I went blind last week. Thank God, it was only for one week. I had a massive allergic reaction in my left eye that literally closed it. It was quite gross. The membrane behind the eye swelled to the point it covered the eye. To say I looked like an extra in some B-rated horror flick would be an understatement.

The problem wouldn’t have been so exaggerated if I were born with two working eyes. I was born with one. It never bothered me before because I didn’t know better. In fact, no one found out about my one blind eye until I was twelve years old. Back then people simply didn’t look for problems. I believe this is why there seems to be more problems now then we had in the past. People are just looking harder. Since there was little I could do without bumping into things I just hung around between doctor appointments and thought about all the clutter in my mind I should start getting rid of. Physiologically one only has a certain number of dendrites to hold information and once those are filled there is little room for anything new.

Plus, why should one be bothered by the past of which you can do nothing about. It is hard to handle the present in order to hope for the future. The past is something that is done and can never change. I smile when I think of one of my favorite expressions. I didn’t make it up or know who did but it is part of a memory I will never throw away. It states that the past is history, the future is a mystery, and there is a reason they call today a present.

Everyone loves a garage sale. It’s a time when we can get rid of all the junk we have accumulated over the past decade or six. It’s usually precipitated, either by a spouse demanding that all closets be emptied or the need to have a car actually fit in a garage. So, sitting in my new out-of-focus world I decided it was time to have my own mental garage sale.

Having my first bout with blindness I decided to get rid of a memory from my past. Not a memory, so much as a disability that had been with me my whole life. I was born with one eye not working. It worked a little but the shadows and blurred images I could see didn’t allow any depth perception or the excitement of playing a pirate with a black eye patch. I also had a tough time playing catcher on my little league baseball team. Since I was always the largest player on the team my coach who happened to be my father decided I would make a great catcher. Needless to say after I was almost knocked out two or three times off to my old position of third base I was sent.

I hid this disability for most of my childhood years. In fact, I thought it was normal for people to be able to see clearly out of one eye and not so clearly out of the other. Every time I went to the doctor he asked me how I was seeing. On a couple of occasions I told him I had a tough time seeing out of my right eye. Since both my older sisters had glasses the doctor assumed I wanted to be like them and was making up the story that my right eye didn’t work. I think my distrust of doctors started when I was very young.

I was finally found out when I was a freshman in high school. In fact, it was my fault they found out. After I made the football team I told my coach I had a difficult time seeing out of the right side of my helmet. Since my position was defensive lineman I was easy prey for anyone blocking from the right. The coach sent me to the nurse who finally sent me to an ophthalmologist who discovered I had little sight in my right eye. He also discovered it couldn’t be fixed and I would have to live with it. This was not a major problem because I had been living with it for the first 14 years of my life. But, because I had this type of physical disability I was told it was too dangerous for me to play sports. I was not only taken off the football team but also all the teams my high school offered. This devastated me to the point that I lost about 40 pounds and became convinced I was not as good as everyone else.

Looking out through the blurred vision of my now only eye I realized I had hung onto this useless memory for most of my life. Even though I had always tried to show that I could do anything I wanted I was still nagged by the fact I had one eye that didn’t work. On this day, the day I thought I lost my only good eye I decided to finally get rid of that thought and concentrate instead on the fact that I had an eye that will hopefully work well again. The ultimate garage sale had just released a part of my history I no longer wanted. In fact, the garage sale of my mind has just begun.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine

I hate the way you look. I hate the way you act. I hate your attitudes, ethics, and politics. I also hate the way you dress, your music, your television and theater, and your social customs. But, most of all I hate your youth. You see when I am at Shady Acres looking for my ear lobe each and every one of you will be experiencing things none of your wildest imaginations can depict.

If anyone finds themselves in front of over 200 young men and women quietly staring at you with blank interest hoping to have something happen, the best way to get their attention and curiosity is to tell them how much you hate them. This happened to me a couple of weeks ago at a seminar session at the University of New Hampshire. We were enjoying a poetry slam when the slam master asked if anyone in the audience had something they wanted to share. I know for a fact many did but few had the courage to stand up in front of a large group. Feeling the silence I decided it was time to tell the group how much I hated them.

I went on to explain about the remarkable things they will be confronted with during their lifetimes. I reminded them of what type of technology they were using a short five years ago and how that technology now seems like it was born in the dark ages. I told them their cell phones that were nestled deep in their pockets or even on their laps held more memory than all of the computers used during our first and last visit to the moon combined.

