Survival Week

This week is S.E.P. week at school. S.E.P stands for "student education plan" - a fancy term for parent-teacher conferences. Report cards are filled. Data is entered. Goals are set. Plans are made. Meetings are held. We celebrate success and offer suggestions for improvement. We look for ways to improve our own teaching methods. We put up dazzling bulletin boards for parents to admire. We make new seating charts and create small learning groups. We evaluate and re-evaluate. We marvel at some people's ability to procreate and marvel still at their inability to parent. We give each other knowing nods and sympathetic smiles as we pass each other in the hall. We spend 12 hours at a time at the school and then go home and take care of our own kids.

And somewhere, somewhere in the middle of all that, we might even teach a little.

I've simply been referring to it as "survival week."

The Truth About Teachers

Mrs. (insert teacher's name) would much rather drive to work in a blustery blizzard and suffer through the day with a head cold than find a substitute and write up sub plans.

Go ahead. Ask any teacher. They'll all say the same thing.

By the way, my son said, "I wish there was such a thing as substitute students."

Mr. Lingwall

From the time I was 10 until I was 21, I played the trumpet. The clarinet was my first choice, but we were poor and we had a trumpet, so the trumpet is what I played. But that is a different story. In the small Arizona town where I grew up, I had a handful of band teachers. Mr. Lingwall was my high school band teacher.

I found out today that he passed away on Monday.

Next to my parents, I probably spent more time with him than with any other adult during those four years. There was marching band, symphonic band, jazz and pep bands; road trips, ensembles, contests and band camp. You get the idea.

Because of my huge involvement with band, Mr. Lingwall had a huge impact on my life, as well as on the lives of every other student he taught. From him I learned about discipline and teamwork, as well as accountability. He had high expectations from us and we wanted to deliver. We marched when it was 110 degrees outside. We marched in the rain. We marched during Christmas break to rehearse for the Fiesta Bowl.

As I mentioned, the town where I grew up was small. Drugs, alcohol, and teen pregnancy were very real issues at our high school. The drop-out rate was staggering -- I believe my class had over 700 entering freshman, and we graduated 327. But there was Mr. Lingwall, stallwart and steady, providing opportunities to a bunch of know-it-all teenagers that we might not have otherwise had. We marched at Disneyland. We competed at UNLV. He once awarded me a solo at a Cardinals/Eagles game. He put us in little ensembles to play around the town at Christmastime. I remember playing in an ensemble for Palm Sunday at his church. He sent us to leadership seminars and encouraged us to always strive for that "superior" rating.

Mr. Lingwall taught me to be my best.

I learned it by example.