What Teachers Make

He says the problem with teachers is, “What’s a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?” He reminds the other dinner guests that it’s true what they say about teachers: Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.

I decide to bite my tongue instead of his and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests that it’s also true what they say about lawyers. Because we’re eating, after all, and this is polite company.

“I mean, you’re a teacher, Taylor,” he says. “Be honest. What do you make?”

And I wish he hadn’t done that (asked me to be honest) because, you see, I have a policy about honesty and ass-kicking: if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could. I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor and an A- feel like a slap in the face. How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups. No, you may not ask a question. Why won’t I let you get a drink of water? Because you’re not thirsty, you’re bored, that’s why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home: I hope I haven’t called at a bad time, I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today. Billy said, “Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don’t you?” And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.

I make parents see their children for who they are and what they can be.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids wonder, I make them question. I make them criticize. I make them apologize and mean it. I make them write, write, write. And then I make them read. I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful over and over and over again until they will never misspell either one of those words again.

I make them show all their work in math. And hide it on their final drafts in English. I make them understand that if you got this (brains) then you follow this (heart) and if someone ever tries to judge you by what you make, you give them this (the finger).

Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true: I make a goddamn difference!

What about you?

~ Taylor Mali ~

Seven Principles of an Eagle

Here’s an oldie, but a goodie, that I like to share again and again. I personally disagree with the first one. I trul;y believe that we become stronger and better people the more we mix with other people and species. We have a lot to learn from each other and knowledge can be found in the smallest of creatures living in the worst of conditions. It makes no sense to foster pride and arrogance that would have us look down on others.

1. Eagles fly alone at a high altitude and not with sparrows; they do not mix with other smaller birds. Birds of a feather flock together. No other bird goes to the height of the eagle. Eagles fly with eagles. Never in a flock. Even when Moses went to commune with God on the mountain, he left the crowd at the foothills. Stay away from sparrows and ravens. Eagles fly with eagles.

2. Eagles have strong vision, which focuses up to 5 kilometers from the air. When an eagle sites his prey, even a rodent from this distance, he narrows his focus on it and sets out to get it. No matter the obstacle, the eagle will not move his focus from the prey until he grabs it. Have a vision and remain focused no matter what the obstacle and you will succeed.

3. Eagles do not eat dead things. They feed on fresh prey. Vultures eat dead animals but not eagles. Steer clear of outdated and old information. Do your research well always.

4. The Eagle is the only bird that loves the storm. When clouds gather, the eagle gets excited. He uses the wings of the storm to rise and is pushed up higher. Once he finds the wing of the storm, he stops flapping and uses the pressure of the raging storm to soar the clouds and glide. This gives the eagle an opportunity to rest its wings! In the meantime all the other birds hide in the leaves and branches of the trees. Use the storms of your life (obstacles, trouble etc) to rise to greater heights. Achievers relish challenges and use them profitably.

5. The Eagle tests before it trusts. When a female eagle meets a male and they want to mate, she flies down to earth with the male pursing her and she picks a twig. She flies back into the air with the male pursuing her. Once she has reached a height high enough for her, she lets the twig fall to the ground and watches it as it falls. The male chases after the twig. The faster it falls, the faster he chases until he reaches it and has to catch it before it falls to the ground, then bring it back to the female eagle. The female eagle grabs the twig and flies to a much higher altitude pursued by the male until she perceives it high enough, and then drops the twig for the male to chase. This goes on for hours, with the height increasing until the female eagle is assured that the male eagle has mastered the art of picking the twig which shows commitment, then and only then, will she allow him to mate with her! Whether in private life or in business, one should test commitment of people intended for partnership.

6. Eagles prepare for training. When about to lay eggs, the female and male eagle identify a place very high on a cliff where no predators can reach; the male flies to earth and picks thorns and lays them on the crevice of the cliff, then flies to earth again to collect twigs which he lays in the intended nest. He flies back to earth picks thorns and lays them on top of the twigs. He flies back to earth and picks soft grass to cover the thorns, and then flies back to pick rugs to put on the grass. When this first layering is complete the male eagle runs back to earth and picks more thorns, lays them on the nest; runs back to get grass and rugs and lays them on top of the thorns, then plucks his feathers to complete the nest. The thorns on the outside of the nest protect it from possible intruders. Both male and female eagles participate in raising the eagle family. She lays the eggs and protects them; he builds the nest and hunts. During the time of training the young ones to fly, the mother eagle throws the eaglets out of the nest and because they are scared, they jump into the nest again. Next, she throws them out and then takes off the soft layers of the nest, leaving the thorns bare. When the scared eaglets jump into the nest again, they are pricked by thorns. Shrieking and bleeding they jump out again this time wondering why the mother and father who love them so much are torturing them. Next, mother eagle pushes them off the cliff into the air. As they shriek in fear, father eagle flies out and picks them up on his back before they fall, and brings them back to the cliff. This goes on for sometime until they start flapping their wings. They get excited at this newfound knowledge that they can fly and not fall at such a fast rate. The father and mother eagle supports them with their wings. The preparation of the nest teaches us to prepare for changes; The preparation for the family teaches us that active participation of both partners leads to success; The being pricked by the thorns tells us that sometimes being too comfortable where we are may result into our not experiencing life, not progressing and not learning at all. We may not know it but the seemingly comfortable and safe haven may have thorns. The people who love us do not let us languish in sloth but push us hard to grow and prosper. Even in their seemingly bad actions they have good intentions for us.

