Caught Red Handed – Note to a Bonehead Driver
Paulette Easterlin
Normally, she was very careful not to use her cellular phone while driving and when she did, she was careful not to get caught. She had gotten good at the deception – tilting her head a certain way, having her hand close to her are to make it seem as though she was just learning. She would also look out for the police and state troopers, planning a version of cat and mouse. She would make her conversation quick and would go bake to being the so called safe driver.
The insane thing about it all was that she would get so irate when she saw others on their phone while driving. She would shout and call them all kinds of names – idiot, moron, stupid, and bonehead – just to name a few. You see, to her, she and they had nothing in common. At least she could still drive well while on the phone. You know how those New York City drivers are!
Anyway, her days were numbered. On a fateful day in May, she was caught red handed or should I say, without a hands-free device. She had just left a school sports event with some friends. Her school had won, and she felt great. She had her windows slightly down, but with the sunroof open, the spring breeze was relaxing. She had just gotten a brand new CD and had it blaring for a while, absorbing its rhythm. She decided to call her husband. She wanted to hang out just a little longer without him knowing. She was vague with her story of having to take care of some errands before heading home. He would be fast asleep when she returned, resting before going to work that evening. It was the perfect plan or so she thought.
She chatted with her husband a bit more and out of nowhere, there they were. A dark truck, with flashing red lights was directly behind her. Her mouth almost dropped to the floor. She thought to herself, “Where the hell did he come from?” She pulled to the side, hoping that he was just signaling to pass her and get some other poor stiff. Not a chance! It was her he wanted. The officer came over so nicely, and asked her whether she knew why she was pulled over. Of course she knew why but claimed ignorance. The officer kindly stated that she had been on her cellular phone while driving. She quickly stated that she was just putting it away – what a bonehead answer! “Oh crap! I’m in trouble now!” she thought.
The officer proceeded to ask for the usual documents. She made it possible for him to see her government ID. That had gotten her out of a speeding ticket and some other infraction before. The officer made casual conversation about the ID, asking about her branch and service in the military. He then took her information back to the truck. She thought for a moment she was home free and was bold enough to begin playing her CD again – half embarrassed by drivers passing by and half hoping to keep her mind clear from panic. Was he actually going to write her a ticket?
The officer returned with a slip of paper, her bonehead reward, a ticket. She looked at it in disbelief as the officer spoke something about it not affecting her license or insurance, about appearing before the judge or just sending it in with a plea. Yada, yada, yada. She wasn’t hearing all that, she wondered whether it would affect her marriage. Her husband was going to have a holy fit if he found out about this. He had warned her countless times about talking on the phone while driving. She would argue back that she was never on but for a few minutes. She then thought it over. Ok, her husband was going to be upset. But to whom, was she speaking to in the first place? Did he know of her driving while speaking to him? Maybe he was as guilty as she!!! Way to rationalize! Misery loves company!
As she drove off from the crime scene, she almost thought to cancel her plans with friends. She hoped to God that no one she knew passed her while she had been pulled over. She wondered how much the ticket would be and whether a notice would come to the house. She also wondered whether getting caught was payback for the deception with her husband. In any case, she had a ticket for who knows how much money. She was now reformed though, if only for a short time. She planned to get a hands free device as soon as she could. Would this note, her ticket, keep her clean and out of trouble in the future? Who knows, just ask a bonehead driver!
Take Back The Moment??
Paulette Easterlin
If you were to ask Jason would he do it all again, I’m not sure his reply would be yes. Maybe this is really how I would respond. Being in the military is an honor and one often thinks of duty and country. And yes, even for those ‘weekend warriors’, being in the military carries the same meaning. While the reasons for joining the military may differ between active duty servicemen and reserve duty servicemen, to serve is still a choice.
