Today is one of mixed emotions for me. Brother Donald Mansir, F.S.C., has died. Admitted to the hospital only the day before yesterday, he died last night. Cancer destroyed his body. Whether he knew before that he had it, I am not sure. Whether he did or not, BroD, as we often called him, lived his life well right to the very end. One of the last conversations we had (over a year ago, sadly) was seeking my 'expert' economic advice on whether he should pay the deposit on his apartment in Italy in US dollars or in euros. Donald dedicated his life to living, and to living for God. He saved Christians from persecution in the Middle East, and he saved his students from the persecution of bad translations in the United States. He changed the course of his students lives in truly tangible ways, and he inspired everyone who met him. I am truly saddened by his passing and by the knowledge that I will not share his company again in this lifetime. At the same time, I am sure that his loving soul has been taken into God's eternal embrace, and this is a thing to rejoice over. I believe BroD was prepared for death, and I am grateful God took him quickly.
Brother, you are missed.
May you rest in peace.
Alex
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Summer is FINALLY over
This will seem silly to most people, but summer is my least favorite season. I find it hot, humid, crawling with tourists no matter where you go, and it makes me feel lethargic. Fall is prettier. I like winter activities more. Spring has better kayaking. To add to all this, summer is the most difficult time of year in my job. Kids have more free time, hotter tempers, and even less motivation than during the rest of the year (which means I have to work harder for less of their effort).
Not that summer is all bad. Actually, I had a pretty good summer. I took 3 weeks off work, 1 of which I spent in Montana. That was great. I went to a good high school friend's wedding, I visited one of my best friends, I took a trip to Missoula, and I went camping in Glacier. Plus, summer in Montana isn't hot. The temperature still comes down to the 50s at night, but it's light out from 5 AM to 11 PM. Yeah, Montana was definitely worth the while.
My other 2 weeks I had off were spent at Lasallian Volunteer orientation in Romeoville, IL (at Lewis University). I won't go into all the details, just suffice to say that it was a solid gathering of volunteers and was filled with seminars on all sorts of good topics; plus some epic sand volleyball matches at night.
Post-orientation, 5 of us also took a few days to volunteer at a middle school just opening up in North Philadelphia. Saint James School is being reopened as a San Miguel Nativity school, and it was an honor to be a part of this new cornerstone in the underserved neighborhood. To give you just a brief glimpse into what this school (and all the San Miguel Nativity schools) does, think about the fact that St. James has an income limit. Families that make MORE than a certain amount can't send their kids. With no hesitation, this place can lay claim to one of the many mottoes uttered in our Lasallian circle, "the least, the last, and the lost."
That was the core of my summer, bookended by work and work. Although kids at LaSalle do have summer school, I was gone for most of the summer session. That means that most of the time I was working was holiday time. Activities start at 12:30, run to dinner, and continue after dinner until 8:30. Playing games with kids all day long might not seem like such a burden, but believe me, it can be. Somewhere between 4 and 8 hours spent swimming in the humidity, suffering the blazing hot sun. It amazes me that kids came out for activities at all considering the weather, but when I think of the alternative of sitting in their rooms or playing ping-pong, I guess it makes sense. So, I played a LOT of football, basketball, and softball. I played a little frisbee, some soccer, some capture the flag, plenty of dodgeball. I broke up a couple fights. I provided plenty of emotional support and emotional first aid, plus some physical first aid here and there. I took kids on a couple hikes, did a camping trip or two, spent some time with them rock climbing and caving, and tried to keep myself and them fairly well entertained all summer long. It was tough work, but we made it through, and now a new school year has begun.
We're off to a fine start with fall sports, playing flag football 2 days a week, ultimate frisbee 1, and indoor soccer 1. Indoor soccer was the first event, and tonight was like what might happen if a swarm of bees were to descend upon a crowded petting zoo. Kids screaming, pushing, cursing, hitting, and kicking each other, all in the name of the game. Most nights, most activities are not like this. I could tell from the moment kids walked in the door tonight that it was going to be a difficult one. Some staff shenanigans didn't help matters, and I was glad to see everybody leave in the same condition as when they came in. C'est la vie.
I went kayaking this last weekend. I ran the Dryway section of the Deerfield in western Massachusetts on Saturday, and surfed a pretty pushy wave on the Housatonic near the town of South Kent in Connecticut on Sunday. It was a pretty good couple days, definitely pushing the level of my paddling.
I don't feel like I've improved all that much since I've been in New York, but I can at least happily say that I haven't backslid. Like anything, too much time out of the water definitely dulls one's ability to perform, and so even though my paddling hasn't pushed my limits much since I came here, it has at least been consistent enough to make me feel like I'm at least staying or improving slightly.
