Money Isn't Real

One of my favorite movies is "Blow." It's a true story of George Jung (played by the fabulous Johnny Depp), who became part of the Pablo Escobar drug cartels and was largely responsible for smuggling cocaine into the U.S. in the 60s and 70s. Now, obviously, this isn't a "feel-good" kind of movie...but it's intriguing and Johnny Depp is at his best.

My very favorite scene in the whole movie is in the opening few minutes when George, as a young boy, is talking to his father, played by the amazing Ray Liota. His father's self-made business has just gone under and they are in a precarious financial position, teetering on bankruptcy. George is expressing concern over the fact that they are out of money and how his prissy, high-maintenance mother will take this news. Without missing a beat, his father looks at him and says, "Money isn't real, George. It just seems like it is."

This has become my new favorite one liner..."Money isn't real." Because, it isn't.

Coincidentally, Jamie and I just recently watched the newly released HBO film, "Too Big to Fail," about the collapse of Lehman Brothers and the ensuing bailout of AIG by the federal government. It was fascinating how our government and our society placed so much blind faith in Wall Street. CEOs that were taking home millions of dollars in bonuses each year and even just the "peons" that were bringing home six figure salaries. Listening to the numbers they were throwing out was mind boggling...and frightening. As Jamie said, "There is no one on this planet, no job, that is worth tens of millions of dollars a year." Agreed. And how sad is it that our financial "gurus" make exponentially more than our congressmen, senators, and even our president? Or our soldiers? Or the police and firefighters that risk their lives to protect us? What is wrong with our society that this is how we prioritize? No matter what you think of the government, it says something about how we value these roles when the President of our country makes significantly less than the president of a bank.

Watching the movie, there was a human part of me that had a small amount of compassion for these people who were watching their entire lives crumble beneath them. But, the bigger part of me that looked at Jamie and said, "Money isn't real."

I watched the story of these CEOs and bank higher-ups whose lives collapsed under their feet, I kind of thought it was a good lesson. Their whole lives were built upon a falsehood that having millions of dollars, multiple homes, fancy cars, and expensive clothes bought them security and made them infallible...that they were better than the rest of us because they could buy things the rest of us can't even imagine being able to afford.

Now, I will readily admit that having money certainly makes life a little easier and less stressful. But, I can't even imagine what it would be like to be able to buy whatever we want whenever we want, without thinking about how we'll pay for it. And though I would love to win the lottery, I don't want to lose the values that we have now...the values that make us think about what we're purchasing, how we're going to pay for it, and where the money is coming from. Those values have taught us that we have to work for and earn the things we have...and that we aren't immune from the ups and downs of life. We save money so that we don't have to worry about "what if?" We've had times where we were more flush and had a lot more discretionary income, and we've had times where we're squeaking by, paycheck to paycheck. And guess what I've discovered?

Money isn't real...it just seems like it is.

Because no matter how much or how little money we've had in our lives - and even going back to my childhood - I don't think about the "richer" times as the "happier" times. The happiest times have been almost the opposite in a way...camping trips in the mountains as a kid, fishing trips as an adult with my husband. Sitting in a whirlpool tub in a cheap bed and breakfast, drinking a $10 bottle of wine, bike riding in our neighborhood parks, watching fireworks on the 4th of July at my in-laws, drinking cheap wine on the patio at Marc and Sarah's. None of this required a big house, or a big boat, or shoes that cost more than my house payment. Nor should they...what IS real are relationships and the values you carry in this life.

And none of the thing that matter can be bought...and none will collapse with the failure of Wall Street.

Erica

Last Day

So, we have finally finished another year of school. 12 years of "last days" are behind me...and a lot more are in front of me. I feel more like a veteran teacher than a young teacher, as I was so reminded tonight by a young man working at the restaurant where some teachers and I were enjoying happy hour.

"Hi, Miss Ezell. How are you?"

I turned my head, responding to my maiden name, to see a very nice looking young man in glasses. After what I hope was a discreet look at his nametag, I made the connection...he was a former student. And for the record, the second I knew his name, I knew him. Now, a high school graduate, getting ready to attend college in the fall and bussing table in the meantime. We chatted for a few minutes, and then I proceeded to walk back to the other end of our table and announce, "I feel old."