Jason was the best there was, at least that is what his mom and dad would say. Jason never gave them an ounce of trouble, though he could be a little silly and goofy at times. They would tell you to this day that all Jason talked and dreamt about was being in law enforcement. He really wanted to be a state trooper. Jason had volunteered at the local police precinct where he held a small position. Though the position was small, it enabled Jason to watch and be mindful of the going ons of things around him. In college, Jason was studying criminal justice. College is where Jason found himself on unfamiliar ground. Jason became more focused, responsible and dependable. He joined ROTC and liked the sense of accomplishment it gave him. Thinking that the military would help him become a state trooper faster, Jason joined the military as a reservist.
So Jason, like many on reserve, would do their one weekend a month and two weeks out of the year training and be content. He, like others, could still have a life all their own, doing whatever their minds could imagine. His time volunteering at the precinct and his military training turned out to be the only real experiences Jason would have in law enforcement, the way he envisioned it – ever.
One would think that Jason’s entire military unit was called to serve in a foreign land. But this was not the case. This time, only a few volunteers were needed to serve a 12-18-month duty tour. He thought long and hard about this. His military job was among the group of jobs needed for this mission. About fifteen, other weekend warriors had the same job as Jason. Out of the fifteen, six were needed for this mission. Again, he thought about it. Several of his friends, one being Chris, had been dreading this for some time. No way did they want to disrupt their lives. Being a weekend warrior was more than enough for them. Jason’s commander needed the names of those volunteering by next Friday. If there were not enough volunteers, those needed would be randomly chosen.
By then end of their weekend duty, his commander had three of the six personnel needed for the mission. The commander strongly encouraged or rather pleaded for volunteers to come forward. Getting volunteers was better than having to take the choice out of one’s hands. Again, Jason thought about it.
Jason talked it over with his parents, who though surprised, expressed how proud of him they were and that they would respect his decision either way. He also talked it over with an adviser at school who assured Jason that the time away would not set him back as far as credits. Jason was yearning to do something really important, maybe even life changing. He did not see himself as the goofy kid anymore. He was a maturing man with strong convictions. So with no other thoughts or hesitations, Jason made the choice that would change his life forever. Would he make the same choice had he known the fate that awaited him? Would he take back the moment?
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Chris sunk into the seat of his couch as he heard the phone rang. It seemed so safe and soft nestled there wondering if this was the call. His commander did say that others would be called by Friday afternoon if enough had not come forward for the mission. Was it Friday already? Chris thought about how time goes by sometimes fast, other times slowly when one is worried. In this case, time seemed to have gone by extremely fast. Being a weekend warrior had been fine with him. It allowed Chris to still have a life all his own, doing whatever his mind could imagine. This had been a far cry from where he was 5-years ago. Chris had been in a gang, up to no good, hanging out on the streets. Even thinking about it now made him sick to his stomach. He had caused his family such pain, especially his mom. Chris knows that she cried many a nights over him as well as prayed that he would come to his sense, that Chris would break free of the gang’s hold of him. It was not until his mom became ill that Chris realized that he needed to change. That is exactly what he did. Chris did not want to have his mom’s last memory of him to be that of shame and disappointment. He made a promise to himself and her that he would not go back to that life. Joining the military was his ticket, not that he had many choices to choose from.
Chris smiled for the first time in days, remembering how well he had done in his military training and how he actually liked the discipline. He had finally been proud of himself and so was his mom. She bragged every time Chris moved up in rank or would get some kind of medal. That made it easier when his mom passed away. Though her dying was hard, he was prepared, more grounded and more at peace with how his mom felt about him when she left.
So here Chris was in his apartment, hearing the phone ring for a third time. Who’s to say that he was not patriotic? He had become more patriotic through his military experience. He was a weekend warrior and content with that, unlike his friend Jason who was giving thought to volunteer for the mission. Chris knew about duty and country. What about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Chris wanted his life. He had not left the gang life and streets just to die or be killed in a violent way in some war. He wanted liberty – the freedom of being reasonably safe where he lived. Better yet, freedom of having your mind clear and not having it filled with images that could possibly haunt you forever or drive you to insanity and a suicidal death. Chris wanted the pursuit of happiness – finally happy at the place in life he was in, happy with college and the promise of doing something productive with this life, happy with a new love that was blossoming each day.
