Too public

I've had trouble writing about today's topic. I started off first hour fine, read through it third, and didn't like it.

I was rambling, not making sense, and kinda doing what I was saying I didn't like about all of this in the first place.

I'll be honest - I haven't watched ANY of the coverage about the shootings at all. I read the basic facts about the shooting on Friday, but I haven't clicked on any links on Facebook or Twitter. And, I haven't watched any news reports either.

It's not that I don't care, but the 24-hour news cycle makes this entire thing into a circus and a zoo - and this is coming from someone whose paycheck kinda depended on the news cycle. I don't think it's right that little kids - who were in shock from the traumatic situation - had a microphone stuck in their face. I don't think it's right that every little move from anyone involved is documented.

They're people dealing with a huge tragedy with huge emotions. It's personal. It's not public. Yes, the event that caused those emotions was public - but the aftermath is not.

We don't need to forget. But don't drag them into it.

Let them be. Let them grieve and start to heal in peace.

An Inspiration

Usually, I write about the same topics you guys do for quick writes. Today, however, I didn't.

I sat and wrote a Christmas letter to my 10th grade English teacher - someone who had an enormous impact on my life (and would probably beat me if she knew I was writing about her).

I had heard about Ms. Sklavos my entire life; she and my grandma worked at the high school, and she also knew my mom. In seventh grade, when she saw my mom sitting outside a door waiting for conferences, she came running down the hall to give her a hug because she knew that meant she was going to get me in a few years. From the things my mom and grandma said about her, I knew I was going to love her instantly - and I did.

Ms. Sklavos would throw books at me constantly. She was the one who gave me my first taste of Catcher in the Rye and Flowers for Algernon. Not to mention she was another female who loved Hemingway (there aren't many of us out there). I had already started to love Hemingway in middle school thanks to my English teacher then, Mr. Fisher. But now I had another person to stoke the fire I have for Papa (seriously - he's my favorite author of all times. Read some of his stuff; it's great. Don't tell me if you don't like it, though, because I couldn't handle hearing that).

She had a passion for reading and writing that made me want to continue to do better and to grow in those areas. Shakespeare made sense to me because of her (and I think about her the entire Romeo and Juliet unit because I don't want to let her down). She could talk to you endlessly about any author, any story and any book and bring up points you never thought were possible. She challenged me constantly, and I grew by bounds as a writer that year; I became more of a risk-taker with my writing all because she gave me the confidence to do so.

She was actually the teacher who urged me to become a writer. My response to her: But, writers don't make any money!  So, she told me to be a reporter. And I listened. (And then obviously I veered off that path, but I wouldn't be a teacher today if it weren't for people like her and Mr. Fisher). Even though I did veer off, I'm glad I listened to her. It gave me great experiences and made me grow. I don't think without those years at a newspaper, I'd be able to teach like I do today.

Obviously, Ms. Sklavos was a big inspiration to me. My original career path started because of her, and I try my hardest every day to teach with the amount of passion she had for English. Every year I write her at Christmas, and this summer, I actually met her for lunch. She's extremely proud of me that I've become a teacher (even though she's sad that I stopped writing because according to her I was a beautiful writer). She said that it was the biggest compliment to her that I am doing exactly what she did for me years ago. Of course, that only puts more pressure on me everyday because I don't want to let her legacy down.

I'm not writing this because I want all of you to one day say that I'm your inspiration. I hope that you will find someone in your lifetime that will mean as much to you as Ms. Sklavos meant to me. She is a fabulous person, and I'm lucky to still be in touch with her today.

Finding my happy

Even a year ago if I had written to this question, I would not have said that running is what makes me happy - but it is now. A year ago, though, it was miserable. Not fun, just a chore.

Now, however, I hate when I can't run. I get jittery. I'm not me. I'm guessing if you pat attention in class, you could easily tell when I haven't run enough that week. My knee will bounce just a little more. I tap my foot. And - oddly enough 0 even though I"m more jittery, I'm more sluggish. I'm tired and don't feel as energetic. I also tend to be a little cranky.

One run fixes all of that though. AS soon as I put on those bright pink shoes and step out the door, everything changes. I feel more alert (OK - that may be from needing go go super fast because the wind is biting at my face, making me miserable). I have no worries. All I have to do is keep pounding the pavement.

Any stress I had before melts away; I have plenty of time to think about what's bothering me. I run through scenarios. Pan it all out. Figure out solutions or at least figure out that it doesn't matter, and I don't need to worry about it anymore.

What's amazing is that it works. I can start a run all stressed out because i have too much to do. But after about a mile, it doesn't matter any more. My shoulders relax; there's no more knot. It all just goes away.

Part of the joy of it is that I'm left alone to my own thoughts. I don't have to explain anything to anyone, I don't have to deal with anyone, and I don't have to think about anything. I can just be. It's because of this reason that I don't run with music. I'm happy being completely unplugged. It allows me to listen to me and things in nature I don't normall take time to listen to. The "silence" helps bring about a zen-like state.

Now, don't get me wrong - sometimes running does not make me happy. There are some runs that are difficult. Muscles ache. Lungs scream. My face burns from the cold. But, these runs are becoming fewer in number.

And, honestly, as miserable as those runs are, they make the other ones ten times better. They make me appreciate how far I've come in this pavement pounding journey. It also helps to ensure that the joy I get from running doesn't diminish because it isn't a constant. It changes frequently. So, unlike a drug addict, I don't always need more. Sometimes, I just need better - and that better is in constant flux.

