Two Miles of Chicken Wire and a Four-mile Cow Pasture:
Definitional Issues Related to Students with EBD
Most current educators, in arguing for the importance of definition in working with students with emotional and behavioral disorders (EBD), demonstrate the rhetorical error of false analogy in suggesting that because diagnosis generally precedes and determines treatment in a medical model, the same should be true for education. This error is understandable and, most likely, derived from the fact that psychiatry, that shibboleth of the field, has managed to exist for the past hundred years with two entirely different and antagonistic views of humans and the human condition. When the psychiatrist is acting as a physician, that is to say, a scientist, he or she treats the patient as an organism, which will respond consistently to a prescribed treatment. If, for example, a particular psychiatrist's child has a staphylococcus infection, she is not concerned with the child's feelings about the infection, the family dynamics which may have led to exposure to the infection or any other factor. The medical doctor in the psychiatrist prescribes sulfathiazole for a period of one week, knowing that no peer can possibly question her judgment. Sulfathiazole cures staph infections. If the psychiatrist's first patient the next morning complains of anhedonia, an ever-present taste of aspirin in his mouth and a feeling of pointlessness in his life, the humanist in the psychiatrist, or "soul doctor" in German, has no equivalent to sulfathiazole. Depending upon her background, orientation and underlying assumptions, the psychiatrist may recommend years of traditional analysis, group therapy, a series of exercises done with the psychiatrist, 100 milligrams of Prozac daily or any combination of the above or other treatments, knowing that whatever she suggests is open to violent criticism by any of her peers.
The psychiatrist wears two hats, scientist and humanist, a schizophrenic wardrobe indeed; educators have only one hat, that of the humanist. We have no sulfathiazole, no readily accepted treatment for emotional and behavioral disorders. While research may suggest, for example, that adolescent sexual perpetrators respond better to group than to individual therapy, the success rate is low in either instance. Likewise, there is no empirically-proven educational intervention to prescribe for a student who, for example, can't read, throws chairs and regularly tells people he wishes he were dead. One shudders to think of going to a physician for a diagnosed infection and being told to take a medicine that might make some difference eventually. Or not. Or make the condition worse. Compared to medicine, our understanding and treatment of inappropriate human behavior has not advanced significantly since Aristotle. In the grip of the Cartesian dichotomy, our knowledge of our bodies so far surpasses our understanding of our minds that little meaningful communication can take place between C.P. Snow's "two cultures."
Philosophically, then, educators, lacking a universally accepted and prescribed course of treatment for even the simplest behavioral issue, have necessarily less concern with definition or diagnosis than do physicians using the scientific model. The background, experience and personal style of the educator and his or her institution have much more to do with the proposed educational plan than does objective evidence of the plan's efficacy. The proverb that "Everything looks like a nail if all you've got is a hammer" might be translated in EBD terms into "Everyone needs tokens if all you've got is a classroom economy" or "Everyone craves hugs if all you've got is the 1970s." While it is difficult to accept the notion that education for students with EBD is teacher- or institution-driven rather than student-driven, a brief glimpse at the population suggests its truth. Examination of the group of students identified as having EBD suggests that there is much more variability within this group than there is between individual students so identified and students carrying other disability labels or no labels at all. That is, were one to randomly identify 100 students with EBD and choose, say, 10 reasonable educational or behavioral variables, one suspects that a comparison of the EBD group and the other groups would show that, in terms of similarity, most students with EBD would "migrate" to other group's profiles and that there would be little evidence of commonality within the EBD group. Like the Unitarian Church, the EBD label embraces those who are in very few ways alike and in many ways different; neither the Unitarians nor the field of EBD has a single doctrine or belief which is necessary and sufficient for membership.
Regardless of philosophy, however, definition and labeling do matter politically and practically. It is difficult, if not well nigh impossible, to define accurately emotional and behavioral disturbances because their identification is extraordinarily subjective and based on cultural rather than statistical norms. As yet, we have no "weirdometer," so it is impossible to say that a student is two standard deviations above the mean in terms of weirdness. Likewise, a student's behavior may be borderline acceptable in some schools, while offering evidence of emotional disturbance in another. A girl with green hair and signs of self-mutilation with a razor might be immediately identified as emotionally disturbed in small-town Colebrook, New Hampshire; the same student would find a small, but not minuscule, peer group if she were to transfer to Nashua High School, and her appearance would not likely raise comment. The federal definition of "serious emotional disturbance" is filled with unclear terminology and logical inconsistency; like using two-miles of chicken wire to fence in a four-mile cattle pasture, the definition has little of the form and none of the function intended by its writers.
Anathema though it may be to those who wish to clarify the definition of EBD, the ambiguity present in the current definition of EBD may actually be in the best interests of both practicioners and, more important, students. Any definition of EBD is, no matter how elegantly stated, dependent upon subjective judgment rather than quantifiable data. To identify a student as having mental retardation, one must show that the student scores two or more standard deviations below the mean on a valid and reliable intelligence test and that the student demonstrates socially adaptive behavior (as measured on psychometrically acceptable instruments) which is significantly below that of his or her age peers. No such objectivity exists in the case of EBD. Nor can it. Nor should it. Ultimately, like the Supreme Court justice asked for his definition of pornography, the special educator is forced to say about EBD, "I can't tell you what it is, but I know it when I see it."
