Race:
The thing was, we were supposed to be English, but to the English we were always wogs and nigs and Pakis and the rest of it. (53)
The immigrant is the Everyman of the twentieth century. (141)
You couldn't ler the ex-colonialists see you on your knees, for that was where they expected you to be. They were exhausted now; their Empire was gone, their day was done and it was our turn. I didn't want Dad to see me like this, because he wouldn't be able to understand why I'd made such a mess of things when the conditions had been good, the time so opportune, for advancement. (250)
Sex:
[Sex with Jamila] It was all pretentious, of course, and I learned nothing about sex, not the slightest thing about where and how and here and there, and I lost none of my fear of intimacy. (52)
As she tugged me towards it and I inhaled urine, shit, and disinfectant cocktail I associated with love, I just had to stop and think. (55)
whether sexual experimentation was merely bourgeois indulgence or a contribution to the dissolution of established society. (148)
Wit:
'Cuba wasn't won by getting up late, was it? Fidel and Che didn't get up at two in the afternoon, did they? They didn't even have time to shave!' (56)
I didn't want to work in a place where I couldn't wear my fur coat. (95)
she hailed a cab - absolute Roman decadence (113)
Now do The Mad Dog Blues for me, please. Brilliantly (139)
But he's not fucking here, unless I've gone blind. (139)
He was quiet and distant tonight, as if he couldn't be bothered with the performace of conversation. He spoke only in murmured cliches, as if to underline the banality of the evening. (199)
But I can't have people - men - telling me what to do. If Pyke wants me to be with him, then I must follow my desire. (226)
I greeted him with a scream which rose from my stomach and flew across the air like a jet. (234)
the socks were perfect - you can always tell a quality dresser by the socks. (267)
Coming of Age:
There are certain looks on certain faces I don't want to see again, and this was one of them. Confusion and anguish and fear clouded his face. (66)
[Eva] Sometimes she became childlike and you could see her at eight or seventeen or twenty-five. The different ages of her life seemed to exist simultaneously, as if she could move from age to age according to how she felt (86)
For Mum, life was fundamentally hell. You went blind, you got raped, people forgot your birthday, Nixon got elected, your husband fled with a blonde from Beckenham, and then you got old, you couldn't walk and you died. (105)
When you think of the people you adore there are usually moments you can choose - afternoons, whole weeks, perhaps - when they are at their best, when youth and wisdom, beauty, poisse combine perfectly. (106)
[reminds me of Gatsby] Like Andre Gide, who when young expected people to admire him for the books he would write in the future, Charlie came to love being appreciated in several high streets for his potential. But he earned this appreciation with his charm, which was often mistaken for ability. (118)
But now, at the beginning of my twenties, something was growing in me. Just as my body had changed at puberty, not I was developing a sense of guilt, a sense not only of how I appeared to others, but of how I appeared to myself, especially in violating self-imposed prohibitions. (186)
You go all your life thinking of your parents as these crushing protective monsters with infinite power over you, and then there's a day when you turn round, catch them unexpectedly, and they're weak, nervous people trying to get by with each other (228)
I thought of how, when I was a kid, Dad always out-ran me as we charged across the park towards the swimming pool. When we wrestled on the floor he always pinned me down, sitting on my chest and making me say I'd obey him always. Now he couldn't move without flinching. I'd become the powerful one; I couldn't fight him - I wanted to fight him - without destroying him in one blow. (261)
Culture:
This was the English passion, not for self-improvement or culture or wit, but for DIY, Do It Yourself, for bigger and better houses with more mod cons, the painstaking accumulation of comfort and, with it, status - the concrete display of earned cash. (75)
I saw she wanted to scour that suburban stigma right off her body. She didn't realize it was in the blood and not on the skin; she didn't see there could be nothing more suburban than suburbanites repudiating themselves. (134)
Pyke's shows were also commended for their fantastic intermissions, dazzling occassions where the fashionable audience came dressed in such style they resembled peasants, industrial workers (boiler suits) or South American insurgents (berets). (160)
None of this seemed like work to me, and I loved to think of what the suburban commuters in our street, who were paying for us through their taxes, would have made of a gand of grown-ups being pop-up toasters, surfboards, and typewriters. (168)
We have class, race, fucking and farce. What more could you want as an evening's entertainment? (189)
I walked around Central London and saw that the town was being ripped apart; the rotten was being replaced by the new, and the new was ugly. The gift of creating beauty had been lost somewhere. The ugliness was in the people, too. (258)
Education:
Most of the kids I grew up with left school at sixteen, and they's be in insurance now, or working as car-mechanince, or managers (radio and TV dept) in deptartment stores. And I'd walked out of college withouth thinking twice about it, despite my father's admonitions. In the suburbs education wasn't considered a particular advantage, and certainly couldn't be seen as worthwhilein itself. Getting into business young was more importnat. Bot not I was among people who wrote books as naturally as we played football. What infuriated me - what made me loather both them and myself - was their confidence and knowledge. The easy talk of art, theatre, architecure, travel; the languages, the vocabulary, knowing the way round a whle culture - it was invaluable and irreplaceable capital.