Running has made me a better person. Physically and emotionally. I don't get sick as often, and when I do, it doesn't last as long. My mental state is better. I'm happier; I don't get down as much. I push myself more because I know I can.

I didn't realize I would find joy in it when I started more than a year ago, but I did. Now, I know that if I'm tired, mad, upset, sad or stressed, I need to go out - even if it is only a mile - because those few minutes outside will help me return to normal.

Remembering the Day that Will Live in Infamy

In grade school, I was slightly obsessed with Pearl Harmor. I remember writing a report; reading as many books as I could on it; having mock World War II battles with friends at recess (yes, we were dorks). I felt more connected to it because my great uncle was there on the USS Nevada - and even had the limp tor prove it.

But, my memories and obsession with it faded. I watched the movie when it came out in 2001, and it brought back some of those memories. It had just become another day to me, though. I remember 9-11 being compared to it, but I have to admit, I have given little thought to it since then.

Reading this article, though, has allowed those memories to resurface, and now my understanding of it has grown exponentially - in just those few minutes it took me to read the article that first time. It was what I remembered 9-11 to be. The confusion. The rumors. The panic. The disbelief. It was all there.

Even though I knew all about Pearl Harbor as a kid, I didn't understand. Now that I've read this first-hand account, I get it. I get it because I experienced something similar to it for 9-11. The panic and the wondering make sense now because I've felt that. Many of us can now understand what it was like for cour country on Dec. 7, 1941. Before, we really couldn't - no matter what we said. Now we can emphathize, and I now feel horrible for those who have had to experience two attacks.

A Gruesome Tradition

Humans are creatures of habit. We do things in order frequently and at the same time or on the same day. This is most likely why the town continued with the lottery.

When we do something so often, we typically don't question it. All of these people had always participated in the lottery ,so they didn't know life without it. Few - if anyone - probably never thought to question it at all. So, by default, it is unlikely they'll stop and will instead continue with the lottery.

Also, this wasn't the only town to have the lottery. It is harder to change the minds of people when you have larger groups. Look at our government. The make up of our elected officials is very familiar; they talk about change, but it doesn't happen often. Things become custom and that ends up how we do it - over and over and over.

We don't like straying from the normal. We're happy with what we have and don't want to change things - or even question them. The townspeople have accepted this as their normal, and therefore, they see no reason to question it. It's what they do, and unless they start to question it in large numbers - and frequently - it's not going to change.

Mother

When I was little, my mother was a genius and loving.

I remember spending time with her at the library while she worked.

That day, she made sure I stayed busy with books and a dust rag.

It infuriated me when she'd take my books away because I wasn't listening and misbehaving.

When I was a child, life was easy and carefree.

Now, I wish I could see my mom again.

The "Easy" Life

I think you can go either way on saying if men or women have an easier time in life. Obviously guys don't have to go through pregnancy or childbirth, so it would seem to be easiest to say that they automatically have it easier in life. But, it isn't like guys just have a cakewalk through life. While at first blush, you may come up with a so-called obvious answer, if you start thinking about it - there might not be one in reality.

In our society, guys have to always be strong. We say we're a progressive society and that it is OK for men to be emotional or ge scared, but as soon as they do, they get mocked for it. We also still consider them to be the breadwinner and protector of the house and family. It can't always be easy to have to carry all of that on your shoulders. Girls are allowed to break down and show emotion without having to worry about it, but guys have to keep a stiff upper lip and muddle through it.

On the other hand, girls are really hard on each other. Instead of building each other up, we tend to tear ourselves down. We fight over which idea is better. Guys, though, just joke around and don't seem to get caught up in the drama or care what other's decisions are. There are examples of this all over the place. Earlier this year, there was the big kerfuffle about breast feeding. Instead of jus agreeing to say that it should be up to the woman of what it is best for her and her situation, we vilify each other for not making the "status quo" choice - or the choice one group thinks we should make. We also frequently mock the sty-at-home moms because they aren't living a "fulfilling" life and aren't trying to pave a path in the world. But, when Bill Clinton was running for president, Hillary was a "horrible" mother because she didn't stay home with Chelsea. It seems to be a damned if you do, damned if you don't on any choice a woman has to make.

What's silly is that feminism wasn't really fighting for women to make the "girl power" decision; it was fighting for women to have the ability to choose. So, we shouldn't give each other a hard time for the decision that we make - just that we are able to make one.

Like anything in life, I don't think there is a clear-cut answer to this question. It is subjective like everything else, and there are several variables to that question. It depends on the situation of that person at that exact moment. It depends on the type of person they are. And it depends on society's reaction to that person - because sometimes that's what is really what determines who has it easier.

My Happiest Place on Earth

The excitement is palatable as you walk through the security lines and scan your card. You're almost trembling waiting to get in through the gates. Waiting to go past the station and the flower arrangement just takes too long. And there are too many people.

But then it happens.

You walk through the tunnel, and then it's there in all of its glory. Peeking up over the rest of the attractions and yet towering. It represents everything happy, everything good, and everything exciting.

You've made it back, so you stalk a photographer and get a picture to capture the moment in front of that magical castle.

