All posts in the Perspective category

It’s News to me.

Published June 9, 2020 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I love crime drama. I’m not a big fan of the news these days. ( Today it is June 9, 2020 so if anything survives this is a point of reference.) Every single day for the last four years I have stuck to a routine: Wake up. Drink Water. See what horrifying thing is happening today.  This has been since November 9, 2020. At the time, my SO was living with me so he got to witness me falling to my knees, weeping, actually weeping in fear.  This is the kind of fear that you get when you are a person of color. (As a Mexican-American, that color is beige, but that’s still a color.) At the time I was teaching at school that was in a sketchy part of an equally sketchy county. I fully expected some kind of riot or protest or some other stance. I did have an incident at that school when a parent mumbled about his child being taught by a dumb beaner. I responded with a smile through gritted teeth and, “But sir, this beaner is quite bright and very educated.” 

I am slightly less afraid these days. I love the district I am currently in. It is in a large district that has a small town feel. I like my colleagues and most of the parents I have encountered have been supportive. The kids are great. I miss them every day. I have had a few minor incidents involving racism towards my particular ethnic group. 

On September 11, I took a few minutes to give my students a little information (Brain Pop for the younger students, Jon Stewart’s monologue for the older ones.) I took the time to tell them that on September 12, 2001, no one was black or white we were all American. In one class,  a student piped:”What about the Mexicans? “ I just looked at her and said, “Yes, Ms. Rodriguez, what about the Mexicans?” I then told her it wasn’t an issue on that day. 

Later in the year I was checking on group work when I overheard a student talking about the necessity of building a border wall. The other group members saw me approach and started telling him to stop talking. The embarrassed student turned to me and said, “It’s for protection.” I said, “Yes, we need a wall to protect us from the scary Mexicans.” He said, “But you’re not dangerous.” I said, “Not that you’re aware of.” 

These are the only specific incidences that happened to me and I documented them and sent the info to Admin. While I am not litigious, I’m not taking any chances.   

All of this seems so long ago. And it seems a whole lot less important. I think that almost four years of impending terror have desensitized to me. I still check the news every morning, but it’s filtered through comedians.  (John Oliver, Trevor Noah, Seth Meyer and Stephen Colbert)  

We are still in a pandemic. We, as a country, are suffering from generations of racism. I am personally trying to deal with the general anxiety about all of the above and doing a deep dive into my psyche to improve my mental health.  Writing helps. I am trying to shake the mindset that everything has to be perfect.  If you looked at my living room, you wouldn’t think that this was an issue.

Strange Days Indeed

Published March 11, 2018 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

“Just how does one become a professional blockhead?”-Fox Mulder

I find it strangely synchronotic (I think I just made that word up.) that as I am writing this particular bit I should hear that snippet of dialogue. You see, and how could you not, but if you don’t, I’ll tell you. There are strange doing afoot. I am officially on Spring Break and my head is fraught with worry.

I am worried about finances. Quite simply, I am not making enough money to cover expenses, and this time it is not entirely the fault of the vicious whomping my savings took last year when I worked for a school that had a shaky understanding of how the business world works.

I, and my fellow teachers, are quite frankly grotesquely underpaid and there is not a thing we can do about it.  Exacerbating this situation is the fact that my mortgage has gone up to the equivalent of exactly one half of my paycheck.  (Why yes, this is the same house that had sparks shooting out of the floor this time last year and had similar sparks shooting out of the ceiling two years ago.  For some insane reason, the property has been appraised at about $20,000 more than it was last year.)

Clearly it is time to get out of the house.  Like my fellow teachers there is not much I can do for the immediate fix, with the exception of getting a second job or selling plasma.  I already work approximately 10 hours a day, and if I sell plasma The Mom will reach into my chest and pull out my still beating heart. Plus the plasma alone won’t cover the already stretched bare spots in the budget.

I know the problem: teachers are simply not paid enough.  It is the second most senseless thing in Education, the first being that we, as a country, can not find away to keep our children safe in our schools and BTW, have you noticed that in wake of the far too many school tragedies you haven’t heard a single story of a TEACHER fleeing the scene. No, teachers understand that their first responsibility is to their students, which is why we put up with the low pay and terrible hours.

In a mostly related note, I just finished reading the book,A matter of days by Amber Kizer. I generally stay away from the “This is how the world ends” genre, mainly because I think Stephen King did it best with The Stand.