7. When the Eagle grows old, his feathers become weak and cannot take him as fast as he should. When he feels weak and about to die, he retires to a place far away in the rocks. While there, he plucks out every feather on his body until he is completely bare. He stays in this hiding place until he has grown new feathers, then he can come out. We occasionally need to shed off old habits and items that burden us without adding to our lives…

Dr Myles Munroe (edited)

Dr Myles Munroe is the Founder, President, and Senior Pastor of Bahamas Faith Ministries International, an all-encompassing network of ministries headquartered in Nassau, Bahamas. He is a multi-gifted international motivational speaker, best selling author and business consultant addressing critical issues affecting every aspect of human, social and spiritual development.

Do we need special schools for black kids in Britain?

Government research shows that black pupils, especially those of Afro-Caribbean origin, are three times more likely than white pupils to be excluded from school.

There are two conflicting, yet plausible, explanations to this phenomenon: Either black children in general are worse behaved and less academically driven than white children, or our schools are quite simply failing the black students. Wanless suggested the latter to be the case and branded our school system “institutionally racist”.

Regardless of which explanation we believe to be true, the key fact remains: black pupils are disproportionately denied mainstream education and the subsequent life chances it normally offers. As a result, these children are more likely to resort to antisocial behaviour, smoking, drinking, taking drugs, and committing serious crimes. Furthermore, they are less likely to achieve five good GCSEs (or an equivalent qualification), more likely to be unemployed and likely to earn on average £36,000 less during their lifetimes. (The Independent, 2006)

Do we need special schools for black kids in Britain?

Support Fenrose bid for twitch tv affiliation

As you may have seen or heard already, my daughter Sofia is upping her game and going for affiliate level on twitch (which is where you start making money), and to reach that goal she needs more followers.

So, how can I help? I hear you asking.

1) Well, If you’re already on twitch and want to follow a female gamer with an attitude that’ll make you laugh, just go to twitch.tv/fenrose and click the little 💜 button to follow her.

2) If you’re into gaming, but not on twitch, then I would suggest you go to twitch.tv to get yourself signed on and then you proceed according to the instructions in 1).

3) If you’re not on twitch, and not really into gaming, but still keen on supporting Sofia as she begins to create a niche for herself within the gaming industry, just go to twitch.tv/fenrose and click on any of her videos. Then turn the volume off and go for a walk, read a book, watch a film in another tab, do some gardening, knit a jumper or whatever you can think of that interests you more than a gaming video. Each view counts when you’re building a platform, so you can actually help without having to register anywhere or ever watching a live stream or gaming video.

4) If you cannot do any of the above, you can still help by sharing this post so that more people can see it.

Thank you and much love,

//Evalena xx

 

My Dad keeps the tradition going

Yesterday, my father flew the flag for my son Oscar’s 29th birthday. A simple gesture, but such a lovely tradition. 🇸🇪 Tack pappa och grattis än en gång Oscar! 💙💛

On Solicitude and Storytelling

Last year, after ten years of professional networking on facebook, I decided it was time to start a new chapter. My professional days, no matter how badly I wished this was not the case, were over and the time had come for me to accept, adapt and advance.

When everything is taken away from you, you are forced to balance the books of your life. To truly examine the core of who you are, and what makes you tick. For me, it has always been Solicitude and Storytelling. Without these two I am nought, and so I knew I had to explore new ways of keeping my body and soul together. Thus, I embarked on what can only be described as a new adventure.

