Nuttin' but Mutton

While up in the Great North, we celebrated Magrath Days with my parents. Part of that weekend extravaganza is the tradition of 'Mutton-busting', where terrified young kids struggle to hold on to the back on an equally terrified sheep.

For whatever reason, Luke wanted to do it. After waiting for at least two hours to get him on a sheep, I promptly fumbled the camera and missed his exit out of the chute. But, at least I got the ending.

He wipes the dirt out of his mouth just like a real Cowboy.

The Clown Car Chronicles

Last week I traveled to the Washington DC greater metropolitan area in order to do some research. I spent most of my time reading through the state department records at the National Archives in College Park, MD. But I also found time to visit to National Mall, take in an Orioles game in Baltimore, and visit the Museum of the Confederacy in Richmond, Virginia. As an added bonus, I spent time with my good buddy Porter, who in a former life was a member of my MTC group.

I managed to do all of this despite some one serious transportation challenge. When I showed up at the car rental counter to pick up my 'economy' car, this is what was waiting for me:

I had no idea the economy was doing so poorly. You should have seen my double-take when the guy at the rental counter informed me of the model I'd be driving. This was our conversation:

Rental guy: So, right now all we have left in 'economy' is the Fiat 500.


ME: Are you serious? Is that a real car?


Rental guy: Of course. It's very stylish and fuel efficient.


ME: So's a motorcycle. Do you rent those too?


Rental guy: Well, you can upgrade. But all we have left is a Ford Mustang for $40 more per day. Honestly, I think you'll really like the Fiat and it will cost you a lot less.


ME: Fine, I'll take it.


Rental guy: Just don't drive it on the freeway.


ME: What?

But to be honest, I didn't hate it. It looked like a clown car, but it was great on gas, had an amazing turning radius, and I could park it anywhere. If there wasn't any parking, I'd just put it in my shirt pocket and take it with me. Plus, I got invited to all the best Shriner parties.

Of course, there were safety concerns. It was half the size of any other car and wouldn't go faster than 65 mph. Whenever I was on the highway some 3/4 ton truck would bear down on me like a chase scene from Road Warrior.

And it turns out Clown cars don't have the greatest equipment. Large SUV's couldn't see me putting along, and I didn't like to use the horn because it played, 'Baby Elephant Walk.' I got into a fender-bender in Baltimore, and instead of deploying an airbag the steering column just sprayed me in the face with seltzer.

The worst part was the looks I would get. People would drive by, stare at me until I made eye contact and then give me a sarcastic thumbs up, as if to say, "Nice car, Frenchie!" I thought about getting a bumper sticker that said, "I'm just renting this car."

One night I pulled into a gas station where I parked in front of a group of surly teenagers and had the following exchange:

Surly Teen: Nice car, man. I didn't know the circus was in town.


ME: Yeah, circus. Because I drive a clown car. You're sharp.


Surly Teen: Oh, you think you're funny, huh? Well come on then...make me laugh, clown!


ME: Right, I'm the clown. Am I the one wearing big baggy pants pulled down to my knees?


(Savage beating ensues).

The whole experience taught me to re-think car size requirements for the next time I travel. In my defense, when I asked for 'economy car' I was thinking of something produced by the US economy, not Greece.

In spite of all that, I have rather fond memories of my time in the clown car and have even considered purchasing one. I think Luke would really enjoy driving it around the basement.

Family photos 2012

Meg and the Magnolias

Meg and her cousins Isabelle and McKay perform after family dinner on Sunday.

He has nice ties

I just received my Spring student evaluations.  They provide further proof that my new teaching philosophy, "Don't piss off the students," continues to pay handsome dividends. The negative comments are fewer and father between, while the number of positive interactions has increased.  As the overall student experience improves, the students have less to say and the comments are much shorter.  


There is a new trend emerging, however.  This is the type of institution where professors like to wear jeans and sweatshirts to class.  I've continued to dress the way I did at a previous, very conservative, university.  For some reason, this semester my clothes attracted a lot of attention.  I can't remember ever receiving any comments on my clothes...


....my hair, on the other hand....


All Comments are a response to the prompt:  What were strengths and weaknesses of this course?

(The Professor) is the man. He is one of the best teachers I have had yet at (this college).

He's a good teacher.  The way he dresses shows how professional he is.

Strengths:  Good teacher, he really knows his stuff.  Weakness: He's a Canadian.