When it comes to going to Disney World, I'm as bad as a little kid. I absolutely love it! I get insanely giddy tow months out, so by the time we finally get there, I could be mistaken for a five-year-old because I'm bouncing around in my seat, barely able to control myself. It's a magical place, and every minute is better than the next.

While I love everything about going there, the rides actually take a back seat to the food. It's a one-way ticket to Gluttonville for me. Appetizers, main courses, and desserts - I don't miss a course. I savor each bite and let the smell and taste linger as long as I can. I will judge a restaurant by its deserts alone (well, and maybe the quality of the crab cakes). So, if they have melt-in-your mouth chocolate cake (hello, Cap'n Jack's), your restaurant will quickly move to the top of my list. Sadly, The Brown Derby is lacking in the desert quality, but the rest of the food makes me go into a food coma immediately - so in the long run, it's still up at the top of the list.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love the rides, too. I do have to avoid some of them though because I get horrible motion sickness. As much as I used to love roller coasters, it's not worth stumbling around hoping you're not going to keel over in the bushes after getting off Space Mountain. Put me on the Rockin' Roller Coaster, though, and I'm giggling like a little girl. I don't understand why one ride (that's similar to the other) makes me want to die and the other gives me a shot of adrenaline. But, then again, I am frequently a walking paradox.

Even though I love Rockin' Roller Coaster, my favorite ride is probably Buzz Lightyear. It plays into my competitive spirit and makes me cackle with glee. I may have even made "pew pew" noises while shooting the evil aliens. The best part is that my husband has yet to beat my high score on it. Granted, I was greatly helped since we stopped moving, and I managed to zone in on a very high point target. But, hey, he was sitting right next to me so it was fair. He could have gotten it, too. I've obviously handled this title very maturely. See - just another example of me acting like a kid there!

I do get nostalgic at Magic Kingdom, too. I cannot miss riding Peter Pan any time we're at the park. Peter Pan has always been my favorite Disney character. He teaches us to make sure we never lose our childlike spirit, and that's exactly what Disney World and Disneyland try to show us. It's hard not to regain some of that child's excitement while "flying" over London.

This trip is going to be a little different. Now I get to run through the parks (well, Magic Kingdom and Epcot). And, even crazier is I'm going to be in costume. I don't like dressing up. I've never liked Halloween, because I just find it to be a pain in the rear. So, I was probably the most surprised when I realized I was shopping around for bits and pieces to look like Disney characters for the 5K and the half marathon. I figure if there's one place you can get away with looking like a sparkly fool  - it's Disney. Plus, it's going to help keeping me going for all 13.1 miles on that early, early Saturday morning (I will be getting up before most of you go to bed on Friday night).

Each little bit of Disney is magical. There's nothing not to like there - even if I do have favorites. There is one thing I don't like, though - leaving.

Because, even though I'm usually exhausted and half awake when we leave to go home, it's always bittersweet to leave Disney. There, I have no worries, cares or responsibilities  It's a week of pure fun and joy. I get to be a kid again. But, as soon as I step back on Mickey's magical Express, reality starts to sink in. In only a few more hours, it'll be time to take care of the crazy furballs, line up lesson plans and head back into the pit to teach. But, that dose of reality only makes Disney even more magical the next time you drive up and see the castle peeking out over the park - just inviting you in to your own imagination.

Flying free

Stomach's churning
No longer do I have nerves of steel
I'm scared
    - worried
    - fretty
    - nervous
I don't know if I can do this

But, I know that's the voices
camping out in my head
They worm their way iin
      - uninvited
      -unwelcomed
      - penetrating
I have to shut them out

The only way to fight it
is to just do it
It's time to hit the road
     - lace 'em up
     - take off
     - fly away
I know I can

Even though I know
and have done it
The voices are still there
      - niggling
      - worming
      - penetrating
      - WHINING
I'm not going to listen

I have a reason to succeed
Reasons pushing me to be better
Pushing me forward
      - faster
      - don't stop
      - slog on
      - cross the line
Those reasons will mute the voices

What's the disaster?

Here's the descriptive paragraph I wrote. Can you guess which of the four I wrote about?


Everywhere you looked, there were drifts of white. The tops of cars peeked up from under them. It was eerie as you tried to navigate the dunes because everything was quiet. Not even the hum of generators breeched the aire out here. The sky was clear as the hot sun beat down, and nothing provided relief. There wasn't even a break from the shadow of a passing bird - because there were no birds. As you scanned the horizon, there was nothing but damage to see in every direction. Sides of houses missing. Roofs peeled off. And in those houses you could peer into, there were already lines of mildew forming. There was that faint smell of "old" hanging in the air, like you had just walked into an old basement and were hit with a musty blast of air. But, in this case, you were standing in the open just listening to waves crash and cajole in beauty while faced with massive destruction.

Why I Won't Tell You Who I Voted For

Being a journalist changed how I talk about the election - I rarely voice my opinion on it. I still try to maintain an image of being unbiased. Yes, I have an opinion, and yes, I "state" it when I bubble in my ballot, but you'll rarely find me posting it anywhere.

There are certain issues I will speak out on. But, I also choose where I do that. I dont' necessarily think my classroom is the appropriate spot. Basically, this kind of boils down to that I want everyone to feel safe and welcome in my classroom. In today's heated and very divided political climate, I think that there could be a possibility that some would think that I wasn't being fair or they weren't welcome because our viewpoints differ. And, that's the last thing I would want for ANY of my students.

