Thoughts

If I could tell my students how to choose a path of employment, I would emphasize that no effective writer, historian, athlete, musician, or scientist became such without dedicating themselves to some goal. For that to have taken place, however, the respective expert must have had a firm idea about why they were doing what they were doing. In other words, they must have had purpose. Karl Marx spent countless hours in English libraries, I would share, to understand the functioning of society in order to improve it; while Isaac Newton often went without food to gain a firmer grasp of the science of motion, and eventually revised that science. They did this because they had a clear purpose, a real reason for doing what they were doing that would affect others around them. I would communicate that whatever passion students tap into, it should be embarked upon with that kind of clear goal in mind. While they may not know which passions they have yet, I would emphasize that school is a time ...

I shrink at the dark of sin inside my heart From which the blood of Jesus sets me free For now this leprous soul is fashioned into art Into a green and efflorescent tree As from this canopy of peace I start To worship the gold Triumvirate Three The dark I find in me can now depart, The shame dispelled which shrouded me. A new-discovered man now set apart Both now and for eternity

It has been argued that the way we act is caused by things outside our control (our upbringing, our culture, or our genes, for example). People with this belief would argue that people behave badly because it is in their genes to behave badly, or because they learned it from their parents growing up; and people behave well because it is in their genes to behave well, or because they learned it from their parents growing up. This is a form of what’s called determinism , or the idea that everything we do is determined by past events and by something called natural law (a law set by nature and that is valid everywhere). Why is this important? Saying that we behave the way we do because of our genetics or the environment means we aren’t really responsible for our bad behavior. If I do something wrong, it isn’t my fault because I didn’t really have a choice anyway. Contrast this with the idea of free will. Those who believe in free will argue that our choices are our own, and that we have...

A little over a year ago, my eighth-grade class was studying character motivation. During the introduction of the idea, I tried to bridge the notion of character motivation to our own motivation. Knowing a person's motivation, I tried to stress, allows you to glean something about that person's character. The example I used was unintentionally self-revealing. What if, I said, a person entered the room pleading that someone outside needed immediate medical attention. One person whose motive was duty might think it morally right to lend assistance, but may have no real concern for the person. The person would go, perhaps begrudgingly, as though it was a necessary act. The victim, to him, is simply a receptacle into into which he pours his skill or aid, a mere opportunity to demonstrate his own value as a human being. His motivation is self-interested. The next person, on the other hand, might genuinely care about a victim's life and so leave in haste out of his ...

Anne Bradstreet was a seventeenth-century poet from New England and the first published poet of the North American colonies. In this poem, she alternates her rhyme and use of syllables in such a way that gives the poem an innovative rhythm and meter that remind me of jazz. The message reflects her Puritan culture, though she herself was born in Southampton, England. In these stanzas from a much longer poem, she talks about the sun. They come from a work titled "Contemplations." "Then higher on the glistering sun I gazed, Whose beams were shaded by the leavie tree, The more I looked, the more I grew amazed, And softly said, what glory's like to thee? Soul of this world, this Universe's eye, No wonder some made thee a deity; Had I not better known, alas! the same had I. "Thou as a bridegroom from thy chamber rushest, And as a strong man joyes to run a race, The morn doth usher thee with smiles and blushes, The earth reflects her glances ...

This is my most recent submission to a poetry magazine. Like the others, it was rejected. I think I have only one really successful and clear poem, "Seasons." This one, though fitting to the free verse era, may be too unclear; or maybe it is just generally not very good! I can still share it with anyone who might happen to stop by here, though, can't I? The key to this poem is the doorman who guards the house. The poem is called "The Pallid Soul." This soul, wan, Pulsates slow and cold, And buzzes like a crackling neon sign That flickers from want of current. Its doorman, too, leaning fallow, Tips his Stetson Perusing the eyes of its guests For nothing more Than to dress the future down For a boy in man’s clothing. On that fellow who lingers long Cascades a systematic silence While its doorman pulls the Stetson down, Shivers, And leaves the stoop to lock a creaking door.

It seemed simple enough. My leadership students and I would sell water at our school's "Cultural Night"-- an event in the school gymnasium that celebrates our school's diversity-- and we would go home. I expected the variety of food, the outfits specific to the different cultures, and the variety of entertainment. What I didn't expect was a barely-visible sign just behind the Japan booth, a sign that would change the course of the night. The sign itself was nothing noteworthy. Three feet by two feet in diameter, it consisted of a simple border surrounding just two words on a white background; but its appearance betrayed something so much more fundamental to-- and so much more complex within-- the human condition. It was these words, "wasabe challenge," that ignited in me a need to prove my worth as a man. I'm being over dramatic, but I did want to see if I could withstand a spice that I had heard was fairly hot. The event itself was as straightfo...

"Isn't it 'la bandera'?" I asked. "Si, 'la bandera." It was my third year of teaching and I was studying to take a Spanish-language test soon. I had asked a friend, our school's custodian, to teach me a new word each day. I looked for help wherever I could get it because passing this test meant a lot to me. Always friendly, even in low spirits, my friend would enter my room after school each day to throw out trash and clean tables. Even in those moments of sadness, one felt a kindness beaming from her that led naturally to sympathy. It wasn't as though she often felt sadness. Indeed, there poured from her heart an unflagging love for her God and her children that often gave me pause on days when I battled with my own students for their behavior in the latter part of the school year. Enthusiastic in her work and gregarious all the while, my friend was known for being the best at her job, and proud of that reputation; but a few years ago,...

Last weekend was busy. In fact, if I were to describe last weekend as a music critic would describe a new album, the review might sound something like this: After thorough review of the music wrought within Mr. Tony's album, I have come to the following unadulterated conclusion. The variety of songs within it is a welcome departure from said musician's previous albums. Whereas the tired style he displays in most of those albums has led to the inevitable drop in sales and popularity we've seen over the past years, this particular album demonstrated a nuanced use of familiar instruments as a few of the old musicians returned to contribute novel rhythms. Among the new songs that caught the attention of this critic were the songs "Let's Get Those Taxes On," "Do Yard Work, Son," and "I Get by With a Little Moving Help from My Friend." Lest we assume that all the finest songs are found in the album's beginning, the latter son...

This is another response to a prompt from a journaling site. Like the last story, it's a little dark. I try to effect some redemption in the end, but I feel I failed on his account. In any case, here it is. I pick up the phone to a crackling sound. Silent at this unfamiliar noise, I listen instead of speak and immediately notice a pulsation, a frequency that grows increasingly louder. I think nothing of it, but when I am about to return the phone to its receiver, I notice something more. Outside, it is day, but a sudden darkness falls on the neighborhood and is quickly broken by a pulsating light. I step back in fright, the phone now on the floor. The sound and light frequencies match. Were this all, I would have remained still for a moment, but the sudden movement of earth forced a loss of balance. Recovering, I turned my thoughts inward, avoiding what I knew was true. I realized, then, that the trembling itself was a frequency and that it, too, matched the photophonic pulse....