Coaching Kids? Starts With Jelly Donuts
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not very athletic. I made this realization in the third grade, when I was knocked unconscious 32 times playing dodge ball. After that first game, I remember waking up in the nurse’s office and being told of a special program for “gifted” athletes who were so special they got to wear a football helmet during recess. Of course, I eventually figured out there was no “special program,” and openly expressed my feelings of betrayal when I slammed my helmet on the desk of my high school counselor.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not very athletic. I made this realization in the third grade, when I was knocked unconscious 32 times playing dodge ball. After that first game, I remember waking up in the nurse’s office and being told of a special program for “gifted” athletes who were so special they got to wear a football helmet during recess. Of course, I eventually figured out there was no “special program,” and openly expressed my feelings of betrayal when I slammed my helmet on the desk of my high school counselor.
After which I was taken to the hospital with a broken finger.
I live with the memory of being an unathletic child on a daily basis. Particularly when I look in the mirror and see a man whose head still fits into a third-grade football helmet. For this reason, when my daughter asked me to coach her fourth-grade basketball team, I smiled, took her hand, and began faking a seizure. I panicked at the thought of providing guidance to a team of fourth-grade girls, any one of whom could take me to the hole. This includes my daughter, who has inherited a recessive “athletic” gene I call the “monkey factor” because, apparently, it leaps entire family trees.
Of course, none of this mattered to my daughter; she just wanted Dad to coach her team. Knowing this attitude would eventually change (possibly by the end of our first practice), I made the decision to put aside my own petty fears and be her team’s coach. In addition, I also put aside some petty cash for psychological treatment later.
To prepare myself as coach, I read books about fundamental basketball skills. I talked with other coaches. I installed a tiny basketball hoop over the trashcan in my office. Before long, I had gained confidence knowing that with hard work and determination, someone would be able to undo the damage I was doing.
For our first practice, we worked on free throws and lay-ups. I chose these areas because, as everyone knows, they are the most common — and easiest ways — of scoring a basket.
Unless you are me.
As it turns out, repeatedly sending a wad of paper through a six-inch hoop over your trashcan doesn’t mean you’ll be able to sink a regulation basketball from the free throw line. Particularly if your entire team and most of its parents are watching, in some cases using phone cameras to send live images to friends while laughing hysterically. Confident that I had taught my team an important lesson in determination, humility, and the value of having a “shared minutes” plan, we moved on to lay-ups. It was at this point I asked parents to please put their phone cameras away. In addition to the distraction it was causing, there were also safety issues to consider since many parents had now moved under the backboard to get a better angle.
When practice ended a week later (okay, but it felt like a week) we joined hands and reached an important understanding as a team:
The coach has no “game.”
Apparently, my players don’t see this as a problem. What matters to them most is if I can be trusted, as their coach, to coordinate the snack rotation. I assured them I could, and things have gone well ever since.
They bring “game,” I bring jelly donuts.
My daughter and I are both happy with this arrangement, which has nothing to do with sugary baked goods.
The fact is, we don’t even like jelly donuts.
(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com.)
Teacher Incentive Plan A Bust
Who needs incentives? Since when is it necessary to provide teachers with incentives to teach?
Who needs incentives?
Since when is it necessary to provide teachers with incentives to teach?
I’ve had experience in the two worlds of business and education. In business, I was director of information services in government and the private sector. As a retired teacher, school administrator and university professor, I am insulted by the attempt at the national and state levels to “bribe” professional educators to teach our children “better.”
In fact, all teachers should be insulted and outraged by this latest legislative absurdity. Texas legislators and business leaders determined that teachers should be paid incentives to improve student performance, thereby achieving success in school. It was doomed for failure.
Teaching is NOT an industrial assembly line position in which the more pieces you finish, the more you earn. The whole honorable point of becoming a teacher is that you want to plant a positive educational foundation and a love for learning into each student you teach and then to increase each child’s knowledge in ongoing increments so he or she may move toward a successful future with a positive work ethic.
Furthermore, if the state would provide professional teachers with a professional salary, there would be no need to complement the salary with incentives for additional teacher income.
Follow that up with a more intelligent and productive methodology for improving learning outcomes than the current “pass-the-state-exam” mentality.
Another priority for successful teaching and improving learning outcome must be smaller teacher to student classroom ratios.
The whole idea of incentives for teachers is ludicrous.
Legislators, business leaders and educational administrators had better review their priorities and educational reality before giving teachers an incentive program. Maybe these folks are NOT the ones who should decide how to improve public education, since for the past decade they have been unsuccessful in doing so.
An incentive plan for teachers is irresponsible and inappropriate thinking, and it sends a negative message about the honorable field of teaching.
If we want to start an incentive program, perhaps we should start one by giving legislators incentives for each intelligent proposal they come up with.
