Mr. B's Class - Day Eight

"War! Huh, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing...." Edwin Starr.

"There was never a good war or a bad peace." Ben Franklin.

That said, the idea of war in 2017 shows how far we haven't come. We are all passengers on the spaceship Earth, and, yes, some people are horrible. But why so many? Are there people I would like to see eradicated? Of course, but unfortunately, it is what it is. All some of us can do is try to make a positive difference and make the world a better place. 

The following Thomas Hardy poem written in 1902 sums up the ridiculousness of it all. I can write until I am blue in the face, but minds will not be changed, so I will just offer the poem and hope:

The Man He Killed

BY THOMAS HARDY

"Had he and I but met 

            By some old ancient inn, 

We should have sat us down to wet 

            Right many a nipperkin! 

            "But ranged as infantry, 

            And staring face to face, 

I shot at him as he at me, 

            And killed him in his place. 

            "I shot him dead because — 

            Because he was my foe, 

Just so: my foe of course he was; 

            That's clear enough; although 

            "He thought he'd 'list, perhaps, 

            Off-hand like — just as I — 

Was out of work — had sold his traps — 

            No other reason why. 

            "Yes; quaint and curious war is! 

            You shoot a fellow down 

You'd treat if met where any bar is, 

            Or help to half-a-crown." 

Mr. B's Class - Day Seven

R-E-S-P-E-C-T Find out what it means to me....

When I taught, most students learned a quote of mine that, for many, made a real difference. "You don't have to like everybody, but you have to get along."

I am getting older. As a matter of fact, just scrolling Facebook and watching or reading the news had made me realize I could have 30 seconds or 30 years left - obviously, I don't know, but I am thankful for each new day. Every day is what I call an icing day, icing on the cake. A good day is when nothing gets worse - the status quo is fine.

Whether times have indeed changed or communication has exposed us to news and events much more quickly (and incessantly), the world isn't what I once thought it was. The concepts of good manners, respect, shame, and class are missing. Everyone has a voice now, and most aren't afraid to use it. While people have differences of opinion, the rudeness and name calling has gone over the top. I think because I was raised to be polite and have manners, I expect others to be the same. They're not.

That said (and it barely scratches the surface), most people, animals, property and ideas deserve respect. The following poem shows what happens when someone realizes it, understands, and acts accordingly. 

The Fish - Poem by Elizabeth Bishop

I caught a tremendous fish

and held him beside the boat

half out of water, with my hook

fast in a corner of his mouth.

He didn't fight.

He hadn't fought at all.

He hung a grunting weight,

battered and venerable

and homely. Here and there

his brown skin hung in strips

like ancient wallpaper,

and its pattern of darker brown

was like wallpaper:

shapes like full-blown roses

stained and lost through age.

He was speckled with barnacles,

fine rosettes of lime,

and infested

with tiny white sea-lice,

and underneath two or three

rags of green weed hung down.

While his gills were breathing in

the terrible oxygen

- the frightening gills,

fresh and crisp with blood,

that can cut so badly- 

I thought of the coarse white flesh

packed in like feathers,

the big bones and the little bones,

the dramatic reds and blacks

of his shiny entrails,

and the pink swim-bladder

like a big peony.

I looked into his eyes

which were far larger than mine

but shallower, and yellowed,

the irises backed and packed

with tarnished tinfoil

seen through the lenses

of old scratched isinglass.

They shifted a little, but not

to return my stare.

- It was more like the tipping

of an object toward the light.

I admired his sullen face,

the mechanism of his jaw,

and then I saw

that from his lower lip

- if you could call it a lip

grim, wet, and weaponlike,

hung five old pieces of fish-line,

or four and a wire leader

with the swivel still attached,

with all their five big hooks

grown firmly in his mouth.

A green line, frayed at the end

where he broke it, two heavier lines,

and a fine black thread

still crimped from the strain and snap

when it broke and he got away.

Like medals with their ribbons

frayed and wavering,

a five-haired beard of wisdom

trailing from his aching jaw.

I stared and stared

and victory filled up

the little rented boat,

from the pool of bilge

where oil had spread a rainbow

around the rusted engine

to the bailer rusted orange,

the sun-cracked thwarts,

the oarlocks on their strings,

the gunnels- until everything

was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! 

And I let the fish go. 

Mr. B's Class - Day Six

I have had many pets through the years. Probably the worst part of pet ownership is saying 'Goodbye.' Through it all, I had managed to never be in the room during euthanization... until now. There was always someone else, or a couple of times, I just passed the pet off; I couldn't go into the room, for which I now beat myself up.

When my wife's email came while I was at work, it basically said we need "a plan" for our Domino. I looked at it, and a literal jolt shot through my being - I knew what it meant. Domi was a large 29-year-old  horse whose leg wasn't getting better; I will spare you the details. The short of it was in our heads, euthanization was definitely the right decision - no question there, but in our hearts....

I made the arrangements; we picked a day and time. I have a friend who dug a large hole and had a vet come to the house. Leading up to the moment, I prayed for strength because
I knew I had to be there for my wife and for Domi.

I didn't see my first dead human body until I was in my 40s. It was everything I thought it would be (good and bad), but I had never been present at the time of passing. This time would change that.

It was the right thing and time. I stayed for the whole thing and, in a way, am proud of myself. Again, it was everything I thought it would be (good and bad).

Treasure what time you have. We are all heading down different roads to the same destination.

RIP, Domi. Run free.

Reuben Bright

BY EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON

Because he was a butcher and thereby 

Did earn an honest living (and did right), 

I would not have you think that Reuben Bright 

Was any more a brute than you or I; 

For when they told him that his wife must die, 

He stared at them, and shook with grief and fright, 

And cried like a great baby half that night, 

And made the women cry to see him cry. 

And after she was dead, and he had paid 

The singers and the sexton and the rest, 

He packed a lot of things that she had made 

Most mournfully away in an old chest 

Of hers, and put some chopped-up cedar boughs 

In with them, and tore down the slaughter-house.