Mary Hobson 9/30/19 Mary Hobson 9/30/19

Day 3 - Bouncy Boy

Patrick loved to bounce. A bouncy seat could rock him to sleep, or set off the giggles. As soon as he could hold his head well enough to make it safe, we put him in a Jumperoo and he never looked back. It didn't matter if he was at home or stuck in the hospital. He even took unfettered joy in his vibration therapy to keep his lungs clear. He knew how to jump for joy.

Mary Hobson 9/29/19 Mary Hobson 9/29/19

Day 2 - My Ginger

One of the reasons I fell in love with Phil was his curly red hair. I wanted ginger babies so much. And when Patrick was born, my dream came true. He had not only the hair, but the attitude to match, flashing us the bird from the NICU. Here's to my feisty fighter.

Mary Hobson 9/28/19 Mary Hobson 9/28/19

Day 1 - Siblings

Yesterday was the 5th Anniversary of Patrick's passing. As we move toward his 6th birthday, here are some of my favorite moments from his life.

Today's post celebrates how much Patrick and Mira loved each other. Patrick spent a lot of time in the hospital, and we got her to Detroit as often as possible, but when they were home together, life was always full of love and smiles.

MaryC 9/10/19 MaryC 9/10/19

31 Days of Patrick

Later this month, I will be engaging in a project that my counselor and I designed. This post is not only to explain what's coming and why, but to provide advance warning to anyone who might be triggered or otherwise upset by the project.

Get ready for 31 Days of Patrick!

Each day after the anniversary of his death (Sept 27) until his birthday (Oct 29), I will post pictures of Patrick and talk about what I remember, how they make me feel, and why they are some of my favorite memories.

For blog readers/followers, I will be titling each post "Day x" and tagging it "31 Days of Patrick" so that you know generally what the contents are and can avoid opening/viewing/reading them if you so choose.

For those who are curious, the purpose of this project is to start detaching from the cyclical, chronological, calendar-driven grief that culminates every year in Patrick's death in September and rebirth in October. As such, the only rule for this project is that the pictures/memories cannot be in chronological order.

The ultimate goal is to both remember and see Patrick in my mind's eye as a complete person, rather than reexperience his growth, development, and ups and downs every year while living in the anxiety and tension caused by the knowledge that he is "going" to die. The unacknowledged fact in this thinking and experience is that he already died. He lived a complete, if short, life. I need to digest that and integrate all of my/his/our experiences into a complete package that can be loved, mourned, enjoyed, or grieved in its entirety on any given day.

So, that's what's coming up and why. If you have any suggestions for other activities that might help achieve this goal, feel free to share. You are also welcome to share any favorite memories of Patrick you have. Let us work together to recognize, acknowledge, and experience Patrick's continued existence in our lives--through his joy, his love, his smiles, and our memories.

In that vein, here is a quick video of my new car toy. Lil' Dude, named after Patrick, bounces and wiggles with the biggest smile, just like Patrick. Every time I see Lil' Dude, he makes me grin and helps me remember all the joy Patrick brought--and continues to bring--into my world. I hope he makes you smile, too.

MaryC 8/5/19 MaryC 8/5/19

Groundhog Year

There's a brilliant movie from the early 90s called Groundhog Day. In it, the main character relives Groundhog Day over and over. He learns and changes from day to day, but when he wakes up each morning, the day has reset. He only wakes up on February 3 when he gets the day right.

Today at counseling, I realized I am living Groundhog Year. My counselor asked how I was doing with the anniversary of Patrick's death coming up. I explained that I was generally doing well, but I knew the emotional kick in the pants was imminent because school was about to start.

I forget exactly how it came up, but I explained that even though this will be the 5th anniversary of his passing, for me, Patrick dies anew every year. She asked why that was, and I explained that I only have 11 months of pictures. Every year in late October, Patrick is born. He is fresh and new, and even though we knew he had CHD before he was born, we had no idea of what was coming.