Monday, February 26, 2007
The Final Word on Adoption (unless I change my mind)
It’s not often that the mail changes my life. I mean, phone bills, supermarket flyers and invitations to further extend my already fragile credit are fine in their way, but they don’t serve as catalysts for introspection and meditation. A while ago, though, I received a letter that did just that, hitting me like a meatball between the eyes.
Oddly, the envelope itself inspired dread, bearing the return address of the probate court in my hometown. Given that my life to this point has been criminally unremarkable, I assumed the envelope contained either a reminder of a long-forgotten debt or the news that my high school had reviewed its records and that my diploma had been revoked.
Instead, I found a pleasant letter from the probate judge telling me that a stranger, or more accurately, the stranger’s social worker, had found that she and I had the same biological father, that she too had been placed for adoption at birth and that she wanted to make contact with me. It struck me as very odd.
As an adopted person, I’ve never used a phrase like “as an adopted person,” so the whole premise struck me as surreal. I mean, I’ve never really cared who my biological father was; instead, I’ve been focused on what kind of father my children will have. Still, strange or not, I did have to respond to the request, so I wrote the following letter:
Dear Judge X:
For the past 15 years I have spent my days helping adolescents with emotional difficulties recognize that their existence can offer meaning and purpose. I spend the rest of my life in nurturing and encouraging the search for meaning with my children. Life, for me, is filled with significance and purpose, with meaning pooling up like sunlight on a sheet of foil. Although I am a terrible poet, I do have poetic vision, with an ability to find connections between seemingly isolated objects and events. It is therefore very difficult for me to admit that I find meaningless the existence of a woman fathered by the man who was intimate with a woman 39 years ago, the fruit of which union became the baby who was adopted by my parents. (Henceforth, rather than use such circumlocutory language, I will refer to this person as my “biological father,” although I am loath to use the second word even with modification.) I find that I have no particular emotional response to this fact, nor any curiosity about this woman or her father.
I am not a very philosophical man, at least in the sense of having a systematic belief system. In the choice between immanence and transcendence, I always choose the present and concrete over the ethereal and otherworldly. As H.L. Mencken remarked about philosophy in general, “We are here. It is now. The rest is all moonshine.” Because of the unusual situation presented by your letter, though, I have been led to ponder and outline a rough draft of a philosophy of life; this process has crystallized a number of previously unexpressed first principles by which I lead my life. Please excuse the length of this letter, but I hope to make my intentions explicitly clear to you, the involved party from the State of New Hampshire and, most important, the woman who initiated this series of circumstances.
If I were asked to define myself by coming up with a list of 100 descriptive attributes, the list might begin with:
1. I am a father.
2. I am a teacher.
3. I am an artist.
and so on, moving down toward the following:
37. I am a Red Sox fan.
38. I am a chess player who enjoys playing against superior competition, of which there is no shortage.
39. I am an Army veteran.
and conclude with:
98. I am a coffee drinker.
99. I worked my way through college and graduate school.
100. I am a good cook.
This hypothetical list, though, would probably not include the item “I am adopted,” for this fact forms almost none of my core identity. When I do meet people who view their adoption as central to their humanity, I am vaguely amused, for adoption has had little significance in my life. Since our conversation, I have done a little Internet research into the world of adoption, primarily through reading postings at newsgroups devoted to the subject. I was shocked to find that thousands of people appear to devote considerable energy to tracking down biological parents, children and siblings. Most of the postings have a desperate, Holy Grail tone to them, as if successful detective work would somehow make the searcher whole. Perhaps I have chosen massive denial as a strategy of coping with adoption, but the notion that one’s life is given purpose by the pursuit of another strikes me as pathetic and absurd. Pathetic because this is a sucker’s game: the elusive quarry is almost certainly not going to grant peace and serenity. Absurd because the random occurrence of a blood relationship guarantees no connection more profound than perhaps a certain physical similarity or, perhaps, a taste for salty foods. Many of us have had the experience of traveling overseas and meeting someone who comes from the same state or region; this coincidence forms a short-lived bond that melts fairly quickly if there is no other connection to be made. Thus it is with adoption and me; meeting someone who is adopted or interested in adoption is roughly akin to meeting a fellow New Englander in Vienna; I am interested enough to talk a bit, but the topic wears itself out fairly quickly. I would shy away from someone calling out in Heathrow Airport, “Hey, I’m from New Hampshire. Any other New Englanders here?”; similarly, I am put on guard by people who were adopted using that fact as a calling card.
Although I don’t much like labels, I find I hold some beliefs which might be labeled “existentialist,” although they might just as easily be called common-sense conservatism. First and foremost, I believe that what we do defines who we are; the “I” in each of us is the product of our experiences, those events which life has thrown at us, and, more important, our response to those events. Each situation in our lives offers the opportunity for choice and it is the patterns of those choices which create our identity. Without in any way wanting to sound mechanistic, a human life is that set of patterns and rhythms created by the choices we make; identity is the product of our responses to the chaotic events which life churns up over time.