The material is interesting and he stays on topic instead of veering off to talk about random bunny trails.

Weakness - the tests are difficult to prepare for. Class is a little too challenging for a 100 level.

Weakness:  The teaching method of this class was varied.

Strength - I really like the lectures.  Weakness - not a lot of variety day to day.

I like the tests. 

The tests were pretty difficult even after studying a bunch.

In my four years at (this college) this is hands down the worst class I have ever taken.

Very good job @ making time pass and not make students bored.

Weakness: Wisconsin fan.

For the love of god and all students who follow me, never grant the man tenure.

Strengths are he has nice ties.

Weakness - letting (student's name) in your class.

(The Professor) is very well dressed. It definitely adds to the class atmosphere.

There should be a limit on stupid questions.

Wow. This guy is the best dressed professor on campus. And oh boy, what a teacher.  (Professor), I love you.

This class made me think, but its hard to get ideas when half the class continues to discuss weapons and not actual events.

Great conversation, but I wish there was more talk of equipment and weapons.

Stay sexy, (Professor)!

Flower Couch

"Dad, do Willy Wildcat and Bucky Badger like each other?"

What do we do after church while waiting for dad?

Luke practices giving a talk

Meg and Jake play a game with beanbags and a target on the blackboard.

Kate rides Jake like a merry-go-round.

Meg and Kate just look cute.

How the Zero got its name

I am now in my fifth year of full-time teaching. And in that time, I have learned that a professor's survival depends on learning one immutable lesson:

Don't piss off the students.

In order to coexist with the finest minds of the next generation, I've made several adjustments to my classroom shtick. Sarcasm is out. Never jokingly complain about anything related to the occupation - not colleagues, administrators, salary, tenure, and especially not the students. Correcting students, or somehow insinuating they are less smart than you, is always a bad idea. And I've taken all the jokes out of my lectures.

You have to eliminate any potential for a misunderstanding. If it's at all possible for anyone to ever take offense, someone in your class will. Then you can look forward to a phone call from a parent, or a conversation with the Dean.

The result is a fairly drab, straightforward, uninspiring presentation. But it's safe.

I was reminded of this bedrock principle during a recent lecture in my course on the History of World War II.

I should say from the outset that I love this class. I get paid to talk about World War II in front of people who have to listen. I get excited preparing for it and thinking about the possible photos, audio, maps, and video I could integrate in to the lecture. I have excellent students who have studied the war. They pay attention and ask good questions.

And because it was going so well, I've become a bit complacent. Once I accidentally slipped and made a sarcastic remark. The students actually understood the reference and laughed. Soon I was telling an occasional joke, even parodying a student's comment. It was becoming a lot of fun.

Eventually, I got careless.

In a lecture on the war in the Pacific, we were discussing how the Japanese pioneered the use of aircraft carriers and naval aerial combat strategy. Discussion centered on Japanese aircraft, and I projected the following image up onto the screen:



I explained that the Mitsubishi A6M plane was one of the fastest, most maneuverable planes in the world at the start of the war. It made quick work of the early American planes it met in the dogfights of 1941. Then, like a smoker desperately scrounging through the trash for a cigarette butt, I paused for a moment and said:

"American servicemen nicknamed this plane the 'Zero.' To be honest, I've never been able to figure out why."

I then turned back to the photo on the screen, shook my head, and said, "I suppose some mysteries just weren't meant to be solved."

Reaction was muted. I quickly raced on to the next topic, but as I looked up I could see some that some student had smiled knowingly, but others were genuinely perplexed. No problem. I could fill a warehouse with joke-salvos that failed detonate.

And then I saw it.

At the back of the class one of the more earnest students had raised his hand. I called on him, inwardly pleading for him not to ask what I knew he was going to ask.

But he did.

"Um...don't you think that it was probably because of those big zeros painted all over the plane? Don't you think that's why they called it the 'zero'?"

And now we were both stuck - trapped inexorably in this web of attempted humor. The only way out was for one of us to look stupid. I decided it should be me. I deserved it. I'd ignore the basic rule of teaching.

ME: (looking again at the photo) No, I don't think so. Those aren't zeros, they're rising suns.

STUDENT: But don't you think they would look like zeros to Americans?

ME: (pausing) Well now, that's something I hadn't thought of. That's an interesting theory. I'll have to read up on that.

By this point, even those who realized I had been joking were confused. The student who asked the question gave me this quizzical look like, "How can you not see how obvious this is?"