I knew that, in order to advance, I had to conquer my irrational fear of public humiliation and start taking my storytelling seriously. Writing, however, doesn’t come as easily to me as it once did, so in a bid to circumvent this obstacle I tried each day to film myself talking about something. (This is not an easy feat for someone who gets hypertensious (good word!) and inarticulate at the sight of a camera!) Slowly, my fear subsided and I learned how to make basic videos. Then I decided to challenge myself further by uploading my efforts on YouTube as a record of my progression. The feedback, kindness and support I received from complete strangers on a platform known for its harsh and unforgiving audience was as heart-warming as it was encouraging, and I soon realised what a terrific storytelling tool the camera could be even outside the realm of cinematography.

Around the same time as I shot my first video, I began the herculean task of collating all my written material and publishing it on a domain I own and control. Not because it has any particular value as far as literary achievements go, but because my words matter to me and I feel a need to take control of the legacy I leave behind.

I want my little Frog Prince, and any future grandkids, to know who I was and what I believed in. I want them to be able to read and hear and see the stories of my life as I saw them and decide for themselves what and who I was. We live in a time where we have a unique opportunity to pass on messages to those who come after us, rather than having to rely on the scattered memories and biased opinions of others. Whether we are literate, or tech savvy, or even particularly creative makes no difference anymore; and even poverty is no longer a (complete) bar to access to the technology that makes it possible for people in the so called privileged part of the world to keep a record of their lives. We’ve sure come a long way since Caxton, Niépce or Lumière*.

As a logical progression, and in line with Tennyson’s old adage “out with the old – in with the new”, the time has come for me to turn my facebook profile into yet another private food, kids and nonsense account for family and close friends. Now, I’ve invited all my contacts to join me on my facebook page Evalena Styf and/or its Swedish sister Evalena Styf på svenska instead. On these pages I will keep sharing the kind of interesting updates and relevant content I used to post on my profile, plus updates whenever I make or partake in anything that I think might be of interest to my followers.

If this sounds like something you might like, both pages are already open and you too can pop over to check them out if you’d like. If you have made it there already –  I bid you a warm welcome and invite you to click on that follow button to come with me on this new chapter of my life.

Much love, always, Evalena 😘

*Caxton, Niépce or Lumière are credited as the fathers of the modern day printing press, camera and motion picture, but they did not invent printing, photography or film.

Just Another Thursday, Wolf & Cubs Ep 2

Just another Thursday full of pack activities such as Sofia’s driving theory test, Sofia and Gustaf’s driving practice, picking the Frog Prince up from school and Taking Rummy and Lily to the vets.

We got both bad news and good news this Thursday. 

Go Pokémon! I caught five on my first day out

Yesterday was a very special day for two reasons: It was my first day out of the house since 22 May, and it was my first time playing Pokémon Go! Great fun and such a lovely day! Which is more than I could ever have dreamed of when I woke up in the morning and everything seemed completely hopeless.

My youngest son had worked his third night shift in a row but when he got back he had to make a series of phone calls instead of hitting the sack. The council’s answering machine said there would be a 20 minute wait before it proceeded to play ghastly music. Most likely to encourage people to hang up. When he finally got through, it was to the wrong person. Wrong Person kindly put him through to whomever they assumed were the Right Person. But they were wrong too. Wrong Person 2 promised to put the call through to the switchboard, but accidentally (?) sent it far into the black hole of the Switchboard Universe. Alas, he had to call the council again. And there was still a 20 minute wait during which you had to endure this ghastly music…

My youngest son is a remarkably patient young man with a velvet voice, but even he has a point where he draws the line. (And after three night shifts in a row that line is somewhat easier to reach.) Sod it, said the young man, and decided to aim for a more physical approach to the problem. Having enlistied his twin brother to Project Telling Random Council Official Off, he was soon on his way to our local council in the hope of avoiding further painful phone encounters. But not before he had chased his Little Sister (who got home from an extended holiday the day before) out of bed.

You see, yesterday was a perfectly lovely summer day, and the first perfectly lovely summer day this year when we were all at home at that. Thus my youngest son felt inclined to upgrade what would normally be a one-man job to a family fun affair. I was swiftly dressed and ceremoniously brought out to the scooter where my loyal security mutt, Bellatrix, was already waiting in her travel bag.

En route to the council building I tried to launch my Pokémon Go! I had already installed it, in the hopes of actually getting outdoors soons, and now I was eager to try it out. My sons, who both lean towards the straight and narrow in life, told me not to play with my phone whilst driving (a mobility scooter, on the pavement, at 1mph). As the dutiful mother I am, I took their advice on board, turned the gamer son into my hands free and got the game going.

