Satisfyingly Surprising...Welcome to Greer, Arizona

If you weren't at the Greer family reunion, this post will probably seem a little odd.  But I simply don't have time to elaborate.  So here is a post for all you Greer attendees:

One of the great things I love about reading a good drama is the satisfying surprise.  What I refer to is the moment wherein something totally surprising happens that makes absolute sense.  "Oh my gosh," you think and then say, "I didn't see that coming, but it fits so marvelously that I wouldn't have it any other way." (yes, apparently you speak to yourself and use words like marvelously).

This sometimes happens in real life, and the pay off, like in a drama, is also pretty awesome.  It is, like I said, satisfyingly surprising.    

So here are some satisfying surprises that I got at my latest family reunion:

1. Troy is an animal at jump rope.

2. Adam gave me a big hug.

3. During our Biggest Loser Competition, Breckyn kept up with the boys with 100 push-ups.  It was one heck of a gutsy performance.

4. Lana and Porter sang a perfect duet with impeccable comic timing (actually, that one isn't surprising at all.  Just satisfying.)

5. Quinn's big entrance to Conner's magic act.

6. Tony encouraged Mya to employ eye-for-an-eye morality. The conversation: 

    M: Tatum just threw a ball at me.  

     T: Well, what about that?

     M: (blank stare)

     T: So what could you do about it?

     M: (slowly smiles as an idea falls upon her) I could...throw a ball at her?

     T: (throws hands in the air) Well, there you go.  

7.  Livy ran an entire mile and discovered what it means to be sore.

8.  Troy is an animal at jump rope.

9. Dian, I hear, walked all the way to the other cabin, and then had to do dishes while she was there.  

10. I (Shane Dixon, novel snob) liked reading "Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites."  I actually learned stuff from it.  Holy crap. 

11. Adam can totally do squats.

Feel free to add to the list!

Smooth Like What?

So I really want a haircut. Nearby is a barbershop. Harmless enough. I enter said barbershop. Great. Sit in a chair. Awesome. Then, after several minutes, I start to notice details. For example, every barber in there looks 16. A bad sign, I'm at a barbershop school and these guys obviously don't know what they are doing. But my barber seems nice enough, and hey! Five dollar haircut. Frugality often overrides reason in my book, and today seems like adventure day.

I DO THIS KIND OF THINKING A LOT: I've never done this. Could be fun.

MY WIFE DOES THIS: I've never done this. There's a reason.

He drapes me, cleans some instrument or other, and I notice that everyone around me, seems, well, ethnic. That's cool with me, thinks I, I'm ethnic myself (don't laugh). I'm just hangin' with my homies at the barbershop. Some other barber dude gives me a look while he blows kisses to his hot latina girlfriend. She is too busy looking in the mirror, but that doesn't seem to effect his ego. He does some kind of pucker thing with his lips and struts his sagging low riders out of view.

My boy-man barber then points me to a chart (see above), and I further realize I'm in a place that caters only to black hairstyles. If you put on your thinking cap, you might think that this would be the appropriate time to back out. But you're wrong, sparky! Adventure time has called. I pick hairstyle number, well, you wanna guess what I went for?

Actually, I tell him to surprise me, cause I'm smooth like that. And today, I'm doing something I've never done.

So I'm teaching again.

I have pretty mixed emotions about it all, to be honest. First of all, I LEFT education because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to support my family. A lot of those fears still remain. It is so hard to put in my all, do my best, and quite frankly, be paid so little in exchange. It is hard to come to grips with the fact that my friends in college, many of whom looked up to me as the scholar and the brain, are making double or triple what I make. There are positives about working at ASU, and I do see some possibilities that I don't need to mention now, but all of my past college success stuff (magna what?) kinda haunts me.

And then there is Chieko Honda.

I thought about her this week as I was speaking to students. It was nice to remember her story. As I was speaking, I fell into that natural teacher cadence that I had forgotten I had (like riding a bike?) And more importantly, as I shared her story I remembered why I had developed that teacher cadence in the first place. (Side note: If I ever speak teacherese to you and you find it unnervingly irritating, feel free to slap me. Thank you.)