I explained how all of the information of the history of the entire history of their world could be found by simply “Goggling” it. “If you combined all the libraries and governments of the world one would not have the information that is offered to you on that slim electronic device you all take for granted.

I could tell I had their attention because they were all staring at me instead of texting their friends and if they were they were probably wondering who this maniac was in front of them and why he was telling them about something so obvious. I then led my conversation to a future they will also take for granted but a future I will never experience.

I told them today we understand the concept of gravity. Many in the audience thought we always knew. Einstein stated he considered himself a failure because a unifying principal that included gravity eluded him. Today, we have the potential to study what it is, what it can do, and what doors of knowledge it will open.

Mathematically, they, whoever they are or will be, can prove the existence of God. Or they can prove she never existed. Theoretically we now have the potential of considering something as small as 10-30 of a centimeter, which means we can see where everything came from and is made up of. We think it is in the form of a ring of energy that could look like a loop of string. These strings line up in what could be compared to a violin string playing the songs of reality or at least the reality of our present time. You see time will also be re-defined during their lives. We can now assume that our time does not have to be the only one existing at one time.

Looking around the room I can clearly see that most think I have become a bit too old to hold my own mind. I continue by stating that maybe these theories are too simple even too beautiful, as a species, we can’t understand it. I ask if anyone has been able to teach a spider to speak. Some laugh, some think, and some do both.

Taking up too much of their time I end my monologue by stating I really don’t hate anyone in the hall. I just hate being left behind.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine

“I puked on Mommy.” This wasn’t the perfect start of a conversation with my granddaughter but it did put a smile on my face. In fact, it was the first smile I enjoyed for quite a few weeks. It’s been a tough end for 2012, in that our government simply doesn’t want to work, fuel prices going into the heart of our winter are still remarkably high, and we just suffered through a national trauma all have a difficult time imagining.

I don’t mean to say the occasions of our past were so much better. I think they seem to be so because we only allow ourselves to remember the highlights or lowlights of those times. We can’t change them by simply remembering but we can learn from them.

There is an old saying that has forever stuck in my mind; especially when times became hard. To paraphrase from an author I don’t know, “ The past is history, the future is a mystery, and there is a reason today is called a present.

I remember the good now days when my wife and I would wake up hours before I had to go to work in order to enjoy coffee and conversation together being mesmerized by a heater that worked as well as a real wood burning stove but had little to no work associated with it. After eating a wonderful breakfast I would bid my adieu hoping my day would quickly fly by so I could once again be home.

I remember the good now days when our Sunday began as early as weekdays and we would run out to Market Basket in Portsmouth in order to beat the crowds. The only problem was many thought the same so the store was usually most crowed during the early morning hours. We would then travel to The Christmas Tree Shoppe, Big Lots, or even the Dollar Store to look for, find, and then buy items we simply did not need.

I remember the good now days when we would complete our Sunday errands by heading over to The Sunrise Grill to have a remarkable breakfast surrounded by people who were coming from church, their homes, or even the Christmas Tree Shoppe.

I remember the good now days when my work day evenings were filled with cooking shows and movies we either loved or hated. We never stopped watching the bad ones because we never knew whether or not it would get better. They never did. I looked forward to 7:00, at which time I would sit at the end of our couch and massage my wife’s feet and back silently thanking her for all she does for me while watching entertainment shows I couldn’t care less about.

I remember the good now days getting together as a family forgetting about our individual problems by dreaming about how great all of our futures would be. These were the times when I watched my family grow up and old knowing that soon more souls would join and some will be taken away.

I remember the good now days of being allowed and able to teach everyday to remarkable young men and women who astound me with their enthusiasm and motivation to become anything they want to work hard enough t be. They are all defined by their hard work and perseverance. Young teachers ask how I handle the “bad” students. I tell them I wouldn’t know because I never had one.

“I puked on Mommy.” I will be forever thankful to my granddaughter for reminding how great the good now days are.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine

To say my wife and I are thrilled to be grandparents is an understatement. To take my granddaughter for the day and even overnight has us both smiling from ear to ear. The things she says and does astound and educates us every day. Actually, I should have said every minute of every day.

Before Thanksgiving my daughter, who lives near Boston and just purchased her first house, asked us to watch Lila, her name is not half as cute as she is, so she could continue to move. Of course, we said yes and Lila was delivered early in the morning ready to explore and play like she has done for all her life.

