It is happening.

And it can’t be stopped.

The first day of school is coming. I feel like the teenager in the middle of a horror movie who starts to hear strange noises from five different directions while walking through the woods all alone in the middle of the night (always a good idea… and by the way, if you are sitting behind me at the theater… the movie character who is about to take a blunt instrument upside the head can’t hear you when you yell “look out” at the movie screen).

My powers (if I had any) are useless against the beginning of the school year.

It is my kryptonite.

Each summer, starting on about July 4th, I begin to sense it hanging around.

I feel like I am being watched… and mocked… and more than normal.

It shows up like clockwork, but I don’t need a calendar to confirm that school is about to start.

There are unmistakable changes in the universe that give it away.

I can’t put my finger on a specific event because it is more of a series of things.

My vacation is over, kids have stopped going to the pool, it feels more like fall than summer at 5:00 a.m. each morning, my wife is spending more and more time talking about needing good bulletin board ideas, Wal-mart is selling notebook paper for 12 cents for a 1000 sheets (how do they do it?), I have survived (barely) my doctor/dentist/optometrist appointments, and my neck has begun to swell up because it realizes I have to start wearing a dress shirt and tie once again.

On top of all that, teachers have begun to hang around the office at school. More people come out of the woodwork as the first day of school gets closer. They are like moths around a light bulb.

Summer is over.

Not on the calendar, but it’s over.

All of those things on my leisurely to do list have now become priorities.

I don’t mean to complain, because so many people don’t get summers off like those of us in education. But it is still sad to see another one come and go so quickly.

People used to tell me how fast time flies as you get older. I thought they were mistaken (or deranged). Or just old and angry (I think I just described myself in 20 years… or more likely… now).

They couldn’t have been more right.

At least there will be another summer next year. If all goes well.

All I have to do is avoid the big white guy in the woods wearing a hockey mask. This may be easier than the approaching troubles an average school administrator faces in the next 10 months.

Why do I feel like I should take off running… but not through the woods. That never works out.

Comments: 4
Tags: end of summer, July 4, start of school, Wal-mart

We played our first game last night (of course I mean my daughter’s first game).

It pains me to announce that my career coaching girls’ softball has fallen to 0-1.

The important thing is that everyone had fun. And by everyone, I mean the girls on the team.

Parents and coaches were a little uptight. Everyone seemed nervous (and at times borderline miserable, and by miserable I mean certifiably nuts), so I don’t think the experience was quite as upbeat for the adults.

The girls did a great job hustling and tried their best. Unfortunately, one of the many life lessons that can be learned in sports is that your best doesn’t always translate into a win.

But that is okay. Victories can’t be judged entirely by a score; they should be judged on the effort put into the score (quick, someone call the bumper sticker people because I just had an epiphany).

Since this was our team’s first real game, it was also the first time these young ladies have experienced an official loss.

Sure, they have always had an idea which team “won” in soccer or t-ball, but as an upstanding God-fearing rule-abiding adult/coach, it has always been my job to tell the team that we weren’t keeping score so there was no winner or loser (we didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings).

To which the kids would invariably respond, we won 5 to 2.

Turns out kids don’t need a scoreboard to make them more or less competitive (adults are the only ones who think if we don’t tell them who won, they will have no idea… right).

Last night’s game provided a challenge for the whole family.

I had to coach and pitch to our team.

The Queen of Technology was in charge of coaching 1st base and keeping the scorebook (a huge obstacle because she was forced to use pencil and paper; no laptop or SmartBoard… it wasn’t pretty, she almost had a breakdown).

Oh yeah, there was one more person from our family who was involved in the game, our daughter (I have noticed that she always has time to play, but never time to clean her room).

Right before the game, I asked her if she was nervous. She responded, “Why?”

Wait until she is a parent and has to watch the games. Then she will truly understand nerves.

In our league the girls get 6 pitches to hit. If they don’t hit one of the six, it is a strike out (yes, we have gone from not keeping score to striking Miley Cyrus wannabes out right and left).

For the last week, I have been having a reoccurring dream in which my daughter is up to bat and I strike her out every time.

In the dream and in real life, it is not that she can’t hit (a switch hitter by the way; I am very proud), it is that her father can’t throw her a strike.

And with my lack of pitching skills, she fails miserably. Over and over, I strike her out, 87 times in a row. I hate that dream.

