Wienies and willies

I love teaching English learners. It's beginning to be redundant, I know. But, now I am teaching pre-adolescents which adds an interesting take on the nuances of phonics, vocabulary and their accent.

I overheard this conversation while walking my 11 and 12 year olds to class after lunch on Friday.

"What about your willie?" asked boy number one, not bothering to whisper.

Laughter spilled out of boy number two.

"His what?!" I questioned walking back down the stairs to the boys, preparing myself for any sort of explanation or denial or....

"His willie," responded number one, innocently.

"His wienie?" contributed number three, overhearing the conversation and observing my reaction.

By this time, I was trying hard to stifle my laughter, and at the same time hoping I really did not hear what I thought I heard. I mean this was in line, and within earshot of me, their teacher, and it was Friday afternoon, and I had had an emotional week dealing with my soon-to-be-ex and my dog. I was not up for the discussion I was anticipating.

"His wheeeeelie," corrected student number one.

Whew!

Allies

I have found some interesting allies in my same-sex divorce.

Lat week, I stopped at the bank to open a single-signer account and talk about closing the joint ones. The woman who helped me was very supportive, and this week I went in to order checks. She asked me how things were going. I told her he was moving out this week, she was surprised at how soon it was all happening and after our talk, she told me she knew something better was on the horizon for me.

I called my insurance company to remove the ex- from the homeowners' and my car policies. After going through all the information and removing him, (it didn't lower my premium, damn!) she realized the policy didn't list us as "married." I explained that I never was fully aware of all the legalities that came with marriage, since it was still new to me, I never thought to call them and change our status. She understood my situation but was furious that people still want to deny others the same legal rights they enjoy.

A colleague I see infrequently asked me the other day how my summer went. I told her. She never met my ex-. But, she could not understand why anyone would leave me. I'm such a sweet person.

It's true. Divorce brings out the true colors in people. And you find allies in the most interesting places.

Craziness

Divorce makes us do crazy things.

I have never liked tattoos. Don't get me wrong, the art can be beautiful, and obviously meaningful to the recipient. But I like seeing skin the color it was meant to be.

I am considering getting one to celebrate my impending divorce; a phoenix. Through all this pain, anger and hurt, there is hope. I see myself in the future; better, bolder and stronger than before. But the trouble is where do I want it?

I am getting older. My body is changing, going through the changes of an old man. Personal grooming may become a necessity depending on where I put it.

I want to see the tattoo, so anywhere out of my line of vision is out of the question, so no to the back, and butt. My inside forearm, yeah, that's possible. On one of my pecs is also a possibility, but left or right? And then there's size. Yes, it will matter, because of cost. I won't have a lot of discretionary income until my budget adjusts to the lack of income from my soon-to-be-ex-husband.

I guess I'm crazy. And have a lot to think about.

Sadness, part 2

I don't know what to do about a friend.

Out of the blue, my husband asked for a divorce. I had no indication something was amiss. Once he had made up his mind he turned to a friend of his from their college days.

She and I became close through the course of the relationship I had with my soon-to-be-ex-husband. I certainly can understand seeking advice from a friend. I've done it myself. What I can't understand, and I guess I never will, is why not talk to me first?

He went to her once he made up his mind. Maybe he turned to her for advice; should he end it? Maybe he turned to her to validate his feelings; is he doing the right thing?

My point is if he could turn to her once he made up his mind, he valued her more than me at that time.

He spends a lot of time with her, and tells me she wants to continue to be in my life as my friend. She cares for me as well. I don't know that I can be in her life. I am convinced she did not meddle in any way between us. She is not that type of person. The truth is she is a good person. I will miss her.

How I see it is like this: He stole the opportunity to save my marriage from me and, in a way, gave it to her. From his point of view, it wasn't worth saving as he had crossed into the point of no return. He now loves me as a friend, no longer as a husband. She is now in the middle. When he walks out that door, he has lost all rights to know anything about me. She lives close enough to come and rescue the dogs and cat if I were to become hospitalized, or otherwise detained from getting home. But, can she refrain from telling him anything? Only she can say. I guess the ball is actually in her court.

Sadness, part 1

How does one announce the end of a marriage, or does one? Do you tell only a few close friends and family? post it on Facebook or MySpace? blog about it? all of the above?

Yet, that is what I must do. Out of the blue my husband announces to me he wants out. No warning, no suspicious behavior, I saw nothing. Was I blind? Perhaps. I noticed some distance the last couple of weeks. I asked and was told it was summer jitters over the new school year. (I had them, too. I am changing grade levels, again. So, that made sense.) But, it seems he had been feeling a little different about me for about a year and still never said anything to me about any possible problem. And he insisted I did nothing wrong, it is simply his problem. We didn't have a problem, he did. Therefore, I couldn't have helped even if he had told me. Bullsh*t. We were a couple, it was our problem.

