My roots in a randomly changing universe

I grew up in the projects. Two bedrooms. My two sisters, then my brother, four of us...all in a single room. We had one dresser. I got a drawer. For all my possessions. Everything. I found ways to carve out my time. You had too. It wasn't rocket science.....you got up earlier.....went to bed later.....took the first job you were offered at 13......worked weird hours.....did what you could.....didn't explain......you kept moving.....you got old....people assumed things about you....didn't matter....that was them.....and you had fun when and where you could.....in my teenage years that meant usually getting thrown from the dining table (careful....finish eating) by antagonizing your father.....and being involved with women.....they were special.....women....
You got married young......stayed married for 20 years.....raised two of the most amazing daughters....prided yourself on being a dad.....figured out how to be a dad when you were asked to leave the house....and kept moving....working....found your calling....worked it.....am still working it.
I don't have regrets. I've done what I could every step of the way. Who needs to hear the complaints. Which I don't have in a randomly assorting universe.

My kids....

I didn't really care for my graduating class last year. In some cases, the feeling was mutual. I found out last year that something my mother always told me......was true......you loved your kids but you didn't always like them. That's the way I felt about my 8th grade last year.
This year is different. My 6th grade is tough but likable with some amazing kids who are capable of real growth as young people. Same with my 7th grade. Good kids, capable of much.
But my 8th grade this year is special. Hard kids but full of heart and spirit. We were at Graduation Practice the other day and they were doing their song, "Do I make you proud" and I am sooo not known for this but I was looking at their faces, and realizing all we've been through for three years -- the conversations in the "principals office," the meeting with parents, the laughter, the 2nd chances, the third chances, the laughter, the times they just wanted a hug, the times they amazed me in a classroom, the times my teachers stormed into my office demanding I do something, the times my teachers stormed into my office to fight for those same kids, the student cabinet meetings where they wanted a dialogue, their willingness to work hard, their hurts, their happiness, their willingness to stand up for themselves and each other, the fights, the hard truths they learned about themselves -- and I had to walk to the other end of the auditorium. I had started to tear up. They noticed. At dimissal they came up to comment on it and poke fun. I didn't deny it. We laughed. I have struggled to put the people in place to grow a safe environment for students to learn in, and I really just hope they know, that we have told them enough , how special they are. That's why I was tearing up. I hope they know.
At their prom last night, we ended the prom with "Do I make you proud." Boys and girls tearing up, hugging. Kids who were fighting a week ago, hugging. There wasn't a dry eye anywhere. Such a special moment. I stood in the middle of it all. And applauded them. They've earned it.

In memory of Tim Russert....

I've been saddened lately by the passing of Tim Russert. I didn't watch "meet the press" religiously. I didn't buy his books. But when I saw him on TV -- whether the Today show, or an interview, he came across as a geniunely solid individual, happy with his life, and with a joy for what he did. Whether it was sports -- the Bills -- or talking about "Big Russ," his dad. He had amazingly strong views, but I couldn't tell you whether he was a Democrat or Republican (I guessed Democrat). And I liked that about him. He struck me as someone doing with politics what I try to do in classrooms. "Here's what you said, do you still believe it? If not, why?" From what everyone has said, Tim Russert didn't let you hide, or make excuses. He was prepared, and tireless, and unimpressed with celebrity..... but decent. He didn't want, it seemed to me, to hurt you. He just didn't want to let you use the tired old excuses and politics and spin.
And that struck me. Because I'm a public middle school principal building a community in the inner city who refuses to accept excuses. From kids. Or from teachers. I don't think I possess his decency though.
We're similar in other ways as well I've found out. He was a devoted "dad" who talked about how proud he was to be his son's dad often. Anyone who knows me knows I can't keep my absolute devotion and pride in my daughters out of the conversation for long. He loved his work. He was described as a "political junkie." You could tell that. I love my job. Education. Kids. Teaching. I still believe I didn't start becoming the man I always knew I could be until I walked into my first classroom and confronted myself and became open to learning. I started breathing then.
We seem to have had similar fathers. In one interview, he remarked that his dad, "Big Russ" didn't emote. Neither did my dad. But I realized something. Russert understood that his dad was a product of the depression and WWll and survival, and that men like that (as my father was) didn't, as he said, "emote." Russert was okay with that. And his obvious love of his dad shone through. In my own case, I didn't experience the same comfort level. I don't know why.
So I'll miss Russert. And I'll learn from his life. And try to squeeze more joy out of mine. In a randomly assorting universe, I have that choice.

today...

People ask me how personal I want to make this blog. I don't care. I'll write about anything. Someone reading it may be going through a similar thing. Someone happening on it for the first time may be overwhelmed and think it's too intense or too personal. I don't take those things into account. I just want to write. I can't control what you think when you come across it. I just put it out there.
I don't cry. But I am emotional. Finding my sister on my stoop cause her marriage ended didn't bring tears to my eyes. I wanted to drive her cool car. Then we could talk. And we did. Calling my sister when my marriage ended and moving onto her couch and not having to pay a bill for two years brought us even closer. But neither one of us cried. I will not cry on demand. I will cry in the dead of night when I can't figure out how to be a "father" to my daughters and I'll lean on my sister but I won't cry in public. When my sister died and my family fell apart, I didn't cry. I held each and every one of them together. They think I have strength. I don't. I've just tried to work through things. My grief is private. It isn't for a culture that parades things before eachother.
What I am is resilient. In the random assortment of certain qualities, I can deal. I don't consider it strength. I consider it living.

Relationships

I want a relationship. But then I don't. I like my life. I go to the gym. I walk. I have my school. I have my daughters.
But I miss a relationship.
That person you call at the end of the day. That person who gets you. Who you don't have to explain things too. Who just knows. And who you look to talk too. Because the day just isn't done until you 've heard her voice.
I'm not easy relationship material. I'm advanced relatiopnship material. But I won't let your heart be hurt.
My favorite song lately is "keep bleeding love." I've heard it a ton of times with other words. But it stays with me.
I don't care if I'm alone. I simply won't accept.
I'll share. I'll play with your kids. I'll make nice with your family. I'll introduce you to my daughters ---- I hope they like you. I'll buy Christmas trees with you. I'll go to parent teacher night. I'll take you shopping. I'll marry you.
But I'm gonna be me. My dean said today after I made a bad joke that I dance to that line....then I cross it. And she was right. Nothing is safe.
Are you ready for the ride?