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<div class="Section1">
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Cleora </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>The word count by my computers calculation<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>is 1,196 words</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>I really enjoyed this piece. There are some issues, but
aren’t there always? It’s a description of a blind<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>woman’s<span style="mso-spacerun:yes">
</span>perceptions<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>and experiences<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>in her neighborhood, especially<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>of the wild things that lived with the human
residents. Charming descriptions.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">87 words </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">City Ducks </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">by: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sly Duck </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Julie held her sighted guide Sharon's arm as they walked along the trail
behind her house. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>The way this is worded, it sounds like the arm is the
sighted guide.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was a fine day for a walk. The birds merrily cheered the
warm spring day; the gentle fragrance of blossoms floated on the warm breeze;
and Julie could hear the rustle of the new leaves on the trees. Sharon raised her hand
and pointed at something ahead of them. "There's a turtle doing something
beside the walk up there," she said. "I can't tell, but I think its
laying eggs." They stopped across from the turtle and watched while she
worked. "I suppose we should move on and leave her alone," said
Julie. "Yes, you're right," she said. They walked on for another
three minutes and then turned around. The turtle was gone when they came back. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One mid-summer day they were walking along the path again.
"Oh, look," said Sharon.
She had stopped and turned slightly. She was pointing in the direction of the
stream running along the bottom of the slope between the walk and the apartment
complex on the other side. "</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>It’s probably my problem, but I can’t make out<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>what the picture is. If other readers are
having trouble, the sentence needs re-working.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What?" said Julie. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"Oh, I'm sorry," said Sharon. "I keep forgetting. It's a duck
with one, two, three... six... no, I think it's seven. Yes, it is a mother duck
with seven ducklings. They are so small. I could barely see their little heads
bobbing above the blades of grass. Now they are all down by the shore and the
mother is trying to get them to follow her into the water." Sharon chuckled.
"One of them doesn't want to go in. It's running back up the bank." </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They stood there a little while longer while Sharon watched and
described the scene to Julie. They turned down the path and started walking
again. Julie could hear that Sharon
was grinning as she said, "She finally got them all in. Now they are coming
out and going back up the bank." They walked another five minutes and
turned around. “</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Are the ducks still here?” asked Julie as they neared the
spot where they had been seen. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"No," she said, stopping and looking around.
"I don't see them anymore." </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A slight breeze helped, but the sun was hot and they were
glad to get back inside where it was cool. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the early fall, Julie was walking with Jack. "Do you
have beavers back here?" he asked. "</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not that I know of," said Julie. "Why? Is there a
dam across the stream?" "</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">No. Wait," said Jack, "it can't be a beaver. It
doesn't have a wide flat tail." </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"It's a nutria ," said a slim fast-walking
stranger as he hurried by. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"It's eating the grass," said Jack. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>Instead of using the word said all the time, vary it with
other words such as: asked, commented, muttered, etc.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"Eating the grass?" said Julie. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"Yes, it's just sort of lying on its tummy munching
away." </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"Hmm. Interesting," said Julie. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They walked on for the rest of the five minutes and then turned
around. The nutria was still happily grazing when they came back. "This
winter has been warmer than any winter since I have lived here," said
Julie. "It is almost the end of November and we still haven't had a
freeze." "</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know what you mean.," said Sharon. "My brother mowed our lawn
yesterday. We have never had to mow later than September before." </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As they returned to the house, Sharon remarked that there was a large black
bird with a red head, white bill, and yellow feet eating a dead squirrel on the
street. She pulled out her smart phone and punched in the description.
"It's a turkey buzzard," she said. "I thought so, but I wasn't
sure. It is called a turkey buzzard because it has a featherless red head like
a turkey." </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>They would have smelled the arona. Certainly Julie would
have. You know where the buzzards are when you smell that horrible stench.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It finally turned cold. They had had almost two weeks of
temperatures between freezing and twenty degrees. The doorbell rang and Julie
met Jack at the door. "You have some visitors," he said. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"Visitors?" asked Julie. "</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yes, there is a flock of ducks sitting on your driveway.
They have deposited some gifts for you. I had an interesting journey getting to
the door." Julie chuckled understanding his meaning. When he left, he went
out the garage door so he could put Julie's trash out for the city to pick up.
The ducks were lined up along the opening. They didn't offer to come </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>I question the use of the word ‘offer’ here.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">in, but they were not shy about pacing back and forth. Julie
watched Jack leave and then put the door down and went back into the house.