This identity is being continually created, of course, so it also affects the choices we confront in our lives. As a perhaps too-facile example, a young person who is offered the opportunity to cheat on a test has at least two choices: politely refuse the offer or cheat. If the young person takes the first choice, he discovers that he is becoming the sort of person who doesn’t cheat; likewise, the people around him are discovering this, so they are less likely to offer him the chance to cheat. This self-stoking cycle applies just as strongly in regard to positive options; we are always in a state of becoming who we are. There is no static “I,” there is a dynamic, ever-changing, and, one hopes, ever-improving “I.”
This philosophy leads directly to my feelings about my biological father. My view of life is that each of us is born with certain biological strengths and limitations; the vast majority of us have “enough” of everything we need to be successful. The secret to that success, though, comes not, except in the case of professional basketball players and midget wrestlers, from the biology with which we are born, but from the psychology and sociology of our parents, which enables us to make good choices later in our lives. In the battle between nature and nurture, my money is on the importance of nurture. For example, I was born with a brain capable of learning a lot of different information. My mother is a voracious reader who encouraged me to read broadly, deeply and until my eyes dried out. Whether I was reading comic books or Kafka, she urged me to read and think about what I was reading. Likewise, I was born with potentially adequate hand-eye coordination and a body that would be capable of running fast. My father, who was a high-school phenom, drove me to baseball soccer and track practice and attended every single one of my childhood and high school games, meets and tournaments, whether I was starting or riding the bench. In each of these examples, and in countless more, I was born with certain potential gifts and abilities but it was the nurturance of my parents and others who breathed reality into that potential.
If we can use the analogy of cards, my biological father dealt half of my hand and left the table; it was my parents who taught me to play. In terms of influence on my life, my biological father’s role is considerably less than that of my second-grade teacher, my old soccer coach, or even the friendly cashier at the local supermarket. In fact, if you had contacted me with information about Ben Roe, my elementary-school best friend, with whom I have not spoken since he moved away 30 years ago, my emotional response would have been immeasurably greater than it is under the present circumstances. The difference between my relationship with the people mentioned above and my relationship with my biological father is that I interacted with them, while I merely resulted from an action of my biological father, a result which was almost certainly unintended.
I have three young daughters, each of whom is wonderful in her own unique way. In a sense, I had nothing to do with which girl would have blue eyes, which would be left-handed and which would have dimples. I could not have chosen different attributes, for I had no choice. In fact, during the act that led to conception, babies were certainly far from my mind. I became my daughters’ father when I started to father them at birth, a dynamic and ongoing process; up until that point, I was merely a sperm supplier. By this light, my biological father has had zero influence on who I am, for he had no control or influence over which genes he was passing on to me.
As a father, I know that the look I give when smiling into my five-year-old’s face is the same look of love which my father gave me when I was adopted. I love my children because of the time I spend with them and the dreams I have for them and because of the great people they are becoming, not because they are flesh of my flesh or bone of my bone.
In short, my need to find out more about the man who sired and the woman who bore me is nil. Nada. Zilch. With no bitterness or animosity toward either of them, and with thankfulness that neither of them appears to have passed on genes for madness or early-onset Alzheimer’s, I would say that I have no desire or need to discover these people. You have informed me that both my biological mother and father are dead. May they rest in peace.
Given that my need to establish any kind of contact is non-existent, I must consider those of my biological father’s daughter, or my biological half-sister. While it is difficult for me to conceive of any questions that my identity could answer for this woman, the fact that she has initiated this process clearly indicates that she believes that finding me will be helpful to her. My first response is that if she wishes to discover more about herself, she should start with a mirror. Likewise, if she wishes to discover more about her father, that same mirror could be used to search for her father’s effects on her. Still, as long as no harm is likely to accrue to me, I have no objection to some minimal amount of contact, as long as the following requests are accepted. I request that my biological half-sister
1. Understand that I am not her “long-lost brother”; I am merely a person who shares some genes with her,
2. Understand that I have no desire to enter a long-term relationship with her or any of her relatives,
3. Understand and respect my desire for privacy, and
4. Understand that I am a writer and that I may choose to write about this experience and publish these writings, promising to protect the anonymity of her and her father.
Each of these conditions uses the verb “understand”; it has crossed my mind that my biological half-sister may have been judged incompetent and that the request you received may have been initiated by a case worker or guardian. If this is the case, I am still willing to meet her, with the understanding that her legal guardian accepts these conditions.
As a practical matter, I would prefer that you forward me this woman’s name, telephone number and a convenient time to call. I will make every effort to place a phone call and to try to arrange for at least one face-to-face meeting.
Thank you, Your Honor, for your interest in this case. Until I hear from you, I remain
Sincerely yours,
Did I contact this woman? Yes. Did we have a pleasant conversation? Yes. Did I rethink my position as stated above, and become friends with this woman? No, not at all. In fact, that is how the letter changed my life: it showed that I didn’t need to change my life all that much.
Oddly, the envelope itself inspired dread, bearing the return address of the probate court in my hometown. Given that my life to this point has been criminally unremarkable, I assumed the envelope contained either a reminder of a long-forgotten debt or the news that my high school had reviewed its records and that my diploma had been revoked.
Instead, I found a pleasant letter from the probate judge telling me that a stranger, or more accurately, the stranger’s social worker, had found that she and I had the same biological father, that she too had been placed for adoption at birth and that she wanted to make contact with me. It struck me as very odd.
