When it’s this close to summer, you’re probably thinking about how you’d like to spend your “summer vacation.” People who work in education tend to measure time a little differently than the rest of the world. Our new year begins when autumn draws near and the arrival of summer heralds the end of another year on the job. But even those 12-month administrative types are probably organizing their packing lists and double checking their travel documents about now. And no matter how you earn your

My desk was on the second floor of a downtown building. My window looked out at a tavern that had two dumpsters behind it. Homeless came to those dumpsters every day, pulling out aluminum cans they sold to get money to buy some food. One day I saw one of them take a Styrofoam container from the dumpster, pull something out of it and eat it. I thought then, “Enough of this crap.” I bought canned soups and canned beans with pull-tab tops. I bought plastic spoons, kept everything in a file drawer.

“You suck. You suck. You suck,” hammered my thoughts as I stood in front of a class that did not want to talk. We were talking about Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project . I appreciated that Rubin talked about how money contributes to happiness, a common-sense slant that people often forget. While they sat, silent, I remembered a missionary talk I’d heard back in the 70s. Tom Little was a local optometrist called to work in Afghanistan. Back then, people were big on how many people you lead to

Today is Memorial Day, an almost unique holiday for us. We do not celebrate with joy; rather, we honor fallen soldiers with wistful sadness in our hearts. Part of that sadness stems from the fact that so many of us know, or knew, some of those we honor. We honor those brave men and women who gave what Lincoln termed "the last full measure of devotion." We honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country -- or rather, for us. Given what they did‎, mere words seem inadequate. We honor

My wife and I talk about moving someday, but I wonder if I can. This would be like no other move. Likely several states away, to be closer to our boys. Maybe grandkids. Still … I feel grounded here. Like my feet are anchored with some kind of natural connection. Roots. After nearly 70 years their grip has grown deep. I feel a tug, like a leash, reminding me where I came from. I have a kinship with this territory. Could I give it a label? Maybe. The Midwest? Or better, the prairie … but that

“Oh, beautiful for spacious skies for amber waves of grain…” I love that song; it can always make we weepy. I’m a veteran. I served in the Army in the midst of the TET Offensive. I wish I could tell you I was as politically aware as I am now, however I was 18, and the world was all about me. The national fervor over “Make America Great Again” confuses and disturbs me. What was great for some was not great for many. Elected leaders through four administrations sent young men -- sometimes the best

During the late 1950s I was a summer mailman in Rockford. The job changed my life forever -- for the better -- but there was a challenge: the dogs. Once a man on a porch saw me coming down the public sidewalk, and – pointing to the hound at his feet – called out, “Don’t worry. He won’t bite.” “Already did,” I said. Moments before, the creature had raced down, bit me on the leg, and trotted back to assume an innocent pose. Another time, I felt an electric shock running up my leg before realizing

I recently started taking piano lessons – again. The first time, I was around 10 years old. We didn’t have a piano so I practiced on my cardboard keyboard. I guess my parents thought that demonstrated commitment, so eventually they surprised me with a big, old converted player piano. When puberty set in, I became less motivated and started fibbing in my practice log. Although I’ve only been at it for a month, I’m keen – largely due to my teacher, who has me studying theory and practicing finger

True story. The afternoon of May 10, an African-American gentleman was walking down the street when he heard someone yell “nigger” from an upper floor of a parking structure. That word was hurled three times, followed by an object which barely missed the gentleman’s head. The offender was not seen, but the gentleman eventually saw two young men -- one white and the other of uncertain race -- riding rowdily through the parking structure on skateboards. Both laughed when they saw the gentleman,

I am not a betting person, but I would be willing to wager that no one has ever seen an opinion piece titled "Heterosexual Teacher Shames First-Graders." Yes, that would be ludicrous, but no less ludicrous than the headline I did see recently: "Homosexual Teacher Shames First-Graders." The author of this screed was Laurie Higgins, cultural analyst for the Illinois Family Institute, which has been designated a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center. A young student had questioned his