At my school they taught you a bit of French, but anyone who attempted to pronounce a word correctly was laughed down. On a trip to Calais we attacked a Frog behind a restaurant. By this ignorance we knew ourselves to be superior to the public-school kids, with their puky uniforms and leather briefcases, and Mummy and Daddy waiting outside in the car to pick them up. We were rougher; we disrupted all lessons; we were fighters; we never carried no effeminate briefcases since we never did no homework. We were proud of never learning anything execpt the names of footballers, the personnel of rock groups and the lyrics of 'I am the Walrus'. What idiots we were! How misinformed! Why didn't we understand that we were happily condemning ourselves to being nothing better than motor-mechanics! Why couldn't we see that? (177-178)
May 29, 2006
May 10, 2006
Letter to the Eiteljorg
John Vanausdall
President and CEO
Eiteljorg Museum
500 West Washington St.
Indianapolis, IN 46204
Dear John,
A few days ago, on May 5th, 2006, I was one of the thousands of people that flooded your city to participate in the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon. I decided to come down a day early to visit your museum. This was my second visit to your campus and it looks like you have really grown since my last trip six years ago when I was an undergraduate at Indiana University – Bloomington.
I think that your museum perfectly captures the Zeitgeist of the early American West. It seems that every detail, from the architecture to the signage to the selected gallery pieces, helps to enhance the visitor’s appreciation of the beauty and hardships of the past. Additionally, your contemporary gallery always treats me to what issues current artists are grappling with.
However, during my last visit one thing detracted from my experience of the wonderfully fluid Remington statues, the semi-abstractionist works of O’Keeffe, and the masterful use of light in Hulling’s “Wash Day”. The only thing that broke the trance and silence of the West was the two security guards in the Gund Gallery and the Art of the American West Gallery and their incessant talking.
Throughout my trip, they walked next to each other talking, not in museum voices mind you, about friends who were mixed up in drugs, a relative who “is dating part-Hispanic”, and other personal issues. When I visit other museums, it is hard enough to get a “hello” out of the security guards because of the respect for other patrons so to see two employees chatting it up for at least 90 minutes was frustrating - to put it nicely. I even found myself rushing through one of my favorite museums or neglecting certain pieces because of the proximity to the guards.
No doubt, one day soon I will come back to your museum, it is too much of a treasure to pass up when I am visiting Indianapolis. However, in my recommendations and recollections of the Eiteljorg, the employee’s rude behavior will unfortunately taint the memory of an otherwise outstanding weekend.
Sincerely,
JM
cc: Lezlie Laxton, HR Manager
President and CEO
Eiteljorg Museum
500 West Washington St.
Indianapolis, IN 46204
Dear John,
A few days ago, on May 5th, 2006, I was one of the thousands of people that flooded your city to participate in the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon. I decided to come down a day early to visit your museum. This was my second visit to your campus and it looks like you have really grown since my last trip six years ago when I was an undergraduate at Indiana University – Bloomington.
I think that your museum perfectly captures the Zeitgeist of the early American West. It seems that every detail, from the architecture to the signage to the selected gallery pieces, helps to enhance the visitor’s appreciation of the beauty and hardships of the past. Additionally, your contemporary gallery always treats me to what issues current artists are grappling with.
However, during my last visit one thing detracted from my experience of the wonderfully fluid Remington statues, the semi-abstractionist works of O’Keeffe, and the masterful use of light in Hulling’s “Wash Day”. The only thing that broke the trance and silence of the West was the two security guards in the Gund Gallery and the Art of the American West Gallery and their incessant talking.
