Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Drivers Education In Colorado: Watch for falling trucks

When I was 15 and 3/4 years old, I got a learner's permit. One of the first highways my dad taught me to drive was I-70 west of Denver. This is a stretch of highway so nerve-rattling, it has it's own web page! Believe me, it deserves it. Imagine a dad telling his nervous driver-in-training, "By the way, keep watching your rear view mirror. If a semi is gaining on you very fast, do what you can to get out of the way."

My response, at least in my mind, was probably, "Yeah, Dad, sure thing. Am I too young to have a will?" Amazingly, I've never seen a truck actually plow into a runaway truck ramp, but I've seen enough trucks in them to know that my dad's words were not pure fiction. My father and my grandfather have been driving these Colorado roads all their lives. Now, I am less than five short years away from conducting my own driver's training for my daughter and eight years for my own son. Yikes! I can't imagine what that will be like. I'd better start praying for patience and peace now.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Colorado Educrats Rebuffed By HSLDA

Under strengthened liberal control of the Colorado state government, educrats have been growing bolder in their efforts to limit freedom in education. For example, a family in one Colorado school district filed their notice of intent to homeschool only to receive a notice that said they must submit further information, such as the child's grade, birth date and age. Colorado law does not require they submit this information, although the district clearly told them that their own form must be completed. After Chris Klicka of HSLDA followed up with the district, the district agreed to stop hassling the family and accept the legal form instead of their own.

What's the big deal? For one thing, the district knows that they can try to get away with it. There is no law actually forbidding districts from requesting information, but they have no right to demand it. They are counting on the ignorance of homeschooling parents to fill out their forms, much like phishing con-artists count on you clicking to "update" your information to be in compliance with your service provider like Key Bank or eBay. What happens to your information when you fill out the district's form? Who knows? Perhaps they will use it in legal ways or not-so-legal ways.

Another problem that may be related to the first one is that school districts, especially the poorer performing ones, are hemorrhaging cash and are desperate to claim money based on per-student enrollment. What information is required for a school to claim or to prove that a student actually attends? Who audits the districts? Inquiring minds want to know. Until we do know, educrats who sit unchallenged will continue to push their limits and expand their power.

Finally, one other area that seems to raise questions is what Colorado school districts consider homeschooling. For example, the local media has been quick to trumpet rising enrollments in districts like in Grand Junction, but is not clear what they mean by homeschool. Do they mean learn-at-home public school students, virtual academy charter school students or actual homeschooling families? If they mean the first two, then they're not quite within the legal definition, but that's better than the third option. If they mean that, are they justly or unjustly claiming the per student funding?

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Paging Jokes

I've always liked paging jokes, although paging has become rare in the digital age. It seems like yesterday I was walking in Stapleton Airport's cavernous terminal listening to airport pages as people hustled from concourse to concourse to make their connection. The pages usually went like this: "Paging Mr. (or Ms.) Doe, Mr. John Doe, please come to an airport information booth or white paging telephone." The joke is to get the page announcer to say a name that sounds like a term or phrase. For example, "Paging Ms. Mejit, Ms. Ima Mejit, Mr. Taychof, Mr. Dewey Taychof, Mrs. Sedilla, Mrs. Kay Sedilla..." and so on. It's a fun turn-of-phrase that anyone can do.

Here's some of the better ones we could come up with while going over neural anatomy today in homeschool:
  • Mrs. Bellem, Mrs. Sara Bellem
  • Mrs. Nal, Mrs. Audrey Nal
  • Mrs. Ella, Mrs. Pat Ella
  • Mrs. Crehas, Mrs. Pam Crehas
  • Mr. Kia, Mr. Trey Kia
  • Mrs. Emick, Mrs. Ann Emick
  • Mr. Anin, Mr. Mel Anin
  • Mr. Enha, Mr. Rhett Enha
  • Mr. Airhees, Mr. Art Airhees
If you want to try your hand a it, click to comment and add your own. It doesn't have to be medical; just keep it clean. Have fun!