We decided to take her to the mall in order to play at the playground and wander aimlessly and wondrously through the halls of the mall. As soon as she saw the playground she immediately ripped off her shoes and socks and off to the vinyl padded marine animals she flew. There were other children there and Lila did her best to keep up with their climbing and jumping even though she was the youngest. We, being the proud and incredibly panicked grandparents, watched her every step and stood beside her every time she climbed the octopus or giant clam. At one point she pulled herself to the top of the highest animal raising her hands and exclaimed to have everyone, “look at me!”

There were also other people inside the enclave of the playground that was surrounded by padded benches. These people looked like they were in a trance staring into their small rectangular panels saying nothing and daring not to look up. It was almost as if they were mesmerized by what seemed to be a toy glowing in their laps. It was as though they were being manipulated by the constant flow of their fingers and thumbs.

“Look at me”, my granddaughter repeated hoping someone other than her proud and nervous grandparents would respond. Nothing. It was if no child or playground existed and if it did exist it would be in the toy they were maneuvering on their laps.

The other children were playing but they were doing so in isolation. They didn’t talk to each other and were remarkably quiet probably knowing that any sound would break the trances of their parents. At one point Lila asked one of the other children to help her climb one of the animals at which time the girl pulled her hand away in fear she may have to actually talk to someone she didn’t know.

This is not like it used to be. When my wife and I were parents and took our daughter to the playground not only did the children interact but also the other parents took the time to compliment each other’s kids and learn more about the people who took the time to have their children play. We met many great people watching our children play and never thought to sit on the periphery to do nothing.

I wonder if this is the way our society is evolving. The new technology that supposedly promotes social interaction seems to be eliminating the very fact that society has a face and expressions that promote what one feels. Having a computer, in reality this is all the new cell phones are, makes all communication faceless and emotionless. It steals our capacity to understand each other.

Watching my granddaughter and hoping she doesn’t fall off the giant clam, I remember other times when this coldness of isolation was demonstrated. A few months ago I took the “T” to Boston. Sitting in the cab I noticed there was no conversation between the 30 or so people sitting literally on top of each other. Everyone was staring into the glow from their hands possibly hoping that some enlightenment would come from something or someone they will never know. In fact, I wondered if this thing even exists.

After about an hour we coaxed Lila out of the enclave of sea animals and walked to our next destination in the mall. All around us were people mesmerized by their phones almost to a point of looking like zombies in a horror movie of times past. It got to a point I wanted to walk into the center of the mall and scream, “Look at me!”

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine
You can contact Jim at: james.fabiano60@gmail.com

I remember, not so long ago, when the most enjoyable part of my ride to work was listening to a favorite AM radio station that played the music I wanted to hear. I used to be upset when the news came on because how can anything be more important than my music. I never listened to the radio at home. Television was the media that belonged in the house. But, then I grew old.

I still listen to the radio on my way to work but now it is filled with stories about the world I live in. Music has been all but eliminated with the exception of a story that had to do with music and musicians. My favorite channel, in fact the only channel I listen to, is public radio. I find their stories interesting and compelling. I now look forward to the news that comes from around the world. In fact, I now organize my time so both my rides to and back from work the top of the hour news are never missed. Radio has become an integral part of my inventory of thought.

As a teacher of almost three decades, I am dismayed by the fact most of my students rarely if ever listen to radio. They are more interested in their cell phones that are filled with social media and applications telling them anything or everything they think they need to know. My students don’t question where this information comes from or how reliable it is.

I am part of a remarkable program called Project SEARCH at the University of New Hampshire. This is a seminar program including students from 11 schools across the seacoasts of Maine and New Hampshire. They meet two or three times a month to discuss subjects they would normally not be confronted with at their schools. On October 17, the seminar concerned public radio and was presented by Virginia Prescott. She has her own program called, “Word Of Mouth” and is produced by New Hampshire Public Radio.

Ms. Prescott’s presentation was remarkable. She made me realize the importance of radio and how it’s completely different from the other media. She also introduced all of my students to the concept that radio is a critical means of having them understand their world by allowing them to make their own decisions about what is being presented before them.