I remember this young man well. He was sweet, quiet, well behaved and hard working. On our fifth grade camp overnight that year, he was amongst a group of students who wandered away from their counselor and spent a few very scary minutes "lost" in the woods where we were camping. Upon being found and finally sitting to eat breakfast, he was one of the kids that sat at the breakfast table, relieved to be "found" - and promptly burst into tears. He had been terrified and it showed. I remember hugging him and trying to reassure him that he was okay. At 10 years old, he was very much a little boy that morning.

Today, it was not a little boy in front of me, but a young man who clearly stayed on the path he'd always been on - with a future in mind. It was a beautiful way to end this 12th year of teaching - to be reminded of the past. To have a student remember you and talk to you so many years later has a way of reminding you what you teach for. Some days we really need that reminder.

And so, another year is behind me. I remember a good friend years ago telling me that one of her favorite parts of teaching was knowing that, at the end of every year and the beginning of another, was a chance at a "do-over." In teaching, we have a unique opportunity to correct our mistakes and do a better job than we did before. Sometimes you feel like all you are doing is making mistakes, so seeing a student almost a decade later can serve as a great reminder that not everything is worthy of a do-over. Sometimes, just once in awhile, we get it right on the first try.

Erica

Oprah

I am sitting tonight, finally watching the Oprah finale. Not the big surprise after surprise shows...but the final show that was her "love letter" to her fans. And the moment that has me in tears is the final moment when they are rolling the credits and Oprah is walking out of the studio. She stops to kiss Stedman and walks out of the studio to her staff applauding her throughout her building. And I teared up...because, love her or hate her, Oprah forever changed television.

I never watched Oprah religiously. I tuned in when I could, or if I knew something particularly interesting was going to be on, I'd record it. It was always on at a time that I was at work...well, I have realized that "always" isn't exactly true because since Oprah has been on the air for 25 years, that is roughly 75% of my life. Meaning, when Oprah first aired, I was 8 years old. I watched Dakota Fanning on the finale show the other day talk about being an "Oprah baby." They were a group of young women who had literally not lived in a world unknown to Oprah Winfrey and her show. Now, I'm not quite in that category, but in terms of my memory, I don't really recall a world in which Oprah didn't exist. That's really saying something. Like many out there, I remember the hideous hairstyles, the 80s fashion we all wish we could forget, and shows that stick out in my mind.

So, why, of all things - would I write about Oprah?

She is an icon...love her or hate her, sad to see her go or screaming from the rafters, "It's about time!" - you can't deny her impact on television, pop culture, even politics. She affected the books we read, the topics we discussed, the music we listened to. While I find it a strange thought that I have no idea what will air on my local NBC station from 4-5 p.m. every Monday through Friday, I am no sad. 25 years is an amazing run...and it's iconic. She literally changed the face of television in this country.

While I can't really say what it is about Oprah that struck people, it seems to be attached to her genuine personality. She made fun of herself, she laughed at herself, she talked about her demons and let us see her foibles and fallacies. She was never afraid to appear imperfect if it met she could make a connection with a person.

Oprah has said she always wanted to be a teacher, and I have to say, she probably would have made a good one. She allowed us into her world everyday for 25 years. Most of us haven't known our closest friend that long! While she was doing many things for the purpose of television, to all of us watching, it felt like she had appeared in our living room and was chatting with us, even if she had to be stern and give us a dose of "tough love." While compassionate, her ability to set boundaries and be firm when called for seemed to make her the thing we liked about her. As she became a self-made billionaire, she also remained what so many wealthy people fail to do...she remained human. That is why Oprah succeeded. Because at her roots, she remained a person that was grateful for what life had bestowed on her and never forgot where she came from.

As I'm not sure what I'll watch on weekday afternoons, I do know that Oprah has much left to do. I am interested to see what that turns out to be...

Erica

Tragedy is not a Tourist Attraction

Several years ago - actually, probably 10 or 12 years ago now - my parents' neighborhood was hit by a tornado. They live outside of Cincinnati, Ohio and though their home was unscathed, the path of destruction was within a mile of their house. As the residents were busy cleaning up the scattered ruins of their lives, gawkers came to stare. Imagine for a minute that your life is in pieces around your feet, and someone shows up to take a tour of your closed-off street and snap a few photos. Eventually, the people in the neighborhood resorted to posting a sign that said, "Tragedy is not a Tourist Attraction." How sad that people couldn't figure out -on their own - that maybe their presence was not needed, unless they were there to help.