(Peter Stern, a former director of information services, university professor and public school administrator, is a disabled Vietnam veteran who lives in Driftwood.)
Depression Mentality, Clutter, And Germphobia
You wouldn’t think these three things go together, but read on: I’ve often said that Zack and I each have a Depression mentality. When we combined our middle-aged lives a few years ago, we co-mingled our inclinations and predispositions along with the household goods. Although we’re too young to have lived through The Great Depression, we each seem to have inherited the mentality from our parents. Maybe this will stand us in good stead during these recessionary times. I wrote before of our attempts at living “the simple life” (neither easy nor particularly economical these days).
You wouldn’t think these three things go together, but read on: I’ve often said that Zack and I each have a Depression mentality. When we combined our middle-aged lives a few years ago, we co-mingled our inclinations and predispositions along with the household goods. Although we’re too young to have lived through The Great Depression, we each seem to have inherited the mentality from our parents. Maybe this will stand us in good stead during these recessionary times. I wrote before of our attempts at living “the simple life” (neither easy nor particularly economical these days).
Anyone who reads this column regularly or has visited our home knows we sometimes have a problem with clutter. (This drives my children crazy, particularly my son, the minimalist. Josh says living with me and my “things” all his life drove him the other direction. He keeps insisting that the more you have, the more you must deal with it. These words are right out of his father’s mouth, my ex-husband. And I guess its right. But I enjoy my stuff. Zack keeps his things under control and organized. Mine too often get away from me. I blame this on anything that’s handy at the moment. If one is a creative person, there are always projects underway (and usually several unfinished), things to do, tools to use, supplies one needs. I often use creativity as an excuse for my clutter. When Zack was paralyzed and we lived in hospitals, I was able to simply say, “I don’t really live here now”, which was true. Even my kids couldn’t argue with that excuse. No one could fault me there. When we returned home, I could say, “All my time is taken being Zack’s care giver”. But as he’s improved, I’ve had to come up with new excuses for my messiness.
Today I’m blaming clutter on my Depression mentality. I recently read a recommendation about preparing for a possible flu pandemic. The suggestion was to stockpile enough canned goods and other necessary items to last a few weeks. This would make trips to town unnecessary should one contract the flu or fear contracting it in a pandemic situation. I have to note that the brochure I was reading was a government publication and, in my opinion, a total waste of my taxpayer money.
Let me segue for a moment into what others often considered my germphobia. For years my friends made fun of my valiant attempts to stay healthy by washing my hands, using tissues to open doors, employing hand wipes, etc. I taught my kids not to share utensils or cups, not to eat or drink after others. You use a public restroom, and then touch the flusher. (I always use my foot if possible). You wash your hands in a public restroom, and then touch a bare, germ-laden door handle. Not smart. You might as well just stick your hand in one of the toilets and be done with it. In my opinion, all my efforts at cleanliness were just good hygiene and common sense. (In any case, we all came down with more than enough illnesses when my kids were small to build up plenty of immunities).
For all my efforts toward staying healthy (before it was fashionable, endorsed by presidents), I’ve suffered the snide comments and rolling of eyes with what good grace I could manage. After Zack fell ill, I became even more careful. Who would care for him if I were sick? So now everyone ELSE is trying to avoid shaking hands without seeming antisocial. I feel so validated, so justified! People are knocking knuckles and elbows, coughing into the crooks of their arms. Suddenly it’s cool to do all the dorky things I did before. Folks are using antibacterial hand cleaners with great abandon, washing hands in hot, soapy water to the tune of two rounds of “Happy Birthday to You” (the length of time necessary to kill germs). I’ve kept hand cleaner in my purse and in our trucks for years. I’ve always used it upon exiting public places. Now the dispensers are available in a variety of spots from hospitals and clinics to supermarkets to houses of worship. We’re all turning into facsimiles of Monk, the obsessive compulsive, germphobic detective on T.V. (“Monk” in my opinion, is one of the funniest shows on the tube).
OK, back to the pandemic. Believe me, we have enough canned goods here at all times to stay alive for months, even enough dog and cat food. I credit Depression mentality. When it’s on sale, I buy it. When the large package is cheaper, I buy it. So what if I have no place to store the large size? I’m one of those people who would be horrified to find myself down to the last roll of bath tissue. I doubt I could sleep peacefully under this circumstance. I must have all the tools I need or MIGHT need for every conceivable project or event. If one is good, two would be better. Why am I like this? I really don’t know. What I do know is this; in case of a pandemic, I believe I could survive unless I ran out of toilet paper.
(Gene Ellis, Ed.D is a Bosque County resident who returned to the family farm after years of living in New Orleans, New York, and Florida. She is an artist who holds a doctoral degree from New York University and is writing a book about the minor catastrophes of life.)