As the months go by, I relive watching him grow and change and experience the emotional highs and lows. But come August, I am gearing up for what I know is coming. In early September, I watch the bittersweet memories as we bring him home from the hospital and live as a family of four as long as possible. Then I see him die. My ginger sunshine goes behind the clouds, never to return. I get a month of beautiful reminiscences and photos with family from the two services. And then, in late October, Patrick gets reborn again.

Because he died just before 11 months, there are no other memories to watch. It's the same ones, every year. No other ages or years to choose from. Just those. On the other hand, I am unwilling to hide or ignore the memories I do have. His smiles and joy and cute face still bring smiles to my face and joy to my heart. But there's a cost.

I finally looked at my counselor and said: it's like watching the movie Titanic over and over. The beginning is so full of joy. There is excitement for something new and different, wondering about the journey ahead. And there is beauty, elegance, joy, and music throughout the journey. But we know what's coming. The ending isn't going to change, but our emotions still ramp up as we careen toward the end, holding just a tiny piece of useless hope that another outcome is possible.

The stars twinkle. Life is good. And then the ship hits the iceberg. Our whole life shudders along with the ship. Something is about to happen. Then comes the anger. The fear. The sadness. The frustration. The lack of control. And yet, we can't tear our eyes away as the boat goes down.

Now comes the grief. The world is dark, cold, and quiet. Miraculously, I find a raft to cling to and float on. After a while, muted sounds of life touch my ears. I wake myself from my shock long enough to get rescued, but once I get wrapped in a blanket, I set myself apart and retreat back into myself. After what feels like forever, the rescue ship reaches land. Feeling both stunned and grateful, I walk down the gangway, and return to the rest of the world. I'm numb, but it's over. Time will heal me, I think to myself. I disappear to my bed, completely exhausted, hoping the next day will look brighter. And when I wake up, the sun is brightly shining. For a brief moment, I feel like today will be better. Until I step outside, and there, in front of me, sits the Titanic, getting ready for its maiden voyage.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Like the character Phil in Groundhog Day, through each of the repetitions, I learn more about myself and my feelings as well as those of the people around me. But until I do whatever it is I need to do and learn what I need to learn, the year starts over again.

When I talked to my Phil about it, he described it as having my own personal liturgical calendar. A cycle of death and rebirth that lasts exactly 12 months and repeats every year. I experience the summer warmth of his smile, the winter coldness of the hospital, the spring hope of being home and getting better, and the fall descent of palliative care mixed with beautiful leaves of memories of all four of us together. These are my yearly seasons of Patrick.

Obviously, it's too soon to have any solutions yet, but I think it's moving me in the right direction. Right now, I'm tossing around in my head how I might remember Patrick and enjoy my memories without the yearly Easter emotional sacrifice.

When Phil and I were brainstorming titles for the post, he recommended "Calendar Boy" as a nod to the song "Calendar Girl." It wasn't my title, but it's rattled around in my head. Maybe I need a Patrick calendar. It would list anniversaries of procedures, hospitalizations, and what not, but I would pick the images so I reinforce what I want to feel and remember. Maybe even a page-a-day, using my favorite photos. I need to think more about it, but something is percolating in my head.

Mary Hobson 6/10/19 Mary Hobson 6/10/19

A Cautionary Tale

Once upon a time, there was a thriving democratic republic. It’s citizens enjoyed freedom of speech and assembly, a right to property, the right to vote, and the right of habeas corpus, among others. Their country experienced the peaceful transfer of power after legitimate elections were held. The country had previously been engaged in a military conflict that was drawn out and resulted in huge loss of life. However, at this moment, it was experiencing a period of growth and renewal. It was filled with institutions of higher learning, and young people sought college and advanced degrees to improve their chances of having a good career.

Unfortunately, global events occurred that caused the economy to crumble. Many working-class people became angry because of high unemployment. Whispers began. “Those people are taking your jobs.” “Those people are not the kind of people we want in this country.” “Those people are not from here and are damaging our national identity.” The whispers became bold statements. People were encouraged to distrust science and education.

