March 12: On My Mind, Worries, "Take My Burdens"

I've had a lot on my mind these last few weeks.  Sleep has been difficult at night.  Tired all day.  Worries stacked up like the snow outside my kitchen window.

I know that worry doesn't really help anything.  Won't reopen the medical office where I used to work.  Or get me a new job.  Or grade my stack of student essays.  Or make my son's illness disappear.  Or slow down my daughter's last few months of high school.  I could go on.  The list is long.

Saint Marty just wishes he could go back to a simpler time.  Like kindergarten.

Take My Burdens

by:  Martin Achatz

Take my burdens, Lord.
Take my mortgage payment, water bill.
Car insurance due two days ago.
You can pay it online.  I'm sure
You have WiFi.  Take the essays
I have to grade.  They're about Dante’s
Inferno.  You probably have more
Insight than I about hell, anyway.
Just watch for comma splices, plagiarism.
My attic needs to be emptied out, Lord.
Old clothes, toys to Vincent de Paul,
The store not the saint.  Let's talk about
Painting my kitchen, too.  Strip wallpaper,
Tear out wood paneling.  You may have
To drywall a little.  I'd prefer a color
That reminds me of summer, light green,
Oak and maple leaves at dawn.
You know the shade.  I trust You.
Take my burdens, Lord.
If You could drive tomorrow morning
That would be great.  Snow's coming, patches
Of black ice, snow plows and sanders
In pitch dark.  Your eyes are better,
Plus You can keep deer out of our way.
Or You could just hold off on snow,
Take those clouds, overstuffed
Laundry bags, send them to cleaners
In a different place, New York or Ontario,
Bermuda or Cuba, if it wouldn't screw up
Things too much, global warming, ozone
Depletion…You know what's best.
Take my burdens, Lord.
I suppose I should say something
About Afghanistan, Libya, Iraq, ask
For peace in the world, people of all
Colors and religions to exist together 
In harmony, really close harmony.
Peter, Paul, and Mary, Kingston Trio
Harmony, where you can't tell one voice
From the other, the way some Tibetan monks
Can vibrate their vocal chords, create
Two voices in their throats at the same time.
Take all my burdens, Lord.
I'll leave them piled on my front step, the way
My grandmother left milk bottles
On her stoop in the old days
For the milkman she never saw.  

February 19: Crossing the Dam, Facing Fears, Second Grade Poetry, Cool Dad

I like crossing the dam.  If I fell, I might not get up again.  The dam is three or four feet high, a thick green algae, combed by the drag and sudden plunge of the creek's current, clings to its submersed, concrete brim.  Below is a jumble of fast water and rocks.  But I face this threat every time I cross the dam, and it is always exhilarating.  The tightest part is at the very beginning.  That day as always I faced the current, planted my feet firmly, stepped sideways instead of striding, and I soon emerged dripping in a new world.

Annie Dillard writes about crossing a dam.  It's a little treacherous.  Slippery, surrounded by fast-moving water and sharp rocks.  To slip would mean serious bodily injury, not to mention the possibility of being swept away toward God-knows-what.  A waterfall?  Even faster rapids?  Yet, Dillard takes the risk.  Why?  The payoff--a new world, different and green.

I like this passage.  It's all about facing fears, surmounting obstacles.  And it's about the reward--emerging new or renewed.  Stronger than before.  This morning, I faced an obstacle.  I volunteered to teach poetry to my son's second grade class.  Now, I've done this before, for many elementary school grades, kindergarten up to fifth and sixth.  However, I found myself anxious today.  Sitting in my car, before I went into the school building, I had a few moments of panic as thoughts of failure ran through my mind at an alarming rate:  What if they hate me?  What if they don't understand the lesson?  What if my fly is open?  What if I fart in front of them?

Of course, I got of the car and went into the school.  I was greeted by my son's teacher, whom I've known for close to ten years--since my daughter had her in kindergarten.  She's a lovely woman, always supportive and enthusiastic.  And the class went really well.  The kids laughed at my jokes, wrote some good poems, and sang to me before I left.