As an adopted person, I’ve never used a phrase like “as an adopted person,” so the whole premise struck me as surreal. I mean, I’ve never really cared who my biological father was; instead, I’ve been focused on what kind of father my children will have. Still, strange or not, I did have to respond to the request, so I wrote the following letter:
Dear Judge X:
For the past 15 years I have spent my days helping adolescents with emotional difficulties recognize that their existence can offer meaning and purpose. I spend the rest of my life in nurturing and encouraging the search for meaning with my children. Life, for me, is filled with significance and purpose, with meaning pooling up like sunlight on a sheet of foil. Although I am a terrible poet, I do have poetic vision, with an ability to find connections between seemingly isolated objects and events. It is therefore very difficult for me to admit that I find meaningless the existence of a woman fathered by the man who was intimate with a woman 39 years ago, the fruit of which union became the baby who was adopted by my parents. (Henceforth, rather than use such circumlocutory language, I will refer to this person as my “biological father,” although I am loath to use the second word even with modification.) I find that I have no particular emotional response to this fact, nor any curiosity about this woman or her father.
I am not a very philosophical man, at least in the sense of having a systematic belief system. In the choice between immanence and transcendence, I always choose the present and concrete over the ethereal and otherworldly. As H.L. Mencken remarked about philosophy in general, “We are here. It is now. The rest is all moonshine.” Because of the unusual situation presented by your letter, though, I have been led to ponder and outline a rough draft of a philosophy of life; this process has crystallized a number of previously unexpressed first principles by which I lead my life. Please excuse the length of this letter, but I hope to make my intentions explicitly clear to you, the involved party from the State of New Hampshire and, most important, the woman who initiated this series of circumstances.
If I were asked to define myself by coming up with a list of 100 descriptive attributes, the list might begin with:
1. I am a father.
2. I am a teacher.
3. I am an artist.
and so on, moving down toward the following:
37. I am a Red Sox fan.
38. I am a chess player who enjoys playing against superior competition, of which there is no shortage.
39. I am an Army veteran.
and conclude with:
98. I am a coffee drinker.
99. I worked my way through college and graduate school.
100. I am a good cook.
This hypothetical list, though, would probably not include the item “I am adopted,” for this fact forms almost none of my core identity. When I do meet people who view their adoption as central to their humanity, I am vaguely amused, for adoption has had little significance in my life. Since our conversation, I have done a little Internet research into the world of adoption, primarily through reading postings at newsgroups devoted to the subject. I was shocked to find that thousands of people appear to devote considerable energy to tracking down biological parents, children and siblings. Most of the postings have a desperate, Holy Grail tone to them, as if successful detective work would somehow make the searcher whole. Perhaps I have chosen massive denial as a strategy of coping with adoption, but the notion that one’s life is given purpose by the pursuit of another strikes me as pathetic and absurd. Pathetic because this is a sucker’s game: the elusive quarry is almost certainly not going to grant peace and serenity. Absurd because the random occurrence of a blood relationship guarantees no connection more profound than perhaps a certain physical similarity or, perhaps, a taste for salty foods. Many of us have had the experience of traveling overseas and meeting someone who comes from the same state or region; this coincidence forms a short-lived bond that melts fairly quickly if there is no other connection to be made. Thus it is with adoption and me; meeting someone who is adopted or interested in adoption is roughly akin to meeting a fellow New Englander in Vienna; I am interested enough to talk a bit, but the topic wears itself out fairly quickly. I would shy away from someone calling out in Heathrow Airport, “Hey, I’m from New Hampshire. Any other New Englanders here?”; similarly, I am put on guard by people who were adopted using that fact as a calling card.
Although I don’t much like labels, I find I hold some beliefs which might be labeled “existentialist,” although they might just as easily be called common-sense conservatism. First and foremost, I believe that what we do defines who we are; the “I” in each of us is the product of our experiences, those events which life has thrown at us, and, more important, our response to those events. Each situation in our lives offers the opportunity for choice and it is the patterns of those choices which create our identity. Without in any way wanting to sound mechanistic, a human life is that set of patterns and rhythms created by the choices we make; identity is the product of our responses to the chaotic events which life churns up over time.
This identity is being continually created, of course, so it also affects the choices we confront in our lives. As a perhaps too-facile example, a young person who is offered the opportunity to cheat on a test has at least two choices: politely refuse the offer or cheat. If the young person takes the first choice, he discovers that he is becoming the sort of person who doesn’t cheat; likewise, the people around him are discovering this, so they are less likely to offer him the chance to cheat. This self-stoking cycle applies just as strongly in regard to positive options; we are always in a state of becoming who we are. There is no static “I,” there is a dynamic, ever-changing, and, one hopes, ever-improving “I.”
This philosophy leads directly to my feelings about my biological father. My view of life is that each of us is born with certain biological strengths and limitations; the vast majority of us have “enough” of everything we need to be successful. The secret to that success, though, comes not, except in the case of professional basketball players and midget wrestlers, from the biology with which we are born, but from the psychology and sociology of our parents, which enables us to make good choices later in our lives. In the battle between nature and nurture, my money is on the importance of nurture. For example, I was born with a brain capable of learning a lot of different information. My mother is a voracious reader who encouraged me to read broadly, deeply and until my eyes dried out. Whether I was reading comic books or Kafka, she urged me to read and think about what I was reading. Likewise, I was born with potentially adequate hand-eye coordination and a body that would be capable of running fast. My father, who was a high-school phenom, drove me to baseball soccer and track practice and attended every single one of my childhood and high school games, meets and tournaments, whether I was starting or riding the bench. In each of these examples, and in countless more, I was born with certain potential gifts and abilities but it was the nurturance of my parents and others who breathed reality into that potential.
