Back in December, I picked up the newspaper on the way in to work.  I usually pick it up on my way home, but I needed to stop at the store in the morning, and I knew that it would save me from stopping on the way home. 

The newspaper lay on the front lab table as I taught first period science.  When the class period was over and the students were filing out, a student said to me, “Hey Mr. Starowicz, you do know about Syracuse.com.  Right?”  He was looking at my newspaper when he asked.   What was he trying to say to me?  Oh, I know what he was trying to say.  He was trying to say that print newspapers are old school, and I took his inference as also trying to say that I’m old, which I am.

Due to the fact that we live in a small city, the print newspaper can be purchased (or delivered) just a few days a week.  Syracuse.com, the newspaper website, is what most people read, but I am not satisfied with only a digital copy of news.  I want a print copy that I can open in front of me on a table.  I want a print copy that I can fold in half.  I want a print copy that I can cut an article out of and post in my classroom (this morning’s article was the front of the sports page – Syracuse Orange’s big win over the Tarheels).  I want a print copy that I can fold up and carry under my arm.  And I want a print copy that when I am done reading it there is a faint black ink mark on my fingertips.  You can’t do anything like this with a digital copy.

So, today, as my newspaper (I had to stop this morning to get a student prize for a science contest) clipping hung on the frame of the doorway leading into my classroom, a student entered during second period (he was on his way to the library for study hall) and asked if he could borrow the sports section to read.  He didn’t care that there was a big rectangle missing out of the front page.  He wanted to read about the chaplain that is currently working with the Syracuse University basketball team.  Of course, I handed him over my copy and told him to pass it along to any other friends that would like to read it.  *I’ll keep pushing print until the digital age takes over for good.

Just curious: Do you read the print version of the newspaper?  What do you prefer – digital or print?

I know that it is not possible to “catch up on sleep”.  Although, when I was in college, I did believe this statement.  I also know that March is an exhausting month as a teacher.  But, the question is, should I be exhausted only eleven days into March?  If I slept from Friday night to Sunday morning, would I “catch up”?  I may catch up, but my wife will kick me out of the house.:)

This got me to wondering if other people feel exhaustion in March (or any school calendar month that does not have even one vacation day)?  I also wonder how do people get rejuvenated and back to their non-exhausted selves?  If there were a secret to this, I would love to know it because I’m becoming irritable, impatient, and annoyed by every little thing.  These are three traits that I usually do not feel, and if I look at the calendar that lies ahead, I have many more days of March to get through (and that is a lot of time to make people angry with me for saying something that I would not normally say).  I’m sick of the preparation for the upcoming state tests, the inconsistency of the weather (warm one day, cold the next), the coronavirus, and the tired looks the faces of my students (maybe they are feeling the same exhaustion that I am feeling).

Maybe, it was the two consecutive nights in the boardroom that kept me away from home for about 8 hours (after a long workday).  Maybe, it was a weekend full of fun and excitement.  Maybe, it’s my arrival to school at 6:20 in the morning to set up the day’s science investigations.  Whatever it is, I am vowing to “catch up” and get back to my energetic self by the end of the week.  So, tonight I will get to bed really early.  Oh wait; I have to go to a track and field dinner with my daughter tonight.  Ugh!  And then, the Orange basketball team plays the Tarheels at 9:00.  I guess that I will have to wait until April to “catch up”.:)

After crossing the finish line at a 5K race in the end of last July, I came to the realization that I have lost the speed that I once had (not that I was fast, but faster than I am now).  I had trained hard, eaten well, and my body felt great, but I still crossed the finish line with a slower than normal time.  Being a competitive person, I was losing my competitive edge for running.  I wasn’t about to give up running, but my goals had changed.  I needed something that I could do to stay active (when I’m not running) that I can someday be competitive doing.  I went back to a sport that I once played and loved in my early twenties.  I went back to the golf course.