One day, a very charismatic man decided to dabble in politics. He did not resemble the people he sought to lead in any way. Had little to nothing in common with them. But he sold them a story they wanted to hear. The intellectuals and two main parties didn’t take him seriously. They saw him as a buffoon, unfit to lead. As his followers grew in number, people shook their heads but told themselves it wouldn’t last.

The leader began to tell lies. Things easily proven false. But they were things people wanted to hear. Wanted to believe. Many people were tired of the two main parties, which they thought had governed the country into the mess to begin with. They wanted change. Something different. He was different. His support grew.

He repeated the whispers as factual problems threatening the country and in need of policy changes. He said outrageous things people were sure would change his followers’ minds. Make them see who he really was. Still, his followers grew in number and became more rabid.

Eventually, he entered into an agreement with one of the two main parties that had generally governed the country, which resulted in him becoming president. Soon after, huge numbers of men walked through the streets bearing lit torches, shouting adoration for this man in addition to messages of hate. These supporters showed up to events to harass peaceful protesters and incite violence. They would heckle and shout down women speakers who they believed needed to be at home making babies and having children. Followers were often easy to spot by distinctive clothing.

Soon, the president’s policies of discrimination and hate became legislated. The police began to harass and assault citizens it believed were the “wrong kind” of people. The religion of the majority of the citizenry became the only acceptable religion, and people of other faiths were regarded with fear and hate. Their houses of worship were destroyed by arson. Legislation was passed that had great titles and made it look like good was being done, but the legislation often resulted in the exact opposite of its name or was simply a poorly-veiled attempt to exclude or remove “undesirables” from the country.

Huge numbers of men, women, and children were detained by law enforcement, placed in overcrowded camps, and denied the rights and legal processes they used to have. Journalists attempted to bring images and evidence of these actions to the citizenry, but the president declared that they were lying and trying to turn everyone against him. People in camps were raped and beaten without consequence. Children were forcibly removed from parents and sent to camps in different cities. People who attempted to help those being detained, alleviate their suffering, or hide them from law enforcement began to be arrested and punished as well. Religious leaders, journalists, and other activists found themselves on government watchlists and being detained even when they had committed no crimes.

Little by little, more marginalized groups were added to the list of people who were allegedly destroying the country. People the masses could blame for their plight. Many of these citizens had believed that if they just kept their heads down and followed the law, they wouldn’t be affected. They were wrong. Soon, the government began legislating away their rights, their citizenship. People who had fought in wars for this country and people whose parents had lost their lives fighting for this country were not safe. They were detained, mistreated, deported.

The government used language to dehumanize these people in an effort to make the citizens believe that these people had brought this punishment on themselves and that it was justified. Law enforcement began to uphold political positions instead of the law. Blatant violations of their duties went unpunished, emboldening more officers to ignore the law and mistreat people.

So what happened?

In Germany in the 1930s, the Holocaust and WWII.

Right now in the United States, we’re still waiting to find out. How much further will you let it go?

Mary Hobson 6/9/19 Mary Hobson 6/9/19

Educational Series, Pt. II - More Creativity, Less Bureaucracy

In Part 1, I talked about how teachers can impact our career paths and lives, for good or ill, just by how well they engage their students and make the material interesting. In this post, I want to talk about how the education system is hamstringing teachers from doing just that.

I mentioned in Part 1 that my HS physics teacher had us make holograms--we each got to bring an object from home so they were all different. During a different topic, one student shot a video explaining the science behind playing pool and making trick shots. I also had English teachers that allowed us to choose a book that interested us, and figure out our own topic for the paper we wrote on that book. I remember projects where we broke into groups that each created their own religion. I wrote a huge paper talking about War of the Worlds in book, film, and television form. I'll never forget the group in our class who explained connections between The Beatles' "Hey, Jude" and Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure. I recreated a poster from WWII that I colored with the circles from a hole punch. My friend and I sang a Tom Lehrer song for our US History class as a project on a related topic. My calculus teacher had us do something extra each week that was math-related, but could be a painting, a poem, a paragraph about a famous mathematician, or just extra problems. Whatever interested us.