Throughout my trip, they walked next to each other talking, not in museum voices mind you, about friends who were mixed up in drugs, a relative who “is dating part-Hispanic”, and other personal issues. When I visit other museums, it is hard enough to get a “hello” out of the security guards because of the respect for other patrons so to see two employees chatting it up for at least 90 minutes was frustrating - to put it nicely. I even found myself rushing through one of my favorite museums or neglecting certain pieces because of the proximity to the guards.
No doubt, one day soon I will come back to your museum, it is too much of a treasure to pass up when I am visiting Indianapolis. However, in my recommendations and recollections of the Eiteljorg, the employee’s rude behavior will unfortunately taint the memory of an otherwise outstanding weekend.
Sincerely,
JM
cc: Lezlie Laxton, HR Manager
May 8, 2006
Indianapolis Mini Marathon
On Saturday, I ran the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon. I arrived in Indy around 10:00 a.m. and went to the Eiteljorg (I'll save that for another post) and had lunch with my friend A. at Einstein Bros. Around 2 I drove to the airport to pick up K, and we killed some time going up to the top of the Circle Center Monument which was hot and graffittied and hanging out at Borders filling our heads with places to travel.
After A got off work we walked over to the Convention Center for the Race Expo. We picked up our bib numbers, I bought a mini-marathon shirt, and we had a fruitless search for red running socks. After dinner at Rock Bottom, the three of us went back to A's nice new digs and went to sleep.
We woke up at 6:00 a.m. and put on our race gear, drove up to the race, and walked a few blocks in the morning cold to the starting line. Because we had estimated that our finishing time would 2:40:00 we were placed in carrol 'P' we found our way through the crowd to the appropriate place and seemed to fit in with the rest of the people.
Before each race, K and I like to find 'our people' the runners. It's hard to describe who we look for but the main qualification is that they look a little pokey for some reason. The 'P' carrol had some of our people but some serious looking runners. I guess with a race of 35,000 people that's to be expected. The race officials play the national anthem, a local priest gives a prayer, and the race is underway. K, A, and I just stand there. About fourteen minutes later, we make it up to the starting line and start the race.
A runs with us a couple of minutes but then heads off at a quicker pace. Just past the first turn with the Eiteljorg and State Museum on the right, there is a little patch of bushes. I look over and see at least 15 guys peeing in the woods and running back to the course. The course is lined with bands of all kinds playing and once you would get out of earshot of one another would be right up ahead. We heard Jamaican Music (my favorite of the day), high school rock bands playing Weezer and originals, a cello and fiddle rocking out to "Play that Funky Music White Boy", metal and a guy with an acoustic singing Guster. Some people opted not to play at all but instead prostelize about how the most important marathon is the one heavenward.
Around Mile 3 were passed by a gorilla and I yelled, "Good job, gorilla!" which got a laugh out of the fellow runners and a fist pump from the great ape. A few minutes later, we were the ones doing the passing, as we crept ahead of a man wearing a full firefighters suit (with oxygen strapped on his back and a mask on) who was raising money for charity.
We continued running, getting water and gatorade at the numerous rest areas, as we approached mile 6 and the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. This was by far the coolest part of the race but also the most challenging. On TV, the Indy Race track looks like it takes about 30 seconds to aip around. What we don't realize is that the track is 2.5 miles long and what we don't see are all the little groves in the track like a giant record. The course seems to go on and on and you can't even see the opposite side from the one you are on. The grooves are close enough together that made me a little dizzy. It was at this point that we passed a man in military fatigues with a full pack on his back; I told him "good job" and kept of jogging. The entertainment at the track is also lacking because instead of bands, high school cheerleaders line the course. K and I both blew kisses to the row of bricks in the track, though some people will actually stop and kiss the ground.
Once you get done with the track, however, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Mile 9 is close at hand and then you only have 4.1 miles left. At Mile 10, instead of water or gatorade, the Hi Neighbor Tavern and their leather-clad, biking patrons serve beer to the less than elite runners. K and I definitely took some (we had been looking forward to it since we found out about it the previous night) and 2 ounces of ice cold beer definitely hits the spot.
