Why my sister teaches.

As we all know my sister made a concious decision to teach public junior high schoool math.

The adminstration (heretofore refered to as "the Dark Side") has decided to semesterize math. Which means on Monday she gets a whole new set of students that have had totally different math training and discipline from the other math teachers (heretofore refered to as "the Storm Troopers"). The Dark Side thinks this is a good idea and the Storm Troopers are going along with every whim of the Dark Side.

I disagree with the choice of the Dark Side to semesterize math. I think it is doing a huge disfavor to the students.

My sister doesn't teach for the money, she doesn't teach for the prestege, she doesn't teach because it's what her mom did. She teaches for the students. The following are excerps from letters her students wrote when they found out they must leave her class on Monday.

"This is the funnest class ever. You have been the best teacher for my whole entire life of school. I want to be your TA for next year just to be in the classroom. ...this class is the best class ever in the history of school."

"I want to thank you for being such a nice and understandable math teacher. In all other years I have failed most of my math classes because I didn't understand how they were explaining it to me. ...you take your time to expalin things...and I don't get frustrated. I hope I have you next year because I know if I do, I will have a good grade in math."

"Thank you for giving everyone a chance."

"What I learned in your class was the rules and to stop talking alot. I would like you to know that you teached me well and I like that and I will try my best to do well in math for the rest of my life."

"...you were the only teacher that I enjoyed. You made me understand math. I liked how you described things like if you push a wrong button on the calculator you said a world would blow up. All those memories won't be the same without the deadly duo like me and *Stephen. I can't think of one time you didn't laugh...Okay, maybe I can. I wish you can come eat lunch with me and all my friends again, that was really fun. Please write back."

"Thank you for being the best teacher that I have ever had because you have helped me when I needed it and you explain things better than any other teacher has ever done and you have just so much fund doing it. You are the coolest...person that I have ever met and that is alright in my book. I have had so much fun in your class..and that is what inspired me to be a teacher like you. I will never forget you...becuase you have been such a big part of my life in 9th and 8th grade. You would always help me when you didn't have to in 8th [because you weren't my teacher until 9th]. So thank you again from the bottom of my heart. ...I will try to visit you when I am in high school as much as possible."

"This letter is to thank you for your efforts in class helping me through half a year of algebra. I really appreciate the way you have taught me everything I know now. You did a great job to help me understand thing and do good on all my papers and tests in your class. I really did learn alot. I really wish I could stay in your class because every time you would teach something new I would be able to understand it. You taught very well and made math very easy for me. I really do not want to go to Ms. *Lee's 7th period. Thank you very much. I loved the time I spent in your class. I learned a lot and it wasn't hard because you did a very good job of teaching."

I'm very glad for people like my sister. She touches lives.

*Names changed.

Invitation

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Just keep swimming.

I revert back to when I was seven years old.

My mom has a picture of me getting into my dad's kitchen junk drawer. I'm wearing a pink sweat shirt and matching sweat pants. My mouth is wide open in surprise. The look on my face: busted!

I think of how easy life was for me when I was in first grade. All life back then, like Jerry Seinfeld put it, was settled in kid court (He called it). Our rule for the TV: if you turned it on, you had control until you relinquished command. This would cause me to wake up at ungodly hours to watch the Bozo the Clown Show on WGN. On Saturdays and during the summer we would seperate TV watching by shows. We would rotate. I was mean and always made sure I was in the rotation where my TV show was going to be in my time slot.

I had a million stuffed animals that were all arranged, biggest in the back/smallest in the front, on a vintage coffee table. Dimesntions 24 inches by 80 inches. A selection of my favorite were placed on my bed when on the rare occasion it was made. It was a sad day when I donated 90% of my stuffed animals to the DI. I think I was going into high school.

I had a collection of books I never read.

I had awards for drill team.

I listened to KKDS on the AM radio dial. I would call and make requests.

I had long blonde hair and a crush on every boy.

I would sit up with my father late at night and watch him type numbers into an old 10-key calculator and balance his check book. He had his desk and I had mine. He would give me paper and pen to draw with while I heard the familliar noises of the machine behind me. I would change the channel on the 13-inch TV he had to MTV. But I'd keep it turned down low as to not wake my sister up or for him to find out.

When he decided to come to church I would jet over to sit on his lap.

Life was so much simpler when I was seven.

Iraq

Here is how it's going to work. IF I get the call this is the order of how people in my life are informed:

1. Family
2. The Ward
3. Work
4. Bloggers
5. Everyone else

There are always exceptions to some of these rules, ie. If I've ever called you a brother or a sister and meant it, you're family.

I quite literally don't know if I'm going anywhere. These things take time. I'll have my brave face on. You'll know.

I'm not going anywhere until I have that paper in my hand.

What, me worry?

Trinitrotoluene

I have no luck with airports or cell phones (dead battery).

I missed my flight. This is my own fault. I should have been up earlier. I know we wanted to get more sleep but it was the wrong choice.

I got to the Denver Airport and saw the very long line for check-in. As soon as I got into the line that little voice inside me said, "You're going to miss your flight." Aw man. I get to the front of the line after a half hour runs by and the computer says I'm too late for check-in. Justifiable, it was 20 minutes before take off. The nice lady at the economy check-in desk told me to go to another line to rebook.

I make my way and behind me in that line was a very nice Japanise man. He was so nice that I knew what kind of soap he used that morning. I'm trying to smush my way away from the nice Japanise man but he keeps getting closer. He tries to strike up a conversation but his English is very broken.

I get to the front of the self-dubbed "Loser Line" and I inform the clerk that I missed my flight. What are my options? Stand-by. Great. The next flight for Salt Lake City boards at 8:30. It was 7:45 by now. I'm placed on stand by and I ask what the procedure is. I show up at the gate and wait. Great. I take my stand-by ticket and make my way to the most confusing cheese at the end of the maze security line I have ever seen.

I switchback my way back and forth. I hand my stand-by ticket and ID to the lady. Soon thereafter, I am then ushered to the random super security line. Little puffs of air infuse my body, almost refreshing. I remove my bag, shoes, jacket, scarf and hat to be sent through the x-ray machine. After the x-ray machine they take my bag and test it for explosive residue.

I remember when they were doing this just after September 11th. They take the little wand and that little patch of cloth and rub it on the contact points of the bags. Cool.

The lady takes the little patch out of the wand and places it into the explosives sniffer thingie. A buzzer goes off on my little patch of cloth. She looks at me. I'm reclothing myself. Then the question: "Has this bag been out of your posession since you packed it?"

My eyes widen. Bigger than saucers. "No."

She talked into her radio, "I need a supervisor at lane 11." A chipper older gentleman comes to her rescue. Looking at the printout from the explosivers sniffer thingie he informs me that my bag tested positive for TNT. Eyes widen more.

Come again?

Recall what is on my bag. First, it's an Army bag with a flag on it; printed on it are the letters US. What could those stand for? Second, I'm wearing an Army sweater, only the trained eye could see that one. The supervisor asked, "Are you military?"

"Yes."

"Have you been in contact with ammunitions that might have rubbed of onto your bag."

"Not lately."

"Have you been overseas?"

"Yes but that bag didn't go with me."

I think he saw the state of confusion on my face and that there is nothing I would want to do to hurt civilians of this great country so he filled out some paperwork and sent me on my way. I thanked him for keeping us safe and he returned the thank you. I'm not a terrorist.

I make my way to the gate and to the lady that is holding my fate on this flight.

"I've never been on stand-by. What's the procedure?"

"Is your name Sabo (pronuce SAW bo)?"

"Yep." What's the point in arguing?

"I have a seat for you."

Yes, this is my life.