The English lesson of the week focused on several individuals that had overcome trials. I love teaching this lesson to ESL students for so many reasons. For one, ESL students face tons of adversity. They leave their countries and come at the prime of life, and they often sacrifice all kinds of comforts that most people who never leave a country take for granted. Take this comfort for example: the comfort of saying what you think. Trust me, if you learn a foreign language, then saying precisely what you think is not a luxury you get to have. Yours, au contraire, is the arduous task of being asked difficult academic questions and inevitably sounding five years old.

"What do you think about the American Dream in relation to international students?" I might ask.

Or how about, "Why should adversity also create a possibility for success?"

I like to push students with didactic, open-ended questions. And their answers? Give them an hour, and they'll compose complex thoughts that prove they have strong opinions and great cognitive skills. But ask them to produce on the spot and their answers get predictably juvenile.

"Adversity sometimes good."

"Adversity bad. I think, bad."

They tell me things are good. They tell me things are bad. And if you pay attention to the eyes, you'll see that it pisses them off to no end that this is all that they have. Can you relate? Imagine having all these complex and beautiful thoughts and being told to limit those thoughts to 2,000 words. Yeah, it'd suck.

"I think very good adversity, it make stronger the person because..." The student trails off at because, not because she has nothing to say, but limited resources with which to say it. Time and vocabulary run out like the proverbial hour glass. And then you end up looking dumb. At times like these I praise my students for their efforts, then glide along in my perfect English in an attempt to bail them out.

And so I began to share a story about a Japanese girl with several strikes against her. I met her while I was just a young teacher in Provo, Utah, and I liked her immediately. She was vivacious, thoughtful, and deeply introspective. Precisely the kind of student that couldn't give you an answer quickly only because the wheels were turning ever so carefully. She had long black hair with streaks of white, the only indication to me that she might be older. While I loved her energy and desire to learn, over the course of that first semester it became obvious to me that English learning was particularly challenging for her. She took the college English entrance exam, TOEFL (the one I'm in charge of preparing her for), and failed. I got worried. In my MA classes we had just discussed how some students simply never progress beyond a certain level of linguistic awareness. They just get stuck. We call it (it almost sounds like some sort of insult) "fossilization."

Predictably, 4 months later, she failed the test again. Another semester. Then a third time. By the fourth failure, I believed intervention would be necessary. English schools are often as expensive as universities, and I could see the sands of her hour glass slipping away. But instead of intervening, I decided to watch. She just seemed so determined. She paid her tuition, she studied, and she kept taking that stupid, stupid test.

Eight friggin times. That's right people. She took the test eight "holy-crap-who-does-that?" times. And she passed on the eighth. Tons of time. Tons of money. Tons of depression. But what a payoff. I remember being exultant when I was told. It was as if I had passed. I felt vindicated. "I told you so, people!" I felt like shouting, "I knew I could do it."

And it was then I questioned that fossilization ever HAD to happen. My one-person reasoning: If Chieko Honda can pass that stupid test, I'm going to just shut my mouth and consider the nature of possibility. That is what Chieko Honda represents to me, after all.

Possibility. It is a fantastic word. It is what I see in every student. It is what I believe. And where does that possibility lead?

In Chieko's case, quite a distance. She graduated from college, became a research assistant, and is now pursuing a graduate degree. It should be really tough. She has to take this ridiculously hard test you might have heard of: the GRE. It makes the TOEFL look like the festival of flowers and bunnies (ever been? its nice...)

So you think I should bet against her this time? I can't. I won't.

Because "can't" and "won't" just don't mean anything to her.

Yesterday we blessed baby Crew, Porter and Lana's youngest and the newest addition to the family.  I got to hold him for just a second and contemplate all that holding a newborn helps you contemplate.  New life.  New opportunities.  New possibilities.  New anxieties.  And since I'm mentioning new anxieties, does anyone else think about how easy it would be to end a newborn's life (ie: falling, squeezing, just leaving him alone...?)  For Pete's sake, you could just snap him like a twig.  It's like holding a Christmas ornament or that crappy ash tray you made for your non-smoking parents.

Is that wrong-headed of me?  Am I no longer allowed to hold the baby?

Moving States

So yesterday was my first anniversary.  And, of course, it was Easter.  And that made me think (you knew it would).  

First, I thought of how Christ's resurrection is a defining event in human history, and my anniversary is a defining event in mine.  

