I've been keeping a teaching journal since 1987.
In October of 2001, I taught English and coached cross country runners at Canyon State Academy, a residential treatment center for boys in Queen Creek, Arizona.
Monday, October 15, 2001
My youngest girl, Barit has an ear infection. It’s a helpless feeling when your baby girl is in pain and you can’t do a darned thing to help.
I ran six miles Friday. According to my scale, I’m skinny.
The United States Air Force appears to be bombing the hell out of Afghanistan. Letters laced with anthrax have been sent to the headquarters of The National Enquirer in Florida, NBC Studios in New York, Microsoft in Reno, and today, to a congressman in DC. These are scary times.
They say the economy is headed to hell in a hand basket. Tens of thousands have lost their jobs since the September 11th attack. My neighbor, Dave lost his telecommunications job last week.
The other team didn’t show up to my daughter, Macaulay’s Saturday morning soccer game. Some knucklehead decided it would be a good idea for the parents to scrimmage against the kids. About midway through the game I decided it would be a good idea to attempt a bicycle kick. It didn’t quite work out; I just kind of crumpled to the ground in a heap. I think I hurt my back, shoulder, knee and ankle. But that’s not all; I also managed to embarrass Macaulay and my wife.
Last Wednesday, I took my runners to Safford for a cross country meet. I enjoyed the drive east through the mining towns of Superior, Globe and Miami as well as the trek across the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation. There were ten schools at the meet and my boys did a good job behaving as gentlemen in front of the girl runners. They don’t see teenage girls at the residential facility they call home. Chase Sullivan placed 16th in a field of 67 runners. The low point of the day came when Joe Courtney walked off the course because he was in last place. The ride home through a rainstorm was downright hairy. I forgot my glasses and had real trouble seeing on the rain slicked mountain roads. To the chagrin of my boys, I stayed behind a truck, driving a safe 30 miles an hour. The truth is I have a serious case of acrophobia and I was pretty much scared to death until we got out of the mountains.