'tis the season...

“Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store.

Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more.”

- Theodor Seuss Geisel:

How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

It’s one of those brilliant December mornings where streaks of pastel-colored clouds drift across the sky, calling the sun forth from its hiding place behind the mountain ridges. It is a time of the day I love the most because the morning and I are waking at the same time. It's the moment of transition when I am reminded of my insignificance and, at the same time, a meaningful part of a living universe.

Some reflection…

Christmas in the Southwest is nothing like it was in my youth. While early in the day before the sun arrives, the temperatures are often chilly, the days generally sunny and warm. Snow? On the desert floor, it is an infrequent visitor. While visions of sugar plums and Santa's reindeer and sleigh on snowy rooftops were part of the Christmas narrative in the home of my youth, there is nothing like that here.

In those days, my mother read Clement Moore’s ‘Twas the night before Christmas….’ to us, and we watched Charles Dickens, ‘A Christmas Carol.’ In the end, the diligence of Bob Cratchit, visitations to Ebenezer Scrooge by the Ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future, and the angelic character of Tiny Tim Cratchit, won the day – the morality tale reminding us the importance of humanity and relationships, not to mention redemption!

While those stories brought a sense of wonder to us, the focus in our home was the birth of Christ. Christmas morning at breakfast, my father read the accounts of Christ's birth. He loved the Book of Luke’s rendition and usually began there. I can still hear his voice as he recounted the second chapter on Christmas morning:

“And as it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria). And all went to be taxed, every one to his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the City of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child…”

Matthew’s account was generally next. This was a quiet and solemn time for our family. While we were excited about the possibility of presents under the tree, there was something about the time together and these scriptures that stirred my interest and held my curiosity.

Dad was a passionate man who was tamed by the scripture and ministry to which he was called, but my mother embodied a gentleness that was part of her DNA…seemingly effortless. For her, it wasn't just the Christmas season. She embraced her calling to lovingly instruct her children in the ways of the Lord at every opportunity. She was a great storyteller. Her words slipped into my willing mind like warm butter as she recounted the adventures of Ruth and Samson and Daniel and Moses and Samuel (my all-time favorite). With her words, I could visualize the characters. She lifted the stories from the written page making the characters seem so real I felt like I knew them.

These days…

Life seems to have become more complicated and busy at this time of year. Families will gather to celebrate the day. There will be items to purchase, stories to be told, meals to be eaten, gifts to be given, and things to be done - keeping us busy and engaged. 

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, the hustle and bustle of the season nearly over. Many many will breathe a sigh of relief that Christmas is once again gift-wrapped and complete.

Today, as the sun begins to peek its way over the crest of the Catalina mountains, a cup of hot coffee encourages the neurons of my body to waken. Sitting quietly, I hear the voices of my parents reading the scripture and telling stories. Their voices warm my soul and touch my heart, running through my mind like tumbling waters of a brook.  It is good to be with them.

At this season, on this morning, spending a little time with my folks, could not be better. In some ways, they seem as real as if they were here beside me. It reminds me of how grateful I am for the gift with which our species has been endowed. 

The gift of memory.

- ted

It's just a semi-colon...

“The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin…” is to learn

something. That’s the only thing that never fails…”

- T.H. White: The Once and Future King

School is out – the semester is done. In the words of Sergeant Preston of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, “Well King, this case is closed.”

 “Sergeant Preston of the Yukon” was an American series in the mid to late nineteen-fifties set in the Canadian Yukon (actually filmed in Colorado). Played by Dick Simmons, Sgt. Preston, accompanied by his faithful Huskey, King (actually an Alaskan Malamute), solved weekly mysteries and crimes. At the end of each episode, Preston would look at the dog, rub his head and say the  “Well King…” tagline.

Over the years, I often used that phrase when something was coming to an end…school, a job, holidays, and lots more. I suppose it was the comforting familiarity, that whatever was ending, there would be another episode to look forward to in my life. As the years slipped away, so did the phrase.

Yesterday, I gave the last final examination of the year. Thanks to the marvel of electronic grading, by dinner, final grades were calculated, downloaded and archived to an invisible cloud somewhere in the land of Oz – both the land and the wizard continue to elude me.

As I hit the ‘send key’ pushing all those electronic ‘zeros and ones’ to a clandestine electronic archive, I found myself quietly saying, “Well King, this case is closed.”

The closing adventure…

As with the mystery-solving, crime-fighting Sergeant Preston and King, this semester has ended.

Aristotle said, “Those who know, do. Those that understand, teach.”  The proverbs say a similar thing, “Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting, get understanding.”