Second, I thought of how Christ's resurrection is a ransom, a deliverance from an inevitably miserable fate.  Um, yeah.  I'm sure you can see where I'm going with that...

It's true.  My life with Dixie is literally a deliverance.  I was taken from one state of being to another.  From online dating (please don't judge me) to joint filing.  From going-to-the-gym-after-work to please-pick-up-a-gallon-of-milk.  From condo to apartment.  From single to holding her hand as I fall asleep.  

Yeah.  That's deliverance.  

And then there's this Saturday.  I can't wait.

Private Eyes are Watching Me

So this post is about being an example and how it is hard to take the pressure of it all.  It is so different being a role model to 3 children.  I find myself constantly checking myself.  The fact that the kids say crap has me very worried.  It sounds, well, wrong from a child's mouth.  Even when it is an innocent repeat like Morgan said to me yesterday.  

"That's crap," I said.

"What's cwwwaap, Da-ee Shane?"

"Um, nothing Morgan."

And Livy will zero in on all kinds of my bad behavior.  I tend to clap my hands to announce to the children that all actions should be suspended.  It is quite effective.  They stare awestruck when I strike them together (that is, my hands, not the children).  And I'm obviously doing a scary face, because several times Owen has slapped his hands together and made these ridiculous angry eyes.  I almost told him how ridiculous he looked, until I then realized he was mimicking me.  

So anyway, I've told Livy if I clap my hands, that she is allowed to call me on it.  That was stupid.  She is religiously observant and deadly obedient, and she lets me know that I've made a mistake.  I was in another room and clapped my hands last week.  

"Owen!" I shouted.  

Livy came in and looked at me as a teacher might to a pupil.  

"Daddy Shane, you told me to tell you that you can't do that."  

"Yes, Livy.  Thank you.  You're absolutely right."  Owen is able to respond appropriately too by wrinkling his brow, to which I respond.  "I'm sorry, Owen."  Owen smiles and continues the behavior for which I was infuriated.  He is the BEST at forgiving quickly.

Luckily, it isn't ALL bad to have kids be observant, and in fact, it led me to capture a picture of Morgan that I have posted below.  

You see, since I have a bad knee, I'm not much of a two-knees-on-the-ground kneeler when I pray.  So I generally stick my good knee out for balance and then fold my arms.  It was to my surprise to see all of the kids try to attempt it.  There have been some unsteady children during prayers as a result, but I have been patient enough not to clap my hands and give them my angry eyes.

Bummers

I'm at home with a sick family and so I'm reflecting on all the crappy stuff that has happened to me this year. Here's a small list for your viewing enjoyment:

Wrath of the Pink Eye:
Associated with this 3-week bummer I catalog the following humiliating events:
1. I wore an eyepatch.
2. After 3 hours of waiting in lines (with the pink eye) I was asked to disassemble the frame on my motorcycle so they could read a serial number. It was 110 degrees outside and I had to do it with tools that someone from the DMV gave me. I cut my hand. Then they told me to go to a different DMV. And then, I was kicked out of that DMV because of my pink eye. And the DMV still wouldn't register my vehicle.
3. My wife wouldn't look at me.
4. My father-in-law saw me, stepped away in horror, and said something that I can only translate as "uungh."
5. I wore an eyepatch.
6. I interviewed for several positions while with pink eye (I am proud to report that I was hired twice even looking as I did)
7. My insurance, for some crazy reason, wouldn't cover pink eye. A doctor's office demanded 175 dollars and, when I refused, they said they'd do it for 80. I left untreated.

The Rear-ender
While driving to a doctor's office (to sell a copier) a series of misfortunes befell upon me. Forsooth!
1. I had a stomach virus I was recovering from.
2. I was rear ended on Interstate 17.
3. The lady who rear ended me had no license.
4. The lady had no documentation.
5. The lady had no English.
6. But the lady DID have an insurance card--from a company I had never heard from before.
7. I translated her end of the story for the policeman. He cited her for, well, dumb driving, and then wrote out a police report. I was now late for my meeting to sign papers with the doctor, and the squirts had remanifested itself. Not proud of it.
8. And the silver lining: I got the sale. As a result, back at work I became the stuff of legends. "That Shane crapped his pants and STILL made a sale."

Take that, world. Take that, indeed.