Plus, I don’t want to anger her. She could bide her time until her 18th birthday and then take over my finances while throwing me in a nursing home (trust me, she has a mean streak).

Watching your child participate in sports is both nerve-racking and exciting. You want them to be successful, but that isn’t always going to happen.

I have spent a good deal of my life playing and coaching and I must admit I don’t ever remember being so nervous before a game (although at my age, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast).

When it was her turn to bat all I could think of was… don’t cause her to fail.

I know in athletics and in life, she will fail often. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. There are many lessons to learn from not succeeding.

This I know (sadly from lots of experience).

I also know that I don’t want to set her up for failure. This means I was feeling the pressure.

She walked up to bat in all of her pinkness. She got in the batter’s box and turned and looked at me, then smiled (just like Moonlight Graham in the best movie ever… Field of Dreams). It was a great big, this is fun smile.

Me, I wasn’t smiling.

I got myself together and threw her a pitch. She swung and got her first hit.

She was thrilled (almost as much as mom) and I couldn’t have been more proud. And relieved. Really relieved.

Raising a child is tough.

Trying to throw a strike when you know a trip to the nursing home is on the line makes it that much harder.

She finished the game 2-3 with one strikeout, but had a great time. At least that is what she says to my face. Just to be safe, I am in the process of moving what little money I have to an offshore account.

Comments: 4
Tags: coaching, Field of Dreams, nursing home, strikeout

As you begin to read this entry, please don’t get your hopes up. I am working with little to no sleep. It is hard for me to focus when well-rested, so this may be an adventure.

That’s right; I am typing through the pain for you, the reader.

I can almost hear everyone sighing in support as I struggle to do my best. I am hunting and pecking my way through yet another blog about… I am not sure what it is about just yet… I am only on paragraph #3… I am as interested as anyone to see how it turns out.

Sadly, even if I do my best it is going to be somewhat mediocre and more than likely a little sophomoric.

The people who take, or waste, a few minutes a couple of times each week to read this nonsense are a loyal bunch. The best I can tell they aren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer, but loyalty counts for something.

I appreciate their support; especially in such a difficult time.

I could write several more paragraphs kissing up to my readers, but I am about to doze off (and I am already losing interest in my own thoughts).

Before I head off for a nap, I need to thank you again for your loyalty and encouragement.

Actually, the more I think about it you are probably rolling your eyes to mock me. If I knew where you lived… so help me… I would come over and… bore you in person (but, I do need that nap).

The reason that I seem to be struggling more than usual is that we just set our clocks ahead one hour.

This makes me sleepy. And a little grumpier than usual.

Is there any reason that we have to do this all on one night? Couldn’t we slowly set our clocks ahead, like 1 minute a day for 60 days?

Or maybe 15 minutes a week for a month. Why a whole hour all at once? Especially during the sacred time of the weekend.

Is this some sort of cruel joke by the government (or the Time Police as I like to refer to them)?

I only get to sleep in once a week. It seems to me that it is just mean to rip this little bit of happiness away from me.

They couldn’t take an hour away during a work day? Or in the middle of soccer practice? Or better yet, while I am sitting in a meeting.

It gets ripped from my grasp as I sleep.

My week is getting off to a bad start. And it is going to get worse.

You see, for the next two weeks we will all be subjected to that guy who feels the need to constantly remind us of the time change.

Such as, “you know it is 4 o’clock, but really it is 3.” Or, “the meeting starts at 9, but that is really 8.” Or even worse, “lunch at 11 means you’re really eating at 10”.

That guy drives everyone nuts (not as bad as the weatherman, but close).

I am tired, so I am going to take my 2 o’clock nap (it is actually 1 o’clock).

You see, I am that guy. Didn’t see that coming did you?

If my weekend is ruined, I am going to torture everyone around me for the next two weeks (by torture, I mean more than usual).

Enjoy the extra hour of cloudiness (time change in April is great, in March it just extends the depression).

I am grumpy. Wish me luck on my nap.

The twist at the end of the blog was inspired by the movie, The Usual Suspects. It is easily 1 of the top 5 man movies of all time. If you haven’t enjoyed this classic, you are living a life without meaning.

Comments: 2
Tags: The Usual Suspects, time change

If you work in a school it is very likely that you have enemies. I am sorry you had to hear this from me, but it is better than getting this kind of bad news from a total stranger on the street.

Principals and Superintendents seem especially likely to attract people or things that don’t like them.