This was not the first time someone had mentioned ducks in her yard. In over
two decades of living here, no wildlife from the park behind her house, other
than an occasional turtle, had ever ventured into her front yard. A couple of
weeks ago, one flock had been following a teenager who was eating a sandwich or
something as he hurried along. Anytime something fell from what he was eating
it was quickly snatched up by one of the parade members. It had been very cold
the last two weeks. Maybe they are hungry, Julie thought. She picked up a
package with 4 crackers left in it and went out the front door to see if the
ducks were still there. It was bitter cold and she hadn't bothered to grab her
coat before stepping out. She moved back into the entry way so the walls could
shelter her from the wind. She rattled the package wondering if the ducks would
hear and find her. She didn't have to wait long. Soon a gathering of about 9
ducks were standing in front of her. One duck was very large. It's head came
about half way up her thigh. Three or four of the ducks were about two-thirds
its size and there were five or six smaller ducks standing behind them. Julie
wondered if these were the little ducklings they had seen that summer. Julie
broke the crackers in pieces and handed some to the larger ducks in front and
tossed some over their heads to the smaller ones. They snatched up the pieces
hungrily. She went back in and got a full package of crackers. Again, to her
regret, she didn't grab a coat on her way back out. The ducks were waiting and
gratefully accepted the additional offerings. She would have loved to pet each
one, but she knew they wouldn't go for that. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The weather warmed up and the ducks disappeared from the
front yards, then reappeared after another cold snap. Julie shared another
package of crackers with them. They didn't seem as hungry this time. She
wondered if anyone else had been feeding them. Curiously, one of the wagging
tails was thinner and more narrow than the others. Could there be a little
black dog in the flock? If so, the ducks didn't seem to mind. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With spring just around the corner, she and Jack went out to
check for fire ant beds. They found some ducks sitting quietly under the hedge
at the corner of the house. "Okay, you little beggars," she told
them. "Just no egg deposits and no eating the garden hose."
_______________________________________________ Group1 mailing list </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Dianna</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"> </b></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"><u>I positively and absolutely love this chapter.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Comments below.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%">,540 words</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"><u>1,544 words</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%">Chapter 10.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%">Big Girls Do Cry And Other Lessons Tammy Taught Me</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">When I was a year old, my father was shipped
off to fight in the Korean War. He returned when I was three. I had
spent the time in the midst of my mother’s people surrounded with love and
attention. My great grandfather taught </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><u>More information about your mother’s
people.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">me to read. My numerous aunts, uncles
and extended family helped me to be a confident curious toddler.
While involved in the conflict, my father suffered a serious head injury.
It caused him to suffer severe headaches and left him with a violent
temper. The next five years were difficult. We never knew what might
send him into a rage. I felt a great responsibility for my younger
brothers. I sometimes took the blame and the punishment for things I
hadn’t done to protect them. A spanking tended to escalate into child
abuse. My father didn’t feel I was sufficiently chastised unless I cried
and I was strong willed. If I didn’t believe I deserved punishment, I
wouldn’t cry and the spanking turned into a beating until I lost consciousness.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><u>That is shocking. </u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">My parents divorced when I was nine. I
grew up fearing violent people and loud voiced confrontations. Although
Tammy showed time and again that she wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt me, she was
really quite gentle, even timid in her own defense. When a large loose
shepherd dog launched an attack on her as we walked across campus, she rolled
over on her back in submission. Two boys moving along the same path
rushed forward and drove the dog back hitting it with their book bags.
The owner of the dog raced up and got her under control. Tammy was
shaken, but not hurt. One of our rescuers admitted that he acted before
thinking and surprised himself. He laughed nervously explaining he would
have been afraid of such a large snarling dog if he had stopped to consider the
risks. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">During her working career, Tammy was
attacked twice more. In all three attacks, she immediately dropped to the
ground and rolled over offering her throat and belly in the classic submission
posture. During the second attack, I suffered a badly bruised
face. I stepped between a Queensland Blue Heeler and my prone
guide. The attacker was in the air launching herself at Tammy and her
teeth ricocheted off my cheek. In all three attacks, the owner of the
attacking dog was close at hand and able to catch and subdue his dog. It
felt natural for me to try to defend my guide. I had never feared animals
and somehow it seemed only fair to intervene in protection of my best
friend. She certainly felt the same way when it came to my safety.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><u>You shoed the same protective behavior
with Tammy as you did for your brothers. </u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Over the years we worked together, I gained
in confidence and learned to stand my ground when refused service at a
restaurant or when people objected to her presence. Even in the face of
hostility or rudeness, I overcame timidity and learned to speak up for my dog
and myself. By the time I was working with my fourth dog, I was able to
grab a pit bull by her collar and tail and haul her away from the small black
lab I was currently working. I twisted the pit bull’s tail until she
released my guide’s throat and held her until her owner arrived. I am
only five foot three, but love gave me courage enough to deal with what I
needed to do in defense of my dog.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"><u>Did you know it was a pitt bull while you were abusing it?</u> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">As a small child, I vowed never to let the
world make me cry. When other children hurt my feelings, snatched my
lunch and held it out of my reach or excluded me from their games, I retreated
into books or found something else to do. I knew if they succeeded in
making me cry, then things just escalated into more teasing and cruelty.
