What's middle school like?
I spend my days with hundreds of teenagers...teaching 8th grade English (at Pioneer Middle School in DuPont, WA), during which I try to convince 14-year-olds that writing and reading actually can be enjoyable and fruitful endeavors. To assuage my distress over the incomplete success of this work, I occasionally teach college courses in political science, and write...
Monday, December 1, 2014
My favorite poem...I think.
The Joyful Reality of Fatherhood
An old friend introduced me to this poem, and it reminded me that (nearly) every son has his struggles with his father. And every father worth his salt makes the sacrifices he must for his children.
THOSE WINTER SUNDAYS
Sundays too my father got up early And put his clothes on in the blueback cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love's austere and lonely offices?