Winning the Prize

Can you imagine what it would feel like to win an Oscar, a Pulitzer prize, or a Nobel prize? I can't either, but I came close recently when my author brother, Jackie K. Cooper, came to visit during the Thanksgiving holidays. Jackie's wife is from St. Petersburg and her 80 plus year old mother still lives here. Jackie and Terry, of course, come down to check on her occasionally although she is fortunate to have other children close by. Forty years ago, I introduced my brother to his then future wife, the best match-making I've ever done. Over the years, he and I have become much closer, especially since the deaths of our father and mother. He has authored four books and has a commitment from Macon University Press to publish his fifth book next year. Although I am a composition teacher, I have never been asked to edit anything he has written but then middle Georgia and middle Florida are not exactly trips you would make every day just to have your brother help with editing. I was therefore very pleased when Jackie asked if I would mind reading the manuscript, checking it for errors before it goes to the printer. He handed me my half and was rather coy about suggesting I look over the first three pages before tackling the bulk of the editing. The first page was the title; the second, a blank page; the third was the dedication: "Dedicated to my brother, Tommy." I was amazed. I was shocked. I was teary. I was thrilled. I can't tell you exactlyh how I felt except that it was the opposite of getting scary bad news. This was unbelievably exciting news, so far from anything I had ever anticipated that I was almost numb. What a compliment and from someone who knows my "goods" and my "bads." Thank you for this honor, my brother, who is my last living link to my history.

Two Heads

When I was in the Navy, the word for bathroom was "head." I hadn't thought of that term in a long time, but today it seems approrpriate. Although I live alone, I live in a home with two bathrooms (thank goodness) -- "my" bathroom and a guest bathroom. Last week, the toilet in my bathroom began to leak water. I immediately shut off the water, removed the top and decided that, although I am notoriously un-handy, I could repair it. The more I "repaired," the worse it got. By that time, the solution seemed to be to check out the process on Google. Google gave me the information I needed -- a new float regulator, which could be found at any hardware store. Home Depot became my destination where I found exactly what I needed for only $10.99. Armed with my new contraption, I headed to the bathroom and found that the floater that was in place would have to be cut off and removed. Because of the limited space in my bathroom, the removal wasn't so easy, but I finally accomplished that task. The next task was to figure out from the directions how the new one had to be installed. The directions were "in Greek" and were not deciphered until I got a friend over who knew as little about plumbling as I did. However, he figured out one thing; I figured out another. Now I have two working bathrooms again. Two heads are better than one now has dual meanings at my house.

Weather "Whoops!"

Have you noticed how scientific weather prognosticators have become? And we, the public, have joined in a chorus of "Tell Us More." There is even now a weather channel. In fact, when I first went cable, I could not take just the basic package as that option did not include "The Weather Channel." Everyone is interested in the weather. We now are told if and when it will rain, what the high and low temperatures will be, all sorts of information about heat and humidity. What we seldom get are apologies when forecasters are wrong, e.g., when there is a 100% chance of rain but no rain falls; when it is supposed to freeze, but the temperature doesn't drop below 50 degrees. I don't recall a weather man or woman ever saying, "I really missed the forecast yesteray." Even pollsters admit when they have blown election predictions. We don't really expect the forecast to be correct every time. But I surely could use a good "S'cuse me" or even a "whoops!"

Thank-Full-Ness

We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing. I am full of gratitude on this day before Thanksgiving, 2010. I am 72 years old, have experienced many health challenges such as two encounters with cancer, a knee replacement, angioplasty, a ruptured appendix. No wonder when I awaken in the morning, I am so grateful for life that I say, "Thank you, Lord." That utterance doesn't only come to my lips in the morning but occurs randomly during the day as I live my life. I am not what you might call a Bible thumper, but I have a very foundational belief in a Creator Who influences my life and Who responds to my communications. I am very grateful for the United States of America and for President Barack Obama, our nation's leader who has accomplished so much already for the middle class. I believe the founding Fathers gave us a basis for becoming the great nation we have become. I am not a super patriot in that I don't believe my country can do no wrong. However, I do believe that our system of government, for the most part, works for the betterment of Americans. God bless America on this Thanksgiving eve.