Until the night I cried into Tammy’s coat after fighting with Sandy, I hadn’t cried over anything that
others said or did to me in years. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> <u>For some reason at this point of the story I’m led
to the questionb of how your father’s abusiveness affected him. How did he
react when you were beaten unconscious? How did he react to your stoicism?</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">When I got lost at public elementary school,
I pretended I was Hipolyta, queen of the Amazons in enemy territory. I
stood still and gathered as much information as I could about my
surroundings. I listened for traffic sounds, the clank of the lanyard on
the flagpole or anything that gave me a clue as to my 0location. I
started to search around my environment with my feet hands and entire
body. Eventually I found something to help me regain a sense of
orientation. Sun, wind, scent, shade were all useful clues. When
people frightened me or hurt my feelings, I pictured myself as a turtle.
I projected my shiny brightly colored shell and hid my emotions behind a smile,
a joke or a laugh. There was no fooling my Tammy. She saw right
through my armor to the true state of my hidden heart.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> <u>Do you have any theories as to how you developed the
coping skills you did?</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Tammy greeted each day with joyful
enthusiasm. She taught me to do the same. Yesterday’s sorrows are
past and we can only deal with what is going on at this moment. Of course
that doesn’t mean you don’t think of how to make tomorrow better. But it is a waste
of energy to trap oneself in a tangle of what ifs. Much of who I am
today, I owe to the lessons I learned from my loving free spirited Tammy.
Because she was always there for me, I could admit my sadness. I could allow
others to see the vulnerability I had spent years hiding. I learned to
let go and cry without having the sorrow tear me apart. Her lovely broad head
with its silky ears in my lap gave me permission to grieve. Her presence at my
left side gave me the courage to pick myself up and move on after the tears
dried. You never feel quite so lost if you have a friend beside you to share
the task of finding your way out of a problem. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><u>I wonder if the dogs<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>that followed Tammy had anything left to
teach you. I realize that everybody has something unique to teach us, but tammy
would be a difficult act to follow.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
</div>
<span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:
EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SA"><br style="page-break-before:always;
mso-break-type:section-break" clear="all">
</span>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> I let Annie talk me into attending a
party for some of the students in a three dimensional art course we were taking
together. Wine was served and I smelled that distinctive sweet aroma of
Marijuana. I knew this was just not my sort of party. I liked
having friends in for spaghetti and homemade bread accompanied by soft music
and good conversation. I didn’t mind if others indulged in a glass of
wine, but didn’t like being surrounded by crowds of people I hardly knew.
</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">One of my classmates cornered me and
suggested I spend the night at his place. I just shook my head and gave a
gentle tug on Tammy’s leash. I didn’t need to wait for Annie to get out
of a situation I found uncomfortable. Henry tried to imply my refusal was
because he was black. I am sure that line worked with some young women,
but knowing I could walk out of there gave me the confidence to just laugh at
the absurdity of his assumption. I replied that being totally blind, I couldn’t
tell if he were purple with green stripes. I still wouldn’t go home with
someone I barely knew. I didn’t feel pressured into participating in the sexual
revolution brought about by the advent of the birth control pill and could
choose to be myself without apologies. I was free to call a cab or walk out the
door because Tammy was with me. It's hard to quantify the influence of
such a source of strength and reassurance in the life of a blind person.
