What if I’m wrong?

Abortion is Wrong

Homosexuality is Wrong

Evolution is Wrong

Buttermilk is Wrong

Putting cold gravy on your leftovers is just Wrong

Area = 16 meters squared is Wrong

When I was younger, I spent a good deal of time deciding what was RIGHT and what was WRONG. These are important decisions for a kid, and I didn’t take it lightly. My Right-Wrong Spectrum has gone through a lot of changes since I owned a Huffy 5 speed and made forts with Bethany. Let’s make some lists:

At age Seven, in the second grade:

• It was WRONG to unzip my fly and show my swimsuit zone to the girl on the playground (Honestly, I was comparing mine to Ian Jefferson’s and somebody behind me yelled my name. I turned around and, bada-bing; I’m a 7-year-old sex offender).
• It was RIGHT to immediately admit when I was caught and apologize to the girl
• It was RIGHT to bike away from the boys who wanted to sneak into the old lady’s house on the hill and look for ghosts
• It was RIGHT for me to not fight back when Joseph slide-tackled me into the mud, for no other reason than he’s a douche.
• It was WRONG for me to color the grass on my picture side to side, instead of up-and-down

So wrong, in fact, that I never drew again, and learned to play drums to keep the art teacher off my back.

At age 13, in the seventh grade:

• It was WRONG for me to be honest with Brooke about why I didn’t want to date her (she was not much of a looker and real annoying)
• It was RIGHT for me to complete my homework and submit it on time, not resorting to cheating.
• It was mostly WRONG for me to watch Scream at a Christmas party with some friends, even though I wasn’t 17. It wasn’t illegal, it just felt mostly WRONG.
• It was mostly RIGHT for me to become friends with Orin, the boy from church who was next geek down on the totem pole. I became his friends, but was urged by my mother to do so. I wouldn’t have otherwise, but I was legitimately his friend, so it was mostly RIGHT.

Oh, you made another Flash animation of yourself playing the French Horn... cool.

At age 20, my junior year in college:

• It is mostly RIGHT for me to give money to missions organizations who advertise on campus. If I can be guilted into the right thing, it’s still mostly RIGHT.
• It is WRONG for me to pick on gay people. I’ve never done it, but seeing other people do it puts knots in my stomach, so it must be WRONG.
• It is mostly WRONG for a missionary to marry a 12-year-old in a village in Africa. It means that the whole village found out about Jesus, but she’s twelve, so it’s iffy.
• It is mostly WRONG for me to drink alcohol. I’m not 21, but it isn’t hurting anybody and if I’m safe, what’s the big deal.

ABOVE: Not hurting anybody... but I did tap my Rockies against the side of the tub on the way in.

At age 25, married with a graduate degree:

• It’s mostly RIGHT for me to speak up when I think that Andrea and I disagree. If I do it in a disrespectful or “cheap shot” manner, then it’s WRONG.
• It’s mostly WRONG of me to stay at work until 5:30 p.m. every day. I get to work at 7:30, so I don’t need to put in such long hours, but I want to do my job well.
• It’s neither right nor wrong to drive to work on my day off. It is a decision that carries consequences and isn’t a moral issue.
• It’s kinda RIGHT for me to listen to my student as she tells me about her drug use, and plans to run away from home. It feels WRONG to then go tell the school counselor, as I am mandated to do.

As you can see, the issues become less and less clear as one gets older. In fact, I will contend mathematically with the following diagrams:

Age Seven Diagram – As you can see, 100% of my decisions were divided up roughly 15% wrong and 85% right. They were one or the other. Eating vegetables fell into the blue zone, flashing classmates in the red zone.

Age Thirteen Diagram – A bit more complex, right and wrong are now extremes of a spectrum, with some decisions more right or more wrong than others. Watching Scream is kinda wrong, but watching ArmaGetItOn online when my parents are asleep is very wrong. Good thing I never did that.

Age Twenty Diagram – Now decisions can be both right and wrong, with components of each. For example, passing a test (right) because I cheated (wrong) can have elements of both. To keep a friendship (Right) I tell a friend that they are annoying (ehh… neither?), but I tell them in a nice way (right) because I care about them (right) in a strategically worded Facebook message (wrong).

Age Twenty-Five Diagram – At this point, a myriad of factors influences every decision. Before a decision can be declared RIGHT or WRONG, it must be weighed by checking it against the Obligations from work, gut feelings, and family opinions, among others. Often, there isn’t time to analyze each input, so the decision is made sometimes without any concern for its right-ness or wrong-ness. Sometimes shit just needs be gettin done, know what ah’m sayin?

So, by my mathematical reckoning, the decisions become more and more complex as life’s influences grow more numerous. Ergo, the more complex one’s life, the harder it is to distinguish right from wrong. I have work and home, and I’m already screwing the theoretical pooch when it comes to some very big decisions. I can’t imagine how much more complicated my Right-Wrong spectrum will get once I have kids, or a house, or a job with more responsibility. I will definitely have more respect for burdened people making bad decisions.

Well... most people.