The Art of Procrastinating

I am a college graduate with a degree in Procrastination. I have never been able to study, pack for a trip, write lessons plans, grade papers, make out tests until the very last minute when I'm under duress. Although I know it is a habit which causes me anxiety attacks, I have persisted following this policy all of my life. I am an excellent typist which has rescued me many times when tests were not typed up until the last minute. I am very good about getting where I'm supposed to be on time. I am blessed with a wonderful musical sight-reading ability enabling me to forego practices when I'm scheduled to play the organ or piano. Those traits have been assets to help circumvent disaster, but I am embarrassed that I have let procrastination dominate my opus operandi. Fortunately, I have learned that there is a remedy: make a list. There is something magic about making a list. It lifts me from the oncoming procrastination mode into do-it-now mode. One would think that I could therefore be writing about my victory over procrastination. Unfortunately, I don't make lists very often. Why? Then I'd have to stop procrastinating. However, when I do make lists, I am the successful careful accomplisher of many things. Yesterday, I made a list: Walgreens, Barb Billert, Gunter Funeral Home. I went by Walgreens to pick up my prescriptions, called my friend Barb whom I hadn't heard from in ages, and connected with the Gunter Funeral Home in order to make future funeral arrangements. No, I'm not dying (or I don't know that I am). I have been procrastinating taking care of that matter for far too long. See, lists work.

Barefoot Boy with Cheek.....

When I was young and growing up in a small town in South Carolina, going barefoot was a tradition. Don't get me wrong! We knew how to dress up and put on shoes and socks when it was appropriate. But, during playtime, bare feet were in vogue. By the end of the day when the color of our feet had turned to a dusty brown, Mother always insisted that we wash out feet outside before coming into the house.

In elementary school (we called it grammar school), the principal would announce each spring when coming to school with bare feet was "legal." What a great joy that was. Although as a teacher of college students, I now wear both socks and shoes to class, an observer will find that I stil lean toward slipping my shoes off under my desk at every opportunity. The socks stay on, but the shoes come off while I secretly celebrate my return to my childhood.

Mr. Cooper, not Mr. Kooker

I grew up in South Carolina, and I learned the language of that southern state. Of course, at the time of my learning, my language and pronunciation sounded just like everyone else's until I spent a summer in New York state where I learned that some people thought I talked "funny," at least to Yankees. They said "hi;" I said "hey" They said "there;" I said "yonder." They put oil in their cars with three syllables (o-i-ul) whereas I put oil (oll) in mine. When I began teaching in Florida, I introduced myself to my students as Mr. Cooper (I did not pronounce the "oo" in my name with the "coo" sound that is used in Florida). The students tried, but they sounded as though they were exaggerating or as though they were trying to imitate a southern drawl. Finally, I came up with a solution (sort of like Liza with a Z). I faced my students and asked, "Do you say that you mother is a good kook or do you say she's a good cook?" Only the class clowns said their mother was a kook. I then said, "If you can pronounce 'cook,' then you can say my name correctly: 'cook' becomes 'coop'er. Now you know you can pronounce my name as I grew up pronouncing it," and they did.

Two Plus Two

When I was assigned to spend a year teaching in a drop-out prevention program, I was asked to teach a class of 10th grade general math. I had never felt comfortable with math, had taken only the basics in high school and college and had certainly never gone beyond trigonometry. In fact, I had always allowed myself to be intimidated by math beyond addition and subtraction. However, I convinced myself that certainly I could handle a tenth grade class of general math. My other classes were English, a science class, and a social studies class. Druing the year that I taught in that program, my favorite class turned out to be the math class. Whereas a theme in my English class was elusive and could be most anything if the student could justify it, math had specific answers. Either you got it right, or it was wrong. It was like a puzzle. Sometimes you were even given the answer and had to determine the process as to how to get to the answer. Teaching math that year took away my math-a-phobia and taught me an appreciation for mathematics.

The Piano

When I was in the third grade, I asked my parents if I might take piano lessons. They were pleased with my request but let me know that my lessons would require that they invest in a piano on which I could practice. They emphasized the importance of my making a commitment if they were to purchase a piano for me. Their search for an affordable piano ended when they found an elderly lady who said that her daughter had urged her to sell their piano. So, the upright piano came to my house where I did keep my musical commitment until I left for college. During this time, my mother had passed away and my dad had remarried and brought my stepmother into our home. She was the same daughter who had uged her mother to get rid of the piano years before. The piano had returned. Since I was away in college and now using pianos in the practice rooms, I offered no resistance when my stepmother asked if I would mind her selling the piano. Now years later, when I think back nostalgically about that big black upright, I become even more grateful for the six foot Kawai grand that now sits in my living room.

The Unbalanced Teeter-Totter

I recently heard TV financial consultant Suze Orman state that "the rich are getting richer while the poor are getting poorer." I, for one, am in the latter group, and I resent all of the tax loopholes that allow the wealthy to not live by the letter of the law. Warren Buffet has argued that his secretary pays more income tax than he does.I am very much with the Democrats in allowing the tax breaks instituted by President George W. Bush to expire for the wealthiest 3% of our nation. The arguement that we should not raise taxes during a recession is now a moot point, now that the recession has been proclaimed dead. It is also ridiculous to hear the Republicans complaining about the deficit when they are willing to add to the deficit by not allowing this provision to expire. We, the middle class, are sitting on a teeter-totter that is out of balance. I'm all for allowing the Democrats more time to "level the playing ground" financially. The rich will continue to get rich, but the poor, hopefully, will not continue to get poorer.

