You know river, my friend. I actually do think you believe what you say. I have no doubt you taught the best you could see your way to do. I even like to think you are my friend. But...! Now I will let that hang, because of what you say, that should be obvious to all including you, when people do object what kid are taught or even worse, not taught in the schools. I still think of you as friend, gone around the bend since you know when, but still friend.
Agreed, and I'm not excusing what happened. At the end of the day, I don't really blame any of the "ostracizing" students for the shooting. What I do take issue with is the suggestion that being more kind to the kid wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe it wouldn't have, but that's never definitive. I know it's not a sexy thought, but being nice to people we come across in our everyday lives is more important than I think a lot of people realize. Bullying is an underrated problem in our society, plain and simple. I was bullied some when I was younger, although not to any crazy extent. I've also dealt with a good deal of depression/anxiety throughout the years. These experiences, however small on the scale they might've been in my case, allowed me to get a good grip on how similar treatment might cause significantly worse consequences with people who have more severe cases of mental illness. I guess my point is that even a little bit of bullying can pull a lot of weight. Something we should all be cognizant of. And, I'm not convinced that some of these students who survived and have been in the limelight aren't using the tragedy - even if subconsciously - to grab some personal national attention. Peace.
Geez, don't be so literal. Endless meant virtually endless. In other words a great deal of rounds fired. If your adversary suddenly shows up with a bazooka that doesn't mean you have the right to purchase a bazooka in advance just in case a home intruder attacks you with one. No, we place limitations on weapons for a reason. The only question is where do we draw the line. Side note, by bazooka I'm using an archaic term to represent the modern wire guided missile.
To answer your question, you heard that from those who devoted their lives to trashing President Obama for no good reason.
I'll never forget the first month of Kindergarten. One kid who seemed normal to me asked my teacher if he could use the bathroom right after recess. She said no and 10 minutes later he peed himself. She made him wear a diaper and t shirt the rest of the day. I watched that kid snap right in front of us that day I SWEAR TO GOD. He was always picked on from that day forward. I think he came from a pretty neglected home too so it was worse than it should have been.
That teacher should have been fired right then and there. I would have had a security guard escort him/her off the premises. Dear Lord, I hope that wasn't Mrs. Gardner, my kindergarten teacher. Oh by the way, I think it was Ronnie Fisher that lived across the street from me. In that house, the father bought a new Ford every year.
I could share 4 or 5 similarly sick stories about teachers I had. Most of my ps teachers were poorly educated themselves, lazy and took no pride in their work. Only one truly inspired me, Dorothy Stafford, my 3rd grade teacher and wife of poet laureate William Stafford. She was a lot like my mother, extremely aware and a lover of books who encouraged me to fully explore all sides of everything before doubting or dismissing anything, no matter how absurd or impossible one side may seem at first. Often a rational look changes impossible to probable. Maybe 6 were genuinely dedicated to teaching and made learning interesting, but I spent a lot of time at the library and learned more each hour there than a week of school.
Too bad they couldn't give you the one tip you turned out to really need in life: "Don't watch Fox too much, it'll rot your brain" barfo
My first grade teacher cured me of being left handed by hitting my hand with a large keyring full of keys.
It was 1979. My third grade teacher picked up kids by the collar and screamed in their faces. Good times.
Another one the should have been fired. My parents divorced when I was about 10 so I had no father at home to help me with the sort of things that fathers usually help their sons with such as wood work. When we moved to Portland, I had a seventh grade teacher who gave all the boys a project in woodworking to do and turn it in. I had no idea what to do but my mother had a saw, a hammer, some wood, some nails and some black paint. I constructed the roughest looking sailing ship you ever saw. It was truly horrific. On display day, each boy got up and showed his project. Some of the projects were truly magnificent such as a rocking chair or a nigth stand with doweled joints and so on, all of them with a beautiful finish coat that shined. Then came mine, truly pitiful and the teacher held it up as an example of how horrific a person could do at a project. This teacher should burn in hell. Then there was the shop teacher. Whenever we made an error, he would have us kneel on the sharp corner of a three sided ruler until a dent would form just below the knee cap. I've had serious knee problems ever since including surgery. Now, they're talking about a knee replacement surgery. That guy should also burn in hell.
I guess I was lucky. My bad teachers were merely uninteresting. There were a lot of those, but nobody abusive. barfo
When you lived on Goodall, did you ever know the Taylors? Sammy Taylor was a DJ at KWJJ and had a gorgeous daughter and a son who lost the feeling in his leg from another family that had a shotgun accident hitting him in the leg. The son might have been about your age. And then there were the Nelsons who were my Aunt, Uncle and two cousins. They had the marble business on Boones Ferry right about where Hasson Realty is today and near Kruse Way.
I had a professor in engineering school who was from China and could barely speak English. One time this guy from Turkey who could also barely speak English, asked the prof. a lengthy and highly technical question. The prof. responded with an equally lengthy and highly technical answer. I never understood the question and I never understood the answer. I had to let it go 'cause I knew I'd never understand the response to my request for clarification. I had trouble understanding that prof. for the entire term. I asked a few of my classmates if they had any idea of what went on and they said nope, they had no idea.