If we can use the analogy of cards, my biological father dealt half of my hand and left the table; it was my parents who taught me to play. In terms of influence on my life, my biological father’s role is considerably less than that of my second-grade teacher, my old soccer coach, or even the friendly cashier at the local supermarket. In fact, if you had contacted me with information about Ben Roe, my elementary-school best friend, with whom I have not spoken since he moved away 30 years ago, my emotional response would have been immeasurably greater than it is under the present circumstances. The difference between my relationship with the people mentioned above and my relationship with my biological father is that I interacted with them, while I merely resulted from an action of my biological father, a result which was almost certainly unintended.
I have three young daughters, each of whom is wonderful in her own unique way. In a sense, I had nothing to do with which girl would have blue eyes, which would be left-handed and which would have dimples. I could not have chosen different attributes, for I had no choice. In fact, during the act that led to conception, babies were certainly far from my mind. I became my daughters’ father when I started to father them at birth, a dynamic and ongoing process; up until that point, I was merely a sperm supplier. By this light, my biological father has had zero influence on who I am, for he had no control or influence over which genes he was passing on to me.
As a father, I know that the look I give when smiling into my five-year-old’s face is the same look of love which my father gave me when I was adopted. I love my children because of the time I spend with them and the dreams I have for them and because of the great people they are becoming, not because they are flesh of my flesh or bone of my bone.
In short, my need to find out more about the man who sired and the woman who bore me is nil. Nada. Zilch. With no bitterness or animosity toward either of them, and with thankfulness that neither of them appears to have passed on genes for madness or early-onset Alzheimer’s, I would say that I have no desire or need to discover these people. You have informed me that both my biological mother and father are dead. May they rest in peace.
Given that my need to establish any kind of contact is non-existent, I must consider those of my biological father’s daughter, or my biological half-sister. While it is difficult for me to conceive of any questions that my identity could answer for this woman, the fact that she has initiated this process clearly indicates that she believes that finding me will be helpful to her. My first response is that if she wishes to discover more about herself, she should start with a mirror. Likewise, if she wishes to discover more about her father, that same mirror could be used to search for her father’s effects on her. Still, as long as no harm is likely to accrue to me, I have no objection to some minimal amount of contact, as long as the following requests are accepted. I request that my biological half-sister
1. Understand that I am not her “long-lost brother”; I am merely a person who shares some genes with her,
2. Understand that I have no desire to enter a long-term relationship with her or any of her relatives,
3. Understand and respect my desire for privacy, and
4. Understand that I am a writer and that I may choose to write about this experience and publish these writings, promising to protect the anonymity of her and her father.
Each of these conditions uses the verb “understand”; it has crossed my mind that my biological half-sister may have been judged incompetent and that the request you received may have been initiated by a case worker or guardian. If this is the case, I am still willing to meet her, with the understanding that her legal guardian accepts these conditions.
As a practical matter, I would prefer that you forward me this woman’s name, telephone number and a convenient time to call. I will make every effort to place a phone call and to try to arrange for at least one face-to-face meeting.
Thank you, Your Honor, for your interest in this case. Until I hear from you, I remain
Sincerely yours,
Did I contact this woman? Yes. Did we have a pleasant conversation? Yes. Did I rethink my position as stated above, and become friends with this woman? No, not at all. In fact, that is how the letter changed my life: it showed that I didn’t need to change my life all that much.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
The Real Seven Things Men Think about Other than Sex
None of these are stolen from Dane Cook or anybody else.
1) If I were to die today, who would deliver my eulogy (or my malogy, for those of you with a Classical background)? I mean, I've written and delivered quite a few of these suckers, and I know how to get 'em crying, yet leave 'em laughing. Who can I trust to deliver mine? Would a videotape of me talking about the me who used to be vertical be tasteless?
2) Does good pitching always beat good hitting? Always? How about the Big Red Machine of the 70s? How good were Don Gullett, Fred Norman, Gary Nolan, Jack Billingham, Pat Darcy, and Clay Kirby, really?
3) I'd really like to figure out a way to disappear completely, leaving no trace of my former self. I don't actually want to do so, but I'd like an outline.
4) What is the greatest novel ever? Gatsby? Middlemarch? It Can't Happen Here? On Account of Because? What Trouble Looks Like?
5) If I join a CD club, is it really a good deal? Can I even think of 12 CDs I'd like to own? Tonio K? Daniel Amos? Swirling Eddies? Lost Dogs? Peter Case? Any other candidates, folks?
6) For whom I should I vote in the 2008 New Hampshire Primary, given that my votes have gone, in order from 1980 on, to Ted Kennedy, Gary Hart, Bruce Babbitt, Bill Clinton, Bill Clinton, John McCain (write-in) and Joe Liebermann? Any readers who can spot a pattern here and offer advice are begged to do so.
7) Why is Waking Life one of my favorite movies?
