroof can go back, windows down, and the air is clean.<br />
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Don't get me wrong...we have a version of a polar vortex....it is the last of June to mid-September.. Our vortex is called HINGES OF HELL because that is how hot it gets here. Nothing is more fun than to walk outside at 7 AM with 80 degrees and 700% humidity. I pity the people with curly hair...Then by noon, touching the exterior of one's car can call for a trip to the emergency clinic for burns. We are the air conditioning capital of the world and to the person who invented AC , you should be made a saint. Could someone call Pope Francis? I think I would rather be hot than frozen. I am not sure there are enough layers to make me comfortable. I don't like hot...but once again...yea AC!!!<br />
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As I watch CNN at 4 AM, I will think about the Midwest, Northeast, and places in between. It is 25 this morning in Houston, but by noon it will be about 50 with sun. Maybe by then I can take a nap.Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215292125415874614.post-35380511111418938892011-08-08T15:36:00.002-05:002011-08-08T15:56:08.490-05:00OK! One more. If you did not watch FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS, then you are missing what may be the greatest piece of recent television or at least one of the finest written programs in 30 years. It is not a show about football! And, it is. Football is the story telling vehicle for this fine piece of television. The show takes place in a fictional Texas town of Dillon, Texas. It could be any town in Texas, particularly a small, one high school town. For those of you who grew up in a large urban setting, the show will not resonate as much as it does for those whose formative years were spent in the Dillons all over Texas. With typical Hollywood abandon, some of the story lines were just not "real." The manner in which the public schools were run and decisions made were just laughable; however, once again, the whole set up was to tell a story. I have to admit that I do wince a couple of times about certain actions depicted on the show because I did see, up close and personal, them in my years as a cheerleading coach involved with high school football programs. But, the show is so much more than that. <div>
<br /></div><div>For the skeptics , just watching the television treatment of the marriage between "Coach Eric and Tammy Taylor" makes the entire series worth while. It is rare to see Texas through Hollywood's lens depict a serious relationship with truth, compassion, honesty, and true regard for the hard work that marriage is. How Connie Britton or Kyle Chandler have not won an Emmy is beyond me. I encourage you all to give it a try. I will remember, forever, a pivotal scene when, "bad girl," Tyra's college essay is read. It was one of the finest pieces of writing I have heard in a long time. This little show that was at death's door several times is a study in redemption, survival, raising kids, staying together, and "Texas Forever."
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<br /> I see a lot of former students in "Friday Night Lights." I have taught the Matt Saracens, the Tim Riggins, the Lyla Garrity's , the Tyra's, the Jess' , and all of the wonderful characters shown week after week. FNL is available on Netflix and on ESPN. I think it is one time that Hollywood has come close to hitting home runs that can make a difference. Do yourself a favor; you will not regret it. And, you will cry!</div>Twitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07879959468447976793noreply@blogger.com0