Just because I don't disclose who I like, I still get excited for Election Day. I clear my calendar so I can sit in front of the TV as the results come in. And, I still color in my map of the US every presidential election based on which way the state went. My mom started me doing that in 1984 so she didn't have to deal with the 5-year-old and could just watch the results. My map gets printed out the night before, and the blue and red colored pencils are sharpened, waiting to be used.

This is the one day I really miss being in the newsroom (and not just for the free pizza - I swear!). There was a feeling in that room on election night that truly was electrifying. It was entirely abuzz with energy and action and stress (don't even get me started on the stress of 2000), but nights like this are why many of us sat in a newsroom. Even though journalists put forth an unbiased front to the public, we all had our favorites. And, no, it wasn't just the most liberal candidates like the stereotype claims. Newsrooms have people on both sides of the aisle. We respected each other for it because we recognized and understood that we were well read on the issues and weren't just going by unfounded facts we got from an unreliable source. That's not to say we didn't get heated in some of our discussions, but there was still a mutual respect. That's something I think a lot of people miss now - they aren't as informed as they should be. You can't just go by propaganda or ads. You need to do your research and really learn what the candidates stand for as well as their past record - not just what they say they did on TV ads.

Despite this and the fact that we are far too divided politically right now (compromise is not a bad word), it is still pretty great that we live in a country where we get to fully pick our leaders. We don't have to worry about any backlash for our choices, and we get to decide whether we let others know who we voted for. We take this for granted because it is all we've ever known. We should revel in the fact that we are lucky enough to make choices.

Can't Be Perfect

Sometimes
      I try too hard
      Worry too much
All because
       I care too much


Sometimes
     I think I've lost my mind
     Have no idea what to do
All because
     I want to fix it all


Sometimes
      I stay up too late
      Trying to make it work
All because
      my crown keeps churning


Sometimes
      I realize I have to let it go
       It's not worth it
All because
     I can't do it all

Welcome to The Zou

There's a intensity in the air
It's quiet at first
but as the sea of gold grows,
the growl becomes louder

The speakers are pounding
Instruments are sparkling
helmets and pads start smashing
and the growl continues to grow

The wave of sound peaks
as the cannon BOOMS!
and as the smoke clears
the growl can be heard

The massive Titans line up
We clamor to our feet
Hands start a shimmer in the air
and the growl ROARS!

One side chants, the other responds
Friendliness leaves as oranges rain
Old habits die hard
as our gregarious growl proves

Voices become raw
as the noise clamors on
But none of us stop
because the growl won't die.

The Shoes

The shoes are worn down
The shoes have blood stains
The shoes represent pain
The shoes have been spit on
The shoes have stepped in doggie doo
The shoes REEK
The shoes have grass stains
The shoes are worn out
The shoes have lost their tread
The shoes remind me of sore muscles
The shoes thud on the pavement
The shoes have been caked with mud
The shoes are part of an unending cycle
The shoes caused blisters
The shoes formed callouses
The shoes have no more padding
The shoes have become discolored
The shoes sit and mock me
The shoes force me out the door
The shoes carried me 12.4 miles
       and therefore, gave me my freedom

The Blanket

The blanket that has always been there
The blanket that was technically stolen
The blanket was comfort
The blanket kept me warm
The blanket has smells of home
The blanket was a good pillow
The blanket was safety
The blanket made a good cave
The blanket kept me dry
The blanket has a lot of memories
The blanket kept me hidden
The blanket blocked the sun
The blanket made a good cape
The blanket became a floor mat to dance on
The blanket could transform into an ice rink
The blanket was slippery
The blanket became mine
The blanket has holes
The blanket was stolen again
The blanket was my woobie
The blanket was security
The blanket wasn't a blanket
It was a poncho liner
Making it a symbol
A symbol for the cause of my dad's demons

Dream Detours

I was shooting for the stars
Ready to face the world
and conquer it like Genghis Khan
  (with less bloodshed)
I would be victorious in my dreams

I was going to make it to DC
There would be hurdles
 - possibly some road blocks -
It was time to beat
and plow over them all

It wasn't easy at first
I cowered with some fear
but soon I was a roaring lion
ready to attack
ready to start my climb

And then everything slowed
things started to veer and shift
 a new dream started to appear
I listened to my heart -
It was time for a new route

A major detour started
I was nervous and unsure
The little mouse returned
taking timid steps toward the new

The new road is smoother now
There's still some bumps
But my steps are surer, more definite
because my dreams merged with another's

What the World Needs Is More Seans

Photo from PNJ.com
Sean Dugas

The first time I saw Sean Dugas, I have to admit I was taken aback.

Sean was a little eclectic - and that's saying a lot when you're working in a newsroom, which is typically filled with rather eclectic, creative people. The copy desk is usually a motley crew, and the group at Pensacola was no different. But Sean was unique and easily stuck out in our rather vanilla night crew (well, vanilla compared to Sean).

He had a crazy head of dreadlocks with a mountain man beard and usually was dressed in plaid bell bottoms from the 70s. He could easily be mistaken for a homeless person. He was his own person and didn't care what anyone thought or what society told him he should like.

Sean, though, was one of the nicest guys I have ever met.

A newsroom isn't always a happy place. It's a high stress job that doesn't always deal with the greatest topics. These things can greatly affect the mood of the room as a whole or even just a few people.