Alamo Cenotaph Created For Texas Centennial
In a solemn ceremony on Nov. 11, 1940, the Alamo Cenotaph was formally dedicated as a symbolic final resting place for those immortal martyrs denied a decent burial 104 years earlier.
In a solemn ceremony on Nov. 11, 1940, the Alamo Cenotaph was formally dedicated as a symbolic final resting place for those immortal martyrs denied a decent burial 104 years earlier.
As part of the Texas Centennial celebration, a hundred thousand dollars in federal funds were set aside for the construction of a permanent tribute to the heroic handful, who gave their lives for Lone Star independence. The site chose for the memorial was the city-owned plaza across the street from the Alamo chapel, the approximate spot where most of the defenders were believed to have perished.
Opposition to the project was led by the Daughters of the Republic of Texas (DRT), then as today the conscientious custodians of the Alamo chapel. They argued that a new memorial was unnecessary and might detract from the original mission. The objections of the DRT were carefully considered but ultimately rejected.
As for the artist, an amazing coincidence complicated the selection process. Not one but two internationally renowned sculptors, Gutzon Borglum and Pompeo Coppini, happened to be living in San Antonio at the time.
Borglum was best known for his five-story high presidential portraits on Mount Rushmore, which he began blasting out of solid rock in 1927 but failed to finish before his death in 1941. The official version of his role in the Stone Mountain Confederate memorial was that the temperamental craftsman was sent packing by dissatisfied sponsors. His rival Coppini insisted Borglum walked off the job after destroying the miniature model.
Pompeo Coppini emigrated at age 26 from his native Italy arriving in the United States in 1896 flat broke and unable to speak a word of English. Five years later, a lucrative commission brought him to Texas, which he made his permanent home for the next half century.
Working well into his eighties, the prolific sculptor produced 38 public monuments, 16 portrait statues and an estimated 75 portrait busts. Coppini’s contributions to Lone Star culture include the Littlefield War Memorial Fountain and “The Victims of the Galveston Flood” at the University of Texas in Austin, statues of Rev. Rufus Burleson and Gov. Sul Ross at Baylor and Texas A&M, a gravesite homage to Sam Houston in Huntsville, the “Come and Take It” statue at Gonzales, the John H. Reagan Memorial at Palestine, Paris’ Confederate soldier and the Scottish Rite Cathedral doors in San Antonio.
The boastful Borglum claimed in an August 1935 interview that he had lined up several prestigious projects in Texas worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in commissions. The head of the Centennial Division of the State Board of Control assured Coppini that Borglum was talking through his hat, though he did neglect to mention that his nemesis was in the running for the Alamo Memorial.
Coppini feared his larger-than-life stone clones of Austin, Houston, Rusk, Travis, Fannin, and Lamar for the Hall of State in Dallas would count against him in the San Antonio competition. And he knew outspoken critics would lobby hard against his receiving the coveted contract.
As expected, J. Frank Dobie jumped at the chance to express on paper his low opinion. “As for Coppini, he has littered up Texas with his monstrosities in the name of sculpture, and I had rather have nothing than a monument executed by him.”
In his autobiography, Coppini questioned the folklorist’s right to comment on “something of which he was absolutely as ignorant as a hillbilly.” He also accused Dobie of chronic drunkenness and depraved taste.
Coppini was invited at last in January 1937 to submit sketches for the Cenotaph. His original idea was “a funeral Army caisson, supposedly containing the bones or ashes of the bodies of the Heroes, covered by the Texas and American flags, driven by two draped horses, guided at the right of the caisson by the figure of Courage and at the left by Texas holding a wreath over the Texas flag.”
This proposal was wisely rejected sending Coppini back to the drawing board. His second concept, which closely resembled the actual work, was accepted that March. Thirty months later in September 1939, the Cenotaph was completed.
The formal dedication was put off for more than year. Coppini blamed the delay on the Alamo guardians claiming no civic group or organization in San Antonio would sponsor the ceremony “for fear of antagonizing the Daughters of the Republic of Texas.”
But the Cenotaph was worth the wait. Travis and Crockett dominate the west panel, while on the east side Bowie and Bonham stand in the foreground. Alone on the north panel is a female form described as an allegorical representation of Texas.
Rising from the flames of Santa Anna’s funeral pyre on the south end or front of the monument is “The Spirit of Sacrifice.” Beneath are inscribed the sculptor’s own words: “From the fire that burned their bodies rose the eternal spirit of sublime, heroic sacrifice which gave birth to an empire state.”
(“Secession & Civil War” – latest “Best of This Week in Texas History” collection available for $10.95 plus $3.25 postage and handling from Bartee Haile, P.O. Box 152, Friendswood, TX or order on-line at twith.com.)