Chris thought of his mother and wondered what she would have him do. Was he now regretting having joined the military? Would he do it all over again, now knowing what fate could possibly lie on the other end of that phone? Would he take back the moment?
The fifth and final ring snatched Chris from his thoughts. He mumbled a scared hello. This call would change his life forever.
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It seemed as though they had been there for 6-months rather then 3. Chris has been somewhat depressed, not eating much or sleeping well. Chris would call the states whenever he had a chance, checking on his younger siblings and speaking to his girlfriend – anything to make himself feel as though he was not so far away. Knowing how Chris felt about the deployment, Jason had made an extra effort to include him in some fun activities during their down time. Jason also talked to Chris, reassuring him that their unit was in a relatively safe place, that he had familiar faces and people from their unit back home around him, and that the deployment would go by faster if he did not dwell on the time. Chris appreciated the words of encouragement and tried to be in better spirits. Though he still felt sad, Chris went about doing his job.
With Jason, Chris and his new unit went out in the field, walking for miles each day covering territory along this beautiful but foreign countryside. Their unit made sure the area was safe and clear of bombs, grenades and mines. Every time they went out and shortly before their return, the unit was reminded of their orders and commands, the most important being that they were not to pick up or bring back any items from the field. Those items could be live and explosive even if they looked as though they were dead/inactive. Soldiers were told to identify the items with a marker and leave it. Another unit would take care of disposing of it during their sweep of the area.
Of course, there is always at least one person who challenges authority or is just plain hard headed. Even this person has a choice – to listen or not listen to advice. In the military, this is not an option. One followed orders. To do otherwise was costly and even, deadly.
One hot, muggy day, a soldier did the unthinkable and did not follow orders. He brought back what was seemingly a dead grenade to the troop barrack area. He hid it in the shadow of the top corner of his locker, a souvenir of a soldier’s day in the trenches. It was days before anyone even knew he had done so. By then, it was too late. This impulsive act of not adhering to orders would later have repercussions no one was prepared for, that no one could imagine.
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Chris had just lain down on his bunk to get some rest. He had been on his feet most of the night on guard duty. Jason was a short distance away, shooting the breeze with another soldier. Chris listened in for awhile but then turned over to at least close his eyes and relax. Before long, Jason and the other soldier started joking and horsing around. Imagine something so innocent one minute turning into a horrific, terrifying moment the next. In jest, Jason shoved the other soldier against the locker. They both begin to laugh, thinking nothing of their playful shoves and horseplay.
The jolt was enough to cause the grenade to immerge from the corner of the locker. Almost like a leaf gliding from a tree branch, the grenade descends toward the floor. It touches down with a thunderous explosion, followed by what seemed like deafening silence. The other soldier was minimally affected by the blast. He was at least conscious but he was not prepared for what he saw in front of him – Chris and Jason.
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There was a blanket of red and debris everywhere, with dark gray clouds hovering overhead. Shouts rang through the air for a medic, a doctor – anyone who could come to their aid. Coming to their aid would mean determining whether they were dead or alive. They both were so still in the middle of all this chaos, too still for comfort. Despite the blood and visibly open wound, Chris looked as though he was still asleep. Jason, on the other hand, looked far worse. He, unfortunately, had been on the receiving end of most of the blast. Jason now lay motionless, but his face had the residue of horror as though he had realized too late what was happening.
The three of them were rushed to a nearby hospital. Jason and Chris had to be airlifted to another facility – their injuries and their lives being in too grave a state. It was a good thing that they were not conscious because awake, they would be in excruciating pain. In the hospital, Chris and Jason laid unconscious, barely holding on to life. They laid there not knowing whether, once awake, this be the life they would want to live.