Now, if you knew me well, you may be wondering about my decision to head back to the links and take up golfing as a hobby.  In fact, since the beginning of August, many friends have asked, “Have you been golfing?  It doesn’t seem like your kind of sport.”  I’m unsure of why they think this, but I’m guessing that they know that I can’t stand still and that golf is too slow for me.  I love to run, swim, bike, play hoops, soccer, and lacrosse, but I love the mind game of golf.  I love the eye-hand coordination to play golf (both long game and short game golf).  I love the challenge.

Another reason, and the most important reason, is that my dad golfs.  He is really good.  My dad doesn’t run, swim, or bike, but he golfs (he even travels to the south to golf in the winter).  This is a sport that we can do together, and last August, we were golfing again (after about fifteen years).  For the next twelve Saturdays or Sundays (until the end of October), we headed out as the sun came up (it is important that I am home before noon to start the constant weekend driving of my children) to different golf courses around central New York.

Sometimes, my son even tags along, but he is super competitive (I don’t know where he gets it?), and usually only lasts nine holes.  Towards the end of the season, my youngest daughter joined us on the shorter courses and loves it.  Golfing has become one of my most favorite things to do (even better than running).

As I drive home from work on a 71-degree day in Syracuse (the first day over 60 degrees since last fall), I passed a golf course filled with people.  Knowing that I had a board meeting, I knew that there was no chance that I was going to get out on the course, but if I managed my time well, I would be able to take some practice swings in the yard. 

When I pulled in the driveway, my dad was waiting at the house to drop something off to the kids, but as he stood next to the back door, I knew that he was there to see me too.  Before I even had a chance to say hello to him, he said, “I went golfing today.  Played 18 holes and it was great.”  He was smiling from ear to ear.  My dad came over to brag.  He is not the bragging type, so I loved it.  With the ten-day forecast showing some fifty-degree days in the near future, we planned an outing for next week after work.  I can’t wait.  But in the meantime, I got ready for my board meeting, pulled the clubs out of the garage, cleaned them up, and took a bunch of practice swings in the yard as my wife gave me the thumbs up from the front window.  Just another thing that I love about spring.:)

As my daughter and I exited the house from the side door last night, we were greeted with one of the biggest and brightest moons that we have seen in a long time.  It must be noted that my daughter and I walk on almost a nightly basis, but we miss many nights in the winter because of the cold and snow (honestly, it is too dangerous to be walking around dimly lit roads in the middle of winter).  But, as spring starts to poke its beautiful head out in Syracuse, the last few nights have been snow free and mild in comparison to the bitter cold of January and February.  Because of this, the walks have started back up.

Now, for the first block of our walk, we talked about the size and beauty of the moon, which seemed to be glowing even brighter than usual (all of these observations point to a supermoon, which is this March’s moon).  We also talked about how clearly you could see Venus, which was also shining in the night sky.  Our discussion then turned to the name of the moon.  I thought that the name of the moon was the “Worm Moon”, but I was not sure.  If we had our phones, we could have checked, but when we walk, we leave the phones in our pockets.  So, we began coming up with names, and here are a few:

1. Spring Ahead the Clock Moon
2. Shamrock Shake Moon
3. Almost Spring Moon
4. Light the Night Moon
5. Sunday Blues Moon (like all kids, my daughter is dreading Monday back at school – even teachers dread this)
6. Friday the 13^th Moon
7. March Madness Moon
8. Goodnight, Moon Moon

As we approached the driveway after our near mile walk around the surrounding neighborhoods, we were ready for the week that was awaiting us.  Also, if NASA ever asked us to name a March moon, we were ready for them.

I won’t lie that being a middle school teacher I was a bit perplexed (and even a little nervous) after thinking about all of the names that we came up for to name the March full moon.  Springing ahead the clocks, a full moon, and a looming Friday the 13^th does not bode well for superstitious middle school teachers (most are).  Supposedly, these things cause strange student (and teacherJ) behavior in middle schools.  Thank goodness for me that I’m not superstitious.  I’m just going to approach Monday with a positive attitude, a smile, and a stop at McDonald’s for a Shamrock Shake.