Malkin Takes On The Flying Nun

Long have I held Michelle Malkin in high esteem. She's a young mother and wife who has a gift for cutting to the heart of most issues and comes down on my side of the fence most of the time. Today's very incisive column is no exception. Malkin takes on the flying nun who has a habit (sorry) of gushing out emotional flotsam in the process of accepting awards. No, Sally, we do not "really like you" when you do that.

Michelle's very astute observations about the maternal instinct reminds me of a discussion recently. A friend of mine told me that she hoped no one would ever break into her house, not because of what the intruder might do, but because of what she might do to the intruder. She felt that her ability to restrain herself from doing serious harm wouldn't stop her from removing that threat to her children.

The night of September 11, 2001, I couldn't sleep. Really, I don't think too many people slept soundly that night. I remember looking out of our townhouse looking at the streetlights and wondering how I was supposed to protect my children (then 5 and 2 years old) from such madness, such reckless destruction. The answers were hard to come by that night and for many nights after. I still don't have most of them, but I know that our military forces have done much to keep us safe. They are the ones who deserve the awards and accolades from our society, not actresses with an ax to grind.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Kindergarten Breaks Up A Good Pair

Deb Turner, blogging for Gena Suarez at Home Where They Belong, brought out an article from the Observer-Dispatch of Utica, NY that is meant to show a kinder kindergarten approach to the dreaded first day of school. Kids are introduced to the classroom with their parents, given a cupcake (anyone for the chorus of A Spoonful of Sugar?), and set down with their new family--er, classmates and told to draw a picture of themselves. It's all a calculated move to warm children up to kindergarten, which of course was created to warm children up to grade school.

Mom, there's a perfectly good reason they're doing this. Some--or even most--kids are not ready for school at age 5. My empirical observation is that they are not ready for the separation from home, even for half a day. They are not ready to relate to Mrs. Whatever-her-name-is in the same way they relate to you as a feminine authority figure. For example, one of the tasks we had to learn was tying our shoes. I had to sit down with a pair of sneakers nailed to a board and tie them right. The assistant teacher told me that if I didn't learn it, she would fail me. I never did learn it. On the other hand, I did learn that authority figures aren't really authentic in that assistant teachers don't call the shots, never mind that it's practically impossible to flunk out of kindergarten. As you can see, my own experience was not all that grand and I believe children today are in a similar if not worse situation.

Let your kids stay home. Resist sending them off to some strange, cold classroom and let your children learn the same way they've been doing for five years already. You can keep going. We did. Keep them home where they belong.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Busting Writer's Block

I have been dealing with the worst case of writer's block in recent memory. Usually, what helps me bust past it is to write whatever is on my mind. Unfortunately, writing-but-not-publishing isn't doing the trick. If you're really wanting to know what's been on my mind, keep reading.

I don't recognize myself anymore. I don't know if it's the medications for my DDD and FMS, but I'm really starting to wonder how much of the stuff you can take before it really starts to mess with not just with your thoughts but your identity. Then again, I usually go this way when I'm under stress. Yeah, and I'm stressed right now.

This month marks the second anniversary of me being laid off from my job. I guess you could say that it's been a rough couple of years, but amazingly, we're mostly okay. No one has been really sick, at least apart from me and my chronic condition. We still have a roof over our heads, a car that's insured and food in the pantry. It hasn't been easy, but I've learned so very much in a short time. By the way, those reports about government bureaucracy being incredibly inept, even in the computer age...they're true. My wife is incredibly organized--she would disagree--and her determination to document everything is paying off, not for the first time, and we're able to tell the government's left hand what the right hand has been doing. More amazing is that we need to tell the left hand what the left hand did five minutes ago. Oh, the stories I could tell!

My thoughts dwell a lot on my wife lately. She carries a lot. First of all, she's a mom of three homeschooling children. Second, she's a wife, nurse and cook to me. She also helps me with our ministry, our two groups we help lead and manages all the accounts. Perhaps the most frustrating is that I find myself increasingly required to depend on her. She mowed the lawn this week when we couldn't find someone to help out. I hated that. God, how I hated that. Yet I'm powerless to get out there and do it myself because of my condition. I think that's a lot of where my frustration lies. I can't care for the house like I used to. I was the mower, trimmer, painter, maintainer and gardener. I have had to surrender these things and it is excruciating. No, I mean it. That's the right word. Lay me down on a cross, folks. It would be as painful as what this whole thing has done to me. I'm not going to douse myself in self-pity here, but I have to be honest too. I hate the fact that I can't do the things that I was needed to do. I used to be needed and respected for what I did and now I miss it. Perhaps that's the most painful part, at least psychologically, of a disability.