I don't like life update blogs because I'm never sure what exactly to say or how to say it. I doubt if anything I just wrote was really very interesting to anyone, but I don't know really what people are expecting to read. I'm also ending it rather abruptly. Sorry.
As always, if you have any comments, suggestions for topics, or thoughts for the good of the order, please feel free to post them here or send me an email. I hope I get to hear from you soon.
Alex
Not that summer is all bad. Actually, I had a pretty good summer. I took 3 weeks off work, 1 of which I spent in Montana. That was great. I went to a good high school friend's wedding, I visited one of my best friends, I took a trip to Missoula, and I went camping in Glacier. Plus, summer in Montana isn't hot. The temperature still comes down to the 50s at night, but it's light out from 5 AM to 11 PM. Yeah, Montana was definitely worth the while.
My other 2 weeks I had off were spent at Lasallian Volunteer orientation in Romeoville, IL (at Lewis University). I won't go into all the details, just suffice to say that it was a solid gathering of volunteers and was filled with seminars on all sorts of good topics; plus some epic sand volleyball matches at night.
Post-orientation, 5 of us also took a few days to volunteer at a middle school just opening up in North Philadelphia. Saint James School is being reopened as a San Miguel Nativity school, and it was an honor to be a part of this new cornerstone in the underserved neighborhood. To give you just a brief glimpse into what this school (and all the San Miguel Nativity schools) does, think about the fact that St. James has an income limit. Families that make MORE than a certain amount can't send their kids. With no hesitation, this place can lay claim to one of the many mottoes uttered in our Lasallian circle, "the least, the last, and the lost."
That was the core of my summer, bookended by work and work. Although kids at LaSalle do have summer school, I was gone for most of the summer session. That means that most of the time I was working was holiday time. Activities start at 12:30, run to dinner, and continue after dinner until 8:30. Playing games with kids all day long might not seem like such a burden, but believe me, it can be. Somewhere between 4 and 8 hours spent swimming in the humidity, suffering the blazing hot sun. It amazes me that kids came out for activities at all considering the weather, but when I think of the alternative of sitting in their rooms or playing ping-pong, I guess it makes sense. So, I played a LOT of football, basketball, and softball. I played a little frisbee, some soccer, some capture the flag, plenty of dodgeball. I broke up a couple fights. I provided plenty of emotional support and emotional first aid, plus some physical first aid here and there. I took kids on a couple hikes, did a camping trip or two, spent some time with them rock climbing and caving, and tried to keep myself and them fairly well entertained all summer long. It was tough work, but we made it through, and now a new school year has begun.
We're off to a fine start with fall sports, playing flag football 2 days a week, ultimate frisbee 1, and indoor soccer 1. Indoor soccer was the first event, and tonight was like what might happen if a swarm of bees were to descend upon a crowded petting zoo. Kids screaming, pushing, cursing, hitting, and kicking each other, all in the name of the game. Most nights, most activities are not like this. I could tell from the moment kids walked in the door tonight that it was going to be a difficult one. Some staff shenanigans didn't help matters, and I was glad to see everybody leave in the same condition as when they came in. C'est la vie.
I don't feel like I've improved all that much since I've been in New York, but I can at least happily say that I haven't backslid. Like anything, too much time out of the water definitely dulls one's ability to perform, and so even though my paddling hasn't pushed my limits much since I came here, it has at least been consistent enough to make me feel like I'm at least staying or improving slightly.
I don't like life update blogs because I'm never sure what exactly to say or how to say it. I doubt if anything I just wrote was really very interesting to anyone, but I don't know really what people are expecting to read. I'm also ending it rather abruptly. Sorry.
As always, if you have any comments, suggestions for topics, or thoughts for the good of the order, please feel free to post them here or send me an email. I hope I get to hear from you soon.
Alex
It Began as an Icon - LVs Ride
It Began as an Icon
Al Cassidy Reflects on LVs RIDE
Re-posted from LVsRide.com/social
I got the call late one afternoon in September 2010. I had recently completed work on a new Lasallian Volunteers’ website, and was on to other things—primarily any assistance I could offer with the LVs running in Memphis, TN, for their upcoming annual marathon fundraiser.“Al,” Mari Anzicek began, always mispronouncing my name Ale with her Michigan accent, “Mario and I are planning a cross-country bike ride and need a logo. There will probably be more to follow, but for now, we really need a logo. Are you in? Can you help?”
I’ll admit I was a bit burnt. We put a lot of energy into that new website, and there was a whole host of other things since early 2010 we created new to help promote the future work of this 20+ year program. I needed a break. But, I cannot say “no” to a challenge… albeit slightly unclear.
“Why don’t you and Mario do some additional planning, then check back with me in, say, November?” I suggested as my temporary mental leave.