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The Choice To Teach, The Choice To Educate
Paulette Easterlin
There are so many choices in life that we grapple with. Sometimes, it is not the choices themselves that is the issue but rather the potential consequences to follow. I am pretty sure that no one wants to live a life full of regrets – thinking about what should have or could have been. The choice to step out of the familiar, out of the comfort zone is a risky one to make. One of the choices that I had to make was whether to go into teaching.
I was in my first career as a social worker. I was doing well and really could have stayed right was I was. I was working with juvenile probation which was hard with few rewards, recognitions and thank yous. I was the person who would try to provide community-based programs and services to the courts as an alternative to residential placement. I enjoyed becoming the “master of resources” getting youth and families to the place they needed to be, i.e., improved relationships with family members, higher self-esteem, therapy and counseling to work through the pain and disappointments they may have too soon experienced; or getting community services and resources in place to keep them from being in a correctional facility.
At times, I felt like more Houdini than a social worker, pulling resources and contacts out of nowhere in order to ‘save’ a youth. Often times, in getting the background on these kids, I would notice that school was a major challenge. I found that there were limitations in education or mis-education of the children I served. These kids were frequently poor students academically and/or behaviorally. Often times, there were students who truly had difficulties academically and cognitively but were pushed ahead by teachers and/or by parents who did not recognize the need for other interventions – a different way to reach the learner, placement in resource room or special education – for fear of stigmatization. Other times, the child’s behavior was so unmanageable that few would take the time or effort to explore where the behavior was stemming from or what the bigger problem was. It would have been a stretch to have a teacher say anything positive about them with placement meaning one less problem child to deal with. Their parents were at a loss as to what to do, trying hard to juggle jobs and provide for their family. The parents trusted the school, out of necessity and not choice, to do what was in the best interest of their child.
I became disheartened and wondered if there was something more that could be done to help these children. I wanted to somehow help before the penal system became involved. I became tired of feeling that I was not making an impact in time. I was also tired of judges and/or lawyers looking at the options that I gave as impossible or unattainable. I had a voice but felt that it was not being heard, respected or taken seriously. I had some judges, lawyers and probation officers who truly respected my opinion and expertise about services. Then, there were others who would drag me into court to speak to a situation but would not give me the respect as to even look me in the eye. Enough was enough.
I must say that teaching had once been my first choice as an adolescent. For some reason, I changed my mind about it. Maybe I was unable to think that far ahead, of it being something that would actually satisfy me. Or maybe social work was the path I needed to travel, if not for just a season. Ten plus years in anything is a long time to later want something different – be it a job/career, marriage, relationship. Change of this sort just does not happen often. With the support of my husband and family, I took a gamble.
At first, I had the nay sayers who publically and/or privately doubted that I could do this teaching thing. “You’ve never taught a day in your life (formally).” I had to prove to myself that I could do this. Their words or lack of encouragement did not matter to me. It fueled my drive to prove them wrong. This was my choice, my happiness at stake. Life was/is too short to live a miserable existence.
I would be lying if I told you that it was easy. My first year, I almost cried every day because I had such a rough class. My previous work as a social worker as well as my military training helped me a lot. Teachers, truly need combat pay every couple of years! I would die of embarrassment at how my class acted in the halls, in special area classes and during lunch. Soon my students became more manageable, at least for me. I was able to get through lessons with minimal disruptions or outbreaks. I could not say the same for the other areas. There were times when I had to stay in the special area room with them so that work and activities could be done. Though that took time away from me having space and a reprieve, I found it to be worth it. I think it showed the other teacher that I respected what they offered to my students. I think that it also showed my students that I would do whatever I could to provide the conditions for learning to take place, even if it was not directly with me. I found that my students came to appreciate this and began working harder to behave and learn. By the beginning of December, we were in a nice groove with minimal bumps along the way.