Spanish,

putting up sheetrock,

calculus,

Instagram,

brewing beer,

cricket,

changing the oil,

solving the Rubik’s Cube,

cooking elegant meals,

sewing,

sitting still,

troubleshooting (easy) my phone,

walking on stilts,

keeping a plant alive,

walking on my hands,

playing the guitar,

these are things

that I don’t know

how to do (but want to).

Organizing information,

opening (and closing) a pool,

lacrosse,

craft beer,

Facebook,

directions around my city (state),

fixing a flat tire,

juggling,

grilling,

ironing clothes,

running (swimming and biking),

driving a stick-shift,

skiing,

ice (and roller) skating,

troubleshooting (basic) computers,

jumping rope,

growing vegetables,

doing a handstand,

writing a story,

these are things

that I do know

how to do

and like doing them.

I gave myself four minutes to come up with as many things as I do and don’t know how to do.  The first minute I was flying on things that I don’t know how to do, and then, I drew a blank.  Things were coming to me, but they were things that I did know how to do, so I stumbled (with the pace) and started simultaneously creating both lists.  My goal was to finish the poem in five minutes (I needed a minute to type the final four lines in each stanza).  I DID IT!

I hope that you enjoyed my poem.  I also hope that you will try your own poem (even if you don’t want to share it with anyone).  Happy writing on this sunny Sunday (at least in Syracuse, New York – a place where the sun does not shine enough)!

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Irish Blessing

These words greeted 3,000 runners to the start of the 15^th Annual Tipperary Hill Shamrock Run in Syracuse, New York.  The blessing was sung beautifully from a long-time resident of the exact neighborhoods that the course winded through.  Along with these words, a bright sunshine, a brisk north to northwest wind, and a cheering crowd also greeted us at the starting line.  I found myself in an unfamiliar, but comfortable, place standing behind the sign declaring that runners in the specific area are planning on running 8-minute miles over the hilly Tipp Hill course.  Many runners were in front of me, and over a thousand were behind me on the narrow road that ran alongside the popular city park where all 3000 runners would finish.

After the starting horn was blown, we progressed slowly and excitingly to the starting line of the race.  We were walking.  We were jogging.  Two hundred meters into the race, and we were running.   As we weaved through the hills that took us past bars and two family houses (a neighborhood that I lived in while in my twenties), I couldn’t help feeling nostalgic and energized by the cheering crowds and bands playing along the race course.  The racecourse ends with a hill (mini-mountain) that takes you back into the park, and by this time in the race, my legs were spent.  I may not have crossed the finish line with my best time (in fact, it was my worst time on this course), but I felt awesome with the accomplishment.  It was my 590th straight day of running and my 14^th Shamrock Run (missing only one with the flu).

I will be back next year.  I was six minutes slower than my best time (11 years ago), but I was equally as excited about the accomplishment.  It’s all about perspective.  My thirty-seven year old running self would say, “What happened today?  You went way too slow.”  My forty-seven year old running self says, “Great job today!  Another day of running in the books.”  My neighbor, who has not run the race in eight years, also ran the race (an accomplishment in its own right).  He and I celebrated with a post-run brew at one of our favorite Tipp Hill establishments.

Everyone in my school building is in a better mood on a Friday.  In fact, it seems like everyone I run into on Fridays are typically in a better mood.  So, today, at the end of the class period, I asked my students this exact question.  What does Friday mean to you?  They all stated the same thing – the weekend is almost here.  Their responses varied from sleeping in, playing sports (kids spend way too much time playing organized sports), making TicToks, hanging out with friends, and one young lady was excited about going to the movies.