The changing season

This writing was done when I was a senior at Furman University in Greenville, South Carolina when minds and hearts were dominated by sports and the changing season:

October 22, 1960 (Saturday) - During this week, we have had our first taste of fall weather. Cooler air moved into Greenville Thursday and has even threatened frost. However, the frost hasn’t materialized. It is good to see cold weather again. Wool clothes return to the campus along with beautiful sweaters, etc. Gail Frost and I even carried our overcoats to this afternoon’s game between the Citadel and Furman. It was warm during the first half of the game, but as the sun and hearts of the Furman student body sank during the second half, the coats felt good. Neither team seemed to feel the spirit of football as they fumbled back and forth across the field. It just happened that the Citadel scored one more point than FU. The game ended 7-6. That put the mighty Citadel Bulldogs ahead in the conference, and Furman, the last undefeated team in the state, buckled from tops to ordinary.

DST

The transition from DST to traditional time always throws me more than the inverse which occurs in the spring. I don't know why, but I lose time better than I gain time. Saturday night, I went to bed at 10:15, my regular bedtime. However, with the time changing during the night, I actually went to bed an hour early. I had trouble going to sleep, which is most unusual for me. I remember hearing the chiming clock in the living room at 10:30 and tossed and turned a while even after that. Yesterday morning when I awoke, I looked at the bedside digital clock which I had changed to regular time before I went to bed. It read 4:25 (35 minutes before I usually get up). Between then and 5:00, I probably looked at that clock ten times, determined not to arise before the magical 5:00. When I finally heard the 5:00 chime, I rolled out of bed, thanked God for the day (as is my custom), and realized that I didn't feel my usual energetic self. In fact, I felt as though I had been beaten up. Hopefully, before long I will readjust to the change and get a good night's sleep. I think I would prefer staying on DST all year.

Creeping Crudity

Although I wouldn't consider myself a prude, I'm very concerned about the crude language that now flows unabashedly from the mouths of our youth. Today's films seem to infer that "toilet" language is the current normal language of our civilization. The F-word is used not only as a verb, but as an adjective, a noun, and a hyphenated middle for a compound word. Courteous restraint appears to have been cast aside on the assumption that all consider gutter language acceptable. As a school English teacher, while the language in class is properly respectful, the language in the halls is frequently appalling. The language decline does not appear to be one-sided. Women and men are equal abusers. I'm not sure what has caused the acceptance of blatant profanity. I once taught a class in a drop-out prevention program and, when the students figured out that I wouldn't use profanity in class, one asked me, "Are you a preacher?" Although I'm not a minister, I do have a reverent respect for appropriate language.

Confessions of a Substitute Teacher

After a thirty year plus career of teaching everything in the English curriculum at the high school and college level, one might think I would be ready to sit back, relax, and enjoy my retirement. I have had fellow retired teachers say, "Once I walked out of that classroom, I've never wanted to go back again." Not so for me. I loved my teaching career and began seeking teaching opportunities soon after I retired and finished taking advantage of some travel opportunities. I learned that St. Petersburg College hired substitutes for teachers who missed classes. What an opportunity -- no lesson plans to make and no papers to read and grade. Just the essence of conducting and teaching a class. Occasionally, I turn down requests to sub when it is in conflict with my schedule. When I do, the secretary says, "We'll call on you next time." What a great retirement job, and they even pay me.

Politics, duh .....

This is the second time I have written about the lack of political savvy among college students. Working as a substitute in the Communications Department at a local college, I have access to students along with a chance to gauge their interests through their writings. Recently I asked a writing group, who were studying cause and effect, to have a discussion of the Tea Party movement by utilizing a pre-writing discussion method. The assignment evoked puzzling looks. Blackberries and I-Pads were quickly put into use. Reacting to their obvious confusion regarding the assignment, I questioned them about their reason for concern and learned that only a few of them were aware of the Tea Party movement. Are our college students so busy in school or so distracted from politics or the news of the day that they don't know or care about their government? Do they only watch reality shows on TV and skip completely local and national news? The rumor is that there will be a dearth of young people and minorities who will vote in the November 2010 elections. Based on this response from the students in my class, the assumption that young people won't exercise their voting rights is probably true. Our country so needs an educated electorate in order to insure that our government will not be hijacked by fringe groups who specialize in extremism. I hope you have voted.