In French class, we would play "Ou est Bubba?". Students would leave the room, the students in the room helped hide Bubba, and then the other students came back in and had to use their directional and objective vocabulary to ask questions to find him. We also learned to sing Happy Birthday and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in French and gave 5-minute talks on topics from French magazines or papers. We learned students made harder test questions than teachers when everyone was allowed to submit one question for the final test on a particular subject.

When I was in middle school, I read and wrote about The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. We dressed up and did a video about part of A Wrinkle In Time. We had journals we wrote in weekly, completely private between us and the teacher, but we could share if we wanted. Some prompted writing, some whatever we wanted. Halfway through one year, our entire grade was broken up into 3 groups, each of which created its own civilization. We created languages, decided how they lived, and all aspects of the culture. Then we created artifacts. Each group buried their artifacts. Each group then excavated a different group's artifacts, and then made guesses about the civilization on the basis of their interpretation of the objects they uncovered. This project covered art, science, math, language, history, physical activity, anthropology, and archeology, and engaged our creativity, all while requiring us to work as a group, but delegate to smaller groups because we couldn't all do everything.

My brother was attempting to teach his students about motion in two directions. So, he said that he would take them all out to the track with eggs. They would stand in the bleachers and he would walk along the track. He would give them the height they were at and how fast he was walking. They would calculate when to drop the egg to hit him. One student raised his hand: "Are you going to wear a raincoat?" My brother answered: "Would it be any fun if I wore a raincoat?" He had one egg hit his shoe. That was as close as anyone got. But they all gained a much better understanding of the problem and remembered better when the test came because the learning was memorable.

What all of these projects had in common was a personal buy-in. We had the ability to choose something that interested us. To make a project our own. To learn for ourselves and teach our fellow students in ways that had meaning to us. Teachers and students alike were thinking outside the box. Things like this can make learning fun.

Unfortunately, teachers aren't given the freedom to do as many interesting projects and lessons. All classes have to have the same lesson plans. All teachers are aching the same subject have to do it the same way. Writing out on the board the objective of a particular lesson is more important than making sure the students actually learn it. My brother used to do experiments in his physics classes. When experiments were no longer allowed (let that sink in for a moment!!), he began having "demonstrations." Soon, however, those too were nixed. But that's what science--particularly physics--is. Looking at how things work in the real world, making predictions about what will happen, and testing to see if you're right. If physics is just math equations and words, it's not going to stick in your head or make as much sense. But the school shut down the "demonstrations" because it wasn't fair that some kids got them and others didn't. Being able to show that the teachers completed all the useless items non-educators decided were important became how teachers were graded and evaluated.

My brother-in-law avoids some of this hassle by working at a private school. He has more control but makes less money. I had let him know about a job opening at a public school is a decent district. He conceded it would likely pay better, but he didn't want to deal with the increased bureaucracy that would have come with it. This is good news for his students, but how many other good teachers are we running off? How many other people who would make great teachers are we scaring away from the profession? My brother and brother-in-law are both second career teachers. They fought against their "education" classes and they actively fight the systems that they are hampering their ability to engage and teach their students. But how long can we expect good teachers to do this before they burn out? How long can we expect to attract good talent into the teaching pool when there is low pay and heavy amounts of bureaucratic nonsense?

We need more creativity and less bureaucracy. We need to stop discouraging and prohibiting topics and projects that enhance learning. It's okay that not every teacher teaches the exact same way. Students don't all learn the same way. When teachers have the opportunity to engage with their students, they can see what's working. They can fine-tune a topic they've taught a million times to better address the needs of the students in front of them.