After class, I decided to answer the question on my own and write down all of my weekend adventures.  On scrap paper, I wrote down the Shamrock Run, watching my girls play soccer, coaching lacrosse (my kids play too many organized sports), lesson planning for after April vacation, going to a fundraiser, hanging out with the kids, grading quizzes, completing the mid-marking period comments, and having coffee with a retired colleague.  I quickly glanced at my list and smiled.  This is why I love the weekend.  I get time with my family and time to catch up on schoolwork (and of course, home projects).  The weekend is two full days away from school to get stuff done.

Then, I started to think more about my list and how much it has changed over the years.  In my late teens and twenties, it was parties and finishing papers/projects/schoolwork on Sunday evenings (usually tired from the partying).  In my thirties, it was a weekend of crying babies, diapers, late nights, early mornings, and happy Sunday nights because I knew that I was heading back to work in the morning (don’t tell my wife that part).  In my forties, it is coaching, date nights with my wife (because we didn’t get any in our thirties), driving kids to friends’ houses (and worrying that the older two are doing the right things), and currently, driving practice with my oldest.  Ugh!  I don’t even want to think about what the fifties will bring.

As the weekend begins, I am grateful for all of it.  I’m not wishing away the time (even though I feel like a taxi cab driver), but in fact, I am hoping that it slows down.  For now, happy Friday and happy weekend!

Abra abracadabra
I wanna reach out and grab ya
Abracadabra
Abracadabra

            Abracadabra – Steve Miller Band (1982)

abracadabra (noun): 1: a magical charm or incantation

                                                            – Merriam-webster.com

As I approached the final hill towards my school this morning, one of my favorite childhood songs (yes, this makes me feel old) came on the radio.  After I pulled into the parking lot, I sat in the car and soaked up the memories that the song brought back.  The funny thing is that most of my memories came from 1986 and beyond because I loved the Steve Miller Band (and many other bands from that era).  It is likely that I did not enjoy it as much when it was released (1982) because I was ten-years-old (at least after looking at the lyrics, I hope that I didn’t:).

Why was the song playing through my head all day?  It’s not because of the lyrics, but instead of the memories.  I remember going to see (and listen) the Steve Miller Band perform in concert.  This brought more memories of Dead shows, some awesome concerts by the Black Crowes, a few Crosby, Stills, and Nash shows, the 10,000 Maniacs concert, and some spectacular Tom Petty and the Heartbreaker shows.  These were just a few of multiple summers of concerts that I had the pleasure of attending throughout high school and college (into the early 1990’s).  The memories put a smile on my face.  The music memories sparked a ride home from school listening to the Dead, Lyle Lovett, and Don Henley.

Another reason that the song softly played in my head all morning and afternoon long is because of the definition of the word.  I feel like a magician almost each and every time that I step in front of the kids to teach science, reading, and writing.  Now, I know that you are thinking and hoping that I don’t rely on magic to teach the kids, and you are absolutely correct that lesson plans don’t magically appear (although, I wish that they did and it would also be awesome to have magic grade my students’ papers).  The magic occurs when I can’t explain the success of a lesson, the reading accomplishment of a struggling reader, or the brilliant paragraph written by the student that could not even write two coherent sentences in September.  I’d like to write that it is my teaching, but I honestly believe that it is also magic.  Until today, I’ve never ended an ELA or science lesson with the words “abracadabra”.  Today, I ended each lesson whispering those words.  It may be a new habit – a little magic can’t hurt.

The human side of teaching has always been one of my strengths.  The students can connect with my teaching style and expectations.  They know that I’m there to greet them every morning and wish them a good evening every afternoon.  They respect me (because I respect them) and they trust me (because I trust them).  They know I am fair.  They know that I want every kid in the class to succeed.

Throughout the school year, they have seen me happy and laughing.  They have seen me angry and disappointed in them (not all, but many).  They have seen me sad about choices they’ve made in the classroom or out of the classroom.  They’ve heard my booming voice when I’ve been excited about teaching science, reading, and writing, and they’ve heard my quiet voice when I’m not happy about something.  Needless to write, they have seen me (every emotion).