Young women who grew up in the late sixties found it hard to figure out the
rules. As little girls, we were taught to be ladylike. Tomboys like
me were constantly being scolded to keep our skirts down and behave like little
ladies. Suddenly with the availability of the birth control pill, we were
expected to forget all that princess stuff. We were declared hung up if
we didn’t join in to the free love movement. Virginity was almost a
stigma. One friend told me she felt like the last living virgin at
school. She went home with someone because she was tired of being teased
by her housemates. Another friend spent an entire afternoon going through
her address book to let several young men know she had been diagnosed with a
venereal disease. Somehow, it seemed wrong to this particular princess to
engage in sexual intercourse to prove she was well adjusted. Such an
intimate act required some kind of commitment in my estimation. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> With Tammy in my corner,
I had the courage to stand by my own values. In the shelter of her love
and total acceptance, I could cry, laugh, and discover who I was and what I
wanted out of life. I could set goals and achieve </p>
<span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:
EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SA"><br style="page-break-before:always" clear="all">
</span>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">them. A dog guide is a mobility aid
yes, but she can also be a confessor, a guardian angel, a soul mate and a best
friend. Tammy was all of these and more to this young girl growing into
womanhood in the Vietnam war era. To put a price tag on all she gave me in our
time together is impossible. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Martia</b></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"> </b></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>I am so glad you wrote this. If there ever was a
doubt in my mind about this issue, you have resolved it. The piece speaks with
authority and cogency.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">The idea of arming teachers and staff with guns in
schools causes me to break out in a cold sweat. Having worked in public
education for 15 years and being a parent myself, I am compelled to weigh in on
the debate. For six years, I worked at an alternative school for expelled
students; for three years, I wiped runny noses at an elementary school; and for
seven years, I managed the mayhem in the main office of a large urban high
school. I worked with students who had been expelled from the regular public
schools for offenses ranging from marijuana to murder. I de-escalated boys a
foot taller than me with purple hair and rings in their noses. Never once did I
feel threatened by a student, although I had a hiding place picked out if a
threat came into the building from outside. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> <u>I have often dealt with potentially
physically dangerous males, but I never had to worry about them being armed, so
I never felt threatened.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If I had a gun,
a possibility I never considered, the picture would change. On rare occasion,
physical containment was necessary. Thank God there was never a gun in either
of our hands.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">The pace at a large urban high school is relentless.
Office phones begin ringing at least one hour before the opening bell for
students. Throughout the day, bells continue to clang, marking the beginning
and end of each period; a longer tone warns against tardiness. Teachers usher
students along during passing time, while support personnel try to keep the
halls clear and quiet during class time. However, when you pack 2000 hot-headed
teenagers into one building with 200 adults for eight hours a day, stuff
happens. Medical emergencies, sports injuries, fights, drug and alcohol
reactions, and mental health events are common. Students with epilepsy,
diabetes, learning disabilities, and mood disorders collapse, cry, and scream
for attention. During the course of a typical school day, office personnel make
dozens of radio calls for security, and often dial 911 to summons ambulances,
the fire department, or police in the event of an alarm. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> <u>Wow! You were really in the thick of it.
Violence was knocking on your door on a regular basis.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Disturbances also come from outside; our school was
often directed to lock down when there was police activity in the downtown
vicinity. Incident after incident, morning to afternoon, Monday through
Friday, August through May – most days my job was frenetic. Interruptions were
the norm. “It’s just the normal chaos in here,” I used to say, quoting a random
lyric from a lost song. The staff joked amongst ourselves that to utter
the word “quiet” only served to jinx the rare moment. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">To help keep control, we had an armed police officer
in our building, and five rather burly and intimidating security guards (teddy
bears in disguise) posted at the entrances, patrolling the halls, and walking
the grounds. Each carried a radio so that in an instant we could summons
security or an administrator to the main office or to wherever they might be required.
Each classroom was equipped with a “panic” button which teachers or students
could press to summons assistance. A call could come into the office reporting
that a child had fainted or that a defiant student needed to be escorted out of
class. Security, support staff, administrators, or police responded to each and
every call so that the teachers could resume the important job of teaching as
soon as the distraction was removed. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>The fact that you describe a system that worked is
very important for this piece. It isn’t just an opinion but a proven approach.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> The “frequent flyers” in the principal’s office
struggled with substance abuse, chronic medical conditions, anger management,
or mental health disorders. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">The claim that guns in schools would calm the chaos
is ludicrous. Teachers and staff are trained to model appropriate behavior when
students are escalated. We practiced non-violent Crisis prevention and
intervention. We used calm voices, non-critical language, restorative justice
techniques, and peer coaching to find common ground. We called in social
workers, psychiatrists, and other health care experts to work individually with
students requiring higher levels of support. We did our best to adjust their
attitude, check their temperature, fill their belly, talk them down (or up),
wipe their nose, or call their mom. We were not threatening or judging or
punishing. We provided a haven, allowing them to sit on a bench until they
could regain their composure. When ready, students were sent back to class to
resume the ever-important job of learning. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>I like the way the kids are described in a
humanistic way.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">While about 10 percent of the students were troubled
or challenged, that left 90 percent of the kids firmly seated in class, keeping
out of trouble, earning a bright future. All day every day, teachers, like
guardian angels, open their arms and hearts and wallets to help nurture our
children. They soar above and beyond their traditional teaching duties. They