It rarely affected Sean. He was always happy and always had time to stop to talk to anyone. If he saw that you were having a rough day, he'd try to cheer you up.

Sean never knew a stranger. He could strike up a conversation with anyone, and it was a great characteristic to have for a reporter. Not only was he willing to talk to anyone, he was more than willing to go cover anything at anytime. He was a go getter. Sean never complained about any of it. He was just excited to be there; excited to go out and learn people's stories and report them back to others.

I was lucky enough to get to know Sean in the two years we were both at the Pensacola News Journal. Every conversation with him was always interesting. It seemed like he could talk about anything and had some knowledge on it. There were many things he was passionate about, and it became quickly apparent if he cared about the topic.

If you notice, I've been speaking about Sean in the past tense. He has been missing since August 27. He was actually reported missing to the Pensacola Police Department on September 13. On Monday, a body was found partially covered in concrete in a plastic tub buried in a backyard in a Georgia town north of Atlanta.

Police have determined it is Sean.

When I got home from school on Tuesday, my email and Facebook had blown up. I had no idea what was going on, and then I read the article - only to find out that Sean had been brutally killed.

I haven't had an easy time with this. I honestly didn't realize when I first read the article that I would have this hard of time with it. While I worked with Sean almost five days a week for two years, we weren't really friends. Sure, we'd go out with the large groups in the newsroom and hang out then, but it's not like we would have hung out outside of a work setting. I hadn't even talked to, seen or thought about Sean since I had visited the PNJ newsroom in 2008 or 2009.

There's been a lot of us who worked with Sean that have been commenting on Facebook, messaging on Twitter, texting - trying to deal with this. Trying to understand it.

But we don't understand any of it.

We can't.

It appears that they have the two people who most likely committed this heinous crime. And I don't understand how they could do this to someone like Sean.

You know that saying that a person would give you the shirt off his back? That was Sean. And if that shirt wasn't enough for you - he'd find another one for you. He was insanely trusting and always saw the good in everyone.

And that's what makes this even harder to understand. It's unfathomable to think anyone could be so violent to someone who was so caring and loving and peaceful.

As a copy editor, I read stories of crimes like this. I knew people were "creative" with how cruel they could be. I knew this happened to real people. But, it is very, very different when it happens to someone you know.

I'm sharing this story because I hope you NEVER have to experience something like this. But, I'm also sharing this because I want people to know Sean. You'll never get to meet him, but he's the type of person who deserves to live on.

Sean was a humble person; he never wanted to be on a pedestal. He just wanted to be and enjoy life. To honor Sean, I challenge anyone who reads this to be a little friendlier, be a little more comfortable with yourself, and to bring a little sunshine into other's lives because that's what Sean would do.

And we could all use some more Seans in our lives.

"You May Say I'm a Dreamer ... but I"m Not the Only One"

I had a tape of The Beatles when I was in first grade. I remember listening to it frequently but then I just stopped. New Kids on the Block became cooler.

And then The Beatles Anthology aired on ABC when I was a sophomore in high school. Everything changed as I watched it. I recorded it, and my mom was convinced I was going to wear out the tape. I was obsessed. I couldn't get enough.

Soon, I became known as The Beatles freak. I could quote off tons of trivia. I pored over any books I could get my hands on. I was a walking/talking Beatles encyclopedia.

Like any Beatles fan, I quickly had my favorite - John (although I can remember when I was little, I thought Ringo was awesome, but that was probably mostly because of his name). When trying to think of a reason why he's my favorite - I don't know if I can give you a specific one. I think it boiled down to his sarcasm and the lyrics to his songs. I connected more to them than any of Paul's or George's - although I have to admit, George's songs are musically amazing. But, John's had more of an angsty edge to them - and that spoke perfectly to my teenage self.

It wasn't just Lennon's lyrics that created my "awestruckness." His voice could just convey rock and roll. Listen to that original cut of Twist and Shout, Mr. Moonlight, Hey Bulldog, I'm a Loser - he shreds his voice and makes it sound like REAL rock and roll. He oozes blues. Pain. Suffering. There's an insane amount of feelings rolled up into those songs. It makes the lyrics even "more." His vocals finish what he scribbled on to paper before they stepped into that studio to record them for history.

But, I did become torn as I learned more about him. He had huge demons. Extreme substance abuse. Abandoning his first son/first life. Abusing his first wife. All things I was against.

When I was younger, I tried to ignore these things. I wrote off the fact that he frequently made fun of handicapped people - or people who were different from him - because everyone did it. I decided that his genius overwrote all the bad. Basically, I ignored it.

But as I got older, I've had a harder time with it. I do think it goes back to his demons as a kid and not wanting to admit that he needed people because his father left and his mother was killed in front of him. I don't like it, but it is part of who he is.

What has never changed, though, was my admiration for his music. Two years ago, as I stood in front of the place he got shot and then moved on to the Imagine mosaic at Strawberry Fields in Central Park, I got chills. His music was/IS so important that it makes me sad his life was cut short. I got teary eyed- but not as choked up as I did on the 20th anniversary of his death. That was ridiculous. I can still remember calling my mom, barely able to talk through the tears and just choking out:"It's so sad. And so unfair."

Then there was the trip to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame where I was bad and touched his bed. I couldn't help it. That, of course, was before I saw his bloody glasses and stained shirt from that horrible December night in 1980. It made it real.