This book was a great read, kind of a The Stand, light.  It pushed forward the idea that when it does end it will be as sly and fast as an OkCupid date. You won’t see the horror coming until you are trying to get away from it. (If you reuse this phrase, please direct people to my books on Kindle which are still free through the 13th! )

Now why, you may ask, did I leap to this book review and shameless plug?

Because I have genuine anxiety about the daily circus that is our current administration.  If any of my students ran off at the mouth like that (Just go to and check out the latest) they would miss recess for the next few weeks, possibly the rest of the school year.

And now the President plans to meet with Kim Jong-un.  I think the problem of underpaid teachers might just go away, along with the rest of us.

Because I see the horror coming.

And I’m just an amateur blockhead


So this . . . .

Published July 2, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

It is the beginning of the first full week of July and it is also the second week of my summer break.  I spent most of last week with BatBeard. It wasn’t enough time.  But as I said in regards to teaching, is there every enough? Have you ever spent weeks with a loved one and thought, “Well, that’s about enough time.”


I am very lucky to love and be loved by good, kind people. I don’t think I get enough of them.  But I’m also pretty sure I don’t get enough of me.

What, pray tell, do I mean by that?  Well, at the risk of sounding like a complete and total intellectual, elitist snob (although if you live in a house with a leaky roof and only have transportation because you have a very loving and giving mother can you really be called elitist?), William Wordsworth said it well, “The World is too much with us.” Poem is here.

A lot is being said about mindfulness and how we, as a society, should be practicing it. When did we get so damn busy and distracted that we have to practice paying attention? I certainly am guilty of losing track of the point (It’s a huge shock, I know. If I needed any more proof, not even an hour ago I was watching a movie while trying to walk across the room and stepped in the handle of a suitcase and fell, face first, into the bookcase.  Fortunately, I have a lot of practice with klutzing around, so I didn’t hurt myself, the books or the suitcase.  The cats were most entertained.

I have a month until my next teaching contract starts, so I have this time to take care of myself.  I plan to relax, organize, work out, read, relax, watch tv, relax, plan lessons, and relax (you may have noticed a theme; a recurring pattern is called a motif.)

As I focus on my health, mental and physical, I am reminded to free myself of distractions. What am I supposed to do if my mind, itself, is the distraction?

There is a lot going on in my head both physiologically and metaphorically (Are thoughts considered metaphors, they CAN weigh heavy but they are figurative. Maybe I should send my brain to a weight loss seminar.)  Even before my head blew up, my brain had a mind of its own, but it has gotten worse since my brain has healed. (There are those who say that I have just put  dab of Krazy glue on the unravelling knot of insanity)

Years ago I asked my Neurologist what I could do about my brain taking three separate sides in an argument. All he said was, “It sounds like you’re in tune with your Id, Ego and Super Ego.” That was not at all helpful.

Its nice to know, but how do I relax when my inner child is constantly in search of something new to distract her?



But everyone remembers the Frito Bandito

Published June 2, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I work with several baby teachers. Most of them are twenty years younger and this is their first full-time teaching job. I also work with a teacher who is about 15 years older than me. He also has a background in the arts, and if things had gone differently, we would be related by marriage. (Not to each other. )

The other day, my bizarro brain became obsessed with Fruit Pie the Magician. (This has happened before.) I asked my colleague if he remembered this character.  He did not. He also did not remember Twinkie the Kid on King Ding Dong.  These were the spokespastries for Hostess.  There was even a brief period when Hostess tried to shake things up by creating a chocolate twinkie, with a Twinkie the Kid of color.  This did not last long.

I said all of the above to my colleague and he looked at me as if I had gone quite mad. He did not remember any of it, leaving me to wonder if perhaps I was in my own special loop of the Mandela effect.  I tested this theory by asking him if he remembered Jot, the dot who had feelings.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how nuts this sounded, so I looked it up. Jot was a dot that interacted with children and changed color and shape out of empathy for children.   He was part of an hour long program that was on a local TV station on Sunday mornings.

In addition to Jot, one could tune in to see Davy and Goliath, a well meaning boy and his oddly judgmental dog.  There was also a guy who would read the Sunday funnies aloud to the viewers.

My colleague remembered the show and the funnies but not Jot. He did not remember any of the spokespastries, but he did remember the marginally racist Frito Bandito.

I, however, do not.


It continues

Published March 16, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

(This is the rant, continued.)

So what else is 610 going to do?

I’m so glad you asked. Bill 610 will repeal the Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965.  Let’s break it down a bit further. This Act  is the main K-12 law. (For those of you who don’t know, this means kindergarten through twelfth grade. This law affects students from the ages of five to eighteen.)