My friend's daughter was in third grade when a certain math topic was taught in fourth grade. That year, the Board of Education decided it needed to be taught in the third grade. So, the next year, it was. And all those third graders who had expected to get it in fourth grade didn't get it because it wasn't in their curriculum anymore. It was a fifth-grade science teacher who discovered this when that crop of kids reached him. He took the time to teach his students what they needed to know and *ought* to have learned previously, but for lack of foresight on the part of the curriculum committee. If he hadn't been allowed the flexibility to do that, he couldn't have taught them anything. His topic necessitated an understanding of material his students didn't have. He could have thrown his hands up and done nothing. He could have simply taught his material and ignored that the students had no way to learn because they were missing the math. Instead, he taught the kids what they needed to know, in a subject that wasn't his to teach, because he knew his job was to educate and that was the only way it would happen.

School policies need to empower teachers to adjust their lesson plans. Make sure kids actually know a topic before moving on to something that builds on that knowledge instead of rushing ahead to a topic because otherwise, we won't get everything in, even though they don't yet have the capacity to learn that new topic yet anyway. Let teachers be unique. Let them teach in ways that embrace their strengths. When teachers are engaged and loving what they do, students get swept up by it. They see the genuine interest. They want to learn. Cookie-cutter education doesn't serve the interests of the students, the teachers, or society. It only lines the pockets of the companies advocating for that system, making materials to teach that way, and creating and selling testing to show whether students are learning that way. Stop worrying about a few bad teachers. We have never needed testing to figure out who these teachers are. Schools always know who they are. Principals, parents, and students can always name them. Don't sacrifice the education of the students in an effort to make all subjects the same so they can be compared as if in a double-blind experiment. Let everyone's creative juices flow--teachers and students alike. Learning will occur. Knowledge will increase. And everyone can have a little fun. It really is a win-win.

Mary Hobson 6/8/19 Mary Hobson 6/8/19

Educational Series, Pt. I - Why Teachers Matter

I have had a few different thoughts recently about why having good teachers matters. Today's blog is going to cover engagement, interest, and careers.

I have always been good at math and science. Loved chemistry and physics! In high school, I knew I was going to be an engineer. I applied to two colleges--MIT and Purdue. My SATs weren't quite enough for MIT, but I was accepted to Purdue either right before or a few days into my senior year. My physics teacher my junior year was amazing. We made holograms! He was funny, and he made the material interesting. I became his student helper my last year in school.

When I arrived at Purdue, the freshman engineering classes were huge. We had chemistry in the auditorium where concerts were held so there was room for all 300+ of us. I was a number and excelling was all on me. I had always been self-motivated, but there was no way to get to know most of my professors. My math professor spoke English as a second language. He was probably brilliant, but I had difficulty understanding him, let alone the math concepts he was trying to impart.

And my physics professor was boring and generally the caricature of a socially inept scientist. He did the experiment where you sit in a chair and hold a spinning bicycle wheel and move the wheel to spin in a different direction. He hit himself in the head with the wheel, which caused him combover to flop over and not get fixed the entire lecture. But he was the better physics professor. The other one only taught in the spring semester, always failed most of his class, and was put on teaching probation each fall because of it.

Photo Credit: Hal Gatewood (@halgatewood)

I get that freshman engineering is something of a weed-out program. But making us hate math and science seems to be the wrong way to go about it. Since I'm not an engineer, it should come as no surprise that I quit the engineering program after the first year. I switched my major to psychology. I can't tell you how many people told me (and my parents) what a mistake I was making because I was now getting "a chick degree" and there was more money to be made in engineering. But it was too late. I had lost the fire for physics and calculus and moved on to statistics and psychological experimentation.

But I'm not a psychologist either. As much as I enjoyed the material, I am an empath, and counseling people would have crushed me. I would have taken things on and taken things home, and it would have been a disaster waiting to happen. After I changed to a liberal arts school, which had more options for my degree, I added a minor in criminal justice. I took amazing classes in the history and sociology departments. I had at least three history classes that were taught as law classes, where we had to memorize cases and explain their application to hypothetical situations on exams. I LOVED those.

Color me surprised that there were any history classes I liked. See, with the exception of my World History and US History classes in high school, I abhorred history. Avoided it like the plague. Every World History class started with the Fertile Crescent and made it to Rome by the year's end. Every US History class started with the Revolutionary War and ended around the Civil War. In High School, we managed to avoid this pattern and learn more modern history. I found the depression and Watergate fascinating. I was intrigued by how much religion played a part in World History. But it had never been taught in a way that was engaging or interesting.