I think what I really came to terms with is that no one is perfect. We may put stars up on pedestals but they have their own issues just like we do.

I use Lennon's lyrics frequently for motivation/reminders to just be. From "all you need is love" to "life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans" to all of Imagine - there's a wealth of knowledge from someone who was so flawed. I guess when I look back on it all, it tells me more about me than I realized. I can be a great person who tries to be the best I can even if I may make mistakes from time to time.

Lennon was flawed, but when it comes down to it - his lyrics show us that he was trying to be a better person by trying to make the world a better, happier place because he truly was a dreamer.

The Dirtiest Word in the World - Censorship

I've never been a fan of censorship. As a journalist, it was an evil, evil concept. It went against everything that the First Amendment stood for and protected for us.

Now that I teach, it takes on a new meaning I can't imagine not being able to give certain books to my students because someone else said they were improper. In my mind, it would only make them want to read that selection more. Obviously, I won't tell a kid that they should ignore something their parents have told them not to read. But, I think it is different when it is the parents. They have the right to do that. I don't necessarily agree with the concept, but that is their prerogative as a parent.

I was lucky. My parents didn't tell me what I could or could not listen to, read or watch - except for refusing to buy me Motley Crue's Girls, Girls, Girls when I was in grade school thanks to my older cousin saying I was too young. They maintained they had raised me with certain beliefs and felt they had given me the tools to make choices. They also felt that I wasn't going to be swayed by the influence of others. What this gave me was a huge world view. Through reading and movies, I was exposed to worlds, cultures and beliefs that I wouldn't have known to exist coming from small-town Iowa. I can't imagine not being given that freedom. My world view would have been so small, it wouldn't have been funny. I would not be as well-rounded as I am today if there had been restrictions put on what I could read or watch.

I think back to friends in high school whose parents did restrict their movie choices. They told them watching certain movies would give them too many bad ideas. They were the ones who ended up having to get married because there was a baby on the way. So, their argument about giving them ideas doesn't seem viable because they obviously figured out those things on their own.

Sheltering yourself isn't good. I think it only makes you wonder more and it is n't like it is hard to get access to any of these things in today's society. It is human nature that if you tell someone you can't have something, it makes you wonder more. When you wonder more, you seek it out and could end up causing more problems.

Free speech is an amazing cornerstone of our county. Censoring takes away that right and turns us into something that we worked hard for and many sacrificed for in our past. We're the home of the free - not the slightly free depending on the ruling viewpoint. Being diverse and letting several viewpoints be heard, voiced and experienced is what makes us us. If we can't experience a certain viewpoint, then we're missing a big point of free speech. You can choose to not listen, not pay attention to it, but you shouldn't force that on others. As Americans, we should be able to see, hear, read, digest what we want. Outside groups and the government should not be in control of that. It should be a personal choice - maybe up to parents since they do have some type of control until you're 18 - or while you're living under their roof. But, I also think that children will make good choices if you've equipped them to.

It's not like we want generations of sheep. This is America. We champion creativity and being able to be who you are - individuality. It is what makes this country great and amazing.

Response to "I See Me" poem

This seems to be a pretty dark poem, but then again, I remember writing things that were this dark and depressing in high school and junior high, too. There was that one in eighth grade that was really dark and just a stream of consciousness. It was really good. Probably my favorite thing I ever wrote. Too bad it got lost in the shuffle of one of the moves.

Being a teenager isn't a fun time. Sure there are a lot of fun times and you basically have permission to be an idiot - but, you're alos becoming you - and that's not an easy thing. Especially when you are constantly bombarded with photos of what society deems as perfect and correct. So, it gets into your head that that image is what you should be.

That even holds true for adults. You're always feeling like you need to look the ads - but we know they aren't real. They're photoshopped - or they're plastic. What could actually be seen as more disturbing, though, is that we've become OK with that as a society. E preach that it matters what's on the inside, but I truly believe that this is a case of actions speaking louder than words. We say that, but we continue to show different "ideals."

Look at all the fad diets. The quick fixes. Society - and by that I mean all of us - is saying we need to be skinny.

But it hasn't always been that way. Marilyn Monroe was curvy. Bridgette Bardot definitely wasn't asking and bones. But at some point, stick thin because the ideal. I'm lucky because I got good genes. But that also doesn't mean it makes it any easier for me.

******

When I first read this, I read it as someone looking at themselves in a mirror, but then a student said he thought it was about a bo looking into a girl's eyes. Once he said that, I could completely see that. That is one thing I love about teaching - when students have a chance to make me able to see things differently. It's a teachable moment for me and helps me grow. This is also a great example of how our personal schema and thoughts/experiences affect how we interpret things in clases - and life. It is all about how you frame things; either choice wasn't right and it wasn't wrong - it just was.

******

This person must have a significant amount of self loathing, though, when they ened it by saying that they hate that they always see "me." It makes me wonder whether they are upset about something they've done to the person they are looking at or if they just don't have enough confidence in themselves. If it is the former, it makes me question the person they are looking at. Or is "Jay" beating himself up unnecessarily about something he's done. Is he blowing it out of proportion? Or is it something that truly is horrible. If it is truly horrible, then the other peson should leave. Vamoose. They shouldn't suffer because someone else is a moron or rude or abusive. Everyone is better than that and deserves more than that.