I have not doubt that several students left that lecture laughing about their professor who couldn't figure out how the 'zero' got its name even after it had been explained to him. No matter. I can handle a few of the more gullible students believing that I'm an idiot.

It turns out that's not a category on the student evaluations.

While waiting for football to start again...

Fox News Alert: 4 year old boys love Chuck E. Cheese

Small town living

Last year Kaddi bought me a beautiful black winter overcoat for Christmas. I've been wearing it to church and even to the college on occasion. It makes me happy.

So I was very concerned as first one, then a second button came loose and fell off. I still wore the coat, but could no longer button it. Even then, the sight of dangling threads ruined the experience for me.

I knew it must be repaired. But how?

Our fair town has limited services. Even if I made a special trip to Norfolk, I didn't know of a place that could mend my coat. We drive to Sioux City once every other month. Was my beautiful overcoat forever doomed to a state of disrepair?

One day while driving down Main Street, I thought I'd found the answer. I passed a residential home that had been transformed into a business. The sign in the parking lot said, "Just Sew." This was the answer to my problem.

I went home, retrieved my black beauty, and drove back to the store. It was dark and musty inside, and smelled like my grandma's basement. There was no one around, but I could hear someone talking upstairs. It wasn't a business conversation. As I waited I looked around. There were radio parts on the floor, dust-covered crafts on the shelves, and bolts of fabric stacked everywhere.

I turned around to see an elderly man coming down stairs. He wore a trucker's hat and a white sweatshirt that said, 'Chicken Days' on it and was tucked into his jeans. I held my coat a little tighter and walked to the counter.

ME: I was hoping you could mend my coat for me. It just needs two buttons...

Chicken Days: No, no...we don't do that here.

ME: You don't do sewing here?

Chicken Days: Nope.

I turned around and looked through the window at the sign in the parking lot. Next to the 'Just Sew', there was a picture of a needle next to a spool of thread.

ME: (turning back) Then what do you do?

Chicken Days: (pointing around the store) Fabric.

ME: You just sell fabric?

Chicken Days: Yep.

ME: (long pause) Then why don't you change the name to, "Just Fabric"?

At this point he gave me that wry smile that says, 'You must not be from around here.' I get that smile a lot. Like when I asked for Smoked Salmon cream cheese at the grocery store, or when I mentioned that I played volleyball in high school.

I decided not to press the issue. After all, this guy probably had the entire northeast Nebraska fabric market cornered. I might need fabric one day, then where would I be?

Instead, I asked if there was another business in town that did tailoring or mending. There wasn't. But, he did recommend the name of woman who repaired clothes out of her home. No business card, no phone number, no address. Just a name.

I went home and used the internet to find this lady's phone number and placed a call. After conducting a brief interview, she agreed to take on my clothing project.

"Do you know where I live?" she asked.

I read the address from the computer screen.

"Please park on the street across from park and come to the door inside the chimney," she instructed and said good-bye.

As I drove across town I imagined that the 'door in the chimney' was one of those giant metal doors with the narrow slot that opened after you give the secret knock. I would have to give a secret password like, "The human torch was denied a bank loan," and the door would open into an elevator that descended down into a secret lair where dozens of Chinese immigrants worked at sewing machines.

So amused was I with my fictitious scenario that I forgot her instructions and parked opposite her house. After opening the door she looked at my van and said, "You should know you're parked illegally."

I looked out at the street. This was not exactly downtown Manhattan. There wasn't another car anywhere in sight and probably wouldn't be for another four hours when people began coming home from work.

"Oh yeah," I said smiling, "I forgot."

She remained in the doorway, not smiling.

"Would you like me to move it?" I asked.

"That would be wise," she said.

I moved the car over by the park. As I walked back towards her house I reflected on how I could probably have saved time if I just driven to Sioux City.

Content that she had now single-handedly saved the neighborhood from a traffic snarl, she began inquiring about the coat. I gave her the buttons. She asked me how I got her name, and I recounted my experience at 'Just Sew'. I even mentioned my 'Just fabric' remark in an attempt to relieve the awkward tension through humor.

Instead of a laugh I got a concerned stare, the kind of look that says, 'Are you on drugs? I'll bet you smoke that crystal meth, don't you?' I thought she might ask me to walk a straight line or repeat the alphabet. But she turned back to her notepad.

"What number would you like me to call when this is finished? she asked.