No good. They already had a rough route planned, were getting in touch with a friend who led bike tours, and picked the brain of Brother Ed Phelan about his 2001 ride across the country (the Spoke ‘N Word Tour). We needed to get going right away simply because this thing was really going to happen.
So, I put my head to it and came up with a few options. After some
discussion and tweaking, we had our logo. Let’s move on, we said: we
need a website, we need flyers to promote the ride, we need email
blasts, sell sheets, business cards . . . whoa whoa whoa! Slow down!“I’m actually not crazy about this logo,” I told Mari one morning.
“So,” she said, “we’re announcing the ride in the newsletter this month, and it needs to go to print by Friday.” And in typical Mari fashion, she followed with something like, You have until the end of the day to come up with something new or we’re just sticking with this one.
Gotta’
love Mari. To the point. Since we (Mario, Mari and I) had already pored
over enough biking logos to give us a lifetime of dreams about cranks,
derailleurs, and cogs, I had some additional ideas sitting around. After
a few sketches and some tweaking, I switched the logo to black and red,
and voila! — it was complete.“Looks good!” said Mari. “Let’s get this newsletter to print!”
With this new logo icon established, it really set the groundwork for how all the advertising materials were going to look. A website came together quickly and roughly by early November (just after the arrival of my 2nd son). Right after Christmas, we had a well-formed brochure telling about our journey, the cause and the need for funding. Come March, we had enough riders to start the trip. Bike jerseys and t-shirts with the icon emblazoned on them were ready to out the door. We were ready to leave our mark on this country. Things were going fairly well. But what was that about the well laid plans of mice and men?
Mari gets the call from the courthouse. She is summoned for jury duty, a major case. Could be a long one. I take the helm on the communication efforts, among other things. While trying to encourage additional fundraising pre-ride, finalizing the bike jerseys and t-shirts, I helped solidify a van & trailer with graphics, secured a videographer capable of creating a remarkable documentary of the trip, and planned a basic road map for capturing the day-to-day ride through an online journal. It was a lot of work. Then came some relief.
I already had the brain of Brother Ed by my side whenever I ran out of fresh ideas, now I was getting another brain familiar with communications. Elizabeth Jodice, from the D.C. office, was tasked with securing media attention and (as if that wasn’t enough) she even volunteered to update the journal on a regular basis. A break from the daily grind (not a single cyclist left for Oregon at this point mind you) of LVs Ride was in sight!
Once Mari was released from her jury duty and I saw the van wrapped with new graphics —then helped Tom Ludzia off from St. James School in North Philadelphia in a freshly-packed van filled with camping and bike supplies—all I had to do was get behind the wheel of my email and phone for updates along the route. But they never came. Silence.
“What happened?!” I wondered aloud. The ride planning was off to such an amazing and providential start, and then darkness settled above, clouding the promise of progress. The ride seemed to go dormant within the first few days. I was so completely concerned that somehow we had failed to do something right. The icon we created and placed on every last bit of material was lost in the mountains of Oregon, never to see daylight again. Okay, I wasn’t that concerned. But it had dawned on me that when you create a campaign based on a single icon, and you hope it will reach many eyes so that it reaches a purpose, you tend to get a bit frantic when it disappears.
But after learning how blessed (perhaps cursed) some of us are to live in these highly connected cities where internet and cell phone signal peak at a constant, I learned that the upper midwest is quite dark and free of such modern-day triumphs. I look back and realize how the riders truly struggled from more than just aches, pains, sleepiness, thirst, hunger, lack of motivation and more. I also realized how unimportant that icon really was in the grand scheme of things, but somehow it found a new role. The icon wasn’t just to simply identify the ride, it helped many remember they were pedaling for this common cause.
Cycling the final two days of the ride—no, I wasn’t biding my time to await the final glory, mind you, it was just convenient for me living in the Philly area—it made me realize how incredible it is that we received any update at all from the road. Riding your bike can be a lot of fun on any given Sunday—the wind gently blowing through your hair, the sun beaming in the midday sky, swans swimming in the pond as you pass by. But try cycling for upwards of 12 hours a day, and add continual requests for stories and videos on how you are feeling about it all, you would probably be about ready to toss your cell phone into a ravine or push the camerman down a dirt hill.
From the time I began working on LVs Ride until the day I joined them in dipping our tires in the Atlantic Ocean, my 2nd son is almost a year old. In the time they set out to ride, so much more happened than just a stop in some new, unkown city greeted by complete strangers every day: my fist son recently turned 3, I spent my 4th of July with family in Virginia, I visited a camp for Philadelphia children a few days per week, I got to see “The Bean” in Chicago and watch a tv show filming, I celebrated with my father his 81st birthday, my sister her expected daughter, and I spent time with my own family nearly every single day of the week. That’s not a terrible summer when you consider that the team of riders dedicated 60+ days of their life to pedal nearly every single day of the week until they felt they could do no more. And each day when they were done, they slept. And when they were done sleeping, they either got up and did it all over again, or they went to a most needed part of the city where they helped aid people who in need of assistance. I only did the riding part for two days, and I was still recovering days after. If you were include even one of those service days in between my two days of riding, I’d be out for a week I think.