Fast forward to 2011. We live in a western suburb of St. Louis, about 10 miles from where the recent EF4 tornado just ripped apart a several mile path. Our airport took a direct hit, shattering windows and ripping a hole in the roof, closing the only international airport for 200 miles for over 24 hours. Even though our own home and neighborhood dodged a bullet, I have been stunned by the damage we have seen. Because of where I work, I drive right past the airport, as well as Bridgeton, one of the hardest hit areas. Even from the highway, the devastation is obvious and heart-wrenching. I personally know several people whose homes are now uninhabitable because of the tornado and ensuing damage. The neighboring school district was hard hit and was closed today, just a couple of miles from where I teach and where my students come each and every day. It is absolutely mind boggling to see how a tornado can completely uproot an enormous tree, rip a hole in the side of a warehouse, completely demolish a house, and leave the fence in the yard completely untouched. One side of the highway was virtually untouched while the other side literally looked like a bomb had gone off. My drive home took nearly twice as long because of all of the drivers taking in all of the damage and staring as we trudged along in the rain. All I thought about was my friends who lost their homes. How desperately I wanted to be able to help, donate something, even take a day off of work in order to help sort through the mess. I know enough to know that I need to just stay out of the way, but it is a terribly helpless feeling to know how close we came to sharing in their tragedy and knowing friends that have been so impacted, with so little we can do to help.

So, we'll donate money and time and food...whatever our friends, acquaintances and neighbors need. As for the gawkers out there...this is not an amusement park. A violent storm ripped apart someone's home....their child's toys are gone, their clothes are strewn about the street, their cars overturned. They cannot live in their homes and can't go back to retrieve the most precious items they have. Pictures are soaked and probably destroyed. Please, please, please...stay out of the way. Do not go for a drive to see what you can see...do not take a walking tour and snap some photographs. Though miraculously no one was killed, or even seriously hurt, there is a tremendous amount of heartache out there, and it is not there for your entertainment. If you want to do something, make it something useful. Here are some ways to get involved:
- Go to http://www.redcrossstl.org/ and donate.
- Call the United Way. '
- "Like" the group on Facebook called "Pattonville Provides" that will help that affected school district.

Say a thankful prayer tonight that it is not you, and that the worst complaint you probably have is that it's rained too much in the last few weeks. Don't let someone else's tragedy become a tourist attraction.

Erica

A Big Mouth

I have a big mouth. I know it...most people around me know it. It has been known to get me into trouble once in awhile. When I was in kindergarten my teacher informed my parents, "You know you have no secrets, right?" Because, alas, I had a big mouth even then. Thanks to a lot of life lessons, I have learned how to harness that big mouth and use it diplomatically...most of the time. I get my point across, but usually in a way that isn't hurtful or abrasive. My husband tells me I have mastered the art of telling someone to "buzz off" (insert expletive here), only to leave them wondering, "Did she just tell me that?" Usually, I consider this an asset, and most people tend to agree. However, I have found that my ability to harness my big mouth and be diplomatic is not as in tune as it used to be. I tend to have much less patience and am much quicker to just say whatever is in my mind, regardless of who is listening or what environment I'm in. My filter is much less refined than it used to be.

Since our short time with Faith, and our experience around that part of our life, I find that my emotions rest so incredibly close to the surface. All the time...even now, a year and a half later, emotions are not as easily squelched as they were before. Last year when I first returned to work, I often chose one of two paths - 1) confront something head on, say what I think (abrasively at times), emotions high, "damn the consequences" or 2) try to avoid high-stress situations where I knew I couldn't handle the emotional stress and stay in the background. I have found myself feeling stronger this year and have more readily accepted situations where the stress is high, believing I had the emotional strength to withstand it without falling apart at the seams or taking anyone out in my wake.

God has recently reminded me that this may not be the case. God has again sent me a little message...a sign...that I may need to readjust my lens. I fear that I may have unintentionally hurt someone with my words recently. While much of the words I said were from the heart and very much something I meant, I should have said them differently and addressed the situation without letting my emotions get the better of me. Because though I meant what I said, I did not mean the how it was said.