The latest version of this Act is called Every Student Succeeds.   If this law is repealed, equal opportunity protections for students would go away. This would largely affect Special Education students.

How would this madness happen? Well, under the current law, any school that receives federal funding, which is every public school in the United States, must have resources available for Special Needs students.  This includes Individual Education Plans. This means that every student who has a disability as designated by their school would be affected by the removal of this law.

For the uninitiated, disabilities range from the obvious, like a wheel-chair bound student, to a high functioning student with Asperger’s Syndrome.  There are also 504 designations which covers just about everything else in the alphabet soup of diagnoses. With out this funding the programs in place could suffer by losing qualified staff to dissolving completely.

In my school  of 81 students we have two students who are directly being served as a result of Special Education funding. One of them, let’s call him Marcus, has Tourette’s Syndrome. He also has several cognitive and developmental delays. This means in addition to being a squirrelly 12 year old, because all 12 year olds are squirrelly, he also has the Tourette’s ticks  and motor control issues. He also is on the academic level of a third grader.  His under-education is a direct result of of the mishandling of his case at his previous schools, meaning he was lost in the crowd and was too difficult to handle in a classroom of thirty-five students.  So instead of educating him, his previous schools isolated him.

Now that he is in smaller school, his disabilities were easy to spot and deal with. Fortunately many of our students are kind and welcome him into their large group activities. Marcus has a teacher whose sole job is to work with him as a result he has mastered the sight words of a grade level very close to where the rest of his classmates . He can already out perform many of them in basic math.

I mentioned Carl in an earlier blog. We are awaiting  a specific diagnosis for him, but for the time being he is also working with our Special Ed teacher. Carl is on grade level, slightly above it actually, but emotionally he has regressed to a five year old.  When he gets overwhelmed he gets violent.   (I can totally understand this; there are days when I want to get violent with some of my students.)

With out Special Education funding, both of these students would be isolated, possibly institutionalized. Neither of these students’ families can afford private education. Bill 610 would effectively doom these children to a life behind grey walls where they would be managed by indifferent under trained staff.

It is a head shaker, especially when you consider how many kids will be damaged by this.

Damaged kids become damaged adults.  I don’t want to know what will happen after that.



Oh for crying out . . .

Published November 19, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I try not to cry too much, mainly because I don’t want to be misjudged as weak or whiny. Unfortunately, I am one of those who cries when angry or outraged. This is where the real problem lies.

You see, I have been teetering on the edge of hysteria for the last week or so. There is a lot going on in my world and in The World and it is quite upsetting. I am terrified of what is going to happen next as the big and little pictures are both becoming wavy and unsettling.  I drove to work crying the other day because of the state of the world (ok, our Union) but had to quickly pull it together to be the voice of reason (I know, I think it’s funny, too.) for the students who look to me for guidance and I don’t think it’s my turn to corral that barrel of monkeys.

And there are other things.

As I have said, there are things for which I thought I was ready that I clearly not.

Actor Boy has called me three times since election day. Actor Boy didn’t call me when he broke his tooth, or when he had been jumped in a mall parking lot or when he broke his sternum. He called because he feels the hate and tension and fear building up around him. He is a white male living in a liberal state and he is scared.

Batman held me on the morning after the election while I cried tears of real terror. I’m not sure he understands the depths of my fear.

I have a responsibility to ensure the safety of 21 students for nine hours a day. I hear things that some of the older students say to each other in ways that are hurtful.  I am actively trying to stop hate speech from springing up. All around me I hear the rumblings of a future that, quite frankly, terrifies me.

A few older students have made jokes that aren’t funny to anyone, except maybe Brock Turner and Donald Trump. I have real fear for the sweet little girls in my charge. I can’t do anything about it tonight but cry a little.

And be very proud that Actor Boy is enough of a man to feel the fear, too

A little wild in the kingdom

Published October 2, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

We had parent-teacher conferences yesterday.  I know that teachers world-wide sigh and groan at the concept of being held hostage in your classroom playing  mind checkers with parents who defend/explain/ threaten as you discuss their cherub’s progress in your class.

My school is pretty amazing. Our conferences are fairly low key; we meet with the parent and students in a designated section of the cafeteria. We have at least 2 teachers per grade so the parent and student get more than one set of feedback. Our administrator is usually at the ready to answer the difficulty questions.

The faculty meets in teams, two by two if you will, to reinforce  the notion that we are all in this together.

Yesterday I failed in the most spectacular way.

