My Patron Saint

Ok, so a Methodist who wants to turn Quaker probably shouldn't have a patron saint. I understand that. But when I discovered St Clare, there was no choice. As a saint, she's got impeccable creditials. She was one of St Francis of Assisi's first followers, and was noted for her disdain and disinterest in worldly possessions and events. She is described as having a "radical commitment to poverty," (wikipedia) meaning she did not believe in personal or even communal ownership of anything. She is the founder of the order of nuns nicknamed the Poor Clares, who are among the strictest about not having personal property. She lived from 1194-1253.

So far, typical nun. No doubt holy and awesome, but...ho hum. BUT, in 1958, Pope Pius XII surrendered to a massive fit of irony and named Clare the Patron Saint of Television. Pius was obviously an insightful man, to realize as early as 1958 that television would need a patron saint, so I applaud his choice. St. Clare, the saint of poverty, also the saint of conspicuous consumption, culture-altering advertising, and total shifting of the societal zeitgeist? I need a T shirt for her. Or him. Using irony to make the point about how television would impact post-modern sensibilities, as a statement about the commodity-driven paradigm shifts that would occur because of the flickering influence of Lucy, Mike Wallace, AlkaSelser ads, Disney channel, and Saturday Night Live--the pope was a prescient genius.

I know that the cynical amoung you will suggest that the pope didn't anticipate all that, couldn't have guessed that TV would turn our population cynical, selfish, and sedentary--that's the impact of television you're feeling, you know! Yippee for St Clare! August 12th is my new Feast Day. I'm writing the ceremony now!

Hop in the DeLorean

Years ago, in a galaxy far, far away, an innocent, enthusiastic girl was offered the choice of 3 different futures. One, at Grosse Pointe, teaching bored young rich kids--a John Hughes-vision of "real life." Two, at Shawnee, teaching faux-rich kids; Third, reincarnating Dorothy Day and bringing culture home to her alma mater.

If Doc Brown dangled the keys of the DeLorean and whispered, "floor it to 88 mph," I think I'd rev the engine. I KNOW that's what I should tell my younger colleagues.

I've sat in too many buzz-word laden meetings, listened to too many sincere people look at data for subgroups and discuss how we could support disabled students to raise test scores, or reconfigure middle schools to increase delivery and retention of information. I've had too many discussions about what it would take to motivate students who don't care. And I'm very sure that at Shawnee and Grosse Point, I wouldn't overhear discussions about whether someone's socks or belt violate dress code.

And, when the president starts planning merit pay for successful teachers, I bet I'd have more confidence that my colleagues and I wouldn't get financially screwed--again--just because we were willing enough, or shortsighted enough, or desperate enough, to take a job with in a school system that's a petrie dish for just about every social ill the Great Society was supposed to cure.