My
two days riding next to the national team made me realize a lot of
things, but mostly that I’ve missed a ton of opportunities to be
selfless in some important ways. I learned that life will work out the way it is supposed to (thanks Brother Rich) so long as you are willing to put in the effort each and every day (thanks Tom Ludzia). I learned that when things get really difficult, you need to: get a song in your head (thanks Kenny Latta), shush your restless soul and consider how others are feeling (thanks Beth Ford), have a laugh and smile (thanks Alyse Gay, Zac Ufnar, Melissa Spahr, and Glenna Krzyzanowski), take a quiet moment aside (thank you Karen Giroux), think and reflect and respond delicately (thanks Tom Cook), stick together through the thick and the thin (thanks Mike & Stacy Leard), keep it loose (thanks Kelly Towns and Casey Wilson), worry less about the end and be in the present moment (thanks Mario Ragghianti), be positive, hilarious, and insightful (thank you Ed), take the lead even if everyone can’t stand what you are about to say though you know it may be best for the group (thank you Mari).
I also re-learned that no matter what icon or imagery I come up with to
help reach an audience, what lies beneath a sunburst of gears, spokes
and a red star is the heart and soul of every person who gave whatever
they could to make this thing real.I have also continued to reaffirm my forever belief in “providence.” I’ve called it many things in the past: coincidence, karma, fate. But it all means the same to me. All roads lead to the same place, and so long as you are willing to allow the road to take you there—you will be cared for. Though the cue sheet may lead us astray from time to time, the destination is always the same, and we must have faith we will eventually find our way.
As we’ve heard it all before, it is the journey—the people met, the places seen, the food eaten, the games played, the needed helped, the curious entertained—that matters. But it doesn’t hurt to have an icon at your side.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Struggle
Is it weird to struggle with not struggling? It sounds weird, for sure. I just have this feeling like everybody around me is working so hard, and I'm not. It's like they're all running into the wind, trying to get to someplace in particular, and I'm running with the wind at my back, but nowhere to go. Or something like that. People all have these goals that they work toward, and they work so hard, and they seem fulfilled by the working, and I think that's great. But I don't feel like I have goals, and I don't feel like I work that hard, and I'm not sure if I feel fulfilled very often, or ever at all.
For example, I am currently a Lasallian Volunteer. It's this awesome volunteer program associated with the De La Salle Christian Brothers that places recent college graduates in ministries around the country for 1, 2, or sometimes 3 years. The volunteers are mostly teachers, teacher's aids, tutors, or something like that, though my job is a little different. I'm a recreation coordinator for court-adjudicated boys in a residential placement facility (less politically correct, you could read that as delinquent teenagers in a no-bars form of juvenile detention). My job is great. I'm responsible for organizing after school and weekend activities for the 70-80 boys living on campus. These activities range from football, softball, and basketball, to rock climbing, caving, and camping; plus whatever else I can think of and convince kids to try. The job is perfect for me in a lot of ways. I love to play these games, I like kids (I think), I got to move to someplace I had never been, and the financial end does not place me in quite such dire straits as the word "volunteer" often makes people suspect.
So what's wrong? Nothing. Nothing, that is, until I start to look at the experiences many of my fellow volunteers are having / have had. The pain of leaving home, of moving into community life, of teaching, of trying to build relationships with coworkers and students, of trying to meet almost impossible expectations, of despairing at the truly dismal prospects for some of these kids. I don't seem to have those pains, and I kind of have to wonder what that means. I wish it meant I'm just well-adjusted and a good fit for the job, but that seems pretty unlikely. Good though I may be at carrying out the technical end of the work, my relationship building skills leave a lot to be desired, and that's the heart of what we do. I think my mile-wide independent streak might have a little to do with it, but I'm pretty sure it's not the whole answer. I think the truth might be that I have somehow settled into a sort of complacency (also called comfort), and that this is turning into a form of indifference. It isn't that I don't care about whether or not these kids lives are changed for the better, it's just that I'm no longer sure this place has the tools to be the catalyst for that change. As a result, I think I'm gradually seeing myself less as an agent of change, and more as a member of the status quo. Recidivism rates for youth in residential placements average 70%. That's HUGE! That means 7 OUT OF 10 of the boys I work with will end up back in the justice system, probably incarcerated as adults at some point. My school keeps being recognized by the State of New York as one of the best at this work, and yet I look at the numbers and can't help but feel like we are just another oppressor, restarting the cycle over and over again. The tragic truth is that the wind is coming out of my sails and I'm not sure it's coming back. My peers are full of enthusiasm, and that enthusiasm is the source of their pain (after all, the struggle can't hurt you if you don't care about how it ends). My enthusiasm has so waned that I no longer share their pain, and that realization is the source of my pain right now.