The last 5K works it's way back to downtown Indy and runs along the river and over the bridge to Military Park. I urged a couple of runners on who started walking and questioned whether I was going to be able to make the last .5 without stopping myself but K and I pushed on and finished at 2:26 which was a little better than the average and placed us at 16,002. We turned in our timing chip and were given our finisher's medal. As we exited the finish line we picked up fruit, water, cookies, energy bars and went to go find A who had finished in 2:04 and claim our free runner's beer. There's a great sense of accomplishment after running 13.1 miles and the fact that you are doing it with 35,000 other people with 1.2 million spectators makes it seems less like a competition and more like a community event. I can't wait for the Chicago Marathon.
On a Side Note:
The quote of the weekend was by K as we rode the $1 elevator to the top of the circle monument, we passed some kids taking the steps, K imitates the mom and says: "Tell your Daddy to get a job!"
After A got off work we walked over to the Convention Center for the Race Expo. We picked up our bib numbers, I bought a mini-marathon shirt, and we had a fruitless search for red running socks. After dinner at Rock Bottom, the three of us went back to A's nice new digs and went to sleep.
We woke up at 6:00 a.m. and put on our race gear, drove up to the race, and walked a few blocks in the morning cold to the starting line. Because we had estimated that our finishing time would 2:40:00 we were placed in carrol 'P' we found our way through the crowd to the appropriate place and seemed to fit in with the rest of the people.
Before each race, K and I like to find 'our people' the runners. It's hard to describe who we look for but the main qualification is that they look a little pokey for some reason. The 'P' carrol had some of our people but some serious looking runners. I guess with a race of 35,000 people that's to be expected. The race officials play the national anthem, a local priest gives a prayer, and the race is underway. K, A, and I just stand there. About fourteen minutes later, we make it up to the starting line and start the race.
A runs with us a couple of minutes but then heads off at a quicker pace. Just past the first turn with the Eiteljorg and State Museum on the right, there is a little patch of bushes. I look over and see at least 15 guys peeing in the woods and running back to the course. The course is lined with bands of all kinds playing and once you would get out of earshot of one another would be right up ahead. We heard Jamaican Music (my favorite of the day), high school rock bands playing Weezer and originals, a cello and fiddle rocking out to "Play that Funky Music White Boy", metal and a guy with an acoustic singing Guster. Some people opted not to play at all but instead prostelize about how the most important marathon is the one heavenward.
Around Mile 3 were passed by a gorilla and I yelled, "Good job, gorilla!" which got a laugh out of the fellow runners and a fist pump from the great ape. A few minutes later, we were the ones doing the passing, as we crept ahead of a man wearing a full firefighters suit (with oxygen strapped on his back and a mask on) who was raising money for charity.
We continued running, getting water and gatorade at the numerous rest areas, as we approached mile 6 and the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. This was by far the coolest part of the race but also the most challenging. On TV, the Indy Race track looks like it takes about 30 seconds to aip around. What we don't realize is that the track is 2.5 miles long and what we don't see are all the little groves in the track like a giant record. The course seems to go on and on and you can't even see the opposite side from the one you are on. The grooves are close enough together that made me a little dizzy. It was at this point that we passed a man in military fatigues with a full pack on his back; I told him "good job" and kept of jogging. The entertainment at the track is also lacking because instead of bands, high school cheerleaders line the course. K and I both blew kisses to the row of bricks in the track, though some people will actually stop and kiss the ground.
Once you get done with the track, however, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Mile 9 is close at hand and then you only have 4.1 miles left. At Mile 10, instead of water or gatorade, the Hi Neighbor Tavern and their leather-clad, biking patrons serve beer to the less than elite runners. K and I definitely took some (we had been looking forward to it since we found out about it the previous night) and 2 ounces of ice cold beer definitely hits the spot.
The last 5K works it's way back to downtown Indy and runs along the river and over the bridge to Military Park. I urged a couple of runners on who started walking and questioned whether I was going to be able to make the last .5 without stopping myself but K and I pushed on and finished at 2:26 which was a little better than the average and placed us at 16,002. We turned in our timing chip and were given our finisher's medal. As we exited the finish line we picked up fruit, water, cookies, energy bars and went to go find A who had finished in 2:04 and claim our free runner's beer. There's a great sense of accomplishment after running 13.1 miles and the fact that you are doing it with 35,000 other people with 1.2 million spectators makes it seems less like a competition and more like a community event. I can't wait for the Chicago Marathon.
On a Side Note:
The quote of the weekend was by K as we rode the $1 elevator to the top of the circle monument, we passed some kids taking the steps, K imitates the mom and says: "Tell your Daddy to get a job!"