intervene one-on-one as students struggle with cognitive disabilities, physical
impairments, language barriers, or teenage angst. They counsel children whose
stomachs are empty, whose homes are cold, whose parents are absent, and whose
futures feel dark. Schools offer refuge, and often the only chance for a child
to eat a warm meal. Schools provide a safe zone, a time out from the danger and
neglect that many young people face on the streets - or even in their own
homes. Children seek structure, camaraderie, and a chance to do it differently
than fate prescribed. Young people seek dignity and acknowledgement, compassion
and latitude. Adolescents need a safe place to flex their muscles and try out
their wings. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">When you add guns to the educational equation, you
welcome the death angel into the classroom. Guns in schools would only escalate
the risk of harm during explosive situations. Students and staff won’t feel
safer if teachers pack heat instead of pencils, or coaches carry handguns
instead of stop watches. Armed staff would appear in an adversarial
relationship to the young people </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>I love this line.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">They are there to nurture and protect. In fact, some
students (and parents) could be tempted to bring concealed guns to school
themselves to offset the perceived threat in the building. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Now that I have praised teachers and school staff, I
will add a caution. Even the best of us can become slightly unbalanced
ourselves on a bad day. We all have stressors at home and work. We all cope
with financial pressures, illness, divorce, prejudices, or family conflicts.
Under pressure, any one of us could “go off” at any moment. It could be too
easy for an adult to pull the trigger upon hearing an outburst in class, </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>This is a heavy truth, but absolutely true. This
is a fact that is important to be pointed out. I think it would be difficult
for many to accept it as being valid.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">but outbursts are common everyday occurrences in
schools. What is needed is clear thinking, measured responses, time for deep
breathing and reflection. Stop the guns at the door. Arm the highly-trained
professionals who are hired, screened, and monitored to police the public. Pay
teachers what they deserve for performing life-saving miracles in our schools
every day. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>Great ending.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"> </b></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Salley</b></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"> </b></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>I love the piece, but had a hard time understanding
some of the lines.. Half way through, all my confusion was resolved. I can’t
really advise you to do anything about the places I bring attention to, because
on the whole it makes wonderful poetic sense, and I’m concerned that if you
change some things you might lose more than you gain.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">The novel I’m not writing</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>Great title.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Won’t leave me in peace.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Its rugged Cornish cliff paths urge me</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">To put on my Mackintosh, call my dog, and </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Set out for a walk in ever-changing weather.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>It took me a while to get my bearings about the
walk. After I read the whole piece and had a holistic understanding, I had no
problem getting my sea-legs, so to speak. But initially, I wasn’t clear that
the lure was to walk in the fantasay of the unwritten, but thought-out novel, or
to just go for a walk in your neighborhood.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Its two-up two-down stone cottages wait for me</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>I don’t know what two up and two down cottages
are. Does it refer<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>to going up 2 hills
and down 2 hills to pass by these cottages?</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">To tend the carrots and parsnips in the</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">ir kitchen gardens</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>Who is doing the tending? Is the writer observing
the story’s denizens doing that? I think of course the writer means that, but
the language does not make it clear.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">And fill their window boxes with a profusion of
yellow, blue, purple, and pink.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> Its plot of redemption and healing</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>I assume the (plot) refers to the novel’s plot.
But my first take on it was that the gardens and the cooking was meant to
produce those qualities of redemption and healing. It might mean both of those
things.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">With the moors, the turquoise sea, and a new tomorrow</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Has added layers and subplots over the years.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Its characters fill my dreams and tap me on the
shoulder</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">to remind me I hold their fates in my silent hands. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>That is such a great line.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">While unloading the dishwasher, I wonder if Jenny
will take up</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Residence in the village or return to London.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I fold Laundry and hope the injured seal pup will
survive</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">And that brooding Owen will find joy after great
loss.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I spend a few hours on my computer looking up</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Authentic Cornish pasty recipes for the bakery and
cream teas so popular with tourists.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I can’t understand why the elderly woman with cancer</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Tells me her name is Marjorie whether I like it or
not,</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>I love that line.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">But I want her to live to see the Christmas lights at
Mousehole a few miles up the coast.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>The name of (Mousehold) is wonderful. It gives the
story a fary tale flavor.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I ask myself how a tale filled with light and love</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Can feel like such a heavy burden to carry.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Perhaps it is time to set it down, make a mug of
coffee,</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">And bring it all to life.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wish you would.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
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