As I read through this for the fight time today, I notice that the subject of the poem does indeed have some self-esteem issues. This could explain why she's staying with this person. Now, I'm also getting the idea that the narrator is the one who causes all the pain an suffering in her life. Now, though, I'm wondering why the narrator doesn't try to improve himself if he is so unhappy about how he hates what he sees.

The Day Everything Changed

*This one is from a few weeks ago when we wrote about 9/11.

I didn't believe it at first.

She called after 8 to tell me small planes had hit the World Trade Towers in NYC. It didn't seem like that big of deal at that point. small planes weren't that big of deal. Besides, I had another 15 minutes before my alarm went off.

My mind set changed completely when I got out of the shower. My stereo was on like it was every morning; but instead of the normal Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters coming from the speakers - it was news.

Did they seriously just say that the Pentagon had been hit? What was going on? I stood there dripping in my robe and turned on the TV. I couldn't believe the images being shown.

This couldn't be happening.

I still headed to campus because it seemed like the only logical thing to do. It was all we talked about in criminology, but he did let us out early because we needed to process.

I was in a fog. This was unreal; I was still mourning my mom. I couldn't handle this yet. But I needed to hear normal voices. I called Sarah. It helped a little, but she was frantic. We were all frantic. I started trying to call my dad - no answer.

Classes were being canceled all over the place - but not mine. This was the perfect time to go over how to cover this and how to deal with this horrific attack. So, instead of getting to go home, I was stuck in the basement of wAlter williams digging through plane information based on tail wings.

I headed home, having to weave the car through the lines of cars that poured out of the gas stations.

Still couldn't get in touch with Dad. Constant busy signal.

Odd thoughts started going through my head. Just a week ago, we were flying back from Orange County. If this had happened just one week earlier, I would have been stuck there.

Finally got home. The answering machine was blinking. Had to be Dad.

Nope. Cicely.

"I just want you to know I love you because it doesn't get said enough. So, I love you."

So - my best friend calls, I have tons of emails from other people - but no word from my dad.

I try again.

Busy.

He's talking to HER. Once again; she's stolen him.

I finally get through. He's mad because I interrupted the call.

I say fine and sorry that his only daughter wanted to talk to him on the day that the world appears to be going to Hell. I say good by, hang up, and realize that we truly have no relationship now all thanks to her.

*******

This was the day I realized the importance of my future career. It was up to us to start filtering/sifting through all of this nonsense to make sense of it. In all honesty, we had no time to process it. We may have only been student journalists, but that was no excuse. WE had a paper and newscasts to get out.

And so we did.

We sifted throughs tories. Got a crash course in various Middle Eastern subjects. Afghan vs. Afghani. Explaining why there were various spellings of Bin Laden's name and al-Qaeda. Learning how to fit Afghanistan in a headline with ease.

And the pictures.

They were heart wrenching. Horrific. Telling.

Some of those photos never say the light of day in any publication because they were just too much. It's not like we didn't see enough anyway.

It was the start of the constant ticker on the news feeds. And every channel was a news feed. No ESPN. No MTV. No CW. No FX. NOthing but news. And that ticker. Constantly updating us - even though there were no real updates. Little did we know that ticker was never going away.

Slowly, stories came together. But after a while, they all blended in to one. By the weekend, it was time for something else - but there was nothing else. No football game to go to. No sports. Just news.

I started watching Telemundo. Despite not knowing much Spanish beyond Donde es el Bano? I could understand what the anchors and reports were saying because they were saying the EXACT same thing everyone else was saying on EVERY other channel. It just wasn't in English this time.

There was no escape. People who weren't even there were going into a depressive state because of all the coverage. Sometimes I wonder if it was too much simply because there was no escape from it because there was no other programming.

Looking back, I don't even think we understood it then. Strike that - I know we didn't understand it. It was too much. too odd. Too foreign. It was common to hear phrases like "This doesn't happen to us." Because it didn't We had been lucky - but that luck also bit us in the butt because we felt safe. As much as feeling scared sucks, it is now a lot less likely for something of this magnitude to happen to us again.

Lunch stress

Lunch ... such a social strata.

In high school, you wanted to make sure that you had your 5th hour class with at least one of your friends ... preferably more than just one because you'd be screwed if they were sick. Trying to find other people to sit with ... not fun. it was so much easier in elementary when you sat with your class. No standing there looking for people. You just went. You'd think it would get better when you got to college - but then it was three meals of standing and looking for people. Breakfast was a pop tart from quick service because you weren't getting up any earlier than you needed to. Lunch was usually a sandwich from there because no one else was back from class. There were days you'd all meet somewhere on campus, but with study schedules and those pesky classes, that didn't always work either.

Dinner, though, was carefully and meticulously planned. What time? Which dining hall? Was it chicken fingers night at Down Under? Because we couldn't miss that - EVER. It also had to be carefully planned because you had to get there before the football players did. Otherwise, you'd be waiting forever for them to restock the food. I remember some girls being jealous I was in the same dorm as the football boys, but really, in times like that - it was just a pain in the rear. I did not handle not having Froot Loops to eat because Mr. O-Linesman decided he needed four bowls. Pig.

Even now when we get the master schedule, we're scrambling to see what lunch we have and who is in it. Groans erupt when it isn't your preferred time spot. Sympathies go out to the lone male stuck with a bunch of females. And those of us in C lunch know that if there's treats in the lounge, we need to find a way to sash some because goodness knows there won't be any left for us. As soon as anything homemade or chocolately gets placed on that table, it's inhaled within a few minutes. We're more vulturelike than human at that point.