What's more, this suspicion of indifference I have isn't limited to the Lasallian Volunteers. I feel a little indifferent about the future of my life, too. I have a loose plan for where I'm headed in the next couple years, but I don't feel like that plan is in the true form of goals, and I don't feel like I'm working toward it that hard. I feel like everything is just kind of slipping by me, like I'm failing to notice life as it happens, and I don't think there could be much worse a way to be. If you aren't noticing life, you aren't living, and if you aren't living, you're dead. I'm becoming the walking dead, a 21st century zombie.
So, for all those peers of mine currently struggling through the pains of trying to be good teachers, maybe of failing at that, of being unemployed, of being dissatisfied with their statuses, know that at least that pain is a form of life. It may not be the best form, but it's better than indifference. Good luck finding your way to happiness. Please wish me the same.
For example, I am currently a Lasallian Volunteer. It's this awesome volunteer program associated with the De La Salle Christian Brothers that places recent college graduates in ministries around the country for 1, 2, or sometimes 3 years. The volunteers are mostly teachers, teacher's aids, tutors, or something like that, though my job is a little different. I'm a recreation coordinator for court-adjudicated boys in a residential placement facility (less politically correct, you could read that as delinquent teenagers in a no-bars form of juvenile detention). My job is great. I'm responsible for organizing after school and weekend activities for the 70-80 boys living on campus. These activities range from football, softball, and basketball, to rock climbing, caving, and camping; plus whatever else I can think of and convince kids to try. The job is perfect for me in a lot of ways. I love to play these games, I like kids (I think), I got to move to someplace I had never been, and the financial end does not place me in quite such dire straits as the word "volunteer" often makes people suspect.
So what's wrong? Nothing. Nothing, that is, until I start to look at the experiences many of my fellow volunteers are having / have had. The pain of leaving home, of moving into community life, of teaching, of trying to build relationships with coworkers and students, of trying to meet almost impossible expectations, of despairing at the truly dismal prospects for some of these kids. I don't seem to have those pains, and I kind of have to wonder what that means. I wish it meant I'm just well-adjusted and a good fit for the job, but that seems pretty unlikely. Good though I may be at carrying out the technical end of the work, my relationship building skills leave a lot to be desired, and that's the heart of what we do. I think my mile-wide independent streak might have a little to do with it, but I'm pretty sure it's not the whole answer. I think the truth might be that I have somehow settled into a sort of complacency (also called comfort), and that this is turning into a form of indifference. It isn't that I don't care about whether or not these kids lives are changed for the better, it's just that I'm no longer sure this place has the tools to be the catalyst for that change. As a result, I think I'm gradually seeing myself less as an agent of change, and more as a member of the status quo. Recidivism rates for youth in residential placements average 70%. That's HUGE! That means 7 OUT OF 10 of the boys I work with will end up back in the justice system, probably incarcerated as adults at some point. My school keeps being recognized by the State of New York as one of the best at this work, and yet I look at the numbers and can't help but feel like we are just another oppressor, restarting the cycle over and over again. The tragic truth is that the wind is coming out of my sails and I'm not sure it's coming back. My peers are full of enthusiasm, and that enthusiasm is the source of their pain (after all, the struggle can't hurt you if you don't care about how it ends). My enthusiasm has so waned that I no longer share their pain, and that realization is the source of my pain right now.
What's more, this suspicion of indifference I have isn't limited to the Lasallian Volunteers. I feel a little indifferent about the future of my life, too. I have a loose plan for where I'm headed in the next couple years, but I don't feel like that plan is in the true form of goals, and I don't feel like I'm working toward it that hard. I feel like everything is just kind of slipping by me, like I'm failing to notice life as it happens, and I don't think there could be much worse a way to be. If you aren't noticing life, you aren't living, and if you aren't living, you're dead. I'm becoming the walking dead, a 21st century zombie.
So, for all those peers of mine currently struggling through the pains of trying to be good teachers, maybe of failing at that, of being unemployed, of being dissatisfied with their statuses, know that at least that pain is a form of life. It may not be the best form, but it's better than indifference. Good luck finding your way to happiness. Please wish me the same.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
It is what it is
I wonder often if other people think the way I do. I feel like so much of what goes on in my head is unique to me. But it isn't. That's an easy thing to forget.