I will now share some embarrassing information with you. In my 20s and 30s, my husband and I would play "I or II." He would name a leader or important figure or country and I had to say if it was WWI or WWII. I knew Hitler and Churchill and Japan and the big ones, but otherwise, I was wrong. A lot. The information *never* stayed. I could memorize facts and figures and keep them for a school year, but they inevitably fell out because there was nothing to hang them on in my brain.

But stories? Stories stay with me. That's why I was great at law school and am successful at my paying job. Cases are simply stories. Facts that make skeletons to hang cases on. Turns out, historical fiction is the same. Even biographies work depending on how they are written. I can do research after and find out what pieces of the story were true and now have a way to hang onto the facts because of how they impacted the characters' lives.

Maybe I was always going to end up a lawyer. Maybe I would have left engineering at some point even if I had good professors. I'll never know. What I do know, is that teachers and professors who engaged me are the ones I learned the most from. When learning was fun, interesting, and practical, I soaked it in like a sponge. But all of my elementary and middle school history teachers were coaches who had been hired for sports; not people who had studied history or had any idea how to make it interesting. So I missed out. I am learning a lot as an adult, which pleases me. But I wish I had learned a lot of this back then so I would have an even broader, richer knowledge now on which to build.

My brother and my brother-in-law both teach in high schools. Physics and history, respectively. When I hear what and how they teach their classes, I wish I had more teachers like them. I have a lot more to say about them in Part 2. But for now, I want to focus on the fact that they have found ways to engage their students, keep them interested, show their students that physics and history are relevant in everyday life, and make learning fun.

To me, these are the marks of a good teacher. And I was blessed to have many. But it makes the others stand out even more by comparison. I want my kid--and all kids--to love school. To be excited about learning. To have teachers who show them the world in new ways and teach them how to learn and think critically, so when they find the thing that sparks joy inside them that they want to do to earn a living, they have the tools to do just that.

So, no more hiring teachers just because they can coach. Hire them because they can teach! (Or even so both! My HS physics teacher was also a basketball coach! It's possible to do both well.) Students deserve teachers who want to be there and want them to learn. Let's make sure we give them that gift. It will make a huge difference in a short time.

MaryC 3/17/19 MaryC 3/17/19

Emotional Improvement

A few weeks ago, I was working my way through one of the 50 books I've read so far this year, and I found myself somewhat overly emotionally-invested in a book. My chest hurt, and I was feeling all the feelings. When Phil or Mira would ask me a question, I had extreme difficulty returning to the real world and clearing my head to give them an answer. I also found myself tearing up and crying at various points.

After it happened with two books in a row, I mentioned it to Phil and expressed some concern about how I wasn't sure this was a good thing. "I've never done this before," I lamented. "Sure you did," Phil said. "Don't you remember when you refused to read any more books in that series because the girl married the wrong man?" He was right. It wasn't until my sister let me in on a secret I had missed because I failed to read the whole book that I went back and finished the book, felt better, and continued the series. But it had been forever ago. Heck, I really only returned to reading for pleasure five months ago.

I was talking about it with my counselor a while later, and we agreed that it was actually a good sign. I had spent so much time making quick, life and death decisions, I had nothing left. The fact that I had started reading again, after being a television junkie, was the first sign I was improving because reading is a more active pursuit. The fact that I could get emotionally invested in characters was a good indicator that I had extra emotional energy to burn. My life no longer consumed every bit, so I had leftover I could invest in fictional characters. I was ultimately intrigued and amused that what I thought was a sign I was doing worse was actually an indicator was getting better.

Now, I still shy away from authors that I know don't do happy endings, and if a story is getting too emotional for me, I sometimes skip to the end to make sure I get a happy ending before I am willing to invest my time and energy further in the story. But, hey, progress is progress, and I'll take it!!