1) If I were to die today, who would deliver my eulogy (or my malogy, for those of you with a Classical background)? I mean, I've written and delivered quite a few of these suckers, and I know how to get 'em crying, yet leave 'em laughing. Who can I trust to deliver mine? Would a videotape of me talking about the me who used to be vertical be tasteless?
2) Does good pitching always beat good hitting? Always? How about the Big Red Machine of the 70s? How good were Don Gullett, Fred Norman, Gary Nolan, Jack Billingham, Pat Darcy, and Clay Kirby, really?
3) I'd really like to figure out a way to disappear completely, leaving no trace of my former self. I don't actually want to do so, but I'd like an outline.
4) What is the greatest novel ever? Gatsby? Middlemarch? It Can't Happen Here? On Account of Because? What Trouble Looks Like?
5) If I join a CD club, is it really a good deal? Can I even think of 12 CDs I'd like to own? Tonio K? Daniel Amos? Swirling Eddies? Lost Dogs? Peter Case? Any other candidates, folks?
6) For whom I should I vote in the 2008 New Hampshire Primary, given that my votes have gone, in order from 1980 on, to Ted Kennedy, Gary Hart, Bruce Babbitt, Bill Clinton, Bill Clinton, John McCain (write-in) and Joe Liebermann? Any readers who can spot a pattern here and offer advice are begged to do so.
7) Why is Waking Life one of my favorite movies?
Thoughts on Redemption
Somehow, today I clicked onto a blog by a born-again minister who wrote about the seven, I think, things men think about other than sex. He mentioned owning a wild animal as a pet. Apparently, Dane Cook, the unfunniest comedian ever, had mused about the same thing. A reader called the born-again to task, and he replied that, although he loved the baby Jesus, he and Dane Cook are both men, so their thoughts are similar.
Diligent readers may have picked up that, a few lifetimes ago, I was a Baptist minister, educated at a conservative seminary (Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, for those who are stalking me). The thought that men are men, no matter whether redeemed or unredeemed, are identical, struck me as an odd theological position, much like the bumper sticker "Christians aren't Perfect, Just Forgiven." Heinrich Heine remarked, "God will forgive me; that's his job," which seems to sum the whole thing up fairly well.
Incidentally, when I hear the word redemption, I think of bottles that can be turned into cash.
Diligent readers may have picked up that, a few lifetimes ago, I was a Baptist minister, educated at a conservative seminary (Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, for those who are stalking me). The thought that men are men, no matter whether redeemed or unredeemed, are identical, struck me as an odd theological position, much like the bumper sticker "Christians aren't Perfect, Just Forgiven." Heinrich Heine remarked, "God will forgive me; that's his job," which seems to sum the whole thing up fairly well.
Incidentally, when I hear the word redemption, I think of bottles that can be turned into cash.
Thoughts on Redemption
Somehow, today I clicked onto a blog by a born-again minister who wrote about the seven, I think, things men think about other than sex. He mentioned owning a wild animal as a pet. Apparently, Dane Cook, the unfunniest comedian ever, had mused about the same thing. A reader called the born-again to task, and he replied that, although he loved the baby Jesus, he and Dane Cook are both men, so their thoughts are similar.
Diligent readers may have picked up that, a few lifetimes ago, I was a Baptist minister, educated at a conservative seminary (Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, for those who are stalking me). The thought that men are men, no matter whether redeemed or unredeemed, are identical, struck me as an odd theological position, much like the bumper sticker "Christians aren't Perfect, Just Forgiven." Heinrich Heine remarked, "God will forgive me; that's his job," which seems to sum the whole thing up fairly well.
Incidentally, when I hear the word redemption, I think of bottles that can be turned into cash.
Diligent readers may have picked up that, a few lifetimes ago, I was a Baptist minister, educated at a conservative seminary (Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, for those who are stalking me). The thought that men are men, no matter whether redeemed or unredeemed, are identical, struck me as an odd theological position, much like the bumper sticker "Christians aren't Perfect, Just Forgiven." Heinrich Heine remarked, "God will forgive me; that's his job," which seems to sum the whole thing up fairly well.
Incidentally, when I hear the word redemption, I think of bottles that can be turned into cash.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Who is Becca Howard (and why is she so mad at Kathryn Beigh)?
K-SOFA Means Reading This and Doing an Assignment Afterwards
The following letter was written to a fundraiser. Please choose a target and write one yourself on the back of this letter
Dear Kathryn Beich:
My name is Rebecca Marie Howard; I am 12 years old and live in Nashua New Hampshire. Today my class at Sunset Heights Elementary read a book called If the World Were A Village. It touched my whole class including myself and taught us how lucky people in America are compared to other countries in the world. Afterward we had a discussion and all of us realized that the people of the U.S. aren’t always thankful for what we have. We waste lots of food, paper and other valuable products that countries in poverty would be happy to have.
Soon after reading this powerful book, we were handed a flyer saying our PTO was holding a Kathryn Beich fundraiser to raise money for our school. I was disgusted and outraged to find out that we were to sell chocolate rabbits for $5.00 each. It did not seem right to me to be spending so much money on chocolate bunnies.
I appreciate all you do for schools across the nation, but I do not appreciate having you sell chocolate for such a high price when people are starving in Africa, overpopulation in China, radiation in Russia and terror in Iraq. These people have nothing, while your company is cheating people out of their money. Five dollars for chocolate? That’s outrageous!