May 4, 2006
My Day in Court
Today, I woke up and didn't go to work. Instead, I decided to head to a local diner, eat a Southwest Breakfast Sandwich on a croissant, and drink some coffee. I then drove down the street a little bit, parked the car, left my cell phone and reading materials, and for a short period of time became a member of a Federal Grand Jury. I decided to dress up for the occasion, wearing my light blue J-Crew shirt, black pants from the Gap, black Bostonian shoes, red Italian cotton socks, and a pink with red and white striped Marshall Field's tie.
9:45 a.m. - I show up at court, go through security, and meet the Grand Jury Bouncer that finds my name on "the list" and allows me into the courtroom. The room is about 80 X 40 X 40 and has medium brown wood with blue paint on the walls and mostly white ornamented ceiling with light blue accents. Pictures of previous judges adorn the wall. As we are let into the courtroom, we are told where to sit by our juror numbers - I am #45. Already I can tell I won't be selected.
They only need 23 jurors.
10:10 - The last of the stragglers come in and a new security guard moves most of us around into a new order, taking attendance again.
10:15 - A court worker realizes that #16 has been excused prior to today so we all move one seat over. Attendance is taken again, this time we say how far away our drive was. We will be paid 44.5 cents per mile. Jurors respond 113, 62, 58, 74, 13 until I am called.
"A third," I say.
"A what?"
"One third."
"One third of what?"
"One third of one mile."
Everyone laughs.
"We'll count you as 2"
Great, so now I have an extra 89 cents, plus the $40 I will receive for coming in. I'm not sure if they'll take taxes out of that or not.
10:20 - We finish attendance and just wait. In the room, in this cross section of the district there are young and old., 41 whites and 1 Hispanic.
10:40 - The judge comes in and we all rise. She introduces herself as Judge Springman. We stand again and take an oath. She then tells us about the court and our duties which will last from June 2006 until January 2007, averaging one day per month of service.
10:50 - Juror 6 says she should be excused because she is getting married next month and moving out of the state. The judge asks some questions, the government doesn't object, and she is excused.
10:55 - I stand and say on June 3rd, I will be moving to Illinois. The judge asks if it is permanent. The asks if it is for employment. I respond 'yes' to the first question and 'professional and personal reasons' to the second. The government doesn't object to me being excused and I walk out; thus ending my service as a member of a grand jury.
9:45 a.m. - I show up at court, go through security, and meet the Grand Jury Bouncer that finds my name on "the list" and allows me into the courtroom. The room is about 80 X 40 X 40 and has medium brown wood with blue paint on the walls and mostly white ornamented ceiling with light blue accents. Pictures of previous judges adorn the wall. As we are let into the courtroom, we are told where to sit by our juror numbers - I am #45. Already I can tell I won't be selected.
They only need 23 jurors.
10:10 - The last of the stragglers come in and a new security guard moves most of us around into a new order, taking attendance again.
10:15 - A court worker realizes that #16 has been excused prior to today so we all move one seat over. Attendance is taken again, this time we say how far away our drive was. We will be paid 44.5 cents per mile. Jurors respond 113, 62, 58, 74, 13 until I am called.
"A third," I say.
"A what?"
"One third."
"One third of what?"
"One third of one mile."
Everyone laughs.
"We'll count you as 2"
Great, so now I have an extra 89 cents, plus the $40 I will receive for coming in. I'm not sure if they'll take taxes out of that or not.
10:20 - We finish attendance and just wait. In the room, in this cross section of the district there are young and old., 41 whites and 1 Hispanic.
10:40 - The judge comes in and we all rise. She introduces herself as Judge Springman. We stand again and take an oath. She then tells us about the court and our duties which will last from June 2006 until January 2007, averaging one day per month of service.
10:50 - Juror 6 says she should be excused because she is getting married next month and moving out of the state. The judge asks some questions, the government doesn't object, and she is excused.
10:55 - I stand and say on June 3rd, I will be moving to Illinois. The judge asks if it is permanent. The asks if it is for employment. I respond 'yes' to the first question and 'professional and personal reasons' to the second. The government doesn't object to me being excused and I walk out; thus ending my service as a member of a grand jury.
May 3, 2006
Well at least they don't feel bad
The frustration of being a high school teacher is that when the underachieving students get pushed on to your classroom there is nothing you can do about it. It is impossible to counteract 13 or 14 or 15 years of falling behind in the 18 weeks that I get to see them and try to teach them high school level material and focus on 105 other students.