Once in a while, I get to have a truly personal conversation with somebody, or read something they've written in stream-of-consciousness style (not my favorite form of writing, but informative sometimes), and I realize how I'm really not that different from other people.
So many of us suffer inside from feelings of loneliness, inadequacy, or failure. So many of us live with regular feelings of fear, confusion, and unrest. So many of us find that in our most triumphant moments, there's no way that's quite right to share it with anybody else.
TOO many of us go through life pretending. We pretend to be happy. We pretend to want to do this or that. We pretend we like people we don't. Sometimes we pretend to not like people we do. We pretend so much that we run the risk of becoming the person we pretend to be.
I only know a couple really interesting people. They're so interesting because they pretend less than any of the other people I know. They stopped pretending long enough for me to get to know the real them. The them that is silly and afraid, but not afraid to be silly. The real them that has doubts and flaws, but also joys and ambitions. These people have the best friends, and the most, because the people who stay with them are the ones who love them for their realness.
Somebody I work with is constantly introducing his statements with "I'm gonna be real with you." I wish he wouldn't. I would rather think that he was always being real with me, and that the idea of not being real didn't even cross his mind. But instead, his every assurance of reality makes me doubt its existence even more.
I'm not sure that this post had an overall point. I'm not even sure if it had that many little points within it. I started writing it with no topic in mind, but only some vague feelings about a few things I just read online, from both friends and strangers. Perhaps I'll revisit this later and try to make sense of it. For now, it is what it is.
Once in a while, I get to have a truly personal conversation with somebody, or read something they've written in stream-of-consciousness style (not my favorite form of writing, but informative sometimes), and I realize how I'm really not that different from other people.
So many of us suffer inside from feelings of loneliness, inadequacy, or failure. So many of us live with regular feelings of fear, confusion, and unrest. So many of us find that in our most triumphant moments, there's no way that's quite right to share it with anybody else.
TOO many of us go through life pretending. We pretend to be happy. We pretend to want to do this or that. We pretend we like people we don't. Sometimes we pretend to not like people we do. We pretend so much that we run the risk of becoming the person we pretend to be.
I only know a couple really interesting people. They're so interesting because they pretend less than any of the other people I know. They stopped pretending long enough for me to get to know the real them. The them that is silly and afraid, but not afraid to be silly. The real them that has doubts and flaws, but also joys and ambitions. These people have the best friends, and the most, because the people who stay with them are the ones who love them for their realness.
Somebody I work with is constantly introducing his statements with "I'm gonna be real with you." I wish he wouldn't. I would rather think that he was always being real with me, and that the idea of not being real didn't even cross his mind. But instead, his every assurance of reality makes me doubt its existence even more.
I'm not sure that this post had an overall point. I'm not even sure if it had that many little points within it. I started writing it with no topic in mind, but only some vague feelings about a few things I just read online, from both friends and strangers. Perhaps I'll revisit this later and try to make sense of it. For now, it is what it is.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Nostalgia
Nostalgia is a funny thing. It takes me over at some of the oddest moments. And the things I become nostalgic about are so varied. Former girlfriends. Classes. Activities from my youth. Smells. Turns of phrase. Sometimes I'm not even sure what I'm nostalgic about. I just get a feeling like things used to be wonderful, more wonderful than now, and that their wonderfulness is woefully lost. None of it makes sense to me, and I kick myself for being silly, but nonetheless, the feeling is there.
I think the worst nostalgia is the kind that causes self-doubt. As I read the marriage notice of a friend of mine, I thought about my own (current lack of a) romantic life, and I found myself remembering back to a relationship I had in college. I ended that relationship because it got more serious than I was ready for it to be, but I have to wonder, what if I had done things differently? Would my old friends be reading my marriage notice? Would I be somehow happier than I am now? What drastically different course might my life have taken? Although I think the decision I made at the time was the right one, and what would have inevitably happened one way or another, I know I didn't go about expressing it the right way. My social sensitivities have never been acclaimed as exquisite, and honestly, my (generally inadvertent) bluntness probably has amounted to meanness on several occasions. So here I sit, in the grip of a nostalgia I find it difficult to control. Illogically and without any decisive reason, I want a chance to make a different decision than the one I made, even though I don't think I could change the outcome for any better than it was. At least maybe in the future I can recognize my own insensitivity and avoid a similar incident. Maybe.