It may be as simple as a parent who respectfully disagrees with you (I will give you a moment until the laughter subsides… I must admit that it wasn’t easy typing respectfully with a straight face).

Maybe it is a student to whom you have had to give a detention, or maybe you took their hat because they wore it in the building, or possibly you banished them for life from parking on school grounds because they still feel the need to drive 105 miles an hour past the little kids’ playground (you know who you are and I am watching).

It could even be a disgruntled employee that you have to “encourage” to work a little harder (I have none of these problems as I am beloved by everyone with whome I come into contact; it is purely an example).

Other enemies may include; the nice lady at the State Board of Education you got short with, or the cockroaches in the Seniors’ lockers (if I have told them once, I have told them a thousand times… no food in the lockers), or the people who sell schools 12 trillion dollars in insurance yet never seem to want to pay a claim.

The list of possible enemies goes on and on and I haven’t even mentioned; fans, bus drivers, snow removal people, cooks, lawyers, politicians, stray dogs, or strangers at the post office.

Just for the record, the PrincipalsPage.com legal department has advised me to include the following statement. I (or anyone I have ever met) have never, or will ever be involved in any of the situations written about in the first 6 paragraphs of this blog. Also, I am sorry I hung up on you lady at the State Board.

That being said, most people love their Principal or Superintendent (again, please take a moment to regain your composure… sometimes I even crack myself up).

I think it is a big part of our jobs to try and get along with everyone. We are the Switzerland of school employees (I was going to write that we are the statue in the park and the rest of the world is made up of pigeons… but that seemed a little harsh… and again the PrincipalsPage.com legal department is throwing their weight around).

Administrators can and should get along with all kinds of people. We should treat others as we want to be treated (that is kind of catchy, I am thinking about calling it the Golden Rule).

As I was telling my daughter as I walked her to Sunday School… “you shouldn’t hate anyone.”

Unless it is the weatherman. I can’t stand that guy.

Why the harsh feelings you ask?

Because of his total inability to predict snow. He has no idea if we are getting flurries or 27 feet of snow.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I looooooove a SNOW DAY as much as the next person, but as an administrator the weatherman has become Enemy #1.

Last night on the 10 o’clock news he announces that we are getting between 4 and 6 inches of snow overnight. That is only half the story. He also adds that we will have 45 mile an hour winds causing untold drifting and mayhem for the next 24 hours.

Then he said it. I still can believe the words came out of his mouth. He was like Ralphie spewing obscenities on the Christmas Story.

He says, “Kids, make sure you watch the Early News tomorrow as we will have what I expect to be a large number of school closings.”

How does he know? At best he has a 50/50 chance of predicting the sun will come up tomorrow. I don’t think he has a clue what wind chill is (just for the record, it is the temperature of windless air that would have the same effect on exposed human skin as a given combination of wind speed and air temperature… that little bit of trivia comes from taking Weather and Climate class… Spring semester 1986).

Needless to say, I slept a total of 12 minutes last night. I looked out the window about 87 times, so that I could see the snow and the wind and then cancel school.

Guess what. No snow. No wind. And as I type this the sun just came out.

Luckily, I didn’t cancel school in advance. This morning all staff members and students managed to make it to school on time (despite the sunshine in their eyes).

The kids looked as tired as I feel. It was almost like they stayed up until 3:00 a.m. playing video games. They must have anticipated a SNOW DAY.

I wonder where they got that idea.

I hate that guy.

Maybe I should look on the bright side. The students and I now have something in common, an enemy.

Comments: 4
Tags: Christmas Story, PrincipalsPage.com, snow day

It is now official. At 9:15 a.m. my resolutions became a colossal failure. There you have it. I’m out.

Like most people, I got off to a good start. Woke up late after watching Ryan Seacrest on television (the man is a genius… no discernable talent and yet he is on TV 400 days a year).

I was quite excited to begin the New Year. So, I quickly threw down 14 Twinkies (which I bought by the case yesterday at a warehouse store for $3.00… I felt like I was stealing).

I must admit, the Twinkies went down smoothly. I thought I could get used to this gorging myself thing.

After swallowing them (they are a lot smaller than I remember as a kid), I washed them down with a small Diet Coke. I was well on my way to achieving one of my resolutions… I was going weigh 400 pounds during 2008.

But I evidently had gotten cocky. It all turned on me so quickly.

I went outside to enjoy my new hobby; smoking. I fired up the first of what was going to be several Marlboros.