Another reason I am appalled at the products your company makes is that they are insensitive to other religions. At my school there are many children from different countries who practice different religions and celebrate different holidays. I do not think that these kids would like to go around selling chocolate Easter bunnies. No, there was nothing on the flyer that said that these rabbits were Easter rabbits, but you and I both know that in the spring chocolate rabbits are usually considered Easter treats. If you do keep on selling these chocolates (which I hope you do not) please be respectful to other religions.
All I ask is that next time the Kathryn Beich company sells a fundraising product, please make sure it has some value and is not insensitive of other religions or you should be sure that you’ll be hearing from me again and I’ll be trying to drive you out of business. I’d also like to ask whoever is reading this letter to go and read the book, If the World Were a Village and hopefully you will be just as moved as I was. Thank you for being so kind as to listen to a 6th grade girl complain about your company, I just wanted to get my point across.
Sincerely,
Becca Howard
The following letter was written to a fundraiser. Please choose a target and write one yourself on the back of this letter
Dear Kathryn Beich:
My name is Rebecca Marie Howard; I am 12 years old and live in Nashua New Hampshire. Today my class at Sunset Heights Elementary read a book called If the World Were A Village. It touched my whole class including myself and taught us how lucky people in America are compared to other countries in the world. Afterward we had a discussion and all of us realized that the people of the U.S. aren’t always thankful for what we have. We waste lots of food, paper and other valuable products that countries in poverty would be happy to have.
Soon after reading this powerful book, we were handed a flyer saying our PTO was holding a Kathryn Beich fundraiser to raise money for our school. I was disgusted and outraged to find out that we were to sell chocolate rabbits for $5.00 each. It did not seem right to me to be spending so much money on chocolate bunnies.
I appreciate all you do for schools across the nation, but I do not appreciate having you sell chocolate for such a high price when people are starving in Africa, overpopulation in China, radiation in Russia and terror in Iraq. These people have nothing, while your company is cheating people out of their money. Five dollars for chocolate? That’s outrageous!
Another reason I am appalled at the products your company makes is that they are insensitive to other religions. At my school there are many children from different countries who practice different religions and celebrate different holidays. I do not think that these kids would like to go around selling chocolate Easter bunnies. No, there was nothing on the flyer that said that these rabbits were Easter rabbits, but you and I both know that in the spring chocolate rabbits are usually considered Easter treats. If you do keep on selling these chocolates (which I hope you do not) please be respectful to other religions.
All I ask is that next time the Kathryn Beich company sells a fundraising product, please make sure it has some value and is not insensitive of other religions or you should be sure that you’ll be hearing from me again and I’ll be trying to drive you out of business. I’d also like to ask whoever is reading this letter to go and read the book, If the World Were a Village and hopefully you will be just as moved as I was. Thank you for being so kind as to listen to a 6th grade girl complain about your company, I just wanted to get my point across.
Sincerely,
Becca Howard
How Many People will Respond (and win a free cup of coffee)?
Imagine that you are going to any town in New Hampshire or Montana. Now answer the following questions, please. That is all/
1) Where will you go and why?
2) If you are allowed to take two friends, who will they be and why?
3) What outfits and accessories will you take and why?
4) To whom will you send a nice postcard andwhy?
5) To whom will you send a mean postcard and why?
6) What souvenir will you be sure to buy and why?
1) Where will you go and why?
2) If you are allowed to take two friends, who will they be and why?
3) What outfits and accessories will you take and why?
4) To whom will you send a nice postcard andwhy?
5) To whom will you send a mean postcard and why?
6) What souvenir will you be sure to buy and why?
Yet ONE More Writing Prompt
Keith never gets bored. Really. And he’s put together a list of things he does instead of inhabiting boredom. What do you do? Add five more items of your own. Show them to Keith. Receive a gold star.
~ Wear a pair of shorts over a pair of pants
~ Take on the traits of several different animals
~ Boycott shoes
~ Don’t speak in sentences. Only. One. Word.
~ Redecorate an old shirt
~ Insist on everyone calling you “Sheriff”. Make a badge
~ Wear a pair of shorts over a pair of pants
~ Take on the traits of several different animals
~ Boycott shoes
~ Don’t speak in sentences. Only. One. Word.
~ Redecorate an old shirt
~ Insist on everyone calling you “Sheriff”. Make a badge
Writing Prompts (#89)
Using all the resources at your disposal, please answer the following questions in brief paragraphs. Feel free to be lighthearted and fanciful or serious and somber.
Write more than one sentence for each response. Dig into your hearts for answers. (If you’d prefer to dig into your wallets, please see Sam to make arrangements.) Thank you. That is all.
If the folks at the psychic hotlines were really psychic, wouldn't they call you first?
If the funeral procession is at night, do folks drive with their lights off?
If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?
If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?
If you bear a child, why do you have a cow?
If you can read the marking, isn't that end already up?
Write more than one sentence for each response. Dig into your hearts for answers. (If you’d prefer to dig into your wallets, please see Sam to make arrangements.) Thank you. That is all.
If the folks at the psychic hotlines were really psychic, wouldn't they call you first?
If the funeral procession is at night, do folks drive with their lights off?
If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?
If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?
If you bear a child, why do you have a cow?
If you can read the marking, isn't that end already up?