I think the worst nostalgia is the kind that causes self-doubt. As I read the marriage notice of a friend of mine, I thought about my own (current lack of a) romantic life, and I found myself remembering back to a relationship I had in college. I ended that relationship because it got more serious than I was ready for it to be, but I have to wonder, what if I had done things differently? Would my old friends be reading my marriage notice? Would I be somehow happier than I am now? What drastically different course might my life have taken? Although I think the decision I made at the time was the right one, and what would have inevitably happened one way or another, I know I didn't go about expressing it the right way. My social sensitivities have never been acclaimed as exquisite, and honestly, my (generally inadvertent) bluntness probably has amounted to meanness on several occasions. So here I sit, in the grip of a nostalgia I find it difficult to control. Illogically and without any decisive reason, I want a chance to make a different decision than the one I made, even though I don't think I could change the outcome for any better than it was. At least maybe in the future I can recognize my own insensitivity and avoid a similar incident. Maybe.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Hey Mr. Branch ... F*** you!
Well, I've been here a little more than 6 months, and finally I think I can say that I am truly settling in. When I first came, it was obvious to me that I really had no idea what was going on. I was swimming through my job pleased to be doing it, but knowing I was not as effective as I could be. Time went on, and I slowly grew more comfortable with my responsibilities as a recreation coordinator, but still, there was a level of familiarity I knew I hadn't reached. When I see staff who have been here longer, I see in their movements a kind of familiarity with their position and with the kids that makes things look easy. They know what's up, and the kids know it, too. What I've been missing, what I knew I was missing but couldn't name, was confidence. I'm good at positive self-talk. I encourage myself, I act confident, I walk tall, and when I decide to do something, I do it. Inside, though, I always have the nagging doubt about whether or not I'm doing things right, or doing the right thing. Just in the last week or two, though, that doubt has been fading away. I've noticed the change in myself, and I've noticed the change in the boys. The boys are very good at picking up on when they can or can't manipulate a staff. For a while, they picked up on their ability to manipulate me. If I wasn't sure exactly what I was doing, they knew, and they knew they could affect the outcome. They express that knowledge through obstinacy and defiance. They tell you how things should be (to them) and kick, scream, and yell to get what they want; because they know they can get it. Just in the last couple weeks, though, there's been a change. My confidence has flowered, and all the sudden, I'm either getting a lot less crap from the boys, or I'm just noticing it a lot less. I have a theory...
So, last Tuesday (February 8) we started a skiing program at La Salle. For two weeks in February (last and this) and two weeks in March, we'll be taking 8 kids skiing on Tuesday and 8 kids on Thursday. The boys we take are chosen based on their behavior grades in school the week previous. If the behavior grades are really good, the kid makes the list, if they aren't, he doesn't. I led both trips last week, and I'm leading one of the trips this week. I think this is where the change has really been dramatic. I've been handed a carrot, a sweet, juicy carrot, to hold out for the kids, and it's a carrot I know everything about. There is no way these kids can argue with me about any of it, because we both know that my experience in this is greater than theirs. Basketball was questionable, football the kids are clearly more experienced than I am, but skiing? All mine. When I go around campus now, boys are always asking me about when will they get to go skiing, and I have an answer ready. When kids make the list, I'm the one who tells them. When we go to the mountain, I'm the one who takes them. When they fall on the hill, I'm the one who helps them up. Having this ski program has really been for me like holding a carrot out to a wild rabbit. The rabbit would normally not let you go anywhere near it, but since you have a carrot, it lets you get a little closer, it opens an opportunity. Skiing is opening an opportunity for me with these boys.
There's something else, besides the ski program, that is changing how I interact with the boys. When I came here, I could never figure out what to talk to boys about. Do I ask them about school? How about home? About what they like to do? Every conversation was just a bit awkward, because I could never figure out how to break the ice. Now, though, the ice is finally broken. There are still some boys I don't know how to talk to, and those boys will continue to challenge me for a while, I'm sure, but with a lot of the boys I am finally at a point of familiarity where I can talk to them with depth. I know enough about their lives to ask real questions, to have actual conversations. The crux of this work is building relationships, and it is something I have been struggling with a lot since I came to Albany, but I really feel like I'm making progress. I'm optimistic.
To finish this entry, I want to tell a story that has been entertaining me for days. Last Monday I was putting together the list for Tuesday's ski trip, and part of the work there includes talking to kids to make sure they want to go on the trip. Well, I went up to Cusack, one of the divisions the boys live in, to talk to (student A) about going. While I was there, (student B) approached me about whether he was on the list. He asked because about 2 weeks before he had been on a sledding trip and asked me then about whether or not he would get to go skiing. I explained to him at the time that it would depend on his behavior in school, but that if he was doing well (which he typically does) then his chances would be very good. All he heard, of course, was "yes." Well, I answered his question by saying that his behavior grades the previous week weren't good enough to get him on the trip. He was upset, and left the conversation upset, but I didn't think too much of it.