And I emerged on the other side of the dam, into a new world where my seven-year-old son thought I was the coolest dad in the world.  It felt pretty darn good.  I've been living off that feeling all day long.

You see, when I found out that I was going to be the father of a boy, I was worried.  I am not your typical baseball-throwing, deer-hunting dad.  I knew I wasn't going to be able to give my son the typical father-son experience, and that worry has haunted me ever since he was born.

Today, I think that I proved to myself that I am not an embarrassment to my son.  He loves the fact that I write poetry and sing songs.  He kept running up and hugging me in front of his whole class.  When I left, he lifted his head and gave me a kiss.

Saint Marty is a cool dad.

September 25: Tiny Little Tumor, Perspective, Worries

"It isn't very serious.  I have this tiny little tumor on the brain."

This is just one of Holden's little lies.  He's flirting with a woman on the train to Manhattan who happens to be the mother of one of his classmates, and Holden tells her about the "little tumor" in his head.  It's not the only lie he tells in Catcher, but it's the only lie which is about a terminal disease.

I read the passage above, and I thought about all the worries I've had about my son these last few weeks.  We received another phone call from his teacher this afternoon.  It seems my son was hitting and pushing his classmates on the playground, in the classroom, and at the water fountain.  His teacher had the school counselor talk to him.

I need to put things into perspective.  My son does not have a tiny little tumor in his head.  He has an attitude.  A big attitude.  It's not going to kill him, unless he pushes some kid with his baseball bat.  He's going to be fine.  I know that.

God doesn't ever give you anything He doesn't think you can handle.  I've always hated that saying.  It's the kind of thing you hear in Steel Magnolias.   At the moment, it feels like my son is going to drive me to an early grave.  If I get one more phone call from his teacher, I think a vein in my head is going to explode.

For some reason, God has given me a son who likes to hit people.  I guess He thinks I can handle that.  I don't know how I'm supposed to handle it.  Maybe with a Xanax, a glass of red wine, and some chocolate.  My son will survive kindergarten.  He may have to survive kindergarten twice, but he'll survive it.

Saint Marty thinks it's going to be a really long school year.

Let's hope we only have to do this two or three times

Septmeber 4: Some Difficulty, School Worry, Son

"If I'm not mistaken,I believe you also had some difficulty at the Whooton School and at Elkton Hills."  He didn't say it just sarcastic, but sort of nasty, too.

Holden's teacher, old Spencer, is reminding him of the string of schools he's flunked out of.  Pencey Prep is simply the latest in a long line of academic failures.  The problem is that Holden simply doesn't care.  He's got other things on his mind.  His brother's death.  His dysfunctional family.  His love, Jane.  His sister, Phoebe.


My wife got a phone call from my son's kindergarten teacher this afternoon.  She told my wife she's "at a loss" with my son.  He's not listening, not behaving, not following directions.  Mind you, it's only the second day she's had my son in class, and she's already at a loss.  She's not sure if my son has the "maturity" for kindergarten.

He's been going to school for two years already.  He was a leader in class last year.  My son's former teacher told us he was "more than ready" for kindergarten this year.

I have been a teacher for over 20 years at the university level.  I've had my share of difficult students.  I  can't think of a single time in my entire teaching career that I've written off a student on the second day of class.  In fact, I go out of my way to insure that my students succeed.  That's what good teachers are supposed to do, preschool through grad school.

I'm trying not to be defensive.  I'm trying to give my son's teacher the benefit of the doubt.  I'm not doing a good job at either.  I told my wife that I'm going to give this situation about a week.  If we get another phone call like the one we received this afternoon, I'm going to make some phone calls myself.

If you can't tell, I'm a little worried about this situation.  I allowed my daughter to go through a year of elementary school with a teacher who was difficult, to put it nicely.  That was a mistake.  I will not make the same mistake again.

Saint Marty has his son's back.

At a loss