Luckily for me, I have a wife who is quick to forgive my shortcomings and even quicker to apologize for her own. It would really suck to have a whole country (or even a county) telling me when my Right-Wrong Seesaw tilted the wrong direction because I gave too much weight to “Popular Opinion”.

The truth is, friends, that the world doesn’t work in blacks and whites, but in reds and yellows and greens and kindas and maybes and “little bit”s. Those that worry about making a wrong decision are those who abstain from committing. I trust that the benevolent force in the universe (God) has a firm stance on RIGHT and WRONG, and respects us for trying our best to weigh our see-saws. Sometimes it’s the effects of a decision that make it right or wrong.

For more on that, watch Battlestar Galactica. Some say it’s a parallel of the war on terror; I say it’s a slick, well-produced epic spanning 3.5 seasons and offering a glimpse into human nature alongside a stellar soundtrack. Plus there’s spaceships and lasers and shit.

Using Calculators to Amuse Self, Others

I’m the department head of Mathematics at my school. Below is the email exchange between my boss and myself:

From: G******* N******* [mailto:***********@*******k12.ca.us]
Sent: Tuesday, September 15, 2009 1:34 PM
To: M**** V**********
Subject: Calculators

M****,

Please work with me regarding a calculator order.

Thanks,

G******

---

Okay. I have ten, four of which are scientific, all of which are from the dollar store.
Debbie has 8 graphing and 5 scientific, plus one overhead graphing.
Tim has none.

Perfect World:
Set of 35 graphing calculators for Debbie
Set of 35 graphing calculators for Tim
Set of 35 graphing calculators for Steve
Set of 35 scientific calculators for me
Anti-gravity boots
Lightsaber
Beachside condo with East-facing bay windows
Recipe for Calorie-free pasta
TOTAL: 105 graphing calculators, 35 scientific calculators

Pleasant World:
Set of 15 graphing calculators for Debbie (one for every two students)
Set of 15 graphing calculators for Tim
Set of 15 graphing calculators for Steve
95 scientific calculators (35 for me, 20 for Steve, 20 for Debbie, 20 for Tim, each class has 35 calculators of some sort)
German Shepherd/Golden Retriever Puppy
Set of Yamaha drumline equipment
TOTAL: 45 graphing calculators, 95 scientific calculators

Bare Minimum for Success:
15 scientific calculators for Debbie
15 scientific calculators for Tim
15 scientific calculators for Steve
15 scientific calculators for me
7 graphing calculators (to complete a set of 15 to swap between Debbie, Tim, and Steve)
A High Five
TOTAL: 60 scientific calculators and 7 graphing calculators

~M**** V******

*********@******.k12.ca.us

Economy Squeezes like a Zit, Spraying Veteran Teachers with Pus

It is not a good time to be a beginning teacher.

Historically, the first people to get laid off are the part-time, substitute, and intern teachers. The term “intern” essentially means “contracted while we feel like it”. At any point the intern teacher can be served with a March 15 letter with the phrase “services no longer needed” buried into a lot of legal fluff. The term March 15 letter refers to the deadline given by California Education Code; it’s the last possible date to let a teacher now that they must begin looking for a job. Every year, around April, dozens of recently polished resumes and Recommendations flood recruiting websites like edjoin.org in an effort for new teachers to find the next “intern” position. Eventually, the intern earns enough clout to earn “tenure” which guarantees them a spot for the next year.

At least… that’s how it usually is.

A school that doesn’t have a union is a rarity in Southern California. Here, the powerhouse Union negotiators have lawyers and press agents on speed dial, ready to pounce on administrators the moment they start to show shady behavior. Many charter schools are union-free, largely because of the odd curriculum and regular teacher turnover. It is not uncommon for some charter schools to see 30% turnover every year. The teachers at one such union-free school, unfortunately, have no advocate. So when several teachers are laid off in late July, they are, as the French say, le fucked.

Your timing blows, Dad

The reason the March 15 deadline exists is to allow veteran teachers a fighting chance to get the most desirable positions. Several veteran teachers (in a school without tenure) were recently canned largely, it is believed, due to the high cost of their salary. Why keep a $70,000 English teacher when you can get a fresh one for $45,000? With a never-ending supply of fresh, inexperienced teachers, this pattern can be continued indefinitely, constantly removing teachers from the posts when they begin to be excellent and raise student test scores.

The school is saved from the budget crunch, hurrah.

**Yes, it’s anonymous. Keep it that way.

Maybe I’m Different

Maybe I’m different.

Maybe I’m one of a very small group of people who are easily slighted. I’m 24, have a great job that pays well from which I am not fired. I have a beautiful wife and am respected by colleagues and friends. I’ve got it really good.

And yet… all it takes is one little exchange to get me postponing work for my Master’s classes, drinking heavily, and blogging. Do other Master’s level students have baggage? I’m not sure.

Maybe I’m different.

This may come as a shock, but I wasn’t the cool kid in middle school. Not even top 20. I was the skinny, geeky, churchboy who was good at math and cried when he got a B+. Naturally, the weakest of the pack are the first to have hyenas tear them apart, and I was no different. By the time I was 13, I had developed some sanctuary in church camp, it being a place where nobody from my school would go.