*This was a freewrite. I started the day writing about different things that were stressing me out, and then the lunch ramble jumped out. So, it shows you that it is typical to have very random freewrites!

Listening to Hannah's tapes

I would have a hard time continuing to listen to Hannah's tapes - especially knowing that i was one of the reasons someone had decided to take their own life. I think curiosity would win out, though. I would want to know why I was at fault. And, I'd want to make sure that my reason wasn't horrible. And, to be honest, I'd also want to make sure that I wasn't the worst reason. If I was the 13th reason, though, I"m not sure how I'd handle that knowledge. That would be tough to deal with on a daily basis. I don't know how I'd deal with it actually. It would come with a lot of guilt attached to it.

Then, there'd be the question of whether I'd tell someone "important" or someone with authority about it. It would be a tough decision. Would I want to implicate myself? Of course, I wonder what they'd even do with it. Would it bring the family more closure/more comfort? Or would it be like Dylan Klebold's mom after having read his journals - more guilt because they didn't know they pain and suffering their daughter was going through. I think it would be a Catch 22.

You'd want to listen with the hop that it brought closure, but what if it just brought more pian? That wouldn't be helpful to the healing process, which would be just as important - if not more since you'd still be dealing with the decision that your loved one made. But what if there was something on there that could hep others choose to not commit suicide?

Hannah never made the rule that one of the listeners couldn't make the tapes public. So wat if one of the "reasons" decided to do that and outed everyone on the tapes? Would that be worth it? How would the others react? Wouldn't it be a type of karma? They caused her death so others should know why they were to blame. Of course, that could cause more backlash for you. The others could retaliate. I wonder if there could be legal action they could take. I suppose defamation, but again, what was being said would be true. There is, though, the issue of perspective. What if the person who had committed suicide just read into things too much? But that's the big issue with our words - we never know how someone will perceive them. Just because we have one meaning behind them doesn't mean they'll be take that way.

I suppose that's part of the point of this book: Be careful what you say. The old saying "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" has never really been true. Words sting - especially when you hear them over and over again. They're also more painful when you know they aren't true, but no one wants to listen to the truth because they've already accepted the wrong reality based on what they've heard. And then it goes viral and doesn't stop. If you repeat something enough, it becomes truth no matter its actual validity. It's public perception and that's worse than anything else.

Response to Austin Tice article on being afraid

I don't think we consider too mucha bout how brave we are as a nation. Of course, there are still brave individuals - Andrew Tice is an example of that. But in general - are we really pioneering and willing to risk it all to continue to discover? To do what's right? I'm not sure.

I do think he has a point that we don't fight for truly nobel reasons any more. WWII was definitely a noble cause - although no one realized how noble until they started discovering the work compas/the concentration camps. STill, it was greatly understood that Hitler was pure evil. And those who VOLUNTEERED, understood they were putting their lives in danger and that they may not come home alive. And yet, people still volunteered in droves until the end. Tehy weren't afraid to die - they knew what happened at the beaches on D-Day, and yet they still signed up. Lied about their age so they could go fight Hitler or even Mussolini or Tojo. Now, the Armed Forces struggle to get enough enlistment numbers. Sure, it was no problem right after September 11, but even a year later - numbers dropped - and they keep dropping. Too often people now join because they don't know what to do; can't get a job; can't get into school. Too often they aren't joining to be Patriotic or to fight for this amazing country; they're just there because it is their last - and maybe only option. They aren't brave. Many times they just want to show that they are manly and brave and want to be "tough and strong." They're not serving our country - they're serving themselves.

We have become complacent; we take our freedoms for granted. And actually, before Sept. 11 - we thought we were untouchable - that nothing like that could happen to us. It was a wake up call, but a wake up call that didn't last long enough. We still think that we're untouchable and that we are right. We aren't always right. Sometimes we use our cowardice, hide behind it and become the big bully. We do this every time we put a new leader in place. Sometimes we do more harm than good. After WWII, and even during the end of it, we were seen as the good guys. That knight in shining armor. Now, we're not. We're rude, crude, obese and unwanted. As a nation, we need to take a deep look inside and see what went wrong to change that perception.

I think once we find what changed that perception and work on getting back to being the "good" guys instead of the perceived big bullies - we'll realize what went wrong. While Capitalism lets us live the American dream, I also think that it is what makes us complacent - lazy. Fat. Greedy. We don't look out for the greater good anymore - we look for the better "me." We don't care if others are struggling or suffering - as long as we're OK and happy that's all that matters. However, if we look out for others, Chances are that all of us will be better off. The base will be stronger, better formed, which is beneficial to us all. Looking to pull up the others is going to make everyone's arms stronger.

Austin has the gust he's writing about. But he is not doing this for the glory - he's doing this to get the story out. He's doing what too few journalists are willing to do. He is honestly trying to make a difference through telling other people's stories. But hes' not looking for the safe easy one He's flown halfway around the world to get out the untold story. And yet, most news outlets here are too scared and chicken to publish it. It's not pretty' it's not safe; it's doesn't come in a nice, neat little package. It's not what American's want to hear because we aren't brave enough to face the truth in the world and look at the nasty stuff that could infiltrate our lives. Instead, give us the happy. The fake. The bloated. The shiny. The plastic.