You hear of stories like firemen being closet arsonists (ref: Backdraft). It's an odd paradox, the need to be needed. I'm not going around poking holes in the roof or flicking the lights hoping one will burn out, but seeing needs and not being able to meet them is torturous. Now I in turn need someone else to do what I can't. It begs the question, "What's left for me to do?"

I can be a great father to my children. I can't run a pass play or even walk to the park without some help, but I can be there for them. Maybe that's all they really need. God, I hope so. It's so troubling to know that you can't give your kids what you would like.

I can be a great husband. Yet, I'm not as good as I could possibly be. You'd be surprised how little you can see of someone and yet still be in the same house. I want to get better at this. I want to be near her more, yet we don't have the structure to facilitate that and when she's schooling, I feel quite like the fifth-wheel. I can get involved, and I have been, but I have trouble teaching in tandem. Besides, I know that she does better when I don't chase bunny trails...every other sentence.

I can be a great Steve Walden. What's that look like? I'm not sure. It has something to do with my Maker and His instructions for life. ... Stay tuned.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Remember 9/11

This video is not for the faint of heart, but it is worth remembering those who died six years ago today and why we're in Iraq, Afghanistan and other countries, fighting to protect our lives and freedom.

On a side note, if you think Bush imagineered 9/11, you're nuts.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Worth It

Yesterday was a good day. I am exhausted! People say it, but I mean it. I would like to lie down and not get up until oh, say Tuesday. You would be tired too, if you went where I did.

For a few years now, one of my secret prayers has been that I would get to take my son to his first Broncos game. Thanks to a friend's generosity, yesterday was the day. Woo-hoo!

I was careful to keep it a secret until we were within sight of Mile High Stadium*. When I pointed it out to him, he bounced with such excitement, I thought he'd get hurt before we even left the van. My dad tried to drop us off, but since the stadium is new, so are most of the roads in and he had to dump us far from the stadium gates. I made it, pausing every few hundred yards, with Bubba being as patient as ever.

We entered the stadium, one that was christened with a Monday night game on September 10th, 2001, so it seemed oddly fitting that we would be checked for contraband (knives, guns, explosives, anything bearing a Raiders logo) as we came in.

I hadn't yet recovered from crossing the lots when we soon realized that our section was nearly opposite the gate we came in. More walking around the concourse made me feel like collapsing. I just made it to the escalators where I thought I could rest, but the thing was moving too fast and was too sticky for me to lean against the black handrest for a break. I was the only one taking a break between escalator rides. That's pretty pathetic.

We reached the top, and after more resting and a fantastic view of the mountain sunset, we went over to the vendors for some refreshing drinks and dogs. After meeting with the loan agent, it was decided that yes, we could eat and we took our soggy dogs and drinks to our section. More resting. Climb the steps to our row. Gotta rest midway. "No, I'm fine thanks" seems to be all I can get out between breaths. Did I mention we were at Mile High? And we were in the nosebleed seats! I'm not going to say that they were high up, but there was a rumor that the objects circling below us were some eagles hoping for a thermal and a poor soul suffering from hypoxia. On the other hand, I will say that I appreciate the cabin crew of the United jet not opening their landing gear until after they cleared my row. Such little things count in my book.

We watched the Broncos duke it out with (and beat) the Arizona Cardinals for a game that technically didn't mean anything. I say technically, because to my son and me, it meant a whole lot. It was my first time in the new stadium, but it was more special than that. You see, my son and I were able to sit and watch and talk about everything. I told him how glad I was to be there at the game with him and that it couldn't get any better than that. I shared with him my heart in small moments, saying that there's nothing that he could do that would make me more proud of him and that I love him more than I could possibly express. I know we created a memory, one that I hope lasts a lifetime. I'm exhausted, but it couldn't be for a better reason.

Next time though, Lord, could we get first level seats?


* They aren't paying me to call it Invesco Field at Mile High