Understanding is a pretty high bar, but I have come to appreciate the shortest route to that end is teaching another person.  Over the past year, through a multitude of students, I’ve had the opportunity to discover what I don’t know well enough. As Plato suggested one may never reach the fullness of the big ‘U’ understanding, but
a mass of little ‘u’s can be acquired along the way (virtue is actually Plato's topic).

When unable to explain something clearly the opportunity to ‘…shore up the ramparts of my mind. ’emerges.  If a question is asked for which I don’t know the answer, it becomes mine, and the process continues.

My students think they are learning from me, and that is probably true. What they do not know is that I am learning much more from them. Each time we interact, they buff and polish the tools in my kit, encouraging better preparation for the next round.

This semester may be closed, but like Sgt Preston, there will another adventure to look forward to. 

- ted

Only a semi-colon...

“There is no real ending. It’s just the place

where you stop [pause] the story…”

- Frank Herbert:

fiction writer of Dune

The semester finishes a week from Monday. By then, the two sections of anatomy and physiology I teach will be over. Like ‘striking the set’ after a play, the intimacy I have felt with the forty-five souls with whom I have spent nearly ninety hours will come to an abrupt end. I have begun to feel a little empty-nesting melancholy.

The beginning…

The classroom was empty and dark. I got in early, turned on the lights, and looked around. Heraclitus might have been right when he said, "No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river, and he's not the same man.”

No doubt, I was not the same man, nor were my students going to be the same students. As a metaphor, Heraclitus hit the nail on the head!

The classroom, however, had changed, not at all. Huge anatomical wallpaper posters still hung from sliding tracks on the walls, like anonymous artists’ works…heart, immune system, lungs, livers, kidneys, and more.

Seven black four-seat lab tables occupied the room in the familiar configuration – two in the front, three in the middle, and two in the back. New blue high-backed plastic barstools had been added since the summer.  

In the front was a computer table from which I would lecture. Behind me, the same three whiteboards, aligned in a row, colored markers at the ready. Long gone the days of blackboards and chalk. Gone also lecture handouts. Now it’s all computer slides posted ‘in the cloud’ for students to download before class…which by the way, most do not.

I took my place behind the lecture desk, looked around, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath trying to take in the ambiance. Not so easy in an empty and sterile lecture lab.

Soon, children, soon.

Within a few minutes, the door opened, and with a rush of fresh air, the room started to take on life. As the desks began to fill, students looked around at the place, attempting to gauge the unusual nature of a classroom used for lecture and lab experiments.

For some of these young students, I’m the fellow who stands between them and the grade they need or desire. Frequently, it’s not about the content but simply another step in their academic journey – another box to tick off the list. 

It is not uncommon for students who have taken a course to share with one another details regarding the material and the instructor.  Since I have only taught a year, I’m still an unknown quantity. “Who is this instructor?” “What will be the workload” “How does he grade?” “What will he expect?”

After introductions and a review of the guidelines for the coming semester (e.g., syllabus review, rules for dissection labs, and general classroom decorum), they are given a pre-course quiz briefly covering all of the material they will be taught during the semester. As might be expected, they do very poorly. They are pleased to hear it is a no credit quiz and will be repeated at the end of the semester. They will be surprised by how much they have learned.

 With that, we shove away from the dock and begin the voyage, uncertain as to its success.

This is now…

We have shared similar space for sixteen weeks, resulting in many face-to-face contact hours. Within the first two weeks, I have their names and greet them individually as they enter the classroom. Names are important symbols in our culture. When a person is called by their name, it is a reinforcement of their worth. Subtle but powerful. Think about how you feel when a person uses your name.

As the semester progresses, I get to know them not just as students occupying seats, but as people. After four months, I know something personal about every one of them and come to see them as part of an extended family.

As in every course, not everyone captures the wonder that is the human body. I would not expect that. Yet even the students who do not do well, get a sense of how intricately and delicately we are put together. I try to remind them of the interactive complexity that goes unnoticed during their day-to-day lives…lungs breathing, heart beating, immune systems fighting disease, muscles, and bones working for movement, and so much more…directed for the sole purpose of supporting life. It is a lot of very complicated work designed for one purpose – to carry our minds around permitting the opportunity to acquire knowledge and understanding.

There are a small number of students who do see the course as not just another class in their academic journey. In the process of the semester, noticeable light bulbs flash in their minds. No epiphanies, but a gradual realization that human physiology is a wonder of the universe.

The semester finishes a week from Monday. All things come to an end, even good things. BUT, a couple of weeks ago, I got an assignment for next semester. And while this term is ending, I will have the opportunity to fall in love once again.

- ted