When I first graduated from college with a secondary ed - English license and a computer minor. I thought that I was use the computer minor to help me get a job but would teach English. However, this year since I was leaving, the administration decided to stick me with Keyboarding classes the second half of the year. So now I spend the day watching students type. Great fun. How could this be frustrating?
Today, a student was working on a keyboarding / Wheel-of-Fortune game. If they type sentences fast enough and error-free, they get to guess letters, then solve the puzzle. As I was walking back to my desk after refilling the paper in the printer (my main job) a student stopped me and asked, "Mr. Maffey, do you know this one?"
I looked at her screen:
Abraham Lin_oln
Without even stopping, I replied, "Yeah, he was our 16th President." What else could I do? Tell her the answer? Stop and give her a little bio on the importance of Lincoln? Her goal was to get onto the next puzzle, not get a history lesson. So the knowledge would have been passed onto deaf ears. I am continually awed by the ignorance of our youth, the failings of our elementary schools, and the lack of responsibility by many parents.
When I first graduated from college with a secondary ed - English license and a computer minor. I thought that I was use the computer minor to help me get a job but would teach English. However, this year since I was leaving, the administration decided to stick me with Keyboarding classes the second half of the year. So now I spend the day watching students type. Great fun. How could this be frustrating?
Today, a student was working on a keyboarding / Wheel-of-Fortune game. If they type sentences fast enough and error-free, they get to guess letters, then solve the puzzle. As I was walking back to my desk after refilling the paper in the printer (my main job) a student stopped me and asked, "Mr. Maffey, do you know this one?"
I looked at her screen:
Abraham Lin_oln
Without even stopping, I replied, "Yeah, he was our 16th President." What else could I do? Tell her the answer? Stop and give her a little bio on the importance of Lincoln? Her goal was to get onto the next puzzle, not get a history lesson. So the knowledge would have been passed onto deaf ears. I am continually awed by the ignorance of our youth, the failings of our elementary schools, and the lack of responsibility by many parents.
May 2, 2006
The Fun of Microsoft Word Tables
The girl asked me again. The girl that asked me yesterday how to create and format a table. The girl that asked me eight times yesterday. She asked me again if the columns go "side-to-side" instead of "this ways". She's the girl with the 5 page table for 4 rows of data. She's the girl that can never remember how to remove the lines or move cells no matter that I just walked her through the steps for the eighth time.
So the kicker today was when she was supposed to type a table then make corrections. The kicker was when she was supposed to switch 'Payments - automobile' to 'Automobile payment' and the "P" had a line through it and a cursive "lc" next to it to make it lowercase. She thought it was an "e" so it was now eayment. She said it looked funny. I told her that it wasn't an "e" but an "lc" as in lower-case. She made the edits while I helped another student. When I came back, the word "lcayment" sat there staring at me. "Are you serious, lc-ayment?" I said. I went back to my seat.
As I'm typing this frustration-letting blog entry, a student came up and said what do I do here. I explained it again. "Switch the words then, make the 'p' of payments lowercase." The response I get? "So I put Automobile Payment LC?" Do kids not know what lowercase is anymore? Are we even dumbing down letters nowadays? Are elementary classrooms filled with lessons on "big" letters and "small" letters because our kids self esteem might suffer if we use words (capial and lowercase) that are outside their zones of development?
So the kicker today was when she was supposed to type a table then make corrections. The kicker was when she was supposed to switch 'Payments - automobile' to 'Automobile payment' and the "P" had a line through it and a cursive "lc" next to it to make it lowercase. She thought it was an "e" so it was now eayment. She said it looked funny. I told her that it wasn't an "e" but an "lc" as in lower-case. She made the edits while I helped another student. When I came back, the word "lcayment" sat there staring at me. "Are you serious, lc-ayment?" I said. I went back to my seat.
As I'm typing this frustration-letting blog entry, a student came up and said what do I do here. I explained it again. "Switch the words then, make the 'p' of payments lowercase." The response I get? "So I put Automobile Payment LC?" Do kids not know what lowercase is anymore? Are we even dumbing down letters nowadays? Are elementary classrooms filled with lessons on "big" letters and "small" letters because our kids self esteem might suffer if we use words (capial and lowercase) that are outside their zones of development?
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