The next morning I went into the cafeteria at breakfast to pull out the boys I needed for the day's trip. I went over to Cusack to get student A when student B, from about 25 feet away, called out "Hey Mr. Branch." I looked over and responded "what's up, (student B)? Good morning." His reply? "F*** you." I simply smiled, said thank you, and bid him good morning again. I found the whole situation funny because I could tell from the way he said hello first, and from the tone in his voice, that he didn't mean it in a hateful way. Student B was just upset about not getting to go on the trip, and the best way he could come up with to express that disappointment and frustration was to do what he did. It wasn't malicious, it was factual. When I first came to La Salle, I don't know that I would have understood that. Now, I have the pleasure of finding humor and camaraderie in such an exchange. He and I, in those few words, had a very human exchange. He conveyed everything he was feeling in the best way he could, and I responded in the way I though was most likely to let him know that I heard him without encouraging an escalation in his feelings. It was good. I am also pleased to report that student B had a good week in school and now gets to go skiing tomorrow.
Well, that's it for now. It's been a while since my last post, but maybe this makes up for it? I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, and that you are all enjoying the wintry weather even as you anticipate the coming of spring. As always, if you have any questions or comments, you are free to leave them on the page or to email me.
Alex
So, last Tuesday (February 8) we started a skiing program at La Salle. For two weeks in February (last and this) and two weeks in March, we'll be taking 8 kids skiing on Tuesday and 8 kids on Thursday. The boys we take are chosen based on their behavior grades in school the week previous. If the behavior grades are really good, the kid makes the list, if they aren't, he doesn't. I led both trips last week, and I'm leading one of the trips this week. I think this is where the change has really been dramatic. I've been handed a carrot, a sweet, juicy carrot, to hold out for the kids, and it's a carrot I know everything about. There is no way these kids can argue with me about any of it, because we both know that my experience in this is greater than theirs. Basketball was questionable, football the kids are clearly more experienced than I am, but skiing? All mine. When I go around campus now, boys are always asking me about when will they get to go skiing, and I have an answer ready. When kids make the list, I'm the one who tells them. When we go to the mountain, I'm the one who takes them. When they fall on the hill, I'm the one who helps them up. Having this ski program has really been for me like holding a carrot out to a wild rabbit. The rabbit would normally not let you go anywhere near it, but since you have a carrot, it lets you get a little closer, it opens an opportunity. Skiing is opening an opportunity for me with these boys.
There's something else, besides the ski program, that is changing how I interact with the boys. When I came here, I could never figure out what to talk to boys about. Do I ask them about school? How about home? About what they like to do? Every conversation was just a bit awkward, because I could never figure out how to break the ice. Now, though, the ice is finally broken. There are still some boys I don't know how to talk to, and those boys will continue to challenge me for a while, I'm sure, but with a lot of the boys I am finally at a point of familiarity where I can talk to them with depth. I know enough about their lives to ask real questions, to have actual conversations. The crux of this work is building relationships, and it is something I have been struggling with a lot since I came to Albany, but I really feel like I'm making progress. I'm optimistic.
To finish this entry, I want to tell a story that has been entertaining me for days. Last Monday I was putting together the list for Tuesday's ski trip, and part of the work there includes talking to kids to make sure they want to go on the trip. Well, I went up to Cusack, one of the divisions the boys live in, to talk to (student A) about going. While I was there, (student B) approached me about whether he was on the list. He asked because about 2 weeks before he had been on a sledding trip and asked me then about whether or not he would get to go skiing. I explained to him at the time that it would depend on his behavior in school, but that if he was doing well (which he typically does) then his chances would be very good. All he heard, of course, was "yes." Well, I answered his question by saying that his behavior grades the previous week weren't good enough to get him on the trip. He was upset, and left the conversation upset, but I didn't think too much of it.
The next morning I went into the cafeteria at breakfast to pull out the boys I needed for the day's trip. I went over to Cusack to get student A when student B, from about 25 feet away, called out "Hey Mr. Branch." I looked over and responded "what's up, (student B)? Good morning." His reply? "F*** you." I simply smiled, said thank you, and bid him good morning again. I found the whole situation funny because I could tell from the way he said hello first, and from the tone in his voice, that he didn't mean it in a hateful way. Student B was just upset about not getting to go on the trip, and the best way he could come up with to express that disappointment and frustration was to do what he did. It wasn't malicious, it was factual. When I first came to La Salle, I don't know that I would have understood that. Now, I have the pleasure of finding humor and camaraderie in such an exchange. He and I, in those few words, had a very human exchange. He conveyed everything he was feeling in the best way he could, and I responded in the way I though was most likely to let him know that I heard him without encouraging an escalation in his feelings. It was good. I am also pleased to report that student B had a good week in school and now gets to go skiing tomorrow.
Well, that's it for now. It's been a while since my last post, but maybe this makes up for it? I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, and that you are all enjoying the wintry weather even as you anticipate the coming of spring. As always, if you have any questions or comments, you are free to leave them on the page or to email me.
Alex
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