Grief is organic. It is a living, breathing thing, ever-changing in its manifestation. Only someone that has never grieved a loved one will doubt this. But I can tell you that I have again been reminded that while the intensity of grief is far less than a year ago, it is never gone. And occasionally, when I take on too much I am reminded with a wallop that I am not the person I used to be. I have lost a little bit of that piece of me that could keep everything emotionally organized and speak from a place of diplomacy whenever necessary. Because my emotions aren't so organized. And though they are much, much more together than in the immediate aftermath of losing Faith, I think I'm beginning to accept that I will never again be quite as "together" as I once was. I do okay 95% of the time and have found a way to "check out" when necessary. I've remembered how to keep my mouth shut when necessary (really, I have) and take a breath before I open my mouth...most of the time.

But, once in awhile, God must remind me that I am not the person I was. It is an often humbling message and one that is not lost on me. None of this is to say that I am incapable of being the strong, vocal advocate I have been known for being. I think it just means that I need to listen to the message. I need to listen to my heart and understand that I do have my limits, and even more now than ever, I must respect them so that my big mouth remains my asset and not my detriment.

Erica

I am a Teacher

I will apologize up front for some of this post (necessarily) being a bit cryptic...I am involved in something at work right now that requires me to keep details confidential. And I will honor that. However, I do want to write something that will speak to all the people out there who know me, know what I am currently doing, or anyone who knows a teacher.

Being a teacher, for most teachers anyway, is truly more than a job. It sounds cliched, but in a way, I guess it is more of a calling. All good teachers I know have gone through moments of, "I don't know if I want to teach forever." And most of them decide that, yes, teaching will be forever. We all struggle with difficult students, difficult parents, difficult colleagues, and too-often overwhelming demands. Then we watch the news and see that teachers are being attacked all over this country. I don't know when being a teacher went from something that was highly respected to something that is barely noticed (unless you're doing something wrong.) It seems though, that this is what's happening in this country right now. Despite all this, many people would ask, "Why do you continue to teach?" Well, because...

I am a teacher. That's all I can really say. I didn't go into teaching because I wanted to be rich. I didn't go into teaching because I believed it was easy. I didn't go into teaching because I "get to work for six hours a day and have my summers off." I became a teacher because I had (and continue to have) a desire to help children succeed. That moment when a child looks up at you and the "lightbulb" has gone off is like no other...and to know that I made that difference for that child at that moment is the best kind of high. It is its own reward. I love teaching...I love the kids I teach (yes, even the difficult ones). Because of some recent work, I was out of my classroom for several days. Upon my return, several of my students saw me and yelled out, "Mrs. Largent! You're here!" Their excitement at seeing me, instead of a sub, was the highlight of my week. So, to see teachers being torn down, disrespected, degraded, and stripped of their rights (can anyone say Wisconsin?) is, to say the least, heartbreaking.

There are so many myths about teaching...Myth #1: That I only work six or seven hours a day. Untrue...most teachers I know work far beyond their required hours...I probably average about 50 hours a week, both in school and on my own time. I do get some of my summer off...so we take out those weeks and average about 40 weeks of work in a year times those 50 hours...hmmm, about 2000 hours a year. Which, is what the average full-time employee works during their calendar year. If an average employee works 40 hours a week and has two weeks of vacation, they work 50 weeks a year...so that would be 2000 hours, right? That's what I thought. And yes, I know there are exceptions to everything...I'm just speaking in generalities and averages here.

I get my summers off...yep. Can't argue that. It's a perk of my job. The perk of a corporate job? You can take a vacation anytime of the year. I can't. I have to take my vacations in June or July. There are ups and downs to every job.

Myth #2: Tenured teachers can't be fired...untrue. This is probably the biggest myth there is. Tenure doesn't guarantee a job...it simply guarantees due process. If a tenured teacher is fired, they have a right to know why and to challenge that termination. Non-tenured teachers can be fired for no reason at all, and often aren't given one and have no recourse.

I could go on and on about the myths that some believe define teachers. It is an unfortunate turn of events in this country that teachers are merely seen by some as "glorified babysitters." I have had the opportunity to be in a unique position lately, defending teachers, their professionalism and integrity...and then to see so many of them standing by in support. To see and hear that support has meant so much; to come into their fray amidst cheers and applause is more uplifting that I can possibly say. It brought some to tears...to be reminded that we are among the honored and the special group of people that call themselves teachers. It is a privilege to teach a child, to watch them learn, to help build them into people of substance. And to know that my dear friends and colleagues will be waiting to stand behind a small group of us that are working for them, is the best gift I've had in some time. It's also one of the many reasons that I find myself, once again, proud to say...

I am a teacher.