Took that first long, smooth drag from the cancer stick. And threw up 14 Twinkies and a small Diet Coke right on top of a snowdrift in my backyard.

So, even with my sad little attempt to keep my 2008 New Year’s Resolutions by making them easy to attain; I have failed.

The shame I feel is overwhelming.

I have no choice but to go back to the old resolution standbys; exercise, eat right, volunteer, read more, spend time with family and friends, and get a large tattoo of Bob Barker on my lower back (don’t judge me… I love the Price is Right and his acting was genius in Happy Gilmore).

So I went for a walk. I don’t know what the weather is like in your part of the world, but it is 87 degrees below zero here (with a wind chill).

This brings me to weathermen (or women… I am okay with disliking them all).

Weather people have no idea what the weather will be like next week, tomorrow, or 2 hours from now.

Yet, they come on TV three times a day (more than Seacrest… again the man embodies everything that is right with America) and act like they have it all figured out.

If they don’t know if it is going to snow, shouldn’t their first step be admitting it? If you ask a weather person this, they say there is no way they can predict the weather long term.

Which my response would be, “Then stop putting the 7 day forecast on the screen, goofus!”

They tell us what the temperature will be (their best guess) and then what the wind chill will be. I don’t need both. Just tell me how cold it will feel when I am outside exercising.

You may be asking yourself, what does the weatherman have to do with me failing on resolutions 12 minutes after I started?

Nothing. I was just really cold on my walk.

I needed to vent. And my belly hurts from the Twinkies. And my chest feels tight.

I think I may have black lung from the one long smooth drag from that Marlboro (is that possible?).

If you work for either the Twinkie or Marlboro Corporations and need a spokesperson, I am not feeling too well so I will have to decline. You could buy advertising on this website, but I don’t think it would be the best way to spend your money.

Comments: 4
Tags: Diet Coke, Happy Gilmore, Marlboro, New Year's Resolutions, Ryan Seacrest, Twinkies

Sorry to be the one to tell you, but it is better you hear it from me than somebody on the playground (especially from that 1st grader who has already watched too much HBO and has the terrible mouth on him).

I am taking the liberty of announcing that summer is officially over. You may ask yourself, who died and left me the Official Decider of When Summer Is Over?

Okay, the title is self appointed, but at least I didn’t go third person on you. But since I now have been given the title, I am announcing that summer is finished.

How can I be sure? Well, in my part of the country high school football is just beginning its season. Summer is over because our football seasons last 9 weeks. This doesn’t make sense yet, but it will (maybe, no promises though).

During week 1 of the football season in the Midwest, I always wear shorts and a t-shirt to the games. Sometime during weeks 2-4 I add a jacket or pullover as the game makes its way into the second half. Weeks 5 and 6 send me scrambling to find jeans I haven’t seen since April (I don’t wear pants in the summer, don’t think about this too long). …and then the inevitable happens…

…weeks 8 and 9 arrive. I know they are coming and yet there is nothing I can do about it. During those two weeks, I am always wearing the same thing: winter jacket, stocking cap, long underwear, and gloves. I am so overdressed that I look like Ralphie’s little brother, Randy, in A Christmas Story.

It always works this way. It never changes. I don’t understand the science behind it, but it just happens every year. I go from shorts to a stocking cap over the course of a very short football season.

It always amazes me that my life goes from students and teachers complaining about the heat during the first week of school, to me standing on the sidelines in a stocking cap, all in the course of the first nine weeks of school.

So there it is, summer is DOA. It’s gone. Come to grips with it. Sure, there will be plenty of nice warm days this fall, but they won’t be the same as a summer day in July.

The wind is getting a little cooler and the days a little shorter. Soon, I will have to turn the leg lamp on a little earlier in the evening.

I hardly got a chance to know summer and now it’s over. I had big plans for my summer again this year, and only some of them got accomplished. Not enough vacation days, or bike rides, or even enough rounds of golf.

On the bright side, the great thing about being in education is that there will be another summer next year.

And when I am in my coat, gloves, stocking cap and I can’t put my arms down, at least Scut Farkus isn’t after me (if you don’t have to Google this, you are my new best friend).

If someone doesn’t leave a comment within 48 hours that they got the obscure movie references, my wife says that I can no longer make them. Please help, my marriage may hang in the balance!

Comments: 5
Tags: football, Scut Farkus, The Christmas Story