During her presentation she played six radio clips from different broadcasts. Before she played the tapes she asked the audience to close their eyes in order to picture what they thought occurred during the transmissions. The programs included interviews of 9/11 during the collapse of the towers inside the towers. Broadcasts from the Syrian Civil War, during the Chinese earthquake of a few years ago, and an interview with the news reporter who witnessed the death of soldiers and who later committed suicide because what he observed could not be carried through his life.

I observed my students while they were listening to the clips. I watched their faces contort in a way that demonstrated they were allowed to imagine what was occurring. In other words they were not watching what was being presented before them. They were feeling the emotions of the people who were suffering. They were not being showed what to feel by passively watching. They allowed their imaginations to picture the event. When this part of the presentation was completed many students showed emotions I have recently not seen from my students. They had a greater understanding of what had occurred and were able to make their own decisions.

Ms. Prescott continued her presentation by discussing the history of radio and how this, what many perceive as an antiquated media, had a major role in our history. She talked about her experience in Africa when people who yearned for freedom were able to start their own radio stations in their own homes because with radio you can do this. She conveyed how communicating with other people allowed nations to be formed. Radio stopped genocides and mass murders that would have before been buried under ignorance and into the black hole of history.

My students learned a lot about the importance of radio and how its demise was greatly exaggerated. She ended her presentation by asking her audience what the definition of broadcast is. Definitions were expressed but none were correct. The definition came from agrarian societies that meant the spreading of seed over a large area. Anything that makes my students think can never become obsolete.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine
You can contact him at: james.fabiano60@gmail.com

Once again I find myself sitting in my old dilapidated beach chair reminiscing about the summer that was about to come to an end. It was one of the most fabulous summers I can remember. Every day seemed to be sunny and warm. The hot and humid days seemed to be at a minimum but I can’t speak for the people who lived away from the sea. The last of our summer visitors are enjoying their final times on the beaches and in the sun. These visitors seem remarkably white; almost translucent. Those of us who are fortunate to spend a lot of time on the beach call these people, “August Whites”. Of course, this is not fair because it’s obvious these people have worked hard during the summer months. But, why does everything have to be fair?

I always consider this time my New Year’s Eve. Being a teacher this end of summer marks the time when I can once again become part of the dreams and aspirations of many young men and women. Every year they become smarter yet less motivated. I blame this on the years of testing and accountability that forgot the concept that our children are not data points. They are people like you and I who want to do their best and accomplish more. The news reports state today’s children are not as smart as the children of the past simply don’t get it. Today’s youth have to deal with technologies and matters of society that no child in the past has ever been confronted with. My final day on the beach is a great time to think about the past few years and wonder what the future has in store for us all.

As we all know an election cycle is before us. It seems this started about two years ago with all the 24-hour news reporting and the bombardment of television commercials that outnumbered all the car commercials combined. I, like many, do not know how the elections will turn out. Both candidates are attempting to define themselves and each other in order to convince the majority their way is the right way. The only concept I am totally clear concerns any advertisement that is not endorsed directly by the candidate. These are all total lies. The reasoning is simple. If the person running for the office does not endorse what the advertisement states he must be afraid of being associated with it. The only means of making a decision as to which you want to run our nation is to listen to and read what the candidate or party platform states. Everything else is pure hogwash. By the way, this is the first time I’ve ever used the term, “hogwash”. There are many better terms.

Our economy stinks. Too many of my ex-students can’t find a job that will support a family. This is unacceptable. We have been going through this downturn since the end of George Bush’s term. In fact, many have been suffering through a weak economy well before that. Some have done well but it is common knowledge when the majority suffers while the minority succeeds it does not bode well for the minority in the future. As to who or what party would better lead us out of this reality; I don’t know. I pray we all study both candidates in order to make our nation economically stronger. I also pray we make the right decision.

Being a teacher of three decades I hope the future is bright for our children. Education is an important part of this future. We just left a decade of, “No Child Left Behind” programs that pretty well left everyone behind. We are now walking into programs based on, “Common Core Standards”. I wish I could describe what this program is and what it hopes to accomplish but I can’t. I simply do not know. I just hope this newest of programs lets teachers teach. This is what they were trained to do. I also hope the powers to be let teachers treat their students as people and not data points to be studied at a later time.

Sitting in my dilapidated beach chair and staring out into the remarkable blue grays of the ocean I wonder if we will still be at war. Will I be sitting here at the end of the summer of 2013 lamenting about the same wars we’ve been fighting longer than any wars in our history or will I be saddened about a new war. This future will be created by whom we choose to lead us.