Yesterday, they were shocked.  They realized that they did not know me as well as a thought.  They hadn’t seen every emotion.  Yesterday, they saw me cry.  They have seen sad, but not “crying” sad.  Some were nervous. Some were confused.  Some were speechless.  All of them were shocked.

We are reading a book entitled Surviving Hitler (by Andrea Warren), and the story is about a boy, named Jack Mandelbaum, that survived many of his teenage years in concentration camps.  The story is told from his perspective, but during chapter 4 when he speaks about being forcefully separated from his younger brother and mother, I always read that part of the story and think about it from the mother’s perspective.  Being a proud father of four kids, it is difficult not to look at the situation from her perspective.  This part crushes me.

I made it almost one full page past the part when I could no longer read because my breathing and tears were too much.  This is when a young lady in the front row took over for me.  As I attempted to get my composure, there were forty-four concerned eyes locked on me.  Many of the students had their mouths open in awe.  Of course, I pointed to the page in the book to make sure that they were reading along (and so all eyes were off of me).  The young lady did a splendid job reading the rest of the chapter (She even said, “I am pausing to read the captions of the picture on top of the page.  Please follow along.”  Just like I do – this brought a smile to my face.).  At the end of the chapter, before the discussion began, she even whispered, “You okay, Mr. Starowicz?”  And I responded with a “thank you” and a smile.

After the discussion of the chapter, the bell would ring to send them on their way to the next class.  As I stood by the door wishing them a good day, so many thanked me, gave an extra big smile (I think to comfort me – even though I was okay by then), and asked me if I was okay.  One young man told me that he didn’t want to read the book anymore because it made me sad.  We talked about all of the lessons that we can learn from the book even though it is sad.  All of the kids realized the power of a book.  All of the kids could not wait to read the next chapter on Wednesday (today).

The human side of teaching might be (at least in my opinion) the most important side of teaching children.  Of course, I want all of them to excel at reading and writing, but I also want them to find comfort in a classroom of learning.  I want them to know I am human.

When your first child is born, people often state, “There is nothing you’ll love as much as your child.”  That statement is completely accurate.  For me, I have four children that I love more than anything else in this world.  With children come so many other changes as well.  You change as a person.  I changed as a person.  You look at life through a new lens and your priorities change.  For me, my post-teen bucket list completely changed.  I went from doing things for me to do things for (and with) my children.

I’ve crossed off an Ironman, marathon, and ultra-marathon from my bucket list.  I earned a master’s degree, which was once a bucket list item (I was a terrible high school student).  I’ve seen Dave Matthews in Red Rocks and cheered on Army and Navy at the historic Army vs. Navy game in Philadelphia.  I’m currently on a running streak that is over a year (one straight year was supposed to be the bucket list goal).  These bucket list accomplishments are important to me, but the idea of the bucket list has change for me because of my children.

Currently, it is more important to me that the kids accomplish their bucket list adventures.  My oldest daughter has spent the last three years dreaming of a visit to Europe.  This February vacation, her and some of her high school classmates visited France, Belgium, and the Netherlands.  I was elated for her to have accomplished something that I have not even accomplished.  Like the joy and confidence that I found with the completion of each bucket list item, I observed (and still am observing) the same joy and confidence that my daughter has found.

I find myself touring all of the Smithsonian museums in Washington D.C., sitting in the audience at National Basketball Association games, cheering on Major League Baseball players from the stands, and running through the Adirondack Mountains with my two oldest children because of their dreams and aspirations (and bucket items).  I can thank my oldest son and daughter for all of these adventures (their bucket list items).  My two youngest girls are still creating their bucket lists, but I’m certain that I will be on new adventures with them over the next few years.

The idea of the bucket list may have changed for me, but the adventures continue and are now led by my kids.  These adventures will hopefully be a memory for them, as they become adults creating and refining their future bucket lists.