Erica

An Anthem

For weeks, this has been sitting in my heart...this post that's been forming in my head and words finding their way together until I could sit and write them down. The last few weeks have been hectic...Jamie has wisely observed that I've over-committed myself and am likely going to wear myself out. He may be right, but all of these commitments are important to me. I find myself having to take time to take a breath, no matter the chaos, so that I keep my mind clear and focused and so that the emotion that is always close to the surface doesn't spill over. But, for weeks now, there has been something sitting in my heart...something I think I can finally put words to.

There is a song out on the radio right now by a band called "The Script." The song is called "For the First Time." You have likely heard it if you listen to any radio station that plays current Top 40 hits...but you may not have listened to it. Because if you have listened to it, you would likely have heard what I've heard. Hope. An anthem for today.

The lyrics go something like this:
"Trying to make it work but man these times are hard,

She needs me now but I can't seem to find a time,
I've got a new job now on the unemployment line,
And we don't know how,
How we got into this mess
is it God's test,
Someone help us 'cause we're doing our best,

Trying to make it work but man these times are hard

But we're gonna start by
Drinking old cheap bottles of wine,
Sit talking up all night,
Saying things we haven't for a while,
A while ya
We're smiling but we're close to tears,
Even after all these years,
We just now got the feeling that we're meeting for the first time."

This is basically the chorus of the song. But here's why this songs speaks to me...I think of me and Jamie, and I think about his sister, Gina, and her family. Not because any of us are destitute. We've all been pretty smart about making financial decisions and are holding our own, despite the worst economy since my grandparents were small children. But, man, does it sometimes feel incredibly hard to keep believing that this will get better. And not just the economy, but the overall feeling that this society that we live in is going in the wrong direction. I'm almost relieved to see all of the protesters in Wisconsin because it gives me a little bit of hope that people aren't willing to just continually be steamrolled by the decision-makers around them.

I didn't write this to make it political...I wrote it because the lyrics make me hopeful, despite all of the darkness and the sorrow and the struggle. Gina, Jamie, Dave (Gina's husband) and I have had occasion recently to just sit and talk a couple of times...late into the night, helped out by "cheap bottles of wine" (and beer). And we've talked about life...about all the things we hope for and all of those thoughts and wishes that get discussed, often late at night after four kids are settled into bed (for Gina and Dave) or late at night after everyone is home from work or class (for me and Jamie). Those late nights when life, ever rushing ahead, finally for a moment seems to slow down long enough where you look at each other and your disaster of a house around you and realize, "I have enough." Every single time I hear this song, I think about Gina and Dave and I think about my own life, and I think about my parents 30 years ago - finding time in the midst of life - to re-evaluate. Ultimately, what that song is saying and what I have realized is "I have enough."

Outside of winning the lottery, I don't think any of us will EVER feel like we have enough money. Bills will always come, loans will always be due, food will always have to be bought. Dishes will still pile up in the sink, we'll always be behind on laundry and we'll probably always feel like our house is too small. The car will still break down, the house will still need work, and we will forever have piles of mail and paperwork cluttering our house. But...I look across the room at Jamie, and I know in my heart that I have enough because I have what matters. What matters is never going to change, no matter what society says or how it goes in the legislature this week...regardless of what bills get passed or what budget gets approved, we are going to be okay. And from talking to Gina, I know that she and Dave have shared some of the same sentiments...times are very hard right now. Economically, most of us are struggling in some way or another...and many of us are questioning how we got here.

"For the First Time" feels to me like an anthem...a reminder that what matters is about who's sitting across the table from me sharing that cheap bottle of wine. Some of my favorite moments recently have been sitting with my husband, sister-in-law and her husband, laughing, playing with Transformers, eating cheese and crackers that we dug out of the refrigerator, and drinking a cheap bottle of wine. Because at the end of the day, those moments, that conversation, those heartfelt emotions that come are worth more than any paycheck. The moment that my nephew launched himself off my lap to grab a snack...the picture my niece drew, the smile my nephew gave us, the new babies friends and family have welcomed...those are the things that we will cherish in 30 years. Money will come and go...sometimes we'll have more and sometimes we'll have less. But this song...it has reminded me that sometimes when times are hard, it serves a purpose. It makes us sit down, look at each other, take stock, and remember that no matter how hard it gets, it will be okay because tonight I'm sharing a cheap bottle of wine - with "you."

Here's to you and those that matter most...

Erica