I smile with the realization that every year I enjoy the end of another summer. Looking down at my sandals that hopefully will survive another summer I find myself understanding my own mortality. When I was young I thought I would live forever. Now that I am older I hope I would make it through another year so I can sit on my old dilapidated beach chair and wonder what the future has in store for us all.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine
You can contact Jim at: james.fabiano60@gmail.com

This is the first time in my decades long career as a teacher I am disappointed in myself. Every year I’ve taught, many of my students have opted to go into the sciences; especially chemistry. Last year was the first year none of my students opted to do so. For the past few months I’ve wondered if my age had something to do with this and I’ve lost connection with my students.

I’ve also been asking myself what I changed about my teaching that caused this loss of motivation into what I consider the central part of all sciences. After a few months I’ve come to the conclusion I caved into the concept that accountability is the most important part of education. In other words, I was told that successfully completing a test was more important than being excited about what was being taught.

What is the definition of accountability? Webster defines this term as being, “answerable, responsible, or explicable.” Believe it or not Webster’s Dictionary for Students doesn’t use its space to define this term. The question I have is who am I, as a teacher answerable to. I clearly understand I am accountable to my students. If they succeed, I succeed. Am I responsible for how well they do on a test I have little to no input? Am I answerable to a state, nation, or world that defines by an exam how successful I am with my students. Could any test define the talents of a young man or woman? The part of the definition that makes some sense is whether or not it is explicable.

I’ve always believed the concept of motivation is the most important part of my profession. Lets get back to Webster. Motivation is defined as, “to provide with a reason for doing something.” This makes more sense because it provides my students with a reason to work hard and study. I try to instill in my students a need to understand why everything is the way it is. I astound them with the knowledge that all matter is composed of the same thing but in different arrangements. They are mystified in the thought that all matter is made up of empty space and solidity is simply an illusion. This has nothing to do with the memorization of formulas or symbols. It has everything to do with why we are the way we are.

Another concept I used to teach is nothing is perfect. Scientifically you break this down by understanding all matter is thriving to be simplified. All matter is trying to attain entropy, which is defined as total simplicity or, in other words, nothing. We try to continue this discussion by talking about the concept of chaos. For how can nothing have any imperfections? To attempt to attain the highest possible accountability on this basic concept is impossible for how can one grade nothing?

Innovation is something that is desperately needed in our nation. We have to start making things again. Our economy and our existence depend on this. Webster defines innovation as being, “the introduction of something new.” How can a test strive to demonstrate something new when the concept of the test itself is seeing if one knows what is already known. It is more important to instill in all students the idea they are capable of discovering what has never been discovered. This is what makes science so exciting.

I understand all concepts of science have to be mathematically shown to be true. I make this statement because all science concepts are perpetually being tested. In CERN they just discovered the “God particle”. When we discuss this in class I want all my student’s mouths wide open with the concept they may be able to understand where everything came from and where everything is going. How can the successful completion of a test compete with this?

This is the first time in my decades long career as a teacher I am disappointed in myself. Since I am a veteran teacher I have few years left. I promise the students I have left that I will never again allow accountability to overwhelm the beauty of motivation and innovation.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine
You can contact Jim at: james.fabiano60@gmail.com

I had one of my worse years in school last year. I am proud to say I usually have multiple students studying chemistry in their post-secondary work and I am proud to say many of them go on to earn PhDs’ in the part of this central science that made their minds sing. This past year I had none. During the off season I am now questioning whether my association with my students has weakened, the multiple testing systems my students are forced to bear have taken the magic out of this magical science, or possibly a combination of both.

Another new year has come and gone. The last few haven’t seemed special because I’ve lived through many of them. I remember years ago looking at a shiny lit ball that fell from a giant building in New York City on a television that could only display black and white wondering what my life would be like in the next decade; in the 1960’s. I reached out looking for a towel like I do every morning after my shower because I can’t seem to find it through the steam that fills the room. I know exactly where it is because I’ve been in the same routine ever since I lived in my house. After I dried my face I walked over to the sink in order to wipe off the bathroom mirror so I could continue with the routine at the beginning of my day.

I looked into the small hole I made in the steamed mirror and thought to myself, “Hello, who are you?” This couldn’t be me. It must be someone else looking back at me through this mirror on the other side of the wall. That person has thinning hair in which his hairline was well above the middle of his head. In fact, the hair on his head has evolved into filling up his ears and even most of his nose.