Writing Prompts (#89)
Using all the resources at your disposal, please answer the following questions in brief paragraphs. Feel free to be lighthearted and fanciful or serious and somber.
Write more than one sentence for each response. Dig into your hearts for answers. (If you’d prefer to dig into your wallets, please see Sam to make arrangements.) Thank you. That is all.
If the folks at the psychic hotlines were really psychic, wouldn't they call you first?
If the funeral procession is at night, do folks drive with their lights off?
If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?
If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?
If you bear a child, why do you have a cow?
If you can read the marking, isn't that end already up?
Write more than one sentence for each response. Dig into your hearts for answers. (If you’d prefer to dig into your wallets, please see Sam to make arrangements.) Thank you. That is all.
If the folks at the psychic hotlines were really psychic, wouldn't they call you first?
If the funeral procession is at night, do folks drive with their lights off?
If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?
If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?
If you bear a child, why do you have a cow?
If you can read the marking, isn't that end already up?
Request
This blog had begun as a collection of writing prompts. They will still be posted, but right now I'm looking for a car. Any suggestions?
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Writing Prompt (#8)
Please brainstorm a list of items in a medicine cabinet. Come up with at least 20 items. Now include five and only five in a piece of flash fiction.
Thanks in advance
Thanks in advance
Friday, February 9, 2007
The Search for Technical Help
I'm far from the brightest person in the world, but I do occasionally have ideas. Today, while thinking about Wikipedia, the thought crossed my mind that perhaps a novel could be written like this. I have a few unpublished novels, and would like to "publish" a first chapter as a wiki. Can anyone give me some advice on how to do this?
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Why Aren't ALL Women lesbians
What, exactly, is the difference between men and women, besides primary and secondary sexual characteristics? That is, why is it that women are, in general, good, kind, loving, sensitive and intelligent people, able to care deeply for others and communicate their feelings, while men are obtuse, cruel, crude and unable to express their emotions, unless one chooses to define these broadly and include "horniness" as an emotion? Are these differences primarily genetic or environmental? What could be done to help cure men? Given how hopeless men are, why aren't all women lesbians?
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
And How About One More?
Using an evolutionary framework, how do you explain the existence of human consciousness? That is, while it may take a leap of faith to accept that the mystery of life was created from non-living organic matter, it is at least possible to imagine a fertile primordial soup being struck by electricity or some other force and becoming alive. From this impersonal beginning, however, how do you explain the evolution of human consciousness, the ability of humans to be aware of, question and take delight in their existence? What was the process by which consciousness was created? If you accept a completely materialistic and behavioristic worldview, which posits that humans are nothing more than the result of impersonal and infinite time, plus chance, much like the image of an infinite number of monkeys locked for eternity in a room with typewriters eventually typing out "Hamlet," how do you arrive at the sanctity of the individual? What is so sacred about any individual creature, if it is simply a product of chance?
And Yet Another
Do cynical statements and bon mots seem to stick in your mind better than uplifting sentiments? Which has a stronger hook, doubt or faith? That is, which are you more likely to remember and identify with, Yeats' statement that "The best lack all conviction, while the worst are filled with a passionate intensity" or Jesus' injunction to "Love one another as I have loved you"? Sam Shepherd's and Bob Dylan's judgment that "People never do what they believe in, they just do what's most convenient and then they repent" or Fritz Perl's placid "You do your thing and I do my thing . . ."? Why? Is a healthy cynicism necessary for survival? Do you want to increase or decrease your cynicism? Given the choice, would you like to have a simple, child-like faith in humanity and fate? Why or why not?
Yet Another Writing Prompt
K-SOFA Means Reading the Fine Print
The following are real “consumer directions.” Please read over them and write 10 similarly inane directions. Thanks.
1. On Sears hairdryer:
"Do not use while sleeping."
2. On a bar of Dial soap:
"Directions: Use like regular soap."
3. On some Swanson frozen dinners:
"Serving suggestions: Defrost."
4. On Tesco's Tiramisu dessert (printed on bottom of box):
"Do not turn upside down."
5. On Marks & Spencer Bread Pudding:
"Product will be hot after heating."
6. On packaging for a Rowenta iron:
"Do not iron clothes on body."
7. On Nytol Sleep Aid:
"Warning: May cause drowsiness."
9. On most brands of Christmas lights:
"For indoor or outdoor use only."
12. On a child's Superman costume:
"Wearing of this garment does not enable you to fly."
14. On a bottle of Palmolive Dishwashing liquid:
"Do not use on food."
The following are real “consumer directions.” Please read over them and write 10 similarly inane directions. Thanks.
1. On Sears hairdryer:
"Do not use while sleeping."
2. On a bar of Dial soap:
"Directions: Use like regular soap."
3. On some Swanson frozen dinners:
"Serving suggestions: Defrost."
4. On Tesco's Tiramisu dessert (printed on bottom of box):
"Do not turn upside down."
5. On Marks & Spencer Bread Pudding:
"Product will be hot after heating."
6. On packaging for a Rowenta iron:
"Do not iron clothes on body."
7. On Nytol Sleep Aid:
"Warning: May cause drowsiness."
9. On most brands of Christmas lights:
"For indoor or outdoor use only."
12. On a child's Superman costume:
"Wearing of this garment does not enable you to fly."
14. On a bottle of Palmolive Dishwashing liquid:
"Do not use on food."
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