"You can call me at my office," I said. "I teach in the history department over at the college."

While I realized this information would not impress, I thought it might at least convince her that I was not some kind of drifter that goes across the Midwest asking people to mend overcoats and then skips town without paying.

"Oh," she said. "The history department? Do you know Don Hickey."

There are only four history professor at the college. The only way I could not know Don was if I taught class between 10 PM and 2 AM.

"Yes," I responded, hoping we had finally made a connection. "Don's office is right across from mine."

"Well," she said, "I've been friends with Don for years."

Normally, that statement would express growing trust and familiarity. But in this case I understood quite clearly that it meant, "...and the minute you leave I'm calling Don up. So your story better check out...."

I left her house feeling like I'd just spent the past ten minutes in the principal's office trying to explain why I'd been throwing snowballs at my teacher's window.

After all of that, I'm happy to report that she did a wonderful job mending my coat, which I now frequently wear in spit of the unseasonable warm spring temperatures.

A week later I lost a button off my suit coat.

I just threw it away.

The Lark

Death of a basket

Last night Kaddi and I attempted to leave the house. Baby Kate was asleep. The other kids were downstairs. We left specific instructions that they should be very quiet to avoid waking up the baby. Before we even had our coats on, Luke came up the stairs screaming with someone else chasing him. So, I went downstairs again to calmly repeat my earlier instructions.

The following videos are re-enactments of what followed.

No such thing as bad student. Only bad teacher

Last week I received copies of my student evaluations from last semester. At my current college, student still have to fill in bubble sheets and write in the comments box, rather than being able to type them on the computer.

The student comments here are not as loquacious, nor as mean-spirited, as ones I received at a previous institution. But when I first arrived here the gist of the comments was exactly the same, "the professor is arrogant, rude, condescending, he doesn't respect the students."

But after three semesters, I've learned my lesson. I no longer ask students to show up on time, or to refrain from talking or texting in class. I allow them to re-take tests for any reason. When they make inaccurate comments in class, I praise them for their insight. When they miss deadlines, I give them a second chance. And then a third. When they don't want to purchase the reading or check it out from the library, I scan it and make it available online for their convenience.

And by doing all these things, I've shown how much I care about the students and the learning process.

The following comments are response to the prompt:

What were the strengths and/or weaknesses of this course?

He seems better than what I've heard about him in the past.

(The Professor) is very knowledgeable on the material, but can be intimidating.

The course is very difficult. The instructor struggles to offer help to those who need it. Attitude effects everything for both student and instructor.

Strengths - the teacher make the subjects very interesting and is easy to pay attention too.

He really talked at us didn't really seem to care if we understand or want to input our own thought in class. Because of this class I hate history a lot more. There was no interactions and too many students in class.

A lot of discussion learning and note-taking.

Strengths - notes were based on what we needed to know for the tests.

Tests are not over class material.

He is one of the best teachers I have had here because he challenges me to do good and I am always engaged in class.

I think as a lower level class, he treats it as an upper level class. Maybe to slow down a bit and explain things a bit more.

No strengths.

The best instructor/class I have this year. I have no qualms about the class.

Very hard class.

He is my favorite instructor because his lectures are helpful and intelligent.

It was the most boring History class I have ever been in.

(The Professor) is very knowledgable and structures his class in a way that makes sense to students. Compared to what I've heard from other students, he seems like the best World History teacher on campus.

The lectures got really boring after 30 mins so if you could break up the class with some activities that go along with content.

He was able to make this class very interesting and held my attention for a long period of time.

Learn history.

Strength - a lot of information, interesting stories, learn a lot in this class.

I didn't feel I learned anything relevant in this class, even thought its a gen ed.

Always learned something new.

Strengths are you learn a lot. Weakness is it's super-hard and you ask a lot of students.

Give books that students are into so then they will like the class. Also get to know your students. I felt like you didn't care about us.

My strengths were the tests and my weaknesses were the reading quizzes.

It was a great class and I learned a lot. It's challenging, but good.

The teacher should do more than just stand in front of class and talk. NO body learns well that way.

Keep on keepin on (professor.)

December 2011

Since Luke's birthday was the same day as Merissa's wedding, we celebrated a week early.


The nieces and nephews all lined up outside the Sacramento temple, waiting for Merissa and her husband to emerge after the wedding.


Merrisa holds Kate at the wedding reception.

The family right after blessing Kate at Suzi's house.