I now see what this man looks like on the other side of the wall. I begin to wonder what his passions are. I wonder if he has any left. Passion is so important in my profession that if there is none then there is no teaching. I question if he still wants to change the world. I speculate if he still thinks he has the energy to make a difference in a society he knows was abused over his time. I wonder if he still cares? I question if he still dreams about what he wants to be? I wonder if he starts every day in hopes he will be challenged and he is energized by the reality that every problem is simply an opportunity. Or did he give up because he let time make him give up?

Now that I understand this man on the other side of the wall is obviously older I wonder if he thinks about the importance of God more than he did when he was young. Now that this man on the other side of the wall is closer to his end I wonder if he cares more about what will be when he finally meets his end? In fact, I wonder if the man on the other side of the world still takes the time to think of such things?

I come to the realization I spent too much time with the man on the other side of the wall. It is also time to do the same things I have done for most of my life. It is time to keep doing the things I do in order to not become the man on the other side of the wall. I smile because I know this is the year I will bring back the magic teaching a magical science. This is the year I once again begin to grow my student’s dreams even before they know what they are. But, before I leave I give one more glance to the man on the other side of the wall. I say good-bye to him and feel a deep compassion because he looks like something I refuse to become. I say good-bye and wonder if tomorrow I will have the courage to visit again with the man on the other side of the wall?

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine
You can contact him at: james.fabiano60@gmail.com

The new school year is approaching and I am told there will be many new teachers in my school. The first year teaching is something one never forgets. I remember being scared. Most men and women feel the same when they start a new job. This apprehension is intensified when it is not only a new job but a first job in a profession you’ve spent the last six years of your life preparing for. I clearly remember my first classroom. The school was old and had a distinct odor all classrooms have. I assume this is because of the hundreds of books that have been opened and closed or maybe the scents of the multitude of students who so desperately wanted to succeed in order to become what they wanted to become.

The room was old but clean. I was surprised how shiny the floors were even though they were cracked and discolored. There were twenty or so desks in perfect lines waiting to be assigned students. The walls were remarkable void of any poster, piece of tape or hanging staple. The teacher who inhabited the room before me took down all her memories in order to make room for mine. There was a large desk at the front of the room. Like the walls it was cleaned and made ready for its new tenant. It was aged and had that distinctive smell all teachers are supposed to have due to the thousands of cups of coffee it held and the many brown paper bagged lunches it hid.

I spent the next five minutes staring out at the empty desks wondering where this room would take me. I wondered what I would see after my first full year teaching. I was shocked into reality when a bell rang echoing its chime throughout the school because there were few people there to absorb the sound. At that time I didn’t realize how hearing the same sound every hour of every day would make it simply disappear. But, the results of the sound would always be the same. One group of people would leave with another group of people entering all with different personalities, aspirations, problems, and opportunities. I would have to be ready to become a part of everyone one of them.

It was now time to get ready for my first day. Once again I looked at the bare manila walls that surrounded me. I had brought some posters I purchased throughout my life when I was preparing to do what I was about to do. It was now time to put my brand on my first classroom. But, in order to do that I needed something to attach the pictures to the wall. I looked through my desk and found many of the necessary items needed to teach. I found a black and red pen, scissors, lined paper, a block of graph paper, a permanent marker, stickers, paper clips, and an empty tape dispenser. I was hoping to find a stapler even though at the time I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to staple anything to the walls.

I walked to the office to ask the secretary where I could find one. I didn’t dare ask the principal. The secretary told me she didn’t know where I could find one but gave me the directions to a closet where old office supplies died. At the time I laughed, to myself until I found the closet and opened it up. There were old books dating before I was born, boxes filled with things I had no idea as to what they were, and a graveyard of broken rulers, meter sticks, scissors, and pencils. Looking through the box I discovered an old beat up gray stapler with no name engraved in it. At first I doubted if it would work. I grabbed two pieces of paper and attempted to fasten them together with my new old machine. To my surprise it worked. I then noticed an old brown box at the far corner of the tomb. I was astonished to find out it was filled with the exact staples that filled the machine. I thought the supply would last me forever. At the time I didn’t know how true it was.

The day came and past. I met my first students and discovered they were as apprehensive as me. The days became weeks, which became months, and then became an end of my first year. I carefully took my posters and the work of my students off the wall being very careful not to make too many more holes I made by using my stapler to attach them to the walls. I promised the custodian I would spackle the holes but she told me it was her job and I should just leave it alone.