As the years went by, I learned more and more about myself as a teacher and later as an educator. These two titles have varying definitions for me. I feel as though a teacher has more as a job function while an educator has more of a career function, almost a specialty. I learned in college that though we may have and hold several jobs in life, it is the career that we want and care about. The career is the position that becomes the profession which is most satisfying, fulfilling, and leads to one doing more to develop it.
I feel that my first years were my teacher years. I did my job or functions as a teacher and was really in survival mode to hold on to the job. I had not completely stepped out and had teaching as a career. I still did social work and had it as a safety net. It was not until I made the choice to let social work go, did I begin to transform into an educator. I began to exam my practice more deeply and reflect on what I was doing. I would ponder Charlotte Danielson’s The Framework for Teaching from her book Enhancing Student Achievement: A Framework for School Improvement. Though I had never read the book, that excerpt from framework which was given to me while at a Teacher Center workshop influenced my choice, my shift in thinking. This framework discusses four domains that impact school improvement – (1) Planning and Preparation, (2) Classroom Environment, (3) Instruction and (4) Professional Responsibility.
Planning and preparation had been emphasized early on in my teaching. The saying, ‘When you fail to plan, you plan to fail’, should have been embroidered on every lesson plan book. Becoming an educator made we look at planning and preparation from other angles. I had to think about not only the delivery of the lessons but also at who my students were as learners. I began to look beyond lesson objectives and more toward instructional goals and outcomes.
Though having a well managed class is a dream come true, what does it really say about the classroom environment? Having a classroom ‘set under the iron rule of the teacher’ is not necessarily one where learning is taking place. Commanding the respect of students and building of rapport is as important as the content. Commanding rather than demanding respect is more lasting. So that list of rules and beginning of the year dos and don’ts was exchanged for ideas and behaviors around building of a classroom community with student input into the space (classroom/school) they lived in over six-hours a day, five days a week.
I became the “master of resources” in a different way once I made the change to an educator. I would look for resources and material to impact the learning and instruction of my students. I wanted to engage them in understanding the concepts. My resources started out primarily of books. Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com became my best friends. Later on, I chose to increase my instructional bank with internet resources. I have to say that I have more resources than I would like to admit but I am full and know that I can tap into any number of those resources whenever I want my instruction to coincide with students’ needs on a deeper level.
I had been grateful for the professional development opportunities that were afforded to me. There were a certain number of hours that needed to be put in as new teachers, which still applies today. Who is to say that one cannot go beyond what is expected? Isn’t this what many professional, career-minded people do to maintain their expertise? As an educator, I came to think of myself as a doctor also. Doctors complete years of training in medicine, and even more years in their specialty and to maintain their licenses. There are those doctors that go beyond what is required so as to enhance their practice. These special doctors do things to craft and shape their practice into what they want it to be. Their actions and attitudes speak to who they are and how they want others to know them. These doctors made a name for themselves. I know that I would want a doctor who is well knowledgeable and current in the field of medicine as well as cared about me as their patient. Anything less could endanger my health and wellbeing as well as the doctor’s practice and hopefully, conscious.
Therefore, I took the stance of an educator, a doctor in my field. I took charge of and responsibility for my professional development with the attitude that my students, my patients, needed me to care about what I was doing with their wellbeing in mind. I’ve taken workshops and conferences, have read books and have delved into internet resources. I continually explored best practices and applied them to my everyday instruction of and interaction with students. I did this because the students and the learning mattered. Like doctors, I am still increasing that knowledge base in order to become a better practitioner, a better educator.
Do I regret making this choice? I would say not. This journey has helped me grow in ways I had not been able to in social work. Each year, I have a new group of learners, patients, waiting for me to help them become better than they were the year before. A group of students who need me to be available to meet them were they are, provide sometimes strong medicine and watch their true potential spawn from that intervention. The choice was made, the educator is in. I will continue asking my students, “how can I help you?’
Work Cited
Danielson, Charlotte. 2002. Enhancing Student Achievement: A Framework for School Improvement. Alexandria, Va: Association for Supervision & Curriculum Development