Yet, why he could still not tell me he had been struggling bothers me. Oddly enough, he did talk to two of our friends, one of his closest straight girl friends from college, and a gay male friend who had been through a recent break-up. But, he talked with them only after he had come to the conclusion it was time to go. He valued their help more than mine. Slap me in the face, why don't you? (It turns out, she insisted he take us to counseling, but no, he wouldn't go. And the gay male friend, he was the dumpee, not the dumper. So he was more sympathetic to my position, than to my ex-'s. Both did advise him to proceed with caution, because once he starts there's no turning back.) He also told another friend, more so to alert her, so she could check in on me and make sure I was doing ok. He thought of everything, isn't he sweet? Too bad he didn't think of talking to me first.

So, instead, he sends me a letter. From the sofa. In this letter, ok, an email, he tells me what's been bothering him lately. He can talk to friends, but not to me. I get an email. He does explain why; he needed to write down his feelings first, so he would be clear and focused. I get that, I really do. But to send it in an email, does he not have the decency to at least read it to me in person? WTF? Am I that horrible of a person he can't tell me; first, we have a problem, and second, asks for a divorce via email?

So, his feelings for me have changed. That was it. He now loves me as a friend (gods, I hate that phrase) and is hoping we can remain friends after all this. I don't think so. Not immediately anyway, if at all. I have only two men in my life I consider an 'ex-'. And one I never actually got to call a lover, let alone a boyfriend. We were sooo spiritually, and intellectually connected; but never physical nor emotional (well, not the same emotional level anyway.) He was just coming out and still felt he had some exploring to do, there was something about a leather fantasy, I think. So, I was just a real good friend who was helping him through a difficult yet exciting time. (Out of curiosity, I googled him some 15 years later and he is living in another state with his husband who probably looks as good in leather as Don Knotts would have.) My only other 'ex-' is a real 'ex-'. We lived together for about 7 of our 8 years together before he passed away, a month before our 8th anniversary. So, I do not have a collection of 'exes' like many of my gay brethren. When you walk out on me, it is for good.

One other point my soon-to-be ex-husband brought up in his decision to end our marriage; he never had the experience of being on his own. He left his parents' home after high school, lived alone for a while, moved back home, found some roommates and subsequently moved between roommates and his parents again and again until he moved in with me. Now he wants to live alone? Maybe he was too young. He was 20, I was 37. Ironically, he is now the age I was when we first met. I already had lived alone. Now, I was looking forward to not living alone, ever. Now I get to. Maybe. I will need help with the house. (Alimony?)

So, he says he simply fell out of love with me. After 15 years? With two years' legal recognition? We were legally married before Proposition 8 was passed. We were one of the 18,000 couples the California Supreme Court refused to invalidate. Bless them. Now, he is invalidating us. Curse him.

Ok, I actually don't want to curse him. You know, bad karma and all. And living well is the best revenge.

Lessons from an Election

My first short story to be published, "Lessons From an Election" will be published in the anthology One Size Does Not Fit All: Diversity in the Classroom and will be released tomorrow, June 29, 2010. Here I give a brief excerpt:

I knew the class would be special, but I would not know exactly how special it would be until November of that year. I walked into that class with high expectations: high expectations for student learning and high expectations for fun; fun in their learning as well as in my teaching. I had agreed to teach the class, a 4th/5th grade split of all gifted students and had prepared for it over the summer. In the era of No Child Left Behind, these students were indeed being left behind. They were being left behind in meeting her special needs; their need to excel, their need to be challenged and their need to challenge. So, I had planned my lessons around differentiating for the specific and distinct needs to push these students further in their academics.

After 26 years of teaching in the same school, about 10 miles northeast of downtown Los Angeles, in a predominately Hispanic neighborhood, I needed something different. I was burning out. In all those years of teaching I had had gifted students in my classes before, but never more more than ten, now I had twenty-six. Twenty-six for the whole day, twenty-six split between two curricula! The idea was daunting, but stimulating. I had a new direction for my teaching. Four years prior I had taken on the role of Gifted and Talented Education Coordinator in addition to my duties as a classroom teacher, and I had worked with many of the students in an after school enrichment program the year before when they were 3rd and 4th grade students. So I knew many of them before the school year officially began.


To finish the story, check your local bookstore or order it from Amazon.com, Borders.com or Barnesandnoble.com

I love EL Students

From my earlier post, "A Character Without a Story" we discovered the joys (?) of teaching English Language Learners (EL students). Well, they are back at it.

We recently went through the human digestive system from start to "finish." I pointed out to the class that the diagram we just studied had the correct names of all the parts. One boy piped up, "Anus? I thought that was a hamburger!"

I cannot drive by Stuart Anderson's restaurants without becoming hysterical.

A Character without a Story

It's been said many times, many ways that inspiration comes in different forms. I have watched television shows and wondered how the story might have changed if the characters were gay, or what if a character followed up on his/her threat to leave. I have read classics and thought the same thing; hmmmm, Romeo and Julius? My first unfinished novel was inspired by a dream I had.