When I was in seventh grade, a boy from church came to camp also, let’s call him Tommy. The parents of Tommy were church buddies with my parents, and they ended up buying our old house when we moved. Tommy hit puberty before me… to be more precise, the knocked the shit out of puberty. He had a goatee and muscles at 13 while I… well, I didn’t even masturbate until 16.

There; I said it.

June in Eastern Washington is akin to October most everywhere else in the United States, so the annual “Swim to the big rock in the middle of the lake” was really cold. My fragile, 55-pound body couldn’t handle it, and climbed back onto the dock shortly after the swim began.

Tommy, upon his return, called me a “fuckin’ pussy”. I didn’t know what a pussy was, but I’d heard fuckin before, and his general tone left little to the imagination. I was shocked and hurt at his outburst, but more surprised. I didn’t do anything to him.

Later that night, he wanted some Skittles and I didn’t give him any. Now it was his turn to be surprised and hurt. (Middle schoolers have the short-term memory of a garden squirrel.) As boldly as I could, I said that he couldn’t have any of my Skittles because he called me a… pussy. His response, like the response of my parents and later, my wife was “ah, man! Lighten up!”

Tommy and I didn’t talk much after that; we went to different high schools and my family moved to Chicago a few years later. This was eleven years ago. Eleven years. This was three presidents ago, but I still carry baggage left by Tommy and Trey and Andrew and the other bullies that wounded me because somebody wounded them. There’s a good chance that Tommy is paying child support and working at Home Depot right now, but that does little to alleviate the hurt feelings of my inner pint-sized boy withholding Skittles.
Maybe I’m different.

So now, when an acquaintance and his friends talk about going out for drinks, but he doesn’t invite me along, it ruins my evening. Inside this successful, 24-year-old body is a skinny, scared, seventh grader who couldn’t handle the cold water, or couldn’t catch a football, or got picked last in P.E. This scar that I carry is fucking painful, and all of my successes since 1997 don’t make this suitcase any lighter.

Maybe I’m different.

On-the-Clock-Amusement

I find that I need to entertain myself (and occasionally others) while at work, and the most appropriate avenue for said distractions is email. These are some of the emails that I’ve sent to my coworkers.

From: Mxxxxx Vxxxxxx
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 1:17 PM
To: Grade Level Team
Subject: Daniel

Team,

Poor little Daniel was busy this entire weekend moving houses. Somewhere in the process, his madre emptied his backpack into a box and filled it with “makeup and shit”.  He is still looking for the missing box that holds the key to his future… but his mom sorted different subjects into different boxes, so his academic life is in shambles. He has asked for grace in this trying time of need, and in return he has committed to coming in early and giving up lunch where needed to make up the assignments that are lost.

CLICK HERE to send Daniel $5. You will also receive a picture of Daniel and letters from him describing his progress. Let God use you to make a difference in the life of a child.

~Mxxxxx Vxxxxxxx

---

On Mon, Apr 20, 2009 at 6:08 PM, Mxxxx Vxxxxxxx

The categories are as follows, unless someone has a better idea:

Consistent with dumb Jeopardy idioms (idia?), they are:

Gee, I’m Geometry

History and Herstory

Comp/Lit ‘n Competition

Best that money can Biology

You can call me Al-gebra II

We’re number one (Algebra I)

I’m open to better ideas, and I need 10 sample questions by Wednesday at 4.

~Mxxxx Vxxxxxxx

From: Christine
Sent: Monday, April 20, 2009 8:23 PM
Subject: Re: STAR questions

i like it!! oh so much to do this week. There have got to be simpler less stressful ways to make a liivin-

ya think??
–
Christine
¤´¨)
¸.·´¸.·´¨) ¸.·¤¨)
(¸.·´ (¸.·´ .·´(´¸.·¤´¯`¤·
“Dance in the body you have”
Agnes De Mille

From: Mxxxx Vxxxxxxx
Sent: Monday, April 20, 2009 9:34 PM
To: ‘Christine’
Subject: RE: STAR questions

I tried stripping as a career, but people from my church showed up and it was super awkward on Sunday.

~Mxxxx Vxxxxxxx

---

From: Jxxxxx Sxxxxxxxx
Sent: Thursday, May 28, 2009 11:45 AM
To: theteam@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: culm equip & needs

If your team has any need for equipment on culmination day, please give your request form to either Sxxxxxxxx or Txxxxxx

Thanks!

On Thu, May 28, 2009 at 11:58 AM, Mxxxxx Vxxxxxxxx wrote:

We need a fog machine, anti-gravity boots, and a full petting zoo with horsey rides. Also, we need a 40 x 60 foot stage for Obama’s Renaissance Address. KISS will be performing as well, but they can use the same stage and fog machine. Some of our students are putting up a laser-tag booth, so we’ll need a laser-tag course and 20… better make it 30 laser-tag vests. Better throw in another smoke machine, just to be safe. We also have the option of a knife-fight booth, but some students can’t afford butterflies, so we’ll need about 10 of those, plus bleach and buckets to sterilize them after every round.

Is it too late to have a rocket launch scheduled? I’ll get back to you on that.

~Mxxxxxxx Vxxxxxxx