We have a student who has been hamstrung by his disability and  inferior school systems that have failed to meet his needs. After a great deal of discussion and many trials, this student now has an aide who works on his core subjects.  This student also attends our classes for presentations and projects.

This student’s parent is very outspoken and, quite frankly, is a bully. The plan for this conference was for all  three teachers, the aide and an administrator to meet all together and have a quick discussion before moving on to the  meeting with the parent.

The bully (picture a lumbering water buffalo) arrived early. The other teacher and I (picture one calmly grazing gazelle and a twitchy meerkat, guess which one I am.) watched the slow approach.  The gazelle looked at his notes and said calmly, “We don’t have you scheduled for another thirty minutes.” The meerkat said, “garrble blarkity thirty minutes.”  The last of this sentence was said as I glanced over to the main table where the counselor had been sitting just moments before. She was not there;I hopped up with my meerkat arms in the air and zipped over to another conference table where two other teachers, one of whom is a former football player and is well over 6’5″. (Picture these two as large, kind animals, friendly rhinos perhaps.) I popped my meerkat head in between the two of them and said, in what I hoped was a calm voice, but probably wasn’t, “I need one of you to come over to our conference.” I was rewarded with a kindly, “We are just wrapping up here.”  I said something akin to, “No time, Sabu! Beast at watering hole.” I zinged out of the cafeteria and down the hall where the counselor, the aide and the sweet secretary were waiting. At this point everything was starting to look like an horrifying documentary. The counselor (a small, wise owl) and the aide (a very patient mama bear) and the secretary (a friendly bird, like the ones that helped Snow White) all looked at my wild giant meerkat eyes and asked me what was going on. I began to explain and then realized what my flight must have looked like. And the result is that I left a calm gazelle alone at the watering hole.  And then I started to laugh. I couldn’t stop laughing for several minutes but got it together long enough to have that conference. It went fine.

And then I lost it. I laughed so hard I was sent out into the hall. When I came back the student asked me, “Did you ever get your toaster problem worked out?”

That is a story for another time.

Fortunately this student’s parents think I’m just the right kind of crazy to teach their child.


Stuck in the middle with . . .

Published September 28, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I have been crazy busy teaching the sixth grade. I am now officially certified to teach all of the core subjects for grades 4-8, but right now I’m only teaching English and Science. I love my job and I love my students.  I have the unique opportunity to actually get to know my students. The entire sixth grade consists of less than 22 students. This is smaller than most of one of my classes when I was teaching for a large public school.

I get to know my students and I am seeing a lot of echoes of my own Middle School experiences. Did anyone have a fabulous time as a 6th-8th grader? I certainly didn’t.  I was a very awkward kid at the best of times and during the worst of times I was smarter but felt less appealing than most of my fellow students.  When I was in the seventh grade most of the class just decided to stop talking to me.  I have no idea why, but I suspect it was mean girl related. I went to Catholic school, but there are cliques everywhere.  Fortunately at that point in my life I had the best teacher I would ever have, Sister Collette Ross. She kept me busy and kind of above all of that. But it still hurt to be excluded, so I know how some of my kids feel.

Especially after last weekend. I was invited to a bachelorette evening for a member of the book club I am a part of.  I know the Maid of Honor very well as some of the other attendants, and I have a close acquaintanceship with the Bride. As the evening developed I started to realize that I was the only one at this celebration who wasn’t also invited to the wedding. I understand having to keep numbers down and all and I wasn’t taking it too personally until further conversations revealed that certain fringe members of the group had also been invited. Suddenly I felt like that awkward chubby seventh grader except now I don’t have a mouthful of braces and no one is calling my fat to my face.  The lost, lonely and left out feeling was sealed when everyone began talking about going home to their respective partners and sweeties.  My sweetie and I are in the relatively new-ish part of our relationship, but we will be getting a shared cellular plan when he returns from his Wild West tour of the Virginia State Fair. Which of course means that he wasn’t home to welcome me and pat me and hold me until I coo with delight and forget that I for a few hours I spent a total of $65 dollars and five hours and a face full of make-up to feel like I was twelve years old.

But now I remember what feels like to be left out and I can keep that from happening to any of the handful of kids I see on a regular basis.

I started my day with a recap of last night’s Presidential Debate. I really just wanted to see if I needed to carry my passport with me or which horseman of the apocalypse would be stampeding over the horizon first.  I saw an interview with a Middle School teacher.  When asked what she would say to the Nominees she said, “Answer the question and stop talking.”

Sometimes the middle is the place with the best view