I teach. My students have inspired me. I recall working on my first novel, it was without title at that point, a work in progress. (It still is in progress three years later.) I walked over to help a student, and (I kid you not) it felt like a marble rolled from the back of my head dropped into my frontal lobes and the title just came to me. Kind of like that marble-in-a-maze game that sits on some tables in restaurants to help you pass the time while you wait for your order.

One of my students this year has inspired me again. Just before Winter Break, we saw a play at school. It was written just for kids, kind of a generic "Santa saves Christmas" with the strange assortment of characters at the North Pole you don't find anywhere else but these contrived stories. Still, for the kids it was cute. As is custom, upon returning to the classroom, I asked the students to write a thank you letter. After all, these people came and put on their play for free. Thank you notes were obligatory, (probably to be used as evidence in renewing their grant, or something like that.)

Anyway, back to the notes. I had the students, write their own rough draft, and I would help them edit and revise it. My students come from an English-as-a-Second-Language background. It may be their first language, but there may also be a second language at home. This said, I am treated to some very creative spelling when my students write unfamiliar words for the first time.

I was reading one note and came across a unique spelling for one of the characters' titles. She was known only by her title. The student was describing the "Beariness." Images of a large hairy man in a gown, evening gloves and tiara came screaming to mind. As I tried not to laugh at the image in my head, while correcting the spelling, "B-a-r-o-n-e-s-s" the idea of a large hairy man, dressing in drag (and possibly leather, though not necessarily simultaneously) thinking of himself as royalty, is too much not to work on.

As of now, s/he is without a home.

I was confronted the other day.

In spite of all the progress we have made over the years; 6 states now allow LGBT couples to legally marry, while a few others (and some businesses) have domestic partnerships, I was reminded we still have a long way to go. (Yes, the marriage setbacks reminded me, as well.)

I was driving in my neighborhood, a middle class area of the San Fernando Valley in Los Angeles. On the back of my car I have 4 stickers/decals: one from my college; one that says "Coexist" made up of various religious symbols representing the letters; an "I DO- Support Marriage Equality" sticker and a license plate frame with rainbow paw prints along the bottom. I should also say, I have a Harry Potter-themed license plate. A lot of adults, but surprisingly few children, have commented on it, often while driving.

For a short while a van was driving alongside me. The driver, a middle age white man, seemed to be in a good mood. He would look over at me, smiling. I did not get the impression he was looking for a hookup. (At least I hoped he wasn't.)

We continued along the boulevard, with me in the left lane, he was in the right lane. We paralleled for a while, I would be ahead of him, and he would pass me. After a short while, we came to a light and I thought I saw him mouth something. I rolled down the passenger window, thinking it may be a comment on my license plate, or he wanted directions, after all he seemed to have a grin on his face this whole time. He rolled down his.

"Did you hear me?" he asked. Big grin.

"No."

"You're gonna die. M***** F***** C***S****** Piece of S***." At the first word, I rolled up the window and drove off when the light turned green.

At first I laughed it off, figuring him to be an idiot. But later this woke me up. I took a big step earlier this year. I taught my students some LGBT History. I came out to them. Not one of my parents complained nor commented to me or to my principal. My principal, a straight, Latino male, was behind me all the way. Some of my friends at school threw me a wedding shower when my husband and I got married. I began to feel complacent.

Yes, we have come a long way, but I was reminded we still have a ways to go.

Sneak peek

Here is a preview of my short story which will be published sometime this year in an anthology of the diversity of today's classrooms.

“Lessons from an Election”

I knew the class would be special, but I would not know exactly how special it would be until November of that year. I walked into that class with high expectations: high expectations for student learning and high expectations for fun; fun in their learning as well as in my teaching. I had agreed to teach the class, a 4th/5th grade split of all gifted students and had prepared for it over the summer. In the era of No Child Left Behind, these students were indeed being left behind. They were being left behind in meeting their special needs; their need to excel, their need to be challenged, and their need to challenge. So, I had planned my lessons around differentiating for the specific and distinct needs to push these students further in their academics.
After 26 years of teaching in the same school, about 10 miles northeast of downtown Los Angeles, in a predominately Hispanic neighborhood, I needed something different. I was burning out. In all those years of teaching I had had gifted students in my classes before, but never more than ten, now I had twenty-six. Twenty-six for the whole day, twenty-six split between two curricula! The idea was daunting, but stimulating. I had a new direction for my teaching. Four years prior I had taken on the role of Gifted and Talented Education Coordinator in addition to my duties as a classroom teacher, and I had worked with many of the students in an after school enrichment program the year before when they were 3rd and 4th grade students. So I knew many of them before the school year officially began.
The class was composed of eight 4th graders and eighteen 5th graders; ten girls and sixteen boys; one African-American female, one Filipino male and twenty-four Hispanic students. I was the only Anglo in the room. The class was quite homogeneous as an entity in itself, yet quite diverse from the classes across the hall, from across the school, from across the country.