Bella and I were lapping up the sun outside the council building when my phone gave off some kind of unfamiliar buzz. Apparently, there was a pokémon lurking in the grass by the parking lot around the corner. I fired up my mobility scooter, drove over there and sure enough there it was. A Bulbasaur! Three pokeballs later it was mine and I was ridiculously happy. You know, like when you just have to share all that happiness with someone or you’ll burst kind of happy. I had to call my youngest daughter who had yet to catch up with us (she’s a bit of a sloth before 1pm) and tell her about this major incident in my relatively empty life. She’s a rock my youngest daughter. She understands my joy over game achievements and other random acts of nothing special that become so very important when you’re living in a world of emptiness.

Bellatrix, my furry friend, was not impressed. She’s more of a pigeon and poultry kinda gal, so I promised her we’d go chase some birds in the park next time we’re allowed out. And she was much happier when my youngest son decided to treat us to lunch at the Beacontree on our way home. We got a lovely southern fried chicken fillet burger, and although none of us can eat chips or burger bread we shared the fillet and I told her it was that pigeon she’d had a go at earlier. I think that’s why she seemed to enjoy it so much. We may have different ideas about what’s worth chasing, but at least we have the same hunting goal: #Gottacatchemall

I caught no less than five pokémon on my first hunt. We were only out and about for an hour, but that was more than enough for me. I nearly fell off my scooter in agony on the way home and I fell asleep the moment I was back on my bed. I slept all day and night with a few short breaks for water and meds intakes and the odd loo call. But blimey what a day I had!

50 days to 50

Apparently, I’m 50 days short of 50. Now, there’s a strange thought to be having when you feel like you’re way past your sell-by date. When I was a kid, there was no difference between 50 and 100 – anything over 16 was old as balls.

By the time I’d hit 30, I had collected a colourful group of people to call friends and most of them were far closer to 50 than 16. At least technically speaking. That’s when I began to embrace the “age is but a number” and, worse, “you’re only as old as you feel like” nonsense. 50 neither felt very special or like a particularly high number. But I was 30 then, and it’s all been a (rather steep) downhill slope from there.

My treacherous body, that’s waged a war on me since early childhood, were steadily pushing against my defenses and in 2010 it brought the big guns out and forces me out of the playing field. That’s when I, reluctantly, became a wheeler. In my head it was just a temporary measure, just like the walking sticks I’d had to lean on at times ever since my teens. Once the flare-up was over, I’d be back on track and fight myself back up on my own two feet again. What I didn’t factor in was this whole age thing; and, as it turns out, no matter how hard you envision something, or how desperately you want it, you cannot force old bones into new shapes.

I’m writing this little rant sprawled out on top of my bed, expertly balancing my wireless keyboard on my tummy. I’ve been lying here since April, when I returned from my brother’s wedding; and I can safely say it turns everything you’ve ever thought about age and ageing on its head. When you can no longer wipe your own a**e, or make your own cuppa when you need one, those numbers we normally ascribe to age completely use their meaning. They fill no function as indicators of life, or quality of life. They don’t even tell you what a person can or cannot do.

My father turned 70 not too long ago. He’s just had his second knee replacement and is now strutting his stuff unaided, save for the use of his walking sticks. Nuncle Arne could easily outwalk a hunting dog in his old age; and Granny Selma was dancing in the kitchen with her bae when she was 90. Friday was her date night and neither kids or grandkids were welcome to interfere. On some level I have made peace with the fact I’m not likely to live as long as any of these power houses; yet I’m struggling to understand that I won’t have time to grow old.

I have yet to decide what to do about my imminent birthday. I mean, the date will come and go whether I celebrate or not, but it seems pretty pointless to plan a party when you can’t even go to the loo without needing a nap to recuperate afterwards. Methinks after 16 it makes little difference how old you are; or how many fingers you’d need to show your age. Life is precious and mysterious. Some are still rocking their socks off when they’re 90 whereas others, who have yet to reach 50, wouldn’t get anywhere with their socks without the help of a carer. That’s how you know this “only as old as you feel” malarkey is, in fact, just that. Meaningless.

I know one thing to be true: I had it right when I was little – after 16 you’re, indeed, old as balls!

They Said We Could Not Win

Sadiq Khan giving his winning speech with real extremist Zac Goldsmith listening in the background. (Photo borrowed from The Independent/AP 7 May 2016)

They said we could not win. The conservatives went out of their way to discredit him. Their campaign focussed not on what they wanted to do, but on everything that was wrong with our “extremist” candidate. Which was pretty much everything. But we showed them! We all know who the real extremists are here. All over London people cast their vote for humanism, for supporting the weak and vulnerable, for affordable housing and transport and for a wider sense of community beyond scaremongering and blatant racism. Yes, we have a muslim mayor, but more importantly we have a mayor with integrity, a humanitarian outlook and a can-do attitude. They said we could not win. So first we took (back) London. Then we’ll take the rest of the country in 2020…