As my days past so did my years. They became decades and evolved into over a quarter of a century. Everything changed in teaching. Copy machines took the place of methanol run purple copies, which everyone, including me, loved to smell. Type writers and thermal masters were replaced by computers and printers. I watched my students change every year with new styles of dress and hairdos. I watched me change from wearing a jacket and tie to wearing a plain blue golf shirt. Getting closer to my last day at school I discovered the only thing that did not change was my old gray stapler.

I never could purchase any of the staples that fit the machine. I just used the case I discovered in that closet many years ago. My colleagues perpetually complained about how they could never keep a stapler because it always broke and was usually lost. During my career I lost the stapler a few times; once in the ocean, salt marsh, river, behind the school, and even in Boston. But, for some odd reason I always found it. I guess I should assume it found me.

The case of staples is almost empty now. I don’t know how many years it has left attaching my students work so it could protect it from being lost. Another year is coming and like the past few decades I don’t bother taking anything off the wall anymore. The walls have become so old I assume the brown aging posters are all that’s left of its structure. I am starting to feel like I did the day before my first year. I am not afraid if I am good enough to teach, I am concerned of what my life will be without teaching.

Jim Fabiano, a teacher and writer who lives in York, is a past recipient of the Maine Press Association’s award for Best Weekly Column. You can E-mail Jim at:
James.faiano60@gmail.com

As I sit in my last period of class during their final exam and look out over the twenty or so students who would rather be anywhere else, I ask myself after 30 years as a teacher what the definition of education is in the year 2012. You would think after three decades of working in the profession I would have a clue but to my dismay the definition has had many changes. The “No Child Left Behind” program is gasping its last breath with a new policy of common core standards waiting to take its place. I am not talking of programs or systems that promise to cure all of our schools problems. I am concerned with what the definition has become and what its future may hold.

I begin by thinking of some definitions I’ve always had about the profession I selected many years ago. Education is the imparting and acquiring of knowledge through teaching and learning. OK, I tell my student to tear into definitions so they understand what it is attempting to state. Knowledge is the abilities gained through being educated. My mind begins to spin like it would on a carousal of horses and dragons. I was told instruction is the training in a particular subject. This is something I believe common core standards are going to attempt to change. What I’ve read is this new system wants to teach fewer disciplines leaving the ones taught concentrated on, which puts me back on that carousal.

The learning experience for my students is supposed to be an informative experience. I would hate to ask the student I now see banging his forehead on the top of his desk attempting to calculate. . At this present moment the learning experience is keeping him away from his favorite beach. I start to remind myself of what I believed the study of teaching was. I believed it was the study of theories and practices. But, these theories are dynamic in that they are perpetually changing. This is because my students and their societies are shifting to times I never could have imagined. So, how does one study the art of teaching? I guess this is what makes in an art.

We all know the system has to change. It always had to because it has defined our communities and thus our society. As to how to change the system so that it benefits our children has been difficult. A dramatic change in defining our society has also changed to not only include people we are brought up with but to include people who are thousands of miles away. Sort of like one of my students whose body is in my class but whose mind is anywhere else.

I remember when I first started teaching being told education is simply the delivery of knowledge, skills, and information from teachers to students. I never believed this but in order to become certified I had to have my instructors believe I believed it. What I’ve learned about education, especially through the “No Child Left Behind” program is that education should not be forced to become a vast desert of “accountability” that treats arbitrary results on irrelevant tests as proof that those who don’t pass these tests should be punished. This was a tough decade for education that showed no positive results for our children. I just hope we don’t fall into the same hole.

Now that we are evolving out of this quagmire I wonder where we should go from here. Is there a problem with the traditional definition of education as a delivery system? I ask this because not-so-long ago our education system was the envy of the world. I am depressed to report this is no longer the case. I believe before anyone can define what education is one must understand the world we are now living in. If we ever figure this out we have to understand what is most important about the process of becoming and the results of being an educated person.

My last student has just handed in their final exam, wished me a good summer, and inquired when I’ll have it corrected. I hope I can learn from my decades of teaching what the definition of an educated person is. If I can figure this out I will get close to the question of in 2012, what the definition of Education is. I think I will spend a good portion of the summer contemplating this problem. I’ll also share it with anyone interested.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine.